#soap: if i could crawl under your skin and make your bones my house i would

[robiinurheart33]

Part 1

The next time Soap wakes up, he isn’t screaming anymore.

He sort of felt that after passing out from the pain of Ghost’s touch along with the stitches that he was gonna wake up in a shitton of pain but surpringly he felt…comfortable. Soap opens his bleary eyes to take stock of the situation. He’s obviously in one of the rooms in the safe house, the room completely void of light. Not even the moonlight is able to pierce through the blackout curtains. No doubt Ghost probably would’ve also dead locked the windows. He feels the cooling touch of a bedsheet under his fingers, the whirring of a fan blowing on his face. He can hear shuffling downstairs, Ghost probably settling down for a few days at the house before they’re cleared to go out.

Johnny sits up with a soft groan, hand patting his side where his stitches lie. His mind feels blissfully silent, like for once a higher being is allowing him to rest, if only for a short while. He feels 10 again when his socked feet slide across the ground as he stands, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and opening the door to the bedroom. Johnny isn’t completely sure of where his bedroom is located, but he manages to find the living room easily and by extension; Ghost. He looks ethereal and deadly in the moonlight, sitting on the couch and cleaning his guns.

“About time you woke up.” Christ, he sounds exhausted. Has he rested even once when he patched Soap up?

“How long was I out?”

A pause. “Long enough.” Ghost sounded more gravely than usual. Soap tries not to dwell on it, what it implies. He knows that even if he tries to get Ghost to rest, it would end up fruitless. He knows other ways to trick him into resting.

Johnny spots his phone on the table and checks the time. 2:37am. Shit, it’s been quite a while since he passed out. They left for the op at 4am, and arrived at the safe house at around 7:30am. He’d been sleeping all this time. He sighs and perches himself onto the couch arm. Far enough that he isn’t invading Ghost’s personal space, but still remaining within his reach. He stares at the generic wallpaper his phone is blinking back at him. His real phone is back in his bedside table at base. The wallpaper is of his family about 8 years ago, all of them grinning at a eyefish filter Johnny’s sister took. Johnny looks ridiculous, his mowhawk not yet making its debut, and an old phase of a beard is evident on his face, bushy and proud. This was taken when they were all on vacation together, a rare occasion when he was able to save enough offs and before all the kids, complications and death. There were the MacTavishes, once upon a time. His mother, two older sisters and a little, blue eyed John. Remember John, His sister hissed, wagging a finger in his face. You’re a Mactavish. When we get down we get the fuck back up again. He’s always admired his sister. he misses them both so, so, much.

“Do you sometimes ever wonder if this life is really worth it?” Johnny suddenly blurts out. He feels his face immediately start burning. God, that’s embarrassing. “Being in the military, I-I mean.”

He knows that Ghost, out of all people would be the worst person to talk to about feelings. He’s an important person that has more responsibilities to lie his focus on, much less his feelings. Shit, can he take back the words? No, that would be even worse. Can Ghost just ignore him? No, wait, that might be even worse if they just stay in this stupid awkward silence Soap subjected them to-

“All the time.”

Johnny whips his head around so fast he’s sure he has whiplash.

“A-all the time?”

To be honest, Johnny never really thought Ghost has a life outside of the military. He never talks about family, friends or maybe even a girlfriend. He doesn’t like to think of the implications or anything about his past. It just felt invasive and inappropriate to do so, even if they were close. Price had told him one late night, smoke curling lazily behind his ear, with low murmurs and blood shot eyes that Simon has no one left to mourn him. Johnny didn’t ask for the details. He didn’t have any right to.

“Yeah.” He doesn’t elaborate. Johnny doesn’t blame him.

He turns back to staring at the wooden walls deprived of any decoration, not even a small potted plant. He takes a deep inhale and sighs, breathing in the stale air. Fuck it. Whether he wants to hear it or not; Johnny can’t take the pain of awkward silence.

“My mom back home, she…” He wet his lips, thinking for a moment. “She writes to me, sometimes. Tells me every single detail of her day, that old hag.” Johnny chuckles, tracing the gnarly stitch work Ghost had done on him over his shirt. “But that’s just because she doesnt have anything else going on in her life. Which, I mean, it does sound depressing, but she’s in her own little bubble y’know? She goes to her yoga class, book club, she bakes, and she’s just fine with that life.” He looks over at Ghost, who’s now looking right at him, gun hanging loosely from his hands.

Soap thinks it would probably be a nice way to go. If Ghost shot him in the head right now.

“She’s…. Happy. I think. I hope so.”

“Hm.”

Soap scratches at the base of his neck, looking out the window. The grass seemed to stretch on forever, into the horizon. The moon is just a sliver today, peeking over from its shadow, casting a light blue tint over everything. He thinks if he stood on the road and looked straight ahead, it would look something like those pictures they make you stare at when they check for eyesight at the doctor’s, but without the hot air balloon.

A soft click alerts Soap back to reality, watching Ghost place down his gun.

“Let me get dinner.”

He blinks.

“You haven’t eaten?”

“No.”

“Why?”

Soap hears a few pots cutleries clink against one another.

“…was waiting for you.”

And fuck, if that just makes his intensities melt and swirl together. Ghost was waiting for him? He was waiting for Soap to wake up to eat dinner together? Jesus Christ. He manages to crack a smile, and a little too tender “aww, Ghostie.” Gets breathed.

He comes back around to face Soap, handing him his MRE with a plastic fork sticking out of it, stream curling from the packet. He can smell the curry chicken and he almost sobs.

“You got me my favourite?”

“Don’t sound so emotional, Sargent. It just happened to be in my bag.”

Ghost plops down onto the couch and pulls off his mask to scarf down his bag, barely stopping for a breath.

Soap chuckles. “Goddamn animal..” He ignores the way his ears feel hot and his chest feels itchy, just holding the packet in his hands.

He fidgets around with it, letting the heat seep into the palms of his hands, wondering how long it would last, if it would stay there forever, cupped in his skin, his bones. Wonders if he could press it to his chest and the heat would spread throughout his body, into his head. If he ate the food would it warm him from the inside out, would it taste as delicious as how Ghost’s considerations made him feel?

“Jesus Christ just eat the fuckin’ food Johnny, before it gets cold.” Ghost grumbles, speech a bit muffled due to the food in his mouth.

He giggles before picking up the fork, scooping up some of the rice and shoving it in his mouth. He lets out an appreciative hum, scooping up more rice and chicken, stuffing more and more into his mouth.

Eventually, Johnny slides from the armrest to the actual couch cushions, tossing the empty packet onto the table with a content sigh. Ghost had resorted to staring out the window now, arms resting on his knees with his hands clasped together as if deep in thought. The Scot lays his head back on the cushions, closing his eyes for a bit. He doesnt want to disrupt the silent peace they have going on right now.

“Soap.”

“Hmm?”

“Let me check your stitches.”

He opens one eye to look at Ghost.

“Mkay.”

Before he could shift his body towards him though, Ghost already slipped to the floor, sitting cross-legged in front of soap’s legs.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“It’s easier this way. I don’t want you to turn any more than you have to. This’ll be quick.” he says, like Soap isn’t currently fighting for the air to go into his lungs at the way he just with no hesitation start to go for the hem of his shirt.

“Jesus, okay! Fine, i can do it myself.” He grumbles, slapping Ghost’s hand away before quickly pulling his shirt off.

Now, it isn’t the first time Ghost has touched him, nor will it be the last. For fuck’s sakes, he was screaming in anguish just less than 25 hours ago, and Ghost was touching him in the exact same spot. But this time, it was different. It wasn’t physical contact for the sake of keeping all his organs intact, it was more out of concern for his safety. It is also a helluva lot more intimate the last few times they’d touched. (Not like he was keeping count) The moonlight hits him from the back of his head, making his brown eyes shine in the dark. He always looked like he was on the verge of tears, Soap noted a long time ago. They were constantly glassy, waterline reddish-pink an eyelashes longer than a damn horse. His pupils always looked intense and scary, black in the sunlight, caramel in the moonlight. Soap’s sweating now, more so that he’s actively pinning Soap under that stare, watching for any painful expression.

As he reached forward, big bastard he is, knocks his knees apart so that he’s more in between his legs than in front of them. Johnny breathes. His ears are definitely red now.

The first touch felt more like a jolt than anything, cold fingertips pressing into his side.

“Fuck, Ghost, you don’t have any blood in ya?” Johnny cracks a nervous smile, trying to lighten the mood. Ghost doesnt reply, eyes now trained on his midriff.

His left hand cups his waist, their contrasting temperatures slowly making its way to even themselves out. Soap can’t help but shiver, Ghost suddenly whipping his hand away like he’d burned him. He blinks, looking up at Johnny.

“Sorry.”

“S’ okay, sir. Just didn’t know you have the touch of an ice princess.”

He slaps his ribs, pretty eyes narrowing as he focuses on his stitches again. His left hand comes back to cup his waist, thumb right above the stitches. His right thumb is below the wound, hand resting on his belly, pinkie on his military-issued shorts.

In all honesty, Johnny’s completely losing it. The touch is like liquid nectar spread across his middle, settling under his ribs and squeezing his lungs. He feels indulgent, gluttony taking in the form of Ghost’s touch. It’s so much more than he’s expected it to be, and he feels a bit light headed. The thumb tracing so, so carefully along the uneven stitches almost feels like it could be mistaken for care, for love. Johnny’s light headed, and his limbs feel heavy like it turned into lead. It felt feather light, and all too special. Like if Soap wasn’t completely honed in on whatever the hell is happening right now, the moment would slip away and he would regret it for the rest of his life. So he savours. He memorises the touch pads of ghost’s fingertips against his skin, the light framing his body, his eyes fixated on the stitches. Fuck, fuck. What Soap would give to feel like this all the time.

In spite of his internal turmoil, Ghost looks up at him, eyelashes fluttering.

“You good?”

Johnny swallows, Ghost’s eyes following the motion.

“Yeah- yeah I’m good.”

please touch me more. please hug me. please cup my face and touch me as gently as you do for my wounds. please take care of me. please care.

Soap’s flushing hot now, he doesn’t need to look in a mirror to know. Ghost’s eyes hone in on him, pupils trained onto his body for what, soap doesnt even know. He tries to look as normal as possible with your CO’s hands on him so warm, so gently, like he belongs there.

Whatever Ghost is looking for, he finds as he sighs softly, letting his hands drop and now resting on his hips.

God fucking damn it Ghost is driving him crazy

“You got any siblings?” His hands absentmindedly squeeze him, and Soap mentally checks out. He’s done. He’s actually dying. This is heaven. Or hell. Either way, he doesn’t ever want to leave.

“Two sisters.” He manages to squeeze out as much as he can without his body moving. He’s tuned in with every nerve, so, so scared that if he moves Ghost will take away his hands.

“Youngest?”

“Mhm.”

“Can tell.”

“Haud yer wheest.” He grumbles, looking at anywhere but Ghost. Why hasn’t he moved yet?

“Tell me about them.”

Johnny scrambles for any kind of information on his sisters to tell him.

“Well- uh. Marjorie is my oldest. Uh- oldest sister. She hates her name. Has a bubbling little husband little ways from our home. Lovely guy, has no backbone. Honestly could not tell you how he managed to bag my sister. He even says it’s a miracle, heh.” The more he talks, the more he relaxes. “Middle sister, Gwyneth, she.. uh. She has a little rascal running around at home. Little runt, that kid. Fuckin’ love her.”

“Sounds like your mom has a knack for naming her kids.”

“Yeah right, imagine a Marjorie, Gwyneth and then just John.” He shakes his head, chuckling softly. “Lame name.”

“It’s a okay name.”

“Ghost, i can literally name you 10 guys I’ve met with the same name as me. Our captain is named John.”

“Yeah you’re right there. John is a shit name.”

“Shut up!” Johnny giggles, raising his hand as if he was gonna hit Ghost.

“It’s better than Simon.”

A pause. “What’s wrong wit Simon? Right bonnie name, there.”

Even with the darkness, Johnny can feel Ghost’s eyebrow raising.

“Am’ serious! Simon…. Yeah, it’s a good name. Solid.”

He huffs, as if not believing it, one of his thumbs tracing patterns absentmindedly on the soft part of his midriff .

“Who wouldn’t love a Simon in their life, hm?” Soap hums, tapping the cheekbone of Simon’s mask with a finger.

“Simon.” He whispers again, just for good measure, and Ghost looks up at him, eyes shining so, so brightly. He looks almost wistful, hopeful if he looks too much into it. The hands at his hips squeeze.

Fuck.

“Simon.”

I love you.

I love you so much I can’t bear it sometimes.

Johnny says nothing else.

“We should probably go sleep now. We have to get up in less than 5 hours.” He whispers.

Ghost hums an agreement, but neither of them move for a long time.

“Okay.” Ghost mumbles, breaking the spell first. He climbs up to his feet and looks down at johnny one last time, hooking an index finger to his chin. “I’ll see you in the morning, yeah?” Johnny can feel the rumble deep in his chest. He doesn’t reply, only nods as he watches Ghost disappear down the hallway.

Once he’s out of sight, Soap buries his face in his hands and groans softly. God, his whole body is alight. How’s he ever gonna sleep now? How’s he going to move on with his life knowing how ghost’s hands felt on his waist, his hips, his chin? His face feels hot, and he scratches at his chest, wringing his shirt he picked up in his hands nervously.

He lays his head back, staring at the water stains on the ceiling.

He’s fucked.

[the141ghost]

“It’s need-to-know, I’m afraid, Johnny,” Simon continued to tease, though he kept his eyes trained closely on Johnny’s face on the off chance that he actually began to feel hurt by it.

Truthfully, if anyone else had tried falling asleep on his shoulder, he might have broken their neck. He wasn’t exactly a tactile person, Johnny surely had figured that much out at this point, and having someone’s face that close to his own made his skin feel as if there were thousands of tiny bugs crawling just beneath it, scaling along his bones and burrowing deep into his muscle tissue.

The thought earned a soft lip curl of distaste. Sometimes he did worry about what went on inside his own head, it was an enigma even to him.

Then, he took on more of a serious tone. “I don’t think I could ever get sick of you, Johnny.” He’d said it with such a wholehearted conviction that there wasn’t any room for Johnny to try and argue even if he wanted to. It was true, it really was. Quite truthfully, Simon did worry he might be a little bit obsessed with him.

He could cross that bridge when he came to it.

The casual tone that Johnny spoke his wishes with threw Simon off, it almost seemed like he was making it out to just be something two soldiers did when they went on leave. Make plans to spend the entire time together and never leave each other's side.

Was that all this was going to be to Johnny? Two guys hanging out after having confessed their love for each other?

He had to shake the anxiety from his head, jarring himself a little too much and he tightened his grip on the sheets beneath him to stall the rapidly intensifying sensation of nausea. No, he couldn’t think like that, not about Johnny. 

Johnny asked. He asked. He wanted to, and all Simon had to do was calmly question his leave plans before he asked the question Simon had been trying to find the strength to ask himself.

If Johnny would be there with him, maybe Simon would take a bit more extended medical leave. He could have Price send him whatever work he needed to get done, and he could stay home with Johnny and pretend that they were the only people in the world.

Once again, every thought, every possibility of what might happen when they were together, under one roof, alone… It all seemed so beautifully unattainable. 

Simon wasn’t exactly built for that kind of life, the kind he’d tried to force onto himself when he first bought his house in Chester. It was a home, there were families that lived on his street and retired couples who still acted like they were in their honeymoon phase.

He wasn’t built for that kind of life, but, by fuck, did he wish he was.

“Yes,” Simon replied bluntly, somehow having condensed all those thoughts down into a mere few seconds before he nearly cut Johnny off with how eagerly he replied. “I’d… Yeah, I mean. I’d like for you to come with me, might make it-” Actually feel like a home if you were there? “-tolerable, you know, the leave.”

A small amount of concern began to smoulder inside Simon’s chest. Would it put Johnny off? To find out that his hard, sturdy exterior was just that?

That years ago, he’d bought a little house outright in the most peaceful neighbourhood he could find under the ignorant assumption that one day he might be able to live out the rest of his life quietly.

He hoped it wouldn’t bother him, but with his luck, he wouldn’t exactly be surprised if that was Johnny’s dealbreaker. It had all been going far too well, something was bound to go wrong.

“We’ll see, yeah? Don’t know how long you’d have to go back with your family for. Maybe you could just…” Move in with me, Simon mused, but he couldn’t find the right words to say it without thinking he sounded pathetic. “...stick around my place. Take a proper leave to go see them, not one where you can barely walk, ey?”

God, he was such a fucking coward.

---

If Elsie was to ask him if Soap would ever be the same after everything that had happened, he wouldn’t lie to her about it. 

He wouldn’t be the same, not even close. He’d still be their John, though. He’d need them more than ever if he had to leave permanently, having the rug pulled from beneath you like that was more than enough of a reason to go absolutely haywire or, as sometimes it happened, go completely the other way and shut down altogether.

Unfortunately, he’d seen both.

Price couldn’t hide the look of relief on his face upon hearing that Elsie approved of their bond. He’d have to tell Simon when he undoubtedly got into his own head and had a nervous breakdown because he actually had gotten attached to someone in such an intimate way, that Elsie had said that John talks about him like he’s his entire world.

They’d all said as much, he was sure, but sometimes that was all it needed. An outsider’s perspective to really get reality to set in.

If she ever told Price that she approved of them because Simon sounded like he was a good man, he’d laugh at the insinuation to hide the pride surging through him as if she had just complimented his actual son.

“Simon does care about your lad. Don’t think I’ve ever seen him be quite as gentle to anyone as he is with Johnny. Reckon it drives him mad, ey? You don’t have to worry about that.”

But, she seemed to begin to worry anyway.

She was right to worry, too. Technically they shouldn’t be together. But, there were a lot of dubious technicalities when it came to their little PMC. It was only an issue because of Simon’s rank. Because he was an officer, the legal services on base would have a field day if they ever found out about their… situation.

Price simply decided he’d make sure that never happened, he had enough things to hold over people’s heads to get the problems to disappear.

“He is, and there are rules about it. There are a lot of rules, and… Well, they aren’t really something I can discuss with non-military personnel,” Price began, speaking slowly and carefully. It wasn’t anything against her, he hoped she knew that. “Leave the technical side of things t’me, hm? I’ll make sure our boys don’t get themselves in any trouble they can’t get out of, even if I have to ignore some red tape t’do it.”

A subtle glance over, and Price felt satisfied that Elsie had managed to collect herself enough for them to leave the room. She might have to find another moment alone to break down again eventually, but for now, she was as solid as she was going to get.

“We oughta find your girls, ey? Don’t want to leave ‘em unsupervised for too long, not if they’re anything like your John.”

Despite the darker subject matter, Johnny gave a quiet huff of amusement. What else could he do, after all? It was the kind of thing you just had to laugh about and move on, because if you were to dwell on it for too long it would become overwhelming and you’d never be able to drag yourself back to the surface.

He didn’t know how Simon did it, in all honesty.

Johnny could at least help by putting a stop to the deep talks for now, which he did with his subject change.

Simon’s non-answer earned him a pout. “I think I do, as yer self-proclaimed favourite person,” he used Simon’s own words against him, and while he might tell himself that he didn’t care about the answer, there was that little (it was far more than little) jealous part of him that wondered who else Simon was or had been close enough with to let lay against him. He just wanted to make sure he didn’t have any competition, is all. Simon’s shoulders were his to take naps on.

Some day, he might go back to their previous conversation topic, actually be the one to ask. He was in no rush to dig up information on Simon’s family, though. With patience and care, Simon would tell him what he thought he needed to know, what he wanted Johnny to know - there was no need for him to push, he never had. At least, he hoped he never had. All the information he knew about Simon’s past and family had been given without pressing him for it, and Johnny was perfectly content to keep it that way.

The subject of their leave was brought up by Simon first. He didn’t want to get his hopes up, but he felt as if there were more to the simple question he had asked, like he was wishing for a specific answer from Johnny.

Johnny knew what answer he wanted from this.

“Well- I was thinkin’ we could spend it together? At yours? Just until ye go back to work, or ye get sick of me, however long ye want,” he tried his very best to keep his voice light as he suggested it, even if he’d never wanted something more in his life, “Then I can head back north fer the rest of it.”

His mind ran away with itself, picturing what it might be like. Falling asleep next to Simon, then waking with him still there too. Making breakfast for him (he didn’t trust Simon to cook) and eating together in the kitchen. Showering at Simon’s place. Showering with Simon at Simon’s place. The list went on.

It would be that domestic bliss he knew he’d always craved, somewhere deep within him. A small window of contentment in the chaos of their lives where, for a few weeks or for however long it may be, they could just pretend that they were normal. Two normal people who’d never felt the world pressing down on their shoulders, who’d never experienced as much grief and loss and horror as they had, who’d never known even known the weight of a gun in their hands.

Just a few weeks was all he asked for.

---

Simon it was. It felt more normal for Elsie to be calling him that rather than Ghost, yet another strange nickname one of this lot had. At least it seemed more suited to their line of work than Soap. She didn’t understand where that one had come from, and was sort of glad John didn’t like her calling him that, because it felt a bit ridiculous to do so.

The explanation Price gave on why they had the nicknames made sense, though. It was yet another thing she worried about when it came to John, that he’d come back from it all physically fine, but mentally… She wasn’t sure which would be more heartbreaking: him dying, or him living but never being the same - never being himself again.

She was glad to move on and stop thinking about that.

Elsie could tell what Price was doing; trying to get an idea for how she felt about her son and Simon potentially being together. Perhaps she should have been a little offended that he felt the need to do it, suggesting she might hold a relationship like that against her own son, but she actually found it a little endearing. It was comforting to know that he was this protective over John, that even when she couldn’t be around for him she could be certain someone was.

When she’d first picked up on the fact her son might be gay, she had admittedly been a little unsure about it. It just wasn’t something she was used to, and quite a few of the people she surrounded herself with didn’t approve of it. But, ultimately… as long as John was happy, she didn’t mind. And as long as he picked someone good - whatever gender they may be - she would approve of it.

Simon certainly did seem to make him happy, and if what Price said about the lengths he would go to in order to keep her boy safe were true then they were good for each other. Especially if it was also true that them being together meant they would always try extra hard to come home unscathed.

She couldn’t think of a better person for him.

“If they’re happy and keeping each other safe, then that’s good enough fer me,” Elsie answered with a smile, “John talks about him like he’s his entire world, and from what you say—” and from what she’d seen earlier, “—Simon cares about him just as much. That’s all I want for him.”

She had missed out on that, so she hoped life would be kinder to John.

"Is it, uh... is it allowed, though?" she asked, slightly hesitant, "He is John's... superior. I would've thought there would be rules about that kind of thing." She didn't want to bring it up, bring Price's attention to reasons they shouldn't be happy together, but she had to know.

[yurtletheturtlehenderson]

COSMIC - S3:E4; Chapter Four, The Sauna Test - [Pt. 1]

A Will Byers x Reader Series

𝘔𝘪𝘬𝘦, 𝘓𝘶𝘤𝘢𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘞𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘶𝘪𝘵 𝘌𝘭, 𝘔𝘢𝘹 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘠/𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘔𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘍𝘭𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘳'𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘙𝘰𝘣𝘪𝘯, 𝘚𝘵𝘦𝘷𝘦, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘋𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘶𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘬 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘓𝘺𝘯𝘹.

📝: Thank you guys so much for being patient, I really didn't expect an update till after I had finished moving but your excitement and comments from this preview alone inspired me and I found moments here and there it got me on a roll so thank youu!!

⚠️: anxiety attack, kidnapping and nightmare sequence featuring the following; strangulation, kidnapping, possible claustrophobia triggers(??)/imprisonment [skip markers for all, one for anxiety the second for kidnapping and dream sequence] and finally, not a warning but I feel like I need to make this not so depressing but SO MUCH GAY FLUFF YALL 🌈🌈🌈

||𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐏𝐎𝐕||

Another bolt of lightning flashed across the sky, and a sudden bright light filled the bathroom.

After leaving Heather's house, the three of us had decided to crash at Max's. Neither of us really wanted to be alone after everything happened today, so one quick call to my mom and a note at the cabin and here we are.

I stood before the bathroom mirror with slightly sunken eyes and the tap running on cold as I brushed my teeth mindlessly. The clothes Max had found that would fit me felt snug and warm, just out of the dryer and they smelled like her. It was a welcome change to my drenched clothes now in the wash.

The thunder was mostly muted from inside but not altogether, and I could hear the muffled voices of Max and El from down the hall as I brush my teeth. I try to focus on the gentle pitter-patter of rain on Max's roof and the calm lull it brought to the atmosphere but it was of little help. I could still hear Billy's voice clear as day,

"What a pleasure it is to meet you El. And of course, who could possibly forget..."

《���••》

I watched as Billy slowly wrenched his head towards mine, his hollow gaze falling over me.

•••

I step out onto the porch, slipping the hood back over my head when I feel it again.

•••

She winced as she whipped around to face him, his sunken, darkened eyes widening as they pierced her own.

•••

The sound of my name on his tongue made my skin crawl, his voice all the way in the back of his throat.

《•••》

You

[■■■■■■■■Anxiety Trigger■■■■■■■■]

Another clap of thunder explodes in the distance and I drop my toothbrush, gripping the edge of the counter. Swallowing deep gulps of air, I try to remember the breathing technique Joyce told me about.

Breath in for four.

I draw in a slow deep breaths, letting my eyes flutter closed.

Hold for seven.

As I count the seconds, I follow her instructions and try to focus on my other senses to ground me. I first notice the water running in the sink and the pitter-patter of rain on the roof. The smell of coconut from the hand soap. And even the warm feel of the clothes from the dryer.

Breath out for eight.

I release the built-up air in my lungs in a steady puff but I don't feel my grip on the counter loosen any. The chill is still in my bones, and I can still feel his eyes on me.

Breath in.

The cold, hollowness in his eyes.

Hold.

The blood all over this very bathroom, and El's frightened cries on the floors of the locker room.

I double over the counter, releasing the air tightening my lungs before I can even get to five. I sigh, steadying my breathing and regaining any I had lost as I stare nose-first into the running water disappearing down the drain. I feel hot tears stinging my eyes as the panic builds and I curse under my breath.

I haven't had an attack in so long.

[■■■■■■■■Over■■■■■■■■]

Sighing again, I cup my palms under the water and splash it over my face, fighting a wince when the hot water burns my face.

I wipe away the beads of water dripping over my cheeks and brow, feeling as the air turns it instantly to cool and that's when I frown.

Wait.

Quickly, I swipe the excess water off my eyes and look down at the tap.

It was all the way on cold, as it was when I first turned it on.

I look back at my hands, noting their usual s/c shade. No hint of light or heat in sight. I look back in the mirror, searching my eyes and lips for hints of my usual strain but I find nothing.

My eyes drop back to the running tap, my face written with confusion and head cocked as I watch steam pour out from the stream of running water. I test the metal spout pouring out water and sure enough, the metal is already warming confirming my suspicions.

A sudden familiar voice spoke out from the other side of the closed door, but it wasn't enough to pry my frown away from the running water.

"Y/n?"

It was Max.

"You alright in there?"

My heart was still beating sporadically and my skin was flushing familiarly but I tried to remind myself where I was. That I was safe. And clearly, the Mayfields needed to have their plumbing checked since their heating was flipped.

The thought was enough to expel a sharp breath of relief, and I seemed to snap back to reality. Mostly.

I switched off the water, the cold water tap squeaking as I did so. Quiet returned to the room, and I shook out my hands in the sink and cleared my throat.

"Yeah, I'll be right out," I say, wincing at the waver in my voice.

I picked up the dropped toothbrush and shook out the droplets, finally deciding to tuck it away on the counter where I could deal with it later. Thankfully, it hadn't actually been mine but a spare they had among a pack of unopened toothbrushes.

I look back at my reflection, drying the remaining water off my face with a towel, and sigh.

Clearly, it had been a stressful night and things were starting to get to me. That's all. I don't know what's up with Billy, but something's definitely wrong. I know I'm not wrong either if El can feel it too.

Breath in.

I double-check the counter, checking I have everything. The image pushes itself into my head again, and I wince but I don't stop my breathing exercise.

Hold.

"And of course, who could forget..."

Y/n counted each painful second as she held the air captive in her lungs, trying with everything in her to focus on her breathing over the hollow voice of Billy Hargrove echoing in her mind. As she did so, she turned and made her way for the bathroom door, unknowingly leaving behind the still undrained ice bath that was now beginning to boil.

"You."

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

"Which one?" Max asks with an adorable grin.

"I don't know," El mumbled weakly with a shrug. She peered up at me as I returned to my spot in between them on the floor. "What do you think?"

I settle myself under Max's comforter and into her rainbow sheets on our makeshift nest on the floor. As I readjusted myself on the pillow, I shrugged half-heartedly, not really trying my best to act totally present.

Max sits up, growing serious, and grabs both our gazes.

"Hey," she says, her voice soft. "there's nothing to worry about anymore, okay?"

The fake smile fell off my face and my eyes fell to my hands. They were wringing together in my lap. El's eyes flickered to me, her face dropping a little as if she recognized my state and spoke up.

"It doesn't make sense,"

"What doesn't make sense?" Max asks.

"What does?" I say under my breath, wringing my hands tighter.

"Heather," El continued. "The blood. The ice."

"Heather had a fever, so she took a cold bath, but she's better now. That has to be it," Max says, sounding almost as if she's trying to convince herself as well. "I don't know where that blood came from, but... we saw her."

She looks between me and El, trying to look as reassuring as possible.

"We all saw her. She's totally fine."

El didn't seem to buy it any more than I did.

"What about Billy?"

"What about him?"

"He seemed... wrong." She says and I nod.

Max gave a weak chuckle. "Wrong is kind of like his default. But it's nice to know he's not a murder, because that would've totally sucked."

I finally break my silence with an involuntary scoff. My next words come tumbling out without me thinking.

"Yeah, especially on top of everything else,"

Max replicates my scoff and I look at her almost desperately.

"Okay, but you get what I'm saying, right? I've met him and he does not act like that Max," my voice lowers a bit from its almost defensive pitch. "I don't think I need to remind you what he did to Lucas, or you, or how he treats me. I may not know him like you, but he's never that polite, even to people he likes, and I know you know it too,"

Max just stares for half a moment, not saying or doing anything but biting her lip. Finally, she sighs at her lap, pensively.

"I get what you're saying," she says, looking between El and me again. "Both of you. He was being totally weird, I'll give you that. I just really think we need to be careful about this." She shrugs. "For all we know, he was probably trying to impress the Holloways."

She makes suggestive eyes with a disgusted, uncomfortable laugh as she elbowed me. "Maybe he really wants to get closer to Heather,"

I laugh, making a face.

"Oh, barf,"

A small smile finds its way onto El's lips and she reluctantly joins into our laughter with a frown. "What?"

"You don't want to know," I chuckle, burying myself further under the sheets.

El seemed satisfied enough with my answer and followed my lead. She shivered a little on my right, as Max got settled back in on my left. I looked over at El when I felt her shifting around. She was snuggling closer, and her arms wrapped around my left like a koala bear, her eyes threatening to close. I watched her with a small flutter in my stomach as she nuzzled her head into my shoulder and gave a content sigh. "Warm," I heard her mumble.

I didn't dare move, other than grinning down at her and tucking my head on hers as we both looked over at Max and the pile of comics she had.

Not letting go of my arm, El sat her head up a little and pointed to the only cover with Wonder Woman on it with a curious look in her eye.

"Who... is that?"

Max and I both perk up as she grabs the comic.

"See, this is why you can't just hang out with Mike all the time." She explains. "This is Wonder Woman. A.K.A. Princess Diana,"

The three of us simultaneously lean back against our propped-up pillows on the wall, snuggling into one another. I take hold of the comic for Max, turning to page one as Max and I begin pointing out different pictures on the page.

"She's from Paradise Island, which is, like, this hidden island there are only women Amazon warriors."

El smiles and I point to her lasso of truth.

"Yeah, and she's devoted to bringing good to the world, like most superheroes. She even has this lasso - which is kind of a long rope tied in a circle - that helps her fight crime, and it can even make people tell the truth..."

"It's super cool," Max jumps in.

That flutter grows as I watch El point out different things on the page with a smile that only grew the more she learned. Or the more Max would light up with another Wonder Woman fact. And minute by minute, as the night crept on just like this, the more I forgot about the horrifying questions of today and more on my best friends beside me.

I was safe.

For now.

[■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■]

When Tom Holloway awoke, he immediately knew something was wrong.

His hands were bound behind his back, some sort of cloth was wrapped around his head and stuffed in his mouth as a gag and he felt nauseous. Never mind the fact his head was throbbing and bleeding, and he was somewhere dark, cold, and unknown.

That's when he remembered.

Heather.

The girls in his living room had just left, his wife Janet was acting strange and... she was drugged. And it had been his Heather. His little baby Heather and that boy.

He had to get out, he had to find them. He had to get to his family.

He fights with a grunt against the restraints around his wrists. He winces as the rope stings his burns his skin and as he squirms he gets a better feel for what he's tied to. It's some sort of pipe.

And yet he's so focused on his escape and finding his family, he doesn't realize his wife is by his side.

Her muffled, horrified shrieks as she comes to.

"Tom!"

He lets out a sob when he sees her, in his voice a jumbled mixture of relief and sorrow. She looked no better than he felt, and steady tears streaked down her cheeks with mascara.

A pair of footsteps grab their attention to two figures approaching from the shadows. The very same people to have brought them here.

Heather and Billy.

Tom lets out another involuntary whimper as his daughter approaches him, a blank faraway look in her eyes.

"Hi, Daddy,"

He watches tearfully as she kneels down to his height, and removes the bounds from his mouth.

"Heather..." he gasps, swallowing fearful tears and the lump in his throat. He throws one cautious glare over her shoulder at the young man before softening again at his daughter. "Sweetie... whatever this is, whatever he's got you into, you don't have to do this. You can stop this."

"There is no stopping it, Daddy," she says in an unusually cold voice. "You'll see."

With the ghost of a smile, she cups his tear-stained cheek and he cries again.

"No," he silently begs.

But she's already on her feet, returning to Billy's side as he approaches Janet as Heather had Tom.

Her whimpers grow more frantic as he reaches for her, and before she knows it she's wriggling free from the cloth gag he removes from her mouth. She wastes no time in crying out to her baby girl.

"Heather, please! Heather!"

The words died out into a fearful whisper when Billy's finger pushes against her lips, silencing her. She feels her whole body tremoring as he leans in close, his voice that same gravely tone he let slip earlier that night.

"Try not to move."

They fear the worst only to watch confused as he rises to his feet and retreats up the steps with their daughter.

"No," Janet mumbles tearfully after them. "No!"

"Heather!" Tom cries, fighting hard against the restraints no matter how hard they hurt. "Heather!"

Something in the dark abyss of shadows stole their attention. Something Tom almost misses at first It was a most unusual sound. Something low and otherworldly... almost like a growl reverberating off of tin.

They watched with widened, bloodshot eyes as they try to make out the great beast emerging from the shadows.

"Jesus Christ,"

It's all Tom can bring himself to say, his voice in a trembling whisper.

What marched out from the shadows on its six, wobbling legs was something else entirely. A monster, he was not sure he was seeing. A demon he was not ready to face. A horror, he could not possibly fathom.

The Mind Flayer.

He had evolved past his shadowy form, yet he always lurked in darkness. He was darkness. His features remained spider-like, six long legs as tall as the ceiling it was now scraping, branching out into smaller tendrils like one grotesque, haunched tree.

But the worst part of all - the sickening detail that revealed itself as it grew closer.

The Mind Flayer was made entirely out of flesh and bone.

Tom's cries for help were stolen right out of his mouth when he felt the first touch of the monster.

Tom couldn't register much through all the fear. He felt the cold, slimy grasp swallow up his face just as surely as beard his wife's horrified shrieks. He tried to scream, tried to breathe but any and every effort in doing so brought with it more icy sludge entering his system from the source. It was like swallowing sand as he drowned, gasping in large gulps of seawater that slowly filled his lungs.

Only worse. Tom was alive to feel it. To live through it, to breath through it.

All Tom Holloway could do was peer up at the snarling monster from his one uncovered eye as he feels the icy darkness envelop him completely.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

"What on earth are you doing here?" He asks. "Is something wrong?"

"We just... wanted to make sure everything was okay," Max stammered, just as confused as her friends.

A look of concern flashed over Billy's face as he inched closer. "Okay? Why wouldn't it be okay?"

"You know damn well why," I grumble, my gut lurching at my sudden bravery but Billy doesn't seem to notice.

In fact, no one did. I look at Max and El, but they haven't even flinched, neither have the man or the woman sitting in the dining room.

I looked to my left at El expectantly, as if I know she's going to speak. As if I've lived this moment before.

I'm relieved to see she doesn't seem to buy into Billy's act either.

"Where is she?" El all but growls.

I shifted on my feet, barely noticing the familiar tug of those words in the back of my head. But what would Billy say?

His eyes snap to El, and she could have sworn she almost saw that mask break.

"I'm sorry," he said slowly. "Where is who?"

"Well, they're a little burnt, I'm sorry,"

All eyes turn to the chipper young girl striding in with a tray of cookies in her hands and a lingering smile on her face.

"Heather," I gasp, feeling a wave of relief and fear all at once.

The only troubling thing about her was the crisp cinnamon cookies in her hands. She had trailed off upon noticing the three young visitors.

"Heather!" Billy smiles, welcoming her as if she was an old friend.

I just felt like I'm seeing a ghost.

"This is my sister, Maxine," Billy chirps, turning back to the three confused girls. "And I'm sorry," he says to El, with an almost edge to his voice. "I did not quite catch your name."

I inch closer to her, my shoulder wedging over hers in a protective stance but that felt useless.

With a determined look in her eyes, she matches his steely gaze.

"El."

I grimace as Billy forces a smile. It was chilling. Truly haunting. But he was still angry, I could tell.

In fact, he was livid. Why was he so livid? What had El done?

"El." He hums. "What a pleasure it is to meet you El. And of course, who could possibly forget..."

His eyes lurched to mine and I felt my stomach drop, maybe as fast as the temperature in the whole house. Like I was plunged into ice.

I wanted to move, I tried to run but I couldn't. My legs were rooted to the spot like they were when it really happened.

And then...

His voice was a growl that grew in the back of his throat, his lips curling back in a snarl as he bared his teeth.

"You."

His hand was around my throat and my feet left the ground. I tried crying for help but my voice was gone, leaving me no choice but to claw at Billy's arms as I fought for breath. My legs were finally moving again, kicking and squirming as I tried to reach him or even the ground but they never did, no matter how close.

I had to fight to look at El and Max but they were gone, as were the Holloways. Fading away like smoke.

"Let me go!" I somehow cry. "Let me go, now!"

He blinks at me, his face a clean slate. Nothing in his features, he's almost like a projection.

My feet return to the floor and tears flood my cheeks. But I'm not free, not any more than he had listened.

He started off down the hall, where we first came from, my throat still in his grip. I was dragging along the floor, my feet kicking and shoes grabbing the wood linoleum for traction but the hall just kept getting longer.

I was crying heavily, pleading with him to let me go. I tried and tried with all my might to hurt him, but no matter what I threw at him he just kept dragging me down the hall.

He took a left and I watched behind us, still fighting as the walls gradually changed from olive-green to grey.

I sent another long, hot burst of air up at him but he didn't flinch.

The grey paint turned to white.

I clawed and scraped and melted his skin, or at least I tried to but his grip never loosened.

The white painted walls turned to a white brick.

I got more frantic, kicking and even harder and screaming at the top of my lungs, embracing the hurt. The walls shook and cracked but Billy kept walking, dragging me along.

The white brick turned to white tile as we made another turn.

"No! No! NO!"

Billy looked down at me for the first time since he grabbed me. There was a haunted, almost painted-on smile on his face as he peered down. The large fluorescent lights above our heads tinged a sickly green, hurting my eyes almost as bad as the pad of my feet trying to grip the linoleum floors.

"But you belong here."

"NO! LET ME GO! LET ME GO!"

I continue to wail and kick and scream, even as we come to a slow. He yanks me to my feet, and I hear a dreadful click of a lock that makes me shudder.

"No," I sob. "I can't. I don't... I don't want to be here,"

Billy looks deep into my eyes, feeling like a whole other person entirely. A third person, more specifically.

Not only that, he sounds horrifically familiar.

He pushes something over my shoulder and I hear the creak of a door. And before I can protest, my body is thrown into an all brick white room as the voice continues I believe to be Billy but I realize is an all too familiar doctor.

"You don't mean that, my dearest Nine," I hear his withering voice echoing all around me as I catch my breath on all fours where I had fallen. "I know you don't want to upset your Papa,"

Tears fall from my cheeks, my rage and fear building as I prepare to throw everything I have at him. No matter what it costs.

With heaving breaths I push myself off the cold tile floors and turn to the door I was just thrown through. But all I'm met with is the same white walls. There's no door, no way out. And no one else around.

I'm all alone.

It's then I remember, I've been here before. I'm brought here often. Somewhere in the back of my head I finally register this is a nightmare but I'm too deep inside to pull myself out. Instead, in a plight of anger, I throw my fists in the wall repeatedly as I cry out in anguish until I have no breath left.

My eyes snap to my arm when I feel an excruciating pain concentrated onto my left inner wrist. I choke on another sob as I stare at the three black numbers tattooed into my skin.

𝟶𝟶𝟿

Growing more frantic, I pace the walls as my tears return, running my hands along the wall for any sort of false door or hatch until my nerve ending in my hands are shot and numb.

I collapse into the corner, hugging my chest and the white, spotted lab gown over my body.

Everything's building in me, heat sizzling off my shoulders and melting the wall and for a moment I think I found my way out. I can melt the walls, break them down but I try and try and-

[■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■]

||𝟑𝐑𝐃 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐏𝐎𝐕||

"Y/N!"

The girl shot awake, kicking off the sheets that clung to her sweating skin, and gulped down desperate breaths of air. Max and El jumped when she did, but it Y/n moments to realize they were sitting opposite her. Farther away.

Realizing what had happened, she doubled over and threw her face in her hands with an exasperated sigh.

"Shit..." she mumbles, rubbing at the sleepiness in her eyes. "Guys, I'm sorry. I should have warned you. I've been having really bad nightmares lately and... guys?"

Y/n had to really look to see them, more specifically the looks on their faces. Hardly any light was streaming in through the windows, the sky a light and bright cobalt. But it was enough to barely accentuate the worried frown on El's face and the painful wince Max wore as she clutched her forearm and the thin layer of sweat coating their skin.

"What-? What happened?" She croaked, looking to Max. "Are you okay?"

Max shot you a quick, forced smile as she still clutched her arm.

"I'm fine, but... are you?"

Her stomach dropped and turned all at once, her mouth falling into a gasp as she brought her hands in towards herself and away from her friends.

"Did I... did I do that to you?"

She shook her head quickly, trying to examine her arm in the dark and that's when Y/n barely makes it out: a spot on her paled skin was almost the size of a coaster; dark and festering.

"Oh, my god, I didn't mean- I am so sorry, I-" Y/n's mouth remained open but the words kept getting stuck in her throat.

Finally, she jumped to her feet and kicked off the sheets still sticking to her legs, and made her way to the door.

"Oh, my god. Oh, my god. Oh, my god. Oh, my god. Oh, my god. Oh, my god. Oh, my god. Oh, my god. Oh, my god,"

El and Max watched as she began speedwalking out into the hall and heading for the linen closet, her voice trailing off with her in a familiar Henderson fashion. They knew they would be unable to stop her, especially in this condition.

Instead, they looked to one another, silently sharing their worry at what had just transpired.

El had stirred from the sudden and intense heat that took over Max's room, her plastic water bottle now nearly half empty and filled with condensation. And Max had awoken not from the heat but the sudden, subtle tremors shaking the house and the small glow that was peaking through her eyelids.

When she had cracked her eyes open, she had seen Y/n on the neighboring pillow, a pained look on her tinted face. Hints of her veins were cropping up on the edge of her lips and she had then felt the light kicks of her friend. She had pulled herself up, rubbing at her eyes and that's when she noticed how much she had been sweating.

The room was still in a steady rumble and El was already awake.

"What's going on?" El had whispered from across their friend.

"I don't know, I think..." Max peered down at Y/n with a pitiful look. "I think she's having a nightmare. I think she's mentioned those lately."

"What do we do?"

Max shrugged, jumping slightly when the rumble had grown loud enough for concern.

"Well, we gotta wake her," Max had said, anxiously.

Y/n's kicking had returned and soft whimpers were escaping her lips and Max felt something tug on her heart.

She reached forward, only for a hand to grab around her forearm.

Max looked down at El's hand then at El with a confused frown.

"What?"

El shoots an unsure look between her and Y/n, her face written with unease.

"Try another way," she whispers.

"I'm not sure what else to do," Max says with a shrug. "Do you?"

El frowned again, finally shaking her head in defeat. Whimpering cries grew louder and they looked to Y/n who was freely crying. And looking less than compliant, and against her better judgment, El let's go.

Max wasn't naive. She knew the likely dangers of waking her friend but she didn't want her to suffer. So instead, she bunched up the blankets over her hand and began to softly shake her.

"Y/n..."

No response. She just continued to cry, and Max had continued to shake the more she grew worried. Before she knew it, Y/n had thrown herself on her back, her hands grabbing for Max's.

Y/n kept tossing, speaking in a clear voice. "Let me go."

Max felt the intense flare of heat in her arm and she yanked it back, scrambling backward as she hissed an impressive string of curses. El had jumped, looking desperately to Max as they both felt the air grow increasingly hotter.

She watched wide-eyed as she clutched her arm, and it hadn't been until El intervened they finally got her awake.

El returned her eyes to the lesion on Max's arm and her face grows soft.

"Really okay?"

Max nodded. "Yeah. I'll be fine."

On cue, Y/n had returned from the hall with a wet washcloth, aloe vera, and a thin bandage.

"Again, Max, I am so so sorry,"

"It's fine, really. I know you didn't do it on purpose," she winced again when it stings. "Can't say it feels great, though,"

"Here,"

Y/n flipped on the light on Max's bedside and returned to her friends' side with the supplies.

"I hadn't realized how bad it's been getting lately," Y/n explains as she begins tending to Max. "My dreams I mean, and all this,"

She looks between El and Max with a weak wince before giving Max a warning look. The redhead nods and Y/n places the washcloth onto the wound and Max hisses. It was barely colder than room temperature but that helped.

"Sorry, sorry, I know," Y/n says. Thinking twice, she hands it off to Max with a guilty smile. "Probably better you hold onto that,"

Max nodded and took the washcloth in hand as Y/n prepared the aloe vera.

"What happened?" El asked suddenly.

Y/n looked curiously at El before she realized she was asking about her dream. Her stomach dropped again, and she fought the urge to touch her throat.

"Just some freaky, memories and... well, not memories I guess. It's hard to explain."

"You can tell us," El said, touching her arm as she remembered the words Y/n had spoken to her so long ago that she had always cherished. "If you need anything... at all... we're here."

A grateful smile broke out on her face as she looked at her best friends. "Thank you."

Returning to the twist cap, she pours out a quarter-size drop of the green sludge and Max peels back the washcloth, reluctantly.

"Don't worry, I'm all cooled down," Y/n laughed. Max nodded and handed out her arm and Y/n got to work as she talked. "It really is hard to explain," she sighs. "It was last night, with Billy... but it wasn't. He was after me, and he... he hurt me. And the next thing I knew I was being dragged back."

"Back where?" The two girls both ask.

Y/n pours another drop on her fingers and continues to spread rub gentle circles into Max's skin as she looks between her friends. She bites her lip, almost afraid to bring it up in front of El.

"...at the lab." El subtly stiffens. "Which I know is impossible cause I've never been there. But it felt so real. To be honest, I've been having dreams like these - of there - a lot lately."

"That's awful,"

"I'm sorry,"

Y/n shrugs, grabbing for the ace bandage and thin square of gauze. She delicately places it over the wound and she grimaces when she gets a better long-term what she had done. It was dark red and puffy, and Y/n hoped her makeshift treatment would work.

"Not really much I can do," she says, Max holding one end of the strip as Y/n began to wrap. "I just try to remind myself I made it out."

Securing the bandage, she instinctually places a hand over the cloth, securing her work, and smiles. She turns to El, a new seriousness in her eyes and Y/n takes El's hand in her own, giving it a quick squeeze.

"We both did,"

El's smile returns and she feels a warmth spread through her and into her chest. A comforting one, much unlike the heat still lingering in the room.

At the thought, El looks at Max curiously.

"Do your windows open?"

"Yeah," she frowns. "Why?"

El flicks her head and a soft click goes off behind them, followed by the suction of air leaving the room suddenly. Y/n and Max yank their gaze to the window to see it peeled open, letting in a cool breeze through the half-shut blinds.

She swipes at her nose, and the room falls silent as the three meet eyes and a grin breaks out on all three as they begin to laugh.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

First Nations: "Invest in Native Communities"

A Aide Variety of Links and Info on Multiple Native Owned Businesses to Support

Navajo Water Project

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

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[soyforramen]

If I'm not too late, for the writing prompts: 9 and/or 47, dealer's choice

·  “Just tell why you did it!” “Because I’m in love with you, okay!”

·  You’re my ex but I think I still have feelings for you

Angst below, in an AU timeline...ish

 --

             It felt like a fire had lit up her lungs, the smoke crawling up her throat and choking her until her breath rasped out into the cold night air.  Behind her, Jughead stumbled, his breathing coming like tidal waves.  Betty spared a quick glance at him as she yanked at his arm and pointed to the ridge beyond.  

             “Just over there,” she lied.  

             It was becoming easier and easier to lie to him.

             On their way up the ridge her feet slipped in the muddy wet leaves.  Her knees hit the ground and her teeth rattled hard enough to see stars.  Jughead slipped an arm around her waist and dragged her up the rest of the hill, his breath erratic.

             It was another ten minutes until they finally reached Archie’s car, the only one in the Sweetwater parking lot.  Not many people went hiking at 4 a.m., let alone to go chase down a kidnapped ex.

             Thunder rolled above them, the vibrations lingering deep in her bones, and they leaned around the car.  Jughead’s hand were on his knees, his breath gasping and desperate. His wiped at the water trickling down his face and coughed hard.  Betty kneeled on the ground, hands grasping at the loose asphalt as she forced herself to focus on counting rather than what she’d encountered tonight.

             “What the hell was that for?” Jughead wheezed.

             Betty shook her head, still unable to talk through her sore throat.  She let out a slow breath – 1, 2, 3, 4 – and breathed in again.

             “Why’d you try and save me?” he yelled over the thunder.  A crack of lightening illuminated them and she was startled by the intensity in his eyes.

             “Did you want me to leave you back in there?” she shot back.  Stars colored her eyes as she tried to stand, and she listed to one side, grasping for the car to keep her balance.

             Jughead snarled and paced towards the far end of the parking lot, ignoring the pouring rain around them.  From his limp, Betty assumed he had a Charlie Horse.  Betty wanted to chide him about not taking care of his body, about his inability to treat it as something better than a dumpster for all his repressed feelings.  It wasn’t her place, though.  Not anymore.

             Besides, it seemed cruel to point out, especially after he’d been on the verge of being tortured –

             “I don’t need your help,” he said when he returned, his words still punctured by small gasps.  “I had everything covered.”

             She snorted and stood up to face him.  A chill ran through her as the wind picked up, but she diverted the movement into massaging at her damaged wrist.  Jughead, still as perceptive as ever, didn’t miss her wince. He reached towards her, his eyes fixed on her wrist.  Realizing what he was about to do, he stopped short and bent over to retie his shoe.  

             Even from this angle Betty could see how thin he was.

             “I’m sure you did,” she said.  Even as the adrenaline seeped out of her body she still couldn’t keep the acid from her voice.  “That great, big escape plan of yours was going swell, though I’m curious as to what you were planning after you got chained up in the basement and held to the wall with duct tape.  Or did I miss something when I broke in?”

             Half her words were covered up by an angry burst of thunder.  Perhaps it was for the best; they’d both been through a lot.  Or, perhaps it would have been better to put it all out there, fight out their anger until there was nothing left remaining.

             Jughead’s lip curled, and Betty knew he’d caught enough.

             Betty narrowed her eyes.  Despite everything, she still didn’t know whether to trust him. There had been too much time between them, too much space and anger and -  Not to mention his aliens and her serial killer.

             “You can’t drive stick with a broken wrist.”

             “It’s not broken,” she said petulantly, her lip pursed like Juniper’s when she didn’t get the last cookie.

             Knowing that he was right, she dug into her coat pocket, angry with Jughead and herself.  Another gust of wind blew through their wet cloths, and they huddled into the cab of the truck.  As the engine turned over, Jughead scrubbed at the window with his damp shirtsleeves, trying to break through the fog that had followed them.  The water streaked across, unable to change, and he gave up on the idea.  With a grunt, he shifted into drive and turned towards town.

             “Stupid,” he muttered, and Betty side-eyed him.  

             Her first instinct was that he was talking about her, and she bit down on the inside of her cheek to keep from snapping.  After everything she’d done tonight, and he still couldn’t think anyone could care for him.  Betty stared out of the window, her fingers pushing and prodding against the delicate skin on her wrist, revealing in the sharp jolts of pain and irritation. Eventually the pain cleared through her fog of anger and she realized he was likely talking to himself.

             “Just –“

             Jughead stopped, cursing under his breath.  They came to a blind curve, halfway under water, and he shifted to first gear.  As they crept along Betty’s eyes began to shut.  She could feel her muscles relaxing as the adrenaline wore off, and the only thing that kept her awake was the potholes in the road.  In the flashes of lightening above them, she could see Jughead’s jaw clenching as he worked to keep something in check.

             Fine, she thought idly as darkness consumed her. Let him be mad.  It wouldn’t be the first time he didn’t want to be near her.

             She was startled awake when the engine stopped. In front of them was the Andrews’ home, normally bright and cheery, but in this light it was eerily still in the pouring rain.

             “He’s not home tonight,” Jughead said flatly.  “You can stay in his room.  Unless you want to go home.”

             Betty shook her head, trying not to let her fear overtake her.  The house was empty and would be for the next week.  They still hadn’t heard anything about Polly, and Alice had taken the twins upstate to try and get their mind off of it.  After tonight (any night, every night, ever since – she cut off that particular voice, struggling to keep that terrible week out of her head), the last thing she wanted to do was to be alone.  

             The thought sent a shudder through her and she wrapped her arms around herself to try and keep the chill from sprinting down her back.

             Jughead nodded, still staring straight ahead.  He’d pulled the keys from the ignition and was now jangling them in his hand.  He opened the car door and stepped out into the rain, not seeming to care whether Betty followed him or not.  She scrambled out of the car, towards the front door and slipped in after him.

             She held her breath, waiting in the long stretch of dark, for the lights to turn on.   When they did, it was nothing more than Archie’s living room, still messy and smelling slightly of old clothing and pizza.  

             Jughead stalked towards the kitchen, his face set in an emotion she couldn’t discern anymore.  A gut feeling told her it was because she was a stranger here, one who was encroaching not only on his ‘investigation’ but also on his personal space.  

             “I’ll make coffee,” Jughead said gruffly.  “Take a shower or you’ll catch a cold.”

             The way he’d said it, matter-of-factly and without any emotion behind it, contrasted so sharply with the fact that he’d remembered. He remembered, and wanted to let her know he’d remembered that she was prone to get colds when it rained. These little things twisted the knife deeper into her back and she tried not to think about her last foray into this home.

             “Thanks,” Betty said softly.

             She barely glanced at the mirror when she stepped into the bathroom.  A thick cover of mud coated her lower half, while leaves had taken up residence in her hair.  Her wrist, still throbbing and sore, was a swollen bright red.  As bad as she might have looked, Betty revealed in the metaphorical duality of it all.  Long ago, she might have said she was a good person, untouched by the corruption of life. Now, though, she felt as dirty and broken as she  looked.

             Pity about the boots though.  Real suede apparently didn’t mix well with the more wild side of life.  Betty didn’t dare think about what it would cost to buy Veronica a new pair.

             The pipes groaned as the water warmed up.  Peeling off her clothes was a chore, the damp, clinging clothes didn’t want to cooperate.  The wet slap of them on the floor was a loud echo as she stepped into the shower.  

             The warm water was practically sinful after tonight. She let it cascade down her skin and shut her eyes to the world around her.  Every inch of her body felt sore and bruised.  She dreaded even thinking about how she’d feel tomorrow.

             A draft of cold air sent goosebumps along her skin and Betty stilled.  She trusted Jughead, of course, and yet…

             The door shut again, and she peered around the curtain to find a set of clothing on the counter.  Her heart stopped when she recognized a grey S from so long ago.  Reluctant to let it out of her sight, Betty pulled the shower curtain to.   He’d always had a bad habit of forming sentimental attachments to things, to items that had no right to such kindness.

             But to have kept that shirt all these years?  To have kept her shirt?  Surely not.  Surely her eyes, tired and sore from lack of sleep, had deceived her.

             The ghost of her guilt churned again, deeper this time. A sharp pain went through her stomach – of guilt?  regret? hope?

             Betty picked up the bar of soap in her uninjured hand and scrubbed at her skin, hot tears running cold against her cheeks.  Careless.  She was always so careless with everything worth while.  Archie’s hands ghosted across her skin, his lips, his whispers they both knew were lies.  She was only looking for an escape, not another well to get trapped in.  This time, though, she couldn’t think of a single way to escape.

             A sob broke from her lips, and then another, and another.  She shoved her fist against her mouth and curled up at the bottom of the tub.   It was all she could do to keep from breaking up.  A part of her, the one that saw reason, was surprised it hadn’t happened earlier tonight when she’d seen Jughead half-conscious with a red welt on his forehead.  His head lolled absently against a support beam.  His hands tightly bound with duct tape.  Tight enough they were turning purple.  Those stupid glasses lay at his feet only to reflect the beam of her flashlight onto the chains that bound him.

             Images, real and imagined, flashed before her eyes. The well.  TBK laughing above her.  Polly, bound and gagged in the back of a cab.  The twins, facedown in Sweetwater. Squeeky Fromme’s dead eyes staring up at the night sky, milky and flat.  Jughead’s hands –

             Betty shook her head, trying to shake the images away. No, that hadn’t happened, she chanted internally.  It’s not real.  

             Not this time.  

             Long after the water had run cold, Betty finally came back to herself.  Her movements were slow and forced; her head felt uselessly full of cotton.  With a groan, she stood up and gasped as pins and needles threw her back to the ground.  Unable to do anything, Betty turned off the water, gritting her teeth as she waited for the feeling to come back into her legs.  

             Into her life, even.

             Now, with only the steady drip of a leaky faucet to keep her company, Betty heard just how quiet it was in the house.  The wind blew outside, stronger than ever, but it seemed as if the house itself had gone into hibernation.  Jughead had likely gone to bed, she realized.  Or maybe he’d been smart enough to know he should see a doctor after all.

             Perhaps that would be best.  Then they could both pretend tonight had never happened and go back to the chilly detente they’d found themselves living in.  

             With an anticipatory wince, Betty hauled herself up and out of the tub.  As she reached for the towel, she realized that the shirt loudly proclaimed ‘El Royale Gym’ in bright red letters.  She scowled at the dancing rooster, ordering it to be something other than it was. Clearly, though, she’d been wrong.

             Roughly, she pulled the shirt over her head, her damp hair catching at the collar, and stepped into the gym shorts.  Why she put herself through this, why she tortured herself with something so impossible –

             “Coffee’s on the counter,” Jughead said when she stepped out.  His fingers flew over the keyboard, his eyes never leaving the screen.

             At least some things never changed, she supposed. Even that, though, rang hollow after what they’d been through tonight.  

             Betty wrapped her hands around the mug, grateful for something to occupy herself with.  She sipped at it a moment, giving him the chance to say something.  Do something.  When he didn’t, she didn’t know whether she felt relief, or disappointment.

             It wasn’t until she reached the stairs that he finally spoke.

             “Just tell me why you did it,” he said.  

She hesitated, knowing that this was her own personal Maginot line. Crossing this would mean the end of one life, and the beginning of another strange reality, one where she would have no control.

“Why did you come after me?  Why didn’t you call Sheriff Keller, or Archie, or –“

“Because I’m still in love with you,” Betty said.  Her voice was no more than a soft sigh, but it was enough to bring about a sudden calmness.

The calm before the storm, she thought morbidly.  Whatever would happen now, whatever was said…

She waited, counting to a hundred.  When he didn’t say anything, she set the coffee down on a side table and went to Archie’s room, shutting the door softly behind her.

(Part 2 here)

[indianamoonshine]

Strawberry | Chapter 12 | Flames

Summary: Will joins the family dinner. The night can hide many things.

Rating: (+18) for…situations.

A/N: I'm SO SORRY for the long hiatus. Please accept this peace offering (jealous!Din) as a token of my gratitude.

TAG LIST: @t3a-bag @lumimon47 @dodgerandevans @hallway5 @dancingwiththeplanets @steeevienicks @orneryscandallousandevil @ficthots @gaiusfrakkinbaltar @reginagina-blog1 @loveme-tenderly @lastphoenixrising @rattlemyb0nes @rebellou @alljusthumans @gaiuswrites @lovecatsnotpeople

The symposium of a midwestern dinner sounds a lot like Bach's work.

Difficult notes with high to reach places and then very low caverns just a moment later. The cicadas in the background are a nice touch; it's something Tchaikovsky might have wished he could capture. Silverware - old enough to be considered vintage now - clank against the porcelain dinner plates. Charlotte lets out her fae-like laughter and Rhea listens intently, eyes gazing dreamily upon Tommy as he carries on conversation. The house is full tonight.

You suppose it was out of the kindness of your father's heart to invite Will to this dinner. Everyone within a two mile radius usually came to these spur-of-the-moment things. Will was an old family friend and his father supplied yours with fresh goat's milk and chicken eggs, so it wasn't all that strange he came along. Still, it made the meal a bit more difficult to swallow. Quite literally.

Din is sitting directly across from you. You think it might have been intentional because Will chose to plop his happy ass right beside you, grinning that lopsided smile and charming his way out of the discomfort with a joke. You play the part by laughing when he tries to outwit everyone in the room or by asking him how the farm manages these days. Will isn't a cocky person by nature, but something about the rigidness of his composure when Din asks for the green beans makes you all too suspicious.

It doesn't make any sense. Will broke things off with you. If he were to be jealous, it wouldn't be for anything but pride and show. A year ago it would've bothered you that Will was cajoling the room for the sake of his vanity, but now it was just embarrassing for everyone involved.

"Din, do you remember the summer of '90?" your father asks across the table, clearly involved in another conversation that pertains to this anecdote.

The man across you hums and shakes his head with a reluctant grin. "I try not to," he fibs, cutting at his steak.

Your father chuckles. "I was nineteen and Din was..." he pauses. "Jeez, Din. How old were ya?"

"Seventeen."

"Ah, right! Rhea hadn't been born yet but Scarlett was pregnant with her by the end of the summer. That was our last free year, wasn't it? Well, mine anyway." You dad points his fork in Rhea's direction, a bit of steak dangling from its end. "And then you came along."

Rhea scoffs. "Well, geez. My bad for existing."

There's no darkness in either of their words so the exchange makes everyone at the table chuckle in good humor. Your father and Din go back and forth about the irresponsible and, well, illegal things that had been done that summer. Underage drinking. Trespassing. And somehow Din always got away with it.

"He never got us caught. Ever. I still don't know how you did it." Your father says to his friend, eyes wrinkling with a genuine smile. "Damn good thing too considering how much pot we smoked. It's a good thing my girls didn't get that rebellious streak."

A witty response is formed upon your lips but only until Will cuts you off.

"I don't know about that," he pipes in.

You're taken aback, quite literally tossing your head to gauge his interjection. "What?"

An indifferent silence hushes the dinner party. Your sisters chew their food carefully, eyes glued upon the scene before them like it was one of their soap operas. Your father awaits an explanation with a rather scandalized look upon his face, but Will's father - Clarence - doesn't seem at all fazed by any probability of illegal activity.

Will rolls his chin to serve you an exasperated look. "Oh, come on. We're adults now; we can come clean." He drenches his steak in more A1 sauce before revealing: "Your daughter was the one to egg the sheriff's house."

The entire room initially goes as silent as a graveyard before everyone chokes on a snort and begins to roar with laughter. Clarence slaps your father on the back as the two of them snicker like a pair of hyenas.

"Will!" you growl. "You said you'd take that to your deathbed!"

The pain in the ass beside you howls with laughter, holding his stomach, and having to pause from drinking his beer. "Daffi, it's fine. They can't do anything about it now."

"That's not the point!" you scowl.

Din is grinning from ear to ear, obviously amused by your humiliation. It was a childish thing to do but the sheriff was a dick in the worst way and you wanted him to know it. That was a hot summer - record breaking, actually - and by the time he'd woken, the egg had dried upon his lawn and across the face of his home. Ole' Sheriff Winslow scoured the town for weeks before finally abandoning his quest altogether.

"You got something to say, Mister Djarin?" you inquire playfully, scolding him with a fire in your eyes.

Din clears his throat and furrows his brows. "No, no. I wouldn't dare."

The two of you exchange a glance that was far too intimate for this dining room. His eyes softened upon meeting yours and his smirk was silly, drunk on something other than the beer in his hand. If it weren't for dear Will's additional reminiscence, you might've fallen under the spell lingering in the space between you.

"Yeah, that was a great summer. We had our first kiss that year, remember?"

You blink, all thoughts of Din's mouth upon yours fizzling away like steam. Instead, it is replaced with the frayed-edged memory of Will's rusted pick-up parked in the darkest corner of the local McDonalds. It was hardly a first kiss worth mentioning if it hadn't been for how good he was at it and how bad you were. Still: what the fuck?

You wanted to say just that but refrained from doing so. Instead you say, "Lots of awkward fumbling if I recall." It comes out sharp - petty. If he wanted to behave like a child, you could do it too.

Din's trying so desperately hard not to glare at Will. You can see it in the deliberate chug of his beer.

-

“What. The. Hell.”

“I know.”

“Wait,” Charlotte holds up a hand, expression dumbstruck. “I’m not done.”

You roll your eyes and scrub at a particularly stubborn dish, waiting for her dramatics to be over.

“…was that?” she finishes.

Rather anti-climactic.

“It’s Will,” you tell her, voice bored but teetering on the edge of fury. “It’s fucking Will. What do you expect?”

Charlotte shakes her head, eyes bulging with disbelief as she blinks over and over again as though trying to compute. She takes a dish from you, sopping wet, and begins to dry it with a rag. You know Charlotte is eager to gossip because she never - never - offers to help clean after supper.

Everyone else is carrying on from the awkward conversation by sitting at the bonfire and making pudgy-pies. It’s the kind of snack one eats when they need to forget about anything other than the impending weight gain. You watch from the window as Rhea slathers Nutella upon a piece of white bread and then some cut strawberries. Honestly, you could really go for one, but the idea of being anywhere near Will makes your skin crawl.

“Did he say anything to you? Before dinner? Or after? Like…why would he say something like that?” Charlotte carefully stacks the delicate plates atop each other. They clank against one another noisily.

Like cymbals within the symphony.

“Nope,” you tell her. “Not a word. I have no idea what’s gotten into him.”

Charlotte goes silent, rubbing at the plates until they’re dry as a bone, and then whispers, “He obviously knows.”

You square your jaw, glancing around to make sure no one is in the vicinity, and then let out a great sigh. “Yeah, I’m sure he does. I was all over Din at the bar.”

Your dear sister brightens at the mention of the night prior. She stops her drying and places her hands upon your shoulders so that you may look her in the eyes. You see mahogany. Deep. Rich. Full of life and excitement. In her eyes, it is proof that she’s a good spirit and in good health. (And…well, maybe a little tipsy, but that’s besides the point.)

“I like him. For you.” Is what she confesses. She places her hands upon your cheeks and squishes them together. You protest, taking her wrists and wrestling her, but giggling all the while. “I mean it. I think he adores you. And so do I.”

You nod in her grasp. “Okay, okay! I know, yes. I know!” you chuckle, breathless from the lack of air supply. She still has you in a chokehold. “Can you please let me go now?!”

Charlotte releases you from her trap and you gasp a throat-full of air, belly aching from laughter. The two of you embrace one another in a hug, attempting to lift the other, and then falling upon the linoleum - sore with serenity.

-

There is something stirring in Din.

It is a fire that has just been fanned from embers he sought to snuff out. But they hadn’t perished, despite how hard he had tried. The coals burned. He burned.

For you.

At the bar, Din ignored Will to the best of his ability; sort of like how one ignores an irritating bumblebee. Leave him be, Din had chanted. He’s harmless. After all, Din had years stacked against Will. How was it possible to be so insecure by this kid?

Because that’s essentially what he is, right? He’s so goddamned young; he looks as though he’s never taken a hit in his life. He’s too pretty, too put together. He’s firm skin and tight abs. And Din, well…

Din was not.

Din was old. He was well past forty years of age now, playing house with a woman over twenty years his senior. No matter how well he managed to keep the façade so believable, it would one day end in disaster - embarrassment. Heartache. And defeat. He can’t bear the thought.

It wasn’t like him. He’s never given a shit about anyone’s perception of him before, nevertheless mulled over the ex of a romantic interest. Not to say that Din’s ever felt the way he did with you; no one has even come close. Xian was his longest “situationship” and when it inevitably burst into flames, he didn’t bat an eye. (He wonders if that makes him a terrible person.) If his toxicity with Xian was worth anything, it was just a testament of his endurance.

But you. The world fucking blurs when you’re near.

So when Will - cocky as Din once was - utters unsolicited bullshit, it takes every ounce of dignity he has left to remain silent.

We had our first kiss that year, remember?

There is a primal urge to reach across the table and wring the smug expression from Will’s face, to grab you with an unfamiliar hunger, carry you across the acre, and toss you onto his bed and just…

No. That was brutish. He wasn’t like that. He couldn’t allow himself to feel possessive over you because you couldn’t be owned. He knew that. But that fire licked at his inner conscious until he had to excuse himself from dinner altogether.

The darkest parts of him pace during the bonfire, though he manages to sit still and interpret Will’s behavior. His youth glows betwixt the crazed flames, an ombré of red and orange dancing across everyone’s skin. Din watches, he listens, he notes every little thing like hunters do. Because for some reason - some ungodly, twisted reason - Din felt as though Will were a bounty now. It’s the only way he could feel superior.

“Daffodil!” Will calls out suddenly. “Get over here!”

The hinges in Din’s jaw pop as he clenches his teeth, grinding them so forcefully he thinks Rhea - who sits beside him - might hear. When you arrive from the house (he guessed you were cleaning up, just as you always do), he notes the skimpy length of your cotton shorts and…

Wait. Is that his shirt?

It is. It’s the very same shirt Din offered you after the rain debacle after the bar. It was one of his favorites despite how plain it was; just a grey t-shirt that fit snugly on him but dwarfed you entirely. It skimmed the top of your knees and pressed against the swell of your chest. That something within him growled once more.

“Come sit,” Will instructs, patting at his lap.

You hesitate. “I…”

Will chuckles, urging you with waggling fingers. “We’ve been like this since we were kids, Daffi. Come on.”

There’s a pathetic attempt to steady himself as Din watches you perch upon Will’s lap.

You’re wearing his shirt. You’re wearing his shirt. You’re wearing his shirt. You’re wearing his shirt…

The group chats a while longer, exchanging stories Din’s never heard, but none of it matters. You’re on another man’s lap. And despite Mark’s very obvious presence, he wants so badly to grip your wrist and run.

“I’ve seen you before,” Will says suddenly. He points a finger in Din’s direction, eyes a little hooded from drink. “Weren’t you at the bar a couple of nights ago?”

Those who partook in the rendezvous go silent. Rhea freezes and Charlotte blanches, looking towards their dear sister who’s pale in the face now. Mark, in his sheer oblivion, raises a brow. Din’s been in every intense situation imaginable, but something about now makes his gut churn.

He could loose you. Right now.

He’s about to lie, to make up some bullshit excuse about having ‘one of those faces’, but Rhea pipes in.

Her voice is strong and firm when she says, “What the hell are you talking about? He wasn’t there.”

Effortless. Shoulders sag, the tension subsiding thanks to Rhea’s impeccable skill.

“Strange. Swore I saw you with…” he shakes his head and shrugs. “Never mind.”

An artificial laugh - so sickly sweet that it’s almost impossible to digest - escapes your lips. “You must’ve drank too much. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

-

His kiss takes you by surprise.

You’re walking back to the house after the men have soiled the fire and everyone’s said their good nights when he just does it.

It’s covertly enough, but it’s shocking. A massive hand encircles your wrist and pulls you behind the shed out back, pressing you against the mossy wood and stealing the breath from your lungs. It’s the biggest risk the two of you have taken. For God’s sake, your father is just now walking inside the main house and Din’s mouth is attached to the hollow of your neck.

You’re dizzy, gripping his shoulders so tightly that the fabric of his shirt warps beneath your fingers. “Din,” you breathe out. He kisses you speechless again and you break for air. “Din, what’s the matter?”

He curses under his breath. It’s sharp. Fuck. It’s not angry, per say, but it is damaged. You weave your fingers through his hair as he settles his breathing, concentrating on the strings of your shorts that he fiddles with.

“I…” He sighs, pressing his nose against your cheek. His breath is warm and you shiver. “He touched you.”

He sounds ashamed. Embarrassed. You can’t imagine how difficult it must be to vocalize your self-doubt as someone who relishes in secrecy. He had a wall built around him and it was made of iron.

“Not like you,” you whisper shyly.

You had some walls of your own. He was tearing them down like that of Jericho.

There’s softness in the air. The two of you are silent, eyes closed, and mouths inches apart. Exchanging of breath. It’s an ancient form of intimacy.

You trust him. You trust him with your life.

His hand feels natural in your own as you lift it to your breast. The trembling of his fingers is almost endearing; the man was far older than you and he still shook at the mere touch of a woman.

“No one can touch me like you.” Your hands glide south, pressing underneath the fabric covering the raw parts of you, until you stop at the band of your panties. “No one can.”

It’s all he needs to hear.

Soon after, he kisses you fiercely, but not without nodding in agreement. And that very hand, which grazes so deliciously at your belly, finally dips.

Sparks.

[wickedyan]

Ummm... can I just say how much I love your levi works?? ❤❤❤ i was wondering if you could make another yandere levi victorian arranged marriage? Like it dosent have to be victorian. But can you make it so that its a continuation of your first part ??? thanksss

Part 2 of this

Character: Levi Ackerman, Shingeki no Kyojin/Attack on Titan

Warnings: Dubcon, Noncon, Yandere, rough smut.

A/N:  I now know a lot about the Victorian era. What people wore in the daytime, in the evening, to bed… and their underwear. Specifically, how to take off the underwear… if you get what I mean ;)

On another note, woo! I finally completed this work! I’ve been working on it for over a week nonstop... hehe. I hope you all enjoy it! (This is the last part to this, I won’t be writing any more for it.)

Due to its length... and content, it’ll be placed under a cut.

-

His house didn’t feel like a house. Or a home. More like a castle. The gardens were large and meticulously well kept, with fantastical flowers and hedges that you only heard about in fairy tales. The gates to the estate were tall, with sharp-pointed tops and scary wires. It would ensure no unwanted guests could get in… and that no one that wished to leave without permission could get out.

The house itself was five times larger than your old home, and you could count at least twenty windows on the front side of the house.

Your long skirt dragged along the concrete paths, heels clicking in tandem with your new husband’s dress shoes. His arm was entwined with your own, having pulled you close to him, shoulders rubbing together with each step.

You clutched at your skirt as you ascended the stairs to the front door of your new prison. Servants opened the doors wide for the two of you, and you were hit with the fresh scents of lemongrass and ginger.

The entryway was sparsely decorated, a deep red rug centred on the floor with golden tassels fluffing the edges. A wooden table with gorgeous floral vases that you knew costed more than the dress and shoes you wore combined, with fresh red roses that were mid-bloom. The walls painted a simple beige colour and the roof was an odd pattern of mahogany wood with various animals carved into them. Old paintings lined the walls, you didn’t recognise any of the figures, but you recognised the cold eyes identical to Levi’s. His mother.  

Levi wasted no time pulling you through the entryway and through identical hallways, up squeaky mahogany staircases and into what seemed like his private bedroom. He pulled free from your arm, addressing a maid and ordering her to have you cleaned up and redressed with a grumble of “and burn that thing when you’re finished” …you couldn’t help but be offended, it was the fanciest dress you owned.

A kind-looking woman pulled you into an en-suite bathroom that connected to his bedroom. It was large, with a marble counter and basin, and a large bathtub with a shelf full of essential oils and fragrances. The bathwater was poured in, heated to a high temperature. You watched the steam coming off the water, it would be a while before the water was comfortable. The maid left you to undress, and you took your time. Slowly untying the shawl around your shoulders, you unceremoniously dropped it to the floor. Your shoes and stockings were next. Then the dress itself. There was a full-length mirror in the corner of the room.

You stood in front of the mirror, eyes skimming over your body. You weren’t skinny, but you weren’t overweight. Your parents worked hard to put food on the table for you, but you bet Levi barely had to lift a finger. You eyed your protruding hip bones, gaunt collarbones. You weren’t skinny… but you could stand to gain a few kilos.

The water stung your sensitive skin as you sunk into the bath, letting the water rise until only your head sat above the water. The cuts on your knees burned. Taking a deep breath, you submerged yourself, holding your breath as you wet your hair.

In only a few hours, you would lose your virginity. Your new husband would expect sex from you, and you would have no reason to deny him. Maybe you could tell him you weren’t feeling up to it… but Levi wasn’t stupid, he would see through your lies easily. You couldn’t help but wonder… would it be good…? Would you enjoy yourself?

Your heart pounded against your ribcage, nervous energy spreading throughout your shaking extremities.

Reaching for the soap, you made quick work of lathering it over your body, making sure to leave no spot untouched. He seemed to have special soap for your hair, it smelled of lavender.

Before you left the bath, you let yourself soak just a little longer. Until the water had cooled and your skin was pruney.

Fresh clothes had been left on the bed for you, you looked over them while you finished towel-drying your hair. It was evening, so you had been left an evening gown. It was much fancier than anything you had ever owned before. You almost felt wrong for wearing it. But you couldn’t deny its comfort, minus the corset that required help from several maids to tighten.

The dress was gorgeous. It was on off the shoulder neckline with long cream-coloured frilled lace. It was a peach colour, with large bows holding up more lace along the bottom of the gown. The number of petticoats and underskirts had your body hot, with a natural red flush to your cheeks and shoulders. The maids fawned over you, braiding your hair and applying cherry juice to your lips.

It was the prettiest you had ever looked, but the sour taste in your mouth wouldn’t leave. The maids, although just following orders, were dressing you up to have sex with their boss. It wasn’t so sweet when you put it in those words, but it was the truth of the situation.

You wondered if he wanted to bed you to show dominance over you. Maybe it was to show others that you belonged to him, he was the possessive type and he had arranged your marriage out of that sick idea. Maybe he wanted to impregnate you, really show the other nobles that you were his. Have you running around taking care of your children and speaking only when spoken to, like some little trophy wife.

Maybe he truly desired you.

You wanted more out of life. But he had stolen that chance from you. He had you right where he wanted you, stuck, locked away in his home and you couldn’t do anything about it. It was sickening.

Soon enough, the maids decided they were finished. And you were ushered down the stairs, where your husband was waiting for you at the dining table, a large feast laid out in front of him. Normally, the wife would sit on the opposite side of the husband, but he pulled you towards him, and you were sat in his lap.

Your face burned; an embarrassing show put on for the servants. But they made no comments on it. Smart of them, should they wish to keep their heads. You struggled in his lap, using the armrests to help push yourself out of his lap. His arms snaked around your waist, and with an iron grip, he pulled you back into his lap. No matter how much you squirmed, you couldn’t leave. You huffed a breath of annoyance, settling into his lap more comfortably.

You stiffened, feeling something hard beneath you. You wriggled, and Levi grunted hot air into the nape of your neck. Gooseflesh rose in its place.

“Careful, little lamb. Keep writhing on my lap like that and I won’t be able to control myself…” He murmured this low in your ear, a low growl on his tongue. Your body was hot, the pang of arousal that licked up your thighs was not helping.

Quickly you looked around, you were alone, so no one had heard him. You couldn’t help but feel relieved, if someone had heard that you wouldn’t be able to face them again… “You smell divine. I take it you enjoyed your bath?” He cut into the food, bringing a bite-sized amount up past you and to his lips.

You nodded in reply, “I did. Thank you.”

Although you couldn’t see it, you knew he was smirking.

He brought another square of food up on the fork, this time aiming for your mouth. He was going to feed you. Your lips parted, accepting the food. You chewed slowly, savouring the taste. It was delicious… you hadn’t ever tasted something with so much flavour. You couldn’t help but salivate. You usually ate things like mutton, bread and tea. This was something completely out of your league.

Dinner continued that way, alternating bites until you were both full.

Dread. It was Night. The sun nowhere to be seen. Levi had already returned to your shared bedroom. You sat in a room in front of the fireplace. It was warm, and from your position, you could see the moon from the window. You cherished this moment, the comfort and allowed yourself to forget what awaited you in his bedroom.

It was your bedroom too, now.

A maid came to collect you, and you were broken from your stupor.

When you arrived at the door to your room, it was closed. You could see the glow of candlelight from underneath the door. You rapped the door, waiting for an answer before stepping through.

Levi was in his nightclothes. He was on the bed, sitting up against the headboard with a book in his hands. Laying on top of the covers. The candlelight flickered as you shut the door behind you. He didn’t lift his eyes from his book, flicking over the page with a hum. You made quick work of changing into your own nightgown, grunting as you loosened the corset with only a little struggle.

You could feel his eyes gliding over your exposed shoulder blades and flitting down with the slide of your dress as it fell to the floor. Turning around, catching him in the act. But he didn’t look away when you turned. He continued staring unashamedly. Daring you to say something, as though a man couldn’t admire his wife.

When you crawled into bed beside him, you were almost convinced he had forgotten about his heated promise to you. Almost. He lifted an arm, inviting you into his space. Ignoring it made no difference because he pulled you into his side. Your head resting on his chest, one arm holding his book and the other stroking through your hair, curling it behind your ear. It was comfortable, domestic.

Levi smelled good. Was it some soap or essential oils? Perhaps a special cologne? What was the scent specifically? You couldn’t tell, but it had you breathing deeply, hoping to intake more and more of that pleasant smell.

He had reached the end of his page but instead of turning it as he had the past several pages, he closed the book. It was placed in its spot in his bedside draw. His hand rested on his stomach. Your palms were sweating, fingers twitching wildly. All through this, his other hand didn’t stop stroking your hair.

Until it moved, sliding under your jaw and tilting your face upwards toward his own. His hand stayed there, cradling your face. He took a moment to meet your eyes. His pupils blown wide, eyelids heavy and lips parted.

His lips met yours.

You gasped and Levi used this to slide his tongue past your lips. His tongue rolled over your teeth and tongue, exploring your mouth. It was warm and wet and practised. He nipped at your lips, licking over them in silent apology at your sharp intake of breath. How was he so good at this? He grunts, but you’re lost in the kiss. Your eyes were closed, hands reaching for his shirt to pull him closer, hot skin touching his, mewling and leaning into him.

That scent was back again, but he tastes like whisky and mint and maybe you should have pulled away, maybe it should’ve been gross, but it just wasn’t. His lips were firm but gentle, his tongue teasing and slow. His teeth dug into your lip, but his tongue was always quick to soothe the mark.

Levi pulled back with a groan, a lewd string of saliva connected you. He leaned in, sucking it up lewdly. “You taste better than I imagined.”

Sliding around the back of your head and into your hair, his hand pulled hard and smashed your lips together once more. Heat floods your thighs, you rub your legs together to create some kind of friction.

“Oh… Sir-Levi…” you breathe out between pants and sighs.

He’s on top of you, pushing you down and his legs between your thighs. Calloused hands roam your body leaving trails of heat behind them. Then he’s pulling open the buttons of your nightgown and pressing kisses down your neck. He lingers on a particular spot on your neck, harder kisses until he’s licking hot, wet stripes along your throat. He blows cool air over it, chuckling as your nipples harden amongst the goosebumps on your chest. His groin is grinding over your hips, fingers digging into the fat of your hips and squeezing so harshly you know it’s going to leave marks.

Teeth scrape over your collarbones and it has you squeaking out a high-pitched moan. You’re writhing under his burning touch, teeth biting so hard into your lip you can taste blood.

He pulls open the rest of your nightgown, exposing your chest to the cool night air. His lips are enclosing the hardened bud before you have a chance to be embarrassed. He sucks it into his mouth, circling it with his tongue and tugging with his teeth and it sends arousal straight to your core. His other hand is groping your other breast and you can feel the desperation in his touch. Your fingers rake through his raven locks, scraping against his scalp and pulling it, not knowing if it’s because it’s too much or because you have an inclination that he would like it.

A wet ‘pop’ is heard as he pulls off your nipple and moves to the other one to give it the same attention. Before he does, he kisses your sternum. His hungry eyes, wicked with desire, burn into your own. He takes pleasure seeing you so fucked out and he had barely started. “God, you’re beautiful…” He grins, he has you right where he wants you. A predator looming darkly over its prey. But this was the best part of the hunt. His reward.

“You belong to me now… you know that now, don’t you, y/n?” You nod, at his mercy.

He kisses the flesh of your bust, sucking the supple skin into his mouth and biting down. Hard. You cried out in pain, but he’s quick to move on, repeating the action and leaving deep purple marks all over your tits, moving back up to leave the same marks in more visible places. You shake your head, pushing at his shoulders. But he pushes back into you, you didn’t realise how strong he was.

“No- I… Marks. No…” You manage to speak amongst sighs. He snickers into your throat, the vibrations only making the sensations all the more pleasurable. He ignores your words, biting harder to show he heard you.

His hands ghost the length of your thighs, pushing the bottom of your nightgown up over your hips. Fingertips moved deftly, swiftly untying the strings keeping the front of your underwear together. He was quick to pull the last of the clothing hiding your body from his greedy eyes. You felt vulnerable, having your most intimate parts on display for the man. You squeezed your thighs together, or at least the best you could with him between them.

Strong arms held your thighs apart. He leaned down, hot breath blowing over your opening. Embarrassed, you covered your eyes with your hands.

“Eyes on me.” His voice was deep, demanding, controlling.

Slowly, you pulled your hands from your eyes, glancing up to witness his sinful expression. That devilish grin.

He was teasing as he leaned down, blowing hot streams of air over your pussy. Pulling the lips apart and staring back up at you from between your legs. Gaze dark. “My my, you are wet, aren’t you? So ready for me already?” His tongue dipped out to taste, licking a flat stripe up the length of your slit.

You gasped; eyes clenching closed before remembering to keep your eyes locked on his. Mirth in his stare. “I’ve been watching you, longing for you, keeping such a close eye on you… for months… never did I think you would look so delicious in my bed.”

Two fingers rubbed against your slit, grinding back and forth over your hole. Gentle “Ohhh…”’s and “Ahhh…”’s sighed from your mouth. Scooping up your slick and using it to press firm circles over your swollen clit.

That felt… good. Really good.

Levi paused, pulling his fingers away, scissoring them and holding them closer to the candlelight. “I guess… a taste wouldn’t hurt.” And his fingers were being sucked into his mouth. He licked around them, groaning. “Fuck… so sweet…” It should’ve been embarrassing but you had never been more aroused.

“I wish I could taste you more, but I can’t wait any longer.” He was tugging his own nightclothes off, untying the knot of his underwear and pulling his hard cock free. It twitched in his hand, heavy and girthy. He scooped more of your slick into his hand, stroking it over his cock. He threw his head back, a growl deep in his throat. “God… I finally have you, y/n… just fucking look at you… all mine.”

The heat of his cock was rubbing at your cunt, grinding it against your clit and fuck you wanted him. There’s a dark look in his eyes, and you suddenly remember that this man took you from your family and arranged a marriage with you to sate some sick obsession he had with you.

You kicked at his shoulder, sending him falling backwards and scrambling to get off the bed. But he pins you down, large hand wrapping around your throat and pushing you back into the sheets. His firm grip on your throat makes breathing difficult, you scratch at his hand but it’s no use.

He thrusts his entire length into you, fucking you into the mattress with such force you can hear the animalistic slapping of skin on skin and it only makes you wetter. His eyebrows are furrowed, angry. You scream, as best you can with his hand around your neck. He silences you with a searing kiss, much less gentle than before, with teeth clashing together.

The gentleness that had been in all his previous actions was gone; he gave no pauses while he pounded into you. He was snarling as he hammered unapologetically into you. “You can never leave me, brat. Be my good, submissive girl and I’ll reward you. Misbehave and you will not enjoy the punishment.”

Despite his rough movements, the pain and pleasure worked together, and it had you clenching around him because it just felt so good.

“Aw,” he sneered, “You’re enjoying this aren’t you?” His thrusts had a sense of urgency to them, and he bit his lip as he growled in your ear. His free hand assaulted your clip with delicious friction that had the pleasure in your gut building until it was nearly ready to burst.

Levi grunted, “I’m gonna cum… and you’re gonna take every. Last. Drop.” He punctuated his words with forceful thrusts into your cunt.

“Cum with me… cum now.”

And that pleasure burst, clenching uncontrollable around his cock and milking each rope of sticky white fluid that filled your pussy.

He heaved over you, releasing his grip on your neck, and slowly pulled his softening cock out of your sopping pussy with a squelch.

He left you on the bed, panting and wrecked. Your forehead and hair damp with sweat, covered in his teeth marks and bruises that would be impossible to cover. His cum leaking out of your ruined cunt. He returned with a damp cloth, the cold liquid making you flinch, then relax into the soothing feeling as he wiped at your intimates.

Your eyelids felt heavy, and you couldn’t will yourself to move. But soon there was something being placed around your throat.

“Mmm… fits perfectly.”

It was a white, lace collar, with a dainty little heart.

‘Levi’

“Now, you’re truly mine.”

[belleta]

The Forest - Part One

Consists: Supernatural, SKZ as different SN creatures, adventure, romance, drama, action, ......still trying to figure out all the details....lol XD

"Come on Y/N!", I was racing around the house. Trying to make sure I had everything for this trip. "Omg Y/N, let's GO~!" I swear to the universe she's going to thank me later. " I'm coming child!" I screamed back. Alrighty I just need my retainer. I bounded up the stairs and glided down the hallway with my cotton socks. Bursting into my room, I quickly scanned it for the sparkly emerald case. I caught sight of it out of the corner of my eye, "Boom!" I ran forward and snatched it off my windowsill. While leaping for my door, I paused and turned back to what I call my sanctuary. Call me paranoid but I'm kinda afraid of camping in the middle of the woods. Ever since I watched "The Blair Witch Project", I've been creeped.

It doesn't help that Jazzy forced us to watch the film, previous to this morning. I was drifting in the fairy floss clouds of my mind when a loud honk poured water on them. I sucked in a breath, blowing raspberries. Padding back over to my bedside, I grabbed my Ice Bear plushie. Giving it a quick squeeze and finally deciding that he's coming with me. Galloping back through the house, I made it out, locked the door and hopped in the back seat like a spring rabbit. "What took you so long?" I gazed up through my fringe at my girl bestie Jazmine. She had long beautiful honey blonde hair, and a mousy nose. Her blue eyes were alike with pebbles under a lake, with cheeks connected by a dash of light freckles. "I swear I just aged waiting for you" and Danny, our guy bestie. I've been best friends with Danny, since 3rd grade. Jazzy moved over during the 5th grade. All three of us have been with each other through thick and thin. Daniel was Hawaiian Japanese descent, had perfect colorful nails and absolutely gorgeous eye makeup. We were all dressed in casual, comfy clothes for the trip. Jazmine, or Jazzy as people call her, as the oldest. She was driving Danny's dad's truck. It was spacious and definitely was fit for the environment. Danny, second eldest was in shotgun and I, being the "baby", was in the back. "I was just making sure I have everything." The two rolled their eyes. Danny looked back at me "Girl, you need to chill. We've got everything and more" the boy stated. "I know, I know.....I'm just paranoid, you know.....being in the woods for a week" I looked down at my feet and played with my fingers to cover my embarressedness. "Awww, is the baby scared", Jazzy giggled, imitating a child. I swatted at her, "Let's just...finally go" I grumbled, reaching inside my bag to pull out my headphones. "Fine" they answered teasingly. While Jazzy was pulling out, I fastened myself and slid my headphones on. Bluetoothing them and unlocking my phone, I scrolled through my YouTube Music playlist finding the one named 'Bell Mix'. After that, I went back to the truffula trees and fairy floss. Just listening to my music and thinking about things. There were a couple times, where I thought I might get sick, but I had remembered my motion sickness bracelets. In your face! It's better to set out a little later, rather than having our vehicle reeking of my insides. 2 or 3 hours went by, or something. I'm not really sure, my brain doesn't really have a sense of time when I'm inside of it. We stopped to use the bathroom, get food and fuel at a gas station, maybe 2 hours away from the forest. "Can I, can I, can I, can I PLEASE?!?" I had been begging Jazzy to let me buy a bag of Haribo for 10 minutes now, and she was starting to break. I'm very persuasive as you find out, and I happen to be a very prominent weakness to many throughout my life. She finally gave in and I bounced away to the candy isle with glee and happily picked out a bag, promising to share. Jazzy just rolled her eyes and paid for our things. We trotted back to the car and continued our journey. It was nearing the end of 2pm when we finally arrived at the edge of the forest. It's lushes were absolutely perfectly splendid. The road continued for a hot minute, until it gave away to dirt and rocks. We didn't want to stray too far from the dirt road, so we slowly kept moving in until I suddenly exclaimed at the sight of a pretty little clearing. It had a few little bushes marking the edges, thick but soft looking grass, and a little dirt patch at one side that should be perfect for a firepit. We pulled over to take a look around, flattening a few bushes in the process. As soon as the truck came to a stop I shoved the door open and sprung down onto the flourishing forest floor. The first thing I did was take a deep breath to soak in the sweet scent of the untouched earth. I reached up, stretching and cracking a few of my bones in the process. Then I raced through the trees and undergrowth, toward the beautiful glade. It felt so nice to get away from civilization, I had always loved

getting away like this. Being able to recharge away from annoying people and sounds, my fears of the night were long forgotten. I was two steps away from the grass when I suddenly tripped over something. Tumbling forward and scratching my cheek. I landed on my face, but on the bright side it was luckily with no rocks around. The dirt however spared me at nothing, crawling into my fresh scrapes, was a sharp and quick stinging as I grabbed my face. "Seriously Y/N, we haven't even completely left the car yet and you've already managed to hurt yourself" Jazzy declared. Danny chimed in, "Did you hurt yourself at all?". Quickly inspecting myself, I responded "Yes, a tiny bit on my cheek, hands and knees", I could hear them muttering to themselves about how reckless I was sometimes. They started toward me and as I waited for them to catch up, I decided to look around and figure out where to put things for these next few days. While ogling the decently wide stretch that was conveniently shielded by a mighty sugar maple. I thought I saw something in the undergrowth a few meters away from me. I grabbed my glasses and narrowed my eyes, but right when I thought I saw whatever it was, two flashes shot in the opposite direction between the ferns and disappeared. They were kinda hidden but I could sorta make out one of the shapes was darker and slightly bigger. The other was a little bit easier but still was difficult, it was kinda brown, or maybe reddish? At that moment I felt two hands on my shoulders, "Let me see", it was Jazzy. She inspected my injury. "It'll be fine, just wash it off", "Okie-Dokie-Artichokie", she laughed and ruffled my hair. I gazed back at where I saw the two shapes but not even the bushes were still moving. "Hey!" I cocked my head back to the voice "Can you help me?" Danny was struggling to unpack from the back. "Sure thing Danny-O" I quickly stood up, maybe a little too quick. My vision went funny and I almost stumbled. "Oh my god Y/N! Be careful!" Jazzy scolded, "My bad!" I was a little all over the place at the moment. Finally we were on this trip! I mean, I waited 6 months for this and it's finally here! I'm not all childish, I'm actually very 4D. I'm just really excited okay? I more carefully walked back to the truck, where Danny was struggling to keep ahold of what appeared to be the tent. Over the course of the next hour and a half we set up everything. Goofing around and laughing. Danny had been pulling too hard on our sleeping bags, to wedge them out of the trunk. And had accidentally fallen onto the slightly wet dirt, causing a very prominent brown streak across his gray sweatpants and sky blue tie dye hoodie. I was currently on my way to find the stream that is supposably close by, with a screenshot of google maps and a compass. Service wasn't exactly a 5 star out here, but I didn't mind too much. I brought a portable WiFi router with me, so if Jason Vorhees just decided to pull one, we could call for help. Every so often I would hang a wooden heart ornament on one of the tree's branches, so if this was the correct way then we would never get lost. Also so that I didn't get lost right now. I had been making these last night, for these exact reasons. I swear only dumb people don't mark their surroundings, this is one of the main reasons why people disappear and are never found or get lost. There are no traces of where they've been, like these fruit loops really-...... After about another 20 meters I started hearing the sounds of water. It became louder and louder really quickly. Is there a waterfall here? I pondered, while quickening my pace with curiosity. 35 seconds later I came across a thinning in the trees and beyond a clear water stream. I finally broke out of the shelter provided from the thick leaves, the sun kissed my skin with it's warm touch. I looked around and sure enough, there was a small waterfall that looked straight out of a fairytale. It had multiple uneven levels, with smoothed boulders everywhere. And to top it all off, it had little water plants scattered around it. Absolutely

beautiful.... I scanned around and spotted a few giant boulders poking into the stream. I carefully picked my way over to them, clutching onto Danny's muddy clothes. Hopping onto the sunlight warmed stones, I positioned myself perfectly so that I could reach the water but wouldn't fall in. I reached into my pocket for my zip lock of natural soap, of course I didn't want to hurt this literally untouched land. I leaned down to dunk the fabric into the stream's crystal-like water and kneaded the brown smudge. It was decently cold, just perfect for a stream. I turned back to the small bag with a green bar wrapped with brown paper and a little herb decoration. I unzipped it and reached for a tiny hand towel I brought with me so that I would have a better grip on the soap, even if I got wet. After dunking the clothes in I took the bar of soap and swiped it all over. I dipped it into the water once to help the bubble come, then I started aggressively rubbing it. Once the outfit was foaming with suds, I slapped it into the brook. Holding onto the sleeve I rub it harshly all over to get the stains out. It was relatively still easy because the events of cause were only moments before. I was starting to disappear into my thoughts, getting deeper and deeper and deeper....... And just then a crash and from the trees, followed by snarls and barks. I was so lost in my thought that this jolted me into the canal. The water suddenly became ice cold, my scream had been washed away. A surge of water filled my lungs from the way my mouth was open to yelp. I could still hear the sounds of fighting every so often, when I would surface. My head was hurting, my skin was stinging and my lungs were screaming. Someone.....please help..... It was hurting so much, I was trying not to panic. So I could find the surface and get back to shore. I would break through it's crisp arctic clutches every so often and would cry out for help but then get cut off by the now frosty darkness. I was giving up to the stream and submitting to the coldness. Letting it swallow me whole. I was numb, I couldn't feel my body being thrown around anymore, Is this how my story ends? No! I don't want to! I still have things to do! I need to graduate, and find my passion! I need to find a man who will love me as much as I do! I need to birth young and care for them! I want to grow old with my partner happily! I can't die yet! I just can't! But it was just so cold. I had stopped moving violently, so I guess I had been poured into a lake or something. I didn't care anymore. My blood felt frozen, I couldn't even bend a finger. That's when I felt a force near me, it parted the waters. Moving me in a different direction with its power. Then not long after I felt something grab hold of me in an awkward way. I was starting to be pulled into another direction, as the water streamed around, parting to let me and whatever that was saving me through. Then I broke through the surface and that was the last thing I felt before slipping into a comfy unconsciousness.

[alitheamateur]

Springtime Seduction

A lazy Spring morning seems to be just that. Until your boyfriend makes a surprise visit...

WARNINGS: NSFW. Oral sex. Unprotected sex. Language. Mild, mild language of a possessive nature.

CHRIS EVANS X  FEMALE READER

The fresh wind of the Springtime air shook out the darkness of night from the crisp curtains hanging in your bedroom window. You’d left the glass opened last night; the stench of a rainy drizzle always poisoned you with welcomed restful sleep. There was a bird chirping her melodious repetitions, alerting all the world that the warm sun had once more risen. Your eyes twitch with the notion to wake, and your toes curls under the smooth sheet, itching to touch the floor and dart to the coffee machine in the kitchen. But, you had no urgency to climb from the pillows and start your unplanned day yet, so, ‘no hurry’, you smiled to yourself.

You rolled to your back, neck craning to the comfiest curve of your pillow, and inhaled the dew of the grass just before you let yourself doze back into slumber. A chilly, gentle gust burst through the window, so you pulled the plush duvet up a smidge higher on your shoulders, and settled into the crook of your mattress for only another hours rest.

Just as the lids of your eyes began to relax into a lazy sleep, the front door suddenly latched. For the flicker of a second, your senses stood on defensive alert, before you remember certainly you’d locked it before retreating to your bedroom last night. Which only meant one thing…

The stairs ever so noticeably creaked, and you half-grinned as you envisioned him tip-toeing up each one, careful to remain undetected. He had your routine down to a science, and to be fair, you normally wouldn’t be up and stirring for at least another hour, especially on a leisure Saturday.

You turned toward the doorway, contemplating the idea of shutting your eyes and pretending so not to ruin his little surprise, but the every make up of your anatomy longed for a sight of him.

You heard him rustling closer and closer, and when his footsteps quieted on the rug just near to door, a giddy tingle rolled up your spine.

“You always just come barging into peoples houses before 9 a.m., Evans?” You croaked just above a whisper, the usual tenor of your voice not yet awake.

Chris froze as if to be caught in the act, his gentle eyes rounding in fright.

He carried a tray of coffee orders in one hand, another bag tucked under his arm, and the fullness of a bright bouquet of pink tulips in the other. The powder blue of his wrinkled t-shirt ignited the tones of his irises, and your feminine bits trembled at the always appreciated backwards turn of his Red Sox hat.

“Only when I have cold brew.”

You swooned. “God. You perfect, perfect man. The entire population hates me for taking you as my own, I just know it.”

He dropped his head to the floor, that God-forsaken beautiful blush tinting his cheekbones just above where the line of his beard stops. The man is tangible, walking, living, breathing sex, and can’t take a compliment if his life depended on it. You see him smile, the lush flutter of his lashes falling closed.

“But, you better bring me those pastries I smell in that bag before I change my mind about you.”

Chris kicked off his shoes, laying the lush bouquet on the nightstand beside the bed before managing to stuff his black sunglasses into the pocket of his light jacket and padding towards you. You raise the covers, offering him a warm spot to slump in next to you. You paw eagerly at the contents of the warm paper bag stuffed with sugary goodness, but he yanks it swiftly out of your grips.

“I think I may deserve a kiss, or two first.” He states, tilting his head matter-of-factly.

You scooched yourself into his side, pushing the ballcap from his head, lacing your fingers around the back of his neck. Your breath could probably wilt the gorgeous flowers he’d brought to you, but he didn’t seem to mind as he pushed the frizzy strands of hair from your cheeks.

“You may have earned it.” You lilt, moving your lips to his.

He smells divine as the space between the two of you closes. Orange soap with a musky side, and the leftover hint of the flower shop down the street where he made a pit stop. There was coffee grinds and wintergreen lingering on his mouth as a dance of two tongues fell underway.

After the length span of a good-morning kiss, he pinched the exposed cheek of your tail end, barely covered in the innocent shape of your boring pink panties. You hadn’t been expecting him, and your apparel selection from last night gave it away.

“Mmm, it’s still warm. Bova’s or Mike’s?” You asked, greedily awaiting your treat like a dog who’d just obeyed her owners command.

“Close your eyes.” Chris cheekily whispered biting his lip, his hand disappearing into the bag.

You sat up on your hunches beside him, the tight span of your tank top no doubt displaying your bare nipples.

You heard a crinkling of paper, then silence. The hairs on your neck stood on end, as if alerting you of his closeness. His heavy hand softly found your face, cradling your jaw, and before long there was the sensation of a feathery warmth tracing your lips, leaving a trail of creamy goodness in its wake.

No question, the sweet concoction was definitely a Bova’s cannoli.

“Cut it out, or you’ll lose a finger.”

You hummed, you tongue chasing his circle around your mouth, eager to steal a bite. Chris laughed at you for much longer than you felt necessary before giving in and allowing a hearty taste.

“I forget how hungry my girl is in the mornings.”

 With stuffed bellies, and a barely noticeable fog hazing the light outside, the pair of you had fallen lethargic and drowsy despite the caffeine swimming inside your veins. Chris had discarded his shirt after losing the contents of his cannoli down the front, and you’d keyed up the record player on your way back to bed from the bathroom.

“Not a care in the world,” you happily moaned tucked into the easy embrace of his grasp, your nose buried in the curve of his neck to cuddle him like a purring kitten.

Chris twirled a loose tendril of your hair around his index finger, and you could almost hear the murmurs of his love for you in the rhythm of his heart beating inside his chest.

“You’re my only care in the world.”

He rolled you suddenly to your back, hitching your legs up snuggly around his trim waist. When he pushed his pelvis toward the heat of your center, the solid, hard greeting of his arousal was unmistakable.

And huge.

As you suctioned yourself to him, insatiable for the friction of his bulge, Chris tented the sheet over both your heads, chuckling into your neck, and nipping with his smiley mouth. Cocooned in the cover of a freshly washed sheet, the light only barely dimmed, your wandering eyes found his.

Love is a feeling. An emotion of the heart. But, in that moment, entranced in his gazes, you thought you could actually feel in on your skin where his hands blindly traced your curves. Seizing his lips, you closed your eyes, categorizing every sense of the moment.

The heat in his fingertips. The hint of a decadent pastry on his tongue. The smell of your own scent in your soaking panties as his bare chest deliciously chaffed your nipples through the thin cotton tee.

Driven to insanity with unsafe heights of desire, he dismissed your wet kiss only to do the same with your clothes. Along with his own. The temperature of the changing season outside was brisk on your bare body, but only for a moment before his hotness encased you. Chris smashed his suckling, enflamed lips to the peak of your breasts, a languid howl crawling from your throat at the sensation of his nibbling teeth. When he worked his laps and licks upward to your collarbone, the line of your throat, the lobes of your ear, his pulsing length inched closer, and closer to your wetness. Anticipation likely to smother you.

“I… I feel like I’m dreaming right now.” You admitted. Short, gravelly breaths escaping from your lungs. You tried to remain composed, yet you were completely consumed with a delirious haze of ecstasy at the hands of your dearest love.

Bodies sliding in a matched, sweaty cadence, he rolled his hips into you, and momentarily his presence disappeared.

Until, it returned.

As if time had lapsed into slow motion, his lengthy, painfully seductive licks invaded your entrance. His welcomed assaults nearly had you on the verge of tears.

“I’d starve myself if it meant I could eat you every minute, of every day. You’re fucking mine, Y/N. Do you hear me? Mine.” His mouth buzzed over your tight clit. Chris burrowed his face wholly into your slickness, nuzzling to douse himself with the flavor only you could offer up, and you heard him inhale deeply. You tugged at his hair, punishing and praising the sinful mouth that plundered you. Long swipes of his tongue journey up, then downward. Scandalously toying with the puckered entrance of your ass. He glanced up over a hooded stare, the devil himself reflecting in his eyes when he felt you stiffen a bit.

“Relax, angel. Not now. But soon…”  

With a shamefully minuscule flick of his finger, you were soaring the crest of orgasmic explosion like never before. Your mind settled on the conclusion that this man was a true form of magic. Arching into him for one last tingle of your release, the moans of his name dripped from your lips like thick, hot honey. He tuned your body to be the exact music his ears desired.

“Fill me, Chris. Fucking now.” Taken aback by the pitiful whine of your unfamiliar voice, the man bit his way up your body to meet your mouth and share the taste.

The wind gusted through the window, making you now hyperaware of the saturated sheets beneath two mounds of flesh melting together. You couldn’t recall every being so soaked, and your body shudders.

“Open up for me, baby. I wanna watch my cock sink into you.” He massages the bone of your hips, the gentle pinch of fingers near breaking skin.

Your brain was officially reduced to dust.

With a watchful eye, just as he’d said, Chris turned his attention to the meeting of flesh. Your muscles grew taught for a fast second adjusting to the stretch of his size, before your bones liquified in lavish satisfaction at such fullness.

His pupils were blown as he quivered with tormented longing, pushing himself in and out of the gripping lips of your cunt, seeking the perfect duet of bursting thrusts, and unhurried slides. Chris knew how to render you putty in his marvelous hands, squealing and rutting like a lewd animal. With one leg mounted over his shoulder, the other broad and leading him to the road of release, sweat from his brow rained onto your breasts. If you squeezed your eyes closed tight enough, you’d swear it sizzled upon your electric flesh.

Nails gripping into the flesh of his pecs, a familiar twinge of numbness raced down your thighs just as he drove into you with a steady rhythm. There’s sweat pooling in the circle of your belly button, your upper lip stained also with the salty flavor as you concentrate on capturing every fiber of pleasure from him. Your nipples harden tightly when you lock eyes, and he winks down like a wicked slice of sex.

“My pretty girl. Takes it so well, doesn’t she? And so fucking beautiful while doing it.”

“Please. Yes, Chris. I’m about to come. Fuck, I’m going to explode.”

Taking your pleasant plea as an invitation, he licks the pad of his thumb and places it to your most tender spot, and drives his thrusts home like a man on a mission.

He growls moments later, the veins of his neck threatening to break the skin of his neck, and a strained blush falls over his chest. Warm cream empties into your belly just as your toes curl in orgasm. There will likely be bruises come tomorrow to remind you of his fevered clutches, and you revel in the thought of him marking you so crudely.

“Fuck, I love Springtime.” He croons, falling lifelessly to your side with a soft kiss.

TAGS: @sincerelyyourz​ @miidailyinspiration​ @deaflikehawkeye​ @spideypxgirl​ @fanfictionaffair​ @firstangeldragonranch​ @denisemarieangelina​

[siderealscribblings]

Zelda was silent as they rode to Hateno, but her fingers never strayed from the patch of skin exposed between the hem of his shirt and his buckler.

The few times they had to pull away to tend to their needs, Link could sense the anxiety and unease wriggling just beneath the surface of Zelda's troubled expression. It was almost as clear as the relief she felt when they came back together and she could invent a new excuse to put her hands on his arm, his shirt, his belt-buckle.

If he was confused, Link wasn’t complaining.

ao3

They rode into the darkened streets of Link’s second home with Zelda’s hands wrapped around his waist for warmth. The threadbare white garment she wore was barely enough to keep the autumn chill out and even under his cloak, he could feel her quivering against his back. Her hand lingered on his as he tugged her down from the horse’s back, neither of them seemingly willing to break the link between them. Exhaustion hung heavy on their bones as Link nudged the door open, tugging the weary princess into his little cottage.

Zelda sat swaddled in a thick Rito blanket as Link warmed the house up, igniting a flaming sword and lighting the hearth. As shadows and light filled the room, her eyes fell on a collection of weapons that adorned the wall, trophies from battles she had only the faintest inkling of while holding Ganon back.

Her eyes lingered on the single bed in the upper corner of the loft, swallowing heavily as Link tugged some spare blankets out of the chest under the stairs. “You should have the bed tonight.”

Link could say more with a look than most people did with a speech, a single eyebrow raised and the corner of his lip turned up as though the idea was somehow funny.

“I’ll not argue with you,” Zelda chided playfully. “Or displace my host from his own bed; a poor guest that would make me.”

Link shook his head, letting out a small huff as she tugged the blankets from his arms. It amazed her how the rough, scratchy blanket sent a shudder running through her body, the texture feeling alien against new fingertips. She wasn’t sure if the body that she had was the same one that she sacrificed to seal Ganon, but it felt new in uncomfortable ways; like it didn’t know how to process the act of feeling quite yet.

Everything felt too keen; the heat from the hearthfire behind her prickled her skin. The course blanket rubbed awkwardly between her fingers. Her bare feet gripped the smooth wood, tensing and relaxing as she got used to the cool surface.

And then there was Link.

His fingers brushing the back of her bare arm set off a tingle that raced up her arm and she almost instinctively drew closer to him, leaning against his sturdy frame with a soft sigh. It was grounding the way he touched her; her link ( her Link) to a world that felt strange and alien to her after viewing it from afar for so long.

Link seemed to realize that he was lingering longer than he usually was, and he pulled back to set about locking the house away for the night. She fought the urge to whine as he left, fidgeting in the strange little house as traitorous thoughts bubbled up inside her mind.

This isn’t real, her mind told her. This is a scheme by the Calamity to weaken your resolve. None of this is happening; you’re still trapped, you’re still-

Breathing through her nose, Zelda fumbled for something to grab on to, steadying herself on the dresser as she saw a familiar shade of blue cloth poking out of the top drawer. Heart thumping, she reached out for the fabric, feeling the soft cotton roll between her fingers and diverting her disquieted mind to the way it felt in her hands. Soft...warm... Link’s…

The threadbare clothing she had worn for a century was on the floor in a heap by the time Zelda knew what she was doing, the short-sleeved tunic falling over her head and landing mid-thigh. The weight of it seemed to calm her as she breathed in the smell of it, relishing the faint remnants of Link’s soap she could smell in the cloth.

This is real, Zelda argued with herself. I am safe...I am alive...I am here with Link…

She insistently repeated the mantra to herself, oblivious to the fact that Link was standing in the staircase, hand resting on the banister as though the sight of her wrapped in his clothing had upset his balance. There might have been a time where Zelda would have been mortified at being discovered like this, her admiration for Link on shameless display in front of him. But her pride and her ego had been bludgeoned into dust by decades of mental conflict, replaced only by want, want, want.

“Actually...might I ask something of you?” Zelda asked, voice scarcely more than a murmur as she turned to face Link. “I just...well, it’s rather selfish of me but...might I impose on you to lie with me tonight?”

Link’s piercing blue eyes landed on hers; if she lived a hundred more years, she wanted to live with his eyes on her. She wanted to wear his attention like a crown, hold on to it like a shield, hide in it like a cloak until she felt safe and more like herself again. The fantasy of Link's clear, beautifully blue eyes had sustained her in the moments between skirmishes with Ganon, and now that she could see them in person again, she never wanted to look away.

“I...I think part of me thinks this is all just a cruel prank,” Zelda laughed somewhat bitterly. “The Calamity would...show me things that weren’t true to try and break my resolve…but he could never replicate touch. Or smell...or taste.”

Zelda ran her tongue over her lips, trying to piece together what she was asking for. “It helps if I have something to ground me in reality…” Zelda said, fidgeting a little uncomfortably as Link’s stunned silence seemed to stretch on. “Sorry...I’m overstepping my boundaries, aren’t I?”

Link blinked, shaking her head before attempting to sign something a few times.

<Tell me what you need,> Link finally managed to get out, throat bobbing as Zelda felt warm relief flood her. Of course he would help her; as much as she didn’t want to take his devotion for granted, he had never given her reason to doubt that he would always provide the things she required.

I would do the same, Zelda thought with a familiar ache in her chest. Goddess, let me give you my world in exchange for yours.

Biting her lip, Zelda settled down on the edge of the bed, tugging her makeshift skirt down as she lay back against the Rito down. Link busied himself snuffing out the lights as she crawled under the quilt, a shiver running through her body as her bare legs grazed what must have been silk from the Gerudo desert. The soft, swaddling cloth encompassed her as she felt Link’s weight sink onto the mattress next to her, turning to watch him undo his boots and kick his socks off. As he leaned forward, a patch of bare skin exposed a thin, ropey scar that Zelda could scarcely remember from before the Calamity.

Her fingers were running along it before she could stop herself, causing Link to tense as he looked back at her. “What happened here?” Zelda asked, voice distant and curious as her fingertips traced the bumpy edges of the scar.

<Moblin,> Link signed awkwardly over his shoulder, biting his lip as Zelda’s hand rode higher and higher up his back, lifting his shirt as she went.

"Here?" Zelda asked, tracing a long scar that ran from his right shoulder to his hip.

<Lynel sword,> Link replied with a wince as though the memory itself still pained him. They had suffered in different ways; Link’s suffering had been etched on his skin in bruises, scars, and cuts that still seemed to be patching themselves together. More than ever she wished she had Mipha’s knack for healing so she could erase the memories of his wounds.

Link tugged his shirt off as Zelda’s fingers ran around his sides, pressing against a bump on his hip.

“Arrow?” Zelda asked, earning a nod from Link as the feeling of his warm skin under her fingertips sent ripples running through her body. Crawling up onto her knees, she wrapped her arms around him, laying her head on his shoulder and pressing herself tightly into his back.

This is real, Zelda reminded herself, feeling him shift a little as he kicked his muddy trousers off. He’s here...I’m with him...it’s going to be okay...it's going to be okay...it's going to be okay...  

Turning around, Link shifted under the covers with her, head resting on the down pillow with a weary sigh as she wriggled up next to him, head resting on his chest like a pillow as her legs threaded through his. After a moment’s hesitation, his hand came to rest on the small of her back, his free arm pulling her into a long, long overdue hug.

And then they were clinging on to one another like letting go meant tumbling back into the nightmare they had just escaped. And then her tears were rolling down his bare chest while warm droplets of water rolled through her hair. And then Hyrule disappeared, the entire universe beginning and ending where her skin brushed against his; the only real thing she knew for sure after so many years of confusion.

In the dark, his fingers traced letters into the small of her back, words flowing from his fingertips into her body without sound. <I...am...proud...of...you…>

A soft sob bubbled up from Zelda’s throat as she nuzzled her nose into the nape of his neck. “Goddess...I’m so proud of you too...so very very proud of you…you did so beautifully, my dear…”

He seemed to uncoil a little at this; as though her words had lifted some terrible burden he had been shouldering longer than he knew he was carrying it. <Thanks...to...you.>

Zelda sniffled at this, chest swelling with so much tender affection that she worried she might burst into a shower of confetti. There was more that she wanted to tell him; so many beautiful and awful things she wanted him to know. She wanted to tell him how she had stared down the Calamity as he hurled everything in his power at her, how her love for her people and her hero had been a shield for her to hide behind. Zelda wanted Link to know that she wanted all of him in her life; wanted to devour him with hungry kisses until the taste of his mouth was burned into hers.

But she was tired and sad and so terribly terribly happy that all she could do was hold him, fingers running along his scars as she drifted off into the first peaceful sleep she could remember.

There would be time for love and everything else in the morning.

[twdbegins]

Spooked

__

Simon x Fem. Reader

Warnings: Language. 

A/N: A lot of pet names in this...haha SHOCKER. Here’s a little early Halloween addition fic! I’ll have more holiday fics coming soon.

Requested by: @birdieofloxley

Word Count: 1,835

“Why would you make up something like that? You really scared me.” 

__

The legs of the chair you were sitting in squeaked as you leaned forward, tuned in to what Negan was saying. It was late October (or at least, you had estimated that it was October) meaning Halloween was soon approaching. Halloween was one of your favorite holidays as a kid. The candy, the trick or treating, the costumes were all part of the spooky experience. As you got older, you cared less about the costumes and more about the scary movies. Almost every Halloween (pre-apocalypse of course) consisted of you curling up on the sofa with a bowl of wrapped chocolate with some sort of scary movie on. 

The only downside to this was that you were a bit jumpy. It didn’t take much to get you feeling paranoid and have you checking under your bed for monsters. Which was ironic considering you literally lived in a world where there were horror movie like creatures roaming at every turn. 

So you weren’t really sure how you ended up here. Sitting with Negan and Simon outside of The Sanctuary after hours on a particularly cold night, listening to the two of them tell scary stories. Negan was recalling the time he almost became walker food when he was out on a run alone once. His voice was low and deep, his eyes fixed on yours as he spoke;

“Its hand barely had any skin left on it...it was basically all bone at that point,” He described; “For a half rotted roamer, it had a nasty grip on me though.” 

Your heart was beating crazy fast in your chest. You couldn’t even imagine how scared you’d be if that had happened to you. The fact that he was able to laugh about it now was astonishing. 

“I was able to reach my knife and just as it went to sink its teeth into my calf, I drilled the blade into its head,” He told; “I stabbed it an extra time for good measure. It took me at least a good five minutes to get it completely off of me because I was shaking so bad.” 

You were wide eyed now as you processed everything he was saying. Simon sucked in a breath before sighing it out;

“Shit. I don’t even think I’ve ever come that close to being roamer chow,” He admitted. He noticed the chill that went up your spine, prompting him to one up Negan’s story by telling his own; “You think that’s bad? Let me tell you about the time I was chased by my neighbor who was an escaped convict for murder.”

Your head snapped in his direction;

“You’re not serious.” You gaped.

Simon put his hands up in defense;

“It’s true. I swear.” He said with a hint of smirk appearing.

It wasn’t true. As excitedly terrifying as it may sound, Simon had never known any murderers or real criminals in his day. He was just making this up off the top of his head.

“You’re fucking with us. No damn way that happened.” Negan bantered.

Simon chuckled;

“You wanna hear the story or not?” He asked sassily.

You and Negan shot each other glances, before turning your attention back to Simon.

“I was about 18. Just about to go off to college,” He began; “This guy lived about three doors down and had always been a little odd. He very rarely came out of his house, but it was always dark. He had weird vibes all around. All the parents in the neighborhood wouldn’t dare let their kids go play around his house.”

You were nervously chewing on your thumb nail as you listened intently. You didn’t like the fuzzy feeling that was bubbling in your belly. 

“It wasn’t a surprise that none of us knew that he had been arrested and thrown in prison. His house was exactly the same when he wasn’t around. I felt bad for the guy. For all I knew, he was just a lonely guy with no one to talk to,” He continued; “So one day I thought it would be nice to hand deliver his morning newspaper to him. I went to the front door, knocked, but didn’t get an answer.” 

You didn’t like where this was going. You were quite literally on the edge of your seat as you took it all in. Negan himself even refrained from interrupting, curious to see how this would end.

“I heard some sort of racket in his backyard, so I walked around and through the fence. And what I saw about made me damn near sick,” He explained; “He was in his prison jumpsuit and all. And he was burying a body in his backyard.”

Your heart hit your shoes and bounced back up to your throat. Negan’s jaw dropped and his face went pale. This was the most insane story you had ever heard. 

“I was going to just make a run for it and pray to God I could forget about it. But then he saw me standing there like a deer in headlights,” He said rubbing his slightly chilled hands together; “I shit you not, the fucker dropped the shovel and started running at me.”

You were speechless. How had he never told you this story before? More importantly, how did this not traumatize him? Now Negan was just as wide eyed as you, stunned at what he was hearing. 

“I swear my feet left the ground before I could even think. I sprinted in the other direction and started screaming bloody murder...no pun intended,” He snorted; “Anyways, to make a long story short, I managed to run out of my neighborhood and found a policeman down the street. Turns out he had escaped his cell that morning and they had been on the hunt for him all day because they were afraid of what he might do. That body was some random guy that he encountered after his escape.” 

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. The hairs on your arms and legs were sticking straight up. You suddenly had the eery feeling that someone was looking at you. 

“My mom had to come pick me up from the police station. I was convinced she wasn’t going to let me go off to school after that,” He joked; “But once it was all cleared up, things turned back to normal...but I still would get a sense of fight or flight every time I visited home. But, hey, shit happens.”

Simon finished his story nonchalantly. As if he hadn’t just confessed that he had almost been chopped to bits by a psycho killer. You felt like your heart was going to make a leap of faith out of your chest. You had never heard anything like that in your entire life. Negan shook his head to shake the thought;

“You were had a life or death encounter with a serial killer and all you can say is ‘shit happens’? Simon, I may have pegged you wrong,” Negan stated; “You are one badass motherfucker.”

Simon grinned and shrugged. He had been lying, of course, but if it earned him brownie points with the boss, then he didn’t mind dragging it out. You were shocked silent. What do you even say to that? Negan smiled, shaking his story off effortlessly;

“I don’t know if I can top that, but have I ever told you two about the time I fought off a rabid raccoon?” Negan asked with a raised brow. 

Simon caught your ghostly and tired look and stood from his chair;

“No and I’d love to hear it, but I think she’s had enough storytelling for one night.” Simon said guiding you up from your chair. 

Negan shrugged with a scoff;

“Suit yourself. It’s one hell of a story though.” He said standing from his own seat.

Simon assured him of another time to tell it and finally walked you back inside from the courtyard. Simon had already completely discarded the story he had just burned into your head. He didn’t even catch the slight shiver in your limbs. You were rattled and even a little terrified. You felt like a little kid who swears they had heard a monster under their bed. Simon slipped his hand into yours as you walked back to your floor;

“So, I’ll see you in the morning, yeah?” He asked softly in your ear, careful not to wake anybody else up. 

He wasn’t going to leave you alone tonight, was he? Surely not after all that. You stopped his trek and looked at him with pleading eyes;

“Can I stay with you tonight? Please?” You asked gently; “I don’t want to be alone tonight.” You confessed.

Now, he realized something was up. He instantly agreed, leading you to his room. He watched as you quietly got ready for bed and crawled under the sheets and covers. He followed suit, pulling you to him. You latched onto him like he’d float away if you didn’t. Simon looked down at you with worried eyes;

“What’s the matter, baby?” He asked sweetly.

You buried your face into his soft shirt and shook your head. You didn’t want to admit you were scared, but you also couldn’t get the thought of being chased by a crazed killer out of your head either. He rubbed your back comfortingly and encouraged you;

“Darlin’, you can talk to me. Always.” He cooed.

You mumbled against him. He rested his chin on your head, taking in the scent of your favorite soap. His brain racked up any ideas of what was making you so fidgety. He finally thought back to the story that he had just told about a half hour prior. He suddenly felt guilty. He didn’t think it would’ve scared you this bad...especially since it wasn’t even true.

“Is it the story I told just a little while ago?” He asked.

When you nodded, he whimpered out an airy sympathetic sound. He held you tighter and admitted his lie;

“Oh, sweetheart, that didn’t actually happen. I just made it up.” 

You paused and looked up at him. The way your glossy eyes shimmered and lower lip quivered broke his heart;

“Really? You’re not just saying that?” You asked desperately.

“I promise. The whole thing was just a story.” 

Your brows furrowed, suddenly a little annoyed;

“Why would you make up something like that? You really scared me.” You said truthfully.

He kissed your forehead and hummed deeply;

“I didn’t think you’d actually believe it. You always see through my bullshit.” He grinned brightly.

You growled faintly;

“Not always. I literally thought you were serious.” 

“I’m sorry, [Y/N], I didn’t mean to.” He apologized. 

You nuzzled back into his frame, accepting his apology. You were mostly relieved that didn’t actually happen to him though. You would’ve been scarred for life. 

“That’s okay. You really could’ve been an actor, might I add.” You joked.

He scoffed, kissing your skin;

“I’ll stick to storytelling in the courtyard.” 

[deathsmallcaps]

@boopboopboopbadoop

April’s Story

Shrek premiered 20 years ago this month! So I decided to honor it with my own illustrated version of the movie for my Win A Commission Contest! If you’d like to see the illustrations in context with the text, please

Once upon a time, there was a lovely Princess

But she had an enchantment upon her of an awful sort, that could only be broken by True Love's First Kiss

She was Locked away in a tower, guarded by a terrible fire-breathing Dragon

Many brave Knights had attempted to free from this dreadful prison, but none prevailed

She waited in the Dragon's keep, in the tallest room of the tallest tower. Where she waited for her True Love and True Love's First Kiss...

A large green hand ripped a page from the Book and revealed another part involving the whole kingdom celebrating on the Princess and her True Love's wedding day, laughing heartily as he slammed it shut.

"Like that's ever gonna happen!" A Scottish voice said dismissively. "What a load of-" A flush of a Toilet drowned out the last part of the sentence.

We look and see an outhouse. It was made of white birch wood, lashed together with a rope for a handle and a black crescent moon facing the right. There was some hanging moss on the tilted roof growing and a pathway of stones, weeds crowding in between. It was set right in front of a thick wood, facing towards a house. The strange thing about all of this is that the outhouse had plumbing with a flushing toilet.

The door slammed open, revealing no Prince Charming nor a Frog, but an Unlikely Hero: an Ogre. Yawning and stretching out before fixing his wedgie, he shook off a ripped page that was sticking to his shoe and stared at his house.

He lived in a giant, white, hollowed out mangrove tree, the trunk thinning out into a perfect chimney. Moss, ivy and weeds grew all around or on top of it, and there was a crude door and some small windows set into the side.

The Ogre breathed in and left the outhouse with the door slamming behind him as he began his day.

Using a bucket and scraping up some mud, he carried it over to a branch. The ogre undressed and pulled on a rope, causing the mud to pour onto him. He made an “Oof!” sound when it first hit him, but continued scrubbing himself with the mud like it was soap. He drank the last dregs of the mud and then spat it out, ending the shower.

Then the Ogre brushed his teeth. He grabbed a red caterpillar, and squeezing it like a tube of toothpaste, pushed its innards onto a bone. He scrubbed well, getting the insides of his teeth, then the outsides. It turned his already unhealthy teeth greener, and the putrid goo shown in his hideous smile caused his mirror to shatter and fall onto the floor.

Next, he plunged himself into a lake and made a huge splash, turning himself right and getting ready; the Ogre let out a loud, horrendous and terrible gaseous fart that bubbled behind him. Feeling relieved and making an “innocent” pose with his finger to his lip, he turned to see that there was not one, not two but three red salmon floating up to the surface; murdered by the deadliness of the stench that continued to plague the rest of the underwater native wildlife. He grabbed the one next to him and proceeded to leave.

Later army crawling into a hollowed husk of a fallen tree, pointing diagonally skywards, the Ogre pushed out a ton of mud as he climbed his way forward like a commando in the trenches of a battlefield. The final mud slopped out as his stained face popped out.

He smiled as he found a green slug right outside the tree trunk. The Ogre grabbed it and the slug squirmed in alarm as it was picked up by a giant green hand, leaving the small maggots once underneath the slug exposed to the air.

Closer to sunset, near a lake with verdant hills in the distance, the Ogre began painting a new sign. Having picked out a broken off- plank of moldy wood form his outhouse, he didn’t bother with a base coat of white. He spent several hours painting. Once he finished, the Ogre placed his palette down, took a good look at his newest masterpiece, and out of sheer joy of satisfaction he kissed the ogre in the picture on the lips. It left red paint all across his lips as he posted it next to an older sign that said, "STAY OUT". It was a rather hideous portrayal of his face with red eyes and red writing that stated, “BEWARE OGRE".

After The Ogre had ate his fishy and sluggy dinner and had lit a fire with the strength of his belch, he sat back on the crocodile flesh recliner. Just as he was settling in, the Ogre's tiny trumpet ears picked up a disturbance in the Swamp.

It was the sounds of people trespassing. With a groan he lurched to his feet and glanced out his window, spotting a group of Ogre Hunters in the far distance, mostly visible due to their torches. Within moments, the Ogre snuck outside his home and was tiptoeing behind them.

The Ogre Hunters, dressed mostly in green and sporting crappy haircuts, pushed aside the tall grass and foliage as they watched the Swamp House, lit from within by The Ogre’s Belch-Fire.

"Think it's in there?" The one with a bowl cut asked

"Alright... let's get it!" The one in the a tall hat declared, holding a torch and about to make a charge forward before he was stopped short by the one with the mustache next to him.

"Hold on, you know what that thing could do to you?" the mustached one said with fear.

"Yeah, it'll grind your bones for it's bread!" The one with the bowl cut told him.

They all froze when a loud chuckle echoed behind them.

Turning around, they saw the Ogre towering over them. He spoke in an almost friendly manner, but what he said was the opposite of friendly. “Ha, yes, well actually; that would be a giant!" He exclaimed, causing the men to back off. The Ogre stepped forward each time they stepped back. "Now Ogres, oh.. they're much worse! They'll make a suit from your freshly peeled skin!"

"No!" A man was horrified

"They'll shave your livers!"

“No!”

"And squeeze the jelly from your eyes!" The Ogre Hunters were cornered as the Ogre added, thoughtfully, "Actually it's quite good on toast."

The bearded Ogre Hunter swung torch at The Ogre’s face. "Back! Back, beast! Back! I warn ya!"

The Ogre simply raised an eyebrow before calmly licking his fingers and putting out his torch with a pinch and a smile.

"Right..." the Ogre Hunter dropped the extinguished torch.

The Ogre let loose an horrible and fearsome ear bursting roar directly into the faces of the cowering Ogre Hunters. Spit flew in their faces as their hair and hats were thrown back. They screamed in response as their torches extinguished as the roar continued. After a long moment, he stopped and wiped his mouth, but the Hunters continued to scream; when they finally stopped they looked like their wits had long been scared out of them.

The Ogre leaned in and whispered to them as the crickets and other hidden wildlife in the night went on in the silence. "This is the part where you run away..."

With a yelp they immediately dropped all their pitchforks and weapons and bolted out of the swamp as the Ogre chortled to himself. The bowl cut Ogre Hunter tripped but kept running in desperation.

The Ogre laughed whole heartily and yelled after the retreating party. "And stay out!"

A piece of paper they must’ve left behind caught his attention. He picked it up, and saw that it had the face of a solemn elf with a green leaf hat and white beard. There were bags of gold drawn around it, but no explicit price was given, just the word, “Reward” written in red. Above it he read, "Wanted: Fairy Tale Creatures...".

He realized they had wanted to capture him for the reward money. He looked towards the fleeing villagers in disgust and shook his head, throwing the paper to the ground as he went back inside to spend the rest of the night in peace.

The next day, as part of his new plan to get people to leave him alone, The Ogre set up some new new signs, even farther from his home. Just as he was setting up his last one (it had a green skull with the words ‘Keep Out!’ in the pupils), something ran into his butt.

The Ogre turned around to face what appeared to be a terrified mini-donkey.

Someone yelled, "He's getting away! Get him!" and the sounds of guards in armor scared the little donkey into hiding behind The Ogre. "This way! Turn!"

The local Captain of the Guard and his men ran up, stopping when they all saw the tall Ogre who stood before them. "You there... Ogre" The Captain grabbed a scroll his waist

"Aye?" Was The Ogre’s reply, hands on his hips and now seemingly irritated that his day was once again involving contact with humans.

"By the order of Lord Farquaad... I am authorized to place you both under arrest and transport you to a designated resettlement... facility...?" The Captain's voice was shaking and nervous due to the face that the Ogre was walking towards him slowly, now standing right in front of him as a deafening silence fell.

"Oh really?" He asked, leaning down so he was face to face with the Captain. "You and what army?" He asked as his teeth glittered with a smile, glancing behind him.

The Captain turned around to see what was once left of his men as their halberds fell down and a shield spun around onto the ground like a coin. He turned back to the Ogre; the mini-donkey smiled as the Captain took his men's example and made a run for it.

Now that confrontation is over with, the Ogre shook his head and walked away; but the mini-donkey had nowhere else to go and decided to follow his accidental savior. He trotted behind him.

"Can I say something to you?" He asked with the Ogre walking on. "Listen, you were really, really, really somethin' back here. Incredible!"

Now fully irritated, The Ogre turned around. "Are you talkin' to..." The Ogre saw no one else, just the ground lit by the sunlight within the forest of the tall trees. The voice was clearly gone. "Me?" He blinked and shrugged, turning before giving out a startled yell as the Donkey now stood before him.

"Yes I was talkin' to you. Can I tell you that you was great back here? Those guards! They thought they were all of that. Then you showed up and bam!" The little donkey caught up to The Ogre before getting up onto his hoofs in front of The Ogre and made a martial arts move with his right hoof, stopping him again. "They were trippin' over themselves like babes in the wood. I loved seeing that, made me feel happy seeing that"

"Oh, that's great. Really." The Ogre sarcastically replied

"Man, it's good to be free!" The burrito declared as the Ogre turned to him.

"Now, why don't you go celebrate your freedom with own friends? Hmm?" He suggested, leaning down to the little donkey, before walking off again.

"But... I don't have any friends, and I'm NOT going out there by myself!" Exclaimed the creature. A flash of inspiration came to him. "Hey wait a minute, I got a great idea! I'll stick with you" Donkey returned happily to the Ogre, deaf to his annoyance. "You're a mean green fighting machine! With you, we'll scare the spit out of anybody who crosses us!"

The Ogre halted and regarded Donkey for a moment. Then seemingly out of the blue, he fully turned and gave off an all might roar right into the animal’s face; hoping this would scare him.

The mini-donkey just stared, now with an impressed look drawn on his face. "Oh, wow! That was really scary!"

The Ogre just frowned and stomped away.

"Now if that doesn’t work, your breath will certainly get the job done, 'cause you definitely need some Tic Tacs or something 'cause your breath STINKS!"

The Ogre continued walking, but then looked back when he didn’t hear the none-stop chatterbox for about five seconds, to his relief and hope that he lost the annoyance.

To his irritation and surprise, the donkey appeared looking down at him from above; atop of a fallen tree over The Ogre’s path.

"You almost burned the hair outta my nose, just like the time..."

The Ogre covered the donkey's mouth, muffling his little obnoxious tale. The donkey still did not shut up as he kept it held there; continuing to talk either way; The Ogre removed his hand. "Then I ate some berries, man I had some strong gasses leaking out of my butt that day!"

"WHY are you following me?!" The Ogre asked, losing patience; nothing could shut this donkey up and he just needed to get away right now.

"I'll tell you why!" The animal leaped off the tree as he followed the Ogre, before breaking out into obnoxious song. "Cause I'm all alone, there's no here beside meeeee." He stopped in front of the Ogre as he wiggled his butt, the Ogre's right eye was half closed and his left eye was twitching in madness as the mini-donkey continued. "My problems have all gone, there's no one to deride me... but you gotta have faith-"

"Stop singing!" The Ogre yelled, he grabbed the burrito by the ears and tail as he moved him out of his way. "It's no wonder you don't have any friends!"

"Wow, only a true friend would be that truly honest!" The small donkey claimed.

The Ogre only groaned "Listen, little donkey. Take a look at me: What am I?" He held out his arms and stood tall before him.

The burrito looked from the Ogre's shoes to his head, whose face looked irritated while he thought to himself. "Really tall?" was his first guess. The mini-donkey wasn’t sure what The Ogre was asking.

"No! I'm an Ogre, you know. ‘Grab your torch and Pitchforks!’ Doesn't that bother you?" He imitated an Ogre Hunter before asking.

Donkey shook his head

"Nope." came the response

"Really?" The Ogre was a bit surprised.

"Really, really" The creature happily assured.

"Oh," The Ogre was not too sure on what to say next.

"Man, I like you, what's your name?"

The Ogre looked a little surprised. For all his time living alone in the Swamp, no one had ever asked him of his name. He had always been The Ogre, not a true individual to the people around him.

"Uhh... Shrek." He replied after a moment, before continuing his walk home.

"Shrek?" Th little donkey echoed, seeing if he got it right before following the now and forever named Ogre himself. "Well, you know what I like about you Shrek? You got that kind of I-don't-care-what-nobody-thinks-of-me-thing I like that. I respect that Shrek. You all right."

He continued to follow Shrek up the hill as they came overhead across a small grassy meadow hill above that overlooked Shrek's Swamp. Donkey (for that was his name) stared looked at the scene before him.

"Whoa! Look at that. Who'd want to live in a place a like that?" He asked with a hint of disgust, mostly discomfort, in his voice.

"That... would be my home" Shrek claimed, his hands on his hips before heading down the other side of the hill.

Donkey could only blink in response, he had really put his hoof in it now. "Oh! And it is lovely! Just beautiful. You know you are quite a decorator. It's amazing what you've done with such a modest budget!"

Shrek only shook his head as he continued downwards.

"I like that boulder, that is a nice boulder." Donkey followed him down. He continued after Shrek once again and stopped in front of the three signs: "BEWARE OGRE", "STAY OUT" and "DANGER". Donkey took a look at each of them all and asked,"I guess you don't uh.. entertain that much do you?"

"I like my privacy." Shrek claimed as he kept walking to his front door, Donkey trotting after him.

"You know, I do too. That's another thing we have in common. Like I hate it when you got somebody in your face. You've trying to give them a hint and they won't leave. Then there's that big awkward silence you know?"

Shrek turned to face him, silently willing Donkey to understand that the creature had just described their exact situation.

"Can I stay with you?" Clearly Donkey did not receive the hint.

"Uh, what?"

"Can I stay with you, please?" He added in the magic word.

"Of course!" Shrek declared lightheartedly as he smiled.

"Really?" Donkey asked.

"No." Shrek bluntly denied.

"PLEASE! I don't wanna go back there! You know what it's like to be living like a freak!" Donkey reconsidered for a moment as he looked at the large green humanoid before him as he pushed Shrek onto his front door with his hooves. "Well, maybe you do. But that's why we gotta stick together! You gotta let me stay, please, please!" Donkey was getting hysterical.

"OKAY! Okay..." Donkey dropped to the floor as Shrek opened his door inwards as he gave his one little stipulation. "But one night only." He was about to enter before Donkey bolted in.

"Ah! Thank you!"

"What are you...?" Donkey leapt onto Shrek's crocodile skin recliner. "No, no!"

"This is gonna be fun! We can stay up late, swappin' manly stories and in the mornin," He trotted around on the chair before sitting down as he finished with: "I'm makin' waffles!"

"Oh!" Shrek groaned as he held his hands out, as though he was planning to strangle the noisy intruder.

Donkey looked around and asked him. "Where do, uh... I sleep?"

"Outside!" Shrek screamed irritably.

Donkey's ears drooped upon hearing that response. "Oh, well, I guess that's cool. I mean, I don't know you and you don't know me, so I guess outside is best, you know. Here I go." He sniffled as got off his recliner and walked out sadly,"Goodnight..." He told him as Shrek slammed the door on him.

The mini-donkey kept talking, of course. "You know, I do like the outdoors. I'm a Donkey. I was born outside. I'll just be sitting by myself outside, I guess, you know. By myself, outside!"

Shrek looked out before shaking his head and sighing to himself, walking away from the door to enjoy himself for the rest of the day as Donkey began singing the same annoyingsong again; although more sorrowfully.

"I'm all alone, there's no one here besides me..."

That night, as the cauldron hanging by chains over the firepit bubbled solemnly; Shrek was enjoying himself with a nice dinner while Donkey was locked outside of his home. He dropped a eye on a stick into his martini glass and slurped it down as he looked at his dinner before him. There was a slug with orange eyes, what appeared to be green grapes, a jar of eyes, spice, worm stuffed pumpkin and a nice large piece of cooked skinless meat on his plate.

These were the times he enjoyed the most out of his solitary life, he was home, nice and warm and he wasn't bothered by anyone at all. Though he had to pause and glance at his front door. Shrek had ... mixed feelings about his new acquaintance. He talked WAY too much, but he was also the first person in a very long time to actually treat Shrek like a person.

He shook his head and sighed, scooting in further to his table as he felt that there was just something missing from the layout of the table. The man he figured out what ir was. He brought his hand to his ear and started to pull hard and painfully as the earwax built up came out like a spear and placed it atop a candle platform; lighting the wick made of ear hair afterwards with a match. Now he can enjoy his meal alone.

The same could not be said for Donkey, who peeked sadly into the window before making his way back to the front door. He laid down as he smiled bittersweetly and went to sleep at his new friend's doorstep.

Shrek continued to eat and enjoy his meal until the sound of his door creaking interrupted his silence.

He put his fork and knife on the table as he got up. "I thought I told you to stay outside." He was hoping to shove Donkey back outside, if that was what had come in.

"I am outside." Donkey’s voice came from the window.

In confusion, Shrek turned and saw a shadow move across the wall. Who was now moving around near his table? He returned and observed it. Everything was normal underneath the table, but then he heard voices from above.

"Well, gents, it's a farcry from the farm, but what choice do we have?" A blind mouse asked, tripping over Shrek's fork.

"It's not home, but it'll do just fine!" The second of the blind mice knocked over the jar full of eyeballs, spilling out the contents.

"What a lovely bed" The third of the blind mice was bouncing on the Slug, Shrek immediately caught him.

"Got ya!" However it escaped his grasp.

"I found some cheese" the third mouse said, biting Shrek's left ear.

"OW!" He cried in pain, grabbing at the mouse again who was now on his other shoulder.

"Blah! Awful stuff!" The tiny rodent jumped down onto the spoon and inadvertently launched a piece of gravy towards Shrek's left eye, which he wiped away immediately.

"Is that you Gordon?" One of them asked.

"How did you know?" A different one asked back.

"Enough!" Shrek grabbed all three of them by the tail, flipping the wooden spoon off the left side of the table as he turned his back and demanded angrily.

"What are you doing in my house?" The dinner on his table was then violently shoved off and Shrek's back was hit with an gold and glass fashioned coffin, labeled, ‘Here lies Snow White, under the curse by the Poison Apple infected by the Sleeping Death curse’.

"Hey!" He turned and saw the Seven Dwarves, one of the waved at Shrek.

"Oh, no, no, no. Dead broad OFF the table!" He shoved her coffin back to the Dwarves

"Where are we supposed to put her? The Bed's taken!" They shoved the coffin back to him.

"Huh?" Shrek stopped short. He hurried to his bed and opened the curtain separating the rooms and gasped. There laid comfortably and in grandmother's clothing, was a wolf of all creatures.

"What?" The Wolf asked irritably.

Shrek was now on the verge of rage, he dragged the Wolf out of bed and held him in the air through his house as the Seven Dwarves made themselves comfortable.

"I live in a swamp, I put up signs! I'm a terrifying Ogre!" He shoved his door open outwards. "What do I have to do to get a little privacy?!" He screamed as he threw the Wolf out of his house.

Then he saw a sight that would haunt him forever. "Oh no... oh no!" Shrek bellowed.

His Swamp. His lovely, silent, peaceful Swamp was no longer the way he intended it to be. It was now swarming with many, many Fairytale Creatures; many, many beings now living in his precious Swamp. Even the old woman brought her entire shoe to his Swamp, with many children running around. Tents were set up, fairies roamed around in the air, Pinocchio and a short yellow elf with a cone shaped hat were arguing and many people were conversing with each other.

“No!" A witch flew past him. "NO!" He screamed out, three more witches came zooming past him and Shrek had to jump for cover as they came flying down with elves helping them land.

"Wha?" Shrek turned his head to the side with the old woman hanging her clothes with a child and two other children pushing each other.

"Hey, don't push!" A girl in the blue shrieked.

The Pied Piper in red was calling over rats with his flute while many other Fairytale Creatures were waiting in line towards Shrek's Outhouse.

In the meantime, Papa and Baby Bear were sitting by the fire, the latter upset and being comforted by his father; no Mama Bear in sight, as many other Fairytale Creatures warmed themselves up by the fire before them. Elves, Lepricons, Dwarves, Fairies, Witches, Pigs, Wolves, a Unicorn and any Fairytale Creature you can think of were all there in Shrek's Swamp; shattering his peace.

"What are you doing in my Swamp?!" Shrek roared out as he got up, his voice echoed all over the sound of his Swamp; everyone and everything came an abrupt half as it was followed by screams and gasps. The Dwarves who held bowls to be fed with soup from the cauldron by the witch dropped them, the three fairies of Sleeping Beauty flew in the tent to hide and two Dwarves ducked out of sight and appeared holding each other out of fear behind a branch.

Shrek wasn't going to have all this; he eyed everyone and began to walk to some Elves and Dwarves. "Alright, get out of here. All of you, move it! Come on! Let's go! Hapaya! Hapaya! Hey! Quickly, come on!" He shooed them all backwards but some of the Dwarves and fairies ran into his home as Shrek turned back. "No, no! No, no. Not there, not there!" He ran after them as they slammed the door on him and a little green fairy, the door now unable to open despite his best efforts.

He stopped and turned to face the large group before them, especially on Donkey.

"Hey don't look at me, I didn't invite them!" Donkey replied.

"Oh, gosh, no one invited us" Pinocchio confirmed.

"What?!" Shrek came over, demanding to know what happened.

"We were forced to come here" He told the Ogre.

"By who?" He was flabbergasted until one of the Three Pigs told him.

“Lord Farquaad. He huffed and he puffed and he... signed an eviction notice." His brothers nodded in agreement.

"Alright. Who knows where this Farquaad guy is?" Shrek asked.

Everyone looked around at each other with no answer, until Donkey answered. "Oh, I do. I know where he is!"

"Does anybody ELSE know where to find him? Anyone at all?" Shrek was desperate to not to go with Donkey of all people.

"Me! Me!" Donkey tried to get his attention, jumping comically into the air. Baby Bear held his paw up, but was stopped by his father.

"Anyone?" Big Bad Wolf and a Green Wizard pointed to each other while Donkey continued

"Oh! Oh, pick me! Oh, I know! I know! Me, me!"

"Okay... fine." He reigned himself to being annoyed; Shrek knew that he would either go with Donkey or risk asking a human. "Attention, all Fairytale... things. Do not get comfortable, your welcome is officially worn out. In fact, I'm going to see this guy Farquaad right now and get you all off my land and back where you came from!" He pointed to the left before the entire crowd went wild.

Shrek shook his head and groaned before walking, four birds draping him in a flower cloak. "Doh!" He swatted them away as he sharply pointed directly at Donkey. "You. You're comin' with me" He told him darkly as he shoved the cape off him and started walking, the birds returning and dropping a flower crown on his head.

"Alright, that's what I like to hear man: Shrek and Donkey, two stalwart friends, off on a whirlwind big-city adventure. I love it!" Donkey rushed after the ogre.

Shrek tried to grab torch from a Dwarf while walking. He refused to let go, so Shrek simply shook him and then dropped the dwarf into the water where the dwarf resurfaced moments later.

"On the road again, sing it with me, Shrek. I can't to get on the road again!"

“What did I say about singing?" Shrek sharply turned to Donkey and grabbed his flower crown before throwing it off of him. They crossed a log that bridged the area between Shrek’s little island and the rest of the swamp.

"Can I whistle?" Donkey asked.

"No."

"Can I hum it?"

"Alright, hum it."

Donkey continued to hum ‘On the Road Again’ while Shrek

focused on the road ahead.

The two heroes marched off into the woodlands while being waved off by all creatures.

Art Explanation

So, it’s obvious I copied the title from the movie! It sure did make my life easier!

And I used a lot of references for my pictures. I hoped to make them true to the movie as possible.

The second picture is possibly my favorite, although I didn’t enjoy drawing all the scenery. It isn’t my specialty.

The third picture was fun! I remember being very jealous of Shrek’s belch power when I was little, lol.

To be honest, the fourth picture was my least favorite. It felt too busy.

The fifth picture is my other favorite, because it has Donkey!

The last picture was hard, for sure. I wanted to ge their reflections right, and not make the background look too crappy. It’s hard to adapt things from such a dark scene. But I think it turned out alright, although the scaling is a little funny :).

So, I was hoping to not have to write out these scenes myself, because it’s ten whole minutes of a movie and let me tell you, it’s hard to do from scratch. Luckily, I found a version, which I’ve left a link for below. I just polished it a bit.

Anyways, I hope you’ve enjoyed!

SOURCE

https://m.fanfiction.net/s/450448/1/Shrek-Adaptation

[no-whump-on-main]

Vampire Whump 2

Previous

After FOREVER and a half I finished this!! It actually only took two days to write but editing was a BITCH lol. anyways here is 5,000 words of creepy vampire man and cliffhangers

CWs for: Creepy/intimate whumper, pet whump, dehumanization, stripping in a nonsexual sense, self-thoughts and descriptions of body size that could be triggering for those with EDs

     Annalise does not often find her Master in what could be described as a good mood. Most often, he is indifferent, if not annoyed with her for minor infractions, such as leaving her porridge untouched or reopening wounds he spent his own time carefully cleaning and closing. Today, however, when Annalise awakens to the sound of his footsteps padding down the stairs, she is shocked to discover cues that make him seem happy. He does not slam the door to her cell when he closes it behind him, and he does not reprimand her for sleeping so much or lacking alertness when he speaks to her. His body language, by all means, is cheerful.

     She does, however, notice something strange from her usual position of sitting in the far left corner of the cell with her knees tucked to her chest; he is carrying another item along with his usual oil lamp. It is a long piece of folded white silk. She wonders what the purpose of the fabric is, but remains silent, as she has not been told to speak. She does not speak often, as permission is rarely granted; after all, things like her have no need to speak. They are simply there to accept what is dealt to them and serve. 

     Master speaks to her, which is not unusual, but his genuinely kind tone of voice is. She snaps to attention, immediately disregarding her wandering thoughts to pay him her utmost regard.

     “Come here, darling,” he commands her, pointing to the ground in front of his feet. She immediately crawls to him before kneeling righteously with her back turned to him, assuming he is going to feed. She has slept and woke at least five times since the last time he ate; it was time.

    Instead of the anticipated sharp sting in her neck, she is met with a hard slap to the cheek from behind. The girl flinches and squeezes her dull blue eyes shut, but does not otherwise react. She wonders what she has done wrong.

     “Other way. Turn around.” His voice is still as kind as it was before, showing no harshness. He has not done this to harm her, only to correct her behavior.

     Ah, she had followed Master’s instructions improperly. Dimly, she wonders how she was meant to know he wanted her turned toward him without being told so, as she was always expected to face away from him since she did not deserve to gaze upon him. 

     The simple explanation is that she is just a stupid girl. She should have known, and the stinging in her cheek is a simple reminder of this.

     Obediently, she turns around, now kneeling and facing Master with her eyes averted downward. She knows she is not permitted to make eye contact with him under any circumstance, so to avoid the issue altogether, she keeps her gaze locked down whenever she faces him.

     “Good girl. Close your eyes and look forward.”

     Her heart skips as she is called a good girl, overjoyed to be called what she craved to be most in the world. Master’s instructions are strange, but she follows them faithfully, letting her eyelids fall shut before lifting her chin up from her chest to look ahead. She feels Master’s hands draw closer to her face, and for a moment, she braces herself to be struck again, but instead of pain, she feels the soft texture of silk brushing against her face, settling over her eyes as Master securely ties the ends together behind her head. She now realizes what the purpose of the strange fabric was; to be a blindfold.

     Annalise hasn’t been blindfolded in a very long time, and it makes her nervous. The last time Master drowned out her vision with a thick piece of cloth, he had muzzled her in succession then thrown her into her cage, leaving her alone in the basement to shiver without his guidance. She was given no opportunity to earn herself mercy with obedience; there was only cold metal and humiliation for days on end. She wonders if she is going to go back in the cage, and feels cool dread settle in her stomach at the thought. Master reserves the cage for when her behavior is truly atrocious, and she cannot remember acting out severely in any recent time. Behaving like this unknowingly is her greatest fear; after all, how could she fix her mistakes and prove herself worthy if she didn’t know what she did wrong?

     Her fear is thankfully relieved at least somewhat as Master bends over and scoops her up from the ground. One of his arms is supporting her torso from behind, while the other is tucked under her knees. She gasps quietly as they rise, shocked not only to be held, but lifted. Master had said nothing about a reward, and if he were going to punish her, he would drag her off rather than delicately lift her from the ground.

     As the vampire steps out of the cell and heads for the stairs, again being delicate with the door, he speaks softly to the confused girl huddled in his arms. “You may ask two questions if you’d like, Annalise.”

     Annalise’s head perks up, gleeful for the opportunity to speak as well as to clear some of her bewilderment with the situation. Master is being very generous, allowing her two questions. She pauses for a moment, wanting to make her questions worthwhile; she doesn’t want to waste her opportunity, after all. After pondering for a moment, her first question is the most obvious thing to ask, with her nerves of the unknown.

     “Where are we going?” She asks, her voice cracked and brittle from lack of use. The vampire quietly notes to himself that he’d have to fix that before his guests arrived. It sounded ugly. 

     “Upstairs,” He softly answers, offering no further explanation. Just upstairs. Not what room they would go to, or what they would do upstairs, or why he had now, after nearly two years, decided to take her up beyond the confines of the basement for the first time. 

     As if to confirm what he told her, he begins to ascend the steps, each second another moment closer to finally having his muse upstairs.

     This will change things, and he knows it. He may be calloused, but he knows that once he brings her into his home, he won’t want to leave her in the inky blackness of the basement again. He sees the way she shivers, how her bones sit so very close to her skin, and part of him thinks that with her perfect, practiced, and soon to be tested obedience, she deserves at the very least to be a housepet. Of course, he won’t let his emotions control his actions, and she must remain positively perfect as she is now to earn her place, but with her hard work, he does not doubt she could rise to the occasion.

     Annalise’s heart skips a beat as her Master ponders what is to become of the state of her existence. Upstairs? 

     She has no memories of the main level of her Master’s home, but she does know that it exists, and she believes that it is a grand place, much more spacious and welcoming than the cold abyss downstairs. She is overjoyed at the news, yet even more curious than she is ecstatic. Before she can stop herself, she blurts out her second question, poorly worded from her haste.

     “Why?”

     Master stops in his tracks as Annalise realizes her mistake. She begins to correct herself but quickly remembers that she has not been given open speech, only two questions, so she goes silent.

     “That is not a question, darling. I’ll be gracious and let you try again, but do not repeat that error. Understood?”

     Annalise quickly nods and states her question again. This time, it is properly worded. “Why are we going upstairs, Master?”

     The vampire begins to ascend again, and he can feel Annalise become less tense. He decides to be generous with his explanation.

     “We are going upstairs because I have decided it is time to introduce you to my peers, and I have planned somewhat of a dinner party, if you will, accordingly. We will discuss my expectations for your behavior through this once I get you ready.”

     Master falls quiet after that, leaving Annalise to stew in her shock. She hears another door open and can now feel Master walking along flat ground. She notices it is much warmer upstairs, delighting her greatly. She has not stopped shivering, but her usual quakes have become gentle flutters with the change in temperature.

     She is finally set down after Master walks through two more doors. She doesn’t know where he has taken her, but the scent is different in the room they settle in. The house smelled of aged cedar and iron before they went through the last door, but this room smells like myrrh and frankincense. It is rich and deep, radiating through all of the room’s air. 

      Annalise wonders how she knows the names of these smells. She cannot remember being taught them.

     The surface she sits upon now is hard and close to the source of the scents. She feels small droplets of water soak into the back of her nightgown as she settles with her hands folded in her lap. She understands after she feels the water; she is in a bathtub, in Master’s bathroom. The rich smells have to be that of his soaps and colognes. She thinks they must be very expensive given how strongly fragrant they are.

     She is still very confused on why she has been deemed worthy of coming upstairs, but she does not question Master’s decisions. He is wise. He knows what is best for her. He knows what she deserves. 

     Master does not let her sit in the tub and ponder for long. His instructions come soon after she is set down.

     “Remove your clothes, dear.”

     Annalise obeys without question but wonders what the purpose of the command is. Master has never required her to do such a thing before, and as she feels cool bathroom air hit her now exposed body, she wishes he hadn’t. She shudders, but remains silent and still, simply waiting for Master to instruct her further, or to do something himself.

     He then does something strange. He walks in front of her, makes something clink in the bottom of the tub by her feet, and turns a creaky handle.

     Then she feels warmth. Warm water is pouring over her feet. It reaches out and starts to lap at her legs, then steadily continues to move forward and rise, all the way up until it reaches her chest. She realizes then that she is taking a bath-that is why she was told to strip. This is what Master meant when he said he needed to make her presentable.

      Of course, she knew that people usually bathed when they were in bathtubs, but she never could have expected Master would deem her worthy of this luxury. She had originally thought that he just needed somewhere to put her down. It seems completely irrational for her to deserve something like this, yet here she is. 

     If this is a reward, it is Annalise’s new favorite. This is the first warm bath she can remember, and she is basking in it. She has been bathed before, of course, it has been far too long for her to have gone without a bath at all, but all of the baths she can remember up to this point were miserable experiences. They all went the same way; Master would come down with a bucket of ice water and dump it over her, usually while she was in the cage, with no warning, or even commands, then leave. He just let her shiver alone in silence until the air dried her off.

     She shudders. She does not like these memories.

     The sound of the water pouring heavily down into the porcelain tub is loud, loud enough that she wouldn’t be able to hear Master over it if he were trying to speak to her. Luckily, when it does stop, once the water is approaching the top of the deep tub, Master does not reprimand her for not listening, so he must not have tried to speak at all.

     He walks back over to her side, now, and pours something that smells sweet into the bathwater. She can’t place the exact scent, but it seems floral.

     “You may speak freely if you please. This includes questions.”

His voice is loud and booming, echoing in Annalise’s ears. Speak freely? She has not heard Master say that in a very, very long time. The last time she can remember is when he’d put her in the cage, and wanted to hear her every thought and plea.

     She doesn’t remember how long ago that was. 

     Master is being so very kind today. Though she does not understand his kindness, she will not be ungrateful. Her first free words are those of thanks, and her voice shakes with how quickly she is stumbling over her words as she leans back in the bath. 

     “Thank..T-Thank you, Master! Thank you master for b-believing I am worthy of being t-taken into your h-home and for the warm bath, it-it’s wonderful, oh-”

     “Silence, Annalise.”

     The girl’s mouth falls shut.

     “You do not ramble. You will not waste my time with rambling. Say what you need to in an efficient and eloquent manner.”

     The girl swallows a lump in her throat and nods.

“Good girl. Now, what were you saying?”

     “Thank you,” she replies softly, now. She is scared. Of being punished, or even just losing the privilege. 

     “You are very welcome,” Master tells her. He falls quiet. He’s waiting for her to speak.

     The bathroom is quiet for a moment before Annalise realizes this and speaks again.

     “Why am I blindfolded?” She asks. 

     She hopes Master will not take her question as her doubting his authority. She trusts that he knows best; she just wonders why this is best.

     “You’ve been in the dark for a long time, darling. Sudden light now will hurt your eyes. We’ll introduce it slowly.”

     The explanation makes sense, and Annalise nods. She wonders how she’s going to get used to the light slowly-light is light, isn’t it? Maybe he would use candles, lighting just one at a time. That could work, couldn’t it?

     The girl desperately wants to just fall silent and enjoy the fragrant warmth enveloping her, but she figures it would be rude to ignore Master when he had so graciously let her speak openly. She doesn’t know when the privilege will be revoked, so she should use it while she still can. The problem is that she finds she does not know what to say or ask. She has been silent for so long that she does not know what to say now, and she frowns until she finally resigns and tells Master, “...I don’t have anything else to say, Sir.”

     The vampire doesn’t seem to mind, letting her quietly relax back in the bathwater for a few minutes to soak. He decides to take this time to rifle through a medicine cabinet above the sink. He still needs something for her voice; he can’t have her sounding like a croaking toad in front of his friends. He scans many bottles until finally deciding on a simple jar of honey. Most of the medicines he has are far out of date, and he won’t risk getting her sick. She’s weaker when she’s ill, making it much more dangerous for her to be fed on. And with tonight’s plans, he needs her healthy.

     He takes the honey and a tablespoon for serving then brings it back to Annalise. Crouching over the side of the tub, he instructs her to open her mouth, before he feeds her the contents of the spoon. The girl seems surprised by the sweet liquid but doesn’t make any comments about it, and the vampire leaves her in peace for the remainder of the time that he has determined she needs to soak in the floral clarifying solution for.

     Once several minutes have passed, he begins to clean the girl. He does not inform her of what he’s doing, but simply soaks a sponge and silently lifts each of her limbs one by one, thoroughly cleansing them each individually before letting them fall back into the water. Her back and torso are next; they have suffered the worst of the abuse, and are both caked in filth and dried blood, requiring the vampire to soak and scrub them more diligently to fully clean them.

     It is a long process, but once he is satisfied that her body is clean, he moves on to her hair. It’s a long, matted mess, but the vampire seems determined to detangle it, not wanting to chop one bit off of the beautiful curls hidden underneath the mats. He takes good care of his things, after all; cutting things off of his possessions would be wildly inappropriate. Unless, of course, they had earned that treatment. Annalise had not.

     The vampire finally breaks the silence and speaks to Annalise, not wanting to startle the relaxed girl by suddenly dunking her underwater with no warning. 

     “Hold your breath for me, dear. I’m going to wet your hair,” he warns her smoothly.

     Annalise nods and braces herself to go beneath the surface of the water. She’d nearly drifted off while Master scrubbed her clean, and even now remains in a state of such relaxed bliss that she might as well be sleeping, hardly present with the world.

     She isn’t held under for any longer than a few seconds, just long enough to saturate her tangled hair and wash a bit of the dirt on her face away. Master soon leans her back up and she inhales deeply, her eyes still closed under the soaked blindfold as water drips from her hair. She hears master pick up another bottle, this one smelling distinctly of roses as he pours some out into his hands, then applies it to her hair. It must be shampoo, with the clean feeling it leaves as Master massages it into her scalp. She feels her spine tingle as his fingers rub her head and she sighs happily. She has been weary for so long; this comfort, though it is unfamiliar, is incredible.

     She is lost in her thoughts as Master rinses the shampoo from her hair, then begins to slather what has to be a whole bottle of conditioner onto the giant mats and tangles. He then spends so much time brushing through it, tiny section by tiny section, that the water goes cold by the time he’s done. Annalise can’t see it, but there’s a discarded pile of her hair that had been ripped out in the process by the vampire’s feet. 

     Just as she begins to grow weary of the long bath, the vampire finishes brushing out her hair and washes the excess conditioner from her hair, then unplugs the drain by her toes. The water’s level starts to slowly fall until it has all drained away. Annalise is bewildered by the feeling of her wet hair sticking to her back; she had no clue it was so very long. Before it was brushed out, the huge knots had kept it from scraping anywhere past the middle of her back, but now, she feels the ends brush down by her hips.

     She’s starting to shiver from the cool air surrounding her wet body, but Master soon saves her from the cold by wrapping her in a fluffy towel. He reaches into the tub and picks her up again after making sure the towel was secure, then walks off with her, but does not take her far. They only go through one door, and hardly travel any steps after it, before she is set down on a plush surface. Her hands instinctively fold in her lap. The ground beneath her is soft, fuzzy, even, like her blanket, and she realizes with delight that she has been set down on Master’s bed. She knows she is only going to sit here momentarily, but it is so very soft and nice, she wishes she could stay.

     Master’s footsteps start to recede away, then Annalise hears the sound of a match striking. He must be lighting candles. Was Master going to take off the blindfold now? She hoped so. She didn’t like things being so dark. Her eyes had adapted to see just enough down in the basement, but now, with the fabric and Master’s order to keep her eyes closed, everything is pitch black. It is frightening. She does not like it.

     Her hopes, for once, come true; Master returns to her, and with gentle hands, unties the wet silk and lets it fall into her lap. Even after the blindfold comes off, her eyes are still closed. Master had never said to open them after he told her to close them in her cell.

     “Open your eyes, Annalise,” she hears his voice boom, and she immediately obeys. Her gaze is respectfully focused down at the ground. All she can see are her own legs, the edge of the bed, and the dark hardwood floor below her. The room is very dim; there are small bursts of light coming from the candles visible in the corner of her eye, but they are so few that her eyes do not hurt even a bit. Master was careful with it. He is kind. 

     “Do they hurt, at all? Uncomfortable, even?”

Annalise shakes her head. She notes that the soft blanket she sits on is blue. It’s hard to see the color, but she’s able to make out that it’s a very dark blue. She likes the color.

     “Good,” he hums. He seems happy. That makes Annalise happy. 

     Annalise watches Master step away. He walks out of her field of vision, just for a moment, then returns. There’s a bundle of deep red fabric hung over his arm when he returns. It’s just as shiny as the material of the blindfold had been.

     “I went out and bought you a dress, just for tonight. What do you say, Annalise? You may speak. And chin up, dear, I want you to see it.”

     Annalise raises her head. She’s no longer looking at the ground, but straight ahead. She can’t see Master’s head, but she sees the gown he’s holding out in front of her. It’s simple, but she finds it beautiful. The dress is bright red and very long, the bottom brushing against the floor. It looks loose and flowy; there are several layers of stitched tulle atop a silk base, with long poet sleeves made of the tulle. 

     It’s gorgeous. Annalise is shocked into silence for a moment before she remembers Master's order and hurries to comply.

     “Thank you, Master. It-It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

     She wants to say more, to break down in thanks for the entire opportunity of being allowed upstairs in the first place, but she remembers his rule against rambling and quiets herself. From what she can see of his body language, Master seems pleased by her reaction.

“You’re very welcome. Get it on, then. I’ll help you zip the back. 

     Annalise carefully reaches out to take the dress, but Master pulls back and points to a set of undergarments set directly behind her. She delicately removes the towel from herself and slips them on, first, then reaches out again to take the dress from him. He lets her take it this time. His hands brush hers as they close around the fabric, and her heart flutters. She wishes he would hold her. He hasn’t in a long time, and she misses it. 

     She squeezes her eyes shut, trying to shake the thought from her mind. There isn’t time for distraction now. She’d been given an order. Carefully, Annalise slips the gown over her head. The fabric feels luxurious, expensive against her skin, and it makes her nervous. What if she damaged it? Master bought it just for her. If she ruined it, she’d be in such dire trouble. 

     It feels awkward and difficult to get the dress on while staying seated, but after a small struggle, her arms finally settle into the sleeves and she’s able to brush the skirt of the dress down over her legs. The dress fits her well, if not a little loose. There’s a bit of scrunched fabric still stuck beneath her, but it will settle next time Master lifts her.

     “Turn around,” He tells her once she has gotten into the dress. She obeys, pulling her legs all the way up onto the bed before flipping herself around completely. As soon as she’s turned, the vampire pulls the zipper on the dress from her lower back up to the nape of her neck. He grabs her hair and runs a few strands between his fingers, humming to himself as if he were indecisive. Finally, he lets it go, seemingly deciding to leave it be. He does, however, produce a small jar full of a sweet-smelling cream from his pocket. He rakes some of the substance through her hair with his fingers before splitting it in half and setting it over her shoulders.

    “Your hair looks nice down,” he hums. “Look at the curls. They’re beautiful.”

     Annalise doesn’t know if that was a real command or not, but she does look anyways, just to be safe. She wouldn’t risk disobedience.

    Her hair is an ashy brown. It’s quickly starting to dry and curl up. She doesn’t know what Master finds so particularly beautiful about it, it’s just hair, but she nods in agreement with his judgment. He is right, she just doesn’t know why.

     “Turn back to me. We’re almost done, dear. You’re nearly ready.”

     Annalise turns to face Master again, and she is soon taken back up in his arms. The vampire carries her over to a small vanity, gracefully pulling the small bench tucked beneath it out at a ninety-degree angle before setting her down on it, mindful to keep her dress in place now that it’s had the opportunity to fall into place behind her legs. He then does something peculiar; he kneels in front of her. Annalise finds it strange to see her Master kneel in front of her. Wasn’t that her job? Why would he kneel?

     She says nothing on the matter, but is acutely aware of her position. Master is right in front of her; if she looked up too soon, she’d make direct eye contact. Master had once called that the greatest form of disrespect a creature like her could show. This made the position incredibly unnerving. One wrong move, and-

     “Look up.”

     Annalise is shocked. She remains perfectly still, but her heart is pounding. Look up? But, but that would mean-

     “Are you disobeying me?” Master asks firmly after she fails to obey. She quickly shakes her head. She’s just shocked, and scared.

     With no other option, the girl lifts her head. Her eyes are still tilted downward, but she’s close enough to Master that it doesn’t matter. She sees him very clearly, more clearly than she ever has since she had acted defiant and refused to avert her gaze. His jaw is sharp and his chin pointed, skin pale and lips full with long orange hair falling pin straight down his shoulders.

     As soon as her chin comes up, Master begins to brush a powder all over her face. She’s not sure what exactly it is, but she knows it is some sort of makeup. Something liquidy is applied to her cheeks before master then dots something cool under her eyes.

     Master is working silently, for the most part, and efficiently. He tells her to close her eyes, then brushes yet another powder over her eyelids, and coats her lashes with something thick and sticky. She doesn’t like the sensation, but she is silent. It’s much more bearable when her eyes reopen, anyways. Finally, Master smears a gloss across her lips, then tells her he’s finished. He turns the bench back to face the vanity.

     The mirror catches her eye quickly. Annalise stares at herself in the reflection. Master is standing behind her, but she doesn’t see him, only herself. 

     The satin and tulle layers of her dress cover a tiny frame, so small even Annalise herself feels shocked despite not remembering a baseline for herself. Even under the makeup, she notices she looks exhausted. The huge bags under her eyes are only thinly veiled by concealer, and her cheeks are sunken and hollow. Her hair, though beautifully curled, looks dull.

     Annalise doesn’t remember what she is supposed to look like, but it is not this. She’s sure it’s not this.

     Master’s voice suddenly booms from behind her as a frown starts to form on her lips.

     “You look just beautiful, don’t you, darling?”

     Annalise nods, though really, she couldn’t agree any less.

     “Let’s get out into the parlor, then. The guests will arrive any minute now. It took longer than I expected to bathe you.”

     Master scoops her back into his arms, a very familiar action by now, and begins to walk toward the bedroom door. Before he opens it, though, he warns her, “It’s much brighter out there. Close your eyes if you must, dear.”

     Annalise nods. Master was right, it’s unbearably bright, and as soon as he opens the door, she has to squeeze her eyes shut. She is curious about what the house looks like, but her curiosity is not strong enough to incline her to burn her eyes with the light over. Master chuckles, almost seeming amused by her adverse reaction. 

     They walk for a long time, a much longer period than it took them to get to the bathroom from the basement. Finally, though, Annalise is set down on another plush surface, though this one is much firmer than the bed, and has a hard backing. Master soon sits beside her, so close she can feel the piece of furniture they sit on dip with his weight.

     “Are you ready, darling? You are permitted to speak,” He asks, his voice soothing and calm.

     “I think-I think so,” Annalise murmurs. She’s beginning to open her eyes in short blinks, but the light is still so bright she can’t see much of anything.

     “Good. Just remember, my love, there are expectations. You are to follow every rule you already have, and additionally, you are to do whatever my guests may ask of you unless I directly tell you otherwise. They are not your master, but they are in charge, and you follow their commands unless they are overridden by me. Disrespecting any of them or misbehaving in their presence will have severe consequences. I expect you to behave perfectly. Do not ruin any part of this night for me. Understood, dear?

     Annalise nods. She isn’t cold, but she’s shaking again.

     “Good. I expect you’ll have a most exciting evening, then.”

     Annalise doesn’t respond. There is silence, just for a moment.

     Then there is a sharp, repeated banging on the front door, just feet away from the pair. Annalise jumps at the sounf, but Master simply stands and plants a gentle kiss on her forehead.

     “You’ll do great. I’m sure of it.”

     He leans down to whisper into her ear. His breath is hot on her neck, raising goosebumps all over her body. 

     “After all, you have plenty of motivation.”

     He walks off to answer the door.

tags: @quirkykayleetam @vamplolz

[darkmindsthinktwistedthoughts]

TLC

Fandom: Ikemen Sengoku

Pairing: Hideyoshi Toyotomi x Naiya (female OC) x Masamune Date

Word count: 4,507

Warning: Pampering, Fluff and sprinkle of spice.

Written by: darkmindsthinktwistedthoughts

Tagging @umbralaperture​ for this commissioned piece.

Masterlist 

---

TLC

This was getting beyond a joke. Every breath was agony, something clawing at her throat and pulling on her lungs like they were a set of bagpipes. Lack of oxygen meant every minor ache and pain suddenly sparked throughout her body a thousand times worse.

She tried to move only to be hit with a blinding pressure pain buried somewhere behind her eyes making her wonder who planted an axe there. Sleep was desired and never came. Endless exhaustion added to the melee of things that now just made up a list as long as she was tall for what was wrong.

Duvets, blankets and pillows clung around her like a nest. Somehow, she had managed to crawl into bed. Medication hadn’t worked the way it should, it hadn’t worked at all. She groaned against the faint light creeping into the bedroom from the curtains and became aware of something loud enough to shake the gates of Hell.

“Ugh… not now.” She grumbled and tried to bunch the pillows up around her ears but the hammering didn’t stop. “Fine, not like I can sleep anyway.”

She peeled back the layers of comfort and dragged her body as close to vertical as she could muster. Using the wall to steady herself, as well as any furniture along the way, she slowly made it to the front door. Her fingers fumbled against the lock. The bolt slid back and the door cracked open.

“This had better be good. I put off dying to be here.” Before she could even focus on who had come to call on her, the door was pushed wide. A set of strong arms wrapped her up in a bone-crushing hug driving what little air she had in her body out along with her ability to stand under her own strength. “Oof!”

“Naiya! Thank god you answered I was this close to kicking in the door.” The familiar comforting voice of one of her usually level-headed boyfriends sounded muffled from her position against his broad chest.

“Yoshi mate, you might want to ease up on the whole bear hug before you really have a need to worry.” Masa reached out with one hand ruffling her hair as he reminded Hideyoshi of a human’s requirement to breathe. “Sorry Lass. I brought food.”

Masa held up two bags he had in his free hand giving them a light shake before brushing past her and Hideyoshi to get into the house.

“I can see that. I thought you guys had a key for here anyway?” She couldn’t really focus on what was happening but was really trying to follow along.

“We do but someone left it in the bowl back at ours.” Masa called out from the kitchen. She could hear the bags being emptied along with the thud and clink of produce being laid out on the counter.

“If you hadn't distracted me before we left, I wouldn’t have forgotten to grab it from the bowl in the first place.” Hideyoshi grumbled his arms releasing their tight hold as he chided Masa.

“How was I distracting you? I was trying to think of things to get from the store on the way over. It was your idea to get the key bowl anyway.” Masa appeared again a teasing grin on his face before changing his voice to give his best impersonation of Hideyoshi. “Can’t just have keys hanging around we need some order in the place.”

“You kept asking if I thought today was a cheat day or not. And I do not sound like that!” Hideyoshi sounded exasperated and a little embarrassed. He was normally the reliable one so forgetting something like the key to their girlfriend’s house proved he was worried.

“Well, it makes a difference to Kitten.” Masa chirped back.

“Hey guys as much as I enjoy the Saturday night live experience, I’m just gonna let you do your things and crawl back into my pit.” She tried to remove herself from the loud, all be it amusing, interaction. It was taking a lot more strength than first imagined to remain upright and she didn’t want to worry them anymore.

“Hold up.” Hideyoshi reached out and grabbed her as she swayed on her feet. Apparently urging herself to try to move forward had failed. His attention left Masa and was now completely focused on her. One of his large hands swept back her bangs as he inspected her. “I knew it, you’re sick.”

“I’m not sick. I am perfectly healthy for a bag of infested, cursed… you know what? I can’t even be bothered finishing that.” Hideyoshi’s hand felt cool against her face which was enough to tell her she was probably running a slight temperature. Great if there was one thing I don’t need right now; it’s my whole system shutting down with some weird bug.

Naiya silently hoped that whatever was happening was just a result of her failed meds. A nasty side effect from inhalers or something not clearing her airways.

“You really look pale, Lass.” Masa came to join them. His piercing blue eye peered out from under his hair and began to rove over every inch of exposed skin she had.

Hideyoshi’s inspection was one thing. It made you feel like you were being wrapped up as he softly moved over you. Masa’s inspection was just as caring but wilder in its execution. If one man was good at making her feel bound, the other was good at making her feel exposed. Between one kind of smothering and the other, it was impossible to hide anything from these two.

“You haven’t been looking after yourself, have you? I told you not to work too hard.” Hideyoshi huffed, the furrow of his brow becoming deeper as if he were the one suffering a splitting headache and not her.

Sensing the start of one of the dreaded lectures on observing better self-care Naiya wriggled in Hideyoshi’s grip freeing herself. She then attempted to sidestep Masa who had moved in a pincer movement to keep her in place without touching.

“It’s not a question of working too hard Yoshi. Its allergy season and my damn meds are useless. With everything going on I can’t go into work, I got told to rest.” In her flurry of explanations designed to defend herself, she could feel whatever little energy she had failing her with every word.

The room felt like it was spinning and she ended up finding herself steadied with a strong arm from Masa as he wrapped it around her waist.

“So naturally you didn’t.” Masamune was still smiling but she could tell by his tone even he was concerned. His gaze really was stripping away at her masks. As fast as she put one in place, he was there to remove it piece by piece.

“Hey what is this gang up on the sick person?” She batted at Masa’s chest that was ever so slightly visible under his black shirt. In a moment of clearer breathing, the smell of his own natural scent mixed with the spices and soap he used at work hit her stronger than they normally would.

“You just said you weren’t sick.” Hideyoshi pointed out the flaw in her exasperated argument.

“I’m changing my mind if it means I got two fussing mother types crowding me.” She didn’t so much manage to break free of Masa’s grip as he backed her up against the sofa and allowed gravity to work its magic. Her legs gave out with very little effort and she bounced on the cushioned seating feeling the lurch of her body reacting in a sickening wake up call.

“Right here’s how its gonna work Kitten.” Masa said as he crouched down at her side and held her hand. Making sure she was focused on what he was about to say before continuing. “I’m gonna go in the kitchen and cook dinner for three. You are gonna eat however much of it you can and I’ll turn the leftovers into meals you can eat over the next few days. I’ll even make a big pot of chicken soup for you.”

“With dumplings?” She knew she sounded like a child right now but dammit if someone else cooking meals for her and preparing them so she just had to reheat them later didn’t sound like a slice of Heaven.

“Sure, with dumplings if that’s what you want.” Masamune chuckled and began to ruffle up her hair. She hated to think how bad it looked but it felt nice to feel his touch.

“While that is happening. I’m going to run you a nice refreshing bath and you will soak in there while I tidy up a bit.” Hideyoshi said as he bent down to pick something up off the floor and she could already tell from the way he was looking around the room that he was silently appraising the lack of housekeeping.

“Hey just so you know I haven’t been home much and—”

“You said you weren’t going into work!” Hideyoshi pivoted on the spot, discarded magazines and papers in hand making him look like he had begun to sprout wings.

“Oops.” She became defensive and inadvertently put her foot right in it.

“Don’t ‘Oops’ me, Madam. I was right to be worried about you. When we hadn’t heard from you in the last couple of days I just knew --.”

“Hahaha, you tell her Bud.” Masa applauded with a slow clap as he laughed.

Masa had been practically vibrating attempting to hold back the laughter while watching Hideyoshi as he flapped around. It didn’t take a genius to work out why. The papers in his arms really did look like feathers when he moved.

“Masa you are not helpful.” Naiya was struggling to hold back a fit of giggles as well. His laughter was contagious and it didn’t help that Hideyoshi seemed to have transformed into the mother hen he was always teased of being.

“Little kittens that are as weak as you at the minute can’t complain. Now go along with Yoshi and his mothering while I go sort out food. I’ll even help with the housework while it's heating up.” Masa dragged her forward on the sofa so he could plant a loud kiss on her forehead before leaving the room again to vanish into the kitchen.

“Fine.”

*

It took the entire time the bath was running for Hideyoshi to finally calm down enough to take in what had been happening without butting in with ‘I told you so’ or ‘Why didn’t you call me?’. He checked the meds she had taken and called someone who sounded grumpy enough to be Ieyasu.

Steam, taking time out and sleep. That was what he ordered alongside the bath to get cleaned up and generally try to relax in. It wasn’t anything she hadn’t already heard from others and sleep was harder to come by than they all made it sound. Logically she knew they were right, if she could sleep some of what she felt would clear but her lungs we against it.

The water was just the right temperature with clusters of candles lit around the bathroom and fragrant bubbles popping against her skin. Too bad her nose was so blocked in the humid atmosphere she couldn’t really enjoy the whole sensory experience.

Laying there submerged in the hot water she heard the two men moving around her home. She wasn’t worried they were both so good at domestic stuff it put her to shame more often than not. She was only feeling guilty that she had caused them to worry so much.

As she breathed in and out, she willed her lungs to stop that rasping rattle she had come to associate with trying to live. Asthma, allergies… what were you supposed to do if most of the environment you lived it was hell-bent on killing you?

After about 10 minutes soaking it felt like some humanity had started to return to her. She wasn’t magically fixed but the warmth of the water had managed to regulate her own internal thermostat and she was at least a normal temperature again.

She slipped down so her shoulders went under the waterline and tilted her head back to get her hair wet. While her head was under the water, her ears picked up a muffled noise and pulled herself up just in time to see a panicked Hideyoshi rushing to her side from the now open bathroom door.

“Naiya, are you alright? I knew I shouldn’t have left you for so long in the bath when you are not well.” His hands brushed back her wet hair from her face and she was thankful for the bubbles in the tub giving her a veil of decency.

“I’m fine. I was just getting my hair wet.”

As she scrambled to grab the bottle of shampoo it was plucked from her wet grip.

“I’ll wash it for you.” Hideyoshi didn’t sound as if he were treating this like a chore. Still, it felt a little strange to have this happening and she found herself naturally trying to decline the offer.

“You don’t have too I’m fine.”

“You just gave me a mini heart attack. Let me.”

The cap popping open felt like it was echoing in the room. She watched the viscous liquid pour from the bottle and coat his hands.  His hands softly covered the crown of her head and she closed her eyes against the heavenly sensation of his fingers working in circles and patterns over her scalp. The sound of foam squelched near her ears sending a tingle up her spine.

Callused fingers, softened by the warm water, brushed softly over the shell of her ears. Following her hairline to her nape and then returning back up to the crown again. He lightly rinsed his hands in the water before easing her lower, carefully supporting her head on one arm as he rinsed her hair free of the soap with a small jug.

Naiya’s eyes opened to see her dreamy, blissed-out expression reflected in his soft caramel gaze.

“There now all better?” He asked while kneeling at the side of the bath. The last of the suds from her hair ran freely over his bare arms highlighting the lines of toned muscle.

“Y-yes.” She stuttered. She had been sure her temperature had returned to normal until her overactive imagination began to take over. Drawing lines and connections in a game of dot to dot with little encouragement that only served to fuel a fire in her cheeks.

“That’s my girl. I left your towels here but if you want, I can help you get out?” He got up and paused at the door waiting for her reply.

“No, I should be fine.” The bubbles in the bath were nearly depleted as they fought against the soap of the shampoo. She was becoming aware again of her own vulnerability.

“Ok. I’ll just be the other side of the door so don’t struggle if you can’t manage.” He was still worrying.

“I’m feeling a bit better I can…” She trailed off. Acting tough was not going to work when he had already seen her looking rough as hell. She forced herself to meet his eyes and nod. “Fine, I’ll call if I need you.”

“Good girl. Take your time.” Hideyoshi either didn’t notice the budding embarrassment or he was being too much of a gentleman to call her on it.

She was thankful to the bath for giving her skin an all-over flush, masking a lot of her give away blushing response to him. The door shut and she could hear Masamune shout up the stairs.

“Grubs up!”

*

She pushed herself a little too much to get dressed quickly so as not to keep them both waiting. When she returned downstairs. She was wheezing and trying to hide the fact she was once more in pain with her lungs rattling in her ears.

“Here Lass sit down before you fall down.” Masa joked but he was clearly trying to care for her without making it into a big thing.

Her back sunk into the sofa cushions as her eyes fell on the spread of food that was laid out on the coffee table. She hated her nose right now because if looks were anything to go by the food would have smelt divine.

“What is all this?”

“Breakfast, Lunch, Dinner… Supper.” Masa indicated all the different dishes like he was on a game show before giving a shrug as if to say it was all no big deal.

“If you were gonna cook all this why bother asking if today was a cheat day or not?” Hideyoshi came in carrying a big jug of water, slices of orange and lemon floating under a layer of ice. Placing it on a side table where some glasses were and took a seat next to her on the sofa.

“Hey, Cheat days are Cheat days only when you are healthy enough to be on a diet. When you are sick you should eat whatever you can and whatever you feel like so you can get strong again and continue to fight those pesky calorie demons.” Masa defended his cooking taking a seat on the other side of her.

“Haha, I like your logic there, Master Chef.” She giggled even more at Masa’s comments because of the huffy look that was now gracing Hideyoshi’s face. She shouldn’t take joy in him being put out but she didn’t have the energy to tell herself that.

“Why thank you.” Masa bumped shoulders with her grinning.

She once more found her mind wandering in a fog of fantasy as she registered the fact, she was the filling to this comforting boyfriend sandwich. As distractions from ill-health went it could have been a lot worse.

“However flawed it may be.” A tall tumbler of iced water appeared like a cold wedge between them as Hideyoshi passed out drinks.

“Yeah well, I’m sure the whole idea of wrapping Kitten up in bubble wrap thing is also a flawless plan.” Masa accepted the glass giving a teasing side-eye to the sandy-haired worrywart.

“Alright enough of that. Let’s eat before all this good stuff goes to waste eh?” Aware that something was about to kick off Naiya raised her voice to prevent Hideyoshi snapping back with what was no doubt going to be the start of something very witty that meant the friendly disagreement would continue till all the food was stone cold.

She regretted her words quickly as now both men had shut up and started a silent war. They pressed closer to her than necessary the feeling of being in a comfortable sandwich was becoming a distant memory. She wasn’t allowed to plate anything for herself and found her own dish filling up with bits of everything as the silent battle of caregiving continued.

Her body objected to the sudden influx of food and her stomach lurched. Eyes should not be allowed to pass judgement on what you put in your belly. As hungry as she had been it was also a while since she had eaten anything in this volume. She wanted to curse her upbringing for conditioning her to the fact that it was both rude to the cook and a waste of food to call it quits in the middle of a meal.

Sensing something was wrong with her both men stopped serving more of the dishes. Their intonations of ‘if you eat that you have to have this with it’ and ‘a balanced meal is important if you wish to get healthy’ died as they both exchanged glances over her.

“You alright Kitten?” Masa quietly asked his hand touching hers.

“Yeah.” Naiya nodded and regretted moving her head at all. She slipped her hand from Masa’s and without sparing the men a glance she left the room headed straight for the bathroom.

*

Naiya returned to the living room after freshening up. The harshness of the mint in the toothpaste felt a little sharp against her tongue but it was better than leaving things as they were.

The room had been completely cleared of any signs of the meal. Candles had been lit which meant the bright light from any lightbulbs was not going to cause her any issues. The DVD player had also been set up to play a movie.

All of the cushions had been dragged from the sofa to the floor making it look like a mattress had landed on the rug.  The coffee table was missing but it did look like all her blankets and duvet had been artfully arranged so her previous nest now looked like a luxurious retreat.

“You’re back.” Hideyoshi came in carrying two cups with Masa trailing close at his heels with a third cup of steaming liquid and a plate of something sweet.

“Here Lass try sipping this it will help.” The warmth of ginger spread through her mouth rounded out by calming honey. “Sorry kinda went a little far before.”

He didn’t avoid her eyes but the sincerity in his voice warmed her more than the drink.

“It’s fine I should have said no but I just couldn’t when everything was so good.”

“Careful there Kitten, you’re gonna start giving a fella ideas talking all seductive like.” Masa’s voice was a low purr against her ear, his wild chestnut brown hair brushed against her cheek igniting her blush further.

He brought one of the sweet treats from the plate to her mouth the softness of the dough melted against her tongue replacing the mint and ginger with a buttery sugar spice.

“Churros?”

“Masa we agreed.” Hideyoshi reprimanded.

Masa pulled back with a playful smile as he licked his own lips. He had a way of looking like a hungry predator ready to pounce and nothing seemed to trigger that more than watching her enjoying his food.  

“Yeah, Yeah. C’mere Kitten we got something special for you.” He took her by the hand leading her to the spread of cushions carefully taking her cup from her while she settled into position and then handed it back.

“You have a way of making things sound dirty even if they aren’t. I do wonder if you haven’t been hanging around a certain white-haired friend too long.” She smirked taking another sip of her drink.

Her spirited tease had a thrill that was short-lived. She could feel Hideyoshi move in behind her and sit on the frame of the cushionless sofa.  Her shoulders became encased in the space between his legs as he planted a foot either side of her.

Before she could ask what he was doing, his hands wrapped over her shoulders his fingers moving in circles. The flexing pressure of his grip as the heel of his hand came into play smoothing out the knots, he found almost had her drop her cup.

“Oops! Careful there Kitten, you are already sick you don’t want to get burnt on top of all that.”

The cup was once more liberated from her failing grip while soft sighs and little moans crept out of her mouth. Masa positioned himself at her feet taking one in his hands and began copying Hideyoshi’s movements as he focused on massaging her feet.

Every now and then her leg was raised just enough to let Masa’s fingers travel past the point of her ankle and find the tension trapped in her legs. Every time she felt the release of the stressful tension, he brought his lips to the spot and trailed kisses along it.

She gasped each time he did this. His upturned blue eye was dilated to the point of stormy and his chuckle left vibrations against her skin. The pressure on her shoulders and neck tightened in her response. Hideyoshi was not to be outdone or ignored at times like this. His gentleness could be torture when used correctly and this man was a master at that.

Hideyoshi’s hands slipped to her arms before moving back to her neck and travelling down her spine until they found that sweet spot in her lower back. The one that caused her to arch against his palm as her body reacted instinctively to the pleasure of his touch.

Attacked from two sides at once the little moans became louder as she felt her body begin to hum with affection being lavished on her. Tension, aches, pains they all seemed to melt right out of her as her body temperature rose to a comfortable heat.

They only stopped when she looked as if she were on the verge of breathlessness. It felt like she had just been the victim of a huge tease but it was clear that this was the line neither men were going to cross until she was stronger.

Her body became the filling once more in a boyfriend sandwich. Masa’s arm draped around her shoulders his hand landing on Hideyoshi’s shoulder where it began to play with the gap between his shirt and bare flesh. Hideyoshi cast a glance his way but said nothing to put an end to it.

Dropping her head onto Hideyoshi’s chest Naiya could hear his heartbeat pattering out a private salsa in his body. She smiled knowing that the two guys had made up after their silly little spat.

“Ready for the movie now Princess?” Hideyoshi clicked play on the remote and the opening sequence for Nightmare Before Christmas started.

“Oh my—you got me another copy!?” Naiya snapped back up between the two men eyes sparkling as she watched the screen.

Whether she knew it or not she was moving her body ever so slightly in time with the music which only made her boyfriends chuckle behind her.

“Couldn’t have you without your beloved movie, now could we?” Masa smiled as his hand was removed from Hideyoshi’s neck.

“If we couldn’t do at least this much we aren’t really living up to the title of your men, now are we?” Hideyoshi laced his fingers with Masa's, planting a biting kiss to the back of his hand before releasing it.

The teasing going on behind her did little to break her concentration on the movie. Each man reached out with one hand to drag her back down into the space between them.

Hideyoshi’s long legs stretched out on the cushions, his feet wrapping with Masamune’s while her shorter legs balanced over the top of both of them.

It wasn’t a miraculous cure and she knew that all she had been feeling would at some point find her again. Right now though she was content. Wrapped up in the arms of two of her greatest loves, Naiya’s eyes fluttered shut. The warmth from both men seeping into her with the music on the DVD acting as a lullaby. That was when the sleep she craved finally took her.

---

[owlespresso]

Tremble, Duck and Weave / 3

months and more than 5000 words later— also on ao3. Thank you to TenkeyLess and Nightmist on ao3 for beta-ing this for me.

Your senses return to you in a sluggish crawl. First, it’s the invasive sunlight that creeps in through the window. Next, it’s the awful taste of sleep in your mouth. You groan in protest as the world drags you to wakefulness, the sheets twisting and shifting around your fidgeting form. It’s beyond tempting to roll back over and delve back into slumber, but hunger claws ravenous at your stomach, and—nearly every part of you aches.

Raubahn’s arm severs from his body, the crowd screams, the water splashes dank around your ankles. The musky sewer air burns the back of your throat as you leave your allies, your friends behind.

The sheer force of the memories rattle your eyes open, lurching into a rigid, seated position. Where is Alphinaud? Tataru? The rest of the Scions? Your gaze shoots frantically around the unfamiliar chambers, fingers fisted tight in the blankets. It’s a bedroom, that much is plain. The mattress creaks as you begin to shift, inching towards the edge of the bed. Your muscles scream in protest, drawing your gaze down to the bandages that cover your body like patchwork.

Your escape had been hard-won. Even after emerging from the sewers, you’d been accosted by a patrol of soldiers. Though you managed to defeat them with Alphinaud’s assistance…

“Ah. I see thou hast awoken,” The door creaks open. A tall, broad elezen slips nimbly into the rooms, his dark robes swishing with each coordinated motion. The pale morning sunlight casts a vibrant sheen across his waves of grey hair. His gaze is tender as it lands on you, roaming your body up and down. “Take care not to strain thyself. Thine injuries wert most severe when thou wert delivered to me. I am Urianger Augurelt, an astrologian under the employ of the Holy See.”

A quick glance out the window is all it takes to confirm it. The grand spires of Ishgard grate against the cloudy, grey sky. The dull stonework and steel that makes up most of the city seems to blend together the longer you look, your mind fogged and disoriented.

Only when he clears his throat do you snap back from your discombobulated state.

“Thank you. For helping me,” Thanking him is the least you can do, right? Still, you don’t relinquish your grip on the bunched blankets. Having something to clutch so tight helps soothe the anger and the grief. It’s an anchor to the physical while the mental is lost in a tumultuous storm of emotion.

“My condolences,” his voice is a soothing balm and sympathy renders his expression something soft. He’s beautiful, really. He cuts a sharp figure, though his imposing stature is made elegant by the gentle swish and sway of his robes, inky black cloth with gold embroidery… the transparent, veil-like mask hides the lower half of his face, and you can’t help but wonder what his lips look like. “The guards who brought thee to mine chambers gave me a brief summary of the tragedy that befell thee. Rest assured that thou art safe here.” he strides to your bedside, placing a glass of water atop the mahogany nightstand.

Not a moment passes before you’re reaching for it. Gods, how long has it been? The back of your throat is as dry as the Sagolii, sandpaper feeling soothed by the cool water you gulp so desperately.

The muscles and bones of your arms whine with dull pain, left over from the terrible injuries you’ve suffered during your escape, as vicious and unnerving as the memories which accompany them.

“It will take thee at least a fortnite to heal from thy wounds. House Fortemps hath secured thee a place in the Holy See as their ward.”

“I…” It’s all too much to process. “What about the Scions?” The conversation slows to a stop as he carefully thinks over his answer, though his silence is all you need to know the verdict. Sudden nausea churns deep in your stomach, because you know. You were there. You heard the tunnel collapse. You watched Minfilia dash in the direction of the explosion. The allies you have come to know and treasure perished for your sake.

An aching coldness sweeps over you as your body curls in on itself, crushed. Alone, you realize. Alone. The support networks and bonds you’ve built ripped from your grasp in not even a bell’s work. Darkness envelops your vision as you bury your face in your knees, sobs beginning to rattle aching lungs.

What’s the point in being the Warrior of Light if you can’t protect those who matter most to you?

A large hand settles on your shoulder, reminding you of Urianger’s hovering presence. Your throat is hoarse and slick all at the same time, tears smeared wet across your cheeks, leaving you feeling even worse. Your lips part around a pathetic little gasp, drawing a trembling breath deep into your lungs.

“I’m sorry,” you whimper and laugh all in one. “I probably don’t seem like a Warrior of Light, right now.”

“‘Tis no trouble,” Urianger insists, offering you a white kerchief. The fine fabric glistens underneath the spare rays of sun. You almost hesitate to sully it, but you wipe your face down and blow your nose in it anyways, too far gone to feign humility.

“I can only imagine the depths of thou’s grief… but know this be a safe haven. Rest here as long as thou desirest.”

“Resting is the last thing I want to do right now,” you sigh. The grief, the doubt, the ‘what if’s’ press against you like a vice. You don’t completely believe it, still. That they’re gone. A part of you thinks perhaps Y’shtola or Thancred or any of the friends you’ve made along the way will walk through the door any moment, like nothing happened. But you know that’s not going to happen. That cannot happen. It’s that grim realization that spurs you into action. Your arms howl in agony as you press your hand to the mattress, pushing yourself out of bed.

The floor is cold against your bare feet. The plush robe you’re swaddled in shifts with the sudden movement, dangling over your shoulder to—

—to gift him a glimpse of thine exposed skin. Ne’r had he thought the day would arrive when a woman paralyzed him with her body alone, yet here he sat.

The ethereal sight was snatched away before he could truly savor it. Overpowering was the temptation to beckon thee hither and plead for another showing, but nay. Surely such a woeful and pitiful display from a stranger would gain him naught. A quieter, delicate approach must needs do.

He stood from his chair, hastening to your side.

“Prithee, allow me to run thee a warm bath. Thou hast been deep in slumber since yest’rday. T’would be advisable to clean and redress thy wounds.” His gaze rested upon thee, soft and imploring. A brief silence hung in the air, during which his heart thrums so passionately in his ears, so voluminous that he might have missed thy nod of agreement had he not been so focused on thine lips. “A seamstress hand-crafted a new shirt and pair of slacks for thy to adorn, alongside the proper smallclothes.”

He grasped the pile of garments from atop the drawers that rested against the far wall, delicately handing them to you. With great delight did he notice the petiteness of your hands, his heart set aflame at the difference in size between the both of you.

With eagerness did he escort you to the bathing chambers, endeavoring to keep his mind from wandering to the expanse of skin and plane that laid beneath that loose robe.

By his hand would your bond seed and propagate.

As hesitant as you are to trust a man you’ve just met, you allow Urianger to escort you to the bathroom. He slows his pace for your sake, the brief walk giving you a glimpse at the rest of his home… or at least just one, sprawling floor comprised of—well, you don’t get a look inside any of the rooms. The number of ornate doors that line the corridor on either side speak to his wealth and status.

“Forgive me,” he says as you reach the end of the corridor. His cheeks flush light pink, touching the tips of his ears. He doesn’t even look at you as he wraps a massive hand around the brass doorknob, tugging it open. “Dost thou require assistance disrobing?”

“I’ll be fine,” you assure him with a small smile. His modesty is likely a standard among Ishgardian society, but you find it sweet regardless.

The bathroom is wide open and lavish. White tile spans across the floor. The sink is surrounded by a marble countertop and the faucet shines near gold in the pale sunlight. Tiny windows are placed up high, so even the most determined of lechers can’t catch a glimpse inside.

“Thank you, Urianger.” You can’t even begin to repay his hospitality, and while you hate to impose on him further… “I might need your help with rebandaging, though.”

“Of course,” he nods. Perhaps, after you heal and get back on your feet, you’ll be able to repay the incredible kindness he’s shown. For now, all you can do is step inside to the waiting bath. “I shall retrieve the necessary supplies while thou bathes. Take as long as thou require.”

The door clicks shut behind you, leaving you to simple silence and the thoughts that accompany it. Plush fabric slides down your skin as you disrobe, and you take care to drape it over a rack affixed to the wall. Your borrowed raiment is a deep, inky black that shimmers underneath the light, several sizes too large for you. You realize it likely comes from his own wardrobe, making it more of a relief that you didn’t simply shuck it off and let it fall to the floor.

After everything he’s done for you, you’d hate to let even a speck of dust sully it.

The process of peeling off your bandages is both sluggish and painful, but there’s a strange sense of relief that comes with letting your skin breathe. After tossing the sullied scraps into the nearby wastebin, you run the bath and allow the warm water and soap to wash over you. You’re tender still. Each brush of soap over wounded areas makes you cringe anew. The pain, however, is a welcome distraction from the thoughts and qualms that flock so readily to you.

You throw yourself into the task, losing track of time until you’ve finished. It’s with great reluctance that you climb from the warm water. The cold air surrounds you near instantly and clings like a second skin, sending an intrusive shiver down your spine.

After toweling off, you debate how much you should dress. On one hand, being close to bare in front of the man you have just met, you know if you’ll get dressed completely, he might just ask for you to disrobe again. He can’t very well treat you with clothes in the way. Nervousness briefly churns in your stomach as you opt to only tug on the undergarments.

You poke your head out the door. Much to your surprise, he’s already waiting with an armful of supplies.

“Should I come out there?”

“I can redress thy wounds wherever thou art most comfortable,” he informs you, his expression twisting with sympathy.

“In the bathroom is fine, then.” Despite the permanent Ishgardian cold, your palms sweat as you open the door, allowing him to stride inside. There’s no reason to fear or doubt his intentions. He’s been nothing but the finest of gentlemen thus far. His gaze remains affixed to the floor as he bustles inside. He carefully unloads his armful of gauze, bandages and salves onto the kitchen counter.

“I shan’t look anywhere unnecessary,” he assures you—

—And he hoped he did not lie.

Still, he cannot deny the incredible thrill that danced down his spine when his fingers brushed across thine skin. Even while injured, thou attempted to maintain a firm, resolute demeanor. Only the slightest twinge of thine expression betrayed thy agony.

The sight of thou’s bloodied visage returned to the forefront of his mind.

What kind of spectacle had thou created on the battlefield? How many foes had thou felled? Werest thou as incredible and grandiose as thy reputation had told?

Thy’s body tensed and flexed as he rubbed the soothing ointment onto thine skin. He mapped out every wondrous plane and curve. A fleeting gaze glimpsed roguely at thine softer parts, idly admiring thy incredible form as he re-layered each bandage, treatment gentle and thorough, worshipful. As devoutly as a priest expressed his undying love to Halone.

The fire that you sparked within him grew to a steady inferno, and to the Twelve he prayed thou did not notice the sheen of sweat that had coated his palms. Never had he felt such zealous passion.

Hardly a bell had passed whilst in your waking presence, and yet he was absolutely intoxicated. He was not a man, but rendered a beast, a hound, desperate for the slightest speck of attention thou might bestow upon him.

He felt a twinge of relief as he fastened—

The last piece of medical tape affixes yet another patch of gauze to your skin.

“Thank you,” you’ve lost how many times you’d said that to him since waking. “For everything. I can only hope that I’ll be able to repay you, one day.”

“While thine’s generosity is most appreciated, rest assured I have received due compensation. The Holy See ensures my coffers are well filled, but even had they not, seeing the Warrior of Light hale and hearty would have been reward enough.”

Urianger moves away, taking his warmth with him. Again, he collects the supplies he had come in with, strolling towards the door. You hastily shrug on the shirt and trousers he’s so generously provided for you, wincing with each pull of muscle until you’re warm and clothed. The garments are too big for you, but better that than too tight.

You grab the robe from the rack. The fabric is warm and insulated, and covered in a spiced scent you’ve come to recognize as his. Idly, you shrug it on before turning to the door—

He stood in the doorframe, his eyes widening as he drank in thine intoxicating visage. On thy own, thou wert stunning, but draped in his robe thou wert astronomically, impossibly ethereal. The rich fabric draped over thine form, flowing down and bunching on the floor around thine feet. The edges dragged behind you like a bride’s wedding trail.

It took several moments to jolt from his enraptured state, though the sight remained, burned deep into his mind, a lovely picture he would sooner die than forget.

Would his cologne and incense cling to thou after? For how long? How—

How long would it be until you can return to the field? The Scions are missing, not dead. You refused to believe that for the sake of your own sanity. Not until you find their bodies and could deny no further. You will not rest.

For now, though… all you can do is trail after him. He leads you into the same bedroom that you woke in, urging you to get more rest while he fixes breakfast. Had the simple process of bathing not been so draining, , you would try to assist him. Instead, you topple onto the mattress and worm underneath the blankets. The curtains are drawn, leaving the room bathed in blissful dark. Bookshelves line two of the walls, a gap between them left to make room for a desk. It’s hard to make out any other details, not when your eyelids are so traitorously heavy, not when your mind and body coalesce in their desires to corral you into an unsteady, uncomfortable sleep.

There’s no way to tell how much time passes when you wake next. The room is undisturbed, and the stillness near agitates you as you stir. Whether it’s been only fifteen minutes or several hours, you’re quite through with being still. How can you be content to waste away in sleep when there’s still so much you don’t know? When there are people who still so desperately need your help?

Even if you don’t know where the Scions reside, Raubahn is still likely imprisoned. Tataru is out there with no one to protect her. You ignore the twinges and pangs of pain that assault you when you throw your legs over the bed’s edge. If nothing else, the flare of agony helps awaken you further. The polished wooden floor is freezing against the bottoms of your feet as you amble towards the door…

Yet, a strange apprehension takes hold you you as you stand before it.

Should you really be walking around Urianger’s house alone while you’re his guest? Perhaps it’s only been fifteen minutes. Perhaps you’re disoriented and paranoid. You feel like a child who’s stayed up much too late and has to make the perilous sneak up to bed to avoid a scolding. Even after felling gods and monsters alike, it’s still social interaction and customs that worry you the most.

What would Thancred say, if he saw you so baffled by something so simple? He’d probably laugh and tease you. Maybe pat you on the back before offering genuine words of advice—maybe he’d know the ins and outs of Ishgardian etiquette thanks to some bizarre and far flung mission. You don’t know. You can’t ask him.

You don’t like being left alone with your thoughts.

That’s what pushes you to grab the doorknob and stroll into the hall, taking in the long corridor that looms ahead.

“Urianger?” You call cautiously. Steps slow, your breathing quiet as you grab the first doorknob to your left. Upon giving it a cursory twist, you discover it’s unlocked. Of course it is! He likely hasn’t expected you to snoop.

The door creaks open, revealing another bedroom. It’s similar to the guest one you have been given. The bed is perfectly made, sheets black and white, not a single crease out of place. The smell of recently burned incense makes you wrinkle your nose, curious. A desk nestles against a wall, haphazardly covered in papers and scrolls. It’s enough to pique your curiosity, but not enough to make you actually enter and investigate. That honor goes to the familiar pile of clothes nestled in one of the crannies, between the nightstand and a dresser.

Your clothes. A strange, ominous feeling sinks to your stomach as you push the door open and step inside, crossing the room in a few, deft strides. Why does he have these? The garments aren’t clean, still smattered in blood and other stains that make you grimace as you grip your shirt. You guess it makes sense. He couldn’t treat you with your filthy clothes on, after all. But seeing your garments so casually resting in a practical stranger’s home unsettles you regardless. Even worse, his bedroom.

Your glazed eyes roam the length of your ruined clothes briefly before you set them back down, folding them the way they had been. The way you back out of the bedroom is hasty, but the closing of the door is done with the delicacy and precision of a master calligrapher.

Relief relaxes you somewhat as you continue down the hall, glad you haven’t been caught red-handed. It takes a matter of minutes to find him, still in the kitchen, having just finished cooking. Breakfast is delicious, though the food settles uneasily in your stomach.

You don’t know his intentions. Had you not discovered your clothes neatly stacked away in his room. Are his intentions really pure? Had he intended to wash your garments and return them to you at a later time?

Are you any safer here than you were back in Ul’dah?

You blink, and you’re suddenly back in the banquet hall, underneath the dazzling lights and immersed in conversation with some gaudy noble you don’t even know.

The scene changes all too quickly—

A disembodied arm, the screams of innocent servers and bystanders—the way the Elder Seedseer and the Storm General saw fit to merely watch as you and your allies were chased from the banquet. They let this happen, you realize while you sit on Urianger’s couch and drink some tea.

They let this happen. After you’ve chased gods out of their homes, after you lent your aid, assisting their people with everything you have. Cold. It’s so, so cold and the breakfast in your stomach threatens to resurface because-gods, how can you ever trust anyone again? Especially those in power?

It’s Urianger’s voice that distracts you, brings you back to the surface. He returns from his study and remains at your side for the next few hours, much to your surprise. Your memory is a blur from then on. Your senses fade in and out, lost in a daze for god knows how long. Only the gentle touch of his hand on your shoulder brings you back to reality.

How long had he been speaking to you? You do your best to piece through the conversation, half lost in your thoughts and half still in the present.

Isn’t he someone important? You can’t quite recall what he said–something about working for the church, about being a healer. Doesn’t he have something else to do? You imagine the Holy See needs all the help you can get with the ongoing war—but you don’t question him.

Conversation is slow and steady. Only every now and then does he ask questions, things that are easy to answer–

“From where dost thou hail?” “Was breakfast to thine liking?” “Would thou likest more tea? Another blend, perhaps?”

Calm, casual, yet you do not miss the looks he sends you when he thinks you are not aware. Something changes in his expression, the quiet, thoughtful calm touching a shade darker. Those keen, gold glances make your spine stiffen, your body curling in on itself, taking shelter in the robe he so kindly gifted you. The afternoon slopes by, time passing quicker once he grants you access to his incredible library.

The immense shelves line the walls and cluster around a single wooden table in rows. After grabbing an index of fairytales, you tuck yourself into a seat and mindlessly draw your gaze across the pages, taking in the immense detail put into each drawing.

It’s easy to lose track of time. By the time you finish combing through your chosen book, you realize the sunlight is darkened, the day beginning to come to a close.

Your legs cry out and cramp as you push away from the table, the chair’s legs scraping against the hard wood floor.

The hallways of Urianger’s home are lit by several floating orbs of light. They flounce through the air, casting the hall into patterns of warm glow and dim shadows.

You can pass through them without trouble–they part and shape around your body, making room for you to pass. A sudden jolt of stomach that gnaws your stomach prevents you from investigating the lights. Ah, you had missed lunch. Further, you venture, keeping an ear out for footsteps, breathing, any words said–

“Urianger, my good fellow! Too long has it been since we last saw each other!” A broad, familiar voice reaches your ears and draws you forward. You grasp a doorknob and pull it open to reveal the living room,the same as you left it bells prior. The front door on the far side of the room clicks shut behind Haurchefant de Fortemps’s tall, striking form. He’s abandoned the platemail and armor you’re so accustomed to seeing him in, instead donning a thick jacket, black pants and knee-high boots. A plaid scarf is bundled around his neck, checkered blue and white.

Haurchefant brightens at the sight of you, blue eyes widening, lips curling into the widest of smiles. He bustles past Urianger, arms outstretched to receive you.

“Oh, my friend! How glad I am to see you safe and sound.” His voice lowers to a soothing rumble as he wraps you in an embrace, swaddling you in decadent warmth. He’s soft and warm and alive, someone you actually know and can rely on in terrible, turbulent times. The tension dissolves from your body as you lean forward, slumping into his arms. “When I heard of what happened, I feared the worst. I would have stormed through the gates of Ul’dah myself had I not heard of your escape and timely arrival.”

His cheek nuzzles against your temple. There aren’t words to describe your relief, so you settle for curling your fingers into the back of his coat, tears burning at the corners of your eyes.

No, no. You will not cry again. Yda wouldn’t want you to cry.

Regardless, the tears break free and smudge against the fabric of his coat.

“After dinner, we’ll bring you home–back to Fortemps manor. My father and brothers are incredibly excited to meet you.” He pulls back, but keeps you within arms reach, a large hand perching on your shoulder whilst the other idles at your side. Had it been any other day, you would have flustered at his closeness, but now you feel hot shame well up within you. He shouldn’t have to see you like this–not when he praises you as the realm’s greatest warrior, not when he sings your praises as though you’re immortal.

Upon sight of your teary expression, he freezes. The smile on his face dims, expression contorting in the deepest sympathy. That’s what does it, your mind and body cracking like an egg as a sob breaks free from your chapped lips.

“Oh, do not look at me so,” he shepherds you close to his chest a second time, rocking you gently back and forth. His sweater smells like a warm hearth. The faint scent of chocolate clings to the thick fabric, bringing you back to Camp Dragonhead, to a place softer and simpler. “A smile better suits a hero.”

“I… shall begin preparations for thine dinner,” Urianger says awkwardly from the corner of the room. In the middle of the your emotions breaking free, you quite forgot his presence.

“Ah, as much as I appreciate your magnanimity, that will not be necessary.” You can hear the regret in Haurchefant’s voice. “I will gladly set some time aside for us to fraternize at a later date. However, I came with the intent to bring her to the manor. We already have a room prepared, you see.”

“I see’st,” There’s a tension to Urianger’s voice, like he wants to object, but he offers no argument, no refusal. He says your name softly, breathing out a tender sigh. “I left thine belongings in the guest bedroom. Permit me to retrieve–”

“No!” You break away from Haurchefant’s hold, voice impassioned, “I can get them myself.” Despite your injuries, you’re not made of glass. This constant state of inaction leaves you feeling worthless, helpless, even though you’re not. You’ve felled countless gods! You can weather the pain, you can do something as simple as climb the stairs to get your own damn belongings.

“As thou wishest.” Urianger nods, and Haurchefant allows you to fully break from his embrace to journey back into the hallway. You fumble in the dark of the guest bedroom until you find your staff and the bag of items you had on your person during the battle, minus… your old clothes. Before you leave, you cast off the robe Urianger so generally lent you, immediately missing its warmth. Perhaps you’d have taken a last indulgent sniff of it, but the sight that greeted you in his bedroom haunts you.

You want to get out of this place as soon as possible. Maybe the fresh air will help clear your head and relax you.

You shrug the bag’s strap over your shoulder, thanking the Twelve that at least one part of you was left uninjured. You don’t linger, ambling out of the room, journeying back down the corridor, coming to a stop before the living room door.

“I would prefer it if thou left her in my care for the time being. The nature of her injuries is severe. T’would be most advised to keep her close to a professional–” Urianger’s voice is imploring yet hesitant, as though smothering pure fervent passion.

“It is quite fortunate that House Fortemps has some of Ishgard’s best chirurgeons under their employ, then,” Haurchefant cuts him off, steadfast and assured. He leaves little room for argument. You’ve never heard him cut someone off so abruptly. “Pardon my assumption, but you seem quite flustered, my friend. Is there a reason she should be left exclusively under your care?”

“My simple wish is to see mine task doled to by the Holy See through to fullest completion, tis all,” Urianger dismisses him.

“Then on behalf of the Holy See, as a member of the Heavens Ward, allow me to assure you that this will have no effect on your standing nor your pay. Archbishop Aymeric was notified of my intentions and approved them.” A pause. The creaking of the floorboards underneath someone’s feet. “It’s unlike you to be so emotionally transparent, my friend. You usually covet your feelings like a dragon hoards its treasure.”

“Thou art jumping to conclusions in your theatrics, lord Haurchefant.”

“If that’s the case, then, I so humbly beg your forgiveness and thank you for your service. Your… attentiveness to my lady has been noticed. And appropriately appreciated.” There’s a sharpness underneath Haurchefant’s typically airy voice that you’ve never quite heard from him.

...You don’t want to hear it anymore.

You grasp and twist the doorknob, the living room falling silent as you enter.

“There you are! Come along, come along,” Haurchefant wastes no time in bustling over to you. “Allow me to take that. You’ll bear no such burden while I am at your side.” He tugs on the strap of your bag and you submit, allowing him to throw it over his shoulder. “You should also take my coat, tis cold without,” in an admittedly impressive juggling act, he both keeps grip on your belongings and shrugs off his jacket at the same time, handing you the heavy, soft garment.

“Are you sure?” you hold it up and eye it with a raised eyebrow, before looking to him.

“Of course. I have long adjusted to Ishgard’s admittedly inhospitable climate, whereas you have just arrived. The walk is short. I’ll be perfectly fine.” He’s wearing long sleeves, so you don’t push it. Instead, you slide into the coat, taking in the warm, soft fabric and enjoying the scent that clings to it. The heart and the home, warm hot chocolate prepared upon your arrival to Camp Dragonhead.

The sleeves cover your hands by a long shot and the entire garment is big enough for you to wear it as a dress. The weight of it, and how much it covers is comforting.

Comforting to the point where you don’t allow yourself to bat an eye as he wraps an arm around you, pulling you close to his body. You don’t want to read into his actions, don’t want to think about anything you overheard. Even the notion of having something else to worry about and lose sleep over nearly makes you break down all over again.

You say your last thanks to Urianger and promise to visit him. It’s the least you can do after he was kind enough to heal you. Perhaps he was being paid to do so, but you don’t imagine cooking breakfast was a part of his job. Nor was it his job to make you tea and fetch you new clothes, new shoes, most like.

A cold gust of air greets you as soon as Haurchefant opens the front door. The light has long died, leaving the street lamps to illuminate the grand avenues of Ishgard’s upper class district. This is your first look at the city’s interior, you realize. Your gaze draws over the grand buildings, taking in their steepness and structure. It’s grim, but beautiful. Deadset and stiff in its design but stable and confident in the face of the tragedy it regularly endures.

There is no moon, tonight, as though it too has decided to hide away with its own grief.

---

He apologized to you as he tread upstairs. He apologized to Minfilia, to the vast pantheon of gods and goddesses, to the Scions, to all those he hadn’t been able to aid in their time of need.

Urianger’s exhaustion burned him raw. He was not privy to the framing and ambush of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn. However, that doesn’t alleviate him of his guilt and grief. Having thou so politely dropped into his lap by the newly appointed Archbishop had granted him brief succor. Knowing he had the chance to help the survivors of the incident was a soothing balm to the wound.

He had not anticipated the way he had grown so instantly attached. Neither had he anticipated the fervent desire that gripped him, nor the way his blood boiled when that rapscallion barged into his home and stole you away.

The guest bedroom did not bear your scent as he hoped it would.

He felt as though a hostage in his own body as he navigated to the bed, gaze fixed upon the robe thou hadst cast so generously onto the sheets. A mere piece of thee to tide him over until he saw thou next. The mattress bounced as he fell upon it, face shoved into the plushness of the garment, taking in a deep breath. His cock throbbed at the scent of you, blood rushing down whilst he parted his robes with a trembling hand.

Like a howling, braying beast did he rock his hips. The friction was painful without oil, but pain mattered precious little when he craved thou so. Moans rattled from his weary lungs, his mind corrupted with images of thee, so decadent underneath him.

Thy nails, digging into his shoulder as thou let thy voice ring free–crying and sobbing and begging for benediction by his hand, by his cock. That mattress creaked as he worked himself to completion, a final cry freeing itself from his parted lips as he spilled sticky and hot onto the robe.

He collapsed to the side, hot shame washing over him as he lifted his gaze to the window, contemplating a moonless sky.

[babbushka]

Mind & Soul Ch. 5 Sneak Peek

The story of how one man fell out of love and into it again

Charlie (Marriage Story) x Reader

2.5k ; Angst, mention of injury (that cut on his arm), marital affairs/cheating, NSFW

The house is too quiet, dark. Cold.

Empty.

He slams the front door closed, drops his luggage. He’s exhausted, fuck he’s so tired. He’s so tired, the kind of tired that’s settled too deep into his bones, that no amount of sleep can fix. He’s tired, and he’s terrified, but he’s too frayed around the edges to really feel it, to really feel anything.

He drops his luggage and steps out of his shoes, feeling like garbage as he makes his way to the shower. He just wants to scrub the day away, just wants to scrub the feeling of slimy dirty Los Angeles away, wants the New York water to rinse his sins down the drain.

He turns the water hot as it will go, scalding, and when he strips himself down and changes the dressings on the deep gash in his arm, he stares at himself in the mirror. He doesn’t know who he is anymore, what he’s doing anymore. He doesn’t know. The whole thing feels fruitless, feels pointless. He wants to smash the mirror, when he sees the bags under his eyes.

“God, I hate, this!” He screams at himself, no one there to hear him.

He almost wishes he were at the theater, instead of this house, instead of this place that he’s condemned himself to.

It’s too empty.

He steps under the shower, leans himself up against the cold tile wall and just watches as water swirls at his feet. He needs to get clean, he knows, he won’t crawl into bed until he is, and fuck, does he desperately want to be in bed. He wants to feel the cool sheets on his skin, wants to breathe in the scent of his pillow. He wonders if they still smell like you.

His hand reaches for his dick before he even really knows it, just at the simple thought of you.

You, you, you.

He misses you.

He’s missed you the entire time he went away to fucking LA.

He thinks about how you would have been with him, how you would have looked. He thinks about how you would have smiled at him in the mornings, how that smile would have cut through the fog. He thinks about you, how you would have warmed the side of the bed next to his, how your breath on his face would have woken him, how your moans would have filled the space of the hotel.

“(Y/N),” He lets his head tip back against the cold tile as soap and suds run down his body, as they slick up his cock, as he jerks himself off, “Oh, (Y/N).”

He thinks about how you would have fucked him, let him fuck you, after the bullshit. After the fight. He wonders if the fight would have even happened, if you had been there with him. He wonders if anything bad can ever happen if you’re there.

He speeds up his hand, grip on himself tight, trying to emulate your own hand. Your hands are soft, they’re supple, they’re well manicured and they know how to twist and grope and squeeze him just right. He imagines you on your knees in front of him, imagines the way soap would wash down in between your breasts imagines the way you’d guide his cock to your lips –

“Fuck,” He’s groaning, smacking his head against the wall as his hips buck into his hand, as he fucks his hand, wishing he were fucking you.

God all he wants is you.

He comes all over his chest, nearly loses his footing, because he doesn’t realize it, but he’s used your body soap and now he smells like you and that’s so overwhelming that he’s afraid he’ll black out.

His heart hurts, when he comes down from his high, and he watches as the evidence of his arousal winds down and around, going down the drain, like so much in his life.

He throws a hand out and shuts off the water, desperate for you. He knows he can call, he knows, you always pick up. He’s got the little burner phone with just one number programmed in. He can’t save it, he’s too afraid to save it, but if anyone were to look at the call log, it’s all you, just you.

He fumbles out of the shower to get himself dried off, stumbles into bed. The wound on his arm is bleeding, again, and he has a spike of panic that the bandages won’t be enough, again. He’ll deal with it later, in the morning, he doesn’t give a shit.

Right now all he needs is you.

The burner phone is in his pants pocket, right where he abandoned it next to the bed. He squints against the bright light of the screen as his fingers already know where to go, his hand already knows what to do. He can’t bear to bring it up to his face, not right now, not like this, so instead he rests the phone on his chest and turns it on speaker, listening to it as it rings.

“Pick up, pick up, pick up.” He begs the universe, eyes closed, fingers crossed, hoping hoping hoping it’s not too late.

“Charlie?” You ask, and fuck, oh fuck, he could cry, maybe he is crying, because that’s your voice. Your voice, which he hasn’t heard in days, in a week, in a whole fucking week. It’s music to his ears, it’s an original score winning best awards in every show, it’s a symphony at the philharmonic and he wants to give you a standing ovation as you ask, “Is everything okay?”

You’re worried, concerned for him. That brings him down to earth, the worry.

“Yeah, it’s – no it’s not. Fuck, are you, can you – ” He can’t lie to know but he doesn’t know what the fuck to even say, he doesn’t know.

You’re so good to him, so kind to him, so patient. He doesn’t know, but you do, you do because he can hear shuffling on the other end of the line, can hear you throwing the sheets off of your body, can hear you rummaging in your dresser for clothes.

“I’m on my way, I’ll be there in ten minutes.” You say, you promise, and it feels like he’s just been granted some illegal wish, some chance he shouldn’t have.

His hands shake as they rake through his wet hair, as he licks his lips, as he tries to tell himself to stay calm for just ten minutes, it’s only ten more minutes without you.

“Door’s unlocked.” He whispers into the phone, and you’re nodding, he can tell you’re nodding, by the way the phone statics up.

“Love you.” You say, and damn, no one’s said that to him in so long.

No one’s said it and meant it, other than you.

                                                        -----------

Ten minutes feels like ten years, when he’s in bed without you. He waits, just waits for you, his ears trained on the front door, waiting waiting waiting. He nearly falls off the bed when he hears you, finally, stepping into the house and locking up behind him. You come up the stairs two at a time, push open the bedroom door and take in the sight of him.

He’s managed to pull on sleep-pants, something soft and long to warm him, but he’s bare chested and his arm is still bandaged, and you tend to that first.

“Oh Charlie honey, what the hell happened, to you?” You ask, collecting him in your arms.

Something about that, about that simple embrace, has him sobbing in your hands. He’s been so emotional, this whole fucking week, so emotional. He doesn’t know how to handle any of it, it’s all so new, all so stressful. He’s so fucking stressed out, so he cries and cries and you just hold him tight as he clings to you.

“It was stupid – I did that dumb fucking thing with the knife – ” He tries to explain, and you’re immediately rummaging through his pants.

“Where is it?” You ask, not unkindly, just insistently.

“What?” He’s confused, he’s so wrapped up in the thought of you, in the thought of you actually being here with him, that he missed the question.

You lean down to kiss him, and Charlie’s whole body tingles, his whole self comes alive. He’s never felt so alive, as to when you kiss him.

“The knife, the keys. Where is it?” You ask gently, rubbing a soothing little circle on his cheek.

“It’s on the night-stand.” He answers, leaning over and grabbing them, handing them to you, offering them to you.

He’d offer anything to you.

He’s offering you everything he has.

You take them and unclip the knife off the keychain, throw it into the waste basket, collect his face up in your hands again, kiss him again. You kiss him over and over and his sobs subside into hiccupping little gasps, little pants against your mouth.

He feels like a drowning man and you’re the only clean lungful of air he’s had in his whole life.

“You’re never doing that trick again, do you hear me? It’s not funny, I don’t want Henry thinking it’s funny. You need stitches, we need to get you stitches.” You’re not angry, which he’s grateful for. You’re worried, which kills him. He almost wishes you were angry instead of worried.

“We’ll go in the morning, for now I just,” He trembles, shakes shakes shakes, “I want to be close to you, I need that (Y/N), I need to be close to you.”

He’s begging, he knows he is. Hands clasped before you he pleads for comfort, comfort he aches for.

The cooling balm of your love is his savior, and when you lean back only far enough to strip yourself out of your own clothes, when you come back towards him with open arms that you encourage him to throw himself into, he could scream shout sob with relief.

“You’ve got me, I’m here, I’m all yours.” You whisper, holding him close close close to your chest.

“Are you? Are you mine?” He whispers back, terrified, so terrified that this is all just a dream, that he’s still on the floor of his tiny fucking apartment in Los Angeles, bleeding out on the floor.

“I am, I promise Charlie, I am.” But you’re really real, and you’re really combing your fingers through his hair, and his heart is racing even as you’re trying to calm him down. “You’re okay honey, it’s okay.”

He wrangles out of your grip, and you frown, brow creasing as he maneuvers the two of you so your positions are reversed, so he can press you into the mattress and prop himself on top of you. You are so beautiful, in the moonlight, the glow of the streetlamps washing over you, some ethereal thing.

He can’t help but litter your body with praise, adoration leaking from his fingertips. He can’t help it, not when you deserve it so, when you are the most deserving of it at all. He is reverent in the way he caresses your body, hands skimming the softness of your flesh, lips trailing after it as he presses kisses into your skin.

“Thank you, for being here, for being with me.” He is so grateful, so completely grateful for you, “Thank you, I don’t – I don’t know how I’d do this without you.”

He rests his head on your stomach and just stays there for a while, just stays there while he kisses your sides, before moving further down your body and opening your hips up, pressing your legs down flat onto the mattress on either side of his head.

“You don’t have to do it without me, I’m right here.” You sigh as he sucks marks onto your hips, fingers bruising the meat of your thighs with ease, not even realizing how tight of a grip he’s got on you.

You are the only good thing he’s had in so long, the only thing in this fucked up divorce that he knows he can count on, the only thing that he knows for sure who wants him.

He’s not even sure if Henry wants him.

“She’s winning.” Charlie says softly, on the verge of screaming. He wants to scream, but instead he focuses that energy into you, into your body, his fingers slipping between your legs and pushing into you, making your toes curl into the sheets. “She’s winning, (Y/N). She’s going to win and fucking take him away.”

“No she won’t.” You gasp as he shoves his nose into the crease where your thigh meets your pussy, how beautiful it is just for him, how it throbs. He wonders if you’ve been just as sick about it, about the distance, about missing him, as he has missed you.

“How do you know?” He asks, hopes, wants to know, wants some sort of answer that he knows you can’t give, not really. You can’t predict the future, you can’t sway the judge.

“I just do.” You say, and your back arches when he fingers you harder, when he draws out a moan, a real proper moan, from deep inside your cunt. Your hand comes down to tangle in his hair, and the sting of your pull is so good against his scalp, and you ask, “Have I ever been wrong before?”

“No – ” He shakes his head, kisses your body, kisses everywhere he can reach.

“Exactly.” You whisper, as he tries so hard to get as close to you as possible, as he tries to make up for the lost time, all that time of him being away, being across the country with a wife who doesn’t him. He tries to express how much he adores you through the press of his fingers on your body, tries to express his gratitude as you beckon him up up up, asking, “Give me a kiss? My lips are lonely.”

“They are?” His eyes soften, and he aches for you, as he comes to your call, as he removes his fingers from the wet heat between your legs and smears your own slick across your cheek as he kisses you.

“They are, I get lonely when you’re gone.” You admit, and he’s so relieved in a sick sort of way, so pleased that you missed him too, that you thought about him too, thought about him from three thousand miles away.

“Come with me next time, to Los Angeles.” He says, more of an order than an ask, more of a demand than a plea. He kicks himself mentally for that, for being controlling, Nicole left him because he’s controlling, he can’t make that same mistake with you, so as he cups your cheeks in the moonlight he searches your eyes and adds, “Please?”

But you, you you you.

You just smile and nod and kiss him, when you say,

“Yes.”

Full Chapter Coming Soon I Promise 

Tagging some Charlie lovin’ pals:  @driverficarchive​​    @adamsnackdriver​​ @dreamboatdriver​​ @kyloxfem​​ @solotriplets​​ @tinyplanet-explorers​​ @candycanes19​​  xsister-serpent @girlyisthatweirdkid phoebewalker04 @stylelovechild​​ @formerly-anonhamster​​  @magikevalynn​​ @ccorleones @kyloxfem​  @peterisparker​​​ @mp938368 @hidingp​​ @goodboybensolo​​ @intrestellarsarah​​ @the-marvelatic​​ @miasera​​ @emily-strange​

[nctwd127]

Arranged Marriage.

Chapter Nineteen.

 Warnings: Mentions of depression and suicide, sexual assault (AO3 link). With the scene taken out, it’s still a heavy chapter in general so please do read with caution. 

This chapter was really hard for me to write because I had to get into a different kind of headspace than I'm used too. And even after finishing it, I was still there for a week.

Please always remember to take care of your mental health first and take a break when needed.

Word Count: 3068

In the midst of me cleaning the kitchen from the mess of making lunch, the doorbell rang. I walked down the hallway and looked through the peephole, it was Jaehyun.

With caution, I opened it just enough so I could see him through the crack, “Jung, what are you doing here?” I asked feeling nervous of having him near my home when Yuta wasn’t here.

“I came by to see Yuta.” He answered with an almost sad look on his face. Completely different from the fuckboy look he always has on. His aurora didn’t even feel like it always does, heavy and sickening.  

“He’s not home though.”

He rocked back and forth on the ball of his feet with his hands in his pocket, “I know, he told me to wait for him, it’s kind of important.” He answered with a small smile.

Jaehyun’s voice was also different from his usual flirty sickening tone, the one that made me want to punch him in the neck. His eyes were soft and he looked like he couldn’t even hurt a fly right now.

“Oh um, okay. You can wait for him in the living room then.” I opened the door believing him and moved aside so he could come in. He walked into the living room and took a seat on the couch. “You can watch tv if you’d like.” I offered.

He turned to look at me and gave me a small smile nodding his head okay. He reached over for the control and turned it on. Feeling no way about him being here in the house, in my comfort zone, I went back to the kitchen.

I finished cleaning and then went up to the second floor, when I passed by the living room, Jaehyun was still watching whatever was playing on the screen. Instead of going to my room, I went into the guest room. Deciding that maybe we could make it into something more than what it was.

No more than ten minutes later of cleaning around the room, my world fell apart. I should have closed the door, I should have locked it. I should have done something, anything.

“So Yuta and you, huh?”

The world around me stopped when I heard that tone of voice. That damned flirty sickening voice that made want to throw myself off a bridge now. I turned to face Jaehyun who was standing in the door way.

Blocking my only exit.  

Everything that I hated about him before I let him into my home was back. The smug look on his face, his cursed smirk. And worst of all, the lust and want in his eyes whenever he looked at me. Whoever I let in earlier was no longer here, he was a completely different person.

“What…what are you talking…about?” I stuttered, feeling my breathing pick up and the anxiety start to kick in with my sweaty palms. The room felt like it was getting smaller and the walls were closing in on me.

Jaehyun stepped away from the doorframe and walked closer to where I was near the bed. He saw the way I wanted to move away from him but I was frozen in place. He was feeding off the fear that was in my eyes, he waited for this moment.

“You should have made sure we left that night princess.” He circled around me, his finger brushing away the hair that was on my shoulder. With my body frozen in fear, I could only try to shudder when his finger traced my collar bone.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I breathed out and forced every ounce in my body to move away from him and walk towards the door. But he reached it before I did and closed it, standing in front of it.

I watched him lock it and walked towards me again with a smirk on his lips and his eyes overflowing with lust. My body couldn’t move, it wouldn’t. The weight of the world was holding me down to the damn floor.

Jaehyun stood behind me and placed his hands on my waist, setting my whole body on fire. “Don’t worry though, I won’t say anything.” One hand left my waist and moved to the button of my jeans. His cold fingers grazed the skin of my stomach.

“Just give me what I want and I never heard a thing.”

AO3 

Those words hit a nerve that made my body react partly again. My eyes burned and the tears finally spilled down the sides. But I couldn’t use my voice still, my throat felt so dry it hurt. I wanted to clutch the bed sheets under me but my fingers wouldn’t close.

Jaehyun gathered his clothes and got dressed. When he was done, he walked to the door and left. But before he did, he assured me that he would say nothing about the past and thanked me for the great time.

It was up until I heard the front door open and close that I found my voice again. I painfully sat up, naked and cold and yelled to the top of my lungs. I yelled into the empty room and cried into the mattress how much I hated him, this house, this life, Yuta and myself.

My legs hurt and I couldn’t move the rest of my body without it screaming at me in pain. All my clothes were scattered on the floor. The sight of my torn underwear made me to crawl out of my abused skin.

This situation made me feel something I haven’t since the days of the accident.

The want to end my suffering.

With no energy and a body full of pain, I cried myself to sleep in the same bed that took away my sanity. Everything played itself over again in my head. My mind was banging against my skull wanting to be set free, to forget this ever happened.

Hours later, I heard the front door be opened. And then the commotion of boys being over. He came back, I just know he did. He came back to torture me, to taunt me. Knowing that I’ll never say anything about this because of the damned past.

The same past ruined my life then. And the one that ruined my life now. But now it was worse, I didn’t feel safe in my own home, in my skin. In my own fucking skin I felt in danger. I wanted to rip my skin off and set it on fire, I wanted to burn away his touch.

In agony, I got off the bed, my body sore and aching with every move I made. I wrapped the blanket around my naked abused body and walked to the door. When my hand reached for the knob, I heard steps coming up the stairs.

“(Y/N), are you home?” Yuta asked, assuming standing outside my bedroom door. He knocked on the door when he heard no answer. He’s never had a reason to come near this room but still out of fear, I locked the door quietly.

His footsteps suddenly got a little closer to the door I was standing behind. But then they stopped and faded away. I waited another five minutes till I unlocked the door. Opening it quietly and carefully, I peeked through the crack to see if anyone was in the hallway.  

Once I saw that I was empty, as quickly as I could, I made my way to my room. The door was closed as I had left it so I tried my best to stay quiet because I didn’t want someone to come up here and see me like this.

Inside my room, I closed and locked the door. I hated with my whole being that much like eight years ago, behind this door, trapped in these four walls was the only place I felt safe now. Everything felt like a nightmare again. Like a terrible fucking dream.

Standing naked in front of the mirror felt like I was someone else. I didn’t recognize myself, not my body or face. My neck was covered in blues and red, bite marks on my upper chest. Fingertip bruises on my hands. There were small marks inside my thighs that I don’t even know how they happened.

When I cleaned myself down there, there were stains of blood on the toilet paper. The area was red and sensitive, it hurt to touch. At this point, it hurt to even breathe. My lungs felt squeezed together.

My shower was scorching hot, the fog intense I could barely see my hand in front of my face. The tears mixed with the water and soap when I washed my body. Trying hard to rub the bruises and marks off me.

Not only was my body covered in marks that would take a while to fade but so was my soul. My soul was forever tainted and scarred.

I spent an hour in the shower trying to clean myself but to no avail. My skin burned from the water, my eyes hurt from crying. I scrubbed myself raw it hurt when my clothes touched my skin. I felt like there was nothing in my soul.

My phone rang all night long as I laid in bed starring at the ceiling with tears still running down my face. I have no idea if I was even making sounds, I just knew that I was crying. I wanted to die right now. I wanted to end all of my suffering here. I wanted nothing to do with life.

Three knocks came from the other side of the door at four in the morning. I didn’t speak, I didn’t move. I did nothing but lay there and wait for it to go away. But it didn’t, it just kept going and going.

“(Y/N)? Are you there? Your phone has been going off all night. Are you okay?” Yuta worried with his fist meeting the door and then the jingle of the door knob.

Looking at the door I wept loud enough to hear myself, realizing that I was living the same life I lived eight years ago. I was broken, hurt and in an agony I couldn’t put into words. And worst of all, I still couldn’t go to Yuta for comfort.

Because he couldn’t fucking remember. He didn’t then and he doesn’t now. Everything was the same it was before. I was living in the past.

No one was to blame but our parents for what I was going through right now. And so was Yuta. I hated all of them. Each and every one of them put their wants and desires first before anything else. And I was the one paying for the broken dishes.

The sun started to pour into my room and that’s when I realized it was morning time already. I don’t know when my phone stopped ringing, it was probably dead and it was going to stay like that. There was nothing and no one I wanted to deal with from the real world.

The only place that existed for me was the space in these four walls, nothing else. I was never going to leave my room again, I was never stepping foot outside of my comfort zone again. The damn door to the outside was never going to open again.

My eyes burned and hurt, I could feel the swelling begin from crying all night. And somehow I didn’t even feel my body anymore from lying still since the moment I got into bed. Sleep was unknown to me scared of what the dreams could be.

Masterlist