#when he pricks his finger on the fishing hook cause he wants to know what being caught by will feels like

[cult-of-the-eye]

watching Hannibal like it's a romcom is my favourite thing ever

[keewriting]

Cove x MC - One Shot #7 (request)

[Read on google docs to insert your MC's name]

CONTENT WARNING: mild spooky imagery in the beginning!

The cobblestone stairs twisted up the spiral tower endlessly. Your breath was short as you struggled to navigate each gnarled step. You couldn’t see your legs, but they felt gelatinous. As much as you tried, you couldn't push your body to move faster.

The tumultuous sky loomed overhead and shifted unnaturally. Green light stretched upward from the base of the tower. The blinding rays were lifelike in their movement. You frantically turned around and caught a glimpse of the horrid Thing. It moved slowly.

The shadowy form clung to the wall of the tower. Bony, black protrusions jutted into the stone from its body. The hollow cracking sound made you nauseous. A sheer membrane shielded its face. You whipped back around to focus on climbing the tower.

The steps in front of you crumbled. The hollow cracking rang in your ears. The Thing rose from the misplaced steps. Dark clouds tumbled around your body. The membrane peeled back, revealing pale skin that clung to a contorted expression. Its mouth hung agape, allowing you to peer into the void of its maw. The hollow eye sockets began to glow green. The ghastly Thing lunged forward as the ground beneath you collapsed. You opened your mouth to scream, but you couldn’t hear your own voice.

You jolted awake in a tangle of bedsheets. Your chest felt tight and your limbs were immobile. The darkness felt heavy on your wide eyes. You heard a shuffling sound from the floor. Your heart pounded, the reality of the situation had not yet settled in. Still reeling from the nightmare, you prepared for the worst. Instead, a mess of green hair popped into view.

Cove stood up and walked to your bedside. Your heart rate slowed, but your limbs still felt stiff.

Cove: What was that?

Cove’s voice was low and hoarse.

Y/N: What?

Cove: You screamed, Y/N. Are you okay?

You blinked heavily. Your mind still felt fuzzy.

Y/N: I’m sorry… I had a nightmare.

The moonlight leaking in through your window lit up Cove’s face. His expression was soft and concerned. He placed his weight on your bed. You didn’t object, so he lifted the blanket and settled in next to you.

Body still rigid, you couldn’t scoot over to make more room for Cove. His options were to hang precariously off the edge of your bed or close the gap between your bodies. He hesitated for a moment before sliding his body closer. He propped his elbow on your pillow and tucked his other hand close to his chest.

Cove: Can I do anything to help?

Y/N: Stay here with me.

Your heart rate leveled with Cove’s presence, but you still felt shaken. You squeezed your fists, finally in control of your body. You brought your palms to your eyes and rubbed them with a low groan.

Y/N: It felt so real, Cove.

Your throat tightened while remembering the nightmare. Images of the Thing flooded your mind. Tears pricked behind your eyelids as you tried to regain control of your thoughts. You lowered your hands to your chest and took a deep breath.

Cove: Y/N…

Hearing Cove’s soft voice broke you. Your lip quivered as tears rushed down your cheeks. Cove gasped beside you. He tentatively placed his hand on yours. His palm felt hot.

Cove: I’m here, please don’t cry.

You turned toward Cove and nuzzled your face into his chest. He raised a shaky arm to cradle it behind your head.

Cove: Do you want to talk about your nightmare?

Your strained vocal cords could barely utter a reply. They faltered under your sobs, but Cove got the message. He held you in silence for a few minutes. His body felt tense. You tried to calm your breathing and relax but it was futile. Cove realized the situation was not improving.

Cove: I’ll tell you a story to distract you.

Cove waited for your nod of approval. He settled his arm under you and rested his head on your pillow. The other arm still cradled your head. He stroked your hair as he spun the tale.

Cove: This is a true story. It happened long ago, only a few miles out from this very coast. Deep under the ocean, in a bustling underwater mecca.

You closed your eyes to imagine the story, but the gaping mouth of the Thing appeared instead. Your eyes snapped open. You opted to focus on the junction between Cove’s neck and chest. The shallow dip above his clavicle rose and fell with his breathing.

Cove: The most beautiful merperson lived in an extravagant coral castle at the heart of the city. Their shining smile warmed the hearts of every fish they met.

Cove described the merperson. Every detail seemed to match your appearance and demeanor perfectly. He spoke casually, almost as if he was hoping you wouldn't catch on.

Cove: There was one lucky merman who—

You absentmindedly traced your finger over Cove's chest, causing him to stumble over his words.

Cove: The uh— the merman. He was lucky. Lucky…

Cove was flustered, but he took a deep breath and powered through. You caressed the soft, warm skin. It vibrated under his low voice.

Cove: This merman got to spend every day with his beautiful friend. Basking in the warmth of their sunny smile. He knew he was lucky, but there was always something picking at his heart.

Your face felt hot. Butterflies dancing in your stomach replaced the tightness in your chest.

Cove: The problem was, the merman didn’t know if their friend felt the same about… how much he cared for them.

Your heart lunged into your throat. The heat from your face traveled throughout your entire body. Cove’s voice continued shakily throughout his tale. The merman and his beautiful merperson went on adventures across the sea. They had an unbreakable bond even through uncertainty and adversity.

Cove’s storytelling immersed you in a fantastical realm. You listened intently and your nerves settled. Soon, your eyelids felt heavy.

Cove: In the end, the merman realized that it wasn’t simply luck. It was an indescribable magic. The most magnificent treasure in the sea.

You submitted to your sleepiness and allowed your eyelids to fall. Your mind clouded with ethereal images of a sweet love between two merpeople. As your consciousness faded, you felt Cove push the hair from your face and delicately kiss your forehead.

Cove: Sleep well, Y/N.

You blinked your eyes open to bright light and warmth. You stretched your arms and knocked into Cove’s face. You didn’t realize he fell asleep in your bed with you.

Cove: Oww…

He grumbled and swatted at you gently. His arm fell and dangled off the side of your bed. You sat up to get a better look at his face. It was rare for Cove to sleep in longer than you.

Y/N: Cooove…

You crooned, hoping to wake him. He mumbled incoherently. You extended your finger and poked his cheek. His eyes fluttered open and focused on your face. They snapped open wide.

Cove: Oh, shit—

Cove’s hand clamped over his mouth. He scurried to sit upward. You couldn’t hold in your laughter. He smiled sheepishly but maintained his distance.

Y/N: Good morning, sleeping beauty.

Cove: I’m glad to see you’re in a better mood.

His eyes softened and his body relaxed. The spot next to him looked inviting. You shifted your position and rested your head on his shoulder.

Y/N: I feel a lot better thanks to you.

Cove’s hands fidgeted in his lap. He gnawed on his lip, lost in his thoughts.

Y/N: Cove?

You moved your hand next to his and nudged his pinky with yours. He lifted it and allowed them to hook together.

Cove: I’m sorry I slept in your bed. I didn’t ask. I was going to get up but you fell asleep and then I fell asleep.

Y/N: I wanted you there.

Cove: Oh. Then... I’m not sorry.

A goofy grin spread across his red face. Your heart overflowed with affection for Cove.

Y/N: You know, I was thinking about the story you told me last night. To me, the beautiful merperson is the truly lucky one.

You sat up straight to face Cove. His eyebrows rose quizzically.

Y/N: I know from experience that having someone willing to swim across the sea for you is the best feeling in the world.

Cove’s cheeks flushed red. He leaned forward, then hesitated. Your heart swelled.

Cove: I um—

His words got cut off by your mom calling your name loudly from downstairs. You stared at each other in shock. This was one of those unapproved, in through the window sleepovers.

Y/N: Window!

You hissed urgently under your breath. Cove was already scrambling to the window when you heard footsteps climbing the stairs. You followed Cove to see him off on his journey. The footsteps grew louder. You whipped your head towards the door, then back to the window.

To your surprise, Cove’s face was inches from yours. His eyes met yours before he leaned in for a kiss. It was quick, barely a peck. He ducked out the window and made his exit without another word or glance in your direction.

You shut the window and turned around in time for your mom to knock on the door. She invited you down for breakfast. You grabbed your phone from the desk and followed. You were stuck in a daze with the feeling of Cove lingering on your lips. You worried that Cove would regret the kiss.

The phone vibrated in your hand, breaking your trance.

Cove 8:27 AM: See you later?

Y/N 8:28 AM: You know it.

You clutched the phone to your fluttering chest. Only Cove could so effortlessly ameliorate that dreadful night. The memory of the nightmare felt so small compared to the story and the kiss.

[cockasinthebird]

There’s a lot of things that Billy Hargrove loves about 4th of July. How loud the fireworks are, the chance to set something on fire without reprimand, barbecue food that reminds him of beach parties back home, beer just tastes better for some reason, the summer heat, and how scantily clad everyone is.

Guys with their exposed muscles, girls in their tiny bikinis.

Billy walks through the far too inebriated crowd spread out across the quarry, a beer in hand that is quickly warming up in his sweaty grasp, seemingly aimless in the way he looks at everyone who greets him all excited, then clearly disappointed that he didn’t stop to talk past pleasantries.

No, Billy is on a hunt; a hungry wolf looking for one specific lamb, no other temptations can match the urge for one pretty boy’s attention.

And he finds Steve Harrington, dressed in shorts too revealing and a top that ends just by his navel, leaning against the hood of someone’s car. Three girls in short skirts and bikini tops standing awfully close to him, listening intently - or at least pretending to - as he smiles all friendly and gestures with his red plastic cup to really emphasise whatever he’s saying.

Envy isn’t a thing Billy experiences, nah, definitely not, he reminds himself as he takes too big a gulp of his beer, yet it stirs sourly in the sudden pit of his stomach. They’re not dating, so he has no right to feel jealous about anything going on in front of him currently.

Yet when Steve leans in to whisper in one girl’s ear, causing her to giggle excessively and bash her eyes at him, Billy’s heart beats all wrong, fingers tightening around the neck of his bottle. It triggers that good old fight instinct in him, the one that used to make him throw fists with Steve before that handsome brunette dared kiss him.

Nothing’s been the same since- fucking Harrington; Billy was perfectly fine before that, completely, and now? Now he can’t stop thinking about their first time. Their second time. Their third. Fourth.

And what their fifth time might be like. Not that he’s keeping count, of course. Not that he’s anticipating it. Or thinking about it. Dreaming about it. Hoping…

Like a magnet to metal, Steve turns his head and his eyes lock right onto Billy’s, looking drunk but aware of how he’s being leered at. Something in his hooded gaze tells more than it should, like a confession to curiosity, answering questions that haven't yet been asked. At least not in so many words.

Billy takes a long swig of his beer, emptying the bottle and throwing it off to the side, then lets his eyes wander down - far enough for there to be absolutely no doubt what he’s thinking about, and from the way Steve smiles next only shows, “Message received.”

When Steve kicks off of the hood and moves to walk away from his little fangroup, one of the girls grabs on to his arm, with pleading eyes and a slight pout she says something Billy can’t hear, pressing her arms together to accentuate her tits, and Billy honestly can’t blame Steve for looking down at the inviting, soft flesh for a few seconds too many, before making up an excuse that sets him free.

The disappointment on all their faces feeds Billy’s narcissism immensely, and it shows in the grin that cracks across his face. Ah to know that he’s the first choice of princess Stevie’s desire, it washes away all that doubtful jealousy with warm waves of aroused excitement.

Steve stumbles just a slight bit as he approaches Billy, inebriated and smiling. “Hey Hargrove, got a smoke?”

Billy teases with his tongue out, biting down on it with shiny teeth, and oh the thrill when Steve’s eyes dart down to watch Billy wet his lips and appetite. 

“Sure I do,” he says with the most suggestive grin. “But not here, otherwise everyone else will want to bum a smoke, too.”

Not an actual concern, but a plausible excuse to get Steve alone.

Twigs bend and snap under Billy’s heavy footfall, and perhaps he didn’t think this through, walking in the forest in flip flops. Every time he turns to look behind, Steve’s still there, following with his eyes cast down to calculate every step before taking it, brows knit and eyes squinting in concentration.

The music is still audible at this distance, but all the lights from cars and bonfires have been obscured by trees.

Billy can’t imagine anyone bothered following them all the way out here, and since he can only hear the faint pop music and Steve stumbling near, decides that, yeah, this is far enough. 

Steve goes to slump against a tree, looking at Billy who fishes up a pack of cigs. “I didn’t actually follow you out here to smoke.”

“Oh really?” Billy chuckles deep and shoves the pack back into the pocket of his swimming trunks. “Just thought it’d be more courteous of me to offer you some anyways, but-”

One finger hooks itself on those red trunks and drags Billy closer till he lands close against Steve’s heated body.

“Eager, huh? Ah-” Billy hisses as Steve grinds their hips together, proving that he’s already sporting more than half a chub.

“I’ve been thinking about you for hours,” Steve admits with a slight slur, fingers working at the drawstrings of those red shorts. “Just waiting for you to show up, always fashionably late, wanna make sure everyone sees you, right?”

“Nothin’ wrong with liking being noticed,” Billy drawls with his nose pressed against Steve’s cheek, pursing his lips just enough to offer up light, almost chaste, kisses. “I’m more than worthy of the attention, don’t you think?”

“I do,” a whisper, and Steve turns his head to meet those gentle lips, just to then feel the breath of a moan graze his sweaty skin as he wraps his fingers around Billy’s girthy cock.

It teeters on the edge of uncomfortable, how stern a grasp Steve holds on his dick, the awkward movement of a clammy hand, but Billy grows hard quickly nevertheless, leaving him cursing and groaning.

“Fuck baby, ah-h…”

Steve smiles all too self-satisfied for doing such a half assed job.

With both arms extended above each of Steve’s shoulders, Billy braces himself against the tree, and when they kiss again - tongues dancing to the distant rhythm - he can taste absolutely every single sip of alcohol Steve’s had tonight, and Billy’s convinced it makes his own head spin a little.

“I want you so bad, Billy,” Steve whines all horny and pathetic into the embrace of their lips.

“Then turn around,” Billy’s voice is rough, demanding, confident, and he takes a step back to free up some space between them.

Steve lets out a shuddering breath at the chilling air between where their sweaty bodies had been connected, then swivels on his heels till his palms land firmly against rough bark. He pushes out his ass, serving it up on a silver platter, gazing over his shoulder to catch how Billy’s smiling all wicked and wild.

Billy runs his hand down the exposed bit of Steve’s back, where his crop top and shorts can’t reach, skin warm and soft and slightly damp from the summer heat. He dips a couple of fingers beneath the elastic waistband.

“Dressed a bit like a slut tonight, pretty boy,” he hums pleasantly and pulls at the shorts, just to let go and have it snap back, loudly.

An oddly delighted gasp escapes Steve. “Just for you.”

Billy’s hand had wandered down to caress a soft cheek, going further down to tease the skin just beneath the leg of the shorts.

“You really that needy and desperate for my attention?” His lips part in a grin, exposing sharp teeth that he licks across; a little predatory show that Steve absolutely notices.

“That’s not all I’m desperate for.”

Steve stretches out his arms proper and pushes himself against where Billy’s cock is rock hard, eliciting a groan followed by two hands grabbing all too hard onto Steve’s hips.

With his grasp bruising, Billy keeps Steve still as he ruts himself against the plush of Steve’s ass, both of them moaning as he slips and slides his full erection in the crevice between cheeks.

“Ah- Billy- please please please, I need more,” Steve whines with his head hanging low.

Billy chuckles, like rolling thunder in his chest, as he leans forward to bury his face in the crook of Steve’s neck, one hand slipping around and down to cup at Steve’s aching prick. He strokes it through the shorts, following the entire length up and down, Steve whimpering and panting and thrusting for more, as a wet spot forms by the head.

“God, you’re so wet and hard for me, baby,” Billy drawls, biting, kissing, sucking his way up Steve’s neck, marking him with his attention; make everyone know.

Thumbs hook themselves on the waistband to pull down the shorts just past the curve of supple cheeks, keeping his weeping dick trapped still.

“No underwear?” He brings his tongue to lick a sloppy line up Steve’s neck, nosing at the back of his ear, then breathes out hot, “Such a whore.”

Steve inhales as if to speak, to respond, but unadulterated lust occupies his mind like a thick fog, and all that comes out is a slight, erotic, “Fuck.”

And Billy brings his hand up to those pretty pink lips, pushing his way in without invitation, just to feel Steve’s tongue eagerly wrap itself around the two digits, letting Billy roam free in the wet heat till his fingers are dripping, spit running down his palm and wrist. Steve’s always so sloppy and obscene and greedy, which is what Billy loves about him.

He brings those slick fingers between them, down to circle around Steve’s rim, teasing with the tip applying just enough pressure for it to be agonizingly inadequate, making Steve whimper as he tries to move his hips in hopes of more.

Billy’s not a bad guy per se, at least not towards Steve anymore, so he gives his princess what he’s begging for and slips in a finger, smooth and easy, as deep as it goes, and he can feel how Steve trembles with delight. Relentlessly so, Billy pulls the finger almost all the way out, before plunging it back in again - setting a quick pace, but Steve’s hungry.

“Ah-h, more, Billy,” he moans with his head thrown back, mouth wide open to allow out every single lascivious little sound he has in him.

“Ssshh,” Billy hushes where he’s quick to lean in to whisper in Steve’s ear, “Be quiet and I’ll give you what you want. Can’t have people hear you and come looking for us.”

“What’s the matter, hmm? Ah- afraid of getting caught with your pants down?” Steve laughs but in a low manner, ultimately proving he’s following orders.

And truth be told yes, Billy is afraid to get caught like this with another guy, but that just makes this all the more thrilling. So without words and choosing actions instead, he with his one free hand covers Steve’s wide open mouth before pushing a second finger into his soft hole.

Thankfully so, for the way Steve moans in utter glee vibrates against the palm of Billy’s hand.

“God you need it so bad, huh princess? Need my cock in you?” his voice thick with wanton and self-restraint.

Steve mumbles out in agreement.

It doesn’t take long before he adds a third finger, and there’s an immediate ecstatic response from Steve, who suddenly can’t help himself as he reaches behind to grab Billy by the wrist and tries to push him in deeper.

“Such an impatient little slut tonight,” Billy barks out in laughter and curls his fingers. He can feel every single muscle twitch and tremble at it, and the way Steve keens makes his own hard prick throb with desire.

“Mmh, ah- please, Billy, fuck me,” Steve tears his mouth free from Billy’s grasp, lips wet with drool.

“Lucky for you I brought lube and a condom with your name on it,” Billy snickers as he reaches into his own back pocket for the small packs, when Steve complains,

“N-no, no condom, please,” he pleads all pathetic, twisting around till their eyes meet through the darkness. “I want to feel you inside of me, nothing between us.”

Billy doesn’t have to think twice about that. The condom was a nice courtesy on his behalf, so that Steve wouldn't have to walk around with cum dripping down his thighs, but if he wants it so bad…

With one hand he undoes the drawstrings of his shorts, with the other he holds the little silver pack of lube up to his teeth as he tears it open. The liquid is warm from the summer heat as he pours it on his steely cock, moaning as he strokes himself a few good times to cover up properly before lining up with Steve’s eager entrance.

“Yes, ohh,” spills from Steve’s open lips as Billy enters him; the fat, blunt head stretching him out nice and wide.

And Billy keeps pushing in, inch by inch till they’re flush together, Steve sandwiched between Billy’s broad frame and the tree where his nails dig into the bark.

“You got such a nice, tight ass, pretty boy. So perfect for my cock,” Billy growls into Steve’s ear, teeth scraping against the shell of it as he stands as close as he can get.

Steve doesn’t have command of his own words at this moment, he can barely even hum out in agreeance as he’s overcome with blinding lust.

Slowly at first Billy pulls out before sliding in in one smooth movement, out again and in as he carefully increases the pace to the rhythm of Steve’s moans. He’s starting to learn the pattern of the sounds Steve makes when he’s getting thoroughly fucked. A certain whine when he needs more, harder, faster. A deep, guttural groan when it’s all just perfect. A string of high pitched curses whenever Billy rams into his prostate. 

And the way Steve clenches tighter than any pussy Billy’s ever had whenever he’s close is almost gorgeous in a sense. With his eyes closed and forehead pressed against Steve’s shoulder, Billy thrusts into that indescribable heat, feeling how every muscle needs his cock, milking and massaging him, urging him deeper and deeper.

“Arrh fuck, feel so good.” He grabs on to Steve’s hips with both hands, pounding into him with ardent fervor, leaving poor Steve with the responsibility of covering up his own mouth.

Blame it on the liquor or Billy’s expert fucking, if he do say so himself, no matter which it has Steve cumming in near record time with an obscene, loud whine as he bites into his hand in an attemp to fight back his impulse to be heard.

It feels like magic, the way Steve’s climaxing body sucks Billy in, every single muscle convulsing around him.

“Yes, god, just like that, oh Steve I’m so close,” he groans out, strong and throaty, slamming in harder to get what he needs now that Steve has gotten his.

He leans back, one hand on Steve’s shoulder, pushing him against the tree as he pounds as hard as he can, staring down at where his girthy cock gets swallowed so eagerly, grinning at the oh so satisfying sound of skin slapping together almost violently so.

“Ahh fuck, Billy,” Steve whines, somewhat euphoric, somewhat sore, all together enjoying being used so easily.

“That’s right, bitch, say my name.”

“Billy!”

“Yes.”

“Billy-”

“Shit, yes, arh--” 

He cums with what feels like an explosion of ecstasy in his groin, radiating out and up his spine to flourish in his chest as he fills Steve up with every last bit of energy that he has in him; a pulsating, slick heat that he buries himself in to the base of his throbbing cock.

But he doesn’t linger. As soon as they’ve both caught their breath he pulls out, well satisfied with his work as he slaps Steve’s ass lightly with his tongue out between teeth, chuckling at the little yelp that comes with it.

“Jesus, Harrington, that was fucking good,” he says as he puts himself away again in his swimming trunks.

Truth be told he wants to stay. Hell, he even wants to cuddle a bit, but it’s too soon to tell if Steve wants the same. No matter the answer, Billy isn’t sure he wants to know. Instead of thinking too long about what could be, he fishes up a cigarette and lights it quickly so that the smoke may fill the emptiness inside.

Steve’s a whole mess still. Basking in the afterglow, slow to pull up his shorts and turn around, just to steal the cigarette from between Billy’s lips and taking a drag himself.

“Really good, yeah,” he breathes out in sweet relief, then dares to ask, “What now?”

Like it’s a fucking invitation for more. To open up. To tell the truth. Every possibility flies through Billy’s mind all at once, but he plays it safe,

“I could use a drink.”

[naceisonthecase]

Summary: Basically, red string of fate but make it supernatural.

Word Count: 5,218

[Read on AO3]

@aceandnancy @bughead-bones @ismokechurros @nacegolden @nocturne-alley

🔎

The Red String of Fate: Fact or Fiction? The title of the article read. Nancy couldn’t read anymore, not even if it was Bess who had sent it and was most likely going to broach the subject as soon as she came downstairs. Grabbing her bag off the hook she left her room and headed down the stairs.

“Good morning Nancy!” Her dad and Ryan echoed as she entered the kitchen. This was still taking some time to get used to, her two dads side by side drinking coffee and cooking breakfast as if it was the most normal thing in the world. Which, Nancy thought, would explain the state and smell of the kitchen.

“Morning,” Nancy replied. She moved through the kitchen toward Carson, letting him wrap his arms around her. As he moved away Nancy spied a circle of red around his pinky finger. “What happened to your finger?” Her eyes wandered away from the mark on his finger, the same size and shape of his wedding ring, scanning his face for any sort of incriminating clues.

“Must have burned it when helping Ryan cook.” He said, nonchalantly. He shook his hand as if that would erase the mark.

“That’s unusual for a burn. It’s a perfect circle.” Nancy had grabbed her father’s hand and was turning it back and forth to observe it more completely. “Does it hurt?”

Carson wrestled his hand back. Placing both hands on Nancy’s shoulders he held his daughter at arm’s length. “It’s just a burn, Nancy. Nothing serious, nothing supernatural.” Another thing that would take some getting used to -- her dad knowing about the weird, paranormal happenings around their seaside town. “And, no it doesn’t hurt. Not even a little.”

Nancy nodded at her father, not quite convinced, and he released her. She wandered over to a cabinet and grabbed a mug to pour herself a cup of coffee. The action caused a small red object to be knocked off the countertop. Her coffee momentarily forgotten, Nancy bent down and picked it up. A spool of red thread. How did it get there? Who did it belong to?

“What’s this?” She showed the spool to Carson. He had started dishing himself up a plate of food and squinted at the object in Nancy’s hand.

“It's a spool of thread. Probably belonged to your mother.”

“Mom didn’t sew.”

Carson shrugged. “We’ve reached our before breakfast question quota. Can we discuss it after we eat?”

Nancy put the spool back on the counter and turned to Ryan. He was wearing an apron and a gaudy chef’s hat standing by the stove with a spatula in hand.

It would have been comical if it wasn’t so disastrous.

“You want some,” Ryan asked proudly, showcasing his burnt scrambled eggs as if they were a masterpiece.

Nancy screwed up her face. “I think I’ll pass.” She said, finally pouring herself a cup of coffee.

“They aren’t as bad as they look or smell.” Nancy turned to see Bess seated at the breakfast table. She had a plate of burnt eggs, bacon, and toast in front of her and was smiling around a mouthful of food.

“Nancy, you have to eat something,” Carson said, passing by Nancy to seat himself down by Bess.

“I’m fine with just coffee. I’ll just get something at The Claw,” she said, shrugging off her father’s recommendation. She snuck a look at her phone to check the time. “Speaking of, Bess, I think we should get a move on. You know how George is when we’re late.”

“You think it’s a good idea to go back to work so soon after…” The rest of Carson’s sentence faded away, the implication of after hanging heavy in the air.

“Yeah, Nancy, George ok’d your extended absence. Just as she did Ace’s.” Bess was quick to add, filling the silence.

At the mention of his name, Nancy’s hand tightened around her mug, her stomach spinning. She put the mug back down on the counter. She hadn’t mentioned her dreamscape or the part each of them played in the journey to any of her friends. The closest she had come was Ace, and that hadn’t gone as planned.

“It's been weeks. I need some semblance of normalcy back in my life, and that means,” Nancy swung her bag over her shoulder so it hung across her body, “returning for my usual shift at The Claw.”

“Remember, you can come home at any time.”

The smoke alarm chose then to blare its angry head. Carson rushed off to the smoke alarm, ordering Ryan to begin opening windows around the house.

“And, I think that’s our cue to leave,” Nancy said to Bess, speaking louder over the wails going off in her house.

Bess nodded, just as happy to escape the chaoticness of the household as Nancy was. She reached for a napkin that was laying on her lap, dabbing at her lips politely as if she were dining at a fancy restaurant, and quickly went off to get her belongings.

🔎

“Don’t you think it’s quite romantic though?” Bess said, continuing the conversation they were having on the ride over about the article she had sent Nancy.

“It sure is something.”

Bess gasped, a hand flying to her chest in shock. “You don’t believe in soulmates?” She nearly screeched.

“Love I believe in,” Nancy said, approaching the door to The Claw, “but soulmates…there’s no proof.” Nancy pushed open the door to The Claw. Her gaze travelled over the room -- she spotted George and Nick at the bar. With Ace.

Ace was home? He wasn’t supposed to be home for another two weeks.

Nancy felt her throat constrict, she stood frozen in place. She thought facing him with these new fully realized feelings would be difficult enough standing on his front stoop, a rehearsed speech at the ready, but that didn’t hold a candle to seeing him unexpectedly here amongst their friends in a familiar environment and completely lost for words.

Ace looked up at the door at the sound of the chime. He beamed when he saw his two friends but his eyes remained on Nancy longer, Bess having already sauntered into the restaurant and over to the bar, wrapping her arms around Ace from behind, Ace’s hand coming up to pat her arm. His concentration broke off Nancy for the time being.

Nancy took a deep breath, then crossed the threshold.

Out of Bess’s hold, Ace was off his stool and was coming towards her before Nancy was even halfway across the restaurant. She froze in her tracks.

“Hey, Nancy!”

“Hey, Ace! Uh, how was your trip? How is...how is Amanda?” She felt a sudden prick against her finger, nothing more than a needlepoint but it made her look down anyway. Her finger was snagged in her bag buckle and she yanked it free.

“It was great.” She heard Ace saying And looked back up. “Amanda is good too.” It was as if he wanted to say more but shut his mouth instead.

They were such simple answers but it made her heart ache. The throbbing in her finger intensified and she jammed her hands into her coat pockets, slowly moving away.

“I should put my things in the back,” Nancy announced, walking away.

“Wait, Nancy.” He reached out a hand to stop her progress, his hand lingering on her arm. “How are you doing?”

She took a deep breath in before answering. “I’m alright.” She nodded, a faint smile tracing her lips. “Just recovering from nearly dying. So, you know, the usual.”

Ace nodded, not taking his hand or eyes off her. The pain in her finger had subsided, it was nothing more than pinched flesh after all. She was only thinking about it because she couldn’t allow her thoughts to settle on how Ace’s touch felt on her arm. Like his touch was meant to be there.

She gulped, trying to find her voice, and pulled away. “Ace, I need to go.”

She saw visible disappointment, concern, and curiosity flash through his eyes. Then she turned and disappeared into the kitchen. He stood there watching after her until Bess called him back to the bar to fill them in on his romantic getaway, and as a loyal platanchor he willingly obliged.

🔎

Nancy sat on the bench in front of the set of lockers. The kitchen was empty and she could spend the short time before her shift alone. And, Ace wasn’t yet in the kitchen, watching her from above.

He was with Amanda, and according to him, they were doing good. She couldn’t have these thoughts. She had to forget about this crush, or whatever it was, and move on. No matter how much she wanted to run her fingers through his gorgeous locks, again, or kiss him, and not an almost dreamscape kiss this time, she couldn’t act on it. She wouldn’t. She would just have to figure out a way to get through this shift without these feelings interfering and then figure out how to get over him.

“Drew, get your ass out here. We need you.” George called from the dining area signalling that her shift had begun.

She stood from the bench and smoothed down the front of her uniform, composing herself before heading out into the thick of it. Her first day back in weeks.

Ace was entering the kitchen as she was leaving, the two were in a dance for access to the door. He moved to his left, she moved to her right. Then vice versa. Eventually Ace allowed her enough room to scoot by, laughing. She felt his eyes on her back as she moved past. What greeted her on the other side was the typical Saturday lunch rush. She did want normalcy, she remembered, as she dug into her pocket for her notebook and flipped it open to a clean sheet to begin taking orders.

From there the hours became a blur of jotting down orders, filling and refilling water glasses, and polite smiles that she didn’t wholeheartedly feel. It was filled with lobster rolls, fried calamari, fish and chips, and The Claw’s famous clam chowder being passed from the kitchen to the awaiting customers. She was more or less in a state of workflow uncommon to her gig as a waitress when Nick stopped her, pulling her aside.

“Nancy, your hand looks serious.”

It had begun to hurt more, a constant pounding but she continued to play off as best she could even though the pain was getting to her. She looked down and saw that her finger was scratched up and bleeding, and a rash was beginning to spread through her entire hand.

“I must have been itching it. Not a big deal.”

George and Bess had gravitated towards her too and Ace had moved to the serving hatch, a cloth hung over his shoulder and his arms resting on the ledge. Great a full audience!

“I know first aid,” Ace piped up eagerly from the hatch, “I was a Boy Scout”

Nancy’s heartbeat quickened but she kept her voice steady as she said, “as much as I appreciate your concern, and I do, it’s just a few scratches. I can easily wash it up in the bathroom and be back in a minute.”

“You are not serving food with that,” George pointed in the direction of Nancy’s hand, a look of horror on her face.

“Oh, Nancy, it’s dripping!” Bess exclaimed, hands fluttering to her mouth. A few patrons close enough to be in earshot turned to see what the commotion was about.

Sure enough, during the few seconds of the conversation, it had gotten worse and now a green goo was emanating from the wound.

“Oh, ew,” Nancy said, extending her other hand quickly just in time to catch a glob before it fell to the floor.

“Take Ace up on his offer,” George ordered, nodding towards the kitchen, “then go home. The rest of you back to work.”

Nancy sighed. Keeping her mind preoccupied and not focusing on her crush on Ace hadn’t worked and now she was going to be in a room alone with him. Unprepared and in unknown territory. Then she winced and pulled her hand toward her chest. Her hand was in excruciating pain and she had to admit that it needed tending to. So, with a groan, she turned to meet him.

🔎

Ace was sitting on the bench searching around in the first aid kit when Nancy arrived in the back room.

“Let me take a closer look,” he said when he saw her paused at the top of the steps. He tucked his hair behind his ear, watching her descend the stairs and closing the distance between them.’God, that hair!’ she thought as she sat down beside him and extended her hand for him to inspect. “It looks like an infection. A gnarly one.”

“Gnarly?” Nancy said an awkward laugh in her voice. He smiled. She looked away. She couldn’t fall back into their usual behaviour no matter how easy and familiar it was.

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing we can’t fix.” Ace said, picking up and ripping into the small packet, unfolding the wipe into the perfect square with such care.

She found herself staring too long at his hands as he took her own and wiped away the blood and grime from her skin. She flinched, shaking herself away from the memory of those fingers entwined in hers.

“Does it sting?” Ace’s hands slowed. Nancy shook her head. “Good,” he said, ripping into another packet. “Because this isn’t a one-and-done job.”

In the end, it took seven of the tiny wipes to clean the blood and green goopy mess. During which, Nancy had gone through all the symptoms she’d experienced with the lust butterflies, many times over. Although, fortunately for her, under better control. By the time Ace was applying a thin layer of an antibiotic ointment to the scratches she was wondering if he could feel how fast her pulse was racing, how sweaty her hand was in his or if he could see the heat upon her cheeks, and if he did, did he assume it was just a side effect from the infection or something more? After he secured the bandage in place he dropped his hands to his lap.

“All done.” He said, proudly. He admired his handiwork for a moment then looked up, meeting Nancy’s eye.

The two of them shared an extended moment of eye contact, his eyes so blue and portraying a deepness that many didn’t know the extent of, an ocean she was falling into. She scrambled to her feet at once conscious of how close she had gravitated to him. She had been practically sitting in his lap.

“Uh, thanks, Ace. It feels better already.” She felt herself falling back into those eyes, and pulled away before it could last any longer by heading for her locker. “I should be getting home.”

“I can give you a ride.” Ace said. Nancy popped off her lock and turned to look behind her. Ace was still on the bench, his hands balled together in his lap. He was rubbing his thumb against his other hand, watching her, eager for her to accept.

“It’s fine, Ace,” Nancy said. “I can walk. Bess can drive my car home.” She proceeded to shimmy into her jacket, careful not to upset her bandaged finger and fanned out her hair that had been trapped behind the collar. She then reached into her pocket for her car keys, putting them into her empty locker and writing a quick note, slipping it through the slates of Bess’s locker.

“Are you mad at me?”

Nancy faced Ace, her hands stilled on her coat buttons. “No--no I’m not mad at you.” She couldn’t take that sad, puppy dog-eyed look and busied herself with her coat.

“Then why have you been avoiding me all day?”

Nancy thought back on her shift as she continued with the buttons. When Ace was at the serving hatch she would wait until he was back at the sink before continuing her job. When she was in the kitchen she would ignore his calls and waves for her attention, And, if he was out in the dining area fetching something or chatting with George, Nick, or Bess she would take the longer route to where she was going. It hurt to stay away. It almost felt as if she was being pulled in his direction but she fought against that feeling.

“I--I wasn’t -- I haven’t been avoiding you.” Nancy lied.

“And, you’re letting Bess drive your car? She still drives on the wrong side of the road.”

“You should keep Florence here,” Nancy said, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “For when you pick up Amanda from the hotel.”

“Um, Nancy, actually about that.” Ace started. He stood from the bench in an attempt to stop her but she had already made her exit through the back door.

Outside, Nancy leaned back on the wall of The Claw. Her eyes shut.

When did this become so hard?

Ace was her best friend. But she had to put a kibosh on these thoughts before it ruined what they had. And, luckily for her, she had a mystery on her hands to do just that. Literally.

🔎

Nancy hadn’t walked home. Instead, she had made the trek to The Historical Society. She had let herself in and found Hannah doing inventory.

“I need your help,” Nancy said after acquiring Hannah’s attention. She had her bandaged hand raised. When she had left The Claw it was, as she had told Ace, feeling significantly better but by the time she had reached The Historical Society the pain level was off the charts and the green goo was seeping through the bandaging. And, she was beginning to feel faint.

Hannah was at her side at once, immediately leading her over to a chair. She re-cleaned and bandaged the wound and handed Nancy a high-strength painkiller and a glass of water, which dulled the pain a bit. Hannah sat down across from her to hear the events that lead to this predicament.

“Hand me your bag.” Hannah requested after Nancy finished detailing the story. “I’m going to test the buckle for any supernatural or natural causes of this infection.” Nancy did as she was told, but the short litmus paper-type test turned up nothing of concern.

“Could it be something from the lockboxes, something I let out when I got the shroud? Which, again, I profusely apologize for.”

Hannah was silent for a moment, in thought. “This is nothing like anything I recall seeing or hearing about before. But we can take a look.” Hannah got up from the table and returned with an armload of gathered papers, records, and books that could be of use.

That had been four hours ago and still, there were no answers. And, her finger was again protesting loudly.

“I’m sorry, Nancy.” Hannah placed a hand on the younger woman's uninfected hand and squeezed it.

“It’s alright. We tried.” Nancy reassured her. “Actually, Hannah, while I’m here could we discuss something else?”

“Anything.”

Right now Nancy needed motherly advice. And, after losing a mother, a grandmother, a potential step-mother, and learning about her biological mother’s death all in less than a year, Hannah Gruen was the last maternal figure she had.

Nancy took a deep breath, letting it out in a slow exhale. “Have you ever had a crush on someone that wasn’t available?”

“Yes, I have. My best friend.”

“What did you do about it?”

“I told them.”

Nancy’s eyebrows shot up. “You told them?” She said in disbelief. “Even though there was no chance you’d be together? Weren’t you worried you were risking your friendship?”

Hannah shook her head. “I was at the beginning. But, it ended up being better for the both of us that I told the truth. The truth holds power.”

The truth holds power, that was something Nancy believed too.

“Thanks.” Hannah gave Nancy’s hand another squeeze, then she got up from the table to return to her work.

Nancy felt a sudden weight in her coat pocket. Reaching in she pulled out the spool she had found in her kitchen that morning. She stared at it for a few seconds in bewilderment. How had it magically appeared in her pocket when she had left it on the counter before she left for The Claw? The longer she stared at it the object and the colour became familiar for some reason, something that Bess was talking about. Nancy dug her phone out of her other pocket and opened it. The article that Bess had sent her was still on the screen. The red string of fate. Nancy scanned the article.

‘According to Japanese legend,’ she read, ‘there is a thread that originates from the heart and extends through our pinky finger connecting us to those that we are fated to meet.’ Nancy looked down at her finger. The infected finger, the one now covered in bandages, was her pinky. The red mark her dad swore was a burn wound its way around his pinky. ‘It is said that no matter how much you stretch or tangle the invisible red string it can never be broken.’

Nancy recalled how her finger felt better when feelings of attraction were coursing through her body when she was in the back room with Ace and had gotten worse when that attraction was being suppressed, as she was trying to do the entire day. How she had felt that strange pull whenever she was near him as if being pulled closer by a thread.

So much for forgetting these feelings. They were as much a part of her as her traumas.

“Hannah,” Nancy called, and the owner of The Historical Society appeared in her office doorway, “I think I know what this is.”

Nancy placed the spool on the table and handed her phone to Hannah so she could read through the article herself. She recounted for Hannah finding the mark on her dad’s finger. Him downplaying it as a burn.

Nancy’s eyes widened, as a thought occurred to her. “I need to see if he’s alright.”

“You check on your dad, and I’ll look further into this,” Hannah said, handing Nancy her phone back. “I’ll let you know if I find anything.”

Nancy grabbed her bag off the table and ran out of The Historical Society. Her phone clutched in her hand, she dialled her home number. Carson didn’t answer after the first or second ring and the worry began to build in Nancy until her stomach ached. When he did pick up on the third ring he could hear him talking to someone in the background. Ryan she presumed.

“Did you happen to touch the spool? The one I knocked off the counter this morning.”

“Hello to you too,” Carson replied sarcastically. He covered the receiver but she could still make out him saying “It’s Nancy.” to Ryan. They had a snippet of a side conversation and then she could hear the sound of the speakerphone being turned on.

This wasn’t the time for the speakerphone.

“What were you saying?” Carson asked and Nancy repeated herself. “I kicked it off the stairs by accident, picked it up and put it on the kitchen counter. Is this important for something sleuthing-related?”

“I’ll get back to you on that,” Nancy said, putting an end to that line of conversation. She decided to change her tactic to avoid his growing suspicion. “Hey, by the way, how’s your hand?”

“Same as the last time you asked.”

“Alright then, I’ll see you soon.”

“You’re coming home?”

“Yeah, I’ve had a long day.” Nancy ended the call and dropped her phone into her pocket. She slowed her pace, suddenly feeling weak and dizzy. Her worry catching up to her.

She had nothing to worry about. Her dad was fine. Good even, he seemed to enjoy having Ryan around. Maybe she was wrong about this lead and the spool hadn’t caused the infection. But that still brought to mind why she had found it in her pocket. Nancy caught herself itching her finger over the bandage as she thought this over. The wound had begun leaking through the bandages again and she stopped her itching.

Suddenly her phone began ringing and she took it back out to answer the call.

“Hello?”

“Nancy,” it was Nick who answered the phone, “you have to return to The Claw ASAP.”

“Why? What’s going on?”

There was a shuffling as the phone was passed between hands. Now it was George’s voice on the other end. “It’s Ace, he’s caught whatever weird finger fungus you have.”

No, this was definitely the spool.

🔎

Nancy got back to The Claw in record time. Although it was not yet eight o’clock the restaurant was empty of patrons and only Nick and George could be seen in the dining area.

“They’re in the back,” Nick called as soon as Nancy passed through The Claw’s doors.

Ace was sitting on the bench, Bess knelt in front of him pressing a damp cloth to his face. “Oh, Nancy, you’re back!” She exclaimed once she saw her.

Ace turned. He was pale, too pale, showing off dark bags under his eyes and a sheen of sweat glistened on his skin, soaking through his clothes. And, his pinky was just as green and goopy as hers was. Despite this, he smiled at the sight of her. Nancy threw her bag to the side and knelt beside Bess.

“I’ll give you two some time alone,” Bess said, handing Nancy the wet cloth, then she exited the backroom.

Her phone then decided to ring. She snuck a look at the caller ID. “It’s Hannah.” She said to Ace. “I should take it.” Getting to her feet she walked a few paces away to take the call.

“I was looking through my photocopies of the Women in White’s spellbook,” Hannah explained after Nancy accepted the call, “and found a spell similar to this red string of fate curse.”

“This isn’t exactly the Women in White’s MO.” The moment she voiced it she knew. “It’s Temperance’s.”

“I was thinking the same thing. She’s changed the spell in some way. To only hex those who haven’t found or confessed to their destined partner. If they have it shows up only as a red mark around their pinky, no infection.”

The red mark showed her dad had met his soulmate, her mom, and even though she was gone she was still his soulmate.

“The bad news does remain the same,” Hannah continued, “when the infection gets to the heart both destined partners die.”

Nancy swallowed hard and looked back at Ace. He was looking back at her. This time when they shared a long moment of eye contact she didn’t avert her eyes. Her heart pounded. “Is there a cure?” Nancy felt her voice crack on the final word.

“Nothing that I’ve found yet, but I’ll keep looking.”

There was no discernable cure. Ace was running out of time. And, because this curse had connected the two of them, so was she.

Nancy thanked Hannah and hung up, gravitating back to Ace, and sitting by his side. She entwined her hands with his cold, clammy ones. Not caring how the goop squelched between their fingers. It had made her feel better when she was at her worst when they were unattaching the wraith from feeding on her life force, and she wanted to show the same compassion to him. The longer they sat there, the worse her symptoms got until she was the same feverish mess that he was.

She held his hand as tight as she could, ignoring all the butterflies fluttering inside her. “This is my fault,” Ace parted his chapped lips to protest but Nancy silenced him. “No, that’s the truth.”

This reminded her of what Hannah had told her back at The Historical Society. Truth has power. Maybe confessing would lessen the curse.

She couldn’t look at him as she spoke instead looking over his shoulder as she recited a modified version of the script she had planned weeks previously. “In New York, I had this dreamscape experience with you at the bluffs. It was -- it was powerful and I felt things. For you. At first, I thought that it was the wraith manipulating how I felt but it wasn’t. I-- I know that now. And, I know you’re with Amanda and I don’t want to ruin that. And, right now I should be my first priority and put relationships on the backburner. And, I know this could risk everything we have, but, I needed -- I needed to tell you.”

Ace was silent, and he removed his hands from hers. Nancy was preparing herself for the worst, for Ace to say that he didn’t want to be friends with her anymore. That she should stay out of his and Amanda’s relationship. She frantically wiped at her eyes, trying to compose herself for what was coming.

“And, you don’t need to reciprocate. You’ve--you’ve become very special to me and I--I can’t lose you.”

“Nancy, slow down,” Nancy looked tearfully into his eyes, stopping her unconscious stream of thought, and he grabbed her hand again. Some of his colour had returned and the dark circles under his eyes weren’t as pronounced. “Amanda broke up with me.

Nancy gulped. “She did what now?” She hadn’t expected this.

“She said I wasn’t all in. And, she’s right. I’m not. So, she stayed behind in Portland.” Ace squeezed their conjoined hands. “And, you’re right too. Your first priority should be yourself right now. You shouldn’t be jumping into a relationship with me or anyone else until you're ready. But, I’m always going to be by your side. Nothing will change that.”

A sudden green smoke filled the room making Nancy and Ace cough. When enough smoke cleared away, and they were able to get a good look at each other, Nancy noticed Ace’s pinky had healed, good as new, and quickly removed her bandages. Except for the line of scratches, it was as if nothing had happened in the first place.

George, Nick, and Bess rushed into the back room, waving the smoke away with their hands that was drifting towards them as it drifted to the kitchen windows.

“What the hell is going on back here?” George said, “We smelled smoke.”

“It’s the tail-end of Temperance’s soulmate curse,” Nancy responded.

When each of her friends looked back at her with confused and shocked expressions she unclasped her hands from Ace’s and stood to face her friends. She had another truth to reveal.

“Temperance is back. She used my blood from her machine to return. Now, she’s somewhere in Horseshoe Bay. Waiting. Trying to learn about me. About us. About this town. So she can destroy it.”

“So, what’s the plan?” Ace said, coming up to join her. “How are we going to kick this bitch out of our house?”

Nancy smiled at him.

Maybe there was something about this soulmate thing after all.

[fairlyspnfanfic]

The Ties That Bind Us - Part 8

Summary: When your past comes back to haunt you, who will prevail?  Hunting had been your life since your were 4 years old.  The monsters that started you on that path were resurfacing, and you knew what you had to do.  But nothing is ever truly secret, and nothing is ever that cut and dry with the Winchester’s in tow.

A/N: This is a new one that is coming from a few requests.  I’m not going to post the actual requests because…well because it would spoil the story line and I’m pretty into this one.

Words: 2438

Warnings: Trauma, medical terminology, stress, hospital waiting room, all the angst

PART ONE  PART TWO  PART THREE PART FOUR PART FIVE  PART SIX   PART SEVEN

I hesitated to open my eyes, for fear that I’d wake up and it would all have been a dream. My lips felt warm and pleasantly swollen as I reached my hand up slowly to touch them, keeping my eyes shut.  I took a deep breath and lifted my eyelids, coming eye to eye with Dean as he lay next to me staring.  

Sheepishly, I smiled and released a small chuckle with my fingertips still glazing over my bottom lip.  “Well,” I said meekly.  “Not a dream.”  His eyebrows were still knitted together as if he was unsure as to what my reaction would be.  But the corner of his mouth twitched upward as the hint of a smirk began to spread.  

“Kinda was for me,” he said through an exhale of breath as he ran the back of his fingers along my cheek.  I leaned into his touch, relishing in the delightful feel of his skin on mine.  

“How long,” I asked him.  

“How long what?  How long have I wanted to do that?”  He paused, leaving the silence pregnant with anticipation.  He let out a quick breath, looking to the ceiling as he thought. “Six years ago, St. Patrick’s Day. I told you to kiss me cause I’m Irish. You called me an idiot and threw a pillow at my face.” I laughed at his response. “Been hooked ever since.”  

I could feel heat rushing to my cheeks as they blushed and a coy smile wound itself across my face.  

“Or did you mean how long have I known you wanted me to? Cause that’s a very different answer.”  

I ducked my head down, attempting to hide from his view, and buried my nose into the crook of his neck.  “I mean, I’d be happy to answer that one for you, too, sweetheart but I wouldn’t want to embarrass you.”  His words dripped with sarcasm as he pursed his lips and left a trail of kisses from the crown of my head and down the side of my face, slowly pulling my head back up to face him.  

“See, when things weren’t looking all that great for you?  I wasn’t doing so well.  I wasn’t the pillar of strength you’re used to on the day to day.”  His face returned to seriousness now, and my eyes fixated on him.  “I kind of fell apart.  No, that’s not true.  I completely fell apart.  A world without you in it?  That’s not a world I want to be in.”  

I felt tears pooling in my eyes, but I held them at bay.  

“So, my baby brother, he decides he needs to cheer me up.  See, he yanks me up to my feet, slams me up against a wall and tells me to stop being a selfish prick.  Tells me I can help you by just keeping it together, by staying with you.”  Dean’s hand lifted as he pushed my hair gently behind my ear.  “Now I’m lost at this point.  He’s talking crazy and all I want to do is hide from the world.  But the big oaf that Sam is, he wouldn’t allow that.”  He leaned in towards me again, pressing a short, chaste kiss to my lips before tucking his chin over the crown of my head.  

“Instead, he looks me in the eye, tells me I’m a moron, and lets me go.  But not before just blurting out ‘She loves you, you jackass,’ and proceeding to lecture me about how dumb I am.”  The smile on his face is beyond genuine and my entire body feels as though it’s turned to gelatin.  “That true,” he asks me, his eyes back on mine.  The confident smirk on his face is betrayed only by the pleading desperation in his green orbs that are so focused on mine that I dare not even blink.  

Slowly, I nod my head, feeling that same blush rise in my cheeks again.  “Yeah,” I said, my voice cracking as I did so.  

“Thank god,” he breathed out as his lips once again plastered themselves against mine, knocking the air out of me as he slowly wound his arm around my waist.  He leaned into me, rolling me over onto my back as he rested his body on top of mine, his hips jutting against my own.  I could feel his calloused hands wandering; one tangled in my hair as his fingers deftly caressed my ear lobe as his other held our bodies closer together.  

I had wrapped my arms around him, clinging to him with desperation.  Dean pushed against me harder as I felt his excitement growing against my groin.  I broke our lips apart, breathing deeply as I lifted my hand to the back of his head, entwining my fingers in his hair.  He began grinding his hips against me; an act I longed for but subsequently found intolerable.  Shocks of pain tore through my abdomen in waves and I cried out, gasping for air as I ground my teeth together.  

“Fuck,” I grimaced, wincing.  Dean instantly backed away, holding himself almost as if he were doing a pushup.  

“What’s wrong?”  His panicked voice rang out as his eyes examined me.  

I removed one hand from his firm waist and grabbed for my side, desperate to alleviate some of the pain.  

“Son of a bitch,” Dean muttered under his breath, looking down towards my waist.  It seemed instantaneous that I sprang off the bed and frantically searched for the remote control with the nurse call button.  A few seconds passed and the pain had ebbed.  

“Dean, I’m fine, really.”  My attempt to settle him did nothing as I spoke to his back.  He was running towards the doorway now, yelling for help.  

I rolled my eyes, knowing that he was surely overreacting.  Pulling my hand away, I glanced down and took in the sight of dark red blood pooling slowly on the sheet beneath me.  “Well, crap.”  

Dean walked back into the room, a female nurse clad in dark purple scrubs in tow.  He raised his hand and pointed towards my wound, and she immediately got to work.  My gown was quickly pushed to the side as she took a look at the damage that had been done.  

“You’ve popped a staple out.  Haven’t seen that too often!”  Her voice was cheery and calming as she smiled sweetly at me.  

“I’ll get the doctor and we’ll get you patched up again in no time.  Good as new, huh?  How are you feeling in the meantime?  What’s your pain level?”  

“I’m good,” I answered simply.  

“Are you sure, darlin’?  You look a little flushed.”  Her eyes were intent now, taking in every physical cue that she could.  

“That, uh,” Dean began with that devilish half smile of his. “That could be my fault.”  He held up a finger as if claiming victory.  I rolled my eyes in response and watched as the nurse did the same.  

She turned her head to face him and took up the absolutely accurate stance of an angry mother about to berate their petulant child.  “You do know that she’s recently had invasive surgery, yes?”  

I watched as Dean shrank under the nurse’s stare.  He nodded solemnly.  

“And that a team of highly trained surgeons spent several hours fixing her up and putting her back together again with slim odds that she’d even wake up, let alone thrive and begin healing?”  Her question was obviously rhetorical.  Dean held eye contact with her and nodded.

“Yes, ma’am.”  He’d never sounded so young and childlike.  

“So maybe, just maybe, we can pause on the hanky panky funny stuff until after she’s discharged, yeah?”  

I stifled my laughter as Dean nodded again, and the nurse exited the room, patting his shoulder as she walked by; the smile on her face betrayed the entertainment she had felt at Dean’s expense.  

Dean skulked back towards me, lowering himself into the chair beside my bed.  The laughter that I had been withholding came pouring out of me, eliciting more pain as I again held my side.  

“Geez, Y/N, you’re going to open yourself up more.”  Dean placed his hands on my arms, attempting to hold me still.  

“Yeah, well. You started it.”

His eyes went wide with incredulity.  “How do you figure?”  

“You were the one who opened up first!”  My cheesy joke landed flat.  

Dean rolled his eyes, leaning backwards in his chair as he sighed dramatically.  “Good to see you didn’t lose your awful sense of humor.”  

I smiled at him exaggeratedly.  “I’m delightful.”  

He smiled at me again, reaching over and raking his fingertips down my cheek. “Yeah,” he paused. “You are.”  

The doctors had swooped into the room, getting me all stitched back together in a blur of lights, antiseptic, and latex gloves.  The same nurse had accompanied them, insisting on administering more morphine when she did so.  

They moved me into a wheelchair as they waited for my bedsheets to be taken out and laundered.  I was struggling to keep my head up as I leaned my temple against my palm, fighting to hold my eyelids open.  I could feel Dean’s warm hand drawing comforting circles on my back, but my head was swimming.  His soothing voice rang out every few minutes, letting me know that it was okay if I wanted to fall asleep.  Encouraged even. But stubbornly, I refused, shaking my head and insisting on waiting until Sam came back.

It wasn’t too long until Sam peaked his head into my room; his long hair unkept and falling in his face.  

“Hey, Tarzan,” I mumbled, giggling at my own joke.  Both the boys stared at me quizzically as my eyes closed and I leaned further over onto the side, my chuckles growing quieter.  

“Tarzan? I thought it was Thor.”  Sam’s voice drifted in as if he were speaking through static.  

“She’s out of her mind on morphine, Sammy.  Don’t worry.”  I could hear the jest in Dean’s voice as he spoke from just behind me.  

There was a small hint of commotion as an orderly came in with a rolling tray full of food for me.  With my eyes still closed, I took a deep breath, attempting to smell my meal.  But my sense of smell reacted negatively as I breathed in the scent of hard-boiled eggs, squash and fish.  

“Gross,” I protested, grabbing at the wheels of the wheelchair I sat in and attempting to push myself away.  

“No. Don’t want that,” I murmured as I shook my head.  There was a strong hand grasping my shoulders as someone gently whispered in my ear to relax.  “Mom made me lasagna,” I groaned, as large tears overwhelmed my lids and began cascading down my cheeks.  

I felt warm fingers press against my cheeks as Dean’s familiar voice repeated my name softly.  

“Hey, Y/N.  Can you open your eyes for me?”  

I stubbornly shook my head, opting for the darkness my closed eyelids afforded me.  I could feel panic rising in my chest, and my breaths began coming in stuttered waves.  Sam’s voice was screaming into the hallway, demanding a nurse or any sort of help.  But my head was swimming.  I could still smell the garlic and tomatoes as the cheese bubbled on the top of my favorite dish.  I could hear my mother’s voice as she spoke with me. My father’s warm, teddy-bear embrace still ghosted over my arms.  But all I could see was black.  I longed for the comfort their memories had afforded me.  

“Daddy,” I mumbled out as I felt the familiar push of medication run up my arm as forced, restless sleep overtook me.  

I woke hours later.  Days possibly.  The sky outside my window was still dark and the light in the room too dim.  Running my dry hands down my face, I pulled myself slowly to sit up in the bed.  The ache in my side not entirely unnoticed.  Every muscle in my body was sore and resisted moving.  I kicked my legs out gently over the bed, glaring at my thighs as I balanced myself on them with the palms of my hands.  

“Don’t even think about it,” Dean’s voice was stern as he spoke from the chair in the corner of the room.  I watched his arms flex as he walked towards me, squatting effortlessly in front of me as his eyes locked onto mine.  

“Back in bed.”  His words were stern, but his eyes betrayed some sadness that lingered on his face.  

“Dean?”  My voice was groggy and sounded foreign to me.  

“Y/N get your ass back in bed, now.”  He sounded almost defeated; an unfamiliar tone for him.  

I acquiesced and pulled my legs back onto the uncomfortable air mattress, keeping my eyes set on his face.  “What’s wrong,” I asked him. “You seem grumpy.”  He took his seat again in the lounge chair next to me, leaning on his knees with his elbows.

A forced, quick breath leaked through his nostrils, full of incredulity.  “Grumpy, huh?”  He paused.  “Can’t imagine why.”  His eyes fell to his hands, focusing on the thin piece of fabric that he was fiddling with.  He flicked his gaze up to me, following my gaze back down to his hands.  

“It’s part of your shirt,” he explained.  “Or, well, was.”  He paused again. “It tore off in your back there,” he gestured towards my side.  “Had to dig it out on the way here.”  

I took a deep breath, attempting to steady my surprise.  “I’m sorry, Dean.”  

He pursed his eyebrows and looked up towards me slowly.  “For what?  Getting stabbed?  Not your fault.”  

I reached towards him, surprised when I watched him pull away and lean back into his seat.  “See, getting stabbed? Hurt?  Happens to all of us.  But you,” he said, holding the fabric up towards me. “You were reckless.  You ditched me and Sam and did your damnedest to be in more danger than you needed to be.”  His eyes shot up towards mine again, that same pained sadness shooting out of his eyes as he let silence stretch between us.  

“And here, in this hospital.  Some of the things you’re saying, been saying.  They’ve got me wondering.”  

I let his statement stand, wanting desperately to not discuss the topic at hand. “See, I’m wondering if there’s not something you’re hiding.  Something you didn’t or aren’t telling me. And that?  That won’t work.  That’s something else.”  He dropped his head, clenching his hand into a fist as he held onto the scrap of clothing.  “So, talk.”  

To be continued….

Part Nine

Taglist (Tag requests are open):

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[robertsheehanownsmyass]

Hiya! Hopefully its not too late to submit? Could I request a Halloween smut fic with Nathan x f reader please? Thank you so much :D

https:(://)gifer(dot)com/en/5F49

Sheehanoween!

Champagne Buzz

Nathan Young x Fem!Reader Warnings: so much smut. swearing, drinking...more smut Note: I envisioned this as an AU to when they got rich after disclosing their powers. Maybe it could have turned out better if that jealous dairy prick hadn’t ruined everything for them. I suppose we’ll never know, but this fic might help you revel in that idea if only for a short while.

Nathan and the rest of the ASBO gang had been invited to attend a Halloween party at a posh club on the top floor of one of the nicer local hotels. The party had a masquerade theme, so it was mandatory to dress in formal attire and wear fancy masks. Nathan wore a black tuxedo, and his mask was a midnight blue accented with whirls of metallic copper, covering only his eyes and the bridge of his nose. Somehow it accentuated his green eyes beautifully and they shimmered like emeralds under the lights of the club. You chose a body-hugging floor-length black satin dress, and your masquerade mask was gold and accentuated with a peacock feather. When Nathan saw you walk into the club, he whistled. “Babe,” he said. “You look good enough to eat, and I intend to do precisely that later.”

“Promise?” you said, tipping your head back to give him a kiss.

You danced for hours. You danced so much that you had to kick off your heels, placing you at a distinct height disadvantage with Nathan, but you made it work.  By the time the party came to a close, everyone was quite thoroughly blitzed.  

You all made your way down to the second floor indoor pool area, some with their arms slung over companions’ shoulders, others still gripping bottles of champagne.  Fourteen floors was a lot of stairs for drunk people, so the majority of you crammed into elevators, giggling and acting like teenagers.  You had become separated from Nathan when you got onto one of the elevators; you didn’t even realize he wasn’t there until after the doors had closed. He must have had to wait for another one.

You burst out laughing when you entered the pool area. Some of your group had already gotten there, but the sight of Curtis lounging on a pool float in nothing but black boxer briefs, black socks, and his black tie gave you the fits.  You slipped away to strip down to your matching black satin bra and panties, and you put on a white terrycloth robe and returned to the pool room.

A few minutes later, the stairwell door burst open and Nathan sauntered out.  He had his suit jacket off, his vest undone, and his shirt was unbuttoned almost to the bottom of his sternum.  His tie was untied and was draped around his neck like a scarf.  He had his jacket slung over one shoulder and held a bottle of champagne in his hand. 

“There you are!” he slurred, grinning. You laughed.

“You took the stairs? You’re lucky you didn’t break your neck in that state!”

“I’m immortal!” he retorted with the air of a misguided hero. Then, belatedly, he noticed you were wearing a robe.  "What’re you doing!? Have you got any knickers on?!“  He had attempted to whisper, but really ended up shouting it instead.  Several heads turned in your direction.

"Will you hush!  I’m wearing my underwear. It’s fine.”

“Oooh,” he said, lifting the bottom flap of your robe to peek at you. You smacked his hand away.

“You’ll see soon enough.  Now go put the bits of your suit you don’t want to ruin someplace safe.”

‘Someplace safe’ ended up being the back of a lounge chair, but you figured it would do.  

The sounds of splashing indicated that people were enjoying the pool, but you were more interested in getting a drink, so you went to the cabana bar to get one.  You returned to the pool area and sat in the chair next to Kelly.  You smiled at her and lifted your glass.  "Cheers!“

She smiled back and clinked your glass with hers.  You both drank, and she sighed.  "I’m so glad we finally have some fuckin’ money.”

“Hell yeah,” you chuckled. “As long as it doesn’t go to Nathan’s head.”

Kelly laughed. “Fat chance o’ that. Look at him.” She gestured toward Nathan, who was attempting to carry five more bottles away from the bar without dropping one.

You laughed in earnest, watching him contort himself to bring the bottles back to the pool successfully. “Well,” you said, “at least we can enjoy it for a little while.”

You and Kelly chatted and drank for a few minutes, enhancing your buzz.

"Now,” you announced, standing up.  "I think the time has come to jump in this fucking pool.“

She laughed, and stood up with you.  "That sounds like a great fucking plan.”

You shed your robe, and she stripped off her dress, revealing a red strapless bra and matching bikini knickers.

“After you?” You gestured to the pool.

“No way– on three,” she laughed.  "One…two….three!“

Together, you ran and jumped into the pool. You surfaced, laughing.  Other people squealed in surprise at your sudden entry.  You scanned the room and found Nathan, who had been sitting and talking to Simon.  He was looking at you with his mouth open.  You hooked a finger toward him in invitation.  He stood up, peeled of his shirt and pushed his trousers down.  He kicked off his shoes and socks and stood in nothing but dark blue boxer briefs.  He ran and did a cannonball, sending water flying everywhere.  He surfaced, shaking his head.

"Dammit Nathan!”  Curtis yelled, dumping out the rest of his champagne that he had been sipping as he floated. Nathan’s splash had filled the glass almost to the brim with pool water. “Prick!”

“Sorry man,” Nathan called.

You swam over to him and wrapped your legs around his lower torso and your arms around his neck.  "The water feels nice, doesn’t it?” You asked.

“Oh yeah it does.”  He said, before bending his head to kiss you deeply and thoroughly.  After a moment, you heard a series of theatrical retching noises.

“Blah, get a room, will ya!” Alicia shouted.

You spent the next two hours having the time of your life.  The drinks and the laughter were flowing, and there was a celebratory atmosphere that was infectious.  An overwhelming sense of pride at what the group had accomplished by telling the truth about their powers mingled with the relief of it all finally being out in the open.  

Later, Nathan and you sat in robes, nuzzling each other at the cabana bar.  "Will you come to my room tonight?“ Nathan purred.

"Oh yes,” you replied without any hesitation, making him chuckle.  He bent to plant kisses along your clavicle, causing you to break out into gooseflesh.  

“Well, what’re we waiting for?” he asked, and the two of you gathered up your things, said goodbye to everyone, and slipped out.

You ran to the elevator, and once inside, attacked each other again. You exited the elevator in this fashion, still kissing and groping one another, heedless of being spotted.  It felt like you waited an eternity for him to fish out his key card one-handed and successfully unlock his room door.

One he got the door unlocked, he scooped you up and you squealed and giggled as he carried you into the room. He carried you straight back to the bed, and he threw you down onto it.  He looked down at you with a fierce expression; you were about to get fucked, and you couldn’t wait.

He grabbed you by the ankles and pulled you toward him so your ass was right at the edge of the bed.  He pulled your knickers off of you, tossing them somewhere absentmindedly.  You were completely exposed from the waist down, and you could feel the heat and moisture of your excitement take root. 

He ripped off his robe and pushed his boxer briefs down, throwing them aside.  You smiled salaciously at the sight of his cock. Nathan reached between your legs and lightly brushed your wetness with his fingertips.

“Oooh,” he cooed.  "You’re excited, aren’t ye darlin’?“

"Fuck yes,” you said, breathlessly.

He sank down and knelt before you, him on the floor and you at the edge of the bed. He spread your legs wide and moved in to taste your cunt. You gasped as he teased your clit with the tip of his tongue, circling first, then lapping up the length of your slit. He buried his head in deeper, increasing the pressure, and you arched your back and entwined your fingers into his curls. You panted and moaned as he lavished your sex with his tongue, and you cried out as your climax started to build. He closed his lips around your clit and sucked, sending you over the edge, and you rode out your first orgasm with your legs shaking.

“Oh god,” you breathed, and he stood, fixing you with heavy lidded eyes, licking your moisture from his lips. 

“Did ye like that?” he said, his voice hoarse with arousal.

“Yes,” you said. “I need your cock Nathan,” you whined.

Wordlessly, he gripped his cock at the base and thrust it into you roughly.  You gasped and arched your back at the shock of him filling you so suddenly.  He held you by the ankles and repeatedly slammed into you, his hips slapping against your ass audibly.  He was not being gentle tonight, and that suited you more than fine.

He grunted softly as he pounded you roughly, and you cried out loudly as your next orgasm overtook you suddenly and powerfully.  You felt your walls pulsing tightly against his shaft as the waves of ecstasy washed over you, and every other muscle in your body seized up as if you had just been electrocuted.  You gripped the blankets on either side of you tightly as you screamed.  

Without warning, he withdrew from you, knelt down again, and assaulted your clit once more with his tongue.  The sensation of his tongue on you so soon after your climax was almost more than you could handle.  Your nerves were so sensitive that he sent you over the edge again almost immediately, your hips bucking as you clawed at his hair.  You felt him chuckle softly against your thigh before he stood up again.

He grabbed your hips and flipped you over without uttering a single word or command.  He climbed onto the bed and positioned himself behind you, and thrust himself back in.  He banged you thoroughly in this manner for quite some time while you screamed and buried your face in the pillow.  Again and again you came; never before had you ever known such pleasure.

"Nathan!” you screamed.  "Fuck! God!“  The only thing your mind seemed to be capable of was screaming his name or swearing.  You were so loud, that you were positive the occupant of the next room was most likely wide awake and hearing everything.  Fortunately, you didn’t give a shit.

Finally Nathan came, and he exploded into you with a moan, and you could feel his balls twitch against the back of your ass as he pumped his load into you.  He ground his hips against yours one last time as he finished, and collapsed to the side, breathing heavily.  

"Oh…my…god…” he panted.  It was the first thing he had said in a while.

You flopped down next to him, your limbs completely spent.  "You’re telling me.  God Nathan. How do you do that?“

He chuckled softly.  "You know I sometimes wonder if I gained some extra fuck power from the storm. My stamina is off the charts.” He spoke the words almost as if he couldn’t believe it himself.

You laughed.  "I am certainly not complaining.”

Before too long, the two of you fell fast asleep as you lay together; naked, limbs entwined, happy, champagne-drunk, and totally fucked into oblivion.

[magicalsalamander]

Sangre Solium

            Sequel to Sangria Wine

Pairing: BTS Yoongi ⇆ Reader 

Genre: Vampire | CEO | Medical | Fluff| Angst | Slight Horror | [Eventual] Smut

Summary: When rent is cutting short and you’re at your last resort. Your job has been cutting your hours slowly, and bills were stacking up. You walk into a donation center, blood donating center for the undead to earn some quick cash, but…the thing is…you’re afraid of needles.

Word: 6.3K

Rating: Mature; mentions of blood and phobia of needles/blood, fainting, vampiric activity, and mentions of mating.

A/N:  Sangria Wine was posted on 20 Oct 2018 and it received so much love. Originally I didn’t want to continue the story. It was supposed to be a oneshot and done. However, after deliberating with myself, I took the time to think of how I want to continue the story. Now, here we are, chapter 2. Thank you for reading

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Blue fluorescent light passing under the copy machine’s lid wasn’t enough to wake you from your stupor. After it had printed out your college-textbook-thick worth of copies you stared at the white top aimlessly.

God, you messed up, you messed up big time.

The clinic had you marked, banned from returning to the clinic. A literal red strike was crossed over your chart. Your file probably was thrown into the shredder just for emphasis. How could you pass out when your donor was taking from you? He wasn’t even there when you woke up. However, the prick marks from his fangs were like a tattoo on your neck. They were faint, but you could see the marks distinctly.  God, you were so stupid. Despite your embarrassing episode, you were still paid though. You would’ve normally refused, but you took the envelope with your head hanging down. You were able to make rent, yet here you were, a week later, panged with more questions, the most blaring question was of the next month’s bills.

Rolling your shoulders your bone cracked and popped as you dispelled tension. There was a constant knot in your shoulders and a small throbbing pang in your head. The pain would intensify at work and your temples become sensitive like a sunburn. Maybe—you were pretty sure—it was the endless stacks of paperwork piling at your desk thanks to your boss. The other day it was nearing the tip of the wall of your cubicle. There was one thing you could hold onto though. It was Friday.

You picked up the papers with a grunt. The weight dug into your forearm which was leaving a dent in your skin. You struggled back to your desk passing rows of filled cubicles. As you reached your desk you dropped the stack with a tremor. The minor earthquake sent your precious coffee splashing over the edge of the cup nearing towards your fresh textbook. With a hushed curse under your breath as you reached for your cup, you wiped up the lost paradise with a tissue before it caused another disaster. You stood there for a moment as you let out another sigh. You rolled your shoulder once more. The morning was as old as the paradise lost un-sipped coffee. As soon as your heel touched the lobby floor you hit the ground running this morning. Your coffee was past lukewarm and brimming on disgustingly bitter from the air conditioner. You grumbled under your breath, great, just great.

Swiveling the chair around, then adjusting your chair cushion, you sunk in like a ragdoll. Everything has been off since your trip to the clinic. You couldn’t shake the feeling, the odd tingling in your joints that vibrated your skin with unease. What were you going to do? How were you going to make this month’s bills? You couldn’t ask anyone to help owing something to anyone was just a bigger headache.  Especially your parents, you couldn’t ask them, they hound for the money back immediately. Living in the city away from your family was something you prided yourself on. You were independent, that’s the promise you made to yourself and them.

Your manager, an old, portly man with a poorly glued toupee, walked down your isle greeting your other coworkers. He slowed down when he passed other female employees, purposefully giving them the extra attention; and they always played into it, knowing he’d suck up all the attention. A promotion was a promotion. That was where you “messed up”, you never buttered him up or took the compliments without turning it back to business. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed him picking up pace as he speeds past your desk. He dropped folders on top of the stack you just printed out. With more authority than he could ever muster with an overtly fake commanding voice, “On my desk by noon Y/L/N.”

Numbly you gazed over to the tower still being worked on against the cubicle as you slowly observed the stack of manila folders just added. You tried turning to catch him before he rounded the corner, standing up haphazardly, jerking to a halt your skirt caught on the ajar top drawer. “Sir, wai—ouch!” You didn’t get to finish your sentence as you heard your skirt rip. You slumped back down, holding your tongue as your manager rounded and disappeared around the corner. With gentle fingers you held the three-inch tear together, your cold hand soothing the scrapped tender skin under. You didn’t break skin, but it still stung. Sighing in defeat, your eyes slowly moved over observing the ever-growing tower on your desk. You pulled the scrapper open and fished around through your junk bin. When you found a safety pin, you held it in your hand and closed the drawer. You bit on the bars releasing the pointer then held the pin between your teeth. You scooched back and with two hands you pleated the tear tightly then pinched it tightly with one hand.  

Why was he piling it all on your desk? Did he hate you? You’ve never done anything to him. You were the newest, but the distribution of work was still unfair.

Skillfully with your other hand, you weaved the pin through the frayed fabric. You pulled the fabric through the pin and with only a bit of pin left your thumb nicked the tip. Hissing through your teeth you retracted your thumb with lightning reflexes and automatically bringing it to your lips. Inspecting your thumb you sighed in relief you didn’t break skin, but the prick mark was there. That’s when it hit you. You didn’t pass out.

Just-just maybe…just maybe…

You unweave the pin and closed it shut as you fisted it tightly in your hand. You put your computer to sleep and grabbed your coffee cup. You left your towering papers and walked towards the breakroom focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. The handle of your cup became slippery as your grip grew sweaty. You checked the breakroom for anyone inside, but at this odd hour, everyone had already grabbed their morning cup of coffee or snack. The plastic table and chairs were thankfully abandoned.

You slipped inside, closing the glass door behind you and walked over to the sink. You poured your old coffee out and rinsed it out, the pin too, then set your cup down and pin next to it. You took the coffee pot and filled it with fresh water. You poured it into the container and started it up again. The crackling noises filled the empty room and the pot began to fill with coffee. You stared at the black droplets as it dripped and rippled. For a short second, you smiled at the small paradise before it disappeared. You knew what you were doing here. You were prolonging it; you could pick it up and get the prick over with. You were stalling. Your hands were trembling as you clutched onto the countertop. Your hands were soaking wet with sweat. You paced over and ripped a paper towel dabbing your trembling hands as you whispered to yourself. “It’s just a prick, it’s just a prick, it’s just a prick.”

Why couldn’t you handle a single prick? You weren’t going to die, but why did your body react so dramatically. If you could do this then you could go to another clinic and all your problems would be solved. You could do this.

With sudden confidence, you crumpled and tossed the paper towel away. Picking up the cold pin that instantly heated up in your hand, you pushed in the pin and hooked it around the clasp. You stared at the needle and the sudden confidence vanished. All the reasons why you shouldn’t do this come flooding over your system. Your fingers locked up the knot in your shoulders intensified. Saliva pooled on your tongue and gulping was hard as it hurt your throat. Subconsciously your shaking, tight fingers managed to move as you forced the motion of wiping the pin and your sweaty hand on your skirt.

You just need to prick your finger, just prick your finger and not pass out.

You stabilized your hand as you brought the pin up and near your thumb.

Just prick it. It’s only a second. That’s it.

You just need to press it lightly and that’s it.

There’s no big deal.

It’s-just-a-prick.

Your breathing shortened as you lower the pin closer to the pad of your thumb. Your hearing began ringing in your ears, knees losing tension, but you stood still. You inhaled deeply and held it for a few seconds hearing your heartbeat in your ear. You pulled your hand back like pulling the string of a bow, reading your arrow, and—release.

It was faint, but it was there. It was always there, correction, you were always there.

The pulled curtains over the ceiling to floor windows only let in a sliver of light. His nearly bare grey walls absorbed any of the strayed light. There was a screen protector over his desktop computer, alongside an open notebook and a stack of papers, clipped, ready for dispersal.

Throb, throb, throb.

Both eyes closed, an eyebrow perked, as his open palm supported his thrumming temple and his other was busy. His fingers from his pinky to his index in a flowing rhythm was countering the ticking of his desktop clock.

He was fine Monday. He’s a patient man after all.

Tuesday was okay.

Wednesday wasn’t bad, but Thursday felt nearly intolerable. Yet, he held it together.

Today—oh, today. He could feel you frantically in his veins. Your heartbeat was pulsing in his head like a migraine. He was fine with light, the stereotype was false, but today, the small light leaking in was intensifying the pain. He was so in tune with you. It irked him because the pain was pointless. He’s always been one to understand, ahead of the game, planning the game, but he wasn’t sure why he was in pain. With his middle knuckle raised in the air, he stopped tapping abruptly. He pressed all his fingers flat against the desk to center himself. The table felt warm compared to his temperature. That was another thing that had been happening to him lately, he had been feeling warmth randomly in bursts.

His world has been off kilter…and it all started with you.

False breathing for a moment, he let himself feel the pain. The beating in his head grew louder and louder. He dug into his inner blazer pocket and pulled out a small, tin mint box. Inside, instead of mints, were synthetic blood pills. He swallowed three raw, feeling them travel down his throat. He breathed in heavily waiting for the soothing effect to come over, the clock on his desk counting down in the background. Ten-nine-eight-seven-six-five-four-three…the throbbing pain was still there.

With a rumbling growl that vibrated his chest, he stood from his chair like a feral beast trying to escape. He chucked the pillbox into the trash. He couldn't stand it anymore. He adjusted his grey suit and tightening his black tie as he walked towards the doors. He pushed through without pause, stuffing his fidgety hands into the pockets of his pants.

His secretary, Hoseok, the only man—a vampire—on this planet who could put with him, abruptly stood from his desk nearly toppling over. Papers he had been working on spilled over as he attempted to pick them up and pay attention at the same time. Forgetting his formalities for a second, “Yoongi, what—?” He swallowed his question as Yoongi’s gazed flicked over to him for a split second. They were fiery red, a raging fire that could turn anything into ash. Regaining professionalism, he attempted to put together why his boss was out of his office. “Sir,” checking his watch twice, ”it’s not time for the meeting yet.”

Hoseok was completely in shock. He swore he’s never seen his boss look this automaton and hagride. The creases on Yoongi’s suit weren’t fully pressed. Yet, Hoseok was still slightly timid in Yoongi’s presence, despite being best friends for centuries. His status didn't change the fact that the look in Yoongi's eyes was near lethal. There was a physical air around him that if it could only be described as a black cloud.

Yoongi’s voice was low and tense as it rolled out, “I’m doing random floor assessments.” Yoongi walked past Hoseok and into his private lobby, pressing the elevator’s down button.

Hoseok gathered what he could, dress shoes loudly clicking on the marble tile as he jogged to catch up. He barely swept passed the closing doors and into the elevator. Adjusting his suit and demeanor as the CEO’s secretary, best friend aside, “What-what department would you like to see first Sir?” Yoongi pushed the button for a floor without telling his secretary. Hoseok cast a slight glance at him only to look back quickly unnerved by his utter nonchalance. Clearing his throat he dared not to ask.

Yoongi rolled his neck slowly before the ding of the elevator signaled their arrival. As he stepped out Hoseok was hot on his trail matching Yoongi’s air of confidence as soon as the door opened. Yoongi rounded the corner and out to the large, open floor plan office floor. It was in a state of half-organized half-cluttered with light pouring in from the floor to ceiling windows that traveled all along the wall. The light intensified the pain, but he kept on. People lingering in the aisles lost in their smile and faux chuckles. A man cleared his throat and adjusted his tie suddenly cutting his conversation off as he stared in awe. A woman sipping from her mug suddenly choked spilling her drink on her shirt a bit. Yoongi made his way dead center through the major divide between the left and right desk. The noise in the room overall died down in a cascading wave to a hushed murmur. Yoongi kept his chin high and eyes straight as he walked, not bothering to meet the gaze of anyone who dared stare at him. Yet it was a given that people avoided his gaze. Yoongi drowned out the babbling, yet he heard the whispers, “It’s the red shadow.”

A tall, gangly man cleared his throat, along with a few others, cutting through stunned individuals and the aisles and came to meet Yoongi as he crossed their path. The man ushered a few others with him like stooges. With a trembling hand and voice, he attempted to approach Yoongi, following behind when they passed them without a word. The posse dumbly followed. The floor manager attempted again, “Mr. Min, Good morning. What…,” the manager exchanged glances with the other lingering employees, “ to what do we owe a visit from you today?”

Yoongi raised a brow, but without a true response, he continued to walk around in a short tour. The manager’s murmured among themselves, however, Yoongi could hear their whispered panics clearly. Yoongi never visited any of the departments, he always resided at the top of his tower. He had others to do that, come to him at the top, and report back. He had no interest in what they were doing, but he wanted to stall. He wasn’t sure his body couldn’t handle the intense wave. He wasn’t even on the right floor yet, seven floors above the intended. This was a practice round for himself. He could feel it, you, your heartbeat was raising and raising.

With a group of people behind him now, he prowled through the department. He could feel the individuals in their cubicle's heart rates skip as he walked past. It was so loud with all the noise. This was one of the main reasons why he never came down to the departments. After making around he returned to stand in front of the elevators. Hands locked behind his back he nodded and his secretary pushed the button for him. He stepped inside the elevator first then Hoseok followed to stand behind him. He stared directly ahead unblinking at the managers who stood their dumbfounded, silent, yet he could see their pupils trembling.

The doors closed.

Hoseok cleared his throat, “What floor next, Sir?”

Without glancing sideways, passing his tongue over his fangs, “Marketing.” His secretary nodded and pressed the button.

It felt slow like the mechanism was moving through molasses as he observed the digital numbers count down. He’s never felt the need to tuck his hands into his pants pocket enough, for the first time he's never known what to do with his restless hands.

Throb, throb, throb.

He patted his blazer in habit, searching for his pillbox, only to remember he threw it away. Rolling his shoulders needlessly then closing his eyes, he counted to ten resting his expression. As he opened his eyes slowly, narrowed and forward, they were glowing red despite his attempt. He stared at his own wicked look in the chrome reflection of the metal doors.

Hoseok with a soft gaze stared at him through the reflection, “Yoongi, are you alright?”

With no other choice, Yoongi tucked his hands in his pockets and grunted. The elevator dinged in arrival. He could feel it deep in his chest, that pull. He grunted ticking his head to the side disheveling his neatly done hair.

He lunged forth on instinct as a light sample of your scent filled his senses. Rounding out into the bright light that filled this floor as well, but like the pain, it became background noise as he focused on your scent. In practice, he followed the same routine walking down the middle part. Your scent grew stronger and stronger as he passed aisles until he came to a stop. He looked left and right up and down the aisle and followed instincts to the right. He paced as he passed cubicles. He paused in front of a cubicle that was empty. It was your desk, he could recognize your scent, even though he had only met you once, he knew it was yours.

A small shadow cast over him as the portly man greets him, “Good morning, Mr. Min may I-I-I help you?” The manager's eyes follow where he had been staring, especially licking his lips at the tower of papers. He clears his throat and copies Yoongi’s pose by putting his hands in his slacks, attempting to appear taller. “Ah, Mr. Min, I’m sorry for the mess. Ms. Y/N she’s quiet the slacker, she never gets her work done on time. She's new so maybe the company motto hasn't seeped in yet. But don't worry Sir, I promise you I will keep her in line though.”

Yoongi broke gaze for the first time, sparing his narrowing glance at the man. Although his face was neutral it spoke a thousand words.  

"Where is she?" You hadn't been gone long your scent still lingered, and warmth still coated the air.

When the manager was left stunned quiet and stuttering, a chilling sensation seeped through Yoongi’s body. He shuttered out an unstable breath, closing his eyes for a moment. The manger mistook it as anger and began apologizing immediately drowning out his sound until he heard it. He heard it loud and clear echoing in his ears a sound of a sharp cry…that came from you.

Having not realized another small group had formed around him. He plowed through the group and began rushing towards the sound. The sound of panting filled his ears as he allowed the sound to act as a radar. At the door of the break room, he looks through the glass door. Your standing at the counter your hand comes out to clutch at the counter, but your feet staggered. Your knees begin to buckle and his eyes widen as he realizes what's about to happen. He could hear it. Your breathing paused as you began collapsing. Nearly ripping the door open fear fills him as on your downfall he catches you pulling you into his chest.

You didn’t look up to him, your face was hidden as it hung low and your hand trembled as they latched onto his blazer. The glimmer of the pointy end of the safety pin dripped a single drop off blood onto the floor. His pupils dilated, engulfing the red into pure darkness. A feral awakening within happened as he watched your eyes roll into the back of your head and your knees unlock, you begin falling like silk. He bolted forward and caught you in his embrace. He slumped to the floor with you embraced in his arms he held your head in one hand to get a better look at your face. It was almost unreal, he knew you were here, imagined it for days even, but here you were. Your face was relaxed as your unfocused eyes fluttered and his in panic.

The scent then hit him. He smelled it intensely in the air filling up the small space form such a small concentration. He brought up your hand and a small drip had made its way down your fingers. He grunted holding himself, everything he had in him back. On instinct he brought his finger to his lips and licked, his saliva sealing the small wound instantly. He resisted feeding, resisted biting, the need to protect you overrides baser instincts. He whispered your name, but you already passed out. Pulling your face to his chest, he felt the need to protect you. Your hand slumped from his grip and the safety pin slipped from your hand. Hearing a small clink he followed to the sound and noticed the open safety pin with a bit of your blood at the end. His heart squeezed. Cupping your cheek gently he pushes your hair out of your face. His eyebrows creased as he looked between the pin and you. He whispered, “Why?”

 Soon enough in the doorway of the breakroom, it had filled with his entourage. Your manager and a few others stood wide-eyed at the door. The assistant manager nudged your manager, "Go, don’t let the CEO take care of your employee.”

Choking on his saliva he pushed through and into the breakroom. “I’m so sorry Sir, please, let me take her." In a panic, the manager reached for you trying to take you away from Yoongi.

His back was towards the manager, a growl sounds, “No.” The manager panicked, trying to save face still by inching forward still. He had intended to do this earlier, but now seemed timely, “You’re fired.”

The manager sputtered, “I’m sorry, Sir, I’ll have a replacement for her soon. I will hire a better employee. This is my mistake.” He again tried pushing through to grab you from his embrace.

This time Yoongi growled out in a near roar, “You idiot, you’re fired! GET OUT!”

The manager stuttered as Hoseok pushed through the small crowd as he easily pushed away the manager. The manager stumbled back, face aghast and white as he was treated no better than a fly.

Hoseok questioned, “Sir?” 

Gently he gathered you in his arms and held you under your knees. Yoongi turned head gazed over his neck with a hard stare, eyes deep red, unspoken words between them. He stood up with you in his arms bridal style, your head tucked in his neck. It sent a shiver down his spine. Your soft breathing tickled his neck and again the hair on his body raised. His secretary and other managers were equally as shocked, shaking in their shoes, afraid for you and themselves. Hoseok had never seen Yoongi act like this, he was wondering what was going on with his best friend, especially a random girl from marketing.

Yoongi didn’t spare a glance his way, but he spoke directly to the manager, “I’ll make sure to it personally no one hires you again.”

The smell of urea tainted everyone’s nose.

Naturally, everyone parted as he walked through the crowd with you tucked close. Everyone in the cubicles had their eyes on him, but he could care less. He gallantly walked through the office. He entered the elevator and looked down at you as the doors closed.  

Your eyes lazily blink open as you blearily stare at the tall, grey ceiling. It’s so dark. Your eyes are open but you can’t comprehend why. A chill washed over you and settled over you like a wet blanket. Your teeth chattered as you internally groan, it's freezing. With a deep inhale, your heavy arms struggle to raise and wrap around yourself. You slowly sit up but as you move in slow motion you feel your skin pull away from the leather couch you’re resting on. You felt sticky, like semi-dry glue, gunky and dirty. You blink trying to take in where you are, where were you? Slowly you swung your legs around and down onto the ground. You need to feel it. It’s eerily quiet. Trying to focus on anything in the darkness none of the silhouettes seemed familiar. Just exactly, where were you? Weren’t you in the breakroom a moment ago?

Slumping forward and running your hands through your hair you held your head for a moment. Hunched over as you tried finding common ground for all your senses. Your manager was going to be so upset. Were you going to get fired? Your head raised on that though. You couldn’t afford getting fired. You couldn’t get fired! At the sudden movement, a wave of dizziness flooded you. Focusing on what was before you, your mind froze. You blinked a few times before the shadowed image defined itself. A silhouette of a man was sitting on the coffee table with his hands clasped on his knees hunched forward. Raising his head he met yours, his narrowed red eyes were beaming at you with intensity.

A choked cry for help forced itself up to your throat as you jolted away. You raised your feet off the ground and tuck them close to yourself. This must be some twisted nightmare, but it felt so real, your pounding heart and head felt all too real. He sat up straight, his eyes rounding out a bit. He tried leaning forward to you but caught himself. It took a second for your eyes to adjust to take in the disheveled dark hair of a fair-skinned man. If this was a nightmare why were they still there? This means—he was real. The longer you stared you realized his features looked tired, red eyes still narrow but softer around the edges as they held your curious gaze. Oddly, the shock washed away immediately and a weird sense of familiarity filled you. Those eyes, you knew those eyes. you realize, “You?”

He cocked a brow, repeating after you teasingly, “You?”

You racked your brain, trying to remember his name in the endless bank, but it was just on the tip of your tongue. His face was so familiar. You blinked away the haziness as his face began connecting the dots before you had a constellation. Stars lit up in your eyes, then you cleared your throat, “Yoo-Yoongi?”

Of course, you remember him. The man who you had embarrassed yourself in front of, not only once but now twice. You felt your cheeks heat up.

You lowered your feet back down.

A small smirked perked upon his lips exposing the tips of his fangs.

You squinted, “Wait, why…how did I get here?”

His smile softened up his glaring features. He stood up and rounded about as he poured a glass of water. You carefully watched his back, the suit he wore looked expensive. You gazed around the room for a second noting all the equally expensive-looking décor. This office looked straight out of a magazine with minimal but luxurious details. This lounge was a part of his office, his presidential desk faced towards the lounge.  

“Here, drink this.” He handed you a glass of water that you gladly expected with a hushed thanks. “You were in the breakroom when I found you, so I brought you to rest for a while on my couch.”

You sipped on the water, nodding in understanding. Everything he was saying made sense so far. And with the glass raised to your lips, you realized—you realized why you had passed out. You cringed internally as you tucked your thumb into your fist. You felt mortified, frozen in place. Yoongi had seen you again in such a pathetic position. You wished the world would open up and swallow you whole. Wait, his couch? This was his couch?  Wait...Yoongi…the receiver you were supposed to donate— wait, the one you had passed out on. You passed out in front of Yoongi. You were at work, and Yoongi found you in the breakroom? Gazing around once more you looked at the desk and read off the plaque on his desk. Min Yoongi CEO. Nausea filled you as your jaw unhinged. Yoongi—CEO Min Yoongi of MYG Technological Corps. You passed out in front of the CEO! The CEO! You began breathing in deeply as a slight panic set in. Oh god, you couldn't be here. You have never felt so utterly humiliated.

You got up and stumbled as you held onto the edge of the couch. You smoothed down your clothing and rapidly conveyed your emotions. “Thank you, Yoongi-I mean Mr. Min, uhm, thank you for…goodbye.”

His voice broke through, feeling the sudden rise in your heart rate. Your sudden behavior change surprised him. “Hey, what’s going on?”

When he realized you weren’t stopping. It was like a force unbeknownst existed physically pulled him up as he raced to the door. A throb began pulsing as you speed away from him. He wasn’t going to let you out of his sight, not again. He gently pushed the door closed as you tried opening it to leave.  “Wait, don’t go.”

You turned around and came face to face with Yoongi. Nose inches apart for a second before he backs away politely clearing his throat. He wasn’t weak to his instincts, he wasn’t. He asked, “Please, stay.”  

You avoid eye contact, hand still on the door handle. On a single exhale, “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Sir. Again! Oh my god, I’m so sorry I’m in your—your office! This is your office.” Taking your hand off the door handle for emphasis, you then point to his whole visage, ”You’re the CEO. I’m so, so, so, so sorry.” After your monologue, your out of breath and flushed.

The ticking of his clock is the only sound that accompanies your harsh breathing. He chuckles, which turns into a laugh. You curl in on yourself. He immediately corrects himself. “Excuse me, I’m not laughing at you. Your…your just too,” he pauses, wanting to use another word but settled for, “honest.”

It really would be great if the world would open up now. You could hear your heart in your ear. It took a second to remember he probably could too. He was a vampire; he could probably hear everything.  

It was odd, you had this power over him, the glow immediately diminishing and his eyes returned to brown. He realized how strong he must’ve been coming off. In a husky low voice, his eyes glowing again, “Stay Y/n. Stay and let me explain.”

Something was rooting you to the floor, you couldn’t explain it, but you wanted to listen. Your chest was rising and falling. “Okay.”

You followed him back to the couch as he sat across from you on the opposing couch. You couldn't believe it still, your receiver was your CEO. How had you not seen this earlier? Well, Yoon—Mr. Min never has shown himself publicly. He is anonymous to the public. Anonymous to the office—well you have only been working for a few months.  

Silence built between you both, you weren’t sure what he needed to explain. To him though, a full orchestra was playing, to his ears through your heartbeat was drumming. He was feeling overwhelmed with your sweet scent as it filled his office. The need to be near you was like an itch, but he purposefully sat across from you. The small taste of your blood, a droplet of a sample, had him fishing his pills out of the trash as soon as he laid you down on the couch. You, you made him weak.

You needed to know, “Why?”

He arched a brow, “Why what?”

You twiddled your thumbs, “Tell me you were the CEO. When I was donating you let me speak so openly to you. I'm sorry for speaking so out of term. I'll leave my resignation letter on my manager's desk by the end of the day."

He smiled. "Y/n." You wouldn't have to worry about your manager anymore anyways.

You looked at him finally. His eyes had returned to normalcy. The same pull you had felt the day you had met him pulled underneath your skin. Although, maybe you were mistaking it for nausea.

Sternly, "I'm sorry for not telling you earlier. I don't let anyone know who I am beside the people closest to me. But I don't want you to resign. Stop apologizing."

You felt a blush creep up on your cheeks. “Thank you Mr.Min.”

He chuckled, “Please, call me Yoongi.”

You nodded, although, it felt too informal now that you know who he truly is.

You swallowed hard, suddenly whispering, “Why’d you leave?”

His eyes widened, “You were being taken care of, there was no need for me to stay.”

In truth, he felt overwhelmed. For the first time in centuries since his turning, he felt overwhelmed. He didn’t know what to do, besides run. Run from the fact that you were his mate and he didn’t know how to handle that. He couldn��t articulate it fully, he felt it would be too much to drop on you that you were his mate. A human, you couldn’t understand. Yet, his body surely hasn’t forgotten, his senses surely haven’t that you’re his mate. The throbbing in his head was a constant reminder. Finally, it stopped with you, here in his office. You’re none the wiser about this, you don’t know anything about his kind. He can’t spring that onto you, you don’t know what it means.

“Oh.”

“Why’d you prick yourself?”

Your headshot up, a flush of heat traveling up your neck and steaming your brain. “I-I-,” you’ve never felt more embarrassed in your life. In a near mumble, “Iwantedtoprovetomyselfitisn’tabitdeal.”

He had exceptional hearing, but he couldn’t make anything you said out. You heavily sighed, taking a deep breath, “I,” licking your lips, “needed the extra money.” He couldn’t help following the motion. “I wanted to go to another clinic to donate.”

His eyes snap narrow in anger, no one, no other of his kind or human could touch you. No one should ever get to taste you besides him. Genuinely mad he commanded, “No.” You shrunk back into the chair, trembling a bit. He realized his mistake in predation taking a deep breath in. His limbs were vibrating as he stands up and paces for a bit. You rub your forearms unsure of what to do in this situation. He took a seat next to you. Feeling your warmth radiate from you just by sitting next to you calmed him a bit. “Do you realize what you’re going to do Y/n?”

You nodded not looking at him. You were unsure, but not uncomfortable. “Yes, I know, but what other choice do I have.”

He rubbed his palm together. “Let me make a deal with you Y/n.”

“A deal?”

“How about I help you overcome your fear?”

You quirked a brow then squinted at him. “What’s in it for you?”

"I don't want to see my employees seek work elsewhere."

Your face relayed you were unconvinced.

“If I help you overcome your fear, and if it’s successful, will you let me feed from you? If you are that adamant about donating again, then let me be your receiver.”

There it was, the catch.

You edged yourself to the corner of the couch, fully turning your body towards Yoongi. “That’s illegal! I can’t be your personal donor Yoongi.”

He smiled, “This isn’t a donor situation, simply I’m helping you overcome your fear of needles…just with my fangs. As a vicarious, non-intentional consequence, you may bleed and I will clean it, essentially feed, but that will be voluntary not by obligation.”

He could see your brain working a million miles per hour.

He tossed in, “I’ll consider this as a personal assistant job, the other portion of overcoming just subsidiary as it may possibly be beneficial on my end. So I’ll pay you well for the time you spend with me. You won’t ever have to go to a clinic again.”

You pondered for a moment; the deal seemed great. This was partially why you had started in the beginning, to challenge yourself. Well, bills were also great motivation. This was an answer to your problems. You oddly felt you could trust him. He had been nothing but assuring. Thinking it over, you were sure you had gone silent for at least five minutes.

“If you don’t want it, I understand." Although it ripped him to think about it, he didn't want you to feel trapped. He never wanted to push you. Even though he knew you were his mate, he wasn’t going to ever push you, but being close to you often would ease the headache and thirst. “We’ll figure something else out.”

You looked up, decidedly, “Okay. Teach me.”

Copyright 2020 © by magicalsalamander. All rights reserved. 6.3

[pergaias]

a small miracle ; a short story

i wrote a short story about medieval lesbians for school and decided to put it here to prove ( to myself ) that i’m a Writer™ and not just someone who uses tumblr to procrastinate :)))))))

it’s not my best writing by any means ( some will argue that impossible for anything i write to be bad but i respectfully agree to disagree ), but it’s here. it’s kinda sweet. it took up too much brainpower to do. but, its late. this writing is gay. bear with me, and . . . enjoy ?

word count ; 2568

“Erwyn!” her name echoed across the stone walls of the courtyard, and Erwyn, lady of Halle Castle, eldest and only living child of Lord Halle, froze. Her strawberry-blonde braids were half-unwound, there was a tear in the rich brocade gown she was attempting to hurriedly tug on, and the rough-spun smock and trousers she had been wearing previously were covered in dust and dirt, discarded on the floor. 

She looked up guiltily as her father - his girth richly clad in velvet and linen - approached her, his face mottled red with anger. “Erwyn!” he roared, spittle flecking the russet of his beard. “For the last time, Erwyn -”

Erwyn determinedly hiked her gown up, her cheeks and ears the color of her father’s red tunic. Her elaborately looped and pinned braids were long unbound - how she hated the way they tugged at her scalp. She resolutely yanked her gowns’ sleeves on over her wrinkled undergarments, her father glaring daggers at her as she did. She would not be humiliated half-dressed. 

“There!” She exclaimed triumphantly, smoothing the front of the gown and fussing with the ruffles around her wrists and throat. Her smile died on her face as her father stepped forward, and she lifted her hands to shield her face. “Father - I - Father - please don’t,” she protested, but the fight had long been stamped out of the lady. She closed her eyes in defeat - again. So much for small miracles. 

Her father always won - it didn’t matter if she didn’t want to gossip with her ladies-in-waiting or her stepmother. It didn’t matter that she had already done her studies for the day and that she didn’t want to embroider. Her lady-in-waiting who had smuggled her the boy’s clothes and a cap to tuck her hair under might be killed - her father had been very vocal about the king’s recent beheading of his second wife.

“The witch deserved everything!” he said emphatically over dinner when news reached them, as Erwyn pushed her food around her plate, her face vaguely green. She had liked Queen Anne. When her father had taken her to London - back when his family was more important to him than anything - she had met the queen. She had a nice smile, and a look in her eye that Erwyn had instantly admired.

Like she’d stared a tiger in the eye. 

Erwyn held still as the back of her father’s hand cracked against her cheek. She didn’t say a word, only clenched her hands tighter into fists. One day, she silently vowed, I will hurt you. I will hurt you so badly you’ll regret every - crack - little - this slap burned - thing - this slap brought tears to Erwyn’s eyes - you’ve done to me.

Her father turned and marched away, leaving Erwyn a dusty little bundle of tears and bruises on the ballroom floor. Erwyn was an improper little girl - it had started when her mother had wistfully pushed Erwyn’s honey-and-roses hair behind her ears, murmuring that she wished her Erwyn was a boy, if only so that she’d be free. Because girls were doomed to marry and embroider and spend the rest of their tittering lives bearing children. 

Her mother smelled like rosemary and sage leaves, and her elegant fingers were rough because of all the times she’s pricked herself sewing. It was hard to imagine her angry, bitter father loving her free, cheerful mother. But once upon a time, he did. Once upon a time, they were happy.

“Winnie!” a girl’s voice cried, and Erwyn felt hands touching her face and hair, heard her own voice hiss as her cheek was prodded. “You need a compress,” the girl murmured, and Erwyn attempted to open her eyes. One was swelled shut - through the other she saw a halo of a girl, slight and blonde, with a spray of freckles across her ruddy cheeks.

“I wish,” Erwyn murmured through split lips, her head spinning, “that I were a boy.”

The girl’s great brown eyes welled up, and Erwyn’s world spun before going dark. Her father won, yet again.

>*<

Alys Cartwright was built like a bird, all little bones and delicate lines, but she was stronger than she looked. Erwyn of Halle was built more sturdily, all soft curves and stubborn chins, and Alys attempted to lift her without hurting her, but to no avail. Frustrated, she gently sat down and put Erwyn’s head in her lap, gently stroking the hair away from her face. Her eyelids were faintly blue, and a bit of the whites of her eyes peeked from under her long lashes.

The side of her face was already mottling into bruising, turning her smooth cheek ugly shades of red and pink. It was glaring, and ugly, and . Yet, as Alys traced her fingers across the bruises, across Erwyn’s split lip, across her strawberry blonde hair, she was beautiful. Erwyn had always been beautiful - her many suitors proved that. She was smart and beautiful and undeserving of the life her father trapped her in. 

“Ced!” Alys cried. “Cedric!” 

Alys’ well-meaning but slightly oafish younger brother stumbled into the courtyard from where he was pruning the hedges, his tunic covered in grass stains. “Help me carry her, Ced,” Alys attempted to lift Erwyn again, and Erwyn’s lips parted in a weak moan. One of her eyes was swollen shut. 

Cedric hefted her easily, and Alys fluttered uselessly by Erwyn’s head as her brother gently carried her out of the courtyard, past the green, to their small house. Cedric Cartwright fancied himself a knight, just as Alys had romanticized herself a princess before growing up caught up with her.

“What happened to her?” Ced asked, clearing the kitchen table with a sweep of his arm and setting Erwyn on it. Alys scrambled to put a pillow under her head. Erwyn’s face was rapidly swelling, and the bruising would be nasty for a few days. 

“Her father,” Alys said bitterly, and Cedric quieted. Everyone under the lord’s lordship knew of the way he treated his daughter, first after his wife died and then after her betrothed did. 

Alys spent hours sitting at Erwyn’s side, washing her bruising first in wine and then in water. She boiled yarrow stems and spent hours making salves and tying them onto her face with cloths. If Alys had left Erwyn there in the courtyard, there would be no doubt that her stepmother or one of her ladies would have cared for her, but Alys . . . She could care for her better. She was determined that she would. 

“I’m going to be burned at the stake,” Alys threw her hands up in exasperation. They were covered in ground-up herbs and melted lard, and Erwyn was still asleep on the table, her cheek bruised and her lip busted. “I’m going to be beheaded, oh, Lord -”

“What are you going on about, Alys?” Cedric popped his head back into the house, his blond hair darkened with sweat. “Do you know what we should really be worried about? Not the comatose lady on our kitchen table, but the amount of grain that Lord Halle will allow us to keep. We don’t want to go hungry again this winter, Alys -”

Alys banged her fist on the table, causing a bunch of carrots to jump on their hook. “Get Isolde,” she said pointedly to her brother, and then hurrying back to her pot of salve. “Isolde’s better at this than I am, and I don’t trust Erwyn with her father right now.”

“What was she doing that made him so mad?” Cedric inquired, picking up a basket and absentmindedly stuffing the carrots into it. 

“Get Isolde, brother darling,” Alys echoed, taking the dressings off of Erwyn’s cheek and applying more salve. Her skin was hot to the touch, too hot. The wine Alys washed it in must not have killed off the infection. 

Cedric left with the carrots to find Aunt Isolde, who wasn’t anyone’s aunt, really. She was just there, healing people who needed healing and occasionally demanding favors from the village children. Lord Halle owned everything in his fiefdom, from his daughter to his peasants to every piece of grain, but Isolde owned this village. She had saved many a mother from childbirth, including Alys and Cedric’s own. 

If Lord Halle hadn’t been so proud, Isolde might have been able to save his wife. Alys bit her bottom lip and hoped. But hoping was futile. If wishes were fishes Alys Cartwright would never have starved, but she’d starved. Time and time again. 

>*<

Erwyn woke to a young girl - the blonde girl from before - and an old woman bowed over her, muttering at each other. The side of her face throbbed fearfully. She distinctly remembered one eye being unable to open, but both of her eyes were open, staring purple at the two women hovering over her.

“Lady Erwyn!” the girl squeaked, jumping away from her. The old woman muttered again and shook her head, before none too gently rubbing something onto her face. Erwyn held her tongue but thought of a choice few things to say to the woman about her maternal instincts.

“Lady Erwyn of Halle,” the crone muttered, now finally being gentle with the salve. It was actually quite soothing - Erwyn could smell rosemary in the air. “Yes, I’m aware that’s my name,” Erwyn said sarcastically, trying to sit up. She was still in her rumpled brocade. 

“So am I,” the woman muttered crossly. “There you go, good to go, back to your father with you.” the woman hobbled out, and that was that. Erwyn was no longer dizzy from repetitive blows to the head, but she was bruised. All the worse for wear.

I wish that I were a boy. It was a foolish wish, one that Erwyn had kept close to her heart for years. If she were a boy, she could be a knight like her father had been, court girls without fear of being burned at the stake, talk loud and hunt deer and not spend mind-numbing hours gossiping at court or embroidering flowers onto handkerchiefs.

“Thank you,” she said awkwardly to the blonde girl, unbinding her hair and letting it cover the bruised side of her face. “You - you didn’t have to take me here. Or call me -”

“Winnie?” the girl blushed. “Sorry, it - it slipped out. It was my honor, Lady Erwyn -”

“Winnie is fine,” Erwyn smiled, and winced. Smiling hurt. Talking hurt - her lip was cracked, and she could taste a bit of salt on them, as if she’d been spoon-fed soup unconscious. “Like my mother’s name.”

The girl hung her head. “Lady Winifred is missed,” she said quietly, watching as Erwyn stumbled off of the table she had been laying on. “Oh! Do you need -” the girl blushed brighter as she offered Erwyn her arm, mumbling “I should have offered earlier, I’m so sorry -”

“It’s - it’s fine,” Erwyn coughed, her unbound waving hair covering the way her ears flamed up. “Again, thank you,” she murmured, as the girl helped her hobble out of the little village hut and into the green. It was brighter than the hut and loud and raucous outside - the peasants had come back from their daily work, and the sun was sinking over the horizon. 

Shouts of “Ho, Alys!” followed the thin blonde as she helped Erwyn through the green, Erwyn pitifully attempting to cover her bruising with her hair as she walked. As the girls stumbled towards the manor, the blonde girl started shyly asking Erywn things, and Erwyn, glad for a distraction from her humiliating walk to the manor, answered.

“Why did you dress like a boy - or, a better question,” the girl said after a few questions, her cheeks ruddy. “Why does your father ha - hate you so?”

Perhaps the blonde was waiting for an emphatic response of no, he’d never hate me, but Erwyn worried at her split lip before replying. “I’m devil spawn,” she said wryly, her purple eyes full of everything but mirth. “My father loved my mother, and I’m a constant reminder that she’s gone.”

But the blonde girl still looked like she had more to inquire, and Erwyn’s pride was the only thing keeping her from spilling unasked-for answers. 

“I dress like a boy because sometimes I wish I was a boy,” Erwyn said finally, after a stretch of silence. “There’s a freedom that comes with it. Women can only marry or go to a nunnery, and they don’t have much choice even when it comes to that.”

The girl nodded, her doe-brown eyes wide. “I’m sorry - I’m sorry about your fiance,” she squeaked, flushing bright pink. Erwyn rolled her eyes and had the audacity to laugh - laugh. This girl - Alys, if she wasn’t mistaken - was almost as well-versed in manor gossip as her stepmother and ladies-in-waiting. 

“He was an old knight, it was bound to happen,” Erwyn waved a hand around airily. “My next suitor might be more palatable. He might let me take a female lover, who knows. It’s hit or miss with these men - usually miss,” Erwyn mused.

The blonde girl almost tripped over her feet. “Female - female lover?” she echoed - no, squeaked. This girl was barely older than Erwyn was, but she was acting like a much smaller child. Bashful, really. 

Erwyn shrugged. “Tell me about your daily schedule?” she inquired. Only it was less of an inquiry than a command - so the noble lady and the peasant girl exchanged stories. Erwyn would wake up at the crack of dawn and go to Mass; Alys would help her mother prepare breakfast for her father and brother in the early morning, as well. 

If it were summer or autumn, Alys and her mother would help with the harvest. Erwyn felt spoiled admitting that after Mass she would be helped to dress and then go to a leisurely breakfast - she felt even worse admitting that hated solars of discussing gossip and tittering over heinous affairs were a luxury. 

Alys was a bright listener, and before dark they had made it to the manor gates. 

Alys let go of Erwyn’s arm, and Erwyn felt the absence keenly. The warmth of her new friend - if Alys even could be called that - was gone. 

“Alys Cartwright,” Erwyn said formally, the syllables of Alys’s name strange in her mouth. “For your service to the Lady of Halle,” Erwyn had to break off and laugh at the absurdity of her title, “I will do my best to grant you a favor. A wish, if you will.”

Aly’s great brown eyes brightened, like the sun when it hit the horizon. “A small miracle?” she inquired, smiling. 

“A small miracle,” Erwyn conceded, her cheeks warming. 

Alys thought for a heartbeat, and then another. And then she coyly brought her mouth to Erwyn’s ear and whispered in it, something that made Erwyn flush from the ends of her hair to the tips of her toes. 

But Erwyn leaned forward and kissed Alys on the lips, and though her own lip hurt from her father’s hand, his heavy signet ring, every cruel word turned her way, it was a small miracle. Alys sighed and her hands tangled in Erwyn’s loose strawberry hair, and suddenly it didn’t matter if her father hated her. If her mother was gone. If she were going to exact her revenge on her father and make him pay. 

This time, Erwyn won. 

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

Then does bartender Harry help her get home? maybe they’ve hooked up a few times and he’s starting to catch feelings, so at this point he’s getting really soft for her and isn’t so much trying to just hookup when they interact

He would absolutely make sure she gets home safe.

He’d do it himself, obviously not trusting her friends enough with the task now that he’s seen how they’d just left her to deal with that sloshed prick all on her own.

Harry would drive her home, his navy and pastel blue plaid blazer hung over her shoulders to keep her warm as she sits in the passenger’s seat of his car, toying with the radio.

He’d help her out of the car and up the stairs to her flat, a lean arm tucked under both of her’s and across her back, securing her protectively into his side as he slowly treads the staircase with her one step at a time. He’d have to unlock the door himself because she can’t even remember which key it is; he’d fish them out of her jean pocket, chuckling fondly when she smacks his arm playfully and hiccups a slurred, “If you wanted to grope my ass, you could’ve just asked.”

“Sorry, I’ll be more of a gentleman next time, sweetheart.”

Harry finagles with the lock, turning the knob and pushing the door open with the weight of his shoulder. He lugs her inside, dropping her keys on the coffee table as she stands behind the sofa, propping her palms against the backrest to keep herself supported.

He maneuvers her until her backside is resting against the arm of the couch, keeping her upright as he gently pushes his jacket off her shoulders, working the article down her arms and off. He hangs it over the inside of his elbow, leaning down to untie the shoelaces of her scuffed up black and white Vans.

“Y’know how it’s every girl’s dream to be a princess when they’re little?”

Y/N’s blabbering utter nonsense but Harry can’t find it in his heart to dismiss her, so instead he humors every word, nodding along to her statement as he slips one shoe off carefully. “So I’ve heard, yeah.”

“Well,” she slumps her shoulders down tiredly, chin dropping to press against her chest as she watches Harry undo her other sneaker, blinking down at him hazily. “I guess you could say this is my Cinderella moment! Uh, well, kinda— you’re taking my shoe off instead of putting one on but I’ll take what I can get ‘cause you’re hot.”

Harry glances up at her with an comically entertained grin jolting the corners of his mouth, his eyebrows jutting upwards, jokingly intrigued. “Is that so?”

Y/N bobbles her head, lashes fluttering at her own abrupt motions. “You’re, like, super attractive. But I think you know that already ‘cause you’re so confident with yourself.”

He pushes himself up off his knees with a low grunt, gently kicking her shoes under the glass coffee table to avoid her tripping on them later in a drunken stupor. “I mean, I think I’m pretty alright, but nothing Miss Universe worthy.”

Y/N releases a loud snort in protest, reaching up and poking Harry right at the center of his hard belly. “Well I think you’re Miss Galaxy worthy. How’s that?”

Harry licks over his lips to hide a lovesick simper, shaking his head lightly and scoffing. “The universe is bigger than a galaxy, actually, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

A few strands of her hair have escaped the little golden clip she’d used to pin them back, falling across her eyes and tickling her nose. It’s evidently a pest, obvious in how she scrunches it in annoyance and rubs it roughly with the palm of her hand.

His body acts on instinct, his emotions revving his actions.

He quickly grabs her wrist, pulling her hand away from her face and dropping it into her lap, taking it upon himself to re-pin her bangs into place so she doesn’t hurt herself in a fit of numb annoyance. He tucks her hair behind her ear for good measure, his fingers remaining perched behind the shell as he eyes her with a form of faint admiration. She looks so cute when she’s pouting all sleepy like that.

Y/N swallows heavily, trying to moisten her tongue in order to continue talking. “You should stay. Wanna spend time with you.”

Harry’s thumb trails tenderly over the dull pulse in her temple, heart punching against his ribcage at the context of her whispered words. “Really want me to stay?”

Her hands lift from her lap, digits tucking into the waistband of his light-wash denim jeans, index finger toying with the clasp of his belt. She glimpses up at him from beneath her lashes, irises twinkling suggestively. “Yeah, stay. Let me make you feel good.”

Harry sighs in saddened defeat, the true intentions behind her request surfacing through her brazen actions. He gently rests his palms over her fiddling digits, prying them from his belt. “Not tonight, love.”

Y/N pouts, her murky brain not registering why he doesn’t want her the way he usually does. “Why not?”

He holds her slightly twitching hands in his steady warm ones, the nail of his index finger tracing the lines across her palm. “You’re not in the right state of mind.”

Her brows scrunch in defiance, head cocking to the side sharply. “What d’you mean I’m not in the right state of mind? I’m fine!”

In an adamant attempt to prove her sobriety, Y/N pushes herself onto her feet off the sofa arm, taking a confident stride forward only to have hear knees give out almost immediately.

Harry catches her as she crumples to the ground, hoisting her up by her waist and giving her a pointed shrug of his brows. “See?”

“Fuck off.” Y/N grumbles, turning her face away from him in a childish fit of stubbornness.

“I think you should just let me tuck you into bed so you can sleep this off, yeah?”

Harry starts wading towards her bedroom with Y/N in tow, somewhat acquainted with her apartment since he’s been over a handful of times. He manages to convince her to get into the bed, helping her strip off her tight jeans and flouncy black lace blouse, leaving her in a pair of mix-matched bra and undies. He can’t fight off the endeared grin that pinches his cheeks when he sees her cupcake patterned panties.

He swaddles her inside the comforter, well aware of how she’s staring up at him all starry-eyed and needy. It makes his stomach lurch and his cheeks boil.

He clears his throat as nonchalantly as possible, scratching the back of his neck nervously— it’s infuriating for him since he rarely ever gets nervous; running a bar is a job that requires a certain level of permanent ease and he hates the fact that this one simple girl can tear down all of his barriers without even trying.

“Promise me you’ll drink tons of water tomorrow, alright?”

Y/N nods at him distantly, still staring at him all moony and dejected and he knows she’s not doing it on purpose— she’s so gone she can’t hide her desires from manifesting on her features— but he resents it nonetheless. The idea of leaving her hot and bothered makes him feel like the worst friend with benefits candidate; he’s well aware of how horrible of an ordeal it is to be left drunk and horny, but he outright refuses to do anything that would mean taking advantage of her.

He has to fight off the urge to bend down and kiss away her plump frown.

“Sleep tight, then. Text me when you can.”

Harry turns to leave, tossing his jacket over his shoulders and working it over his arms as he heads for the door.

A tiny, timid voice rings across the chilled air of the room.

“Thank you for being so nice to me. Sorry for being a handful tonight.”

It feels like a two ton dumbbell is sitting on his chest, his lungs aching with the weight of her affectionate, groggy tone.

He talks to her over his shoulder, too emotionally raw to face her fully. “You’re not a handful, baby. I’m more than happy to help anytime you need me.”

“You’re an amazing friend.”

Her innocent comment cuts deeper than it should, his veins pumping kerosine into the wound, his entire heart charring with pain.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Harry.”

[justsomewhump]

Tight Hold (1/4)

Every day, I stray further from god.

Aka shamelessly self-indulgent Krakillian non-con smut.

Note: This is very self-indulgent. I wrote it without any concern about structure or continuity, I just wrote what I wanted and went all out. If you do read it though, I hope you enjoy ;)

Also, kinda referencing my first Krakillian story, though you don’t need to know much from it other than that the Kraken and Killian have history together, which includes intercourse of both consensual and non-consensual nature. Though if you're into that stuff, hey, you should read that too ;)

Warnings: Graphic rape and non-consensual bestiality, tentacles, blood, a bit of vomit, mentions of other bodily fluids, near drownings, mentions of suicidal thoughts.

Word count: 3k (10k in total) AO3

~

Kraken-san couldn't hold himself any longer.

He'd thought his revenge on the human would've been enough. And in a way, it had been.

But now, he just wanted him. He just wanted to have him, and the thought of what the human had done to him before only fueled his desire.

So Kraken-san left his wet cave and went in search for his human.

It didn't take him long. Once again, the human was standing near the sea. So predictable.

Without wasting any more time, Kraken-san spread his tentacles and wrapped two around his human. The human tried to resist, to get away, but Kraken-san knew how strong his hold was.

Then a bright light appeared from the human's hand. Kraken-san looked; one of the human's rings was shining bright. Right then, a female human appeared, holding onto the tentacle that held the human. The female shrieked, then threw a blast of magic at Kraken-san.

Kraken-san yelled, but more in annoyance than pain. He was too strong for petty magic tricks. Grabbing the female with another tentacle, he threw her away, not caring where she landed. His human screamed, probably for her, and he was distracted long enough for Kraken-san to grab his hand and carefully, using his smallest, daintiest tentacles, to remove the human's rings from his fingers. Couldn't risk any of them having magic too, could he?

Kraken-san grabbed the human hard and submerged. He knew his human wouldn't make it long underwater, so Kraken-san rushed to his cave, letting his human out each few seconds to replenish his breath. Kraken-san swam fast, so soon enough they were in his cave. He placed the human on a small - for him, the human would have enough space - rock surface that was high enough to stay dry, even when tide was high.

All the while, the human thrashed and screamed. No matter. No-one would hear him now.

Kraken-san used his dainty tentacles again to remove the human's clothes - the bigger tentacles had to restrain him, he was that wildly trying to get away. He threw everything in the water, but he couldn't take that black thing with that hook attached off him, it seemed to be too tightly wound around the human's arm, and despite the pain Kraken-san intended to cause him, he didn't want to cause any permanent damage. Not so soon, at least.

He let the human go, and the human started moving his arm around, trying to slash him with his hook. Poor human. He had no idea what little damage that tiny prick would do to Kraken-san's thick skin. So he let him keep it for now, perhaps it would keep him quiet for a while.

Still, Kraken-san had to attend to his human's needs. He'd need sustenance, and water - that sweet water emerging from rivers. In his centuries he'd spent searching for him, he had learned a lot about the survival of humans. Kraken-san dipped his tentacles in the water, grabbed three fish and threw them in front of the human. The human curled in on himself, watching at the writhing fish in front of him as if he were scared of them.

Huh. For a creature with such a strong instinct for survival, he certainly didn't seem too happy to have one of his needs covered.

Satisfied with his human's conditions, Kraken-san left to get him sweet water. How would he carry it though? He needed something solid to carry it in.

He turned to the direction he'd taken his human from. The bottom of the sea there seemed full of useless things he'd never seen before, perhaps the humans had invented something that would help in that.

But first, he had to make sure no-one would take his human away.

~

When the kraken left, Killian finally allowed himself a shiver that rocked his entire body.

What had happened? What did it want with him? Was that the same kraken that... ?

No. He didn't have time to think about that. Killian threw one last look at the fish the kraken had discarded next to him - why, Killian had no idea - and dived in the water. The cave was a bit dark; there was an opening high above that allowed for some light to come in, but the waters were too dark for him to search for his clothes. What he really needed had been thrown away in the Storybrooke harbor, anyway. His only hope was finding someone and calling for help, but even without that, he wasn't simply going to stay in that cave.

He reached the end of it, where he'd seen the kraken submerge, and tried to look for any exit. There must have been one. The water was stark clear, enough for Killian to see the bottom, but it was too dark to make out any significant difference in the rock formation.

Deciding he'd rather die from drowning trying to get away, than from whatever the kraken had in mind for him, he took a deep breath and dived in.

Even after eight unsuccessful dives, Killian couldn't find any opening. He was tired, he couldn't hold his breath too long now. The water seemed too deep, too; even if he had the breath to find an opening, considering its possible depth, he might not have the time to get to the surface before he ran out.

He looked back at the rock surface he'd been placed upon. What other choices did he have?

Not many, was his last thought before he felt the waters move. Quicker than he had expected, the kraken was back. It turned to him, let out what Killian interpreted as a growl, then grabbed him and put him back on the rocks. By now Killian was too tired to fight back. He was surprised, however, to see the kraken move towards the high opening and reach out with its tentacles. It came back, apparently holding... two buckets? It placed them on the rock surface, close to Killian, and he couldn't help himself; he walked forward to see what it was in there.

He frowned when he realized it was just water. Plain water - why would the kraken bring them from above instead of under-

A shiver ran down Killian's spine at a thought, as he looked at the discarded fish as well. It couldn't be...

Not knowing exactly what to expect, Killian knelt and sniffed the water. A faint scent of mud seemed to come from it, but there was only one way for him to be sure. Shaking his hand to dry it from the sea water, he took a handful of water from the bucket. It had a light but miserable tint of brown.

Deciding that the day was already too crazy to handle, Killian sipped the water. He coughed, shock both from the dirty water and of the realization creeping in. Sure, it wasn’t too salty to drink. But was he expected to drink muddy water brought in in rusty old buckets?!

Yelling in anger, Killian pushed both buckets in the sea, then kicked the dead fish in as well.

The kraken seemed to be looking at him, but it was silent. A tentacle rose and struck him, knocking him to the side. Killian gasped as he raised himself on his elbows, shocked by the sudden attack. Two more tentacles appeared and dropped two new, fresh fish on the rock. Before they had time to suffocate, Killian kicked them in as well.

Was the kraken trying to provide... sustenance? Was it trying to keep him alive? What for?

The kraken stayed silent. It fished out the two buckets, threw one single fish on the rock, then left.

Killian shivered, sitting down, looking at the fish in front of him flop and flail, until it stopped moving too.

The kraken wanted to keep him fed and hydrated. In a poor way, but still. Killian looked around the cave. It might be the kraken's home, but it was in no way hospitable to a human. And the kraken knew that, and... Killian bit his lip, tasting the salt left on it, remembering of the time he had allowed the kraken to... do what it did; it had never brought him to such an uncomfortable for him place. Nor had it kept him truly a prisoner... not like that, anyway. And now it was trying to make sure he would survive?

Killian looked at the dead fish, and thought of how the water had tasted. He'd had a hard life, but he hadn't had to resort to eating raw fish and drinking muddy water. Not in centuries, anyway.

The kraken wanted him to survive.

But under such circumstances, how long was Killian going to?

~

It didn't take long for the kraken to come back. However, this time, it didn't seem to waste any time.

Killian first saw the surface of the water move; seconds after, the kraken emerged. It put the buckets down on the rock, then wrapped a big tentacle around Killian's torso, and one around each of his ankles, pulling his legs apart.

Killian groaned, writhing in the tight hold of the tentacles, but the kraken didn't wait. One smooth, thin tentacle slipped inside him. Killian's agonized cry echoed in the vast cave.

It kept him immobilized on the ground, keeping his legs apart as it violated him. Waves swayed the surface as the kraken moved and... moaned.

Killian managed to keep himself from screaming, though not from sobbing softly; besides the first penetration, the pain was... measurable. He kept his head down, feeling tears fall from his eyes to the cold, rough rock under him.

He thought of Emma. She had seen the kraken take him away. Though it had thrown her away with force, she seemed to have landed safely on the pier. She hadn't known of his past with it - despite all the secrets he had revealed to her, this one was not one he ever thought he'd have the courage to share - but she would be coming for him. But how long would it take her? The kraken had seemed to travel fast. They'd need a locator spell, with one of his belongings...

He closed his eyes. His rings. His wedding ring, and the one Emma had enchanted so he could call her whenever or wherever he needed her, sunk to the bottom of Storybrooke's harbor. Despite the tentacle that shook inside him, he could still feel the weight of those material losses.

A shaky sob escaped him. He had to get out.

That thought echoed in his head immediately, as the kraken let out a loud moan, and finally let him go. The hold had been useless anyway; he was in too much pain and shock, and was frankly too weak compared to the beast to actually do it any damage, or resist, or run away. Slowly, the kraken took its tentacle out of him. Killian whimpered in pain, trying to move his hand to assess the damage. Sure enough, his fingers came back bloody. He sighed shakily and turned to his side, facing the cave. The dead fish and the buckets were still there; the kraken seemed to be floating, calm, satisfied.

It wasn't going to leave, Killian realized with a shiver.

He crossed his arms in front of his chest, suddenly aware of his brace. It was currently the only semblance of clothing he had, too tight wound around his arm for the kraken to bother taking off. He loathed to part with it, but he'd soon have to, to allow the scar tissue to breathe. Otherwise, he'd have to add gangrene to the pile of threats to his life.

Later, he thought, as he closed his eyes. He was so tired, but the cave was too cold and the kraken's presence there kept him too alert to allow him any sleep. Maybe if he showed it he was cooperating? But how? Eat the raw fish and drink the dirty water?

Another shiver ran down his spine as he thought how desperate he'd have to become for food and water to resort to consuming those... and how the kraken seemed prepared to wait until he reached that point.

Time seemed to pass. It had been early afternoon when he'd last been in Storybrooke, and as he dared open his eyes a little, he saw the sky getting darker. It would soon get even colder... was the kraken prepared for that?

Killian closed his eyes and tried to focus on calming thoughts. Emma, coming for him. Him waking up and realizing it was all just another nightmare. Yes, that helped. He would soon wake up in the comfort of his soft, warm bed, Emma's arm wrapping around him as she would whisper sweet words to help him go back to a calmer sleep.

His eyelids were still closed, but he could feel the light slowly fade away. Soon enough, his teeth started chattering. He chanced a look; all of his body hair were raised, shivers starting to spread through his body. He rubbed his only hand against his shoulder, feeling completely helpless.

A sudden move from the corner where the kraken was resting made him jolt. He gasped and moved back, standing up on shaky legs and limping to the rock wall of the cave. Too many tentacles emerged from the water, too many... Killian couldn't bite back a terrified sob, freezing against the wall as his legs finally gave up and he fell awkwardly to the ground.

One tentacle wrapped around his shins, locking them together. Another around his thighs. His hips, his waist, his chest, even bringing his arms close to be wrapped under it, against his chest. Killian started sobbing; it might as well squeeze the air out of him now.

Instead, the kraken spread one tentacle on the rock, then moved the rest to make him lie on his side, his head resting on the soft but firm tissue.

Killian looked at it, sobs still shaking his body and tears still falling from his eyes. The kraken simply seemed to be relaxing back on another rock, now closer to him.

The shock and fear disoriented him for a bit; he felt as if he'd pass out, but eventually he felt his body stop shaking - from the cold, at least. His teeth stopped chattering, and despite the pain those tentacles had caused him, they were kind of comfortable to lie on.

Yet another shaky sigh escaped him. It was keeping him warm?

Killian tried to swallow against the unexpected lump in his throat. It took him some long moments to finally breathe normally again, though deeper sobs came this time.

The kraken was... making him comfortable. After kidnapping him, hitting him, violating him, keeping him a prisoner, it was now holding him with what felt like a twisted, fucked-up version of intimacy. The hold was tight enough to keep him from slipping off, but relaxed enough for him to move his arms under him. The sobs felt to be scratching his already irritated throat as he brought his arms to cross over his chest again; he felt a tiny prick of fear at how hard his chest shook.

The kraken didn't seem to react to his outburst. Yet, its mere presence there terrified him even more; he just wanted to be alone, preferred to die of exposure that stay wrapped in the life-saving embrace of that despicable monster.

He pushed his arms against his chest, felt the prick of his hook against his skin, and reminded himself of one name: Emma.

She would be searching. She wouldn't give up. She would save him.

He had to stay alive.

~

He awoke in total darkness.

The very first indication that reminded him of his condition, the reality and not the nightmare he'd hoped against hope it would've been, was his aching throat.

The next was the feeling of being trapped. He wasn't suffocating, but he couldn't move, nor turn, anything. He felt frozen in place. He could still drag his arms across his chest, but they stayed stuck to his body, and he suddenly became aware of how stiff he felt.

He took in a shivering breath; for all its efforts, the kraken couldn't warm the air around the cave. It was still damp and cold, especially grating on his sore throat. His lower lip trembled. He was scared of waking the monster up, but if he didn't fall back asleep - he was still surprised he'd managed to the first time - what was he supposed to do?

If the violation, isolation, horrible conditions, possible starvation or dehydration weren't the things that would drive him crazy, the feeling of being trapped in the sleeping kraken's tentacles would. He still felt tired, and several parts of his body hurt, but as his eyes adjusted to the dark, the reflection of the moon from somewhere outside being the only, tiny source of light, he felt more and more vigilant of the kraken. He couldn't close his eyes. He was suddenly reminded of some horror movies he'd watched with Emma; it felt that, if he stopped looking at the monster for one single second, or if he allowed himself one single moment to relax in the dark, it would consume him.

He slowly became aware of his aching muscles, which protested against the confinement. He tried wiggling, regretting it immediately. His whole body seemed to respond to the movement, each separate muscle waking up and complaining after being immobile for who knew how long.

How long had it been? How long did he have until the sun rose... until the kraken woke up... until it violated him again?

A small sob escaped him, and with wide eyes he stared at the kraken, terrified that that small sound had woken it up.

It hadn't, but Killian could not allow himself any sigh of relief. He bit down on his lip, still tasting of salt, and brought his aching arms to push against his chest again. His heart was beating fast.

Killian stared. And stared. And stared.

Until he was certain the light shade on his view of the sky wasn't just in his imagination.

~

~

Note: The story is written to its end (I know, I’m shocked too), I plan on having posted the rest of the chapters by the end of next week.

If you enjoyed, I would appreciate a kudos and/or comment on AO3, it means a lot :)

[edelgardlesbians]

a (less than) perfect proposal

a ferdibert commission that was honestly such a joy to write! my writing commissions are still open, check out the details here!

fic is on ao3 here!

-

Ferdinand paces back and forth in the Empress’s private rose garden, the small box in his pocket weighing him down so much so that he feels it may rip through the lining of his jacket. For what must be the tenth time in the last few minutes, he reaches into his pocket, touching the wooden box to ensure that it’s still there. He sighs heavily and sits down at the table he’s prepared with coffee and biscuits and adjusts the place settings yet again.

It’s all going to be fine.

He sits for a moment, his fingers tapping out a staccatoed rhythm on the table. Ferdinand smooths over the place mats, checks the position of the pastries on their tray one more time, then resolves to sit and wait for Hubert in silence.

That resolution lasts for scarcely a minute before Ferdinand can’t take it anymore. He jumps to his feet and resumes his pacing, hooking his hands together behind his back. Hubert is four minutes late, which is both out of character and completely inexcusable of him.

Four minutes turns to ten, and then fifteen, and Ferdinand is starting to wonder if he’s been stood up when Hubert emerges from the bushes around the garden, looking slightly disheveled but there nonetheless.

“I apologize for the delay,” Hubert says. He kisses Ferdinand on the cheek, then sits down at the table. “I was caught in a useless meeting about the price of grain, of all things. Why that merchant assumed it was worth my time, I haven’t the slightest idea.”

Ferdinand nods, for once at a loss for words. The magnitude of what he is about to do is starting to sink in, and, although he’s sure of this decision, possibly more sure than he has ever been of anything, the act of dropping down on one knee feels almost insurmountably difficult. 

He can do this. Him and Hubert have discussed marriage before, and Edelgard had  seemed confident that Hubert would like the ring Ferdinand picked out, and even helped him practice his proposal. With her blessing in his favor, he can surely do this. 

Ferdinand stands, ready to ask what will surely be the most important question of his life. Ferdinand takes a deep breath and looks at Hubert, calmly pouring himself a cup of coffee, and promptly catches his foot on one of the legs of the table and goes crashing to the ground.

He lets out a strangled cry as he falls, the whole table following him down onto the grass. It’s all ruined: the place settings he’d spent ages dithering over, the perfectly arranged cutlery, the thoughtfully selected pastries, and his storybook proposal.

As if to add insult to injury, the coffee pot falls as well, landing on Ferdinand and upending piping hot coffee all over his jacket. He winces, grimacing at the delicate embroidery that is surely going to be irreparably stained.

“Ferdinand!” Hubert jumps out of his chair and kneels on the ground beside him. “Are you alright?”

The coffee is going to ruin his entire outfit and possibly his whole day as well. He yanks the jacket off before the coffee can burn him, failing to notice the box tumble out of his pocket and into the grass. “I am perfectly fine,” he says, feeling very much not fine. His proposal seems impossible now, in the wake of his destruction of what had been supposed to be a wonderful date. All he really wants now is to fold himself into Hubert’s arms and take comfort there, although that would be most unbecoming. 

Hubert frowns, “Of course. Come, let’s head back inside. You need a change of clothes, and I,” he kisses the top of Ferdinand’s head, “need a new cup of coffee.”

“Of course,” Ferdinand echoes, his voice cracking pitifully.

“Darling?” Hubert smooths down Ferdinand’s hair. “You look as if you might cry.”

Ferdinand swallows, “It is of no concern.”

Hubert’s eyes dart away from his face, settling on the box sitting next to his jacket. “Ferdinand? Is that-”

“No!” Ferdinand cries, “That is nothing!” He snatches the box up off of the ground and, in lieu of his jacket pocket, shoving it down his shirt.

Hubert rocks back on his heels, a smug smile tugging at his mouth. “Ferdinand von Aegir,” he says, “were you going to propose?”

“It was meant to be a surprise,” Ferdinand says, somewhat pitifully. He feels positively wretched. This was supposed to be perfect, and he’s ruined it. “I was going to sweep you off your feet.”

Hubert frowns and moves his hand to Ferdinand’s cheek, stroking a thumb over his cheekbone, “My dear, you’ve been doing that for years.” Ferdinand doesn’t respond, and Hubert sighs.

“Very well,” Hubert stands and sits at the now-upended tea table. “Woo me.”

Ferdinand swallows and fishes the box out of his shirt, walking over to stand in front of Hubert. He looks down at him, weighing what is to come. Hubert catches his eye, and Ferdinand smiles without thining. Hubert looks dispassionately back at him, but Ferdinand knows that man that he’s in love with well enough to see the fondness in his eyes. That’s all the encouragement Ferdinand needs, and he drops down onto one knee. “Hubert von Vestra,” he begins. There’s a lump in his throat and his heart is beating so loudly he wonders if he’ll be able to hear Hubert even if he says yes. “Loving you has been my most important responsibility. Everything else pales in comparison. When I was young, I thought my most important duty would be to someday take my place as Prime Minister in following with my position as the rightful heir to the von Aegir family.” His hands are shaking slightly, but he smiles up at Hubert nonetheless, “I was wrong. When measured against loving you, there is nothing that matters more.”

“Ferdinand,” Hubert’s voice trembles.

“Let me finish,” Ferdinand insists, ignoring the tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. “I love you, and I can only hope that I have adequately expressed my affections over the course of the last three years. I cannot imagine my life without you. You must know that every day I spend with you only causes my love to grow. In the wake of this, there is only one thing left to be done,” he takes a deep breath and opens the box, revealing the golden-orange spessartite garnet he’d painstakingly picked out at the jeweler’s. “Hubert von Vestra, will you marry me?”

Hubert makes a hapless noise that’s almost a laugh, “I did tell you to woo me.” He extends a hand down, towards Ferdinand.

Ferdinand doesn’t move, “You have not said yes.” His face is wet with tears, and the hot coffee has seeped through his shirt and really is quite hot, but there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

Hubert makes that same noise, “Yes. Yes, you’re right.” He smiles, a small secret thing that’s just for Ferdinand, “Yes. Of course I’ll marry you.” Ferdinand stands and takes Hubert’s hand, pulling his glove off of his left hand and slipping the ring onto his finger. Hubert touches it with his right hand, his small smile growing, “I don’t have a ring for you, I’m afraid. Some suitor I am.”

Ferdinand laughs, “Hubert! Don’t say such things.” He laces their fingers together and kisses Hubert’s bare knuckles, a gesture that still feels almost unbearably intimate. “I intended to get you a chain for it, so you would not have to wear it under your gloves.”

“Be quiet,” Hubert says, pulling his other glove off with his teeth and letting it fall to the ground. He wipes Ferdinand’s tears away with his free hand, the gesture clumsy but still tender nonetheless. “It’s perfect.”

“You are perfect,” Ferdinand replies, pulling his fiance in for a kiss.

Hubert wraps his arms around him and when they finally separate, he’s smiling as well. He brings both his hands up to Ferdinand’s cheeks, cupping his face in his hand. Ferdinand beams up at him, the cold metal of the ring a new - but not unwelcome! - sensation against his skin. His tears are finally starting to slow, and his anxiety has been replaced by a kind of burning happiness that threatens to consume him entirely. “I think,” Hubert says, “we should get you a change of clothes. You smell like coffee.”

Ferdinand laughs and kisses Hubert again. “Yes,” he replies, somewhat breathlessly. “I suppose I do.”

Hubert brings his hands away from Ferdinand’s face, resting one on the small of Ferdinand’s back and guiding him away from the remnants of their ruined tea date. “And Ferdinand, dear,” he smiles slightly, “That was an exemplary proposal. I daresay there will never be another so fine.”

Ferdinand laughs, a breathless little noise, and throws his arms around Hubert’s neck. There is no other way to respond to such a thing except to kiss his future husband, and so he does exactly that.

[susiequaz12]

Fish- 13: Fishhooks

What do I do when I can’t sleep? I write I guess. Here’s day 13 of @amonthofwhump‘s May challenge. This was pretty fun to write, so here you go.

Content Warning: uhh, more stress position, it’s whump with fishhooks, so it’s basically Alik’s turn to just be super mean. Some blood and stuff.

- - -

Fish couldn’t breathe. At least that’s what it felt like. His arms and shoulders were throbbing, and every slight movement only made things infinitely worse. The captain scared the daylights out of him, that was true. But somehow, when he gave the crewmen permission to do whatever to him, that seemed infinitely worse.

Sweeney stood behind Alik as he came to stand in front of the boy, hands on his hips. He walked around him, towards the back where all the fishing equipment was kept.

“What are- what are you gonna do?” Fish asked in a shaky voice. He tried to turn himself around to see as he heard the clanking of metal from behind him. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a large, bent piece of metal, sharp on one end with a few other hooks sticking out towards the point and a piece of rope coming from the top.

Alik came to stand in front of Fish and raised the piece of metal in front of his face.

“Do you know what this is, Fish?” Alik asked.

“It’s- it’s a-”

“It’s a fish hook. For sharks. Big fish, it’s for catching really big fish.” 

With his foot, Alik kicked over the crate that was lying on the ground and climbed on top of it. He brought the hook behind Fish’s head, and he felt the cold metal against the back of his neck. 

“Guess what you are?”

Fish didn’t respond, a trickle of goosebumps trailing down his back. 

“Guess.” He grabbed his head by the chin to hold it still as the boy tried to pull away from the sharp object.

The boy sighed. “A- a fish?” 

“That’s right.” Alik stated. “You’re a really big fish. And what do we catch fish with? Sweeney?” 

Sweeney didn’t move, keeping his arms folded across his chest. “With fishhooks.” He blatantly stated.

The cold metal dug into the back of his neck, the point of the hook threatening to puncture his skin. 

“That’s right.” Alik stated. “With fishhooks.” 

Fish winced as the metal pressed further, the tip of the hook digging into the side of his neck, and then Alik turned it towards the side. As it turned, the barbs near the point scraped across the side of his neck and Alik tugged it forward, lodging the giant metal hook around the boy’s neck.

He cried out as the hook cut into his skin, hissing through his teeth as blood broke through and trickled down his chest and shoulders. If he felt like he couldn’t breath before, this instantly made it worse. As much as his head wanted to fall to his chest, he held it upright, the thick metal hook restricting his movement. 

Fish could hear from behind as Alik rummaged around for a few other things. He came back around to the front, holding what looked to be a regular tackle box.

“Now, that hook is meant for catching the big fish-” He rummaged around the box, pulling out a few things and holding them up. “But these little ones, can cause the real pain.” He held one up in front of Fish’s eyes, instantly growing wider. “You see, they have all these tiny barbs,” Alik moved one to the fleshy part of the boy’s stomach. “They can really dig in there, and make it harder to get them out. Kinda painful actually.” 

With the nimble fingers of a fisherman he dug the point of the fishhook into the fabric of his shirt, right near his bellybutton. 

“Now-” Alik stated. “Don’t move.” 

Alik took a few more fishhooks and did the same as the first one. He dug them into the fabric of his shirt, around his shoulders, along the waistband of his shorts, down his legs. 

Fish was shaking. Each new fishhook came with the anticipation of being poked, prodded, having that metal digging into his skin. As much as he tried to hold still to avoid that, he couldn’t help but tremble. The weight of his body and the chains and metal dragging his arms further towards the ground.

Alik stepped back and laughed. Fish’s eyes were shut tight, gentle tears rolling down his face. He let out a yelp as Alik grabbed the rope attached to the shark hook and pulled.

Fish swung back and forth, the chains rattling above him and a few squeaks escaped his mouth as he felt the pricks of a few fishhooks. Alik laughed again. “I said don’t move.” 

“Please- stop, I-” 

He was interrupted by more laughter. Soon enough Alik waved Sweeney over, and without having to climb on the box, he reached up and disconnected the chains from the ceiling. Fish groaned out as he crashed to the floor, his body striking the ground with a harsh thud. He bit back cries as a few fishhooks poked deeper into his skin. He lay there helpless, his arms as heavy as lead, feet still chained together.

“Look at him,” Alik stated. “He really does look like a fish.” He laughed. “Pathetic.” 

He bent down on his knees in front of where Fish lay on the floor. He grabbed the rope attached to the shark hook and twisted it around his hand a few times. He yanked it upwards, forcing the boy into a sitting position. Weak hands groped at the metal around his neck, but his arms had no strength left to do anything more than make weak protests. 

“Hmm, what’s next Sweeney? What do you think?” 

Fish mumbled feeble pleas as Alik and Sweeney conversed. He wasn’t even paying attention to the conversation. He was just so tired- he hadn’t eaten in a few days- he was thirsty, and his back felt wet and sticky from the blood that had been trailing down it. His t shirt slumped around his shoulders, threatening to fall off his shaking frame. 

Fish screamed out sharply as Alik gave a harsh tug on the large fishhook. He felt a new trickle of blood forming, as his body lurched forward and the hook dug further into the soft skin of his neck. Alik bent down towards him, leaning in close. 

“I have an idea.”

[devil-kindred]

Repercussions

Pairing: Isobel Walters⎟Female Deputy/John Seed

Rating: T

Warnings: drug use (bliss), hallucinations, kidnapping (i guess?)

Summary: Isobel disappears into the Henbane, intent on staying away from Holland Valley for as long as possible and takes an unfortunate trip in the bliss that opens far too many eyes to a revelation that could change everything. [aka: Faith tests the waters of temperament with the deputy and learns some valuable information.]

WC: 2,429⎟1/1⏤ part two of the sins of the past series (though part one is not required reading as it’s set before the events of FC5)⎟read it on ao3

-

“Bliss. Great, just great.” Isobel murmurs as she takes in the expanse of greenery coated in fog so thick she can barely see three feet ahead of herself. “Don’t know what I expected from Sharky’s stories but not… this.”

She holsters her gun and tentatively steps forward, unsure of what direction to head into let alone what she’ll find hiding in the bliss. She doesn’t wonder for long, however, as a figure rushes from the fog and latches onto her with both hands.

“Deputy!” A giggle from the woman who’s appeared before her. “So kind of you to join me!” Faith relinquishes her hold and dashes a few steps away, twirling once before throwing her arms wide with a smile. “Welcome to the bliss, a peaceful place where things can be whatever or whomever you desire.” 

Isobel stares her down cautiously, still aware of herself if only slightly.

“Oh come on, Deputy. Don’t you want a rest? To see the people you love at peace? You can have it.” She disappears into fog, only to reappear behind her causing Isobel to turn and nearly jump back at the sight. “All you have to do is walk the path. Do that and you’ll be accepted into our family.”

In the ensuing silence, Faith steps forward once more and takes Isobel’s hands in her own. 

“The Father will look after you. He’ll make you feel loved and safe.” Faith stares into Isobel’s eyes, that gentle smile still in place even as her tone twists. “Don’t you want to be safe, Deputy? Both you and your daughter?’

Isobel freezes, the words hitting her like a bucket of cold water to the face, and all the hazy ease of the Bliss is gone. Replaced by mounting panic, and, as her gaze goes wide Faith’s turns knowing.

“What?” She asks, her quick nonchalant laugh sounding near hysterical.She tries to backpedal, to reel in her loss of control like a fish on a hook, but it’s of no use.

“Shh, everything will be all right, Deputy.” Faith, now looking smug, yanks her down into a cluster of bliss flowers and holds her. One arm wrapped tightly— far tighter than someone her size looks capable of— around her shoulders, holding her still in the field of bliss as she draws in big gasping breaths of tainted air. “It will be all right. Just breathe… and relax.”

Faith’s words grow faint as she strokes Isobel’s hair, and just as her vision starts to go dark— sparkles drifting and dancing at the edges— she vanishes in a puff of green haze. 

As if she were never there to begin with.

-

Everything has a hazy warmth when she opens her eyes again and she finds herself sprawled out on a grand bed. A fluffy white pillow is tucked beneath her head and sheer white curtains waft in the warm breeze at the edge of her line of sight. The mattress creaks and dips beside her and she slowly turns her head to find the source of the added weight.

“John? What are you doing⏤”

“Shh.” He shushes her as settles onto the bed next to her, hooking his fingers into the hem of her shirt and slowly pulling it upwards. “Everything’s fine, deputy. Just relax.”

He splays a hand across the exposed skin of her stomach and drags his palm against it, his long tattooed fingers tracing the silvery white scar stretching across her abdomen from side to side.

“Cesarean.” Her voice is soft and lazy, barely there as the warmth of the room intensifies.

“She wasn’t natural?”

“Well gee, John, when you say it like that you make it sound like I bought her from a lab somewhere.” Isobel says as she stares down at him with a mix of distaste and annoyance. “No, she wasn’t a natural birth. She was breach which made my only option a cesarean.”

“Stubborn.” He chuckles, his palm still flat against her skin as he looks up at her⏤ dark blue eyes staring deeply into her own amber. “Did it take long?”

“Given they had to put my internal organs back and sew me up afterwards, yes. I didn’t get to see or hold her until after they cleaned her off.” Isobel’s voice is soft and, while her eyes still meet his, he can tell she’s lost in the memory. “Her eyes were grey when she was born⏤ not unusual with newborns⏤ but they turned blue later.”

“What is she like, Isobel? Tell me everything. I want to know all about our daughter.”

Something in his smile looks… off, and yet she finds all kinds of details falling from her lips as the room turns hazy and her eyelids grow too heavy to keep open.

When Isobel comes to once again, John is laying beside her on the bed with his head propped up on hand and the other tangled in her hair. He flashes that same smug smile as blinks up at him, trying her best to shake the fatigue from her limbs.

“Quite the sleepyhead, aren’t you?” 

John’s voice sounds wrong and after some thought in she realizes the southern drawl that has always laced it is missing from his tone. He speaks again before she can question it and she spends her time trying to wrap her still fogged mind around what he’s asked.

“What?”

“What is your daughter’s name, Deputy?”

Isobel squints up at him in confusion as he looms over her on the bed. “I already told you. Did you say ‘your daughter’?”

“So you did.” He says quickly, smiling gently and steadfastly ignoring her question. “It’s just, we’ve talked about so much. Your old home and town— who our daughter is currently staying with, and all about her. I know you gave me her name, I just need you to tell me again so I can make sure I have everything right. Don’t you want her to have a proper welcome into our family?” He coos, stroking her hair with a tattooed hand.

“Bella.” Isobel answers, dark eyes fixated on his hand as he pulls away. “John?”

“Yes, Deputy?”

“Why are you missing a tattoo?”

At her words, his likeness wavers as if someone had waved a hand through him. 

“John?”

 The John who was not really there smiles and reaches a hand out of her line of sight, shaking his head gently. “Don’t worry, we’ll all be together very soon.”

Isobel feels a prick in the inside of her arm and the world falls away.

-

The screech of tires and a large cloud of dirt are what greet Isobel in the waking world as she comes to with an accompaniment of voices loudly bickering with each other.

“You sure it ain’t a peggie? I don’t wanna get over there just to have some frickn’ angel trying to claw my face off.”

“Hurk, man, I would know if it was an angel. They just stand there, they don’t lay down. ’Sides, I’ve been traveling with po-po for days. I know how to find her.”

Isobel sits up with a groan, a hand to her head and a stinging feeling in her arm.

“Po-po! See, I told you I knew how to find her.” Sharky rushes to her side, crouching down to look her over. “Man, you are way worse for wear than I expected.”

“Thanks, Sharky.” She says dryly, even as she grins.

“What happened? One minute I had you with me and the next you disappeared into the damn trees like some sorta nymph or something. ’Cept it was more creepy than sexy, no offense. It’s not you, just the way you walked off kinda dead eyed and didn’t listen to me. Total boner killer.”

“Madre de dio, my arm is killing me.” She swears, either ignoring or not hearing Sharky as Hurk Jr. climbs out of the car and hauls her up to standing position. “I was with John.”

Hurk Jr. and Sharky exchange a glance. 

“Uh, Dep, we were right on the edge of the Whitetails when you disappeared.” Sharky stares her down with a concerned gaze. “Nowhere near the Valley and the Seeds do not strike me as people who like to share their toys. So unless Johnny boy was pulling an extreme heist⏤ and believe me, he’s too lazy for that⏤  there’s no way you were with him.”

“But he asked about Bella.” She replies, confusion lacing every bit of her tone.

“Who’s Becca?” Hurk Jr. interrupts, as he helps Isobel to the car and lifts her into the seat with ease.

“Bella.” She corrects, head lolling back against the seat. “My daughter.”

“Uh Dep,” Sharky says, climbing into the front of the truck and leaning into the back seat as Hurk Jr. climbs in the driver’s side. “let me take a look at your arm real quick.” He takes her extended arm gently, turning it this and way that, his eyes locked onto the large bruise and needle mark in the crook of her elbow. “Did anything look weird when you were with John?” He asks, making quotations as he says the name with his free hand.

“What do you mean?”

“Did anything look hazy? Or, like, green? Maybe there were sparkles somewhere?”

“Why would you ask⏤ The bliss.” Isobel pulls her arm out of Sharky’s grasp and digs frantically in jacket. “I was in the bliss, I saw Faith and wherever she is the bliss is always involved.”

“Dep, what’re you looking for? Maybe if you just, slow down a bit... You might’ve overlooked whatever it is.”

“No. No. Fuck!” Isobel shrieks and slams a hand down against the seat, eyes wide in panic. “It wasn’t real which means she knows, which means he knows.”

“Who knows?”

“Faith! She knows about Bella which means J⏤ means that her dad knows about her.” Isobel can see the ‘wait a minute’ stare on Sharky’s face, but she’s lucky enough that he lets it go and doesn’t press her on it. Instead, he focuses his efforts on getting everything back to normal or as normal as peggie-infested Hope County can be. 

“Dep, you gotta calm down. Let me get us back to the valley and we’ll get the Doc to look you over.”

“No!”

“Hurk, I don’t think the valley is very high on Dep’s list of places to be right now.”

“Where do you want me to take her then, Sharky? She needs looked over! We just picked her up out of a field in the middle of the Henbane⏤ she could get pulled back into the bliss again if we stay here. Besides, she’s not in any shape at this point to be running around the Whitetails unless you wanna go toe to toe with Jacob motherfuckin’ Seed.”

“You don’t have to be so harsh, dude. I’m just saying we shouldn’t make her panic more than she already is.” Sharky turns back to Isobel, patting her leg absentmindedly. “Dep, I know you don’t want to go back to Holland Valley but we have to take you somewhere. Let’s drop by the Rye’s for a bit, maybe Nick or Kim can take a look at you and see if they can have the Doc come to you.”

Isobel gives a reluctant nod, slumping back against the seat and saying nothing in reply as Hurk turns the car around to head to their newfound destination.

-

Faith stalks down the path to Joseph’s church, ignoring the curious stares of the chosen as she walks by without a word. As she reaches the building two of the chosen standing guard scramble to open the doors for the herald of the Henbane. She nods in their direction, all the acknowledgement she’s willing to give them as the doors of the church are thrown open wide. She steps inside, barefoot as always, as the faithful turn to look with their guns at the ready… They hesitate when they see it’s only one of the heralds, but only lower them at Joseph’s command.

“May I have a word alone with The Father?”

Joseph inclines his head and the faithful file out without a single protest.

“Joseph—“

“How fares our wayward Deputy? Has she yet joined out crowd of the faithful?’’’ He asks from his seated position, voice terse as he studies the pages of bible in his hands. 

“No, she’s still resisting—“ Joseph sighs in disappointment and Faith rushes on quickly to evade the oncoming fallout. “… but I learned something important. Something that could be helpful in our efforts to sway her to our cause.” She bounces slightly on the balls of her feet, graceful footsteps carrying her up the steps to the pulpit. She twirls once and then faces forward, hands braced on the dark stained wood as she leans towards him with a smile. “The Deputy has a daughter.” 

There is an uncomfortable stretch of silence following her words and, as her eager smile begins to slip away, she rocks back on her heels. Faith had thought he would be pleased with the knowledge... but his silence says otherwise.

“As much of an opening as that would provide, the idea of using one’s child against them seems unbecoming of our noble cause.”

“Even if the daughter were one of our own?” Faith questions as she steps away from the pulpit, slowly descending the stairs and kneeling before Joseph. “Wouldn’t you want to save her?”

“I wish to save as many souls as I can. You know this.” He shuts the bible with a loud snap and stares her down with a level gaze. “Enough dancing around the topic, Faith. You have my attention and it must be very important for you to leave the Henbane without permission. You say the deputy’s daughter is one of our own?”

“She’s John’s daughter.” She says with renewed glee, bouncing back to her feet. “She told me herself.”

Joseph closes his eyes and turns his face to the heavens, letting out a slow breath as Faith waits, eagerly bouncing from foot to foot. After some time, he opens his eyes and levels his gaze with Faith’s own.

“Have the deputy brought to me and speak of this to no one.”

“But Joseph⏤”

“I will look into this information and, if things are as you say, I will have our family be reunited.”

“Yes, Joseph.” Faith exits the church with renewed purpose and sets off to locate Isobel, and as she pulls the stolen phone from the pocket of her dress, ponders on doing more digging of her own.

[silvanils]

Stranded

Written for a TES Tuesday prompt given by Alexis in the @nirnwrote​​ discord: Syrus - sand, thunderstorm, sunburn. 

I realized I haven’t written all three siblings interacting yet, and that needed remedied as much as the sunburn one of them has in this fic. <3

For reference, Syrus is about 17-18 during this, and the twins are 12.

Thunder crackled in the distance, making Aril whine and cup his ears while Eira winced and glanced at the sky nervously. Syrus tried to ignore it as he tugged their gear out of their small, capsized fishing boat, which was currently stuck sideways in the sand. They were lucky their stuff hadn’t been washed away by the waves that had stranded them here.

Of course, they would have been even luckier if the twins had listened to Syrus earlier when he’d suggested they go home to avoid the coming storm. “Come on, both of you. We’ll be safer if we find shelter in the cliffs — we can’t even try to head home until this blows over.”

At least they listened this time and followed Syrus as he made his way along the beach. It didn’t take long to find a little shallow cave, where he propped their gear up against a wall. “Now, we just need to find something we can try to make a fire with…”

“Will these do?” Eira asked, holding out some driftwood chunks. “I picked them up while we were walking.”

Despite still being a little mad, Syrus couldn’t hold back a small smile. “You and your sticky fingers… yes, those look dry enough to work.”

“Good thing, too,” Aril piped up, his ears perking up to listen in as the rain outside became a roaring, torrential downpour. “I don’t think anything out there will be dry enough to use for a while.”

Syrus huffed a bit as he dug out a little dip where he soon started setting up the wood to make a fire. The twins settled in nearby — Aril hugging his knees close as he rocked back and forth slowly to soothe himself while Eira started to poke and press at her bare arms and shoulders, wincing each time she touched her own skin.

“Burnt?” Syrus asked, one silver eyebrow going up as he used a little destruction magic to spark a flame. “I told you to put on sun-block ointment — or wear a sleeved shirt.”

“Shut up,” Eira said, her cheeks flushing a darker red. “It’s not that bad.”

“Yes it is,” Aril chided, wincing in empathy as he reached out and delicately put a hand on her shoulder. “Your skin feels like it’s on fire!”

“Ow! Hey, don’t touch it!” She smacked his hand away. “Not unless you’re gonna heal it, anyways!”

“I would,” Aril sighed, tucking his arm back around his legs. “Except I used pretty much all of my energy trying to save the ship earlier. I’m drained.”

“I packed some healing ointments in my bag,” Syrus said, still stoking the fire. “I always make sure I bring some, since you two always seem to attract trouble...” 

Aril got up and scrambled over to the bags before Syrus could stop him, opening one to dumping its contents on the sand as Syrus watched in horror. “No! That was organized!”

“Oops, sorry,” Aril said, grinning sheepishly as he bent over and plucked up a few vials to look at them. Syrus had also neatly labeled everything — which was also a good thing. Aril scrunched his nose up as he shuffled through the vials. “Poison, poison, potent poison…”

Eira gave Syrus a look. “Why bring all those on a fishing trip? You can’t poison fish — well, not if you’re planning to eat it. That’s just dumb.”

“Haha, poison poisson...” Aril mumbled to himself, giggling a little as he set aside some of the vials. Syrus pressed a hand to his face, unable to hold back another groan. “She’s right, though. This is a lot for a fishing trip.”

“I told you, I had that organized — all my best alchemical mixtures are in there. Good and bad. The one you’re looking for will have a blue or green label, Aril. Not red or black.”

“Oh, okay.” Aril set aside several more vials, then grinned as he held up a blue one. “Aha! Mild healing ointment! Or should I use potent…?”

“Mild should do the trick for this,” Syrus said, clapping his hands together as he admired the nice little fire that was finally flickering in front of him. “Potent is for bad wounds. You know — deep cuts, animal bites, that sort of thing.”

Aril nodded, kneeling down next to Eira again as he removed the stopper with his teeth (once again making Syrus grimace and shudder) so he could pour it out and start slathering it over her sunburnt skin. Syrus let them deal with that as he went over to his bag and started organizing the vials in earnest, frowning at how strewn about they were.

So much disorder, caused by one reckless moment. It never mattered how neat and tidy he kept his things — he couldn’t control every factor. Another streak of lightning filled the sky, and all three elves winced as thunder boomed around them. This storm was another great example.

Syrus frowned again as he tucked his potions away in silence. If it had been up to him, he would’ve gone home early and avoided this mess completely. But Aril’s pleading puppy eyes and Eira’s pout had won against his better judgement.

“Fine, fifteen more minutes. Then we go home.”

He had never been able to say no to them, and… they knew he never would.

“Ow! Ah, that stings! Syrus, what did you put in this?”

“Mm? Oh, that’s probably the juniper berry mixture — it’s supposed to give it just a bit of a tingly cooling sensation.” He tugged his journal out to double check his notes as he made his way back to the fire.

“Well, it’s more like a prickly… pricking sensation! Ow!”

Syrus nodded sagely, scratching down a new note next to one of his old ones. “I see… I’ll have to adjust the amounts slightly next time. Less parasol moss, more… garlic, maybe?”

“There’s garlic in this?!” Eira’s voice squeaked in disbelief. “What?”

“Garlic does have a lot of healing properties,” Aril said, slowly, as if not quite sure who he agreed with. “But… it might not be great for skin.”

“You think?!” Eira asked, tears visibly welling up in her eyes before she turned away from the fire, sniffling as she buried her face into her arms.

“Okay, noted. I’ll use something completely different next time. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Eira sighed, scooting away from Aril. “It’ll be better by morning, I’m sure. And if not, Aril might be able to use some restoration magic then instead — right?”

“Yeah, if I can get any sleep tonight,” Aril sighed, cupping his ears as another wave of thunder rolled around them. The rain was still heavy, too. “It’s so loud…”

“I can fix that,” Syrus said, quickly weaving a silencing spell around them. “There. Better?”

“Much,” Aril said, leaning back until he was sprawled on the sandy floor of the cave. He was quiet for a few minutes before he turned his head to face Syrus and smile. “It’s so peaceful… Like we’re not caught in a storm at all. A modified muffle spell, right?”

“Mmhm. Just made it so we can’t hear what’s outside the cave, instead of the other way around. Good catch, Aril.”

“I never would’ve thought to use it like that,” he said, grinning. “You’re so smart, Sy.”

“Bah, you’re just flattering me to get back on my good side. It won’t work.”

Aril sighed rolled over completely, flashing the puppy eyes at Syrus again. Eira, however, just smirked and raised an eyebrow — she was far too clever for her own good.

“It won’t work because you weren’t on my bad side to begin with, Aril. Neither of you was, though… Eira’s really been pushing my boundaries lately.”

“I can’t help it — you make such funny faces when you notice your things are out of place!” She grinned and threw her hands up, then relaxed a bit and shook her head. “I’ll try to do it less often, though, if it really bothers you that much.”

Syrus smiled again as he put his journal away and checked his bag one more time, making sure everything was sorted properly. “If you give me your word on that, I can sweeten the deal,” he offered. “I’ll make some specialty potions, just for you.”

He could tell by the way Eira’s eyes glittered that he had her — hook, line, and sinker. “Really? What kind of potions are we talking about? Could you make me invisible? Or able to carry as much as a horse?”

Syrus laughed aloud at that one, shaking his head. “Maybe… but those sorts of potions need much rarer ingredients. I’d have to… acquire them.”

“Not a problem,” Eira said, giggling. “I have ways. And you have a deal.” She held out her hand, and Syrus smiled as he reached out to shake it.

“Yay, glad you made up,” Aril sighed, glaring at both of them. “Now will you please be quiet? I want to get some rest while this spell lasts.”

“Okay, okay…” Eira sighed, wincing as she curled up under her blanket, her burnt skin clearly still making everything uncomfortable. Syrus leaned up against the wall and closed his eyes, but he only pretended to nod off until he was sure his younger siblings were fast asleep.

Then he opened his eyes again to watch the storm — and make sure his wards stayed up the skies were clear. There was a glimmer of light on the horizon as Syrus finally closed his eyes.

If he was lucky, it would still be a few more hours before he was needed again.

[avintagekiss24]

Piper’s Creek [4/10]

Pairing: Sam Wilson x Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers

Word Count: 2571

Warnings: language

Rating: M - language

Link: AO3

Summary: Sam Wilson is a simple man. He likes to do simple things, like going fishing on a warm summer day. Little does Sam know, this fishing trip will not only lead him to his soulmate, but into a world of ancient folklore.

Square Filled: U4 - knitting for @buckybarnesbingo​

B2 - Hugs for @stuckybingo2019

A/N: Once again, art is by the lovely @waltermittie. Let’s get acquainted with Steve, shall we?

“Ouch,” Bucky hisses, snapping his hand back from his knitting needles, “Shit!”

He sighs loudly, pushing a hot, irritated breath out of his nose. He sucks the tiny prick of blood from his finger before furrowing his brow and returning his attention back to Steve’s new, but completely unwanted sweater. His fingers start moving from memory, pushing and pulling the dark blue yarn around his needles. The radio plays softly in the background, some stupid country song, causing Bucky to huff loudly again. 

He stops momentarily, lifting his head and turning it slightly toward the front door of their hidden cottage. He sniffs the air quickly, registering the smell that shifted the atmosphere so suddenly and then returns his gaze back to his hands. He knits quickly, the pace of his fingers matching his racing thoughts as he starts to zone out once more. It’s been weeks since he’s seen Sam. He’s worried about him. He misses him. You scared him off, you prick. You gotta go slow! How many times do I have to tell myself this.

Heavy footsteps climb the wooden stairs outside but Bucky doesn’t budge. He jams his needle through the yarn and into his finger again, letting out a sharp, loud, “Fuck!” Steve pushes through the doors seconds later, one arm full with chopped wood, the other with grocery bags, “Wipe your feet,” Bucky says gruffly, not turning around to face him.

Steve rolls his eyes as he shuts the door and wipes his feet enthusiastically on the rug in front of the door, “Hello to you too, darling.”

Bucky grunts in return as Steve crosses behind him to place the bags on the kitchen table, He glances over his shoulder at the brooding Bucky, before moving toward the fireplace the sit the freshly chopped wood in its place, “You’re knitting again?”

“Is it that obvious?” Bucky returns flatly. 

Steve chuckles as he moves back into the kitchen and starts unpacking the groceries, “I have enough sweaters.”

“Well, you’ll have one more now, won’t you?”

Steve cuts his eyes toward his short tempered partner, “Have you eaten today?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Couldn’t catch anything.”

“Did you try?” Steve asks softly, keeping his eyes on the back of Bucky’s head. When he doesn’t answer, Steve takes a deep breath, letting the air fill his lungs before he expels it, “I bought some salmon and trout from the store. Want me to make you something?”

Bucky shrugs, shaking his head lightly as he grabs his grey yarn and starts to weave it in, “I’m not that hungry.”

“You haven’t eaten in days,” Steve says softly, cocking his head to the side as his shoulders drop, “You gotta eat something, babe.”

It grows silent between the two again as Bucky actively ignores him. Steve taps his fingers on his hips, wracking his brain for some way to at least try and help Bucky relax. Bucky hisses again seconds later and slams his fist on the table angrily as he’s drawn another spot of blood on his finger. 

Steve moves toward him, leaning over his shoulder and grabbing the needles from his hands, “Take a break, seriously.”

“No, I need to finish this stupid fucking-” He mumbles, reaching for the needles, “Steve, come on,” Bucky pleads as he stands, swiping toward Steve’s hand as he holds the needles up over his head. 

He links eyes with Steve as he clenches his jaw. Steve’s eyes are soft, full of concern and worry, which pisses Bucky off even more. He sighs again, shifting his eyes back toward the front door, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I’m worried about you,” Steve starts, dropping his hand to his side, “I don’t like seeing you like this.”

Bucky chews on the inside of his cheek as he keeps his eyes on the door. He doesn’t like being like this either. He doesn’t like making Steve worry even more than he already does, but he knows that he’s finally found him. He’s finally found his Sam and he wants him back. Steve drops the needles to the floor and inches toward the slightly shorter Bucky, wrapping his arms around his torso. 

Bucky nuzzles his head into Steve’s chest, closing his eyes as he wraps his arms around Steve’s waist. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, letting Steve’s natural scent fill his nostrils, “I’m sorry,” he states simply, squeezing Steve a little harder, “I’ve been awful.”

Steve chuckles lightly, kissing the top of Bucky’s head, “Awful is an understatement.”

Bucky laughs, “I’m a jerk, I know.”

“It’s okay. I know you’re upset.”

Bucky drags his hands up to Steve’s shoulder blades, hooking his fingers over his shoulders. He continues to chew on the inside of his cheek as he stares at the wall behind them, “I’m just worried about him,” he says after a moment. Steve leans back slightly, letting his eyes linger on the side of the Bucky’s face, “I just hope he comes back.”

“He will.” Steve asserts, “If it’s him, he will.”

“It is him. I feel it this time.” Bucky answers as he pulls back, “It’s him.”

Steve nods, smiling softly, “I believe you. You just gotta give him time, baby. This isn’t easy to deal with, especially nowadays.” Steve shrugs, resting his chin on the top of Bucky’s head.

Bucky laughs again before nuzzles his face back into Steve’s chest, “So you’re saying it was easier for you because it was 1942?”

“Uh, yeah. An American Werewolf in London hadn’t come out yet.”

Bucky slaps his arm jokingly, “Not funny, asshole.”

“That movie is terrifying, seriously.”

“Stop,” Bucky whines, stomping his feet like a child on the floor, drawing another laugh from Steve, “Stop making fun of me!”

“Okay, okay, okay,” Steve laughs, tightening his hug, “I’m serious though. This is rough territory. Just give him some time and some space, he’ll come around. I did.”

Bucky scoffs a little, a smirk playing on his lips, “It didn’t take you this long.”

“Eh, what can I say? I’m a sucker for blue eyes and naked men bathing in lakes.”

Bucky chuckles lightly, exhaling as he smiles. It grows silent between the two of them again as they hold each other in the middle of their small, warm cottage. Steve’s right, just relax. 

“I think you’ll like him.” Bucky says after a moment, dropping his hand to Steve’s wrist to rub his thumb over his imprinted name.

Steve smiles gently, “I already do. Seems like a smart guy to stay away from the two of us.” He smiles widely as Bucky starts to mumble and kisses his forehead, “How about some dinner, kid?”

“Trout sounds good.” Bucky relents.

“Cooked or raw?”

“Psssh,” Bucky scoffs, pulling himself from Steve and bending to grab his knitting needles again, “Cooked. What do I look like, an animal?”

-----

Sam holds his head in his hands as Wanda and Natasha move around him. Night has fallen fully, the sky dark, the stars twinkling, the crescent moon high. Natasha sets a glass of water in front of him, nudging him softly, before she sets the large salad bowl in the middle of the table, “Drink. It’ll help with the headache.”

She’s back in the kitchen before she can catch Sam’s heavy eye roll. He knows better though, he’s seen her angry. He takes a sip, and then another as Wanda leans over him, placing a plate full of steak, red potatoes, and asparagus in front of him. She places Natasha’s plate down and then takes her seat to Sam’s right, glancing back toward Natasha with impatient eyes. 

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” says Natasha, grabbing the wine and jogging back toward to table to plop to Sam’s left. 

After a quick blessing, they spend the first few minutes of their meal eating in silence. Sam eats his steak slowly, his eyes cast out of the windows in front of him and out onto the street. Natasha spears a potato and looks at Wanda, who chews on a piece of asparagus. They have a silent conversation with their eyes,  glancing over at Sam periodically. Wanda tilts her head towards him, but Natasha quickly shakes her head, knowing he’s had a long enough day as it is. 

Sam slides his eyes between the women as they quickly drop their eyes back to their plates. He leans back in his chair, releasing a deep sigh before lifting his glass to his lips, “I’m right here, guys.”

Natasha rolls her eyes as Wanda purses her lips, linking her fingers together and placing her chin on them, “I don’t like keeping secrets.”

“I told you earlier, it’s not a secret. I just think he’s heard enough for today, that’s all,” Natasha says with wide eyes, taking a sip of her red wine. 

“Then why did you bring him here, huh? To tell him half truths?”

Natasha drops her hands to the table, tilting her head as runs her tongue over her teeth, “Oh, now you wanna worry about half truths? What about earlier, huh? There may be evidence.”

“Then let me tell him now.”

“Mommy,” Sam says, turning toward Natasha and then toward Wanda, “Mommy, please don’t fight.”

“Shut it, Sam,” Natasha bites back, angrily taking a bite of her steak.

Sam laughs, leaning his head against the back of his chair and staring up at the ceiling, “Don’t fight, come on.” He rolls his head toward Natasha, a lazy smile on his lips, “I can handle it.”

Natasha rolls her eyes, grabbing her glass of wine again before falling into the back of her chair. She waves her hand toward Wanda, giving her the go ahead and rubs her glass against her lips, “Ok, so,” Wanda starts, not missing a beat, “You remember how I said Bucky has two soulmates?”

Sam nods slowly, turning his glass in slow circles on the table, “I do.”

“I think he’s found him already.” She jumps from her seat and hurries into the kitchen, grabbing another stack of loose papers and plopping back into her chair. She slides a printed picture of a young, small, blonde man. He has dog tags around his neck, his face sunken in, his arms skinny and frail, “This is Steven Grant Rogers, circa 1940.”

“He looks like he’s twelve,” Sam remarks, as he glances back toward Wanda.

“He was sickly. Chronic colds, high blood pressure, had scarlet and rheumatic fever when he was a child,” she waves her hands. “He was a mess, but, here is a picture taken a few weeks ago that popped up on a message board,” She slides a much newer, color picture toward him. 

He leans up and so does Natasha, staring at the man holding brown grocery bags in his hands. It’s a side profile, his blonde hair is long and slicked back, a thick beard covering his face. Sam shrugs as he studies the picture, “I don’t get it. Looks like every other yuppie in downtown Seattle.”

She slides the first picture toward him again, moving them side by side, “See it now?”

Natasha stands and moves behind Sam, leaning over his shoulder as they both examine the pictures before. Sam squints his eyes as the wheels in his brain turn. He snaps his head up toward Wanda, his mouth falling open as Natasha covers her mouth with her hand, “That’s-” 

Wanda nods slowly, “A few people on the message board think that this is Steven Rogers. I looked for more info while you were asleep but there is nothing on him, nothing recent anyway. No driver’s license, no vehicle registrations-”

“No bank accounts.” Natasha finishes for her, “Unless, he’s using a fake name, which, he’d be stupid not to for being a hundred year old guy whose soulmate is a werewolf.”

“After 1942, all traces of Steven Rogers disappears.” Wanda shuffles through some of her papers, tucking her hair behind her ear, “I can’t confirm it one hundred percent, but here’s a mugshot from the early two thousands of someone by the name of Andrew Tavers.” She says, sliding the picture toward them, “The similarities are striking between the three pictures, to say the least.”

Sam slides his eyes between the three pictures before pulling the mugshot of the man a little closer. His blonde hair is short, the beard gone. His lips are pressed into a hard line as he stares back at Sam with an icy glare. Sam tilts his head, sweeping his eyes toward the skinny dude and the lumberjack on either side of the mugshot. The eyes are the exact same, the nose… 

“This Andrew was arrested in a rural Texas town. He got into a fight with some redneck in a bar who claimed, and get this, that he had killed a large wolf while out hunting earlier that afternoon. The police report says that Andrew,” she emphasizes his name with air quotes, “Busted into the bar a few hours later and just started beating the shit out of this guy. Nobody knew him or had even seen him before.” 

Sam blinks as he remembers skimming his fingers along the large, jagged scar on Bucky’s side. Sam’s favorite scar. “What happened after that?” He asks breathlessly. 

“He bailed himself out of jail the next morning and was never seen again. The cops went out to the woods that following day to try and find the carcass of the wolf but it was gone too.”

Sam falls back into his chair, resting his hand on the table, “This is so… crazy.”

“I know, but it’s kind of exciting too,” Wanda smiles, “I mean, my god! Werewolves, immortal men, who are very easy on the eye, if I might add.” She giggles, pointing to the newest picture of Steve, “Maybe once you all get to know each other, you can mention that Nat and I are looking for a sperm donor.”

“Wanda Maximoff-Romanoff!” Natasha scolds, slapping at her shoulder.

“I’m kidding! But not really,” she whispers, wiggling her eyebrows toward Sam, “Seriously, this has to be Steve Rogers, which means that Bucky imprinted on him. He doesn’t look a day over thirty.”

“Not to mention the two hundred pounds of muscle he packed on,” Natasha says. “Sheesh.”

“See, changin’ your mind, huh?” Wanda asks as she pokes her wife’s side playfully. 

Natasha rolls her eyes with a smile on her face before placing her hand on Sam’s shoulder, “Are you okay, Sam? We shouldn’t be laughing, this is serious.”

“No, no, it’s,” He shakes his head and shrugs, letting out a soft chuckle himself, “Thank you, both of you, seriously. If you guys were taking this as seriously as I am, I would have jumped off of the nearest bridge.”

“So,” Wanda asks, grabbing Sam’s wrist with her hands and giving him a soft smile, “What are you going to do?”

Sam smiles back at her before dropping his eyes down the table. He’s not going to lie to himself. He’s terrified. But, something is pulling him back toward that Pipers Creek. Deep in the woods, beyond the trees and grass, there’s a heartbeat that just won’t leave him alone. He hears it every night and every morning. He smells him. He craves his touch, Bucky’s lips on his skin. His soulmate is out there, he just has to find the courage to go to him. 

[sky-kiss]

Ghouldyn AU

A/N: Look. Just. Stick with me, okay? Or don’t. It doesn’t make a lot of sense. @morelemons and I were like. Hashing out the broad strokes of a Fallout 4 crossover AU. And like. Ghoul!Ardyn. And a whole story line. But then we needed setup to justify all that cuteness and Diamond City Adventure Boy!Noct and Vault Tech!Luna. So uh. This is that backstory. Just big old. Weird broad strokes. Of Ghoul!Ardyn’s life. I’m sorry.

_____

October 23, 2077

______

Centuries later, it will strike him as funny. Not in the traditional sense of the word. But a breed of humor purely unique to his life: macabre, grim. He’ll laugh as tears prick at his eyes.

The truth is Ardyn doesn’t remember the bombs dropping. He manages to miss the end of the world. He’s too piss drunk to make it home and too poor to call a taxi. It’s warm for October. Warm enough that he doesn’t think twice about slumping down in an alley. It was a nice neighborhood. He’d sleep off the whiskey and then stagger back to his apartment.

Yes, yes, dearies. The bombs fall and the radiation hits. Families are left clinging to one another, powerless as the fallout rolls towards them. And where is he? Alone. Slumped in a puddle of vomit, arm slung over his eyes. The curtain closes on a most ignominious scene.

When he finally awakens, the world is forever changed. Ash still drifts  lazily on the breeze. The blue sky is gone, replaced with a perpetual orange. Some days the light with filter through at a strange angle and treat him to a flash of green.  

There’s no bird song. No dogs barking. No ambient conversation to fill the emptiness. There’s only the silence and all the weight that comes with it. It’s the sound of death, he thinks. Death has come and stolen everything away.

Ardyn pulls his knees to his chest. His skin is badly burned; his body is bruised. The tears sting as they cut lazy rivulets through the dirt staining his cheeks. It’s deja vu. It’s Aera all over again, magnified to the nth power. Death sweeps into his life and steals everything away.

Only he is left behind.

____

The radiation does not kill him.

In some ways it is a far less mercyful fate. He manages to pick his way through the wreckage and find his back to what remains of the apartment complex. The silver lining of the whole situation is that he’s barely aware of his hangover. He’s too shell shocked to feel much of anything.

By some miracle, the building is still standing. Ardyn climbs those three familiar flights of stairs on instinct. He fishes inside his jacket for his keys. He locks the door behind him before stumbling over the liquor cabinet. The powers been out long enough for all the ice to have melted and so he takes four shots of whiskey neat. It helps take the edge off. Three more (simultaneously all that’s left in the bottle and the last bottle in the house) are just enough to chase him off to sleep. He never dreams when he drinks. For the first time in years, he dreads the silence.

____

His body begins to change. The radiation does not kill him, no. But it changes him.

His will not lie. He’s always taken a certain level of pride in his looks. People would stare as he passed. He was tall and strong and beautiful. And now, his skin seems to rot. His nose is gone. The bone structure remains the same but he is left an echo of his former self, monstrous.

It’s the hair he mourns the most. Strange and maroon and long enough to tickle at his shoulders. Aera had begged him never to cut it. Had delighted in running her fingers through the mass as they settled to sleep at night. The radiation takes that too. A pittance, in the grand scheme of things, but he mourns all the same.

____

Time passes.

His body continues to decay. He is...corpse-like and monstrous. The few humans he does stumble across scream at the sight of him. Some shoot.

It’s easier to lock himself away.

So he drinks. He sleeps. He forgets the world outside and it forgets him just the same.

_____

The first few decades are the most difficult. Later, he will learn the name for his condition. The people of the Commonwealth refer to him as a ghoul, an aftereffect of the freshly irradiated world. The body was capable enough of change. It’s the mind that’s more...tenuous.

Most ghouls went mad. There were a variety of causes: the radiation fried your brain. The self loathing. The suicidal thoughts. The dissociation. Truly, the mind boggled. He thinks it’s a hint of everything. He hates this new body. He hates this new world.

It’s easier to wrap himself in his memories. Aera is still there. They still live in their house outside of Salem. She’s still heavy with child and...the clouds have yet to settle over their life. He still wakes up every morning with her head pillowed on his chest and her leg hooked over his hips. He’ll listen to her soft snores (no one would believe her capable of it; he knows better) and they will chase him back to sleep. He’d rather languor in his past then resign to the present silence.

Years pass. Decades pass.

And then one century and then another.

_____

The earth...never recovers in the strictest sense of the word. It adapts. Life returns. Strange, mutated, creatures roam the streets of Boston. Some of them he recognizes. There are still humans. There are more ghouls.

He is far more comfortable with the latter.

A gentleman named John Hancock comes calling for him one evening. Despite the severity of his condition, John carries himself with all manner of aplomb. He sweeps a ridiculous tricorn hat from his head, drops into an exaggerated bow. Ardyn scoffs, inwardly delighted. It’s been decades since he was treated to such theatrics. He’s missed the levity.

“It ain’t much but it could be,” John fumbles with a tin of mentats. After a moment's consideration, he holds it out to his fellow ghoul. Ardyn waves him off. “Real uh...well, sanctuary sounds like some hippy shit. But a good place for freaks like us to get some much needed r&r.”

“You’re intending to build a town?”

“Naw. Naw. Buildings are already there. We throw up some walls. Get some people. Bingo. Got yourself a community.”

“I fail to see what I would contribute to such an endeavor.”

John shrugs. He knows the broad strokes of the ghouls life; by traditional standards, he’s not a good man. Here, in this new world, some leniencies can be made. He’s trying. He wants to help, junkie, killer, or otherwise. John fumbles around in his pockets until he finds a crumpled cigarette, “Eh, maybe ya don’t add anything. Lots of those types out there too. But c’mon, man, its gotta beat holin’ up in this dump waiting to go feral.” Which...is true.

He doesn’t give John an answer that night.

It’s another year before he finally makes the move to Goodneighbor.

_____

One of the other ghouls suggests he take up a hobby. Something to take his mind off his condition and keep him from wallowing in the past. He reclaims an old building on the outskirts of town, tucked away in one of the smaller alleys. Before the loss of his wife and the drink, he’d quite enjoyed his position at the university.

“I dunno.” It’s all John will say. Ardyn has little room to judge but the other ghoul is woefully expressive when he speaks. He swings his arms out wide, a healthy plume of smoke trailing behind his cigar. Ardyn winces. Aged papers are scattered across more than a dozen desks. It doesn’t take an active imagination to see the place going up in flames. “Library ain’t really what I had in mind. Little more...Diamond City if you catch my drift.”

“To the contrary. I dare say your goons might benefit with a little exposure to higher learning.”

“Hey. I don’t need clever trigger boys. Smart men get ideas. Ideas…”

“...get people killed. Yes, I’m aware.”

John shakes his head. Takes another drag and exhales a rasping chuckle. “Fuckin’ library. Shoulda figured.”

“Perhaps,” he says, dryly. A spark drifts on a nonexistent breeze and Ardyn lurches forward, snatching the cigar from the mayor’s hand. He snuffs it out. “But someone has to do it. Why not me?”

“Yeah. Why not you, buddy?” John grins. He tips his tricorn and saunters back out into the street, whistling to himself. It is an entirely unremarkable interaction and...somehow more thrilling for it. For the first time in too long, Ardyn feels...vaguely human.

_____

He collects books.

He helps John negotiate a few...profitable arrangements with the triggermen.

He finds bits and pieces of the old world and brings them back to his home.

Little by little, he feels more like himself.

______

The world ends on October 23, 2077. He is thirty three years old when the bombs fall. He’s barely thirty four when radiation ravages his body, transforming it forever. He drifts through the next two centuries. He begins to heal.

Life begins again two hundred and ten years later to the day. It’s a tedious cliche but he’ll commit to it regardless.  The bell above the library door chimes. He glances up from his reading and comes eye to eye with two humans. The young man is scowling, grumbling to himself as he struggles to balance an armful of books.

And the young woman is familiar enough that he might as well be staring at a ghost.

She smiles at him, soft, hesitant, clearly taken aback by his appearance but unwilling to relent.

October 23, 2287 marks the day Lunafreya Nox Fleuret and Noctis Lucius Caelum stumble into his life.