#where light shines shadows fall on ao3

[nebula-gray]

battle network 5's microserver incident is so intriguing to me because like... on the surface, it's really silly. dr. regal's ultimate plan for a world of evil is to make every extremely pissed off, and it leads to some really funny dialogue.

and i've noticed that people have a hard time taking it seriously, which is fair because... look at it. it's not taking itself seriously. but if you stop and think about it, it's terrifying.

everyone is so caught up in their own emotions, society can no longer function. people want to destroy things, start fights with other people, stop working, and all around cause chaos. in a world where almost every problem is solved through netbattling, people are resorting to physical violence. imagine how quickly things would fall apart if everyone was like this, how soon people would die if no one could cooperate.

and the thing is, battle network couldn't possibly show the real consequences of a scenario like this. it would quickly become too dark for a game aimed at children, and wouldn't mesh with the tone of the series. i understand why they went the silly route, and i'm glad they did so.

unfortunately, i think it leads to people taking the plot and the villain less seriously. dr. regal is already hated by a lot of people, and i truly believe this is due to bad writing rather than a flaw in his own plan. like, if soulnet had worked and people were like this forever, it would be disastrous. way scarier than a typical take-over-the-world plot, because you're directly manipulating people's emotions to make them suffer. and the only reason lan and megaman can fight back is because they have literal plot armor. if not for that, there would be no fighting back, no fixing this. it's scarily effective, and it makes me sad that no one seems to give regal credit for this.

i just... i love battle network 5, and the microserver incident is so interesting to think about. i hope i can get people to look at it in a different light the next time they play.

[ghoulphile]

sticky fingers | c.h./the ghoul

➥ pairing | cooper howard/the ghoul x f!reader ➥ word count | 4.5k ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; mildly dubious consent, dirty talk, degradation kink, fingering, squirting, rough sex, size kink, standing doggystyle, overstimulation, teasing, choking, dacryphilia, cooper howard is his own warning (he nasty y'all), canon compliant - takes place around ep 7, a grab bag mix of the show and the games ➥ summary | “Lil girls should know it’s rude ta steal.” ➥ notes | i love my men like i love my beef jerky 🫠 i wrote this over 16 fevered hours after finishing the finale. hope you enjoy~ minor edits 4/22/24 | x posted to ao3 | masterlist | feedback is always appreciated ❤️ feel free to send in thots, questions, requests!

It begins, as most things in the Southwest Commonwealth do, with a fight for survival.

City life is tough to be sure, but here on the outskirts of pocket civilizations where there’s nothing but long stretches of desolate wasteland - arid, sunbaked earth and scorched shrubbery - for miles around?

Well, if the ferals, fiends, and super mutants don’t get you in the night, then the desert itself will. During the day the sun burns overhead so nuclear hot, heat glimmers on the horizon in dancing waves.

Unforgiving, relentless as blink-and-you-miss-it mirages are swallowed by ever shifting sands.

It’s easy to get lost.

Even easier to boil alive in your armor if you’re unprepared.

Far too many travelers from the Eastern Commonwealths have met their demise here, where shade is sparse, and water even moreso. The rain - if it does blow in over the mountains - brings rad sickness.

If you’re lucky enough to still be alive, the only reprieve from the heat is in the stooped bones of bombed buildings and ramshackle shacks... where you're just as likely to catch a knife in the back from a chem fried addict as you are relief.

Because here, in the Wastes, danger lurks in sand and shadow alike.

You don’t trek out into the flats half-cocked: a fact all locals know. And if you do decide to? Well, you learn one way or another.

No, only the truly ignorant - or the desperate - dare to tempt man and nature.

Consequently, as you dust off the crumbs from the last half of a Fancy Lads Snack Cake and suck a melted smear of icing from your thumb, you're of the latter half.

You tried holding off for as long as you could. But once the shakes started, you knew you couldn’t put off eating lest you pass out and wake up in a slaver camp.

Well, shit, you think as you rattle a dented canister of purified water. This fucking sucks.

Almost going cross-eyed, your tongue hovers under the rim as you watch the last lazy drop fall free. You catch it with a grimace, smacking your lips. The water tastes metal warm in your sour mouth, barely enough to wet your whistle - let alone your thirst.

You began rationing the last of your supplies days ago, and it’s been a battle against light-headedness ever since. Pretty soon you won’t have the strength to defend yourself, scavving be damned.

Come on. Think - gotta think. What can I scrap for caps?

Not only is Filly more than half a day away, Ma June isn’t one for charity cases. The fact she offered twenty extra caps last time for some burnt books and bent bobby pins was as close as you were ever going to get to a Wasteland miracle.

Sunken cheeks and pleading eyes can only get you so far; everyone’s gotta eat.

"Fuck..." The palms of your hands grind into your eye sockets until you see stars. "FUCK!"

There are two unspoken laws in this otherwise lawless land: steal or starve, live or die. A grim reminder that surrounds you in old bleached bones, empty bullet casings, and scraps of cloth fluttering in the breeze.

Someone always has to be top dog. If you’re lucky, they might be willing to share their spoils.

It’s as you’re considering what pieces of yourself you’re willing to barter that you see them. On the horizon, coming from the west, are two dark blobs.

Stark against the flat plains - a shining beacon of salvation - is a man in a ratty duster and cowboy hat. The saddlebag tossed over his shoulder bounces with his steps while a dog trots beside him, its sable coat rippling with muscle.

Pay dirt.

Making sure to keep low and distant, you stalk them. Watching, waiting for the opportune moment to strike.

When the sun dips low, the sky a swath of pale pink and gold, they make camp at a blown-out Drumlin Diner. Off in the distance, thunder rumbles and sickly clouds gather.

Dark and roiling, acid green; a Radstorm brewing.

Electricity cracks at your skin, stands your hair on end. You scrub your hands over your arms, huddling into yourself for warmth. Meanwhile, the stranger seems to luxuriate in the budding promise of rad rain.

He lounges under an awning, his back pressed against a defunct Nuka Cola fridge. He gazes in the direction of the oncoming weather while mindlessly running his fingers through the dog’s fur as it curls up against his legs.

Occasionally, its ears twitch, and its eyes crack open.

Whenever it glances in your direction, you hold your breath and squeeze your eyes shut but it never gives any other indication that it notices your presence.

A small mercy you’re thankful for.

While you’re a pretty good shot, your body is weak with hunger. Besides, you have quick hands and light feet. There’s no doubt you can stealth your way in and out before he realizes his pack is lighter than he left it.

You’ll only take what you need - not interested in causing any more trouble than is necessary. Some food, maybe something to drink if he can spare it, and something to pawn. Just enough supplies to get you sorted in Filly.

Anyway, he certainly isn’t hurting for it by the look of things.

Any guilt you felt was short-lived when he settled down after dropping his pack inside, walking out with an inhaler of Jet in one hand and a can of Cram in the other.

Watched, greedy, as he cracked it open and picked at the tin of meat with lazy fingers. Salivated as he sucked them clean in between deep pulls of chem.

Soon, you decide, licking your lips as he chews, swallows. Soon.

However when push comes to shove, the stranger proves far more keen than you give him credit for.

The world spins like a hit of Daytripper, a kaleidoscope of color as your skull bounces off the wall with a loud crack. Air rushes from your lungs as something huge - hot and heavy - slams into you from behind.

Pins you against the wall with ease as your ears ring.

Something rattles loose; your teeth too large and your tongue too thick. Warm metal floods your mouth as the side of your face throbs in time with the rabbit fast stutter of your heartbeat.

Pain sparks and your stomach rolls.

"Wha's?" you slur, thoughts dripping like wax. "Wh-at's..."

Meanwhile, a gloved hand lassos around your throat like a collar. Brute fingers squeeze the tender flesh of your jugular until you hear your pulse in your ears. Senses struggling - sluggish to adjust in the encroaching night - as tiny cavities eat at your vision, little pockets of darkness.

“Lil girls should know it’s rude ta steal," a gruff voice mocks. “Betcha thought you was real slick, huh? Tch. You ask me, you’re dumber than shit, Darlin'.”

Trying to regain your bearings, you shake your head only to groan. “I don’t - ‘m not -” It’s difficult to concentrate, a throbbing tempo taking up residence in your temples. The words come slow. “Wha’d you mean?”

He whistles, long and low-pitched, "D’ya have any idea who you're fucking with?"

“N-No…”

“How’s about I show you, then?”

Warm breath puffs over the shell of your ear, a tongue sliding out to trace along the lobe. You jolt, squirming in discomfort as he crowds closer.

“Tasty lil thing like you, wrapped up all nice and pretty just for me." He chuckles. "Why, it must be Christmas.”

What the hell is he talking about?

It’s hard to breathe with his heavy weight suffocating you; the scent of gunpowder and bitter smoke clogging your nostrils with every labored inhale. His lips - ragged - scrape over the nape of your neck.

The grip on your throat squeezes once, twice; leather sticks to your sweaty skin.

You squint your sore eyes, taking in the faint flickers of firelight that spill through the open doorway. The desert chill of night has settled in, creeping through the busted out windows to dig beneath your padded armor.

Thunder rumbles directly overhead as lightning follows in flashes of acid green. It’s only a matter of time before sheets of rain come pouring down; the air sticky with humidity, trembling with energy.

The Radstorm has finally arrived.

You’ll undoubtedly get sick if you leave the shelter of the diner - might even die from it if you can’t afford or find any RadAway. But as the stranger’s chest digs into your shoulders, and the dog curls up in the corner - uncaring of your plight as its nose tucks into the whip-thin tail - you think you’ll take your chances.

Tilting back to glance at him from over your shoulder through damp eyes, you say, “Look--”

Only his hand moves, viper quick, as it slides from the front of your neck to the nape. Strong fingers clamp down like a vice, like scuffing an unruly dog.

He grinds your face into the wall, rough metal shredding your cheek.

You cry out, a soft, pained little thing that echoes through the empty diner.

“Now why’d you gotta go an' make me do that?”

A phantom glimpse told you all you needed to know; broad jaw, thin lips, a hollow nasal ridge, creeping radiation burns and cracked skin. Ghoul.

“Let’s try this again, Sugar.”

His free hand - sans glove - creeps over the curve of your hip to splay along the swell of your belly, fingers tucking up under the hem of your shirt. You shiver at the stroke of roughened skin.

“Don’t take another peep or I might jus' have ta pluck out those pretty eyes of yours.”

Dread pools low in your gut, a leaden ball.

Everything in you screams: RUN, RUN, RUN.

Alarms blare but you freeze. Stare straight ahead at the featureless wall, eyes wide and unseeing. Through the foggy mire of your thoughts - half formed and shapeless - you have enough presence to understand the precarious nature of your position. 

Heart hammering, you plead for mercy, “Please, I’m - I’m sorry.”

"Aw, ain't that real sweet?" He remains impassive, unmoved. "The little thief does got some manners after all."

Without warning, the sharp toe of his cowboy boot kicks apart your feet. In the ensuing empty space between your thighs, his leg slots into place. Spurs dig into the tender meat of your ankle, little kisses of pain, as his hips rut forward against your ass.

You choke on your spit, pulse jumping in your throat.

"H-Hey, that's..." You attempt to shove at any part of him you can reach to no avail. Built and broad with compact muscle, it's like trying to move a brick wall. "I said I was sorry, okay!"

He ignores you, burying his face into the space behind your ear. A deep inhale sounds next to your head, the expansion of his chest against your back so firm you're not sure you won't fuse together.

The whiskey rough groan he releases does wicked things, makes your mind wander to places it shouldn't. Full of grit and gravel as his cock twitches against your backside, a burning line of heat.

A shiver ricochets down your spine.

He grunts, says, "Mm, you smell good enough ta eat."

The cap of his knee nudges up against your clit with a sudden jolt, shocks of pleasure electrifying your body. Tears prick the corners of your eyes, and a sob threatens to scrape its way up from the depths of your throat.

You swallow, mouth desert dry. "Come on, let's just forget all about this, yeah?" you reason. "No harm done. I'll even give you whatever I've got left so - so..."

He makes a noise in the back of his throat, the vibration rattling through your chest. "So?" he prompts, plucking at the waistband of your trousers.

"So let me go?"

"Now why would I go an' do an asinine thing like that?" he replies. "If you think you can buy your freedom, think again, Sweetheart."

Rain pings off the metal roof, the smell of pungent ozone and rusting metal wafting in through busted windows and open doors.

“'Sides,” he pauses to turn your attention outside, “I’d hate ta have you yakin’ before the fun’s even started.”

There’s no way to misconstrue his meaning when he punctuates the statement with a teasing rut of his hips. Those rugged fingers tug open the clasp of your trousers, yank until the material goes slack and pools around your ankles.

“Hey, wait--!”

You jolt, hands scrambling for purchase as he slides his leg against your core. The friction of his pants through your thin cotton underwear makes you ache.

Ripping through your bottom lip, blood beading to the surface, you choke on a high-pitched whimper. "I..."

There's no way he can't feel your reaction.

How quickly you're getting wet as he drags you along the length of his thigh while yanking your hips back into the cradle of his pelvis. You meet him in a slow grind that boils your blood and steals the breath from your lungs.

It’s been - shit - far too long since you’ve felt anything other than hunger, thirst; the animal drive to keep pushing forward.

"You like this, don'tcha?"

You hear the dagger-sharp smile hidden in his words.

He croons, "What would your fellow smoothies think, huh? Here you are lettin’ a ghoul get you all hot n bothered - and you’re lovin’ it. Ain't you?"

You throb in response, heat stealing its way into your cheeks as you turn your head away in shame. His dark chuckle lets you know he felt the squeeze of your thighs, the rock and dip of your hips against his knee.

"I - I don't..." you stutter, struggling for a retort. “I’m not--”

A tremble works its way through your body, crushed as you are between the rad warm burn of his body and the wall. Completely at his mercy as you try to figure out where it all went wrong and what you can do to worm your way out of this one.

Terrified of what'll happen if you stay, terrified of what'll happen if you go; stuck in limbo as what was meant to be a simple grab-and-dash devolved into this confusing cluster of shame and lust.

You loathe the embers of desire kindling to life low in your belly.

"You really outta start bein' more honest, Sweetheart."

A large hand dips beneath the worn band of your underwear, and you wait with baited breath. Helpless as calloused fingertips brush over the swell of your mond.

Your inner thighs are uncomfortably sticky with slick, and your eyes burn in humiliation. Your throat trembles around all the words you want to say.

"Didn't anyone teach you lyin' was bad?" he asks rhetorically as his fingers slip down to play with the swollen bud of your clit, tapping lightly.

You keen, low and wounded.

Short nails dig into your palms as you flex your hands for want of something to grab onto.

“I am being honest,” you bite out through grit teeth. Sweat dapples your furrowed brow. “Just lemme go, please.”

"I find that hard ta believe," he replies. "Sorry to say, but you're shit at lyin'. Just look how hungry your lil cunt is for me."

It’s the only warning you get before those long digits plunge deep inside, two becoming three as they stretch you wide. Hollow you out; knuckles massaging your entrance as the tips prod along the sensitive front wall of your cunt.

You clamp down with a strangled moan. “Shit!”

This is a horrible idea - but it’s been forever and a day since you’ve felt anything other than your own touch.

Whether it be the bone-deep loneliness you’ve been shoving down for months or the sudden, inexplicable need for contact, you long for a reminder that you’re still alive.

That you’re not some wrath of the Wasteland filled with sand and blood, doing whatever it takes to survive in a place that would rather see you fail.

“I - I’m not sure.”

He snorts but offers no council or reassurances, using his free hand to yank at the back of your head in impatience. While it might’ve been a fairer fight if you weren’t in such bad shape, there’s no denying that he’s proven himself to be more adept.

Stronger, quicker.

This is going to happen either way.

And that turns you on - even though you feel like it shouldn’t.

If you give in, if he forces you to give in, it’s not really your fault then, is it? You can enjoy it because you have no choice.

Fuck it, you think, closing your eyes and tilting your head to the side in submission.

Like a doll with cut strings, all the fight drains from your body and you’re left sharing space. The ghoul is a furnace of heat behind you, barely any space to breathe he’s crowded so close.

His cock thickens where it digs into the soft fat of your ass, as large and intimidating as the man himself. “Now stay still for me.”

The or else goes unspoken.

Then he’s stepping away, a rush of cold air filling the empty space at your back.

You shiver, tempted to turn around. Maybe make a run for it. The only thing stopping you is the awareness that his threats aren’t so idle. In your experience, it’s far better to befriend the monster than to anger it.

So you comply, waiting an eternity as your senses strain to pick up on anything other than the murmuring hush of rain, the rumble of thunder, as the Radstorm continues to blow its way through.

Though just when you think he might’ve left, ready to chance moving, you hear the clink of a belt buckle clicking open. The scuff of boots across the linoleum before broad hands shove up under your shirt, scarred palms bare as they settle on your hips.

You tense before forcing yourself to relax.

“You ain’t as stupid as I thought,” he says. “Good girl.”

A test.

You breathe a sigh of relief.

“I can listen,” you mumble, keeping calm as his hands explore the plains of your stomach, pluck at the waistband of your panties. “Promise ‘m not gonna do anything else.”

Learned my lesson the first time. Got my skull cracked open for it.

“That’s what I like ta hear.”

Without warning, your panties are being ripped from you, scraps of fabric fluttering useless to the floor. You squawk in indignation but then a heavy hand settles between your shoulder blades.

He presses down, and you follow without complaint, finding yourself bent in half.

And then the fat head of his cock is right there, teasing at your entrance. He plays with your cunt, slipping the shaft between your wet folds. Dragging up the length of you to tap at your swollen clit.

Jerking in his hold, you whine and try to bear down with all your weight. “Please,” you squirm. “Please, c’mon…”

His grip remains firm, bruising as he exhales next to your ear, a pleased little grumble. “Thatta girl. Now tell me, who’s my pretty lil thief?”

Every hard ridge of his body bites into the softness of yours, your stiff nipples dragging against the rough material of your shirt. Zings of pleasure shoot through you; bursting in your bloodstream, fizzy like warm Nuka Cola.

“I-”

“Go on now, Sweetheart: say it.” Fingers dig into your hips so hard your bones ache. “Or I jus' might be tempted ta take a bite outta your pretty lil backside instead.”

He’s bluffing, you think, half delirious, … Right? He wouldn’t--

You swallow, throat clicking, and squirm against him.

Is that a chance you’re willing to take?

No, no it’s not.

“Y-Yours - I’m - I’m your little thief.”

The unexpected flare of satisfaction in his voice is almost your undoing. A hand pets down your flank, swatting the outside of your thigh playfully.

“Good girl.” He demands, “Say it again.”

Sharp hip bones kick forward against your ass as he lines himself up and starts to bully his way inside.

“I’m - YOURS!”

Your soft, gummy walls flutter, squeeze until giving in with a pop under the hard pressure of the fat head. His cock stretches you out, thick and girthy.

Ridges of scar tissue and patches of rough friction pockmark his shaft, massaging tender places as he fills you up, fucking you open.

He feeds you inch after inch… until he can’t.

“Wait!”

Accommodating his girth is a struggle, your cunt filled to the brim by the time he’s halfway inside. No amount of slick could make him fit, so he makes do with harsh little jerks of his hips. Forces himself deeper and deeper until he glides home nice and smooth, sheathing himself to the base with a sigh of satisfaction.

You clamp down hard with a hiccupy whine, walls furtively trying to push him out. “A-Ah!”

“Goddamn,” he huffs, hands kneading your ass, “You’re a tight fit.”

Tears prick your lash line, your hips shifting as you try to stop him from moving. Begging for a moment of reprieve. You’ve never taken something so big and thick, so textured before.

Coupled with the minimal foreplay, it feels like he’s punched his way through your body. Hollowed you out to make a home for himself.

Pussy aching, a low burning tightness creeps over your lower belly as tender flesh pulses uncomfortably around the unforgiving heft of his cock seated deep inside. You swear you feel him poking your belly button.

“Please,” you pant, heat settling into your cheeks. “J-Just wait a sec-ond! I can’t - oh shit.” 

“Aw, look at you.” Fingers reach around to brush over your cheeks, gather the tears that’ve slipped free. “Didn’t mean ta make you cry,” he lies.

The sound of him sucking his fingers clean reaches your ears. Your stomach swoops, and your clit throbs. Dazed as you wonder what his mouth would feel like on your pussy.

"Hah - too much, you're - fuck - you're too big."

He snickers. “Can’t be helped, I guess.” Body rippling in a shrug, his hands re-settling on your hips. “But that’s all right - I like it better when they cry.”

Before you can retort, he pulls his hips back.

Your toes curl in your boots, feet squeaking across the linoleum floor as your sweaty forehead grinds into the cool metal of the wall. The texture of his shaft burns as it slides through your swollen folds, dragging against sensitive spots you didn’t even know existed.

You can’t tell if it’s the best you’ve ever felt or the worst, but you nearly sob all the same, nerves alight with liquid fire. Want him as deep inside as he can go; a frenzy of desperation that needs him to stuff you so full you choke.

“See for all your whining, you’re takin’ me so well. What did I say about bein' honest?”

You sniffle, blurry eyes creaking open to stare out the window.

Your body throbs in time with your pulse, your pussy so stretched out you can’t clench down when he thrusts in deep. The fat mushroom head teases your cervix, a faint whisper, before he’s drawing back again.

“T-Too fast,” you stutter, head rolling back to rest on his shoulder. Your thighs tremble, knees going soft. “Slow down, slow down.”

“Sh, you can take it. I know you can.”

With a grunt, he surges forward. Wasting no time in starting up a brutal pace that rattles your bones. He drives you hard into the side of the diner; tits crushed and face smashed, a disgusting mixture of tears and drool wetting your cheek.

“Just like that, Sweetheart.”

You do little more than hold on, all thoughts driven from your mind as he fucks you swollen and bruised. Cunt a sticky mess as your slick eases the way, clinging to your inner thighs and dripping down his heavy balls.

Every thrust punches little sounds from you, and he grunts. “Fuck!”

Your hands cling to the sides of his hips, focusing on the shift of muscle beneath heavy fabric. “I can’t,” you slur, eyes cloudy as you glance up into his, gazes meeting for the first time. “Please, I - ah!”

His thrusts turn punishing, even more so than they already were, hips meet your ass with enough force to leave bruises. “What did I say about sneakin' a peek?”

While the words sound threatening, his voice is heated and breathy. For all his talk, he doesn’t look away. In fact, his hips slow into languid rolls, grinding close. When your eyes slide from his, he reaches down to pinch your clit between his fingers.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he chides. “You keep those eyes on me.”

Pretty, you think, dazed.

Glinting in the slants of firelight like wet sand or a Nuka Cola bottle in the sun; bourbon warm as they peer at you from beneath a heavy brow bone.

“That’s it, there’s my good girl."

Eyes fluttering when he flexes his hips in reward, the tip massaging along your g-spot, your mouth drops open on a whine.

“O-Oh! Right there, I - fuck, please don’t stop. ‘m so close.” F-Feels s'good.

His bare hand reaches up to curl around your jaw, gnarled fingers pushing their way past the open circle of your swollen lips. They compress your tongue as they gather saliva, stroking along your tastebuds.

Gritty, rough; he tastes of dirt, blood, and gunpowder.

You sneak a kiss to his scarred knuckle when he pulls free.

“Shit, I’ll be damned. You’re just a nasty lil freak, ain't you?”

You moan in response, stretching up on your tip-toes and arching your hips to change the angle. Your palms rest beside your head, docile.

A crazed grin cracks the corners of his lips, his teeth bared like an animal. “I like that,” he husks. “Now be a peach…”

Then those soaked digits are finding their way between your thighs, ghosting over your skin to smear spit onto your abused clit. The tender bud throbs beneath his fingertips, swollen and begging for attention.

He hitches his hips forward to feel you jerk, pulsing beneath his touch as he resumes a fast, jolting pace that has you smacking into the wall.

“And cum for me.”

A deep rumble escapes his throat, the sloppy, wet sounds of him fucking you ringing loud in your ears. Your hips roll, unsure if you want to press forward into the swirl of his fingers or back into the rut of his cock.

Tears stream down your cheeks, your chest heaving with weak sobs.

“Please,” you whine, his shaft pinching your walls uncomfortably. You feel swollen, rubbed raw. “A-Almost there.”

A nip to the ear is all it takes.

“Hhaah, I’m--!”

The liquid heat that’s been pooling low in your belly - building and building - finally bursts in a gush of slick that soaks his hand. Darkens the crotch of his pants as it drips down your thighs to splash against the tile.

You sob, a full body tremor zipping through you like bottled lightening.

In the aftermath, your cunt twitches in time with your heartbeat. Hands numb and head full of cotton as cramps bloom between your hips. Sharp little stabs shoot up behind your navel.

“Shit, I’ve got myself a gusher,” he laughs, a nasty little smirk tugging at his lips. “Look at the mess you made. Now if you ask real sweet-like, maybe I’ll let you clean it up with your tongue.”

You sag, too boneless to be ashamed as electric aftershocks tingle along your nerves. All the while, his pace never falters, quickly fucking you into overstimulation.

Your clit twitches pathetically when the fat head of his cock drags along your g-spot. "No more," you mumble weakly, letting him maneuver your body how he likes. "Please."

“Heh, let’s see if you can do that again.”

You whimper, “Oh, oh, please n-no. I - I can’t. You’ll break me.”

“That’s real cute,” his lips, harsh and rasping, drag over the shell of your ear, “but I wasn’t askin’.”

The grip on your hips tightens to the point of pain, digging in and marking you up.

“Now, why don’ we have some real fun, Darlin'?”

[ceilidho]

take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (part 7)

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6

-

You watch him like a hawk after that. 

Not because anything’s changed. In fact, nothing’s changed. Seeing him drag a man by the collar of his shirt, the look in his eyes punishing and severe, has only confirmed the essential imbalance in your relationship. You don’t suffer the same fate as that man being dragged from the bar not because of mercy or leniency or forgiveness, but because the truth hasn’t yet come out. You’re safe because the truth is still hidden, a fact that could change at the drop of a hat. 

The thought makes you wary. You watch John in the days after with a scrutiny that borders on the paranoid. Does he already know? Has he left you stewing in ignorance all this time while waiting for the proper authorities to arrive? When he looks at you, does he see the blood on your hands? Does he know that he’s looking at a murderer? Does he know that your sins weigh on you like heavy stones dragging you down into the earth?

Every time the porch steps creak, your heart turns to stone and betrayal rushes up your throat like acid, and it burns. 

Then the door opens and John walks in. His face lights up when his eyes fall on you. “Hi darlin’.”

All you can do is let out a shuddering breath and slump into his embrace. 

You’re waiting for it to happen. Even when he pulls you into his chest at night, a big arm settled around your waist and his palm spread wide over your belly, you tense and wait for the truth to come out. But all he does is sigh and fall asleep, tucking you closer into his chest. You stare at the wall until the grooves between the wooden boards start to expand, the darkness encompassing every inch of the wall before bleeding down to the floorboards and up to the ceiling. Then you wake up and it’s the next day. 

The truth is imminent. It shines its light on the darkened path before it and stalks forward. You cower in the shadows waiting for it to find you, hopeful that it won’t. Sure that it will. 

There’s never a good moment to pack your bags and leave, and the longer you stay—as the days turn into a week since you first disembarked from the train and wandered into a town soaked in russet and red—the harder it seems to get a moment of peace. Though John wasn’t exaggerating when he said that a sheriff’s job never stops, you hadn’t thought that it would involve so much. 

Between chores and John and the townsfolk, you can’t get a moment to yourself. The closest you come to it is when Kate leaves you to your thoughts while she helps the customers. Even then, she still comes by every now and again to offer you a tea or brandy ball to suck on. 

You resent the idea that you need to be babysat, but he isn’t exactly wrong either. You’re not too stubborn to admit that. Under Kate’s watchful eye, you aren’t scurrying off anywhere. Instead, you help out around the shop where you can, offering to stock the shelves and sweep the floors. On occasion, you even get on your hands and knees in front of the shop to pull up the weeds, but that draws more attention than you’re comfortable with. They simply aren’t as concerned with weeds out here.

Most of your time is spent loitering around town waiting for John to take you home. Sometimes you join him for the day, trailing along after him when he goes out to collect the taxes or you accompany him when he has to attend trials and hearings in the court house, where you sit quietly in the public gallery and watch in rapt attention as the magistrate conducts the court proceedings, but there are days where that’s simply not possible.

“You’re gonna spend the day with Laswell, alright?” John tells you, pinching your chin to tilt your head up. 

He loves that little gesture, you’ve realized. Loves to touch you and guide you with a hand on your back or chin or arm, a hand brushing down the side of your waist to pull you in, gripping you by the nape of your neck just to hold. Even now, in broad daylight and in front of the window to the general store where anyone could look out and see the two of you, he keeps his thumb there, reluctant to let you go. The thought makes your neck go hot.

“When will you be back?” you ask.

“Later this afternoon—before dusk, so don’t go worrying about heading home without me. I have to see to something a few towns over.”

“Oh…what do they need you for?”

John frowns. “You’ve got an awful lot of questions today.”

“Never mind. Have a safe trip.” You don’t know why his reluctance to tell you anything frustrates you so, especially when he has good reason to, but even you can hear the way your voice grows petulant. 

His thumb squeezes against your chin, holding your head in place when you try to turn away. “I’m overseeing a hanging. Couple of men were found guilty of murder.” He studies you so intensely that he can practically see in your eyes the way your stomach turns at that. “See, I thought that might upset you. This is why I didn’t wanna tell you, darlin’.”

“It’s fine,” you say, swallowing. “I’m a big girl.”

“Yeah,” John agrees, brushing his thumb up your chin until it tugs at your bottom lip, watching the way it snaps back into place when he releases it. 

He makes every moment feel like a last goodbye and a homecoming. You almost can’t meet his eyes under the intensity of his stare, but you also can’t look away. Not with how he looks at you like some precious thing. 

You expect it before it happens, but when he dips his head to plant a soft kiss on your lips, you go breathless for a moment. His beard is bristly against your skin, just south of coarse. The kiss turns into another, even more tender than the first. You resent the way you lean forward when he pulls away, chasing after him. 

“You be good for Miss Kate, okay?” he says, waiting for your reassurance. 

“I will,” you rasp, mortified at how easily he unravels you and how plainly you let it show. John grins when he hears the tremble in your voice. 

Then he leaves, riding off towards where the horizon dips below the visible and you watch until he disappears completely, falling away with it. Kate beckons you inside after that, and it’s just hot enough out that you gather up the skirt of your dress and follow after her, climbing up the steps to the general store.

Kate is a tough nut to crack. She’s kind and never rebuffs your questions when you make conversation, but she also isn’t exactly forthcoming with personal information. She seems more than happy to let the conversation lapse into silence. When there isn’t a customer to serve, she’ll take out a leather-bound notebook and write, going so deep into her own thoughts that you sometimes need to call her name a couple times before she’ll respond. 

“Kate,” you say again, waiting for her to finally blink and look up, which she does with only the faintest glimmer of impatience in her eyes. “Care to join me on a walk? I need to stretch my legs and…well, I don’t know my way around just yet.”

She snaps her book shut, winding a bit of string around it before placing it back beneath the counter. “There’s a restaurant on the other side of town if you care for a bite as well. I could do with something to eat.”

It’s not as much of a walk as you might have expected. You learn along the way that Kate has lived in town for several years, taking the shop over from her predecessor, a former employer prone to drinking and prone to expiring from that very same vice. She speaks of him with familiarity and affection for the dead, but none of the longing and misery that you’ve come to expect from someone grieving a loss.

“You came far just to find a husband,” she remarks when the two of you are seated at a windowside booth in the restaurant. She spreads a cloth over her lap and you follow her lead. 

You bite your lip. “I’ve heard good things about the frontier.”

Kate looks amused by that. “Now who’s been lying to you?”

You laugh, half genuine and half to keep the atmosphere light. You don’t tell her that no one lied to you about going out west because no one had said those words to you in the first place. There hadn’t been enough time for a conversation after the event, only enough time to unlock the study door and wash your hands of the blood in the sink downstairs before fleeing the manor with only your purse and cardigan, the feather duster still lying on the floor upstairs. You hadn’t even bothered going home.

There’s no telling what your aunt and uncle must have thought. You try not to think about that because there’s no going back now. You had the luxury of a single cry on the train as it chugged away from the station and the day slipped into night, but nothing more than that and nothing since. 

You tuck into your food when the waitress comes back with your meal.

“John said you were a schoolteacher before this?” Kate says, pulling you back into the conversation. 

It makes you nervous to lie too much about a subject you hardly know, so you smile and nod instead of responding. 

“You must be quite the polymath,” she continues, eyes downcast, not allowing you a good read on her. “Arithmetic, writing, history—goodness knows the skills one needs nowadays with the leaps and bounds in education. Thank goodness for the Common School reformers, giving women the opportunity to develop young minds.”

“Yes,” you croak, then clear your throat. “I certainly did my best to…educate the children.” 

Comical, given that you’d dropped out of school at the age of fourteen to work in a factory sewing buttons onto shirts. 

“And was the profession enjoyable? I know John mentioned you were keener on starting a family than continuing on as an instructor, but was it an informative experience?”

“Oh yes, it was. I enjoyed it. Immensely.”

“It must have been nice to work in a profession with such little turmoil.”

“I couldn’t have asked for better,” you agree, your smile tight now, wavering only a bit at the corners. 

Kate stares at you for a beat too long. It makes your stomach hurt and you fight against the urge to wilt under her stare. You can’t imagine you’ve said something wrong with how little you’ve said, but her stare makes your skin crawl. 

Finally, she smiles, the skin around her eyes creasing. “Well, that’s just lovely to hear.”

You put the conversation out of your mind on the walk back, sure that you must have imagined the flicker in her eyes. 

John comes back earlier than you expected. You swear your heart jolts in your chest when you hear the sound of a horse whinnying outside the shop out of nowhere and a man’s low, rough voice responding back, soothing it. You hear the sound of dismount, boots hitting the ground hard, and then come up the steps, each step making the spurs on the back of his boots rattle. 

When he opens the door, his eyebrows jump up at the sight of you already there waiting. Your eagerness should embarrass you, and it does, but there’s not much you can do about it, and there’s even less you can do about the way you melt when he says, “There you are, darlin’. Time to go home.”

Precious is the world where home has come to mean something tender and soft, even as much as you’ve pushed against it. You still hold fast against the notion, steeling yourself when John helps you up onto Buttercup and follows suit, riding home at almost a gallop. You hear his laughter on the wind when you yelp and nearly slide off, his arm around you the only thing holding you in place. 

“It’d be easier to ride if I had pants,” you complain when you dismount, hands pressed to his shoulders when he helps you down. “How do women even ride sidesaddle on their own?”

“Plenty of women do, darlin’. It’s nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Well, I don’t like it.”

“We can get you pants if you need them so badly,” John says, looking up to the sky like Lord help me suffer this woman. “But that means I’ll be teaching you how to ride Buttercup on your own. Think you can handle that?”

You balk at the thought. “…Let me think about it.”

He snorts. “You do that.”

He leaves you to your thoughts when he takes the horses out to the paddock for a bit. 

You sit out on the porch and watch the sunset while the horses run around the pen, soaking in the last hour of daylight. Overhead, clouds as big as mountains pass, heavy like an oil painting. Off in the distance, you can see thick clouds blotting out the sky entirely, the belly of them split open and letting out a downpour of biblical proportions. You only grow a bit nervous when you notice the wall of rain moving closer to your house with the wind, inching forward more every minute.

It’s not long before John notices it too. He whistles for the horses and waits until they trot back over to the gate, fixing the lead to their mantles again and leading them one by one back into the stable. A light drizzle begins to pour. It churns up the dust and dirt when it hits the ground, scenting the air with the fragrant smell of earth.

You head over to the stable as John brings in the last horse, hovering by the door while you watch him run his hand down Buttercup’s muzzle, whispering softly to her. If he notices your presence, he doesn’t acknowledge it, his attention focused solely on her. 

It gives you a chance to admire him from the back. Thick thighs in indigo jeans that seem almost painted on. Shirt tucked into his jeans, stretched taut at the shoulders; dark droplets of rain drying already. The dusting of hair on the back of his neck. You can see the fine lines on his forehead and in the corner of his eye from the side angle and it reminds you again that he’s older and more weathered than you, settled into his age rather than floundering in it. 

“It’s raining,” you say, just to have something to say. You shrink under his gaze when he turns towards you, faint amusement in his eyes.

“I noticed.”

You cringe at that, aware that he knows. He’s the one that brought the horses in after all. There’s just something in you that feels compelled to open your mouth when he’s around. An impulse that makes you cheep like a bird. 

“Looks like a bad one,” you mutter instead of shutting your mouth, instead of hightailing it back to the house and shutting all the windows to keep the rain from coming in. Useless girl. 

“Probably rain all night,” John says, squinting out at the sky through the open door. It’s darker now, a storm brewing. 

“Is there…is there anything we have to do? To get ready?” You don’t know why you say we like this is a partnership, but it comes unbidden and you know if he told you to hurry back and take in the porch chairs, you would. 

“Nothing to worry about. I’ll close up the stables and seal the windows—storm probably won’t hit for another hour or two. After dinner, we’ll turn in early.”

With a final stroke down Buttercup’s jaw, he steps away and moves towards you. You feel rooted in place again at his approach; the thought of taking a step back never even occurs to you. When he finally reaches you, he doesn’t hesitate to reel you in by your hips, drawing you into a deep, wet kiss that he breaks only when you whimper into his mouth. 

“You feelin’ better about being out here?” he asks, low and intimately. “Looked like you had a good time with Laswell.”

“She’s nice,” you say, deflecting from the other question. 

John hums his agreement, readjusting his hold on your waist until every inch of him is pressed against you. Your breasts are flattened to his chest, belly pressed to his; every hard inch of him, solid as an oak.

“C’mon, honey, talk to me,” he murmurs. “Have I been treating you right? You still have any reservations about marrying me?”

“Bit late for reservations, isn’t it?”

He clucks his tongue. “‘Course it ain’t. Won’t change anything, but I still wanna know.”

It’s hard not to consider the possibility of being honest with him for a change when his gaze borders on the devout. No one in the history of time has ever looked at you like this, like you hung up the moon and stars. The thought chokes you up. In all the years of your life, has one other person looked at you and asked if everything was to your liking? John’s love borders on reverence, straddles the narrow divide between the telluric and the celestial, the earthly and the divine. 

It’s dizzying. And you’re not built for subterfuge. Not built to lie to the one man that, despite everything, despite taking you from your former life by force, has offered you a new one on a silver platter. 

You wet your lips, conscious of how dry your mouth suddenly is. John’s eyes follow the glide of your tongue over your lip.

And then you lie. “None whatsoever. I’m happy here.”

Maybe it’s a half-lie. After he shuts the stable doors and barricades them to keep the doors from swinging open in the midst of the storm, you wind up back on the porch watching the dark clouds up in the sky slowly approach, John at your back this time. 

John tilts your head up into another kiss. You don’t know when you made the conscious decision to let him think you amenable to this relationship, but you cling to that thought desperately when his tongue licks into your mouth velvety smooth. 

The roof extends out over the porch, keeping the two of you dry, but you can hear the sound of raindrops pelting the slate shingles. 

“You’ll see, honey,” he says against your lips, the words rumbling through you, buzzing under your skin and making it tingle. “‘M gonna make you so happy. Never gonna even think of leaving me.”

The words dissolve on your tongue. Swallowed down dry. With his arm hooked around your waist and hand tilting your head up, there’s no way you could think of anything else except wanting more. 

It’s hard to talk when he has you up against the railing, your dress pulled up and his fingers spreading apart your lower lips. It’s not the first time he’s touched you there, but it’s the longest he has, at least without the barrier of your underwear. His fingers spread your labia delicately, middle finger running up the wet seam. He hums into the back of your head while he does and presses a kiss into your hair. 

“Always so soft and wet here, darlin’,” John murmurs, stroking his fingers up your inner lips and petting the sensitive nub at the apex of your sex. “Why didn’t you tell me you’ve been aching for it? Been waiting for you to give me the word.”

Waiting, he says, while tucking a finger into your sex, curling it up into you and chuckling under his breath when your hands clamp tighter on the railing and your back arches. Just a single finger feels like more than you can handle. John has thick fingers; thick fingers with calluses that you can feel on the delicate flesh between your legs. It plugs you up tight, more so when your core clenches involuntarily around his finger. His chuckle descends into a groan, then a sigh. 

He pulls his finger out against the squeeze of your internal muscles, ignoring the way you whisper, “No, please” under your breath. 

You only stop pleading for more when he swirls his finger around your pearl again, lavishing it with attention. “Aching? I’m not—”

“You are, darlin’,” he breathes, and now you feel him pull you from the railing, stepping back to take a seat on the porch swing. He pulls you into his lap, sitting you across it instead of with your back to his chest like he did in the bath the other day. 

“Anyone could come by—” you hiss, fluffing the skirt of your dress out around your thighs when he tries to push it back up to get his hands back on your nethers. 

“You tense up when you’re nervous, honey,” John cuts you off, forcing his hand back up your dress until he pushes his finger back into your quim, delighted to find it hotter and wetter, practically dripping onto his lap. “See, there you go. Just relax. I’ll make you feel good, darlin’. We’ll take care of that nasty ache.”

You pant through each pulse of his finger. You don’t even think about looking up to meet his eyes, not when he stares down at you with obvious adoration and devotion, the emotion splayed across his face. He looks entranced at the sight of you coming apart on his fingers, a flush high on his cheeks. 

“No one’s gonna come by. Not this far out. ‘Sides, they know to keep their distance. Newlyweds need their space, right, darlin’?”

Supposing he’s right and no one comes out this way. Isn’t it still unseemly to do this out in the open? So far from your marriage bed? John seems incapable of relegating his affections to that space, unconcerned with propriety or modesty. You wonder with a spark of fear if he’d even budge if someone were to come trotting up the walkway on horseback or if he’d just wave them off and send them on their way. You don’t think he’s the kind of man to want an audience, thank the Lord, but he seems entirely unphased by even the idea of being intruded upon. 

You melt when he shushes your worries, feeling you tense against him, and sinks his fingers in deeper, now another. Don’t fret, he murmurs against your temple, sighing softly. I’ve got you, honey. Ain’t going nowhere.

You aren’t, are you, you think wildly. The land around here goes on forever and the train whistles by only twice a week if you’re lucky. Then townsfolk know you by face and a false name, but that would be enough for them to grow concerned if they were to spot you heading for the train with your suitcases packed, and with John or one of his deputies always in town, there’s little chance you’d be able to board without one of them interfering. 

Still though, it’s better than the alternative. For over a week now you’ve been on high alert, waiting for an arrest warrant to be slipped onto John’s desk with your likeness drawn on it, and for him to come collect you stone-faced and furious. It could still come. 

He keeps you tucked into his arms and nestled close, shushing you when you hiccup and pinch your lips together to keep quiet. He lets you have that, unphased by the way you try to hide it, only tutting when you try to fight it, curling his fingers up inside you and rubbing a spot inside of you that makes it hard to breathe. 

“I could just take it, but you’re gonna give it to me, darlin’,” John says.

And you do. Messily, noisily. Burying your face in his neck and sobbing it out, humiliation wrung out of you, squeezing out every drop. He smells like musk and old sweat, amber warm. Liquid gold. You press your nose into the skin of his neck and draw in a breath so deep that you go lightheaded. 

John keeps his fingers tucked in you until you stop shaking, talking you through it even though you hardly hear a word. How could you over the rush in your head, the blood in your ears? When you open your eyes and look around, the sky is swollen and dark, the wall of rain 

“C’mon, honey,” he says, pulling his fingers out and placing his hand low on your belly. “Let’s go inside.”

You sit across from him at dinner, eating under candlelight. The weight of his gaze for once isn’t stifling. 

The rain only starts in earnest when he’s pulled the quilt over the two of you and pulled you into his arms. The rain pelting the windowpane dulls to a low roar when you turn over and snuggle deeper into John’s chest, pulling the blanket over your head. Tomorrow, the grass will be greener than the day before. You can feel it in your bones.

[eetherealgoddess]

can you one with mikey where he is deeply in love with reader but she is oblivious and one night his dark impulses take control of him and he fucks he in her sleep??? love your content btww

thank you!! hope this turned out the way you wanted!! <3

ꨄTemptationꨄ

Oneshot - Yandere Mikey Au

❦You didn’t know how tempting you were to those dark eyes❦

Sano Manjiro x Reader

Not fully proofread!

MY TR FANDOM WORKS ARE ONLY ON TUMBLR & AO3 UNDER EETHEREALGODDESS! REPORT IF YOU SEE IT POSTED UNDER ANYONE ELSE BUT ME!!!

I apologize if I get any Japanese etiquette or culture wrong, I literally have to research the culture for some of my fandom stories so if anything is wrong, please excuse my ignorance.

Notice:

✩Y/n is 18+. I picture her as a black female but you can see her however.

✩Some parts of the story may not be realistic or factual. After all, this is a work of fiction.

✩Although it's a dark 'romance,' I do not condone any of the behavior displayed.

✩Dark content such as: gore, violence, triggering topics, graphic scenes, vulgar language, explicit sexual content, etc.

✩There may be scenes that involve non con and/ or dubcon so don’t read if that makes you uncomfortable

✩That being said, this story is for 18+ only.

Enjoy!

Temptation

The moonlight gleams through the cracked curtains, shining over the bed as a figure lies underneath the white comforter. You slumber, snug and warm as you lie on your stomach, one leg lifted as well as both of your arms though with bent elbows. Your other leg is planted straight down as your cheek meets the pillow. Light snoring echoed throughout the room as well as steady breathy. You were oblivious to the eyes gazing over your limp frame. He’s kneeled on the floor as his head lies on top of the arms that are crossed on the mattress in front of your face. His blonde strands hovering over his face, disheveled from his lack of care considering his sleepless nights.

Ever since he found a way to break into your room despite you still living at home, he hasn’t been able to keep himself away. He likes to visit you at night. It helps with easing the dark thoughts he succumbs to when he tries to fall asleep. His past haunts him, entrapping his mind with nothing but dark whispers of various impulses. The intrusive thoughts sneak up on him as a snake would before snapping the venom in their prey, trailed by the shadows of darkness looming over his back and reminding him that all he is meant to experience is suffering.

Ironically, sneaking into your room at night gives him a sense of normality. He can’t help but to live in the moment once you’re in the picture. A sane person wouldn’t think twice of you, having accidentally bumped into one another which resulted in you apologizing before running off. It didn’t make sense why he decided to follow you the rest of the day or command one of his gang members to search for more information about you. It doesn’t make sense why there isn’t a day he goes without thinking of you.

Maybe it was the sense of normalcy or distraction from his inner world. Maybe it was the qualities you had as a person that he found interesting after looking into you. The fact is that he is mesmerized by you. It’s been months since you first met, the accidental shove forever leaving a ghostly tingling sensation on his arm. He sits up for a moment, resting his elbows against the bed as both of his hands tangle through his hair, holding up his head as he eyes you with a half lidded gaze.

After a moment he stood up before slowly pulling the cover back, deciding to see more of you to get his fill. He gazed at your body that only consisted of a t-shirt and shorts. He loved to see the fabric of your bottoms wrapped tightly around your curves which is why his favorite nights are when you have them on.

He figured out that your sleeping habits vary. Sometimes he’d get there and you were in the middle of changing, scrolling through your phone, or… sometimes even catching you in the middle of a session with your sex toy. The tree next to your window and the space in your walk-in closet as well as the placement of your bed from across made those specific nights a lot easier to observe.

He uses a hand to caress your back gently before slightly lifting your shirt to reveal the skin on your lower back. His palm rubbed along the crease in which your derrière and back meet, squeezing your side before continuing his strokes, staring at your face cautiously. He bit his lip as he squeezed you once more, firmly as he watched your nose scrunch. He released your skin as he felt a tightness form in his pants.

It wasn’t his first time gaining an erection simply from gazing or touching you. In fact, there have been times he had rubbed his tense cock in your closet as you were watching porn, both of you orgasming together as he edged himself until you were ready for release. He’s used your clothes as towels and stole them. He’s also jerked off sitting right in front of you as you sleep on the bed, imagining all the different ways he can have his way with you.

The way your legs tense when the toy hits that spot that sends you into convulsion, your moans filling the air as well as the curses as you grind out your orgasm. Sometimes you’ll even repeat your sessions back to back, in search of the relief he wants to provide for you. He palmed his bulge as he reminisced those favorable moments. He looks down and gazes at his own hard on, his hair hovering over his face with his lips slightly parted as a red hue forms on his cheeks.

“Shit.” He whispered, feeling the overwhelming urge to climb on top of you. He just wanted to take a look at your wet pussy again. Leaning over to where he uses a hand to slide the leg nearest to open to gain a better viewpoint of your covered vagina. The tight shorts caused an imprint to outline the frame of your center. He glanced at you before gently connecting his fingers with your pussy, rubbing over the slit. He watched you as his middle finger moved to where your clit is hidden under the shorts, applying a still pressure to test the waters. Your hips twitched as you slightly readjusted but your eyelids stayed shut.

His fingers slid until he reached in between your ass cheeks, grazing over your covered anus before removing his hand all together. His torso bends over, crawling until he climbs over your legs. His hands connect with your shorts before he slowly pulls them down, revealing your naked bottom half as he tossed them to the side. He scoots to a better position over your legs and cupped both of your butt cheeks, squeezing and using his thumbs to caress the skin before spreading your labia with his fingers still planted on your ass.

He glanced at you to see your sleeping figure once more before he released you and shoved a hand into his pants. He lowers the lining of his underwear before pulling his cock from his pants. Deciding to ease some of the tension, he positions himself closer to your ass, using a hand to spread a cheek before pressing his cock in a downward position to where he could feel his head against your warm pussy.

He released a quiet grunt before lowering his torso on yours, basically hugging you as he eased his arms under yours, pressing his hips against you as he held it there. He thought he would have enough self control to not go all the way in since he just needed to feel you. It felt so good to feel your body against his, soft and warm. As time went on it was beginning to feel a little too good. He pressed down his hips before pulling back and repeating the same motion slowly in an attempt to not wake you up. He pants as the feeling becomes too hard to handle.

Deciding to just use the head of his cock, he licks his hand before lathering up his girth and using his fingers to position himself to your already wet vagina. He pushes forward slowly, your labia popping open wider as his tip stretches your hole. He accidentally released a moan as his head dropped, arms slightly shaking as they balanced himself over your figure.

“Oh fuck.” He hissed as he pushed in just a smidge more of a distance than before, stopping himself before he continued. It already feels like your pussy is sucking him in, the walls tightening the part of him already inside of you.

“So warm.” He groaned as he sat up more, breathing heavily with his lips apart as his head fell back. You slightly squirm against him as you attempt to reposition yourself, your leg that was bent moving down to where your feet are parallel. You wince as you take a deep breath before the slumber takes over once more.

He’s had to wait so long for this. He was having a hard time thinking rationally as all he wanted to do was shove his cock inside of you as deep as possible before forcing you to take all his cum. His hands reach the skin of your back under the shirt. His hips twitch back before he pushes back in, only his tip immersed in your walls. He can feel your pussy releasing more juice from the stimulation. Everything felt so hot.

He couldn’t take it anymore, lowering his upper body as he repositioned one of his arms under you and the other hand covering your mouth, lifting your head slightly. Your eyes finally flutter open into a squint, only just coming back to reality as you feel a heavy weight above you as well as a pressure from below.

“Forgive me, Y/n.” Your eyes widen at the low whisper before the hand tightens around your mouth and someone leaves a kiss on the back of your head before you feel a sharp pain in your core, causing a muffled grunt to leave your mouth as Mikey’s hips lock against yours in a swift motion.

He moaned when his hips smacked against your ass. You whimper at the pain as you attempt to push against the bed in an attempt to throw him off of you. You failed miserably, not even being able to move from your position because of his immense strength overpowering you from atop. You couldn’t even turn your head to see who the culprit is forcing themselves upon you. Your eyebrows furrowed as you grunt loud from another hard impact from his thick cock.

“G-get off of me!” You attempt to scream but his hand only muffled your speech. Both of your bodies rock as he gains rhythm, his hair flailing as he grinds against you.

“Shhh.” He nibbles on your ear as he makes an attempt to quiet his own moans, not wanting to risk your parents walking in though if it happened, he wouldn’t have a problem with ridding himself of the inconvenience of their presence.

“M’ gonna find it and make you feel so fucking good, Y/n.” He says in your ear, forcing his fast strokes in deeper as he searches for the spot that has you quivering when he watches. Your nails impale the sheets as your grip tightens, the pain having resided once he found the spot, a moan escaping your lips.

“There it is.” He smirks before pressing his head against yours and closing his eyes. He continuously aimed to kiss your cervix as his head dropped to your neck, his lips connecting with the skin before he thrusts harder, rutting against you as he humps your backside. His cock is suffocated by the warm gummy walls inside of you, your juice lathering him as a natural lube as you reflexively push your ass against him, meeting his thrusts as your nipples harden against the bed.

“Th-this isn’t right!” You try to speak once more, struggling to push yourself off the bed as he adds more weight to your form, cock rubbing along your inner lining as your g-spot is assaulted. “I don’t even know you!”

“The only thing…” he breathes, “…that matters is my lo…” He pants as his eyebrows furrow before the smacking of his hips against your body becomes louder as he brings you both closer to your orgasms, his tip beating hard against your g-spot. You release a loud grunt followed by a moan as your hips move against him desperately.

“Ah fuck, baby this feels so good.” He hissed before his lips fell apart. Lowering his head, he rests it against your shoulder as he fucks into you with firm yet fast strokes. You bite your lip as your eyes shut tight, your hips bucking as you release a desperate moan, a wave of pleasure engulfing your abdomen as you orgasm on the stranger’s thick cock.

“I love you, I love you, I love you.” He whispers before his grip on your face and shoulder tighten, his hips rocking as he thrusts out his orgasm. You both pant as you catch your breath, his cock still inside of you before he slowly pulls his hips back causing a grunt to leave you both. You feel him kiss your shoulder and neck as your eyes widen in horror at the realization of your circumstances as he releases your mouth.

“W-who are you?! Y-you j-just…” You try to turn around to get a look of him but he only pressed your head against the pillow.

“When we get to know each other better, I’ll explain. For now, just know that you’re my wifey, okay?” He smiled, ignoring the look of confusion and fear that appeared on your expression.

“I-I don’t even know you! HE-!” He covers your mouth once more and leaned to your ear.

“I don’t want to kill your parents, Y/n. So don’t make me, okay? I’d like to meet your family properly.” Tears stream down your face as he tells you to close your eyes. You comply, shutting them tight as you feel his weight shift before completely disappearing.

“See ya next time.”

tbh i liked the request but idk if i liked how i wrote it

[travelingtwentysomething]

Prompt: “Pick a god and pray” they said, and you did, praying to every god you knew. And as you did this a name popped into your mind, one you didn’t recognize, yet you prayed to them all the same. In response the air stood still, like even the world had forgotten their name.

Devotion Tastes So Sweet On Your Lips (AO3)

It was another one of those nights- Steve was running through the dark trees, waking nightmare chasing him down.

He prayed his footing stayed true. He prayed that his breaths didn't falter. He prayed that the hungry darkness falling fast in his shadow didn't catch him.

He prayed to all the gods. Every deity he had ever learned of, all the new gods, and the old. He prayed until the sweat burning his eyes blinded him and he felt a root leap up in front of his foot.

He stumbled but did not fall.

But the sound of a snapping maw was closing around the dust he kicked up.

Suddenly, in his desperation, a name floated from the depths of his erratic heart to the tip of his bitten tongue.

"Eddie the Banished, of the Fallen Forest— Please- Please," Steve huffed, a force behind the name punched through his diaphragm and left him no air to plead with.

No sooner had the name fallen from Steve's lips, than the ground fell away beneath him- an embankment, steep and unforgiving in its angle. He rolled past tree trunks, slid over rough roots, and scraped jagged rocks loose for gravity to bring along for the ride.

His body hit the bottom and bounced.

Steve was dazed, his ears felt muffled as if he had landed underwater. He sat up so fast his vision swam, leaving trails of light where the stars shone down on him under the glare of the full moon.

He tried to stand, but his stomach protested- knees, shaken and unsteady, refused to hold his weight. He fell, once again on his back, trying to catch his bearings.

When his head cleared enough that the moon ceased it's dance in the sky above him, Steve sat up slowly, taking stock of his surroundings. He strained his ears to hear the snap of twigs or the slide of rocks down the slope he had just ridden as his pursuer followed him into the gorge.

It was silent as a ghost.

Steve pressed his palms to his ears and felt no blood, squeezing to try and pressure shock them into working.

He listened again—

Not even a whisper of wind in the trees.

Steve picked up a twig from the soft bed of moss that had saved his limbs from the worst of the abrupt impact and snapped it between his fingers- the sound sharp enough to startle him.

His ears worked just fine, it seemed- it was the forest that was broken.

As Steve got one knee under him, prepared to make another attempt to stand- a shadow fell over him.

Steve kept his head lowered, subdued under the charge in the air- the unmistakable aura of predator.

He slowly raised his eyes, and only his eyes.

There, standing tall above him, was a Wild God.

"It has been... So long-" The voice was grinding stones carried on the wind, "I'd forgotten what it sounded like." The Wild God lowered his body into a facsimile of a bow. A hand that shadows cling to like smoke, finger tips black as the night and ephemeral, ghosted under his chin, raising Steve's eyes to meet the darkness shining in the Wild God's own. "My name on some desperate tongue."

Steve was struck with a lightning heat deep inside his belly that rose like a plume of ashes from the mouth of a volcano, his face burning under the gaze of the most beautiful and terrifying wonder he had ever witnessed.

"Say it again." The Wild God demanded, voice deep enough to shake the ground Steve knelt on.

"Eddie the Banished, of the Fallen Forest." Steve moaned, unabashed.

Eddie's eyes rolled and the whites flickered behind shivering lashes as he savored the taste of devotion.

[loveindefinitely]

༊*·˚ FOREVER WINTER (IF YOU GO) — task force 141 x reader

03 — MY COMPASS, MY TRANSPORT

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price + (non-endgame phillip graves)

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, fmmmm, enemies to lovers, slow burn, polyamory, ghostsoap, pricegaz, alerudy, heavy angst, requited unrequited love, graphic violence

series masterlist. read on ao3. fanfic playlist.

<- previous part | next part ->

“I have nothing else to live for.”

It’s a truth. A deep, earnest one – and it’s the only option you have.

Without Graves, without your Shadows, you have nothing. No income, no family, no support. You're left with the clothes on your body and the shoes in which you stand, with no hope of finding your footing.

In the darkness, the only light shines from the headlights of the truck, and the red of the radio. It’s silenced, of course, but it serves as a beacon of something between you all.

“I don’t – I have no other choice,” you say, voice trembling. You would not break in front of them, but you could feel yourself cracking; porcelain underneath a harsh grip. Turning yourself so you’re completely facing the two, your expression turns desperate. “I want to help you both, and I want to save Phi– Graves.”

You correct yourself at the final moment, wary of your slip up.

“Save ‘im? From what? Feckin’ charges for war crimes? Getting his ass handed to ‘im?” Soap chokes out, incredulous, eyes wide where they meet yours. He winces when he moves forward too quick, straining his arm.

“He’s…” You look down at your hands, merely watching for a moment as they close into a fist and open again. Blood crusts underneath your fingernails. “He’s all I have. I’m sure he just needs a wake up call, someone to snap him out of it.”

“He tried to kill us,” Ghost speaks up, matter-of-fact, but quiet. As if at any moment, his words will wake up the entire city. If there were any civilians left in it, you supposed. Your eyes burn with unshed tears.

“...And I had to kill some of my men.”

It’s a confession of sin. Like poison on your tongue, yet at the same time, an anecdote to an evil in your veins. You’d killed your men. You’d… done that.

You still haven’t quite allowed yourself to realise it, not yet.

But if it’s enough to keep you alive right now, so be it. You hadn’t gotten this far just to give up over something as inconsequential as pride.

“Ye will tell us everything you know about ‘im. And’ll help us until we figure out what to do. We’re our own bosses now, Sweetheart,” Soap commands, that fucking nickname of his seeming to stick. You don’t dispute it – not right now, not when this is quite literally life or death.

“I promise,” you say, resolute and stern. There was no time for self-pity or wallowing, only time for action and conviction – something you had in spades. “I’m yours for as long as you need me.”

You hadn’t known how true those words would be – not then, and not for a good while. But they were a prophecy, if such a thing could at all be possible for a woman like you.

Soap and Ghost share a look; a brief, yet important one, before Ghost gives the Scot a short nod. Soap turns once more to you, his face betraying the answer of their silent agreement.

“...So?” You suggest, impatient considering the consequences of the next few moments. 

Bringing a hand up to stroke at his stubbled chin, Soap makes an act of pretending to ponder – and it succeeds in stoking the flames at your core, fury burning through you like a liquor-soaked rope.

“I dunno, lass,” he says on a sigh, his ocean eyes betraying a mischief in their depths. “Yer kinda mean to me.”

You might choke him.

Actually, check that, you will choke him. He’s impossible – an arsehole to the nth degree – somehow worse than Ghost in his… foolishness? Was that the right word? Or just straight frustrating-ness?

Seeming to sense your thinning patience, Soap’s hand falls from his jaw with a mirthful smirk, proud of himself. 

“If ye say pretty please, ye can join our lil’ duo.” He finishes the statement off with a wink, and you don’t realise that your hands have curled into fists until the sharp pain of nails digging into your palms force you to resort back to your senses.

You let out a slow, loud breath. 

Neither of them move a muscle, except for the twitch of Soap’s dimple. You hate that you recognise such a small movement, but you easily blame it on the fact that it’s a drilled-in mentality.

“...Please,” you acquiesce, however quiet. 

Ghost’s eyebrow raises. How you’re aware of that, considering his mask, is a props to him. 

“That’s not what he asked for.” His voice is a low, husky thing, and the title of guard dog suddenly doesn’t sound so incorrect.

With your teeth gritted and cheeks straining, you mutter out, “Pretty please.”

Soap’s responding smile is nothing short of beaming, and you almost immediately wish that you could take those words back. Was death really so bad? Would it even be a mercy, compared to deciding to share a threadbare camaraderie with these weirdos?

Too bad time control isn’t exactly a well-researched military weapon.

“Let’s go then,” Ghost slaps his gloved hand against the steering wheel, before looking one last time towards you with purpose, “Sweetheart.”

Soap laughs.

You get out and slam the door in his face.

“Och! You feckin’ bastard, lass,” you hear him screech, before the door opens once more and Soap hops out, fuming.

Turning away, you fall behind Ghost, and quickly take a look around at the vast, empty area that is barren suburbia. Not before responding, however.

“Next time you get shot, I’m not taking care of your ass,” you threaten. “And I’m giving the rest of my sweets to Mr. Melodramatic.”

Soap’s returning mock gasp is, in all fairness, pretty comedic. “You have more sweets? Gimme those and ye lovely bedside manners ‘nd I’ll get a cavity!”

Your returning glare could cut steel. “Keep that up, and you’ll end up with bigger issues than a cavity.”

“I think ye are already the bigger issue,” Soap snaps back, but it’s not inherently malicious. It’s… borderline playful, and that sudden thought has you internally slapping yourself.

“Both of ya – quiet,” Ghost warns.

You both shut up immediately.

With wary steps, the three of you go to step up towards the front door, when Ghost swings out a hand, stopping the lot of you in your tracks. The night doesn’t allow for any of you to see well, but he must’ve picked up something that you hadn’t.

The thought is an immediately terrifying one.

“Pressure plates,” Soap murmurs under his breath, eyeing the square linoleum tile. “Nice catch, Lt.”

Ghost doesn’t respond, instead motioning for you to follow him towards a glassless window. Gravel crunches underneath your light footfalls, easily heard in the deathly quiet, as you move to swing your leg over the access point and drop to the floor inside.

Landing with a soft thud, you go to unfurl from your crouching position, before a loud warning shout from Ghost has you freezing.

Flinching where you stand, your eyes dart to where Ghost has flung one of his daggers, the sharp metal splintering a wooden beam further into the dark room. Realising that Soap sits at your flank, you shift your gaze to spot a red light focused in on his forehead – between his eyes.

“¿Quien esta ahi?” An unfamiliar, accented voice calls out from behind the beam. You could slap yourself for being so careless, in not realising that someone else was in here before Ghost had saved your arses. 

“Rodolfo!” Soap calls out, relief flooding his tone as he rights his position, shoulders back.

A man peeks out from behind the wood, eyes wide and slightly panicked, before they soften at the sight of the two men behind you. “Soap! Ghost! You’re alive!”

Stepping out from around the beam, he reaches for Ghost’s dagger, pulling it away from where it had dug into the oak with undeniable ease. His appearance is striking, with a set jaw and gentle features – he’s quite pretty, but not at all in a way that you find yourself attracted to the man.

“Affirmative,” Ghost responds, accepting the knife back when the man – Rodolfo – hands it to him hilt-first.

“Good to see you, amigos,” Rodolfo smiles, before his appraisal sets on you, confusion sparking in his deep brown eyes. He looks to the two men at your side for an explanation, hesitant in the way he does so.

“This is…” Soap trails off, before coming to a realisation. “Feckin’ hell. I never even asked for yer name, Sweetheart.”

Rodolfo blinks. Once, twice, before his eyebrows furrow and his mouth settles into an uncomfortable grimace.

You shoot a glare Soap’s way, before gifting Rodolfo a polite, yet stilted, smile. Extending your hand, you give him your name, and then your official title.

“Colonel? Graves’ colonel?” Rodolfo repeats back, utterly taken aback by such an introduction. He doesn’t seem to know what to do, quickly hissing to Soap in unamused Spanish, “¿Has perdido la cabeza?”

“I saved his life,” you interrupt, before any verbal sparring begins. “And I’m on your team. I don’t agree with what Graves is doing – and I’m sorry for what he’s already done. But I want to help you. I swear.”

Rodolfo regards you for a moment, his internal walls still heavily locked in place. But he seems… softer, now, in a way. More understanding, maybe, less hesitant as he slowly appraises you, inspecting you under his critical analysis.

The silence stretches, before the soldier raises his hands placatingly, the left side of his mouth twitching into a smooth smirk. “No accusations from me, Corazón,” he reassures, the pet name sliding from his full lips like butter over warm toast.

“Aye, none of tha’,” Soap warns, and Rodolfo’s amusement deepens. Whatever the Scot is about to say next is abruptly stopped by Ghost’s booming demand from behind you both.

“Anyone outside of these walls is now considered a hostile – we’re a team now. This happened under my watch, and I’d bloody well do good to fix it.” His posture is stiff, hand unconsciously flexing around the blade strapped to his belt as he delivers the order. It’s the most you’ve ever heard him speak in one shot.

You figure he’s stopped speaking, when suddenly his heavy gaze is on you, any ounce of solidarity snuffed out like a match’s flame. “You fuck up once, Sweetheart, and I won’t hesitate when I shoot ya dead.”

It’s as good of a compromise as you’re going to get from the hulking Lieutenant, but you weren’t made Colonel for your talents in stepping down.

“You forget that I outrank you,” you challenge, chin raised and eyes flinty. “And that I saved your mutt.”

“We don’t have a feckin’ dog,” Soap starts, but when he sees the way Ghost side eyes him, and how you give him an unimpressed look, his jaw drops. “Ye bastard! Shoulda killed ya –”

Rodolfo’s hand wraps around Soap’s forearm, the grumbling man twisting in his hold, but not putting up anything close to a fight. “She’s just stirring you up, hermano,” Rodolfo placates, his large eyes meeting yours with a hint of respect in them. It has you straightening your spine, and your resolve.

“We sort this out as equals,” you state, folding your arms over your chest and bucking your hip. Ghost doesn’t, for a single second, shift your mutual eye contact. “And you will all tell me what the fuck’s going on – and what we’re doing.”

“Alejandro,” Ghost quips, sharp and to the point. Finally, you think, his near-black eyes drift to Rodolfo. “We need him back.”

“He’s the only other lad we can trust out there,” Soap adds, his pout easing slightly. Rodolfo finally drops his hand, clapping it hard against the petulant man’s shoulder with a firm nod.

“Already got a head start, hermanos,” he gestures for the three of you to follow him further into the room, before his calculating eyes glance back at you, “y hermana.”

It’s an unknown, entirely different feeling that erupts inside of your chest at the inclusion. Rodolfo was clearly the most soft spoken man of the three, but he had an intelligence to him that you couldn’t wait to unpack. And he trusted you. Or so you had gathered, anyway.

However.

First things first.

“...Where’s Alejandro? I thought he was Mexican Special Forces?” It was, admittedly, a unique kind of embarrassing – how out of the loop you felt, considering you were a colonel under Graves’ command. You’d heard the man’s name before, but it was usually just paired with barracks gossip and warnings to steer clear. Some joke about how the only one who could kill Alejandro, was the soldier himself.

Moving along with Rodolfo, you’re surprised when it’s Soap who supplies you the answer.

“Your fuckwit of a Commander’s got ‘im,” he curses, the words grating and harsh. Deserved, of course it was deserved, yet it was still odd hearing such disrespect for the man of whom you’d idolised for so long.

Of whom you’d given everything.

Switching a light on, Rodolfo stops in front of a large table, a map laid out across the top of it. Your eyes go wide at the intricacies – focusing as the man leans over and presses a finger towards a highlighted spot, watching the three of you where you stand on the other side. Dust floats near the source of the lamp, and the scent of grime hits you a moment later, a familiar thing.

“Graves is holding him here,” Rodolfo explains, his previously mischievous expression settling into a firm, military-grade frown.

“His own personal black site prison,” Soap scoffs, subconsciously flexing his fingers around the straps of his vest. His focus is utterly devoted to the map in front of him, but his anxiety shows itself through the tiniest of movements.

Rubbing his spare hand down his face, Rodolfo lets out a long, strewn-out sigh. “My men are locked in there, too.”

“Then let’s get them back,” you supply with a small shrug when all eyes shoot your direction.

“That’s obvious, lass,” Soap says, lacking any hint of his previous vitriol when he looks around the room. “How we get ‘em back is the question.”

“By breaking in,” Ghost answers, the retort as simple as breathing.

If you weren’t so receptive to body movements, to the smallest of expressions, you’d’ve missed it. Even then, you doubted that anyone could miss how Soap’s eyes soften when he looks to his Lieutenant, how his breath softly hitches in his throat.

You want to claw out your eyes with a rusty spoon.

By the look on Rodolfo’s face, he feels much the same – until he catches you staring, and then his face twists into something much more cryptic. Like a man trying to solve a puzzle without all of the pieces, being forced to jam spares into spots that just won’t fit.

“We need weapons,” you startle out, the words surprising even yourself. You don’t go back on them, don’t even think to. “If we want to stand a fighting chance – we need firepower.”

“Who said you’re with us?” Ghost questions snarkily, but when you go to reply, you find that Rodolfo’s moved to the corner of the room, switching on even more lights, displaying a wrought iron door.

Sliding it open, you feel like a kid on Christmas morning as you take note of the supplies within.

Rodolfo shrugs, but the small, smug grin on his face doesn’t dispel. “It’s well-stocked. This is Ale we’re talking about.”

The affectionate nickname is something you store away for later. ‘Well-stocked’ is certainly an understatement – guns of all types line the walls within the room, all types of bombs and grenades along with it.

“Alright,” Ghost huffs out, the closest to appreciative that a man like him can get.

Soap is much more upfront about his joy. “My man!” He laughs, his dimples etched into his features like the light spattering of freckles over his upper cheeks and nose bridge. “We’re gonna need new wheels. Preferably up-armoured.”

Digging into his pocket, Rodolfo pulls out a set of keys, tossing them over to Ghost with relaxed shoulders. Turning, shock must be evident on all of you, because Rodolfo lets out a low chuckle. “Your wish is my command, hermanos y hermana.”

To the far end of the room, within the adjoined stables, is a fully-armoured forward drive of some sort – sleek and black and fucking perfect.

“Alejandro thought of everything,” Ghost admires, and when you look to him, you swear that you can see a hint of hope shining in his darkened eyes. Your heart skips a beat on its own accord, and you’re absorbed by the all-consuming want to pull it out of your chest with your bare hands, just so it never does such a thing again.

“Yeah, he did,” Soap whistles, before turning back around to face your small band of misfits. With a determined grin, he says as if it’s an afterthought, “Let’s go get ‘im.”

With a stern resolve and an even sterner disposition, you walk alongside your newfound teammates, and get ready for the most difficult mission of your military career.

*

When you’d, stupidly, recklessly, decided to play good guy and helps out the 141 and Los Vaqueros, you hadn’t taken into account how you’d be at the bottom of the totem pole.

While the three men you were working alongside were all considerably close, you were an outsider. At that, an outsider who had, only a few hours ago, decided to swap sides from enemy to ally.

Being paired with Ghost is, arguably, the most gut-wrenching job in your life. By the time that Rodolfo finds Alejandro through the CCTV system, you’re nearly entirely covered in dried blood, and your head thumps with a headache.

Not a headache from war – a headache from the fucking twat with a shitty DIY job for a military get-up.

“You’re seriously the worst,” you grit out, wiping off a bit of Shadow blood that’s been sprayed on your cheek. “I seriously can’t fucking believe that any one of your mates can tolerate you.”

“Who needs ‘mates’ when I have my boys?” Ghost quips back, wiping off his bloody dagger onto his vest, before slotting it back into its rightful position on his belt. His ability to blend into the night, even with the prison lights on, is uncanny – the only tell the white of his stitched-in skull.

You mock a disgusted sound, sticking out your tongue. “You sound like a fuckboy.”

“A what?” And, although it sounds nothing like a choke, you’re sure that it’s an instinctual question.

The sound of a helicopter up ahead has the two of you pausing in your tracks, feud coming to a quick halt. Looking up, you struggle to see the vehicle in the black of night, but you manage to spot the slowly circling heli above the prison.

“Ghost, Sweetheart, what’s yer status?” Soap’s voice trickles in through your comms. Ghost glances at you, before he answers on your behalf, ever the control-freak.

“Comin’ your way.”

Falling into step side-by-side, you focus on the wet gravel underneath your feet, avoiding making any communication with the man to your right.

“Copy. We’re on the move,” Soap replies, before Rodolfo cuts in.

“Heads up on the helo,” he warns. You find that you much prefer him over the other two – in fact, under any other circumstance, you could see the two of you becoming good friends. Maybe, if everything goes well, that could be a possibility – a positive in your world of negatives.

“Don’t think we’re in his line of sight,” you respond, double-checking your route and the helicopter's position in the sky. Rodolfo had warned you all, debriefing in the drive here, that helicopters would likely show up at some point.

Minutes pass, with small comms between the lot of you, when you finally spot the familiar figures belonging to the other half of your precarious team. 

Soap and Rodolfo stand at the entrance, before the two turn at the sound of your and Ghost’s footsteps. They both seem to visibly loosen their stiff shoulders, seeing you both uninjured – and if you do the same, you pray that no one notices.

“The door’s locked,” Soap informs you all, gesturing to the steel entrance5.

With a small hum, Rodolfo reaches for the pack on his vest. “We’ll need to breach it,” he explains, but before he can grab a charger, Ghost raises a hand to stop him.

“No, Rudy –” And that is a nickname that you’ll be using later, “Knock.”

Rodolfo seems apprehensive, but he agrees anyway, giving all three of you separate glances. “On me…”

All of you getting into readying positions, Rodolfo knocks on the door, the sound echoing loud enough to have your blood pounding in your ears.

A moment later, a Shadow – one you don’t recall having met – pushes open the door and moves to step outside. However, Rodolfo and Ghost are quick to neutralise him, softly dropping his body to the floor.

Pushing through the entrance, everyone except for you shoot a Shadow dead – clearing the room in less than twenty seconds. It’s impressive, how smoothly run the operation is, considering the lack of proper authority or guidance.

You’re the first to spot some more Shadows moving your way, down the stairs – calling it out. “More Shadows from the second floor – watch out!”

This time, you find yourself the cause of two men falling to the ground, blood pooling underneath their lifeless bodies. Your team doesn't give you time to second guess, to mourn, before they’re encouraging you to follow them up the stairs.

“Ale’s up here, let’s go!” Rodolfo urges, his voice bordering on a kind of desperation reminiscent of a boy enlisting for the first time.

Like expected, Alejandro’s cell is down the hall, sat to the far right. Two Shadows guard the steel door, but Soap and Rodolfo are quick to light them up, successfully clearing the entire two floors. You’re ashamed of how relieved you feel, being gifted the small mercies of not having to kill your previous subordinates, unless necessary.

You feel, more than see, Ghost’s heavy gaze on you. When you look back up from the gun in your hands, however, he’s turned completely away – and if you were a less accurate person, you’d have thought you were imagining things.

“There’s Alejandro’s cell.” Stopping at the steel door, Rodolfo adjusts his grip on the gun, before giving you an encouraging jerk of his head. “Open it up, me and Soap will cover you.”

Another small mercy, you think, as Ghost reaches into his backpack and pulls out a set of bolt cutters, regarding you stiffly. “When I pop this lock, you push in,” he directs you curtly, and you bite back a retort. You knew the process like the back of your hand – you had no need for an explanation.

The ‘especially from him’ goes unsaid.

With precise, practised movements, Ghost positions the bolt cutters, and pushes open the door.

As soon as you take one step into the cell, a large hand wraps around the back of your neck, slamming your face into the concrete wall, a blinding pain shooting through your retinas. Letting out a small yelp, your chest rattles as your hands wildly raise in an imitation of surrender.

“Alejandro! Let go of ‘er! It’s us!” Soap calls out, and you swallow unhealthy amounts of air. That hit had taken more out of you than you’d expected – and your harsh breaths were making that incredibly apparent.

The grip on the scruff of your neck slackens when Rodolfo shoots off in quickfire Spanish, “Coronel, relájate, cabron, somos nosotros.”

Your cheek aches and your head pounds as the hand removes itself entirely, allowing for you to take in lungfuls of oxygen.

“Soap, Ghost!” Alejandro bursts out, and as you rise to your feet unsteadily, you watch as he thumps both of them on the back of their shoulders, before turning to Rodolfo with an expression that could only be described as longing. “...Rudy.”

“Didn’t think we’d leave ya, did ye?” Soap chuckles, oblivious to the thread of tension between the two men. 

Whatever silent conversation had occured between the two enforcers is quickly cut as Alejandro accepts the shake of Soap’s hand, a feral grin wide on his features. “What took you so long, pendejos?”

“A traitor with an attitude is what,” Ghost inputs, and really, how much self control can a Lieutenant lack? Wiping at your cheek, you let your hand fall once more to your side as you meet Alejandro’s inquisitive gaze head-on.

“I’m Graves’ previous colonel,” you extend your hand, “And I’m your best bet at getting your base back.”

You expect suspicion, uproar, maybe – or at least questioning, similar to that of Rodolfo’s.

Instead, all you’re met with is Alejandro’s manic smile sharpening, and a slap on the back of your own. Ruffling your hair, he uses his free hand to accept the gun Rodolfo’s extending towards him, shooting you a knowing glance.

“Sounds good, hermana. Welcome to how real men fight.”

taglist. @lilpothoscuttings @jng-yuan @iruzias @insatiablekittie @1wh4re1nova @kaoyamamegami @supernaturalstilinski @inthemiddle0feverywhere @msecho19 @nogood-boyo @alfa-jor @lalashhyl @letmeapologise @honeybeeznutz @1mawh0re

[anna-hawk]

Hidden

Frank Castle x F!Reader

Summary: Frank is attending a party he was invited to by Karen and comes across you in a secluded room where the both of you retreated into to get away from the crowd. He's met you before, since you're Karen's friend, but you've barely spoken to each other. The only things he knows about you is that you used to work with Karen, and that you also seem to be attracted to him. A third person coming into the dark room you're hiding inside shows Frank just how much his presence affects you.

Rating: Explicit 🔞 // WC: 3,7k Tags and Warnings: PWP, dom/sub undertones, slightly mean Frank but Reader is down for it, fingerfucking, oral (m!receiving) A/N: I started writing this a few months ago but fell out of the mind space and picked it up the other day again. Maybe Frank reads a little OOC, but I felt like writing him with a slightly mean dom vibe.

Read it on AO3

Moving into a corner as light and loud music suddenly pooled in through the opening door, Frank's eyes lifted to check on who'd come into the dark room he had retreated into earlier tonight. Hidden in the shadows that the thick curtains of the balcony doors were casting, Frank was able to make out your silhouette without you noticing him in return. He watched as you peeked inside the room before you looked back into the corridor to finally enter the room and close the door behind you with an audible sigh of relief. Now, it was only the full moon and the dim light of the outside lamps shining through the balcony doors that illuminated you enough for him to see you move farther inside and take a seat on the large couch. He quietly observed you as you took a deep breath and leaned your head back. Frank didn't know a lot about you besides that Karen used to work with you at the Bulletin. You and Frank had met on a few occasions, mostly during evenings like tonight, when Karen would invite Frank to a party the press was invited to as well, suspecting that he could garner information on some people. You'd also run into each other at Karen's place a couple of times whenever Frank randomly showed up while she had friends over. He never stayed long on those evenings, no matter how often Karen encouraged him to, feeling too awkward to be around that many people he didn’t know. The few instances he'd stayed longer had been when Murdock had been there as well, and he and Frank had started arguing after a short while under your bemused and Nelson's exasperated expressions. 

You hadn't talked to each other a lot except for a greeting and a few short words, but then you seemed to be a relatively quiet person. Which surprised Frank, since it contrasted starkly with your job's description as a reporter. Not that Frank minded that. Whenever his gaze would fall on you, at Karen's or during parties like tonight, Frank noticed that your eyes were never still, always taking everything in. He guessed that this was your work method; less talk, more observation. He definitely liked that. 

“It becomes a lot after a while, huh?” Frank said, after a long minute of watching you slowly relax. Because he knew with certainty that you'd escaped the crowd for the same reason he had. You might be a reporter, but you didn't seem to enjoy too big of a crowd.

You gasped in surprise and sprang to your feet at the sound of his voice, your face moving towards the direction he was standing in. Frank walked into the light and felt glad to see you take a breath of relief after recognizing him. Frank knew that you were fully aware of who he was and what he did, but you never showed any fear or nervousness in his presence. A slight shyness and awkwardness, sure, but Frank had suspected for a while that you might be attracted to him and that this might be the reason behind your behavior around him.

“I'll leave,” Frank suggested with a faint smile. “You can stay and-” he continued, but you took a step forward, a hand outstretched toward him in a stopping motion. 

“No! No, it's fine — I — please stay.” You joined him at the balcony doors and looked at the New Yorker skyline. You sighed after a few seconds. “Yeah, it does become a lot,” you added, answering his earlier question.

Frank only nodded and watched you out of the corner of his eyes. The dress you were wearing tonight really looked good on you. 

“What kind of money do you gotta have to have two big living rooms?” you mumbled into the silence, which seemed to make you uncomfortable, as Frank noticed you playing with the hem of your dress. Frank tilted his head at your question and shrugged before replying. 

“Too much.”

The surprised laugh his answer got out of you had Frank’s lips pulling up to one side. 

“I guess you’re right,” you conceded with a chuckle this time. 

The silence stretched on for a while longer this time, but you seemed more comfortable now. Frank’s eyes, meanwhile, couldn’t stop straying to your face and body. While he’d considered you to be an attractive woman from the start, he’d never had the opportunity to really watch you from that close up. He quickly realized that he’d been missing out. 

“What?” you suddenly whispered, ducking your head before glancing at Frank furtively. 

There was enough light coming through the window for Frank to make out your flustered expression. It seemed like Frank hadn’t been as discreet as he’d thought while watching you. Or, your senses were keen enough to pick up on small details. Frank laughed through his nose and tilted his head towards you as he put his hands into the pockets of his pants. 

“You look real pretty tonight.” He shrugged, and felt something tug at his gut at the way your eyes widened briefly in surprise before you looked forward again. 

“Thank you,” you mumbled softly, as your fingers fidgeted where you were holding them clasped together in front of you. 

Frank’s eyes zeroed in on your mouth as you lightly bit over your bottom lip, only to look away from you forcefully as he felt something stir in his groin. You were so incredibly bashful about the compliment that Frank felt the urge to say something more to see how you’d react this time. Especially since you clearly were attracted to him, as he’d suspected. How would you react if he were to come closer? Speak right into your ear. 

He didn’t move or say anything, however, since he didn't want to make you feel uncomfortable by doing or saying too much at once, no matter if the attraction was mutual. 

However, that idea flew out the proverbial window as the door to the room opened again, and someone stumbled inside. You turned in the person’s direction, only to take a few steps back, as if unwilling to be found, until you collided with Frank’s chest. 

“Shh,” Frank softly hissed into your ear, as he pulled you back from the window and into a short and narrow passage leading to a small bathroom. 

Frank pushed you against the wall and stepped in front of you as he leaned towards the edge of the wall to watch what the person was doing. From the sounds of it, the man, Frank realized, was pretty drunk and looking for something as he mumbled about the lack of light. A second later, the whole room was bathed in bright light as the man hit the light switch. It was only your secluded spot that kept you hidden from the man’s view. As Frank moved back to face you, the words he’d been about to say died on his tongue as he caught sight of you. He could see you fully now, despite the shadows the small passage was casting over the two of you, and your expression took Frank’s will to not make a move on you away entirely. Your eyes, stuck on Frank’s face, were blown dark, while your parted lips were shiny and a deeper color from normal thanks to your repeated abuse on them. Your chest was rapidly moving up and down with your heavy breaths, and the sight of your hard nipples hidden underneath the light fabric of your dress had Frank’s dick coming to life. 

“You make it really hard for me not to touch you, you know,” Frank muttered darkly, his fingers twitching in the pockets of his pants. 

Your eyes widened, and your mouth opened further on a little gasp of surprise, which Frank was only able to hear over the music coming through the open door because he was standing so close to you. Frank slowly let his eyes trail over you, noticing the full-body shiver running through you at his perusal. He hadn’t even touched you yet, and you were already responding to him as if he had. Heat coursed down his spine at your reaction. It had been a long time since he’d found someone who so unmistakably wanted him. He took a steadying breath. He wanted to see how else he could make you react. 

“What’s turnin’ you on like that, huh?” He started conversationally, taking one of his hands from a pocket to trail a finger along the column of your throat, which had your head tilting to the side as your eyes blinked repeatedly. “The hidden spot?” He continued, drawing the finger over the swell of your breasts peaking out of the dress, making him feel the quick rise and fall of your chest. His nostrils flared as your chest instinctively moved forward into his touch. “Or do you like the idea of gettin’ caught?” He met your gaze as he spoke the words and simultaneously stroked a thumb over one of your nipples. 

Your eyes widened again, and you shook your head vehemently, while also moaning softly at his caress. This time, Frank lightly pinched your nipple and smirked as you gasped, but never pulled away from his touch. Using both hands now, Frank tugged at the soft material over your chest and pulled it down, revealing your breasts to him, your nipples hard and skin pebbled in goose flesh. He hummed contentedly and glanced back at you.

“You sure?” he teased, running his thumbnails around both your nipples before pinching and tugging at them. 

One of your hands flew to your mouth to stop the long moan of pleasure from becoming too loud. Frank chuckled lightly and drew your hand away from your face and placed it back against the wall at your side, where you’d kept both hands until now. 

“Frank,” you whispered in a tone that hinted at need and panic all at once, as he started a slow process of torturing your nipples again.

All the while, the drunk man kept looking around for something, the music too loud to tell what it was. It didn’t matter since he stayed at the other end of the room and Frank was too focused on you anyway. You kept biting at your lips as Frank worked his fingers over your breasts, fighting to stay as quiet as possible while breathing Frank’s name here and there. 

“You have no idea how fuckin’ pretty you look like this,” Frank stated in a gravely but steady voice, flicking at a nipple and enjoying the sound of your cut-off cry. 

He huffed out a fond laugh as you looked away at the praise but saw you squirming and pressing your legs together. Without another word, Frank leaned down to take one of your puffy nipples into his mouth and sucked on it with relish. 

“Frank,” you keened in a soft but still high-pitched voice, your head hitting the wall as you threw it back while thrusting your chest into his face. 

Frank groaned into your skin, biting and sucking alternatively at your flesh and feeling your legs tremble. In his stooped position, he reached the hem of your dress and slid a hand along the edge of your inner thighs. You moaned over him, and your legs immediately parted for his searching hand. His length pulsed in his pants as he reached your panties, finding them warm and soaked through with your juices. Pulling away from your chest, Frank stared at your face again, needing to see your expression as he slid his hand inside your panties from the top and stroked two fingers through your wet folds. You looked back at him with wild eyes, your lips parting as you moaned softly. Between your breasts being on full display, swollen and mouthwatering from his touch, and your shiny and bitten lips emitting panting breaths, it was ultimately the pleading in your eyes, the raw need in them that had him moving. He pressed his other hand against the wall beside your head as he slid two fingers inside you, only stopping when he couldn’t go any further. This time, both of your hands came up to muffle your scream of pleasure. He didn’t stop you, though, knowing that it would be impossible to stop your cries of ecstasy from reaching the drunk man’s ears without your hands. Frank felt a shot of smugness at that knowledge, his own arousal only getting stronger from watching you struggle to keep quiet while your burning eyes never looked away from his as Frank fucked you relentlessly. 

“Look at you, takin’ my fingers so well,” Frank rumbled in the short space between you, wanting to see your reaction to more praise. “Suckin’ them in and squeezin’ ‘round them. Bein’ so good for me.”

Sure enough, your lids quivered, and you broke eye contact while also tightening your walls even more around Frank’s fingers. 

“Shit, yeah, jus’ like that. Bet you’d feel so fuckin’ good ‘round my dick.” 

Frank smirked at your keen of pleasure and picked up the speed of his hand. One of your hands shot out to grab at his shirt, your fingers tightening and twisting in the fabric as you fought to keep your moans from spilling over your other hand. It was the first time you’d touched him, and the fact that you needed to anchor yourself to him to not lose it completely had Frank growling in satisfaction. He grinned wickedly as your eyes almost rolled back into your head as he crooked his fingers to apply more pressure right where you needed it. 

“Gettin’ close, hm?” he rumbled against your ear, drinking in your little sounds of desperation. “Wanna hear it, Sweetheart. Lemme hear how you come on my fingers.” 

Your eyes grew wide and panicked at his command, but your hand still fell to the side. Your eyes met Frank’s as you began to tremble, your channel spasming around his fingers as you started to come undone in front of him. Thankfully for you, a loud bout of clapping and celebratory shouts sounded through the whole loft as you cried out your pleasure, making it only audible for Frank, which he was more than happy with. 

Your eyes drooped, and your hand lost its grip on Frank’s shirt as you sagged against the wall with labored breaths. Slowly, Frank removed his hand from your panties and brought it to his face. His fingers and most of his hand were glistening with your essence. He groaned in delight at the first swipe of his tongue over his middle finger, which had your eyes snapping open. Disbelief and arousal shone in your eyes as you watched, mesmerized, how Frank sucked his fingers clean. 

“Good girl,” he praised with a satisfied hum once he was done with licking all traces of you off his fingers. And like before, while you’d just watched him licking up your juices without looking away once, it was the praise that had your eyes closing briefly and your expression turning shy again. 

Frank took a step away from you, giving him a complete view of your bare chest and rumpled dress. What a beautiful mess. His head tilted to the side with a curious smirk as your eyes dropped to his crotch, where the hard outline of his dick was prominent. At his low chuckle, your eyes shot to his again, before you looked away, embarrassed at being caught staring. 

“Somethin’ on your mind, Sweetheart?” He rasped, as he came closer again at the sight of you biting your bottom lip. 

Wide eyes stared back at him, and your tongue licked over your lower lip in a clearly unconscious movement. Just that sight had Frank's cock jerking behind the confines of his boxers and pants, knowing that you couldn't hide what you really wanted. He’d planned to stop there and send you on your way, but the way you kept responding to him, leaning toward him without noticing that you were doing it, had Frank changing his mind once again tonight. 

“Yeah?” He whispered roughly, tugging your lip down and sliding his thumb over the soft and wet skin. “Want me to fuck that pretty mouth?” 

Your sharp intake of breath as his words hit its mark had Frank almost reaching for his fly right then, but he took in a deep breath and leaned in to speak into your ear. 

“Then be a good girl and ask for it.” 

And fuck, that soft, pleading whine you uttered. The way you reacted to Frank was just… Hearing you beg for what you wanted while looking so damn shy was driving Frank wild with lust.

“P — please,” you got out through your labored breathing. 

Frank licked his lips and grinned, wanting to push you just that little further.

“Please what?”

You turned your head away from him and panted, expression torn between arousal and embarrassment. 

“Frank, please.”

“Hm?” Frank nosed along your neck, which had you gasping again. 

“Please … fuck my mouth,” you whispered, the words almost inaudible over the noise. 

That wouldn’t do. 

“Louder,” Frank said, his voice, which had remained mostly teasing, taking on a tone that brooked no argument. 

Frank felt you tremble against him, but he knew that it wasn’t from fear. Far from it. Leaning back just enough to be able to lock eyes with you, Frank saw your lips move quietly for a moment before you spoke again. 

“Please fuck my mouth, Frank,” you repeated, the words louder, although they remained low. You weren’t done, though. “I need it.” 

Frank grinned at your words, while his dick almost hurt with the need to be let out of its confines. “Attagirl,” he rumbled, stroking a thumb over your bottom lip before he took a small step back. 

Without further prompting, you fell to your knees and eagerly reached for his fly. Frank watched you opening his pants and lowering his boxers to let his erection spring free. You were both momentarily distracted as the drunk man finally found what he’d been looking for with a shout of satisfaction and exited the room before slamming the door. To Frank's delight, the man forgot to turn off the light, leaving Frank able to keep watching you in your half naked state. He saw your whole body relax at the knowledge that you were finally alone. A second later, you wrapped your fingers around his length and took him into your mouth without hesitation. Frank hissed as you didn’t waist any time with quick licks and small movements to find out what Frank liked. Instead, you made sure to slick the whole length with your saliva before you took him as far as you could. Frank growled at the sight of your stretched lips, trying to accommodate his size. 

“So fuckin’ eager for this,” Frank grunted in approval, but grabbed you by the back of the head and tilted it back to still your movements. 

With your eyes on his, you understood what he wanted and let your mouth fall open for Frank to push inside. Testing how far he could go, Frank pushed in to the back of your throat in a slow glide. You gagged faintly on the second pass, but you only surged forward for more. Frank cursed and snapped his hips forward, which had you moaning and him chuckling in satisfaction at your reaction. Now that it was only the two of you, you didn’t hesitate anymore, and openly moaned and keened around his cock with each of his slides in. Frank kept his hand on your head, but he wasn’t holding you in place at all. You weren’t going anywhere, more than content to pleasure him. 

“Frank?” suddenly called a voice from the corridor leading down to the room. You seemed to recognize Karen’s voice at the same time as Frank, since your eyes grew wide as Frank thrust into your mouth again. 

“We ain’t stoppin’ now,” Frank stated firmly, as his cock twitched with a fast approaching orgasm, while his hand tightened on your head. 

You moaned and choked briefly as Frank slid as far inside as you could take, your eyes conveying how turned on you were while also showing a hint of panic. Like earlier, it was the need in your eyes that pushed Frank’s buttons. He slid out of your mouth and started jerking himself off with quick strokes. 

“Fuck,” he growled as you shuffled closer again to press your tongue against the underside of his cock, telling him exactly was you wanted. 

He came with a tight groan as he shot all over your tongue, coating it with his thick and warm fluid. You closed your eyes as you moaned at the taste, letting Frank slide back between your lips for a lazy thrust. 

“Frank?” Karen called out again, her voice coming through the opening door just as you were swallowing Frank’s come. 

You stood instantly, tugging your dress back up with a frantic look on your face. Frank pressed you against the wall while he slotted a palm over your mouth. Footsteps sounded from the door and Frank felt more than heard your gasp. 

“Right here, Karen,” Frank replied with an easy tone that belied just how hard he’d just come. “Be out in a sec.” 

“Oh, sure.” The footsteps stopped before they retreated a few paces. 

Letting go of you, Frank quietly opened the door to the bathroom and reached for the faucet to open it, giving the illusion that he was just coming out of the room. 

“Oh, by the way, you haven’t seen my friend from the Bulletin?”

Glancing back at your surprised expression as you were fixing your appearance, Frank made a thoughtful sound before he answered. 

“The pretty one?” Frank wondered with a grin as your eyes widened before you looked away, shyness returning, much to Frank's enjoyment.

Karen snorted at that. “Yup, the one you keep watching from afar.” 

Your eyes snapped back to meet Frank’s equally surprised gaze. Karen really did see everything. Chuckling lightly, Frank leaned in to graze his lips over yours in a brief caress before he stepped around the wall and towards Karen, who was waiting at the door. 

“Nope, haven’t seen her.”

[avonne-writes]

Hello! For the Situations ask game, could I request 59 - forced to lie about something for Buck and Bucky please?

I would prefer it to be gen but if you don't fancy that then don't worry :)

Thank you for the prompt! 💖 I kept it gen. 😊 It might not be what you expected, but I hope you still like it!

Edit: uploaded to AO3 too

59. Lying curse/forced to lie about something

Gale pads across the space between two barracks on light, quick feet. He's on the prowl, his senses alert and mind happy and clear. Sweet summer smells tickle his nose and make his lips twitch. The waning moon shines bright tonight, casting long shadows over the grass that brushes his slender legs in the most pleasing way. He marvels at his own dark silhouette, stopping to admire it fully.

That's his mistake. He rarely allows himself a moment of vanity, but, apparently, one moment is enough to earn its due punishment - he’s noticed.

"Hey." The slightly slurred, cajoling voice sounds familiar. The hair stands up on the back of Gale's neck at the prospect of being caught in the state he's in by none other than his best friend. He’s frozen in place, staring with wide blue eyes as Bucky walks closer with slow steps, his arms outstretched in a way that's supposed to look welcoming.

"Hi there, beautiful." Bucky coos. "Where did you come from, huh?"

"From the pub, where you left me." Gale hisses, because he’s still a little pissed about that. He isn’t too fond of wrangling drunk, rowdy soldiers while Bucky is outside, chasing skirt in an alleyway. So, Gale came back to base, then snuck out to do some chasing of his own.

Bucky, of course, doesn’t understand.

"It’s okay. Don’t be scared." A few feet away from Gale, he crouches, almost falling over in his drunken state. With his sharp sight, Gale can see the cheerful twinkle in his eyes. "Come here. Kitty, kitty, kitty."

"I ought'a scratch you." Gale growls, irritated that his midnight fun has been interrupted. He can hear all the fucking whiny mice scurrying around the base. He could have had a veritable feast!

"I know, I know." Bucky soothes him quietly, inching closer. "I promise I'm very respectful. No tail pulling, no tummy touching. Just wanna pet you, princess."

"Jesus, John." Gale drawls. He could bolt, make a run for it. Wouldn’t be much of an effort, but then, he’d leave Bucky dejected. He doesn’t have the heart to do it, not after the last missions they had. So many lives lost, so little comfort to be had. He, too, only has the cradle of the moonlight and his best friend.

The friend whose face splits into his disarming, squinty-eyed smile as his palm comes into contact with Gale's back. "Good girl."

"I'm not a goddamn girl." Gale protests in a long meow as he’s picked up, his fluffy tail lashing back and forth. Nevertheless, Bucky's hold feels comfortable, clearly familiar with the feline form as he tucks Gale to his chest. The solid warmth of his body feels like a balm to a wound on Gale’s soul that he didn’t even realize he had. Oh, how he missed to be cared for.

"There." Bucky murmurs, holding him with one arm and using his other hand to stroke Gale's cream-coloured fur gently. Over his head, down his back and side, then scratching gently behind his ear. "What a pretty kitty."

Gale can’t help it, he closes his eyes and leans into the touch. It has been so long since he felt physical affection beyond a pat on the back or a careless arm around his shoulders, and even longer since anyone touched him in this form. He missed it, he realizes. Feeling warm and safe like this again might be even better than catching annoying pests. Within two seconds, he’s purring with the joy of it, boneless in Bucky's hold. His legs dangle over Bucky's arm. He thinks about kneading him, either to satisfy his instinct to reciprocate or to sink his claws into his skin in retaliation for being left in the pub, but it's too much effort.

"Aren't you sweet?" Bucky chuckles and sways in place as if Gale was a baby. Or, perhaps he’s just too drunk to stand upright for more than a minute. He’s silent for a long moment, just thumbing at Gale’s silky shoulder, then opens his mouth again. "Oh, Curt would've loved you."

Gale stops purring and looks up at him. Tears glisten in Bucky's dark eyes. Bucky sniffs, then chuckles wetly and goes back to massaging Gale's ear, to get him to purr again, Gale assumes. Overcome with sadness and sympathy, he obliges. Lets the rhythmic rumbling in his chest comfort them both as they grieve together in silence. In and out goes the air in his lungs in soft purrs. Back and forth swipes Bucky's gentle thumb. All around them, the night is quiet and still warm with summer, but a cold breeze sweeps over the airfield.

"Will you bring me good luck, girl?" Bucky talks to him in drunken whispers. "Gotta go back up there soon. Watch my friends get blown up." He sighs, long and hard. "'m glad I caught you. Miserable fucking night and all."

He sighs and pulls Gale higher to press his face to Gale's fur. "Had to leave the pub to clear my head. Felt fucking awful so I went back for another shot." He exhales in a long blow. "Where the hell did he go?"

Gale's heart clenches, but he refuses to acknowledge it as guilt. How could he have known it wasn’t some pretty girl John went after? John never said a word about feeling unwell.

Gale rubs his head against John's neck in apology, deciding he deserves that kneading after all, but before he could get any further than extending his claws, another man passes by and notices them both.

"Is that a cat?"

Hell no, Gale’s instincts scream, and his claws scratch at Bucky’s uniform, flailing to get away. Bucky yelps and his arms loosen enough for Gale to jump free, landing on his four feet practically running. He flees the scene without looking back, sharp ears flicked back to listen to pursuing footsteps, but all he hears is a disappointed huff.

"Great job, private, you scared her away."

Relieved, Gale runs and runs until he’s almost back where he's supposed to be, behind the Officers' Quarters. There, in the sanctuary of darkness, he concentrates and lets his limbs grow, his fur disappear, claws turn into nails, until he’s back in his human form with the clothes he transformed in when he left on his hunt. He smooths his hands over his uniform, takes a deep breath to control his rapid panting, then walks back inside.

He’s pretending to read in his bed when Bucky enters to stumble over to his own. He's uncharacteristically subdued as he makes quick work of his outer layers, and Gale doesn’t know why, but he feels he needs to snap him out of it.

"Had a good night?" He asks quietly. He hates how easy it is to sound casual and unaffected about it.

"Fantastic." Bucky says, bitter at first before he puts on a smile. "Know that redhead, down the street from the baker?" He clicks his tongue as if to say, what a fine broad. "She likes my singing."

It's a lie, Gale knows, but he can’t tell Bucky that. He can’t reveal himself, nor does he want to draw light to something Bucky wants to hide from him. "I bet."

Bucky snorts, amused. What an ironic turn of phrase. "Hey, Buck."

"Hm."

Bucky pauses, brushing a hand over his discarded uniform. When Gale squints at it, he notices the layer of white fur on it in horror. Oblivious to Gale's pounding heart, Bucky smiles. "Have you seen a white cat around? Big one, long fur."

Yeah, I've looked into a mirror, Gale thinks. He can’t say that though. No one is supposed to know. "No."

Bucky nods, running his hands over his clothes again. "I caught it, but some stupid private scared it away."

Gale swallows. "It will come back eventually."

Bucky lies down in his cot, his back to Gale. "Yeah. Maybe." For a moment, he’s silent, then he adds, "But I might not be here."

Gale has nothing to say. The night feels too fragile to hold the weight of another lie. He can’t promise something he can’t control.

"Good night, Buck." Bucky mumbles after a few minutes.

"Night, John." Gale says. His skin itches.

He wishes he could curl up and purr.

It would make the world feel like a better place.

---

[zayne-li]

Zayne: Exclusive Tutorial.

Cross posted on AO3

This is just 2k words of Zayne getting a handjob from MC. Some light dom/sub implications. Also this was written before the card actually came out. Explicit.

I start by lightly poking his face with the pool cue. His reaction is all I need to continue. 

"This is inappropriate." He says, but he's smiling, and there's a glint in his eyes. 

I smile back. "Yes... But I think you enjoy it, too." I poke his cheek again and then whack him in the chest with the cue. It's not the greatest implement, or the one I would normally use, but the way he takes in a sharp breath tells me everything I need to know: Zayne, apparently, likes being hit. I am more than willing to oblige. 

"I shouldn't have taught you so much." He says, and it makes me laugh. The double entendre is so easily there that I smack him again, this time on the other side of his chest, and he can't seem to hold back the soft grunt he makes in reaction to it. 

"What? That you like being at my mercy?" I respond, and push his chin upwards with the pool cue, forcing him to lay down further on the table. He looks down between us, and his ears are turning pink. "I already knew that."

"Are you going to let me up?" He asks, through his dilated pupils and the smug smirk on his face. 

"No. I think I've had enough lessons today."

"I knew it. You don't care at all about learning how to play the game."

"All I really care about is learning how to get you so willing like you are now. What is it? Is it me holding a stick like this?"

He smiles, and tries to shift upwards onto his elbows, but I push the cue into the underside of his chin to stop him until he gives up, remaining in his place on the pool table. His Adams apple bobs, and his eyes shift downwards, to where my hand holds the cue.

"It is, isn't it?" I say, and my smile is heard as well as seen. 

I hit him again in the chest, harder this time, just by a bit, and then hold the pool cue to his throat, threateningly. His breath catches, and his pupils go wide as he meets my eyes again.

I lean closer, and my smugness isn't hard to see. His hand comes to rest on my waist, though he doesn't even seem like he completely realizes that he's doing it. 

Zayne grabs the other end of the cue, pushing it aside as he sits up, his thighs flexing where I stand between them. There's heat in his eyes, and it's growing. "I don't believe this is the proper place for this type of lesson." He says, and his voice has grown deeper. It's my turn to blush as he holds my waist tighter, and pulls me closer to him, the heat of his body almost suffocating as our lower halves press together. His erection is clearly felt as I look down at the crotch of his pants, like he's trying to tell me without words, "See this? See what you do to me?"

When I meet his eyes again I find that it's my turn to become breathless, entranced by his beauty, by the way his lips are barely parted, by the rise and fall of his chest, grown heavier. 

"I've barely done anything to you and you're already so desperate for me, aren't you?" I murmur, the pool cue laying forgotten on the table when I reach up, placing my hands on his chest and then trailing one up to his tie, pulling it further. He follows me automatically, until our noses brush, and his eyes flutter shut, long lashes casting a shadow over his cheeks. 

"I'm always desperate for you." He rumbles, and tilts his head to kiss me, gentle at first, but when I open my mouth and nip at his bottom lip, he kisses me harder, a soft sound of pleasure trapped in his throat. I respond in kind, curling one hand around the back of his neck to keep him where he is so I can lick into his mouth. Between us, I bring the other down to the fly of his trousers, rubbing my palm across the bulge that's beginning to strain against the zipper. 

He groans into my mouth and when our feverish kiss breaks, he's dusted lightly pink, his lips wet and shining with my spit. It never ceases to amaze me how I can take apart Zayne so easily, how he melts against me. If he could, he would give me the entire world. He doesn't often say it, but the way his eyes shine when he looks at me is enough to know the depths of his devotion. Really, that's what makes my heart race more than anything, but the sight of him beneath me like this doesn't help.

I press down harder on his cock, hidden away still, and then let him go long enough to reach for his belt. Zayne makes a small sound, air whistling through his nose as he watches. "Please..." He says, and it's so soft, so full of want, that my core heats almost instantly, the force of my own sudden arousal shooting straight down my spine. 

"Please what?" I respond, tugging on the end of his leather belt, forcing his hips to follow, and he raises them slightly from where he's sitting. "You'll have to be more specific." My smile is impish, and Zayne huffs out a small chuckle, his eyes flickering up to my own for a short moment. 

"Please..." He holds my gaze, drawing me in. Like this, he's magnetic, and I don't think I'm capable of refusing him anything. "Touch me." 

I feel myself clench, pulsing around nothing, and his smug expression grows, brows quirking as he catches some shift in my face that I'm not aware of. 

Once his belt is open, I tug down his zipper, and can feel his cock jump through his black briefs, coming into contact with my knuckles. My other hand splays across his broad chest, the satin of his vest warm underneath my fingers. 

"Aren't you worried someone will walk in?" My voice is soft.

"This is a private room." He answers, and tilts his head slightly, reaching up to tuck some of my hair back, his eyes following the movement of his touch, lingering on my jaw. I'm not sure if he can feel the tremors that go through me from that alone. 

"Oh, so you planned this, then? And you said that I was acting inappropriate." I scoff, and he groans when I reach inside his underwear, running my fingers over the smooth skin just at the base of his cock. I can feel it twitch again, though I haven't properly touched it once. "You even shaved." 

I pull him out and feel his thighs tense around me again, his breath catching as I wrap my hand around him, stroking once and squeezing my fingers around his tip. 

"I didn't, hah, plan this... But I had a feeling... Mmm..." Zayne almost sags, his mouth dropping open as he looks down at himself, watching me stroke him languidly. 

"It's a good thing you did get a private room, then... You're not very quiet, you know?" I smile, and increase the pace of my hand. His face is almost as red as the blushing tip of his cock, and he shifts on the pool table, holding himself up with one arm. 

"Neither are you." He retorts, amused, and the way his head tilts back invites me to lean in and kiss his neck. His dick jumps twice when I graze my teeth along his pretty throat, threatening to bite down. "No marks, please... I have, mmm... work tomorrow."

"You always have work tomorrow." I complain, and bite softly anyway. If I wasn't this close to him, I don't think I'd have been able to hear the tiny whine that leaves him. 

"Be that--" He's cut off when my teeth turn their attention to one of his pink ears, choking, and I get my first good moan from him for my efforts. 

"Yeah, yeah, you have a reputation to uphold. I know." I finish for him and he moans again when I dig my thumb into the slit of his cock, letting go to bring it up to his mouth. Zayne's tongue darts out to lick away the precum gathered there, and I have to squeeze my legs together as I feel a sudden wetness between them, shocked at myself for how hot I find it to watch him taste himself so readily. 

"Please, I want to be inside you, I won't..." Zayne grunts as I start to stroke him again, my movements growing faster, more insistent. "I won't, hah... Last much longer if you keep doing that."

I stop only long enough to reach back into his underwear, to fondle his balls, feeling how they tighten, drawing closer to his body. He's not lying, and I consider him for a moment, then pull once more on his tie. This time he really does whine, and his gaze pleads for mercy. 

"And what if I want you to come from just my hand this time? You're really cute when you let me play with you like this."

"Fuck..." The curse is soft from his lips, and Zayne's hips shift, pushing up into my hand as I start to jerk him off again, rising to meet my downward strokes. "I'm close..." He warns, a long groan vibrating through his chest as he starts to chase his release in earnest. I lean in, and lick a long stripe up his throat. 

Zayne's breath shudders as he exhales, and his body tenses, pushing up into my hand and I feel him pulse, his cock jumping once, twice, three times, and the sound he makes goes straight between my legs, his hand tight on my waist as he comes. His orgasm is long, his spend drips all over my fingers while I work him through it, squeezing and twisting the head of his cock while his body goes tense and jerks beneath me, his legs almost wrapping around me, holding me to him. 

Zayne is not quiet, and I play with his cock until he lets out a whimper from overstimulation, grabbing my wrist to force me to stop my assault on his poor erection. His chest heaves, and he grimaces at the mess between us, his pristine silk waistcoat obviously stained by his own come, stark against the black fabric. 

There's nowhere to wipe my hand, so I bring it up to my mouth and lick away the remnants of his release. Zayne's eyes go wide, pupils blown out as he watches me, making an almost surprised little grunt. 

I grin at him and lean in for a soft kiss. "Did you know that you whimper when you come?" I ask against his lips, pulling him closer by his hips. His softening cock droops between us, and I admire for a moment the lewd image of him exposed, messy, his tie undone and his face red. 

"I do not." Zayne scoffs, and I allow him to finally stand, backing off enough to let him tuck himself into his pants, though I mourn the sight. 

"You do. You just did." I fold my arms, and he gives me a withering look. 

"Well, when you come, you sound like a dying bear. Did you know that?" Zayne retorts, and I gasp in shocked horror, shoving him in the shoulder. He doesn't look apologetic, his lips curling into a smile, and he chuckles. 

"You take that back right now!" 

"No. Now do you have any interest in learning how to play pool, or would you like me to return the favor?"

"Hmm... I think I'd rather see you on your knees for me."

"Oh, would you?" His brows quirk, and he looks me up and down like he's trying to hold himself back. "I suppose I'd be willing to indulge you. We still have a half hour left before our reservation is up."

[king-crawler]

Haunted Dreams

AKA. a very short & spooky Wreck-It Ralph oneshot i wrote in 1 day 870 words -- [Ao3 Link]

Game Central Station isn’t a scary place during the day. 

The hub is always bustling with characters, people from all sorts of games, all kinds of different eras. A place for everyone to congregate and travel. Pretty noisy too, always filled with 8-bit chatter. Can’t forget the Sonic PSA that’s on loop for hours and hours… That thing is practically ingrained into everyone’s heads by this point. But Game Central Station gets dark at night- dark… and unusually quiet. The power strip lays behind the shadows of cabinets after the sun goes down, casting it in darkness. By this time, everyone is usually settled back at their own games, at least those who decide to sleep. Not Clyde though, as ghosts don’t tend to sleep.

It was a late night at Tappers. He went less so for the drinks because of non-corporeality and such, more so for the company. He makes his way back to Pac-Man, floating past the empty outlet, which unfortunately always has to be passed by on the way back. Unlike the other terminals, this one lacks any of the usual scrolling LEDs overhead… no game. An abandoned venue… During quarter hours the empty socket is actually quite a beautiful sight, albeit bittersweet. Broad rays of sunlight would shine down through the slits- ‘God rays’ as some call them, something treated with reverence by everyone. But almost as if to balance it out, after sunset it becomes an abyss. No… It’s darker.

Not just in terms of absent lighting, but… it feels threatening somehow. Not even the ambient orange glow of Clyde’s spectral form could provide any comfort near that looming archway. Not after what had happened there… After all, it had only been a year since the incident. 

Like echoes in his mind, he remembered the vases of flowers around the entryway in memoriam as people grieved. Many people actually had a chance to talk to the racers of RoadBlasters, congratulating them, welcoming them to the arcade. It was common courtesy to do so whenever somebody new got plugged in, but this instance was only for one night. The residents of Pac-Man were especially on edge after it happened. Their game was briefly unplugged and replugged the same day so it could be moved next to Fix-it Felix Jr; to fill that new empty space. It was an extra scare for sure, thankfully nobody was inside. But now, they live their day-to-day lives knowing they share a plug with what used to be…

Clyde regretfully glanced at the skidmarks on the tiled floor. The others made a solid effort to scrub it away, but you could still make them out if you knew where to look. He didn’t like thinking about it, he frequently hovered past and shoved those thoughts to the back of his mind. But this time it felt… different. Like tonight the void was beckoning him. Suddenly, he heard… something. A sound that was strange and faint at first… the rhythm of rickety creaking and whining. Is it getting louder..? 

…

In an instant, his semiphysical form was instilled with paralyzing dread. That’s impossible. 

An unplugged outlet can’t have a train car. It’s by design, it’s supposed to travel through the cord. And yet… there it was, idly rattling down the track. Terribly rusted and scratched up, appearing to be mere moments from falling apart. And there, on the far end of the train car, was a pale figure enshrouded in darkness. It sat hunched over, its face turned away.

A chilling, staticy feeling filled the dead air between them, or maybe that was just Clyde getting lightheaded. Everything about this felt terribly wrong, like he’d seen something he wasn’t supposed to. Like if he someday remembered this, something bad would happen. As much as he wished he could, he simply couldn't pull himself to look away, or even blink- not on the offchance that whatever was inexplicably happening might cease to exist on second glance. 

The train whined as it docked at the station. After a moment of silence that felt like hours, the figure’s head began to slowly turn, its face overshadowed in pitch darkness by the rim of its helmet. That damn helmet. Even if it was only his name being circulated, nobody could forget what he looked like, even if they wanted to, thanks to the recurring nightmares. The awful, unforgettable sound of his voice being butchered and bitcrushed, cars being torn apart into an unrecognizable jumble of code and colors… They could only watch.

It was only now that Clyde realized everyone deemed Turbo to be dead for their own sakes. They couldn't bring themselves to imagine what might have happened to him otherwise. It was too much. The thought he could’ve turned into something else. 

In a daze, Clyde arrived back in the ghost pen, the other ghosts off somewhere else in the Pac-maze. Suited him- they always acted like he was the underling anyways. He took the isolation as an opportunity to do something he hadn’t done in a long time. Sleep. If he did, maybe he could convince himself that what he saw tonight was nothing but a bad dream. 

Just as everyone else had.

[leighsartworks216]

I Come With Knives Pt8

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Finished writing this at midnight. I am so sleepy, which definitely influenced this chapter. Not proofread. We love trying to develop a "slow burn" relationship as an aro ace individual ✌️

Warnings: paranoia, predator-prey/hunting mention

Word Count: 1,373

Main Masterlist

First Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist - Second Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

I Come With Knives Masterlist

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The Underdark had everybody on edge, but none so much as you and Astarion. You were restless. The darkness consumed you, pressing in on you until it devoured your thoughts, heightening your fears. Shadows out of the corners of your eyes made you jump. Your heart wouldn’t settle at all. When you’d choose to set up camp and sleep for the night (though it was impossible to know when day had actually passed), Astarion could hear your heart racing at every little thing. Even the bioluminescence of the place didn’t help; there was never enough light to feel safe.

The lack of food for Astarion down here also had not escaped your notice. While Gale could scrounge up enough food from the supplies you’d brought along, there was nary a morsel for the spawn. So, you’d very quickly come to an agreement.

You’d set up your bedroll in his tent, close to his, though with perhaps a foot between. He’d light one of the candles and you’d talk quietly within the warm glow, until he could hear your heart slow to a reasonable pace. Once the first signs of exhaustion began to creep in, you offered him your wrist. He never drank as much as the first time, and your heart didn’t leap into your throat when he’d bite down. He was almost grateful you were becoming comfortable with it; he’d hate to act as a constant reminder of your master - more than he already was. You’d fall into a somewhat restful sleep, and Astarion would take watch for half the night or read, before meditating.

It was comfortable. A system that greatly benefitted both of you. Each night you’d talk about the day’s events or about fragments of your old lives. You always tried to avoid talking of your servitude, but Astarion began opening up more about his. With each new tidbit of information, the more determined you became to kill Cazador. It was endearing. You feared your own master so much, but you swore to the ends of the earth you would bring his down, without an ounce of hesitation. He wished you’d understand he felt the same way about Kir Parthene.

Tonight, however, you couldn’t get comfortable. You felt unsafe no matter how long you stared into the flickering candlelight. Days of darkness were beginning to get to you. You imagined shapes in the shadows that disappeared when you blinked. You kept getting turned around and disoriented, retreating into your head so often you’d forget where you were entirely. It got so bad that someone else had to step up and lead the way while you walked in the middle of the group, surrounded by everyone else so you didn’t think someone would attack you from behind. Even then, you kept glancing over your shoulder.

Astarion had already eaten. Your wrist was safely bandaged, and your head lingered on the edge of hazy. You were already laying down, blankets tucked snugly around your neck, and yet all you could do was watch the wax slowly melt. Even closing your eyes scared you too much.

Astarion sighed when he looked up from his book an hour later and you still had not fallen asleep. “Darling, you’re safe here. You need to sleep.”

Your eyes dragged from the wick to his face. He could tell you were exhausted. Your body fought to give in; your eyes looked seconds away from shutting for good, but you forced them to stay open. You were actively sabotaging yourself, and you couldn’t stop it. “I can’t,” you croaked.

“What are you scared of?”

A distant look takes over, dulling the shine in your eyes. You frown at the canvas of the tent over his shoulder. “She would,” you swallowed thickly, forcing yourself to keep talking, “hunt me down, in the dark. Have the servants blow out every candle until it was pitch black. She’d tell me to run. I-I couldn’t see anything, I just had to remember where everything was. I’d run into walls and- and she’d count down and start chasing me. I couldn’t see her. All I’d hear is her footsteps, or her laugh.” You shuddered and curled further into yourself, pulling the blanket even tighter around your neck. “Being down here, all I can think of is that place. I don’t even think - I’m just following the layout of the rooms in my head. And I just think she’s there, waiting for me to be caught off guard so she can win her little game.”

He slips a scrap of silk between the pages of his book and sets it aside. “You’re safe,” he reassures you, carefully reaching out to touch your shoulder. You relax slightly at the contact. “We’ll protect you. I’ll protect you. She’ll never lay another finger on you again.”

You finally meet his eyes again. He can see the telltale sign of tears building in the corners of your eyes, but you blink them back. “Thank you,” you hoarsely whisper.

“Now sleep, love. You can’t keep stumbling around the dark in this state.”

He pulls his hand away, but your hand shoots out from your blanket to grab it. It’s not a tight hold, just enough to keep him in place, if the suddenness didn’t already keep him there. “Don’t…” You fight to find the words you want. Spots form at the edge of your vision, your mind mere moments away from collapsing under the mental stress, no longer overthinking about what lingers in the dark. “Don’t stop, please.”

He frowns, turning his hand over in your loose grip to hold your hand. “Don’t stop what?”

“Touching me.” Your eyes watch as your fingers curl loosely back around his own. All the while, your eyelids struggle to stay open. They flutter, until they finally shut.

Your fingers begin slipping through it, but he holds on a bit tighter to stop them. He’d held your hand before, when he drank too much from your wrist that your fingers became cold, even if it did nothing to warm them back up. But this felt different. Whereas before it felt like a simple courtesy, not expected but done anyway, this was a request.

He sighed softly as he studied your sleeping form. He could hear your heartbeat slow to a steady rhythm, your breaths evening out; see the way your body completely relaxed, your hold on the blanket loosening until it slid from your neck down to your shoulder.

He fought with his thoughts for a minute. It wouldn’t be too difficult to go back to reading, he’d read with one hand before. But the story no longer seemed interesting. He no longer had the desire to know what happened next. Anything else he could think of doing - embroidery, sharpening his daggers, repairing any tears in his clothes - all required two hands. A stab of emotion shot through his chest at the thought of letting go.

Another minute later, and he resigned himself to his fate. He scooted closer and lid down, until you were face to face. Slowly, as to not disturb you, he let go of your hand, gently tucking yours back under the blanket by your chest. A slight crease formed in your brow that only eased when he draped his arm over your waist. You let out a long, slow breath, leaning forward to chase after his comfort. He indulged you, pushing himself even further into your space, until your forehead rested against his shoulder.

It was awkward, of course. He had no idea what he was doing, but you seemed to enjoy it, even in your sleep. Soon enough his arm wrapped more purposefully around your waist. His other cushioned his head like a pillow. At some point in the night, you’d reached out of the safety of your blanket and grabbed onto the loose fabric of his shirt. He’d carefully tucked the blanket back around your neck, hiding the scar there. He’d lingered for a few moments, studying it with a frown, but you’d pull him out of his disdain with a quiet, tired sound, and he’d finish covering it up and hold you close again.

Very quickly, this, too, was added to your nightly routine.

---

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[thatbuddie]

If youre still taking prompts, I’d love to see your take on hot surfer/ ice cream stand worker at the beach for Buck/Eddie (and maybe with Chris too) thank you!

this was so fun to write. thanks for sending it, friend!! hope you enjoy *mwaaah*

i want your ice cream

buddie | 1k | (read on ao3.)

🍦🍦🍦

“You should ask my dad on a date.”

Eddie turns his head towards his son with his eyes wide open, “Christopher!”

Chris looks as pleased as punch when he smiles at Eddie before he begins walking towards the bench closest to them. When he’s four steps away, he turns around to say over his shoulder, “Bring me my ice cream after you say yes to Buck, Dad. And you’re welcome.”

The hot Los Angeles sun is beating down on Eddie’s shoulders and head, but he’s not naive enough to think he can pass the blush climbing up his necks, cheeks, and nose on it. 

For a second, Eddie debates just running as fast as his legs will allow him to, getting as far away as he can before he stops. But as much as Christopher is the most meddlesome kid in the history of all children, that is Eddie’s meddlesome kid, and he loves him with his whole heart, so at some point he would have to come back to pick him up again and that just seems like more trouble than it’s worth. 

Also, he has already paid for both his and Christopher’s ice creams, and he’s not big on wasting money. With a sigh, then, Eddie turns back towards the ice cream truck.

The sight of Buck holding two ice cream cones in his hands with the biggest smile Eddie has ever seen anyone wear is worth having stayed right here, right now.

“So a date, huh?” Buck asks, a blush of his own coloring his face.

He is so endearing that Eddie feels his fingers tingling with the need to tangle themselves in the mess of Buck’s curls, or bop his nose, or tug at his earlobes. He is so hot that Eddie’s mouth salivates with the desire to bite his neck, or taste his skin, or leave a mark in the place where his t-shirt tan lines are more visible on his biceps despite the fact that Eddie has never seen him wear anything but tank tops in the 3 months they have known each other. 

“I… may or may not have been complaining for weeks to Chris that with him starting school soon again this fall we wouldn’t be able to see you as often,” Eddie says, feeling daringly brave and paralyzingly terrified all at once. “He… may or may not think asking you out would ensure we can see you as often as we like even after summer is over.”

“And what do you think?” Buck looks shy as he asks the question. He’s gazing at Eddie from under his eyelashes, but Eddie can tell he’s not trying to appear flirty or seductive. A shadow of vulnerability looms behind him as he bites his bottom lip.

Eddie holds onto his bravery and pushes his fear aside. 

“I think it’s not exactly recommended by nutritionists to feed ice cream to your kid almost once a day just so you have an excuse to talk to the guy that you like,” Eddie says. “I think that you’ve become the highlight of my day since we moved to LA. I think that I want to know what you look like somewhere other than a beach. Maybe in a restaurant tomorrow night at 9pm. I think I want to know what you think.”

Buck’s smile is back to shining full force at Eddie. The shadow of his insecurities has been vanished somewhere where Eddie hopes it will die a painful death. Now, Buck just seems happy, and light. 

“I think I must have done something incredibly right in a past life to be able to bag myself the hot surfer with an adorable kid that I have been pining after for the whole summer,” Buck says with a chuckle. 

“Buck…” Eddie groans as he shakes his head. “I’m a terrible surfer.”

“Oh, I know that, Eds,” Buck says, laughing wholeheartedly this time. “That’s why I said hot surfer and not great surfer. Chris is a million times better than you.

“Well, that’s why I hired us both our own surfing instructors,” Eddie explains as he crosses his arms. “So we both could get better at our own paces.”

“Please,” Buck says with a scoff. “You did it so he wouldn’t keep showing you up like he did that first day back in May. He was a natural and you fell so many times my own body started hurting in sympathy.”

Eddie uncrosses his arms to rest them on the window opening of the ice cream truck as he tilts his head, “That was before we even came to get ice cream after our second class. You— You noticed me then?”

“It’s impossible not to notice you.” Buck shrugs, leaning forward to get closer to Eddie. “I’ve wanted to ask you out all summer long but you’re a client so…”

“Oh, I get it,” Eddie says, the corner of his mouth tilting up, his eyes focusing on Buck’s lips for a second before catching Buck’s gaze again. “You’ve been using me for my money.”

Buck exhales a chuckle through his nose, and Eddie feels the cool air of it on his face. “You’ve caught me. I can pay for our date tomorrow to make up for it.”

“Deal,” Eddie says before he closes the last few inches between them and captures Buck’s lips in a kiss. 

During this summer, Eddie has basically tried all of the ice cream flavors that have been offered in Bobby’s Frosted Delight Ice Cream Truck. Buck is still the sweetest thing he has tasted. 

“Tomorrow at 9?” As he speaks, his lips move against Buck’s. 

“Tomorrow at 9,” Buck confirms, pecking Eddie’s lips three time before pulling away. 

It’s only when he’s walking back to the car next to Chris, their surfboards under both of Eddie's arms, that Christopher says, “Dad, I’m happy you and Buck finally figured it out, but you forgot our ice creams.”

Eddie laughs. “Don’t worry, bud. I think there will be many, many more ice creams in our future.” 

[trancylovecraft]

(KNY) YANDERE PLATONIC! KOKUSHIBO x SISTER READER: You, Shibou. I, Kokoro (CHAPTER THIRTEEN)

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CHAPTER THIRTEEN: "You will not be more than a rat in the gutter"

Child abuse can come in many forms including Physical, Emotional, Psychological and Sexual. It happens to more than one in ten people according to local statistics.

The morning rays shone through the window, The disgusting mould building up on the glass making dots in the spotlight.

The room the light had hit was clustered and tossed over, All furniture either broken or tipped over onto the ground. Shattered vases and hives of insects were plentiful in nature, Thriving in the filth of the abandoned house.

It was horrid, Looking like no-one had dared to step foot into the derelict surroundings of the rotted structure. Walls near falling apart and doors barely clicking place into their doorframes.

Larvae gathered around on the decaying wood floor, All from the corpse laying atop it.

It had been there for days, Maggots already crawling in and out of the pores in her skin. She was old, Dying of old age. But that was perfect for the gathering flies and vermin starting to make their young out of the nutritious flesh of her decaying face.

Her figure was as gout as an English king, Her spindly grey hair was scattered across the floor and already falling out of her scalp. It was disgusting, The smell was like spoiled eggs and sulphur from the mould.

But it didn't bother the girl peaking out from the nook in the door that was slightly open, Her little face was shrouded in shadow with the only thing visible being the vivid colour of her eyes staring out at the corpse.

She could of only been about seven or eight, But she looked at the corpse like it was her everyday life, Like she was just observing people passing by on the streets.

Her overgrown hair was matted and tangled into that of a thorn bush, Dirt was displayed on her face and her eyes were wide and vigilant like a bird of prey. It wasn't fit on her and her skeletal complexion, A girl that looked so young.

Her brows lowered as she looked at the corpse, It wasn't of disgust or horror as it should've been but instead it was akin to annoyance or perhaps irritation. It was a mature face, One she should've never been able to make at her age.

The thin bony hands that lain on the other side of the door started to quiver. Even though there was a faint warmth in the air, Her body was still chilled to the bones from the ravenous hunger that laid inside her stomach.

She pushed her fingers forward, The door starting to close. [F/N] took one last look at the infestation gathering on the corpse before huffing.

The door shut softly with a click, Leaving nothing but dead silence to fill the room.

☆♡☆

[F/N] sat upon her futon, Head drooped down to look at her knees.

Her futon was small compared to [F/N]'s already tiny body. The sheets looked like they hadn't been measured to her size in years as it could barely fit over her tiny little feet and provide much needed warmth in the high altitude of the mountain.

The cold air from the atmosphere outside left a lasting chill within the air. The snow-capped peaks above were not too far from where her grand house sat within the rocky terrain, Nestled at the head of the village facing below.

It was lively to say the least. Men with heavy pickaxes slung over their shoulders were waltzing about streets, Most likely on their way to work. Women with baskets of shining ore headed in the other direction from the way, Ready to haul them to the exporting wagons.

Kids ran around the adults, Grinning as they chased each other throughout the plentiful streets and tall buildings lining them. They were having fun, [F/N] could tell from the loud muffled laughs coming from below.

The sunlight village, The place where the sun never went down and where the entire village was eternally basked within the grace of Amaterasu. The only place where scarlet iron ore was cultivated for the demon slayer corps.

For a small village it was a hotspot for both the mining and swordsmithing industry, Never having a quiet moment. It was also a place constructed by the Ubuyashiki family for the sole purpose of collecting and exporting the scarlet ore for the swordsmith village.

The grand house bigger than all the others sat atop a hill overlooking the rest of the village and the entire drop of the mountain miles below them. It was beautiful, Always clean and pristine as it was an example for the rest.

It was gorgeous, At least from the outside view that is.

Screaming erupted from somewhere deep within the house, [F/N] flinched at the high-pitched hollering coming from further within the rooms of the house. It was a constant back and forth of a man and a woman yelling at each other.

"YOU'RE DEFECTIVE! I SHOULD'VE PICKED A DIFFERENT FUCKING WIFE THAT COULD MAKE ME A RIGHTFUL HEIR!"

"I'M DEFECTIVE?! HAVE YOU EVER STOPPED TO THINK THAT MAYBE IT'S YOU THAT'S GOT SOMETHING WRONG WITH HIM?!. IT FUCKING FIGURES, YOU CAN NEVER GET IT UP!"

"YOU WHORE!"

Then the woman's screaming would turn into yells of pain and anger, The sound of a hand connecting with the skin of the face being the cause. Though despite the intensity and the structure-shaking yells that they made, It wasn't the sound of the adults that made [F/N] flinch.

Instead, It was the baby's.

It was horrifying, The shrill crying of a recently born child was mixing in with the roaring of the adults. It made [F/N] ball up and press her knees against her chest, Shutting her eyes and whispering to herself.

She sniffled, A futile attempt to wipe the oncoming tears off her face was made to no avail. [F/N] rocked back and forth, Whispering little confirmations to try and convince herself that it would be okay.

Though she was only a toddler, She was fully aware of what's happening.

Another one of her siblings failed the test, They hadn't been born with the proper hands. An annual occurrence with no deviation from it's result, Again and again she would hear the cries of a child from the other room and the adults screaming would kick up again.

Her family lineage had been blessed by the gods, That's what the villagers said anyways. Sometimes they even claimed that they were the descendants of gods far above them, Gifting them their power.

The Hands of Kagutsuchi, That's what they were called. Named after the kami of fire and the patron of blacksmiths. It was a bloodborne power that gave the blessing of being able to identify any material by the touch of a hand.

It could tell the density of the finest of threats, The way it was woven or the exact touch of the person it belonged to. It could even tell if a glass of sake was poisoned just from a simple graze of the liquid.

It was especially useful here due to the nature of scarlet iron ore, The mining village's sole export. Despite the assumption of the colour in the name, It was impossible to tell what was the scarlet ore or just regular iron.

It would usually take a few hours, Only being able to tell once it was cut into. However with The Hands of Kagutsuchi it would be able to be identified within a second, Saving countless resources and hours of work.

Though there was an is-

"DEFECTIVE.. ANOTHER DEFECTIVE BASTARD- CAN'T YOU DO ANYTHING RIGHT?!"

Sudden thumps of storming footsteps started to make their way down the halls of the house, Though what terrified [F/N] is that the cries of her baby sibling followed with it. Screaming wildly in distress. [F/N]'s breath hitched within her throat, Eyes going wide.

It was happening again, He was going to take another one-!

[F/N] wasted no time in stumbling to her feet and rushing over to the window on the far side of the room. Hopping up onto the soles of her feet, She was barely able to peer over and look out at the valley in front of her.

[F/N]'s eyes landed on the river, Almost second-nature to her by now.

It was the running water sourced from the top of the snow-caps, It was long and winding as it flowed throughout the entire village. It provided hydration and irrigation to the fields of crops growing on the outskirts.

It also had a private part flowing on the hill their house sat on, Separated from the rest of the village a good bit away. It was only a few metre's away, Giving [F/N] a place to run around in if she was lucky.

However [F/N] wasn't bothered by that as she heard the sound of a door being roughly slammed open.

It made her yelp, But her eyes never wavered as she watched the bulking figure of the man storm out into the field facing her house. Her eyes widened, Her vision focusing on what he held high above his head.

It was her baby sibling hung up by the raging grip of the man, They were screaming and wailing with their little face scrunched up in pain. They had only just been born, Still covered in the blood of their mother and freshly cut from the placenta.

Their little fingers were balled up, Their mouth open to let out their high-pitched wails of discomfort as they were hung upside down. They weren't even given the gift of clothing to warm their growing body.

The man marched onwards however, Ignoring the screams of the child as he stormed over to the place where [F/N] feared the most. Her mouth going dry at the sight.

The river.

He had reached the edge by now, [F/N] tried harder and harder to extend the soles of her feet to try and get a better look at what was happening. What was going to happen to her little sibling.

The man stood, Hanging his child like they were meat on a hook. Dangling over the river their cries only grew louder and louder, [F/N]'s breath only picked up once more as she looked on helplessly.

The river water ran cold, The rushing waves speeding down the slope of the mountain in waves. Rocks below it bashed into the water, Hard edges making the water sway and swim in different directions.

The man raised his child higher and higher, The screaming of the child becoming unbearable to [F/N] as her eyes landed on the object gripped tightly in his other hand.

She had been so focused, So attentive to the fate of the little boy that she had failed to notice what he was holding. But as he raised it higher and higher, Dangled his child further and further over the side of the river-

[F/N] knew what it was.

The cold blade of the knife was pressed against the little neck of her baby sibling, The sharp end barely grazing their throat. It was barely developed, Their chubby little cheeks covering what little neck they had.

The blade drew forward, Momentum starting to build.

[F/N] cried out from behind the wall, Hands slamming against the glass to try and stop this. Anything, To try and stop what was going to happen. Tears of her own starting to build up and burst down her face.

SILSH!

The shrill cries of the baby stopped.

[F/N]'s eyes widened.

Unable to pry her eyes off the sudden splash of red dripping down from across the field.

☆♡☆

The cold summer morning's air brushed over the high mountain, A cool breeze tickling at the skin and soaking into the bone.

The sun was still on the horizon, By normal time it would be the very break of dawn but for the sunlight village it stayed eternally light within the closed off confines of it's walls. The ferns flourished with the constant nourishment along with all the other wildlife accustomed to the bright atmosphere.

[F/N] slowly opened the wooden door, Careful to dim the noise of the creak it let out. As soon as she stepped out into the wide open plain of their estate she was hit with the cold spring breeze.

It made her shiver as her little legs hopped down the accompanying steps, Careful not to trip over on her own feet.

The timber-built bucket she had held under her arm was throwing off her balance by a bit, Making her stumble slightly in her step as she trotted over to the accompanying river. It was rushing as usual, Spurts of water foam bursting up and falling back into the stream.

[F/N] waddled onto the edge of the river, Peering over she looked once. Then back towards the house, Left to right before lowering down onto her knees and starting to scoop up the river water.

While the water was chilling it wasn't anything a small fire couldn't heat up, [F/N] learning the tricks of it from running her own baths for years. The few servants employed within her family weren't up at this time, Leaving [F/N] to her own devices.

However she preferred it that way, Not having to worry about interactions with the mean adults living in her house. Nor did she have to deal with the stuffy air flowing about in there, The crisp breeze of the outdoors being a highlight of her eternal day.

She had always felt more mature than the other kids in the village, Always like she was retaking a lesson she had done before. She didn't know why, But sometimes she could swear like she was an adult in a kids body.

Besides, With the upcoming birth of the next child it's been more and more hectic. The woman's pregnancy hitting nine months, The baby due to be born any day now and making both the man and the servants more stressed.

The yelling had gotten louder too, With the man promising and threatening the woman with something [F/N] couldn't make out.

The woman.

The woman was a sorrowful spindly figure, One with bony hands and a slim waist. She was beautiful but in a similar way that you would call a dark tragedy beautiful. Her fuzzy face always facing away from [F/N], Never letting her get a good look at her.

She never talked either, Not in person. Always such a silent and unreactive person whenever [F/N] had been around her, [F/N] only knowing her shrill voice from the screaming.

The man.

The man was a dark hulking figure, His limbs too big on his wide body and he heaved his arms like paperweights. He had horns, Tall winding talons and angry luminescent eyes that seemed to follow in a room.

But his appearance wasn't what sprung to mind when [F/N] thought of him, No. Instead it was his footsteps.

How heavy and thundering they were, How her ears had trained to pick them up from the furthest corner of her house. The way the floorboards decreased under his boot as well as the way she would wait on baited breath, Begging silently for them to pass by on her room.

He wasn't someone that [F/N] liked all that much, Despite the little contact she had with him. He had killed several of her siblings, Even [F/N]'s young mind recognising so.

The only reason she had survived is because she had falsely passed the test when she was born, The test to prove whether she had the divine power of the hands or not.

The test was done as soon as the baby born had fell into a soundless sleep, When it had stilled and calmed down. That was when the feather was brought out, A primary golden feather with a shine that rivalled the sun.

It was a feather said to have been left behind from the bird of the gods, Hou-Ou. One given to her families ancestors long ago. It had been combed several times, Preened and prepped until the touch was ironically featherlight and unfeeling.

The feather would be grazed across the child's hands, For only a second. If the baby awoke and started crying then that would mean that they had been born with the hands, The only thing being able to feel the pristine brush of the plume.

However, If they failed..

[F/N] shook off the jolting chill running down her back as the wooden bucket in her hands finally filled up with enough water to fill her shallow bath. She didn't want to remember the last loss a year ago, No matter how much it filled her head every night.

It appeared in the corners of her eyes, The splash of red. As soon as she snapped her head around to catch a glimpse, It would be gone. It also appeared in her dreams, The visions of the blade wringing the neck of another child. She had issues sleeping because of it, Keeping her eyes wide open in the middle of the night.

The worst part is it had happened every year, The keyword being had as the number of children being slaughtered had risen. The man, Deciding that the woman was not good enough had turned to others within the village for what he called a proper heir.

However, None were good enough. None were born with the hands that would finally appease the mans hunger for blessed blood. The splash of red appearing every three or four months by now. She remembered the woman's voice, What few words were ever spoken directly to [F/N] herself.

"Some are just made wrong, Don't cry over someone you haven't met."

[F/N] pulled up the bucket of water, Droplets running down the side of the bark and dropping onto the lush grass of the mountain. It sloshed around inside as she tried hauling it in her tiny hands.

[F/N] didn't know why she was still alive, A trick of fate perhaps. When the feather was brushed over her hands as a baby she had woken up and started crying, Making it seem as if she was born with the hands.

However when she had grown up it had become obviously apparent that she hadn't been born with such hands, Just waking up at the right time to avoid her demise. And by then the man couldn't kill her, Already having paraded her around the village.

Her father had tossed her aside after that, Just like leftovers. Thrown her into a cage to call her own and the servants were to raise her however distant they liked. He never talked or acknowledged her other than commands, But [F/N] could tell he thought of her like a rat in the gutter.

A disgrace and a failure of a child he was stuck with until he could find a proper husband to throw her away to. A child born without the conditions met to gain his love, The touch just out of her grasp.

But as her hands were graced with the tiny chill of cold droplets running down her fingers, The splintering wood pricking at her little hands. [F/N] was reminded very well that she wasn't of divine blood or of blessed heritage.

She lugged the bucket of limber wood by her side, Careful not to spill anymore of the river water down the sides of the bark. Her feet tapped against the overgrown grass, Wandering towards the main door.

Why she was the one to survive, Why she was the one destined to outlive all the children who didn't even get their chance. Her siblings, The ones that had been tossed away and the one's of whose blood flowed within the river.

They were her siblings, They were her blood and her only family. Each one of them had been given a name, Not by the man or the woman, But by her. Mariko, Amane, Eito and Tarou. The first four off the top of her head.

They hadn't even survived a day outside the womb yet [F/N] made sure to name every single one, Mark every little name into the corner wall of her room. They hadn't lived through breath but instead through their names, That's the least she thought she could do for them.

She loved them, Every single one of them.

Their little hands and their tiny feet, Their chubby little cheeks and their adorable mimicry of human speech. She adored it, Never getting to see what was of her sibling before they were slaughtered like all the others.

She couldn't bare it, Though she was only six she knew how wrong it was. How much pain she felt every time another was killed.

[F/N] tried to smile however. It wasn't all that bad, At least that's what she told herself. Today marked the day of the solstice festival, The one thrown in favour of The Sun Goddess Amaterasu for their eternal brightness.

It had always been fun for the few times she had remembered it, She was only six after all. [F/N] always had fun running about and handed out free food samples, Often partaking in some of the games and watching Shinto-based plays, They were her favourite.

So as she lugged along the bucket back to her house, She tried to keep a big smile on her face in thought of all the fun she was going to have today. What goldfish she was going to try and catch, What plays she would go see.

It was exciting, Fun and ex-

"AAAAAAAAAHHHHHH-!"

A muffled scream echoed out from within the house, One that made [F/N] yelp and surprise and drop the bucket towards the ground.

It clattered on the foot of the steps, Water flying out and splashing against the andesite stairway as she stumbled forward yelping. She fell to her knees and tipped up the bucket, Exclaiming once she saw the emptiness.

But the screaming didn't stop, It kept up on a higher notch. Wailing louder and louder as [F/N] snapped her head up towards the shrieks, Recognising the high-pitch of them very well.

It was the woman, The pain of her yelling was felt in [F/N]'s bone marrow. It was a string of unintelligible curses and proclamations of agony, For no doubt waking up the entirety of the previously slumbering house as she heard frantic shuffling come from inside.

The screams.

[F/N] knew it well.

Her water had broken.

Her tongue had dropped to her throat, Suddenly feeling limp in her mouth. Sweat started to rise up on the palms of her hands and trickle down her forehead as her lungs started going in and out at a much quicker pace.

Another would be killed.

Another.

Another.

And Another.

That was enough for [F/N] to push herself up from the stone steps and yank the door open with what strength her young body had, Abandoning the bucket and running into the labyrinth of her house to seek cover in her room.

Already knowing of the storm that would be approaching as she heard the thundering voice of her father kick up.

☆♡☆

The whines of the woman echoed throughout the house, The soundwaves bouncing off the walls.

It had been a few hours now and [F/N] had barricaded herself within her room. She had to, The man would've kept her inside for preparation of the next child. The hopes of this one finally having the hands he so craved.

He had come around once, Peeking inside her room and barking at her to stay put before leaving once more. All the servants had ran to the woman's side too, Leaving her completely alone.

To keep her mind occupied out of the oncoming demise of another child, She had sat atop a desk next to the windowsill, Longingly staring out into the festival just gracing the borders of her house so closely.

The colourful streamers were shot into the air, Laughing and yells of pleasure were there to cover up the sounds of muffled agony coming from deep within the house. All the lights, What few of them were were lit up in celebration of the goddess.

[F/N] imagined herself running around with the other kids, Envisioned herself catching goldfish with a bag of sweet treats in her other hand as she did. The way her face would light up in favour of the sun deity above.

But instead she was caged within the walls of her house, Forced to listen to the wails of the woman and the yelling of the man. The servants storming footsteps chattering past her door every so often to grab something new for the woman.

The one day when she was going to have an escape, If only for a few hours. Taken away from her.

It was a distraction from her everyday life, Every time she ran through the streets and bit into a piece of mochi she felt as if she was like everyone else. Like she was never trapped in the first place.

But it's not like she could ever get out.

[F/N] closed her eyes, Arms around her chest cuddling herself closer as the screams reached a peak. It was compelling, A siren's shriek that made her want to throwaway all her orders to stay in the room and run to see the face of her sibling.

She never got to see them, She just wanted to see one.

Only one, The glimpses she got of the previous just wasn't enough. She never got to hold their hand or even commit their face to memory. That's all she wanted, All she's ever wanted for herself.

She didn't even have control over her body when she hopped down from the desk, Her bare feet hitting the floor and starting to patter against the floorboards as she quickly made her way to the door of her room.

The door clicking open, She peered out to check if the coast was clear.

Left then right, Before snaking out the crack in the doorway and running towards the room.

☆♡☆

The child had been born.

Hours after labour had started, The woman had finally given birth to a young boy. A child smaller than usual, One that had taken forever to calm down and lulled into a deep sleep. But the servants had managed, Swaddling him in an earth-coloured cloth.

The room that they were in was the main bedroom of the house. It was dark, The blinds shut over to prevent any of the worshipped sun flooding into the room. Candles were lit in it's place, Surrounding the woman who lain strewn on the bed.

Her spindly, Starving figure was exhausted. Long limbs stretched out across the entire surface of the bed with the child placed firmly on her hollow chest as a part of the so-called imprinting.

A wet cloth was placed upon her forehead. What bloody mess of fluids she had made while giving birth were quickly cleaned up, A blanket thrown over the lower half of her body for little warmth.

[F/N] could see through the peek of the door she looked through that the servants had left, Assumedly to give privacy for the ceremony. She had tried peeking over the top side of the bed, Her height a hinderance as she tried to get a good look at her new sibling.

She finally caught a glimpse of them, A faint smile appearing on her face as she saw his young face. The way they slept without noise in their sleep. Their little nose and their big eyes shut down to sleep.

They were adorable.

However it wasn't just the woman in the room. The man had remained too, His back facing the blinded windows with a box gripped tightly in his hands.

[F/N] watched as he turned, Unlatching the box and flipping open the lid. Rummaging around, It didn't take him long to fish out the idolized plume from inside. The candlelight reflecting of the glistening surface of the feather.

He held it up high, [F/N]'s eyes lighting up at the view of it as he presented it up. It was beautiful, The box it was contained in kept it in very good condition. Looking freshly plucked from the crest of Hou-Ou.

Beautiful, The first time she had ever seen it so close.

This was the test, The one that would decide if this would be the child that would end her siblings deaths. [F/N]'s eyes landed on the sleeping face of her new younger brother, His closed eyes and the way he was tightly wrapped within the cloth.

The baby still swaddled lay against the woman's chest, Resting within a post-born sleep. It didn't take long for the man to lower the flower towards the boy, The fluff of the feather dancing in the wind as it lowered ever so slightly.

Would he pass? Would they be the one to finally end all of this, So her and the adults could finally live happily without anymore death? Only the feather would tell, Only the graze of the lightest touch would be the one to determine that fate.

It fell down even further, The baby babbling something incoherent in it's sleep. [F/N] felt as if her little heart had stopped beating entirely, Her body frozen in anticipation of the outcome.

"Please.. Please.. You can do this..!" [F/N] breathed out, It was so quiet and carried no weight in the indoor wind. But it held such pleading tone, A silent prayer to whatever god would listen to her. This would be the one, This would be the one! She could have a sibling and a family, She would have it. Her!

The feather was only inches away from their hands, Mere millimetres apart as every second ticked by with an audible tock. All until the sunrise plume completed its descent, The very tips of the feather grazing the baby's hand.

Time froze along with [F/N]'s body.

The feather stood still, Brushed up against the tips of his fingers.

The baby did nothing, Made no sound nor stir.

The man's eyes lit up. His mouth opening to bare his fangs and the talon dangling the feather was yanked away from the baby's hands, His luminescent angry eyes lit up. A glow burning brighter and brighter.

[F/N]'s eyes expanded, Her mouth going dry.

cry.. Cry- Please cry or anything-! H-He'll kill you! Do something-! SOMETHING, ANYTHING!

The yelling started up once more, Animalistic cries beginning to kick up once more as it shook the room with the sheer magnitude. So loud that the woman jolted up from her position on the bed, Predatory eyes shaking up in surprise.

"ANOTHER ONE! ANOTHER FUCKING FAILURE- "

The woman who was freshly awoken got up onto a sitting position as if doing this a hundred times before, The baby nudged down to the side and abandoned. Her blurry face seeming to get more static as she started to scream right back at him.

"FOR FUCK'S SAKE DO YOU THINK I'M TRYING TO DO TH-"

[F/N] stumbled back, Her feet barely landing their mark as she covered her mouth.

The screams turning into nothing but white noise as the darkness of the hallway started to envelop her more and more, Each step she took back was one more closer to her inevitable cries.

By now, The baby had woken up and had started wailing. Shrill cries mixing in with the wrath of the adults, Confused and helpless with no prior experience to this world. It was screaming, It was screaming so goddamn loud.

[F/N] whined, The hot spill already dripping down her face. Turning her back to the door she turned and ran, Her instincts kicking in. That need to escape pumping through her blood as she sprinted back towards her room.

Feet thumping against the floorboards as she ran through the door to her room, Instantly falling to the floor.

Another one.. Another one would be taken.

Again and again.

Hands bathed in the blood of the monster who took them all from her.

☆♡☆

"B-But- Can't you keep this one? J-Just this one? You don't even need to care for him, I-I'll do it!"

[F/N]'s shrill voice called out, Her discordant voice cried as she watched the man's hulking body stop just beside her doorway.

He had come in, Not even a few minutes ago to command her to stay inside for the next week or so. Bursting into her doorway to find [F/N] huddled under the sheets of her futon, Proceeding to ignore that and hiss at her to obey his orders.

The festival outside still roared with life, People dancing and laughing as they played along the riverbank. [F/N] was thankful that they were, It was the only thing preventing the death of her little sibling.

Due to the copious amounts of people surrounding the riverbank, It was made impossible to kill and dispose of the baby and it's corpse as if he did then the village people would see the blood running in the water and get alarmed.

[F/N] had heard the yell come from him a few minutes after she had ducked into the safety of her room. He would be killed tomorrow when the festival clears, When the people have dispersed and the water made private once more.

It gave [F/N] time as she stood below the figure of the man, Her little body was an ant compared to the mountain of his pitch-black body. His talons and horns reflecting the light of the window parallel.

[F/N] had somehow found the confidence to stand up to him, Though under his height she didn't stand that tall. But she had to try, There was an opportunity to save him, To save her little brother.

She tried to look big, Similar to a cat would as she raised her shaky shoulders and bared her baby teeth. Tears brimming in her eyes with horror as the horrifying man turned around to look at her, Wrathful irises staring death into her.

His needled teeth bore, Maw opening wide.

"No, For fucks sake just stay in your goddamn room and pipe down like a good little girl. Stop arguing back and stay quiet, Don't talk back to me." He rumbled, Voice like thunder in the distant as it struck [F/N] through the heart.

His neck cracked and his limbs settled within there sockets as he moved, Lunging forward as if to pounce. [F/N] flinched, But he pulled himself back at the last second to turn back around towards the door. His claws encircling the knob as he started to yank it open.

[F/N] regained her footing, Heart drumming in her chest as she opened her mouth.

"I-I'll tell the village what you're doing! They'll save him!" She exclaimed as her palms grew clammy at her words.

The man stopped in his tracks.

He turned around, His face revealing the angry glow of his eyes that pierced into her. What little [F/N] could make out of his face seemed to get angrier, His muscles pushing back to reveal a burning rage upon him.

[F/N]'s tears started to spill now, Raising over the brink and piling over the edge.

She backed up, What balance she had seemed to vanish as she watched the man turn around fully now. Baring his shoulders and pushing out his chest as he took a step towards her.

"W-Wait.. No- I'm sorry-!" [F/N] cried out but she was cut short by the icy cold grip of a clawed hand on her cheek.

The man had lowered onto a single knee now, The floorboards decreasing under the weight of his body and almost breaking them in half. What angry expression he had before seemed to have changed now.

It almost looked friendly, Almost as if there was a heart buried within the empty void of his body. But it also looked as if he wanted something, Like he was sucking up to someone just to get something out of them.

[F/N] froze as the grip on her cheek tightened.

"Sweetheart.. You know this is just a family tradition, Right? It's not wrong to get rid of some deficient children." His bestial voice seemed to have been tamed, If only a little bit as he over-emphasised his words. Talking down to her as his facial muscles turned upwards.

Her mouth was dry. [F/N] didn't know what to do, This was the first time he had ever lain a hand on her in such a way. Though it wasn't warm or comforting, It was cold like the hand of a rotting corpse. It made her want to cry and run away.

"N-No..?" She coughed out, Lip trembling as she tried not to invoke his anger any further. Confused as to why he was acting so nice all of a sudden, So friendly as if he was her friend with well meaning intentions.

But [F/N] knew better as he smiled further, Exposing the pointed bone lodging out his gums.

"Well it is. This is completely natural." The man answered. His faux smile stayed strong, Though [F/N] could almost see it falter as he saw the continued confused look on her face. "You know what? How about I tell you a story.."

It wasn't something [F/N] was meant to answer as his hand moved down to her shoulder, Almost as if he was trying to hold her in place as he talked.

"So.. Once upon a time there was a.. A farmer and his livestock. The farmer was the best in all of the land, He especially had these prized sheep. Beautiful fleeces, Their meat was the most delicious and everyone in his village loved the farmer for making it." He started.

[F/N] blinked, Nodding slightly as he spoke. She was still puzzled, Still lost within the mist of her mind as she tried to follow along with what he was saying. Wait, What was he saying? [F/N] didn't know just yet as he continued.

"One day one of the prized sheep gave birth to her lambs, The farmer had been waiting months for them to arrive… But when they did, They came out wrong." The man said, His voice lowering an octave as he got closer to her.

"Wrong.. Wrong how?" [F/N] said slowly. The story he was telling about the lambs and their so-told unfortunate birth still hadn't weighed in on her. Though she was curious, How could something be born wrong.

The man took a second to think.

"..Well their fleeces were dirty and all their limbs were thin and bony. The weren't like the prized sheep that the farmer had raised, And their meat would be dry and tasteless if he decided to make his next batch of sheep with them." The man answered, Looking over [F/N] as she hummed.

The lambs he was describing sounded nothing like the ones she had seen in the village, The ones that were kept in livestock were always floundering about within their pens. They looked healthy and happy.

Though ones that he told of sounded rather sad, [F/N] imagined the little stubs of the usual lamb as the ones he described and how unhappy the lambs would be. She also remembered how the villagers would favour the nicer looking lambs while feeding them, The ones with fluffier coats or the ones that were friendlier.

"The villagers wouldn't like it.." [F/N] mumbled to herself, Deep within the thralls of her mind as she considered his tale. The man's eyes lowered in contentment, Seeing that his point was being told.

"Exactly, [F/N]. The villagers wouldn't like it if the meat turned tasteless, They wouldn't like it if the fleeces became dirty. Now, The farmer didn't know what to do.. These were the only lambs born this season." The man told, Nodding along.

[F/N] blinked, Bringing her hand to her chin in thought.

"..What did he do?" She asked slowly, Her little self looking up towards him. Her eyes still scared and on guard as she stared into the intense shine of his eyes, Though curiosity was laced in within her eyes. The man's hyenic grin widened, Sickeningly so.

"Well it just so happened that the village was being terrorized by a mountain lion for a few months now, And the lion was there to see the lambs. So it told the farmer that if he gave the lion the lambs, It would stop terrorizing the village.." The man started.

"And..?" [F/N] queried.

"And the farmer gave the lion the lambs. It meant that the village would be peaceful and the genes of the prized sheep would be spared, Though he wouldn't be able to provide the village with any meat: It would mean that future lambs would be much better in quality." The man finished. The hand on her shoulder dropping to his side.

[F/N] paused for a moment, Slowly nodding to the story in understanding. The lambs were sacrificed to the lion in order to keep peace in the village as well as the quality of the stock. For the greater good, Was that the moral of the story?

[F/N] didn't quite understand the roles in the story. The lambs she knew, They were the babies: Her siblings. The farmer was the man, The poor man who was tasked with producing quality meat.

But the lion?

"Then.. Whose the lion?" [F/N] asked as she looked up at him, Tilting her head and blinking in confusion. The man just looked at her through the void of his face, Contemplating over his words before speaking.

"The lion is The God Kagutsuchi, [F/N]." The man answered. "He's our ancestor, He's the man who gave this clan the hands in the first place. He wouldn't want it to go to waste, Would he?"

"..No.. He wouldn't." [F/N] concluded as she watched the man get up from his position. Pushing himself up with a hand and getting up onto his feet, Back to his entire height now as he smiled at her.

"Good. You understand now. This is all for the greater good, [F/N]. Telling the villagers would be wrong, You wouldn't want to upset your ancestor." He said as he turned around towards the door.

His claws wrapped around the knob on the door, His claws encircling the silver in-between his palms as he started to open it.

Though, He looked back. His smile completely gone from his face and replaced with that familiar anger painted across his visage.

"Now stay inside the house, Don't dare try to leave."

That was all he said before the door yanked open, The cold air of the outside hallway blowing against her face before it was gone. The door slammed shut and the man gone from within her room.

[F/N] just stood there, Feet fixed in place for several minutes. She just thought over his words as they reeled within her mind and went back over and over again, It was strange.

He said it was for the greater good, That was what he was trying to convey in his story. But something in her gut argued with that sentiment will all their might, Something that just felt so wrong.

Maybe it was the question mixed in with the thoughts in her mind. If the lambs were the siblings that were sacrificed to the lion, Then why was she the one that the lion turned over?

☆♡☆

Feet pitter pattered against the wooden floorboards, The lumber hard against the soles of her toes as she moved along the hallway.

An occasional servant passed her as she wandered down the passage, Barely paying her any mind in favour of getting to their next tasks. Some with plates of food and others with cleaning equipment overflowing in their arms.

[F/N] didn't pay attention to them either as they passed by, Too enveloped within her own thoughts to care about who they were or where they were going. Her shoulders dropped to their low, Her head fallen with them.

Though the story told to her eased her nerves if not a little bit, The build-up of years of seeing her siblings die was not easily broken down. It was still hard to forget the splatter of red across the grass, The blood mixing in with the river water.

The way the body was just wrapped in cloth and tossed away into the river, How their curled fingers went limp and the body turning cold within the freezing chill of the mountains stream.

It was horrifying.

But the man said it was for the greater good, Did he not? The Hands were of the utmost sacred abilities, A rite of passage into the clan. The lambs that were born needed the hands and the lion that had beginned them needed them to be passed on.

She wouldn't want to disrespect the gods, She wouldn't want to go against them in the slightest so why was she still feeling this way? [F/N] still didn't know, Her young mind still not made to handle this stress.

She stopped in her tracks, A sudden light entering her vision.

It broke her out of her wandering trance, The warming light dancing off the floorboards came from the crack in the door beside her. Only noticing it now, She peered over towards the tall frame.

She saw it, And recognised it instantly.

It was that woman's room, The same one she had peered into earlier. Where she witnessed the birth of her sibling and the subsequent fight that had broken out over his birth, Just like the others again and again.

She stared through the crack in the doorway, The small glimpse of the inside showed nothing but a slice of the bed. Curiosity killed the cat, But that notion didn't move [F/N] as she moved a little closer to the doorway.

Could he still be there?

Maybe. Maybe he could still be laying within the chambers, From what sliver she saw of the inside she could tell that the woman wasn't present within. She had never cared for who she had made, Never held them consciously for any reason.

She could've left him within her chambers, Left him out and waited for him to be slaughtered in the coming morning. Not that there was any tell of daybreak, But what if..

[F/N] looked left then right, Making sure nobody was watching her as she pushed open the door to the chambers. It opened with an audible creak, Making [F/N] jolt as she once again checked to make sure nobody was watching her.

Once she made sure of it, She quickly stepped a guilty foot inside and close the door behind her to cover her actions. Leaving her inside the walls of the room.

The blinds were still shut together, Blocking out the natural light of the outside world and leaving the burning embers of the half-melted candles to do the job instead. The shadows long and thick due to the result.

It also made it humid as [F/N] scanned her eyes over the room. Everything was basically the same. The side table, The half-done bed, The nightstands and the closet off to the side. It was all the same as normal.

Except there was something placed upon the table, [F/N] squinted her eyes to get a better look at it. Once her vision cleared she had realised it was a basket, Woven of thatch and twine laying upon the table.

[F/N] stumbled closer to it, Understanding what it was as she rested her hands on the accompanying chair. Pushing herself up onto it she sat on her knees, Peering over into the contents of the basket. Her pursed lips turned into a soft smile at the sight.

It was her baby brother swaddled in the same earth-coloured cloth. He was awake now, Babbling out incoherent speech from within his makeshift cradle. He looked so precious, [F/N] couldn't help but lean over further.

"Hello, Nii-san..!" [F/N] called out in a hushed whisper, Speaking to the baby with a fondness like no other and saying it with such a burning love in her eyes. The baby in turn giggled at her speech, A giddy smile appearing upon his face.

[F/N] gasped as he responded to her words.

"You're so cutee.. My name is [F/N], You're my brother..!" [F/N] told him lightly as she lifted a hand towards him, Holding out her pinky as she peered at her brother.

The baby laughed again. His chubby little hand reached out towards her hand, Grabbing and clenching his hands before it finally grasped onto her pinky finger. [F/N]'s jaw dropped as she felt his hand wrap around hers.

"Ohmygosh-" She breathed out as she watched him rock around within his cradle, The grasp on her pinky finger never letting down. [F/N] in that moment looked at him and saw the world, The candlelight shining in her eyes.

She smiled, Pondering to herself for a moment.

"I should probably name you, You know! What sounds good to you..?" [F/N] asked him, Leaning over the side just a little bit more. She understood that he couldn't answer so she brought a hand to her chin in thought.

"How about.. Kaito? No.. Aito? No.. Akai? Denji? Enmei?" She listed off, Going off the few names off the top of her head and striking a line through the ones she had already used. Her lips pursed back up in thought, Her eyebrows furrowing.

[F/N] gasped, Suddenly snapping her fingers.

"How about Shizuko? I don't know if it's a girl or a boy name.. But I think it's really cute!" [F/N] exclaimed, Eyes sparkling as the now named 'Shizuko' babbled out what [F/N] took as confirmation.

He liked it, Shizuko liked it and that made [F/N] happy. Her other hand reached into the basket, Carefully lifting him up and making sure to support the head like the women in the village carried their own children.

She brought him down into her chest, Making sure his head was held up by her shoulder and her hands keeping him steady. Her smile was like the sun in that moment, The sheer joy she felt from holding Shizuko was coursing through her veins.

"You're not even crying.. It's just.. Amazing.." [F/N] trailed off as her hand rubbed over the cloth covering his back. Her smile dimmed ever so slightly, Turning down until it reached a frown.

This was the first time she's ever got to held her siblings, All been killed before she could. She remembered the mans tale of the lion and the lamb, How to sacrifice the few meant the purification of the future's many.

But how could sacrificing such a child be so good, How could killing him just because he wasn't born with the proper hands such a righteous thing to do? It didn't make sense, The story becoming much more grey as she thought about it more and more.

The hand holding his back made sure the cloth was covering him, Though the grasp she had started to harden. Gripping him and holding him closer towards her, Leaning over and almost protecting him with her body.

The light in her eyes fell. He would be killed in the morning, That was to be sure of. The lion would be provoked and the farmer would need to sacrifice another lamb. But the way the man spoke of it wasn't like sacrifice but instead disposal.

[F/N]'s hand moved down to his midsection, The hands holding him tight as she held him up towards the ceiling above. As if presenting him to the whole world which she saw in him, The tears bubbling in her eyes starting to spill over.

"You don't deserve to die.. Do you?" [F/N] whispered to him. Shizuko giggled once more, His little arms flailing about and treating this like a game of upsies. [F/N] smiled forlornly at him, He looked so happy.

[F/N] saw his face and tried to smile back as happily as she could, Trying to wash away the sadness in her smile to put on appearances for him. It just wasn't fair, Kagutsuchi didn't deserve Shizuko's life. He didn't even deserve to ask for it in the first place.

But what could she do? She was nothing, She couldn't stop the god's will. She was nothing but a mortal soul going throughout the motions. She couldn't even get out the house, The servants were there by the door, Most likely put there for precaution due to her outburst earlier.

Nothing, There was no esca-

"Aaah… Ahh.."

Shizuko babbled out once more, Snapping [F/N] out of her thoughts. His babbling was no more different from what she had heard before but she understood it well along with the hand motions he made. She lowered him down to her eye level, Meeting the dark ebony of his eyes.

[F/N] sniffled, Trying to dry her tears to a fruitless result.

"What is it..? Are you hungry?" [F/N] asked.

Shizuko made no verbal response, Instead [F/N] felt the sensation of a tiny palm hitting her cheek.

It was a suprise, Her body jolting at the sudden touch from him. His hand resting on her cheek and grabbing at it, The tears beneath them subsequently blocked from going any further.

Her eyes widened, Jaw dropping only slightly as her shoulders tensed. Her arm raised up towards him, A hand of her own resting over his own and taking it within her warm grasp and cradling it close to her face.

Was he.. Was he trying to dry her tears?

No way, He was too young to even understand that sort of thing. But as he lightly tried to hit at her face over and over again, Specifically towards the warm spillage going down her cheeks. She could only interpret it as such.

"I.. I.. Shizuko.. You don't need to do that.." [F/N] choked out. The action made striking the chords of her heartstrings, Resonating something deep inside her. Something warm and something she thought long lost.

Shizuko only responded in babbles, Repeatedly trying to rub his hands over her cheeks as more tears spilled out of her ducts. She couldn't stop crying anymore, She brought him close, Hugging him tight.

"I-I can't let you die.. I don't want you to die. Y-You.. I don't want another to leave me.. Y-You just can't die." [F/N] choked out as she sniffled hard, Taking her little brother into her arms and cradling him close.

Though as her blurry vision raised she met the doorway of the room. Sniffling once she dried the tears and snot off her face, Trying to steady herself.

"I.. I won't let you die. N-Not another one.." [F/N] mumbled to him, Settling him back down into the woven cot and positioning him to be as comfortable as he could. She picked up the cot into her hands, All before scampering over to the doorway.

A free hand lightly pushed the door open, Her head poking out to make sure no one was there. But hearing the sounds of footsteps approaching rapidly she hid back inside the room, Watching as another servant passed by through the crack before making a break for it.

She moved quickly and as silently as she could. Her ears perking up at any little sound, The settling of the house or the sound of faraway footsteps. Begging them not to come any closer to where she was. Shizuko babbled out, But [F/N] quickly moved a finger over her lips.

"Sssh! We gotta be quiet now.. Shizuko. We need to be quiet.." She hushed to him. Sweat starting to gather on her skin and the grip she had on his woven cot was grasped harder. She gulped, The implications of what she was doing starting to soak in.

As she made her way throughout the labyrinth of her house she found her way back to her room.

Shoving open the door with her shoulder she quickly shut it with a swift kick to the other side. She didn't bother listening to the slam as she ran over to her futon and set Shizuko down ontop of it.

"O-Okay.. Uhm.. You stay there, Shizuko! Give me a minute okay?" [F/N] told him, Leaning over to make sure he was okay before jerking around and stumbling over towards her closet. Opening it, She could feel the sheer weight of what she was about to do.

What was she about to do? [F/N] didn't know. She wasn't thinking nor did she have a plan. All she knew was the thundering of her heart was directing her every movement as she started scavenging through what she had inside the closet.

Messes of old baby clothes she kept in there, Formal clothes she put on for show. Both were left behind in favour of an old leather rucksack being tossed to the floor behind her. Both followed by a few kimonos and other assorted necessities from inside.

[F/N] could feel the sweat pooling in on her skin. How was she going to get out? There was a servant guarding the door and there was no way she would be able to sneak out Shizuko and a rucksack full of incriminating evidence.

Damnit.. She had no time to think as she started stuffing the rucksack full of clothes. At any moment a servant or god forbid the adults walk into that bedroom, Find that he's gone and start a manhunt.

Any moment they could burst through her door, Any moment they could catch her in the act.

If they did.. If they did then she was sure she'd be seeing the rest of her siblings soon.

[F/N] gulped. Shizuko let out a few more babbles from within his cot, Still not understanding the risk of the situation. She shook it off however, While the main door was completely guarded that didn't mean that there was no way out.

The light from the window shown in on her face, The ethereal light dancing on the smooth of her skin giving her an idea. The way the wooden frame of the window was built, It was a blessing it was able to open.

[F/N] pulled up the leather strap of the rucksack, Throwing it over her shoulder before running back over to the side of her futon.

Shizuko looked up at her, Not understanding what she was doing when she picked up the cot into both her arms. [F/N] smiled as best as she could, Trying to keep him calm and quiet as she made her way over to the window.

"Okay.. We're gonna go on a adventure now. Okay, Shizuko..?" [F/N] whispered to him, Pushing the cot up onto the mahogany desk with her following closely behind on the chair. Shizuko let out a few more noises, And [F/N] didn't hesitate to take them as his confirmation.

[F/N] got up onto the desk quickly afterwards. The latch on the door was stiff as her hands went to open it, Hardened in place from years of no use.

"Gh-!" [F/N] exclaimed lightly as her hands pulled at the latch. Her other hand joining the first as she tried with all her might to push it open. It dug into her palms, It didn't matter as she just tried harder and harde-

SLT!

The latch finally pushed forward, Opening so suddenly it made [F/N] yelp out .

She could feel the sudden gush of cold mountain air hit her knees, A breeze pushing into her hair and blowing it back. It felt glowing, It felt like the key to the door she had went mad looking for her entire life.

[F/N] was near distracted by it, She had felt it many times in her life but this one felt more freeing. An opportunity relished and ready for the taking. Though it was broken when she heard the terrified scream from one of the servants.

"THE BABY IS GONE!"

It was one of the adults personal servants, Loyal like a dog.

[F/N]'s body jolted up in fear, The cold breeze turning into a terrifying chill running down her spine like ocean water. Her hands lunged to the cot, The uproar of muffled footsteps starting to fill the house.

"We've got to go-! We've got to go!" [F/N] shrieked, Her arms wrapping around the cot and her legs throwing themselves out of the window with it in her lap. Thank the gods she was on the first floor.

The footsteps started to drum at the structure, [F/N] could feel it in her bones as they rapidly approached her room.

But by then she had already slipped out the window with the cot in her arms. The chill only fueling her newfound courage, The one that was determined to make sure that this child would survive.

The only one that would survive.

As soon as the grass brushed at the sides of her sandals she didn't waste time on the sensation, Already running down the slope of the hill her house was set on. Shizuko babbled.

The wind rushing in the opposite direction, The sun in the other. Neither bothered her any longer, Her mind was one track and she was determined to get to her destination of who knows where.

The yelling picked up from behind her as she ran, Now the sounds of the man mixed in with the servants. But it grew distant the further she went, As the house grew smaller and smaller atop the hill until it was nothing but a speck anymore.

The village was no option for her to travel through. The people there would question why she had a baby and if they did that would only give the adults time to catch up to her, They'd figure out where Shizuko went eventually.

So instead she diverted through the forest beside the village, Running behind the houses with the sweat flying off her face. Her legs picking up in speed, Going so quick like they never had before.

The alleyways she passed shone the street markets and the people laundering about their days, Flashes of happy smiles she would never see again. While she never had any good friends here, There were still people she would miss dearly.

Hopping over the rocks jutting out the river, Barely missing the sloshing sea foam bursting out the rush of the river. She made it to the other side with Shizuko still untouched and in her grasped.

"Come on.. You can do this.." [F/N] mumbled, Not knowing whether it was dedicated to herself or Shizuko. But it didn't matter anymore as she ran down the mountain, The outskirts of the village growing small just like it did her house.

As the tall acres of tree's rushed by her, As the rocks scattered throughout the forest floor were barely dodged. The freedom grew more and more along with the darkening of the clear blue above.

Liberty, That's what she felt. The emancipation of her and her little brother, She had escaped. But she didn't stop to savour that moment, Running quicker and quicker to make sure that the chains were untethered entirely.

She was out, She had escaped The Sunlight Village.

☆♡☆

The moon hung over the speckled ebony of the night.

The grace of the pale blue moonlight shone down onto the streets below, The air much colder now yet it was comforting to the village it was sired under.

The streets were barren, Most of the residents either huddled in the pubs or the drinking taverns. Loud laughter could be heard from inside and it echoed out into the quiet roads harboured outside.

It was much less developed than The Sunlight village. The houses made not out of stone and manufactured wood but instead crafted from unprocessed lumber and thatch. The lanterns lining the streets illuminating that glow, The warm light providing heat in the chilling night.

[F/N] however didn't care about the people bustling inside the buildings, Nor did she care about how quiet the streets outside were. Instead her head was locked to look straight up, Eyes reflecting the serenity of the moon above.

It glowed in her irises, Her eyes widening to capture all of it. The first time she had ever seen the beauty of the moon, What it was described as in the books was nothing compared to seeing it in person.

"Shizuko.. Look at it, Can you really believe it?!" [F/N] squealed with the biggest smile crossing her face. After running for hours and hours throughout the dangerous wild she finally had time to admire it.

Shizuko by now was fast asleep. His big eyes were shut as he was tucked carefully into the earthy cloth, Warming him up in the brisk of the night. It was nothing like the harsh wintry gales on the mountainside.

This was comforting, It was a cold she let sink into her skin no matter how much she shivered.

She had travelled for hours down the mountain, Then some over unfamiliar flatlands. She had felt hungry, Vulnerable and dehydrated. But she had somehow made it hours later to this village, Assumedly miles upon miles away from where she started off from.

In that time her kimono had gotten ragged, Dirt staining the edges and tiny holes were ripped into the fabric. It didn't bother her however, The mere fact that she was free was more than enough to overpower that.

[F/N] smiled as she looked down upon the sleeping face of her little brother, The hands still holding his cot setting him down onto the stone pavement she stood beside. The noise from the tavern she was leaning against not even waking him.

[F/N] kneeled down, Looming over the cot as she looked at him. She smiled softly, Running a hand over his little face. She wasn't sure what she was going to do next, She had gotten out. But what now. [F/N] hummed.

"You must be hungry.. We've been running for hours without stop so.. I guess I should get you something, Huh?" She spoke to him softly. Watching him rock back and forth within his sleep she pulled the cloth over him.

She hoisted the cot back up into her arms before standing back to her full height of only a few feet. Taking in the deep breath of the night's air her eyes sparked, The moonlight dancing within her vivid colours.

[F/N] took off. Now that she was outside of The Sunlight Village, She wasn't quite sure how she was able to get food. Back then she'd get it every so often delivered to her room while the adults ate in the dining room, But now?

She wasn't quite sure how people got food. She knew how it was made from animals and plants, But where to get it was another story entirely. The shops here all smelled of the stuff she'd catch the man drinking on occasion, She had tried it once and it was nasty meaning it was no good for Shizuko.

So as she passed by the welcoming lights of the pubs and taverns, She tried to keep her eyes out for something else.

Maybe a food stand, But for some reason there was none around in the dead of night. There was no one on the streets she could ask help from, So as she examined all the comparatively tall walls she started to get antsy.

The hopeful smile she had on her face started to dim, The way she fiddled with her ruined kimono sleeves didn't help to soothe her nerves. She bit her lip as her eyes went back and forth again and again to try and find some sense of familiarity or shelter.

"Ehm.. I.. I don't think there's much around.." [F/N] mumbled under her breath, Coming to a halt within the streets. The barren wasteland of the urban landscape yielding no hope to her, Though glancing down at Shizuko she smiled once more.

"..It's fine, We'll keep going.." [F/N] said as she started to pick up her footsteps, Pattering against the stone wood she held her head high and decided to k-

"Hey.. Kid."

A low voice called out from beside her.

[F/N] stopped in her tracks from the sudden voice. The only noise before was the chirping of crickets and the faraway chatter of drunken festivities, So hearing something so close was rather surprising to say the least.

[F/N] turned her head to the side, Blinking as she came face to face with an dark alleyway. It was lodged between two tall fences and combined with their shadows and the night it made it nigh impossible to see a few feet into it.

But she heard the voice of an older man from within it, She couldn't deny it.

"Hello..?" [F/N] called out back into the alleyway, Her voice reverberating against the wooden fences as it went. No one answered, Not for a few dragging moments before the voice spoke out again.

But now with an associated body.

"Heyyyy~…" The man drawled as his body emerged from within the shadows.

His body was tall, Taller than the usual person. He seemed lean or rather thin, But [F/N] could see the muscles hiding under his loose yukata. He stood high with no hunch and had a half-empty bottle of sake swinging within his vulture-like hands.

His face too, It was like the mentioned bird's as well. Skin drooping and furrowed into a point with his nose and chapped lips. But his appearance didn't put-off [F/N], Too innocent to sense the vileness coming off of him.

"What'cha looking for there, Girlie..? Ain't you too young to be out this late..~?" The man drawled as he took a swig from the sake bottle, Liquor dribbling down his chin without care. [F/N] blinked as she looked at him.

"I'm just looking for any places I can get some food.. Do you know where I can get it?" [F/N] asked, Putting on the best smile that she could. The man smiled as he stalked a few steps closer to her in the dead night.

"Well I mean maybe~ Your parents about..? Oh.. What'cha got in there..?" He asked, Now looming over her to create a new shadow. [F/N] held Shizuko tighter in her arms yet her happy demeanour dropped.

She took a moment to think however.

"..No, My parents aren't really here right now. And this is my little brother, He's hungry, That's why I'm trying to find food." [F/N] told him. She watched as his crooked smile grew wider to expose his gums.

"..Well, You're in luck then..~" The man said.

"I am?" [F/N] asked, Tilting her head.

"Mhmm.. I got food back at my place~ How'sa bout I bring you and ya' brother back with me..? How'sa bout that?" The man said, Taking a final swig of his bottle before tossing it aside far into the alleyway with an audible clatter.

[F/N] hummed. Her first time talking with someone outside the village, She had been told how different it was down here but in person she could see what they meant. He was an adult, Adult's were meant to be trusted if you excluded the ones in her house.

The one's in the village were always nice to her, Giving her free food during festival times and always fawning over her lineage. Even so they were always cordial, How different could this one be? Plus he was offering food, That was something she couldn't give up.

[F/N] smiled bigger.

"Okay then! As long as you reall-" [F/N] stopped in the middle of her speech, Jaw left open as she froze in place.

The man raised an eyebrow, His drunken grin turning into a tight-lipped grimace.

"What..? What's wrong..?" He asked, But [F/N] couldn't hear him as she was invested within her own thoughts.

Mid-way through her sentence, Through her acceptance of his offer. She had suddenly been hit with a disgusting sense striking through her heart like a spear, A sudden jolt of concentrated fear radiating within her heart.

It wasn't like anything she had felt before, Nothing at all. But where could it be coming from? What did it mean. It smelt like rotten eggs and the pungent smell of liquor doused on top of it.

[F/N] looked back up at him, Her question answered by the look on his face.

It was coming from him.

"I.. N-Nevermind, I think I'll just continue searching on my own now.." [F/N] said as she backed away. What safety she had felt before gone in an instant, Replaced with an overwhelming terror pumping through her blood stream.

She had went to turn, But the cold hand that lunged out onto her shoulder stopped her motion.

"No, No.. You better come with me if you're hungry~ Come on.. I'll take good care of you.." The man said but the overly-friendly charade had started to break down more and more. The tug of his hand more insistent.

[F/N] started to tremble, The hold on Shizuko's cot becoming that of steel as she tried to shake off his hand.

"Please.. I don't wanna go with you.. Let me go.." [F/N] whispered out with a pleading look on her face. Something was wrong, Something was really wrong and it was confirmed how she was yanked back by his hand.

His grin now gone with the night's wind. Angry eyes reflecting his true intentions as [F/N] yelped out in terror.

"No, No.. Come on now.. You're comin' with me.." He hissed out lowly as he started to drag her out of the alleyway by the wrist, Near sweeping her off her feet and dropping Shizuko as he lugged her along with him.

"N-No! Get off me, Get off!" [F/N] screamed but there was no one to hear. The streets still empty and barren, No soul around but the stars to hear her cries of helplessness. Shizuko woke up too, Sensing the situation he started to cry.

"Shut up-!" The man snapped at her as Shizuko's cries grew louder.

"Let go- L-Let go!" [F/N] cried out.

"Shut it, You little bitch!" The man spat.

[F/N] didn't know what she was doing. But one moment she was being pulled out the alleyway by the wrist, The next her foot connected with the start of his bare knee. Slamming her soles into them as hard as her little body could.

The man screamed in agony as his leg near toppled on itself.

"You bitch- You little whore- YOU GET BACK HERE YOU-!" [F/N] didn't wait any longer to hear what words he would call her next.

Instead grasping onto the cot harder and turning towards the alleyway, Eyes brimming with tears as she sprinted into the darkness. She ran. Feet thundering against the textured stone of the alleyway.

Shizuko crying and firmly within her grasp as she passed by piles of trash and unpolished wood laying around. The scenery was filthy and infested with grime, But she had no time to smell the roses as she heard the man start to run behind her.

He was yelling.

Yelling obscenities she just couldn't make out nor could understand. She ran and ran, Her little legs trying their best to make distance but it was no matter anymore. Turning a corner her feet skittered to a halt.

A wall.

There was a wall.

There was no exit, There was just the end of the alleyway. A single wooden fence with dirt and rubbish piling up against it, Rats and mice scavenging the leftovers. There was no detour or route she could run for.

No.. This can't be-! This can't be it- No- No- NO!

[F/N] felt her heart drop.

Her body started to shake even harder as she took a step back, Looking at the sight with disbelief. The fences were too high to climb for someone of her height, Too tall to scale and her The feet behind her came to halt, Only a metre away.

[F/N] wanted her bed right then and there.

"Alright.. Fucking slut-!" He wheezed out as she turned around in horror to face the monster so close to her and her little brother. He took a few more steps closer, Further and further towards her as she backed up into the alleyway.

"I- I'm sorry-! Please let me go, Pleas- I won't tell no one! J-Just let us go okay, We won't tell-" [F/N] felt her back slam against the wall, Her body collapsing down into a ball. Shizuko's cot in the centre, His cries echoing out in the alleyway.

The man sneered. His body almost doubling in size as he approached closer and closer. A mixture of saliva and booze trailing down his chin, A horrid stench made very clear now. [F/N]'s heart thumped harder and harder, Her hands growing sweaty.

"Fucking ungrateful little shit.. I offer you food and a place to stay- And this is how you act? Not very respecting of your elders, Eh? Ya' mommy and daddy never teach you that?" He rumbled. A tone just dripping with mockery and he grew closer and closer.

What could she do? What would she do? There was nothing, No exit or place to run was made available. Was this really what the world was like?

The green grass fields that were illustrated in the books, Dandelions and bustling cities full of friendly people to talk with. Would she ever get to see that now? Were they real in the first place?

She would never know, Not now. Not by the way she sensed him. Her shaky hand brushed up against cold glass, Dragging her eyes away from him for only a moment.

"Fucking bitch.. You know what..? Pass the little boy you got in there, Teach you a little lesson.. Eh?" His hands lunged out, Time slowing with it as he reached down towards the woven cot.

Towards Shizuko.

In that moment, Looking back. [F/N] wasn't sure what came over her in that single second, She didn't know what divine force drove her actions as her hand wrapped around the sake bottle he had tossed earlier.

She lunged it upwards, Forgetting Shizuko for only a moment as her body turned within the air.

But it was over soon. The hands that were ready to grab her little brother were soon a pallete of red, Fallen to the floor.

His body twitched, Garbled speech dying on his tounge.

The broken bottle was stuck dead within his throat, Shards broken off and splintering into the skin of his shoulders. It was over in an instant, [F/N] somehow striking a vital point within him.

He had fallen to the floor, Covering her with his blood.

What.. What happened?

She sat there wide eyed. Her body didn't move a single inch, Petrified about what had happened. Shizuko tucked in beside her.

The man was easily ten times bigger than him, His muscles toned for a drunkard could've easily overpowered her.

But somehow she was able to overpower him, Somehow knew where to puncture and made a perfect move to lodge it in. Like a blood-borne ability it came off naturally, Like she had done it ten times before.

But she sat there for what felt like hours. Her mouth open and her grey kimono drowned in the intoxicated blood of the man she had slain by her hands.

As her eyes drifted down the corpse only a few feet away, She raised a hand.

The blood dripping down her fingertips, The iron stench flooding the alleyway.

It brought her back to all those times before, How the man dragged all of her siblings to the river and that splash of red would burst from their little necks. How it would fall into the river, Iron flowing in the water.

Did.. Did she do that?

"Woah.. Looks like someone already got him.."

Another voice called out from down the alleyway.

[F/N]'s body tensed up, The primal glint in her eyes stiffening as she pulled Shizuko closer to her. Her eyes wild and ready for the next one, Locking in on a trio of men walking down the alleyway and stopping at the sight.

One of the men looked to the side, Spotting her crouched form deeper within the passage. Tapping his comrades on the shoulder he pointed towards her, Which only made her back further into the shadows.

"Hey- Hey kid, You good there?" One of the men called out. A gruff voice like a smoker, One that seemed scarred as he looked at the young girl hiding within the darkness.

[F/N] didn't respond, Only looked at them with vigilant eyes.

Another man took the opportunity to speak.

"Hey.. Did you do this?" The other man spoke, Daring to take a few steps closer as he pointed at the bloody cadaver. The man's body muscular and marked, Tattoo's running all throughout his body.

[F/N] blinked. Scanning over him before nodding.

The man took a few steps back towards the group, Tapping them on the shoulder and whispering a few things that [F/N] just couldn't make out. They seemed to be in some sort of debate.

She tried to take a few cautious steps forward, Trying to get a better listen to what they were saying. Only understanding a few phrases like "She took him down" "Suzuki? Seriously? That little girl?"

But by the time she could make out the rest they were already done. Turning back to her.

"How about you come with us? You must be starving right? You live out on these streets, Kid? Need some money?" The first man offered as he stepped closer to her. Instinctively she pulled Shizuko closer.

As the man crouched down, [F/N] felt that same sense perk up again. His feel.. No, His soul maybe. His soul was disgusting and torn, It was horrid and it felt like nails on a chalkboard to her.

But it didn't feel dangerous.

Not like the dead man, This one had no intention of harming her or her brother. Not physically at least. It should've deterred her by all means but the promise of money.. That was what she could tell.

So she picked Shizuko up, Hoisting him over her bloody shoulder making sure to support his head as she stumbled over to him. Still petrified and muddled from what had happened but it didn't stop her as she walked over to him.

The man lain a hand on her back and her forward towards the group, Signalling them with some kind of hand gesture. They turned and started to walk out of the alleyway, Marching towards the moonlight shining on the outside.

She followed them, Too confused to understand what was happening as she cradled Shizuko close. Her only sense of comfort as she made her way forward with the man behind her leading the way.

The blood stayed stained on her kimono, Dripping down her head and in her hair. The lifeblood of the man she had slaughtered drenched her, But not just her body now.

That one single scene from the river, The sword against the throat of her siblings. The way she had felt for every single one of them.

The way she could no longer see the face of the man behind the blade, But instead her very own.

Next Chapter

[achaotichuman]

Kidnapped by the Faery Queen

TAMLIN WEEK IS HERE AND I AM HAPPY

This is for Day 1- Prompt: Human Tamlin.

For this one, I decided on writing an AU where Tamlin and Feyre's roles are reversed, Tamlin is the human mortal and Feyre is the High Lady.

This fic is mostly Tamlin making dumb decisions and feylin fluff at the end as well as banter between Tamlin & Lucien & Feyre! It focuses mostly on Tamlin's first impressions of the SC and the gang. It doesn't follow the canon events of what led Feyre to Tamlin because idk I wanted to write this instead.

You can read on Ao3, or below the cut!

There was something thundering in his chest, urging him faster and faster and faster. Rocketing through the woods. Passing by trees bending at the trunk like they might keel over. An archway created overhead that dappled the silvery light of the moon. Splashes across the snow like pearls of light. It was clear above, not a cloud to remove the paleness of the mood from the world. 

It was dark and cold, and never-ending snow, but he had to run. He had to feel the crunch of grass blades hidden underneath blankets of undisturbed white. He had to feel his muscles ache and burn with warmth as the chill of the air caused his face to flush. Heart racing, an owl cried overhead, its song breaking through the silence of the air. Cutting through like a sewing needle piercing intricate strings of fabric. 

He only looked up momentarily to see the flutter of soft wings darting from a tree branch through the air, before the animal was long gone from sight. He quickened his pace. Until he must have been a blur in between the tree trunks. Running with shadows, in the darkest parts of the woods. Deeper and deeper to the heart, he must have looked to be a part of the forest itself. Some indiscernible creature running as if for its life. A spooked deer, a bird flying low to the ground. A lost spirit running through the inbetween of the realms. 

Something inhuman and ghastly. Something that children would see from the corner of their eyes and quickly grab their mother’s skirts whilst pointing in between the trees. Only to find the shadow they had seen was long gone. 

Eventually he was forced to stop. Legs burning so much the fire seemed to consume his muscles. It was a miracle he was still standing as he hunched over and panted, hands on his knees, heart thundering behind his ribs. Breath fogging in the chilled air. Strands of his golden blond hair fell around his face. Quickly he brushed them behind his hood once more. The rough wool of his gloves harsh on his sensitive, flushed face. 

Taking a slow step forward, Tamlin looked through the treelines. Adjusting his thick coat before pulling the bow strapped around him off his back, and drawing an arrow. Instincts telling him he was a fool, an idiot for coming so far out at this time. But he had to get away. The wind that pummelled against the frail glass of his shared bedroom window called to him. Singing his name like a prayer falling from a devout believer. He was helpless but to strap on his weapons, excitedly gathering his gear. Only sparing a second thought to quickly shut the window, lest he wake his older brothers who laid soundly asleep. 

But now as he looked around at the dark woods, he realised how stupid he was to come out here tonight. In the cold, where he had nothing but the footprints he made to track his way back home. Even that could quickly be eliminated by more snowfall. 

There was a sudden noise from behind him, the sound of a crunch, like a foot on a stick. 

Tamlin whipped around, drawing his arrow. Heart racing and preparing to duck for cover. 

“Oh.” He whispered into the soft night. 

A stag stared at him curiously. It’s beady black eyes shining in the pale light. The majestic antlers gracing its head stuck out in so many twining directions. It had one foot lifted above a broken twig. So still and watching. 

Tamlin kept the arrow drawn. Never wavering and never lowering. His body stiller than a slingshot pulled back, ready to be fired. Like his muscles were elastic and stretched to the limit. 

Then the stag…

Just turned its head, moving its feet finally, crushing the snow below it as it leisurely strolled back into the woods. Into the darkness and out of sight. 

Tamlin’s eyes rolled as he lowered his bow, huffing. Puffs of white clouded in front of his face and he stomped the snow, digging into it until he saw blades of icy green, black in the little light. He must be truly going insane. 

Lost to the sensations of cold nighttime, he left the cottage in favour of running blindly into a dangerous woods, where wolves lurked about in the dark hours of morning. He was stupid beyond comprehension. His mother must have dropped him as a child, because there was in no way that a normal person thought the wind called for them. 

Unless.. 

Tamlin snapped up his bow again as a growl vibrated through the woods. Travelling through the air like claws reaching out. It echoed, as another growl joined it, followed by a third and a fourth. 

They emerged from the darkness. With fur a dark grey that glimmered in the silvery light. Teether bared and eyes stoking flames. Four powerful wolves circled him slowly. 

Tamlin was frozen in place. Muscles locked up as his body went into fight or flight mode. In a moment of utter terror, mind replaced entirely with fear. He ran. 

It was a terrible decision, as then the wolves pounced. 

Tamlin tried to duck down, screaming. Hoping someone equally as stupid as him had come out here during the night, hopefully with an axe or a mace. A large claw descended on him, and Tamlin screamed again as it slashed his abdomen. Blood poured from his stomach. Soaking his clothes. The four were on him, a pile of raw flesh for the taking. There was nothing he could do as he felt teeth sink into his arm, preparing to pierce flesh. 

Then a roar more powerful than any of the snarling wolves shattered the night sky. 

The large furred heads of the wolves jutted up, ears falling back, completely flat. The roar echoed again, similar to a snarled warning. They began to whimper and whine. 

Then it appeared, and Tamlin felt all the blood drain from his face, nearly fainting on the spot. 

Its fur completely white, with black spots covering its hide. Eyes yellow and gleaming. A jaw full of bone white teeth. Scraping black claws across the snow as it prowled forward. Snarling once more. 

The wolves barked and whined, and fled. Leaving Tamlin a heap of bloodied human meat. He almost wished the wolves had finished him off, so he wouldn't be faced with the hulking beast walking slowly to him. Its pace taunting, knowing he had no way to get away from it. If he ran, it would catch him. There was no possible route that allowed his mortal legs to outrun this powerful creature. 

Soon it was looming above him. Tamlin’s neck ached as he stretched his head up to keep eye contact with the creature. It cocked its head in an almost human manner, as if pondering something. 

Only one thought ran through his head, and it just made the situation all the more terrifying. 

This is a Fae. This is a Fae. This is a Fae. This is a Fae. This is a Fae.

It was undeniable. The creature was not mortal. It moved too gracefully. Was too pristine. Too big to be any kind of naturally occurring animal. This was a monster from the depths of the Faery lands. And it had crossed the border into these woods. 

Horror coursed through his body as Tamlin thought that the calling from the wind was the Faery creature, he truly ran right into a trap. 

“Please.” He begged weakly. Blood was rushing too quickly from his wounds. Splattering crimson across the pure white snow. A pattern of scarlet red. Something wet and horrible dripped down his face and Tamlin realised he was crying as he was faced with the terrible creature above him. 

But it simply watched, making his fear grow, cold pressed into his body, as the wolves had torn his clothes and revealed skin to the freezing cold. For a moment Tamlin wondered if the monster would let him die first before feasting on his flesh. Faery cruelty. Maybe he would die from pure fear before the bleeding out could take him. 

Black swirled in and out of his vision. Until his blinking was coming slower and longer. The beast just watched. Tamlin felt coldness spread up his back, neck and head. He had fallen back into the snow, his eyes could see nothing but darkness, silver and yellow eyes. Before they finally closed, tears dripping hot from the corner of his eyes. 

I never said goodbye to anyone, he thought as darkness embraced him. 

When he woke up, pain was spidering through his abdomen and arm. Lingering in his body and refusing to release him. He groaned loudly and shifted, trying to feel anything other than the horrid burning sensations in his skin. As he did, there was a flurry of whispering around him. He jolted almost immediately. Especially as he realised he was not in cold snow, but laying amongst the softest sheets he had ever felt. 

Opening his blurry eyes he tried to take in his surroundings. First he saw a ceiling above him. Pure white, a large golden chandelier hanging in the centre, not lit as sunlight poured in through the large glass pane windows. Casting long shadows through the room. Tamlin tried to sit up, but his body would not part from the stinging pain that consumed him. 

“He is awake, alert the High Lady.” A voice like silk whispered harshly from someone in the room. 

“What?” He croaked out, voice rough from disuse, he grabbed the sheets in his hands, balling them in his fists. He was squirming as he tried to sit up. 

“Hush child, you are safe.” That same silk voice murmured, now closer. 

Tamlin managed to crane his neck to the side and there he saw the source of the voice. 

He screamed. 

Jumping up from the bed, the adrenaline briefing ridding him of the burning pain. He sat up quickly and scrambled away from the right side of the bed. As he stared and stared at the creature looking back at him with a sudden, shocked expression. 

Tamlin fell off the side of the bed, onto a soft fluffy mat. He looked around quickly, hearing quick footsteps towards him. He tried to scramble under the bed, just to get away, but she was there again before he could hide. 

“You…” His voice left him as he stared, and wondered if his sudden outburst would anger the undoubtedly Faery creature standing before him. 

He swallowed hard, tears wetting his eyes, but he blinked them away the best he could. Trying to reach for anything that could be used as a weapon. 

Instead, however, of being offended, the woman- or whatever she was- simply put a hand on her hip. Tilting her head to the side, causing wiry brown hair to fall down the side of her shoulder. Her bark-skinned shoulder. 

Her skin looked rough to touch. Textured with some knots like in a trunk. As if carved from wood. Though her eyes were filled with life. She raised an eyebrow, causing the texture of her skin to shift as she did. 

“I will not hurt you, human.” She said, gently but firmly. Like a mother coaxing a child to come to her.

Tamlin swallowed again, then managed to stammer out, “Why should I believe you, Faery?”

He spat the word with venom. Faeries were creatures that hunted, killed and tortured innocent humans for stupid crimes that could not be considered as such. Like walking into Faery rings, or accidentally getting involved with Faery deals. 

She sighed heavily, chest rising and falling. Holding out a hand, she said, “Call me Alis, child.”

“Alis?” He repeated. Then cursed himself, he shouldn’t so much as speak to the creature before him. Yet he continued to stare at her. 

She nodded, hand still held out, as if offering it. Tamlin bared his teeth and huddled further away, curling in on himself. 

Her head shook and her length of hair shook with it. Turning away from the human man. She went for the door. Opening it up, Tamlin heard the sounds of shouting, crashing and swearing. He flinched hard and ducked further away from the door. Alis sighed lightly, then looked back over at him, “Someone will come soon to prepare you.”

“Prepare me-” Tamlin tried to ask, but before he could, she closed the door. As it clicked shut, Tamlin stared at the bronze handle. Then at the dark oak door itself, before looking around the room. 

It was beautiful, that was for certain. All dark, polished wood, bronze and gold. The sheets of the bed were silk, emerald green and the curtains were sheer. The window closed. 

Finally, on shaking legs, Tamlin stood, grunting as he grabbed the nearby nightstand for support as the burning pain returned in full. Though dulling as the seconds were by. When he touched his stomach where the slash had been, and found not only was he wearing a different set of clothes, but there was a bandage with some kind of salve over his skin. 

Tamlin pulled at the new shirt. It was sleep wear, just a white shirt and soft green pants. He felt his entire body go completely red as he realized someone had undressed and redressed him.

What the fuck was this place? He wrapped his arms around himself, human instincts begging to run and find a place to hide.

Some kind of Faery world. Some kind of place he would no doubt be tortured or hunted for sport. As the stories all liked to go. 

Slowly Tamlin sat down on the soft coverlet. Not quite sure where to go from here. What to do. Alis, if she had even given him her real name, said someone would come prepare him. 

Prepare him for what?

Tamlin’s first thought was he was going to be turned into some kind of stew. His next thought was he would be dragged out for entertainment. Forced to dance on hot coals until he died or something like that. His toes curled and his body shook as terror seized him once more. 

In a wave of energy and the need to get away, Tamlin stumbled for the large and, more importantly, unlocked, window. His bruised fingertips grappled with the frame for a moment before he managed to pull them open. 

But when he looked over the edge, his eyes widened when he saw how far up he was from the ground. Far below him, gardens roamed the grounds. Large and spread out. Dappled with colours of all sorts and looking like chaos incarnate. Spread out like twisting, festering vines, roots and branches. With patches of sweet-smelling flowers hidden in between. 

Tamlin tossed a look back over at the room. And decided a death by falling would be better than whatever the Faeries had in store for him. So with gritted teeth and while silently cursing his own stupidity. Tamlin leaped over the edge, grabbed onto a nearby ivy plant clinging to the wall and swung away from the window sill. 

He swallowed a shout, and quickly found footing in the green netting like plant. Hands burning as he gripped the ivy. He began a quick descent. Even as the branches gave way under his hands, he moved as fast as he could so as to get away before anyone noticed his disappearance. 

A cut, a cussing fit, and three new bruises later. The ivy gave out underneath him and Tamlin thumped to the ground with another hissed curse. Luckily he hadn’t been more than three feet off the ground. 

Groaning quietly as he picked himself off the floor. Tamlin dusted his shirt from the dirt and wiped as much of the mud smeared on his cheek off as possible. Finally he got to his wobbling legs and looked around. 

The gardens looked more like a labyrinth than gardens. Winding around and around, with walls of bushes and large trees bent over like they couldn’t handle standing straight. Moss collected on rocks and stone made pathways through the maze of sweet smelling lands. 

It was Springtime. 

But they had just been in winter. Spring wasn’t for yet another month. 

Another Faery trick. Some kind of magic he wanted no part of. Tamlin snarled at the lily of the valley near him, as if they were directly responsible for him being in Faery territory.

A trick of some sort, to lead him to a trap. Tamlin squeezed his hands into fists and began to walk silently through the gardens. Treading carefully and making absolutely sure he would not break so much as a twig underfoot. His heart thumped behind his rips, rocketing through his body, pulsing in time with each step.

Soon, he turned a corner and was met with a sight more lovely than he had ever seen before. 

A courtyard of some kind. Flowing fountains, and trimmed hedges lined the grounds. He saw the extent of the… mansion he had been taken to. Carved from marble and stone. Detailed carefully and so much larger than any house he had ever seen. Tamlin baulked at the sheer size of the place he was in. Everything seemed so much bigger than him, reducing him to the comparable size of an ant. 

He nearly stumbled back, but was pulled back into where he was and the danger he was in. Tamlin’s mouth pulled into a snarl and he quickly ducked away from the open area, hiding in between bushes and trees and winding through the rest of the gardens. Trying to find some way out of here. 

He found that the grounds were so large and trying to find his way out of them was like being trapped in a maze. As it was he wound up in some kind of small woods. Large tall oaks loomed above him, but he could still smell the pollen behind him, and didn’t know whether he had left the grounds or these woods were still part of the mansion. 

Tamlin ignored the knots twisting tighter and tighter in his stomach as he marched forward in the general direction of South, (or what he hoped was South). He ignored the chill that spread over his skin, making his mind beg to turn back. He kept going further and further and further, until it was looking dark above, maybe that was the thick brush getting thicker and thicker as he went. 

It was nerves he told himself, not real, just flight or fight making him jumpy. 

But as he went further, he could have sworn something like a finger brushed his shoulder. Tamlin leapt away with a shout. Brushing off his clothes like he was trying tog et rid of a bug. His body kept washing over and over with fear so intense it paralysed him. Shaking, stumbling back he scanned the world but saw nothing at all. 

Nothing, it was nothing, just nerves or a bug that had fallen on him. It had to be, there was nothing else out here. 

Still he picked up the pace, going faster and faster and faster until he broke out into a sprint, heading further and further into the dark forest. Running for his life, trying to reach the border, to get back to his family, to his world. Not this place. Anywhere but this terrifying place. 

Then more chills fell down his spine, rolling through his like waves lapping at a sandy shore. Tamlin stumbled but kept running, not turning back, not looking back for a single second. 

Something like a hand reached out, brushing his hair and shoulder, wrapping around his neck. A scream curled in his throat and he grabbed a branch as he ran, tearing it away and keeping it like a sword at his side. Still whatever was behind him started to whisper. Cruel cold words he didn’t understand but knew anyway, threats, promises of eating him alive. 

A roar, a roar that he remembered from the night, however long ago it was, he had been kidnapped. 

It rattled the ground, Tamlin fell to the floor, scraping his knees and elbows, but not caring as the land shuddered. The trees around him seemed to bend to the sound. Whatever had shattered the sky once more had power here and it rippled through the world. 

All at once the whispering ceased, and a shriek of terror and pain ripped through the world. Tamlin hid under a large root and curled in on himself, hiding away, not daring to even breath loud. 

In a second it was over, and silence filled the air once more. But only for a single second, before a low growl tore the ground and footsteps followed, getting closer, and closer, and closer.

He didn’t have many options. None at all really. 

Tamlin clung to the stick he had grabbed, and as a huff of warm air from around the shelter of the root breathed over him. A rush of adrenaline fueled his body. 

Tamlin leapt up from underneath the root, with barely a second to spare he pulled the stick and launched it at the creature with all the might in his body. 

It hit the beast’s jaw with a thud, followed by a roar of pain from the creature as it stumbled back, reeling from the hit. 

Tamlin took no time in pondering how he had just signed his death warrant. Instead he took off through the woods. Rocketing through at lightning speeds, desperately forcing his way through the brush. The beast shouted a battle cry once more as it raced after him. He could hear it pounding behind him on all fours.

He was prey in a trap, little more than game to be hunted. 

Tamlin ran faster and faster and faster-

He smacked into a very hard, very solid form and fell back on the ground. 

Reeling with dizziness. Tamlin forced his way up, thinking he had hit a tree. 

The idea he smacked into a tree was quickly shattered as a sly voice crooned from above him, “Well isn’t this interesting? We were looking for you, little fawn, and here you are running right back to us.”

Tamlin forced his eyes up and his eyes went wide. A tall man grinned wickedly down at him, dark skin gleaming in the sunlight above, red hair spilling down his back and shoulders like waves of scarlet. His face was half covered by a gilded fox-shaped mask. Underneath a scar over his right eye was plain to see, inside the eye socket instead of a normal eyeball, was instead a golden contraption that mimicked his other eye. 

It seemed the tree he had hit was the man’s chest. Tamlin felt himself go very red, then white as he saw the long pointed ears sticking out from in amongst the locks of crimson. 

He scrambled back, but the fox masked man just raised an eyebrow, “Don’t run away again, little fawn, it won’t go well for you.”

Tamlin snarled as he got to his feet and pulled up his stick with him, holding it like a sword, “Get the fuck away from me.”

Little fawn, they were matched in height, granted Tamlin hadn’t eaten a full meal in who knew how long so they weren’t quite matched in build. But Tamlin had never been a man to look down upon. 

Except this creature wasn’t man. Rather Faery creature. 

Tamlin tried not to let his fear show. 

However, the Faery seemed less inclined to toy with him, instead turning his eyes to something behind Tamlin, “Feyre! I found your wayward doe, ran right to me.”

Tamlin went completely still as heavy footsteps thundered behind him. The beast, he had forgotten about the beast. 

Tamlin bared a glance over his shoulder and there it stood. As terrifying and horrible as when he had seen it scare away those wolves from tearing him to shreds. It was so, so much bigger than him. With those glinting yellow eyes that glared down at them. 

Tamlin felt like passing out. But held his ground as he tried to step away, to get away. 

But he hit the Faery behind him again, and quickly reeled away. The fox-masked man cackled, and Tamlin kept looking in between the beast and the Faery.

Caught between a rock and hard place, with no escape.

Shit. 

In a split second, as Tamlin considered just making a break and running for it. There was a sudden glow of gold, a brightness that had Tamlin shielding his eyes, it was gone in a moment, and suddenly he heard quieter steps coming toward him. 

“Yes, yes, an applause for you Lucien.” A snarky voice quipped. 

“I do try,” The fox-masked man, Lucien, said. 

Tamlin, however, did not look at Lucien, supposedly, behind him as his eyes went astronomically wide as he saw who now replaced the form of the beast. 

In the glow, fur had turned to skin and horns had disappeared. Paws were now hands and yellow eyes had turned to blue ones. 

A woman stepped out towards him. In a green tunic with a quiver of arrows on her back, as well as a bow. Her boots thudded against the ground, and her braid of brown hair slung over her shoulder. Her eyes were cold as she walked towards him. Face half hidden, like Lucien, by a mask. This mask however, was gilded gold and shaped like the face of the beast. Her eyes kept glancing at the stick in his hand, a drop of blood welled on her jaw, the small scratch quickly beginning to heal itself.

It seemed Lucien caught quickly on to why the stick was in Tamlin’s hand and why the female Faery had a slight scratch on her jaw a sudden cackle was torn from him, “Oh, the human got you in the jaw, Feyre? Isn’t that something Alis will be dying to hear of.”

“Quiet Lucien,” Feyre, the beast, said, narrowing her eyes in a predatory way. 

“But it’s so much fun to speak.” Lucien said. 

Feyre ignored him as her eyes went back to Tamlin, “You escaped your rooms, how?”

Tamlin snarled, and lifted the stick again like he might try to strike her and run. His mother had driven it into him to never hit girls, but his brothers had driven it into him to give back what people gave him. 

And in this moment, he thought killing a Faery in order to escape a kidnapping sounded pretty even for what they had given him. 

“Feisty eh?” Lucien crooned. 

Feyre let out a slow release of breath through her nose, then her eyes turned back to Lucien, “Take him back to Rosehall, have the servants prepare him for supper.”

So they were going to turn him into stew. 

“Now, little fawn, no need to go so pale, no one will be eating you.” Lucien said as he prowled around to face Tamlin, practically reading the thoughts going through his head. Lucien then looked him up and down slowly before adding, “Not in that regard at least.”

“Don’t be crass.” Feyre chided, waving her hand, “I’ve had enough of hide and go seek, take him back and lock the windows this time.”

“Wait-” Tamlin started, but Lucien just rolled his eyes at Feyre and grabbed his arm. Tamlin tried to reef it away, but all of a sudden he was swept into darkness. 

It felt like he was falling through flames, through dark flames that wouldn't burn him. It only happened for a few seconds before his knees hit wood and he looked around to find himself back in the room he had woken up in. Lucien was standing above him as Tamlin tried to catch his breath after having it stolen from his lungs. 

“Get him dressed… and somewhat clean.” Lucien ordered someone in the room. 

“Yes my lord,” A male voice responded. Tamlin looked up to see a sweet-faced boy with blue skin and fluttering wings. He had long black hair and black eyes. Despite the terrifying Faery features, he seemed gentle and kind. 

“Good, have him ready in fifteen minutes, sundown approaches.” Lucien started to head for the door.

“Stop!” Tamlin shouted, causing the red-head to look back over his shoulder. 

“Where am I?” Tamlin asked, needing to know, to have some idea. 

Lucien gave a small smirk, “Why you’re in Prythian, little fawn, welcome to the Spring Court.”

Without another word, he opened the door and closed it behind him. 

Tamlin looked up at the Faery servant, who smiled gently. 

Tamlin met the gesture with a growl. 

In hindsight, he made the poor man’s life so much harder than it needed to be. But either he expected it, or was used to it, as whenever Tamlin refused to cooperate, it was met with indifference and repetition of whatever order he had been given. Whether that be to take off his shirt, sit still for his hair to be brushed, or to even get into the sweet-smelling bathwater. 

He felt a little like an obstinate toddler, but for the Gods sakes, they had kidnapped him. Who in their right mind thought he, of all the people in the world, would go along with this easily? 

The blue Faery only said they had all night whenever Tamlin sat on the floor and glared at the wall. Tamlin reminded him with a snappy tone that they only had fifteen minutes, his words were met with silence, which only served to anger him further. 

Somehow, through patience and a lot of counting to ten, the blue Faery had him clean and sitting at a vanity, glaring at him through the mirror as his nimble finger braided his unruly blond hair into a long braid. 

“You know I was forced here too.” The blue Faery said. At that Tamlin blinked suddenly. 

“What?”

“I come from another land, another Court. The Court of Summer. I was forced to leave when my village was struck. The bandits that plundered my father’s house killed every living person, but missed me as I escaped through the window with my sister.”

“Oh.” Tamlin said, not really knowing how to react. 

“Mm,” he hummed, “We had not a mark on us. We didn’t know where we were going. Our village was the closest to Spring, we accidently crossed over here, into the Spring Court and had no choice but to go further in, hunger pushed us, and my sister died on the walk through the woods.”

“I…” Tamlin suddenly felt incredibly guilty for the way he had been acting, “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“I carried her all the way through Spring, until eventually the High Lady found me whilst she was patrolling with sentries. Her majesty, bless her reign, took me in and gave me a job in her household. My sister had a proper burial and I have lived here ever since.”

Tamlin fiddled with his fingers. Watching the Faery behind him as his fingers began to weave daises through the braid, “That must have been… scary.”

“It was, I didn’t like being here at first, even though I was just met with kindness. I snapped at a lot of people and worked as alone as I could. But after long enough I grew to love my new position. And I am thankful to the Lady for rescuing me.”

“That’s… that’s good.”

He smiled into the mirror, “Did you have any family?”

Did, as if they were dead, gone, as if he would never see them again. 

He supposed he wouldn’t. Not now that he is here. 

Not that the family he did have were much of a family. 

“Sort of.” Tamlin mumbled, “My two older brothers and my father.”

He nodded, “I see.”

The Faery looked at him as if he expected Tamlin to continue, when Tamlin just stared back blankly he looked back down at the braid he was making. Tamlin cast his eyes down to his rough fingers, scarred from times he had nicked the skin with arrows. 

“There.” He eventually said, “All ready.”

Tamlin looked at his reflection, and barely recognised it. 

His skin was clean and gleaming with hydration from the obscene amount of creams and oils the Faery had forcibly rubbed into his body. His hair was for once, untangled and smooth, braided nicely with some curls peeking out. His hair was curly from his mother’s side, whilst he had his father’s pale complexion. He inherited the impossible curls from his mother. 

The clothes he wore weren’t stained or torn, rather pressed. A white shirt and green waistcoat with golden detailing. Brown trousers, with shiny dark brown, leather shoes. All of it worth more than his brothers would say he was worth. Though his brothers liked to say if they sold him for two marks, someone would bargain for lower. 

“It's time to go.” The blue Faery said, waving him up from the vanity. This time, Tamlin stood with no complaints, which the Faery seemed to be pleased with. 

“What’s your name?” Tamlin found himself asking. Mentally slapping himself. 

“Tain.” He replied, “Yours?”

“Tamlin.” Tamlin murmured. 

“A pleasure to serve you, Tamlin.” Tain said, bowing his head. 

“A pleasure to meet you, Tain.” Tamlin replied, awkwardly bowing his head, not quite sure what to do. 

Tain quickly took him to leave the room. Opening the creaking door Tamlin saw the glorious extent of the interior of the manor. 

It was all gilded and polished and glowing. Large windows with sunlight flooding the halls. Paintings filled the walls. And the white and black chequered tiles in the hallways were covered by handmade, intricate rugs. 

It was all so expensive looking Tamlin found himself open-mouth gawking at it. More than once Tain had to snap at him to close his mouth and move quicker. 

Tamlin obeyed, still reeling a little from Tain’s story. 

It was in no time at all that they were going down a flight of stairs and walking to a room down a hallway, which had the large door wide open, and the sound of two voices arguing flowing from it. 

“You didn’t think to lock the window!” A woman shouted. 

“I didn’t think a human could scale down four stories!” A man shot back. 

“I told you to take precautions-” The woman started to reply before she cut herself off. 

Tamlin and Tain rounded the corner into the room, and Tamlin found himself staring at the two who had caught him earlier. 

Feyre, the beast who had kidnapped him and scared him two ways to death, was sitting at the head of the table. Wearing a gold and green tunic with trousers similar to his own, only more tailored. Her hair, instead of in a braid, was flowing down in waves over her back, with a ring of gold around her head. She leaned her cheek against her head as she looked from Tamlin to Lucien. Her fingers tapping her mask. 

Lucienn was standing behind the seat on Feyre’s right. His eye clicked as he looked over Tamlin. Wearing a blue, fitted tunic and black pants. Rings covering his fingers, and his hair braided back. He regarded Tamlin with a grin, “Tain you work magic once again.”

“Thank you my lord.” Tain bowed low at the waist. 

“Thank you Tain, you may retire.” Feyre said. 

“Thank you, my High Lady.” Tain said, still bowing. After a second, he stood straight and left the room. 

High Lady. Tamlin whipped his eyes back to Feyre, who regarded him with a look of boredom. 

So this was the High Lady, the mistress of this house. 

Of this… Court. 

Lucien slunk down into his seat, not seeming to need confirmation from his Lady. He crossed one leg over the other, and tapped his finger against the arm of his chair, he looked over at Feyre and half-discreetly cleared his throat. 

Feyre shot him a withering glare before looking back at Tamlin, leaning back in her chair and she looked him up and down, “You didn’t manage to escape again.”

Lucien cleared his throat again, louder this time. Tamlin scrutinised him with big green eyes. Feyre glared at him. 

The High Lady, or whatever she was, turned back to him, “What was your name?”

Lucien’s eye roll was made audible by the clicking of his eye. Feyre’s eye twitched rapidly. 

“Why should I tell you that?” Tamlin spat with venom on his tongue. 

“Because if you don’t this is going to be a lot harder for you.” Feyre snarled at him. 

“My Lady.” Lucien murmured in warning. 

Feyre let out something between a sigh and a hiss, “My name is Feyre, his is Lucien.” She said as she jutted a fork towards Lucien. 

“I gathered.” Tamlin said deadpan. 

“You know our names, so I must know yours.” Feyre said, “So?”

Tamlin wondered if that was some kind of Faery bargain exchange, he considered not answering but the look of growing frustration on Feyre’s face told him to just say it, there wasn’t much he would be able to hide for long if he was to be some sort of slave here.

“Tamlin.” He said, “My name is Tamlin.”

“Like the ballad?” Lucien asked, “The Ballad of Tam Lin?”

“Exactly like the Ballad of Tam Lin.” Tamlin watched Lucien from the corner of his eye. 

“Something your mother liked then.” Feyre murmured as she watched Tamlin. 

Tamlin furrowed his brow, “What?”

Feyre shrugged, “I am assuming your father didn’t come up with the name, so your mother did, meaning she liked the Ballad of Tam Lin.”

Tamlin swallowed, “It was her favourite.”

Feyre hummed in acknowledgment, and from the corner of his eye Tamlin saw Lucien give something like an encouraging nod. 

The High Lady sighed quietly and jutted her head to the seat at her left, as she dug her fork and knife into the plate of steaming food before her, “Sit.”

Tamlin remained standing, after a minute passed, Feyre looked up at him through her eyebrows, “Sit.” She commanded again. 

Tamlin crossed his arms and met her scowl with obstinance. 

Unlike Tain, Feyre did not care for his antics, nor cared for patience. 

Something that felt like invisible hands grabbed him, even when he screamed and thrashed, they didn’t relent, pulling him to sit in that seat, then tying him to the chair with invisible ropes. He struggled and pulled and kicked but Feyre just went back to eating. Only Lucien made a slow head turn to Feyre with a look of barely concealed anger. She just shrugged the red-heads expression off. 

“Let me go!” Tamlin shouted. 

“Eat.” She ordered.

“I refuse.” He said. 

“Then starve.” She hissed, “Either way you are not moving.”

“I believe what the High Lady means.” Lucien cut in, “Is that you have to eat eventually, so please would you eat what has been prepared.”

“That isn’t exactly what I meant.” Feyre mumbled through a mouthful of thick steak. 

Even through his stubbornness, Tamlin felt his stomach growling with hunger, he hadn’t eaten anything other than stale crackers and some boiled potatoes in two months. And what he ate before that was little more than tomato soups and salted meat. 

Magic took the plate before him, lifting it with invisible hands and filling it with the meat, vegetables, breads and fruits from the feast before him, before setting it down before him. 

Tamlin stared at the dinner, and his mind went back to what could be happening back in the cottage. 

Remembering the inventory of their kitchen, there were a few boxes of crackers left and some jars of preserved vegetables he had managed to convince his brothers not to eat until the dead of winter, when they would undoubtedly get snowed in and be unable to hunt for any meat. 

Those jars would be gone in a matter of days without Tamlin to mediate his hungry brothers from taking them. Neither had ever cared for long-term survival, not since they fell into poverty. 

“Eat.” The High lady ordered again. 

Tamlin scowled, but when he tugged his right hand, it was released. He took up a fork and began to stab at a roasted carrot. 

“Does the carrot owe you money, Tamlin?” Lucien asked with a laugh in his voice. 

Tamlin shot him a frightful glare and the laughing from his eyes fell away into annoyance, he looked at Feyre and mumbled, “God really did make two of em.”

“Shut your two-faced mouth, Lucien.” Feyre said as she too stabbed at her vegetables. 

Tamlin breathed something of a laugh, at which both of their heads shot up to stare at him. 

The almost laugh was strangled in a second as he growled low again and shoved the mutilated carrot in his mouth. 

Feyre snarled something softly at Lucien and he just grinned at Tamlin, taking a fork and elegantly piercing a potato. 

“So, Tamlin, you wandered to our side, where were you before that?” The fox like Faery asked with a sly look in his eyes. Tamlin didn’t trust it for a second. 

“Why would I tell you that?” He nearly spat. 

Lucien shrugged, “Making conversation.”

“Enough, Lucien.” Feyre said, “We don’t need to listen to your quibbling while we’re eating.”

“Says the great chatterbox High lady.” Lucien said with an eyeroll. Feyre answered with narrowed eyes and a claw appearing on the edge of her finger. Lucien quietened down but not without mumbling something about ‘dramatics.’

A few minutes past in a tense silence. One that had Tamlin’s muscles coiling tighter and tighter with every passing second. 

Finally all the tension seemed to snap in him and he asked, “Why am I here?”

Both Faeries went still, too still, in a way that Tamlin couldn’t see a flicker of movement, not even in their breathing. It unnerved him and suddenly he wished he hadn’t asked. 

Feyre glanced at Lucien before she ultimately said, “You listened to the singing winds and came to us, but that you are bound to our world.”

The answer made little sense to him. Tamlin found his eyes narrowing even further, “You tricked me.”

Feyre scoffed, “Tricked? The singing winds send out a song every seven years, it isn’t our fault that your kind doesn’t want against our magic playing.” 

***

Sitting at the edge of a brook, Tamlin picked up a smooth, round stone. Briefly running his thumb over the surface. Barely a rough spot on its steel grey top. Casting green eyes over the gentle stream of crystal clear water running in between rocks and over slopes, heading downhill into the forest. He aggressively tossed the rock into the water, watching it splash. Droplets splattered across the sleeve of his white shirt. 

Footsteps echoed behind him, making him jolt slightly, he cast his eyes over his shoulder and saw the form heading for him. 

Her hair was in it’s usual braid, hanging behind her hair. Pretty face carved with lines of exhaustion, her stormy eyes were softer than usual, having a kinder tint to them. Her hands were folded neatly behind her. Wearing brown hunting pants and a green tunic with a bow and quiver of arrows strapped to her back. Her belt was filled with hunting knives, all carved to the handle resembled the bud of a rose. 

Tamlin turned back around, another stupid decision, to turn his back on a Faery creature. But he had so far been here a month and they hadn’t killed him yet. 

Feyre sat down beside him. Spreading one leg out and bending the other up. 

“So.” She started, her voice a gentle hum, though there was an air of awkwardness as she tried to come up with what to say, “how has your day been so far?”

Tamlin threw her a suspicious look, narrowing his eyes as he hesitantly responded, “Fine.”

She nodded, meeting his glare with an almost glare of her own before she seemed to catch herself and turned back to the bubbling brook. 

“You like hunting right?” She asked, seeming to find something to talk about. 

At that he cast her a strange look, “Where did you get that idea?”

She shrugged as she leaned back on the palms of her hands, stretching out both legs, “You had a bow and quiver full of very sharp arrows that day I found you in the woods. You seemed to know how to handle them. Therefore you must hunt.”

He answered the Faery with a shrug of his own, drawing some kind of stick figure in the ground, “I hunt out of necessity.”

She blinked at that, tilting her head in a near animalistic manner. It caused Tamlin’s heart to start thumping against his ribcage, like an animal remembering they were prey in a dog’s kennel. 

“Interesting.” She murmured. A ray of sun peeked through the folds of the leaves above and shone across Feyre’s face. Her freckles seemed to glow in the gold in the air. She lifted her chin up ever so slightly, as if basking in the added warmth on her. 

Tamlin looked away again as his heart kept beating faster and faster. 

***

“You’re kidding.” Tamlin hid his own laugh behind his palm. 

Feyre flopped back into the grass behind her, crushing wildflowers. They framed the back of her glowing, locks of burnt honey hair. She grinned up at him with sparkling eyes, “Nope. I scared that fox so much he grabbed the chandelier.”

“I didn’t think he’d be so easily spooked.” Not at all, though it was a very fun idea to think of Lucien being scared shitless by Feyre appearing out of a closet so suddenly. Tamlin stared down at the Faery woman below him. She held his eyes as her hand lifted off the soft grass. Brushing a golden strand behind his ear. 

“How are you faring here?” She asked in a quieter voice. 

As the months had gone on, Tamlin had found himself getting more and more used to this new world. Coming to a deeper understanding that he wasn’t going home and quickly learning to not mourn that fact. It was nice that he didn’t have to share a bed with his horrible brothers any longer, but the fact that he could not know for certain if his family was fine did eat away at him a little. 

“I am concerned for my family, but I am learning how to live here.” Tamlin revealed, a sliver closer into him. He had been letting her get closer and closer. Feyre hadn’t at first seemed someone to care about what went on in his head, but as the days went on, he found himself more and more drawn into her. 

Feyre gave a small smile, “If it's of any condolences. I did have quite the sum of money sent to them.”

Tamlin’s eyes suddenly snapped down to Feyre once more, “What?”

“After I figured out about your family, and where they were located, I sent them money, a nice house and a carriage. They are well-cared for.”

“How…” How did she find them?

Feyre just winked, “Call it magic.”

“You are…” Tamlin let out a breathless laugh as he lightly smacked her arm. She laughed hard, as she forced herself to sit up. To look over the rolling hills, grazing the edge of the horizon. The sun setting in the distance allowed for oranges, reds, purples and pinks to pain the sky with a thousand different brush strokes. Tamlin watched it all with a cocked head, before he turned to Feyre. What he saw made him blink as he watched her. 

Her eyes were set on the horizon and on the myriad of colours. The sheer amount of diversity in the sky seemed to make her light up. She folded her arms around her knees as she stared off into the distance. Seemingly oblivious to anything or anyone outside of it. 

“I would paint this.” Feyre sighed. 

“You paint?” Tamlin asked, another strange thing he had learned about the Faery. He tucked it away in the deep corner of his mind. 

“Yeah.” Feyre hummed. Before she quickly straightened out and her face went blank. 

“I used to,” She clarified, “then… then a blight came over Prythian and I just haven't had the time for such things anymore.”

“Why don’t you paint now?’ Tamlin asked. 

“Excuse me?” Feyre reacted before Tamlin even realized he had blurted the words out. His stupid tongue revealing his own stupid thoughts. Only to be born with a filter. 

‘I said.” Tamlin started to repeat, “Why don’t you paint right now?”

She blinked again at him, those big eyes boring into him as she studied his frame. 

“Maybe,” A small smile graced her lips, “You think I should?”

“Yes,” Tamlin answered, “I absolutely think you should.”

‘I want you too,’ He was trying to say. ‘I want you too.’

“Okay,” she said, “Okay then.”

With a wave of her hand suddenly a sketchbook appeared as well as a tray of paints and water and brushes. She glanced over at Tamlin's curious eyes as she picked up a brush.

She smiled gently, more gentle than any smile he had seen from her yet, she grabbed a nearby brush and with another flick of her wrist another sketchbook appeared in her hand. Feyre handed it over to him, causing Tamlin to furrow his brows. 

What's this for? He asked.

“For you,” she said with an eye roll to which Tamlin shook his head.

“I don't paint.”

You can try,” Was all she answered with.

Who was he to argue with that?

So he did.

He did paint and he was awful at it, in fact it was a monstrosity that they both laughed at until their stomach hurt. Tamlin let the sketchbook in his hands slip onto the grassy floor, not wanting to look at the horror of pink and blue he had created any longer. He glanced over Feyre's shoulder. Where she was hunched over herself, painting with quick, precise strokes that mesmerized him.

And the work she made, the painting itself... Dear God.

The brush strokes were never ending, and the color blended into the page creating a timeless, seamless picture. Near a replica of the ever-fading sunset before them. Tamlin stared at the picture, the rolling hills and dark trees on the horizon. The buttery sun fading away and giving off a gradient of colors that eventually etched the night sky and the twinkling stars started to spot like the freckles on Feyre's face.

Tamlin awe must have shown on his face for Feyre blushed hard and coughed, “It's not that good but I-”

“Feyre look at my painting then at yours and tell me yours isn’t good again.” He told her, never taking his eyes off the sketch in her hands.

Feyre laughed hard at that, and Tamlin decided something right there and then.

Maybe being kidnapped by a Faery Queen wasn’t all that bad. 

@tamlinweek

[sataara]

Window Shopping

Small holiday fic of Ingo and reader walking around the city together, it's short and just plain fluff! I wrote it on request of my good friend Snowy and inspired by this art from twitter!

You can read it on Ao3 too, hope you enjoy and happy holidays!

The warm cup of coffee you held, helped keeping the chill away. Not that you minded much, the cold being much more welcome than the searing heat of summer. As you sat on a bench, just outside the station, you hoped he didn't take too long to finish up for the day, while you held your own drink, his was resting next to you, on a cup holder, the rising steam gave you hope that the warmth would hold until he showed up.

With so many people transiting to and from the station, you didn't notice him until a shadow stopped in front of you.

“I hope you didn't have to wait here for too long, my dear.” You looked up at his warm expression, your own following along with the contagious mood.

“Not at all, love, I've only been here for twenty minutes or something. You're right on schedule as always.” Your smile grew just that bit more at using his own turn of phrase on him, Ingo rolled his eyes fondly.

“A train should always arrive at the station on time to not inconvenience any passengers. Or maybe I just missed you after these busy few days.” He picked up his drink, sitting down where it had been and letting you lean your head on his shoulder. His free arm snaked behind you to pull you closer, hand resting on your waist.

“I missed you too. How did work go?”

After Ingo finished telling you of his and Emmet’s latest battle against Nate and Rosa, you decided to walk, restless after sitting for such a long time in the cold, despite how comfortable you were against your partner.

As you walked, you decided to link an arm with Ingo, wanting to stay close even while moving.

“Do not try and lie to me, I know you're just trying to steal all my warmth.” Ingo said with a playful tone.

“Well, that's just a bonus.”

“I think it's the main goal.”

“How dare you insinuate I'm nothing more than an opportunist.” Your tone exaggerated, a hand falling to your chest dramatically.

“I would do no such thing. It's not an insinuation, it's a statement.”

You gasped with fake offense, making you both unable to contain the giggles bubbling up in your chests.

“Oh, look, Ingo! Isn't that model from the Orient Express?”

Your attention was taken by a store front, the lights shining just right on a few products for people to react just as you did. The decoration around the display also reminding you that Delibird Day was getting close, you already had an idea for Ingo’s present, but you wanted something nice for his brother too. After all, you became good friends since you started seeing Ingo frequently. Not that everyone would know that, since you showed your love by calling each other names.

“Yes, that is, but we have a better model at home, more faithful to the original and with better quality.” You loved hearing the pride in Ingo's voice.

You leaned closer to the glass using his arm as support, so you could get a better look, seeing the almost janky way the locomotive moved on the tracks and many other little flaws, that you only recognized thanks to the many times you were shown the twins’ beloved collection.

“I wanted to give Emmet something nice for Delibird day, I have no idea what, though.” You said with sincerity, eyes still on the objects in display, seeing a chess set with knight like pokemon inspired pieces, the pawniard pawns not very well made, much like the model train.

“Do you have any ideas?”

“I feel like everyone that doesn't know you two well just go for train themed presents, easier to get right. I wanted something different, I guess.” You right your posture and go back to walking, Ingo seamlessly moving with you.

The next store is a clothing one but nothing close to your or Ingo’s style, so you glance at it but keep walking.

“Hm, I think it's a nice gesture already, to not go for the obvious, but you need a starting point.”

“I know, I know. Emmet likes gaming too, so I gave his wishlist a look, but after nothing seemed to pop out I thought that maybe a physical present would be nicer.”

You went to take a sip of your drink but when nothing came out you noticed you'd finished while you were talking, your mind so focused on your conundrum that you didn't even realize you were taking sips every pause or so. Ingo brought you back to Earth by taking the empty cup from your hand and throwing it on the nearest trash can, seemingly having done so with his own just before.

“You're thinking plushie? That's always a nice gift.”

“For me, maybe, but all your plushies end up with either Galvantula or Haxorus, I want to give him a gift, not his pokemon.”

“Well, that may be true but at least it means I don't have to share my bed with ten million squishy creatures.”

“I don't understand the issue, they are cuddly and soft!”

“I know that perfectly well when I wake up holding a huge fake dratini, instead of my beloved partner.”

“Don't be a baby, anyone would be lucky to wake up with Catarina in their arms.”

Ingo huffs in amusement, the smile on your face betraying your own statements of annoyance.

“But back to the topic, maybe something pratical then?” Ingo said as you stopped again, this time in front of a bakery, eyes skimming the baked goods with interest.

“What, you want me to give him socks? Extra ten identical dress shirts like the ones you guys use to work?”

“Sure, give him those fuzzy joltik socks we saw the other day.”

“I can give the socks plus something else. Would be a shame compared to yours.”

“Oh?” Interest clear in Ingo's tone. “And what would that be?”

“It's a surprise, I'm not telling you.” You gave him a conspiring smile.

“Hmph, now you just made me more curious.”

You laughed and said nothing as you gave up on the bakery, not feeling particularly hungry. The next store had tacky shirts and mugs on display, one of them making you snort as you read “Of course I love double battles, I'm bisexual”. You pointed it out to Ingo who took a second looking it over before barking out a laugh, getting some eyes on you for a few seconds before people quickly moved on with their business.

Something else caught your attention, a t-shirt with Pier’s logo hung next to others of similarly known artists.

“Hey Ingo, does Emmet have any Piers merch?” You squeezed his arm to make sure he was listening, a plan already forming in your mind.

“He has a simple t-shirt and an autographed poster, but I think that's it.” It sounded like Ingo was following your train of thought.

“What if I called Piers to meet up here after Delibird day? And maybe sending a signed official tour shirt too, if he still has one somewhere?”

“Sometimes I forget that you have some weird connections.” Your eyes met, you recognized the bewilderment in his face.

“Crazy shit always happens to me. And we send each other cute pokemon videos every now and then, his zigzagoons are adorable.”

Ingo shook his head, amused. He looked back at the bakery and pulled you along, but instead of walking inside, he stopped by the wall just at the end of the shop’s window, resting his back against it and pulling you in an embrace, arms around your neck. You snuggled closer as if it was second nature, your own arms around his waist, letting your head fall on his chest.

“I thought you wanted to get a few pastries.”

“I do… But it can wait a few moments, can't it? I… Missed you more than I can put into words, I missed your arms around me, your touch, your voice close instead of over a speaker.” He let out a sigh, resting his cheek on the top of your head. “You were not here, we could talk but not actually see each other, something was missing in the apartment, your music while you moved around the kitchen, your excited talks about the things you love…” He took another deep breath and brought you just a little bit closer. “I don't mean to be sappy, I'm sorry.”

“Never apologize for this.” Your voice was muffled by his shirt, you had to hide your face while he talked, embarrassed by how much those sweet words affected you. “You are extremely sweet and that's one of the many reasons why I love you so much. Don't apologize.”

Ingo's grumbling stomach interrupted the sweet moment, making you both chuckle.

“You did just come back from work, we should go inside and get something to eat.”

“I know but this is so nice, can't we stay here just a little bit longer?.”

“I do not want you passing out on me.” You pulled a bit back just to stare him down and poke at his chest in accusation.

“Dragons, why can't you just let me starve so I can hug you for a little bit longer?” He said dramatically, moving one of his arms to rest a hand on your chin, thumb caressing you softly.

You leaned into it with a laugh, meeting his eyes and resting your own hand over his.

“You're lucky that I love you.”

“I am.”

Your comment was meant to be playful but Ingo's reply made you soft. You moved closer and he did the same, lips meeting sweetly in the middle. For a few more moments you lost yourselves to the kiss, to the feeling of being close, to the warmth shared. Although it didn't last long, his stomach once again reminding you that he had not eaten in a while. You separated, smiling and giggling at each other. Your arm found his and once again you walked close, this time entering the shop while joking and poking fun at each other, your smile was a constant for the rest of the night.

[hype-blue-fixation]

RadioRose Day 2 - First Meeting - "One Man's Trash is Another Woman's Treasure"

(A little silly and a cheesy title but I enjoyed it lol. I'll put in on AO3 at some point)

About 1,750 words

Many fear death, but death is often the gateway to a new life.

It had been a quiet night. Peacefully shoveling dirt as he prepared to bury the body. Guided only by the moonlight. When this was over, he planned to go home to his Mama’s cooking and live life a little happier and safer than before. Now that the monster at his feet was slain.

A split second gunshot was all he heard as his peaceful plans were blown away. Suddenly the sky turned bright red. Air rushed past. He realized he was falling. The fall broke with a breathtaking pain and metallic crash; a crash so loud that it set every nerve in his body on fire. More sensory overstimulation attacked him in the nose. Powerful stenches of rotting bodies and dead animals. The pain of it all settled in. Whole body aching, head throbbing, feeling like nothing more than a toddler’s toy after a long day of play. It hurt to move. It hurt to breathe. It hurt merely to be awake. Given that he was awake at all and this wasn’t some nightmarish fever dream.

After suffering for a few moments, he began twitching to life. Everything was dark except for one sliver of light over his body and the black bugs underneath him. He came to realize they were trash bags. How ironic that he was the one being disposed of. The thought made him smile, but then he realized that he was already smiling. His cheeks were hurting already…had he been smiling the entire time? When he felt over his face, he was shocked to feel pointed claws on his hands. Then he felt down his body. Not a stitch of clothing to be found, only fur, which the sliver of light revealed to be a blend of black and red. 

Just how much had changed? He moved his legs, finding that they bent in unusual places. And when he wiggled his toes, there were no toes to be found. Only two giant nails clicking together on his newfound hooves. A panicked scream welled up in his throat, but he couldn’t afford to scream. Instead it forced its way out in panting breaths. What was going on? Too much change. Too many sensations and questions. Sights, smells, feelings, textures, thoughts. He wanted it all to stop. Hoped that it was a dream. But it felt too real.

The sound of footsteps and muffled, distant conversations somehow reached his ears. How could he hear so much? What monsters lurked on the outside? He never thought a dumpster would be his place of refuge. But he got the feeling it couldn’t be as safe as he hoped when the footsteps got louder. He barely had time to respond before the sliver of light slid into a whole window beating down in his face. In the window was the silhouette of a woman. Most of her was shadowed, but he could see pale skin and snowy white hair tucked back in a bouffant.

“Ma’am, where am I?” He tried to sound civil, but his voice cracked with nerves.

The woman chuckled. “You’re in my trash, darling!” Her voice was full of energy and charm as she settled down a black bag. Almost making it like a stairway out of the dirty pit. “It’s not often I find fresh meat out here! Please! Come on out!”

He clumsily climbed toward the window, not at all used to his new body and the weird ways it moved. Barely had he come halfway out did he see her for what she was. A demon. Smile full of shining white teeth. Empty eye sockets. Claws and hands drenched with fresh blood. An instinct inside told him that he was next. Sending him scrambling backward, cushioned only by bags of rot. But she wasn’t phased. An ominous statue staring at his displays. Despite her appearances, her peaceful voice reached out to him with genuine care.

“Are you hungry?”

As if her words commanded him, his stomach let out a betraying growl. How could he possibly be hungry at a time like this? Surrounded by so much danger and squalor? Despite his internal panic, she continued to be sympathetic. At least putting on a convincing act of it.

“Take your time to adjust, sweetie. Manifesting in Hell ain’t easy work! I’ll set somethin’ out for you and you get it when you’re ready. Alrighty?”

She patted the dumpster and walked off. Her footsteps receding to blend in with the others. Something about her felt familiar. Comforting. Drew him toward her. It had to be some kind of demonic allure. Something to pull him in just so he could be devoured and become like the other rotting flesh being tossed into these bags.

A wary gaze peeked out of the dumpster. He was in an alley, one side seeming to go on into some abysmal darkness while the other side opened up into a town square. Upon climbing out and balancing himself on his wobbling hooves, he found his nose no longer bombarded by stench. Now his ears and eyes were the ones to take the hits. The town held an oddly familiar spirit about it. Alive with people tending daily business, rambunctious children, lively outdoor conversation, rolling shop carts with hollering salesmen, shoes clicking on pavement. Every little sound made way inside his head to the point that it sounded like one big symphony of static noise. Like a radio when a storm is blowing.

He grabbed for his ears in the usual place, only to find that they weren’t there. He felt around his head until he touched up two furry tufts on the top. Were these his ears now? Squishing them down seemed to help muffle the onslaught of noise. His eyes were still on the lookout, making observations of these strange people. Just like the woman he met, they all shared hollow eyes, a lack of a nose, a 1900’s style of fashion, and a bright sharp-toothed smile. An unsettling feeling creeped up inside him. Was he also one of them? 

First he felt around his eyes. Relief washed over him when he realized they weren’t empty sockets. He also had his nose that his mom often called cute and pretended to steal. But then his fingers went down to his mouth, where the painful smile still pasted his face, and inside it were giant fangs that fit together like puzzle pieces. Then the pressing issue of nakedness. The fur made him more decent than any animal, but he still felt unexplainably bare. Especially compared to the demons around him who could afford posh suits, classy dress shirts, and sweeping dresses. They might find him deplorable and hunt him down just like the man who sent him here in the first place.

Looking up around the corner, he could see a sign that read Rosie’s Emporium. In front was a small sitting area with umbrella tables. The woman who met him, the one he assumed to be Rosie, sat at one. The nearest table had a plate of food waiting and a gown draped over the seat. The newly manifested sinner glanced at the gifts, around the town, and back. They all seemed too caught up in their chatter and activities to pay him much mind. Like a shy animal, he slowly tiptoed out. Often stepping down wrong on his hoof, awkwardly stumbling along like a baby deer.

Rosie stifled her laughter as he stepped. Endeared by his effort to walk and take a seat in his new body, like a child learning new things. She smiled as he lifted the gown to look it over. Poke and sniff at it, as if a trap hid inside. He finally pulled it on. The fabric draped nearly to the ground. It felt silky against his body, and he couldn’t help but feel it between his claws. The fidgeting helped calm his nerves. Suddenly this world of new sights, smells, and sounds felt manageable. He buried his face deep in the fabric. Rubbed it over his cheeks and purred softly. It distracted him from noticing that the woman appeared right beside him.

“Do you like it, little fawn?” Her voice startled him into the floor with a deer-like bleat. A sound he didn’t even know he could make. “Aww! Did I scare you? I’m sorry!” her hand reached out and he backed away. Shaking uncontrollably. She pulled back and waited for him to recover in his own time. Being understanding. Gentle. When he stood up, she took a bite off his plate. “See? It’s not poisoned. You need to eat before it gets cold.”

He hesitantly sat on the opposite side of the table and pulled the food closer. One bite. Another. A strange sort of rabid hunger overtook him. The meal disappeared. He didn’t realize how much time passed or what a mess he’d made until he saw the juice and visceral on his hands and dripping down from his face. Deep shame and embarrassment shown red on his face. “Oh my– I’m so sorry–”

“Don’t be! It’s normal for a newborn cannibal to be munchy on their first day! You’re a growing boy!” Her lightheartedness took all the awkwardness out of the situation. He didn’t bother moving away when she reached across the table with a napkin, wiping the mess off his face. Soon his hands were in hers as she cleaned between his fingers. A level of care he’d only found in one other person. A person who was closest to him, but stuck on the other side of life. Someone he was supposed to go home to, share dinner, and kiss goodnight. Someone whose heart would break when her little boy didn’t come home tonight.

“Your name is Rosie, correct?” His voice sounded much calmer now. Anyone with the same spirit as his mother couldn’t be that evil.

“You’re very observant, young man! What can I call you?” she chimed and held his hands softly. Like a caregiver holding the hands of someone else’s child. Welcoming them under her wing.

“Alastor.”

More than saying his name, it felt like signing a contract. Selling his soul to someone who would treasure it and see him as one of her own. He was like a child again, with a lot to learn and plenty of space to grow. And just like his mother raised a gentleman, Rosie could raise an Overlord.