#with the window rolled down and the freezing numbing breeze the only thing that would make the scars on my face feel normal

[freebooter4ever]

So im still exhausted. I keep making dumb mistakes and doing stupid shit like leaving charging cords at work or at home. My coordination is gone, im tripping and knocking into things. My eyes feel sore??? All i want to do anymore is lie down and try to sleep. :/

I think i was running on pure adrenaline last week...and now that 'panic' mode is done my body is paying me back for all the stress. :( i barely slept the entire time i was traveling, i regularly drove for like 10+ hrs on next to no sleep which...yeah. I know. Dangerous. The constant tension of whether or not snow was going to make my next route passable, and worry over keeping other people's schedules. And then to get to my grandparents house and to find out they're not moving till may and the 'end of march' deadline was an arbitrary schedule that didnt actually matter. Im not mad, i cant be mad at them they're moving which is stress enough, im just...mourning my exhaustion and inability to function lol. Had they let me wait even one more month the snow and the insane storms would have been gone.

Anyway, just thinking about that feeling of 'safety' or 'comfort' and how precious a thing it is for me (and my sleep) . After my anxiety started growing worse it takes a LOT for me to feel 'safe' with someone or somewhere. My italian grandparent's house would be one, nick's sister's house would be another. And then my friends house in the mountains of oregon, who are just the kindest, most generous people. The two nights i spent there were literally the only times i slept last week.

Back in the fall of 2018, six months after grandpa died and still unemployed, i helped grandma travel by train to ohio, flew back to seattle, stayed with sanjeev for a week ish, and then started south to los angeles because i literally couldnt think of anywhere else to go. And these friends in oregon - they were off traveling at the time - let me stay in their house for over a week. I was so scared about the future, i was still grieving and feeling like a total ghost, still processing my dad's very friendly comment (when i asked him why he hadn't offered to let me stay in his house after i flew back from ohio) about how if i couldn't afford to house myself i deserved to be homeless.

(honestly that wasn't even the part that bothered me - i knew that about my dad from the time when i was a kid and he would point out homeless people to me and jokingly say 'that will be you as an artist!'. Instead of instilling fear in me though this backfired and all my charity work in high school dealt with homeless shelters lol. But no, the part that bothered me was how he tacked another comment onto the end - that life 'couldn't go back to how it was'. THAT was when i broke down crying in front of him because i think stupid me still genuinely believed that if i moved back to seattle my dad would go back to being my best friend and it'd be us against the world again.)(i saw him for five minutes in sac last week - he refused to even have lunch with us)

Instead in 2018 i was anchorless, emotionally disconnected from reality, and instead of comdemning me like everybody else in my family, my friends were like 'dont worry about it, the house is empty, please use it.' And i did! I was nervous at first. But then i started exploring the area - went to a bunch of state parks out in the middle of nowhere hidden in the high desert. Ended up LOVING one of them and collected those tacky tourist maps and just scribbled all my observations and tips on the best roads to drive/things to do/see onto the margins. And i collected all the brochures and compiled a kind of guide, and left it on the counter just in case my friends hadn't found that particular area to explore yet. And sure enough, they hadn't! To this day they still talk about how happy they were to have all these suggestions and things to see, and how that particular area is now one of their favorite places to visit. So what im saying is that's the only place i got any rest last week. Also those pancakes. I need to make those pancakes.

Anyway i'm just so fucking tired, man. This is the second 'vacation' where i've come back more exhausted than when i left, i think i need to do something differently. (also fuck you dad, five years in LA and not homeless once)

[dontsh0vethesun]

the good samaritan

kinktober 2023 masterlist

natasha romanoff x hitchhiker!reader

18+: drugging, kidnap, restraints, gag, smut; noncon kissing, dubcon fingering, brief daddy kink, corruption

wc: 1.8k

Making your way home in the dark had never been something you wanted to do, especially not with a phone drained of its battery and an evening chill littering your skin with goosebumps. The breeze and the sporadic rumblings from behind the greying clouds let you know the best was yet to come. Freezing droplets dampening your face as soon as they fell.

You’d never have even considered trying to flag down a driver but you’d not been stranded in a building storm before. And the knowledge of the safety of the area didn’t quell the fear in your mind when your outstretched arm lifted a thumb over the edge of the pavement. You pulled your jacket around yourself as much as you could as your shoes gathered water, scuffing against the concrete of loose slabs, idly kicking pebbled debris into the road with headlights reflecting in the coating of rain.

Some had the cheek to begin to slow down, maybe offering a pitied shrug before their tires spat water from the tarmac and they sped away. The bobbing of your legs didn’t do much to warm you up, bouncing on the balls of your feet for any semblance of movement as you watched each exhale form before you in puffs of white.

It was a Corvette that finally came to a stop beside you, sleek and black metal shining with raindrops and a window rolling down to show the smiling face of a helpful stranger.

“Hi, honey. Need a ride?” Her voice was husky and smooth with fiery hair framing her face and emerald eyes glowing beneath the lamplight.

“Please. If it’s not too much to ask.”

“Of course not,” she grinned, charming and kind. “Here, get in, you’ll catch a chill.”

She reached across to push the door open for you and the warmth was much needed to combat your freezing state. The scents of leather seats and spiced perfume swam around you and her smile looked even prettier up close.

“Thank you so much - my phone battery died and there’s still a long walk back to my apartment so you’re really doing me a favour.”

“Anything to help a damsel in distress,” she smirked and your cheeks heated embarrassingly. “I’m Natasha.”

“Y/N.” Her hand was strong when she shook yours with the small creak of her leather jacket as she reached over to you.

“Are you in a rush to get back to a boyfriend or anything?”

“Oh, no.” You shook your head as she pulled away from the curb. “Just an empty house.” And that was your first mistake.

“Then how does hot chocolate sound? I know a diner not too far from here and it’ll do good to warm you up.”

“Yeah, sure. That’d be nice actually.”

Perhaps, in retrospect, leaving the diner’s table to go to the bathroom wasn’t a wise idea. But, the kind eyes and conversation of the friendly woman across from you made you comfortable. There was no creeping thought in your mind that you’d return to finish your drink as she watched intensely, that once you were in her car again the music on the radio would fade in and out of your mind, growing cloudy and as blurred as the headlights of the other cars driving towards you.

Accepting a ride from a beautiful woman wasn’t something you’d apprehended with a sense of nervousness, it had come naturally to you to regard her kindness gratefully without fear you’d lose all semblance of judgment and clarity when she missed the turning that made its way to your street. Any utterings of her mistake were hardly audible, just slurred mumbles falling from numb lips as your heavy head leaned against the window.

A friendly offer can only be so friendly you suppose, things in this world seldom come without a price to pay - a darkened shadow overhead. Gracefully taking her offer caused your eyes to blink open a while later, confused and unaware of the time to follow.

Her bedroom’s ceiling light was harsh against your bleary sight and tears soon fell at the sinking in of the reality of the situation you’d been harshly dragged into. It didn’t take a completely focused head to notice the tightness of rope bound around your wrists, nor the coolness of the air against your skin - the breeze from the slightly cracked window that would not be felt if you hadn’t awoken in your underwear.

The wooden frame of her bed was uncomfortable against your back and the redhead merely smiled at the way you attempted to fight for freedom.

It took a moment to comprehend it all, to take in the sight of the foreign room you’d been brought to, the feeling of material clenched between your teeth and the eyes that regarded your half-naked body. The pleading look you directed towards Natasha through your eyes that spilled tears along your cheeks made her huff a humourless laugh.

“Don’t cry, honey,” she cooed, reaching a hand to cup your cheek with a softness you didn’t expect. She wiped the droplet from your skin as though she truly cared and in the haze that was your befogged mind you couldn’t help but slightly succumb to her whims.

Mumbles of your pleading for reprieve - questions of why - were muffled and obscured with the makeshift gag she’d forced past your slack jaw during unconsciousness. Why was she doing this? What was she planning next? All posed without answer. You couldn’t help but take in the sight before you, despite the vulnerably exposed pose she had you in, the contours of her biceps with each move she made and the vest top that pulled tightly over her chest.

“Like what you see?” she mocked, watching where your eyes drank her in. Perhaps you won’t be so hard to break after all.

Your body shook with fear and Natasha adored the sight. She loved how helpless you looked, glistening eyes begging, shrinking into yourself with small flinches at her every move.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” she breathed. You let her pull the fabric past your lips, swiping your tongue over the chapping skin. Somehow, you believed her. “You’ve just gotta behave, okay? No screaming. Just sit and look pretty - can you do that for me?”

“Y-yes,” you nodded, failing with the attempt you made to wipe your face from tears. “Yeah, I can do that.”

You didn’t want to get on her bad side. You didn’t want to imagine the kinds of things that she might do; it wasn’t too difficult to appease her considering the kindness she’d already shown you. You wondered what someone might think if they caught a glimpse at the inner workings of your mind - the fact that you weren’t as terrified as you probably should be. That the attractiveness of the redhead deterred such emotion.

“Good girl,” she smiled, bringing a freshly cracked open bottle of water to your lips to help you drink. It was a cool relief against the dry and scratchy throat that had developed.

“Why are you doing this to me?”

“No. No questions,” she returned quickly, looking at you with a harshness she’d been keeping at bay.

“You can’t just do this,” you muttered. “You drugged me - brought me here against my will, you-“

Anything else you were about to say was soon halted with her lips on yours. She was strong and her kiss didn’t differ. The weak push you gave her did nothing to get her away from you and the rough hold she had on either side of your face didn’t let up, whatever she wants she takes and you were no different.

It was pure luck that the woman had come across such a pretty thing just begging to be captured. A crime of opportunity. The sweetness in your eyes and the comfortable conversation only let her know she’d made the right choice. She watched you unknowingly swallow down the hot chocolate she’d laced and observed musingly at the drowsiness that set in, taking in the uselessness of your slumped limbs in her passenger seat.

And now she revelled in your unmoving lips against hers, the way you stiffened up before finally giving in. Your lips moved with hers reluctantly, tentatively at first until you couldn’t help but be lured into her, to let her push her tongue against yours dominantly and take the sweet, forbidden fruit she craved.

With the way she took control of your mind you stopped shrinking away, even trying to pull her closer with a fumbling hold on her shirt. She smiled against you and let you pull her into you, taking her place with her knees either side of you with her teeth biting into your bottom lip when she pulled away for breath.

“See? I’m not so bad, am I, sweet girl?” She murmured against your throat, licking her tongue across the thin skin, scraping her teeth and digging them in to leave her mark behind.

You shook your head in response, letting her use you while you sighed out in pleasure despite every sensible part of you willing yourself to realise this was wrong. But if it was so terrible, why did it feel so good? Why did the touch of a stranger ignite a fire within you that only lovers had? How could you let her inch her hands downwards if this was so wrong?

Her fingers stroked down your waist as though she was familiar with the terrain, nails digging into the skin until they reached your underwear.

“I’m gonna break you down,” she rasped against your collarbone. “Bit by bit.”

She pushed the damp material that covered your cunt aside to swipe her fingertips through the slickness of your slit. “Until all you know is me - all you can remember is me.”

She toyed with your clit that ached with a filthy desire to be paid attention to, focusing solely on the bud while you moaned out at the feeling. She took you by force and consumed you entirely and it made your head swim - your stomach clench in a begging need for release.

Each action of her digits pulled you into a dangerous ocean of pleasure, bringing you headfirst into a new reality you don’t want to escape anymore.

“All you need to know is how good it feels when daddy fucks you,” Natasha breathed against the shell of your ear, completely enamoured with the sounds she pulled from you and the rutting of your hips. “You’re my little toy now, sweetheart. All for daddy.”

The roughness of her voice and the heat of her breath on your neck was too much to handle; the pace she’d kept up on your swollen clit brought you over the edge into an orgasm that had you seeing stars and you rewarded her with pathetic murmurings of her name.

Before you’d even had a chance to catch your breath it was stolen again with her lips on yours. She was eager and ravenous and you were going to let her take all she wanted, giving yourself up to the older woman who wanted to devour you whole.

When you pulled apart once more you locked eyes with hers, the darkness that had taken over them was unmistakable and it let you know that she wasn’t quite done with you for tonight.

[chubbybuckydumpling]

Royally Screwed

words: 4.2k

pairing: chubby!stableboy!bucky x royal!female!reader

warnings: arguing, period (probably not) accurate problems, smut, fluff, oral (f and m receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, power dynamics

A/n: dear anon, I’m sorry it took me 2 months to write this, I hope you’re not too upset. I changed the original prompt a little, I hope you still like it! Dividers by @firefly-graphics

My Masterlist

The wind is blowing through your hair, a cool breeze that relieves you from the hot summer sun. Your horse is galloping under you, his strong legs taking you over the loose ground. The rays warm your face, a welcome sensation. You missed this, riding through the afternoon, taking time to just live, all troubles and worries forgotten.

Admiral has always been close to you, your first horse and best friend since you were twelve years old, merely a child. The Arabian Stallion slows down to a trot on your command, the high grass tickling his side. You let your hands roam over his dark mane, feeling the sturdy hair under your fingers.

A single bumblebee flies ahead of you, its loud buzz making you smile. The scene around you makes your heart feel lighter, a warm feeling that floats through your chest. You let Admiral come to a halt and slide down from your saddle.

You trail your hand over the horse’s muscles, the short hair caressing your palm. His strong snout nudges your arm and he neighs, causing you to giggle, “You did so well, boy” You wrap your arms around Admiral’s muscular throat.

His scent fills your nose, it’s familiarity never fails to bring you comfort. The animal scratches over the earthy ground as the sound of hooves hitting the floor ripples through the air. You whip around, parting yourself from your companion. A little further away, you see two of the guards coming your way. Their horses are quick and strong, but they have nothing on your Admiral.

“Lady Y/n”, they yell out and you can’t help but roll your eyes. The men reach you quickly, panic in their eyes, “Your highness, you must remain in close proximity for us to successfully protect you at any time”, one of them states, trying to deepen his voice.

“Of course”, you smile at them, “it wasn’t my intention” A lie. You purposely mislead them to have a moment of your own, some quiet minutes of peace. The guards exchange glances until one of them shrugs. “We see. Now, it is of utmost importance to immediately escort you home. We shall keep you as safe as possible, your highness”

You sigh internally, but follow the mens’ orders without argument. Admiral snorts stubbornly, but reluctantly follows your lead.

The sound of birds singing and insects chirping brings you great joy as you gently rock back and forth with the steady trot of your horse. Unknowingly, these were the last moments you would spend outside of the castle for quite some time.

The guards at the gate salute as you pass them. The warm sun has kept you comfortable in the open where the wind was stronger, but you quickly start to heat up inside the walls of your father’s estate. Admiral soon comes to a halt in front of your mother. The woman is fuming as she approaches you, her face twisted into an angry grimace.

“Your father and I need to talk to you, young lady! You are in serious trouble”, her malicious voice hisses as you jump off of Admiral’s back. Your mother’s fingers wrap around your arm to pull you towards her, but a warm smile is on her face. A muscle in her jaw twitches and exposes her true anger. She speaks to one of your guards, but you can’t be bothered to listen for something has caught your attention.

A man has walked up to your horse to pet his head. He is gentle with Admiral, careful and loving even. You let your eyes rake over the man. The typical stable boy clothes are obscuring your view, but you can make out the bulge of his tummy, his big arms and thick thighs. His long brown hair falls over his face, some strands are stuck to his forehead as the sweat glistens over his face. This man looks like an absolute dream and you can feel your lips twitching up.

You begin to walk towards him, a giddy feeling brewing up in your stomach, but your mother pulls you back, “Oh no, you are not getting out of this one. Follow me, now” She drags you behind her and you wish to struggle against her grasps, but won’t dare to resist her. Not at that time at least. You take one last glance in his direction, hoping to see his face, more of him. You find his gaze, stare into the warm blue of his eyes before your mother pulls you out of his view.

A sad sigh escapes your lips, but you promise yourself to go and find him as soon as possible. The way he looked at you, sweet and shy, is replaying in your head, his sweaty form a picture in your mind. Whoever that man is, he makes your insides throb with desire.

Your father’s yelling rips you out of your trance and you look up to meet his vicious glare. He takes a deep breath with closed eyes and when he meets your eyes again he looks calmer. His hand reaches out to your face, cupping your cheek.

“My daughter, what am I going to do with you?”, his voice suddenly sounds sad, “Y/n, you know that you need to enter a marriage soon. I need you to be on your best behaviour, this is about your future. I only want good things for you” You rest your palm over your father’s, “I know, father” He brushes his thumb over the apple of your cheek, “You’re so beautiful, my only daughter. I know this isn’t what you want, but at least let me make it as pleasant as possible for you”

You sigh and stare right past your father, “I already gave my word to marry whomever you choose, father” His hand falls from your face and wraps around your fingers, “I don’t want to hand you to anyone, don’t you understand? I want someone that cares about you” He squeezes your hand, “But you need to behave,Y/n. The men of higher status, they won’t accept an ill-mannered, rebellious women”

Enraged, you rip away from his touch, “I am not ill-mannered” Your mother gasps at your outburst, but your father smiles at you. He steps forward and grabs you by the shoulders, “I know that. Believe me, I do. But these other men don’t” A sigh escapes your lips, but you nod nevertheless, “Okay, father. I will do my best” He grins and it jumps right over to you.

Your father pulls you into a warm hug and whispers to you, barely audible, “I could not be prouder of you, my child” A warm, comforting feeling spreads through your chest and you feel like a little girl, no worries or problems, just love and happiness on your mind. You pull away from the hug and watch your father’s eyes crinkle.

Your mother forces a cough and directs a pointed glare at her husband. He sighs and turns to you, “However, your mother and I have decided to ground you for the next few days. We cannot let your temperament ruin your future. We ask you to stay on the estate’s grounds” This is obviously your mother’s doing. She always cared more about your standing and reputation, but you’ve learned to just accept her orders.

“Yes, father”, you nod at them, “Mother” A satisfied look settles on the woman’s face, hands clasped tightly. “You are excused”, your father rasps and you leave the room, a sour look sneaking onto your lips. Stupid marriages. All of your life, the fact that you will be married off as soon as someone worthy shows interest, has been hovering over you, a subconscious thought that drained your energy, leaving you exhausted and numb. You can’t believe that this dreaded day is moving closer so fast.

You enter your room and sit down on your bed. The mattress gives out under your weight and perfectly molds into a comfortable shape. You let yourself fall until you’re lying flat on your back and close your eyes. Slowly, the darkness and exhaustion consumes you ,hugging you like a warm blanket.

The shine of the moonlight dancing through the window rouses you from your sleep. The light has a slight pink tint and colours the dim room in a nice shimmer. A yawn escapes your mouth and you sit up. The cool air makes goosebumps appear on your skin, yet you feel drawn to it. Suddenly, an idea pops into your mind. Surely, nobody would notice if you left for a little to see Admiral.

A grin sneaks on your lips as you wipe the nasty crumbs from your eyes. Quickly, but careful to remain silent, you dress in your warmer riding clothes, the training ones, not the dresses. Thick, warm leggings and a nice, comfortable pullover. On your way out, you grab a wooly hat to cover your ears, smiling mischievously.

Skipping, you make your way through the halls. A giddy sensation rumbles in your belly, the excitement of knowing you’re about to go on a ride. The door knob feels cool under your skin as you turn it to open it. The freezing air seeps into the kitchen, swirling around your body. Adrenaline shoots through your veins and your legs begin to move on their own, moving faster and faster until you’re running, your feet carrying you over the well known path.

You come to an abrupt stop when you see a small light in the stables, most likely a lit candle. Nervously, you sneak closer to peek around the corner. In the dim shine you manage to make out the features of the beautiful stable boy from earlier that day. His hair is falling free, framing his chubby face so beautifully.

A long sleeved linen shirt layered with a dark vest and brown trousers clad his thick form in such a delicious way. For some reason, this man made you feel things. To your surprise however, he is standing next to Admiral, gently stroking the horse’s strong, defined face. Weird, you find yourself thinking, Admiral usually does not tolerate close proximity with anyone but yourself.

That fact is seriously arousing. This beautiful man being so gentle to your hot headed horse is insanely attractive. Your heart fills with warmth the longer you watch him. He whispers into his fur, smiling adoringly at him. The stable boy’s big hands look so soft against Admiral’s fur, his thick, long digits massaging the strong muscles. You bite down on your lower lip, a sly smirk forming. This beautiful sight almost made you forget about the cold.

Your lungs fill with air as you take a breath of encouragement before you move out of the hiding spot. Making sure to move your hips extra seductively, you wander closer to the man of your desire. It’s easy to pinpoint the moment he notices you by the way his eyes double in size and his entire body freezes. The look of fear in his eyes tugs at your heartstrings.

Gently, you take a step closer to him, but he shies away from you, like a baby deer, scared and vulnerable. “Lady Y/n, I beg your pardon. I didn't mean to intrude”, he stumbles through the words, clearly afraid he upset you. You smile in hope of looking safe and not angry. “You’re fine”, your voice is gentle, almost like you’re talking to a child, “It’s impressive. Admiral really seems to like you”

He shyly looks up to you to gauge your reaction, nervously playing with his fingers. “He’s very beautiful”, the man whispers and tucks some of his loose strands of hair behind his ear. You grin, taking another step forward, “He is”, you reach out to scratch Admiral’s neck, “So are you”

A deep blush rises on his cheeks, warming his skin. You continue talking, eyes trained on the stable boy’s chubby face, smiling warmly at him, “So, what’s your name, pretty boy?” Nerves cloud his eyes, his chest rising and falling quickly, “James, b- but people call me Bucky”

“That’s a real pretty name”, you purr, “Bucky”, testing out how the word feels rolling off your tongue. Lower lip between your teeth, you reach out to touch his biceps. His strong muscles flex under your touch, but it feels soft beneath your skin. Your fingertips squeeze around him as a surge of want ripples through your body.

“I saw you with Admiral this afternoon and I could not stop thinking about you. You’re so good with him, it’s very”, you smirk and lean closer to him, lips right next to his ear, “arousing”. The whispered word makes him gulp and he feels himself twitching in his loose pants. He can’t deny he feels attracted to you, especially in these casual clothes that you’re wearing right now.

He’s been eying you for months now, always hidden away in the shadows or behind corners. He heard so much gossip, so many rumours that intrigued him, but your bond with Admiral really did him in. To see how caring and tender you were with the horse made him crave the same attention from you. He wanted your affections and love, almost like he needed them, but he knew better than to approach you. His family depends on his earnings, he would not challenge that security he could provide. But now it seemed like maybe he could have both.

The close proximity makes his heart race, your breath tickling his sensitive skin. You feel his nerves, so you move even closer, pressing your body against his. He tenses up, but shyly reaches for your waist. “I really want you right now, Bucky”, you whimper, pushing your breasts forward and up against his chest. His breath catches in his throat, but he somehow finds the energy to tighten his grip on you.

The feeling of your body against his further arouses him, a shiver running down his spine. With all the courage he could muster, he looks up at you, “I really want you too” Your hands run over his chest and grip onto the edges of his vest, “Then take me”

Pulling on the leather, your mouths crash together. His rough, chapped lips fit right onto your own soft lips, a result of your maid’s tending. The smacking sound immediately helps you relax into Bucky’s frame, letting out a little sigh. With newfound confidence, he traces your lower lip with his warm tongue, leaving you yearning for a taste.

You open up for him, letting him explore your mouth. He moans at the feeling, licking into you greedily. Little glimmers of want spark in your belly, nipples hardening as the simmering pleasure begins to grow. Your saliva mixes with his, tongues dancing together in an aroused display of want.

Just as you were about to shrug off his leather vest, Admiral neighs right next to you. Bucky shrieks, jumping away from you. You stare at him, a slight fear of being caught running through you before a grin etches on your lips, laughter bubbling in your chest. Bucky mimics your giggling, his eyes crinkling adorably, lips swollen.

Grinning you pet your horse once, but turn to the chubby stable boy to pull him after you. The back of the stable is dark, only Bucky’s candle serving as a source of light. You turn around, coming face to face with the pretty boy. The golden glow makes him look so beautiful, the breath stuck in your throat. It’s completely silent, only the sounds of your breathing audible.

You gulp, stepping even closer to him. Carefully, you take his candle and place it on the floor, close to a pile of hay. “Bucky”, you whisper, “please” He takes a deep breath, but closes the distance between you two, once again connecting your mouths. Gently, he grabs you by your waist, both hands feeling warm and powerful on your body. Your own fingers wrap around his neck, playing with his beautiful hair.

With tongues intertwined, Bucky closes his arms around you to lead you towards the hay, supporting your weight. “Wait”, he mumbles against your lips, reluctantly pulling out of the embrace, “Let me just…” With care, he shrugs off his vest and places it over the hay. A soft smile spreads over your face, a funny feeling whirling in your belly. You take the chance to take off your hat.

“Well then, gentleman”, a purring sound fills the air, “I could use some help undressing” He gulps, eyes widening in arousal. Slowly his hands find your hips, fingers sliding under your shirt. The immediate warmth that seeps into your skin makes you gasp, moaning lightly at the feeling. His digits trace your skin, gently lifting up your shirt so you can take it off.

His hands roam your exposed skin, exploring your body to his full extinct, feeling every curve and uneven spot. You reach behind your back, unclasping your sturdy bra. Bucky gasps at the sight, eyes trained on your exposed breasts. Your nipples harden, once more, under his fiery gaze and you gently push his hands towards the, your body burning for his touch.

The moment his palm cups you, a needy moan escapes you which spurs Bucky on to massage your breasts with more enthusiasm, toying with your nipples. Greedily you let your hands wander under his linen shirt, reveling in the feeling of his soft skin. The chubby rolls feel delicious under your touch, gending to your wishes. You hastily free him from the offending clothing, pressing your body against his.

Arousal and need is flaming inside you and you desperately press your lips together into a hungry kiss, teeth crashing against each other. “Please, I need you so much” He nods, breathless, and gently lays you down on his vest. You catch a glimpse of his tented trousers, saliva running in your mouth, the sight so delicious, especially paired with his big thighs.

Bucky’s chubby fingers work your fuzzy leggins down your legs. The cold air causes goosebumps to raise on your skin. You hear him gasp when he looks at your exposed heat,dilated eyes transforming into a hungry stare. “You’re beautiful”, he groans, his hand cautiously travelling up your thighs. You nod as confirmation and Bucky runs two of his digits up your heat.

He traces your outer lips, your anticipation rising. You hold your breath, hands running through the hay that the vest doesn’t cover. Finally, he leans up and spits on your core, further lubricating you. He finds your clit and begins to rub gentle circles into it, a stuttered breath leaving your mouth.

Bucky trails down to your opening, carefully inserting two of his fingers into you. “Fuck”, he groans, pushing in further, “you’re so tight and wet” He starts to fuck you with them, slowly at first, then faster, his gaze set on you. The squelching noises fill the air, soon joined by your moans. Suddenly he hits a special spot and you arch your back, pressing into him as a loud, guttural groan leaves you.

Your gaze meets Bucky’s and you begin to move your hips on your own, “Please do it again, do it again” Your begging eggs him on and he adds another finger, his strong thrusts leaving you breathless. Your eyes roll into the back of your head, pleasure building up in your lower belly.

All of a sudden you feel something wet around you, followed by a suction right around your sensitive nub. You moan loudly, hands flying into his hair. His penetrating gaze meets your eyes and with an especially hard suck the coil in your tummy snaps and you cum around his fingers, your core grabbing him tightly. You feel him moan against you, but he keeps fucking you through your orgasm, prolonging the addictive high.

Finally, you regain your senses and push him away from you, too sensitive for any further stimulation. You look at him. He sits in front of you, his chin wet with your slick, chubby belly rolls folding into each other deliciously, his trousers tented with his obvious want. A smile plays over your lips, “You look so beautiful like this, James”

He perks up when you mention his name, a shy, but aroused glint in his eyes. “You really think so?”, he sounds so little your heart starts aching for him. “I’ve never seen someone as stunning as you”, you crawl up to him, hands on his cute little cheeks. You feel his breath graze your lips and lunge forward, mouth against his, tongues tangling.

One of your hands drops lower to cup him. He feels heavy in your palm and so nice. A craving awakes inside you and you squeeze him through his trousers, a lovely moan ringing in your ears. Your fingertips hook around the waistband and you pull all the bothersome clothing off of him. His cock jumps free. It looks delicious, hard and slightly curved to the side, thick veins running along the length of it. The bulbous head is covered with his foreskin, a trail of precum has made its way down some of it.

The sight of him is so beautiful, his thick thighs making you bite down on your lip. You bow down, one hand gripping his leg, the other slowly fisting his cock. You watch as the foreskin pulls back to show his wet, sensitive head. With one last look into his face, which is contorted in pleasure, you take him in your mouth, slowly sinking down on him.

He moans, hands cupping the back of your head. You suck on him, yearning for his cum, his taste .Fondling his balls, you become even more hungry for him. He smells so husky, so good, mouthwatering even. Slowly, you take him even deeper, your nose buried in the curly pubic hair. His hips stutter, pressing his length even further into your throat, a hearty groan leaving him. You splutter around him, your gag reflex kicking in.

Pulling off, you take deep breaths, spit running down your chin. “‘m sorry”, Bucky mutters, his own hand now wrapped around himself, fisting his wet cock, “It just feels so good” Your pussy clenches at his words and you lay back down, spreading your legs. “I bet this will feel even better”

Bucky groans at the sight and shuffles closer. He runs his thick head along your slit, coating it in your wetness. Managing to hit your sensitive clit with his cock, he groans, twitching in want. Gently, Bucky positions himself at your stretched hole and begins to push in. He moans, steadily spreading you over his cock until he bottoms out.

Sweat runs down Bucky’s face, pleasure and desperation filling him. He tries to refrain himself, but when you begin to whimper and grab onto his thick arms he crumbles. Bottoming out, his fat balls slap against your bum. Slowly he pulls out again, just to thrust right back into you. His cock is so hard and curved perfectly, he fits inside you so well.

The sounds of skin slapping and moaning is the only thing you can hear, sweaty bodies moving in unison, a play of mutual pleasure, need and adoration. Bucky’s chubby belly feels so good against you, especially paired with the delicious feeling of him hitting your spongy g-spot over and over again.

His hands are all over your body, grabbing handfuls of your breasts, playing with your nipples, holding your thighs and squeezing your waist. His moans and whimpers sound so delicate and sexy, almost serene and calming, but so arousing. The squelching of where your core envelopes him makes you arch into him, his chub so soft against you, yet his obvious strength makes you clench.

His length fills you so good, his hard, quick thrusts turning you on enormously. His fattened up cock makes you mewl, all the sensations adding up into one big coil of pleasure.

Bucky’s sounds grow louder, his hard thrusts faster, more irregular. His cock begins to pulse in you when he drops a hand to your sensitive nub, drawing quick, strong circles on it. Your body is on fire, spasming under the stable boy, your hips meeting his thrusts. You feel so close to the edge and when Bucky grunts, “You’re so good for me, you’re gonna make me cum” you fall over.

Your body shakes, yet you feel like you’re floating. A warm, fuzzy sensation enveloping you, like a soft blanket hugging you close. You feel Bucky’s naked skin against you, his fingers on your skin and his breathing against your neck, but you can’t open your eyes. He grunts loudly and pulls out, but you’re so blissed you don’t find the energy to do anything but whimper.

“Thank you”, he mumbles, his soft lips resting near your collarbone, some spare hairs tickling you nicely.

Slowly, you become more conscious and manage to blink, opening your eyes. Bucky is cuddled against your side, laying on the hay. His arm is wrapped over your waist. You spot his white cum on your tummy; It looks slightly dried and feels a little itchy.

You turn to look at him, a soft smile forming at his beautiful face. His long hair frames him so well, a delicate sight that makes your fingers itch to draw. Instead, you cuddle closer to him and close your eyes. You know you’ll have to get up soon, nobody can find out about this, but for now you want to enjoy this moment of peace and serenity for a little while longer.

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[tiens-letters]

with these hands, I vowed to love you

with these hands, I vowed to care for you

and with these hands, I ruined you

Childe (angst)

tw : slight gore and just pure pain

...

It was that time of the year again, going back to the snowy region was a bliss for you. Having to visit your fiancée's family was an unspoken tradition after he introduced you to them. They practically took you in as one of them immediately, especially that little angel brother of his.

Teucer.

The train ride was comfortable , the window giving you the familiar beauty of the snowy landscape of snezhenaya. It was snug inside the rather spacious compartment Childe rented out, even when you told him that you'd rather share a normal one due to your thrifty nature he'd shrug it off, claiming it that he has too much mora and nowhere to spend it on other than you.

Gifts from him would scare you as you knew these weren't anywhere cheap. Everything he gave was expensive, he loved showering you in gifts and it made you feel so overwhelmed.

"Ajax, you're spending too much." you were visibly sweating beside him as he picked out another one of the dresses on display at the local boutique of Liyue.

"I think this one would suit you better, don't you think so love?" of course he wasn't listening, placing the dress in front of you

"Ajax." you frowned at him

" I just want to spoil you." he whines

"I know but sometimes its just..." you stopped yourself before saying anything further in fear of offending him

"Was it too much again?" the tone in his voice softens as he puts back the dress, he knew how you didn't like that habit of his, formed from the first time he saw you down by the docks.

"One dress, Ajax. One is enough since you picked it out for me." you gave in not wanting to see him so dejected, he immediately brightens up as he pecks you on cheek before rushing off to a different aisle of clothing. Sighing, you sat down on the sofa present in the shop, watching the ginger decide thoroughly of what dress to buy.

But of course, your love for one another runs deeper than things bought off gold nor silver. No, it ran deeper than anything else, rivaling the oceanic depths.

"What are you thinking about hmm?" he hums below you, head resting against your lap.

"Im just happy to be visiting again, that's all." you smile, nimble hands brushing through his soft hair "Sleep well?"

"You bet I did." he grins taking your hand and placing a kiss to your beating pulse and then another and another, showering you in his deeply rooted affection. Soon his kisses reached where they are supposed to belong, those soft lips of yours and then inching their way to the sensitive spots on your neck, leaving marks only he can place on you.

Breathless and bothered, you pushed him back "The attendants are gonna see, you idiot." at least you still had some control in you

"They will only arrive when we call them , so its fine to have a little fun before we arrive." there was that sly grin of his as he continued in where you both left off, ears perking to hear more sounds exclusively for him and him only.

"You horny bastard!"

...

It was cozy by the hearth, you and his siblings huddled together in one single fleece blanket, steaming cups of hot cocoa in hand. Childish giggles and hushed stories erupted amongst you. Teucer having wrapped in your arms as he snuggled closer. Anthon and Tonia flanking your sides.

"Hey, who's fiancé do you think you guys are coveting?"

"Oh don't be like that, your siblings just miss them." his mother chided from the couch where she sat, an open book on her lap, she didn't seem to age and always looked so young that at first you were shocked to have been introduced to her.

"But mom, I haven't seen her all day." her son pouts as if he were still a child denied his candy

"Give me a break, you're always clinging onto her you know." his sister rolls those identical thalassic eyes at him "You wont die if you go a day without her."

"Listen here you little---"

"Ajax." you interjected, as much as you enjoy the siblingly banter of theirs, you cant have them going at each other with offensive words. His pleading gaze aimed at you as he practically begged for you both to go home.

"Please?"

"After I put Teucer to bed." you sighed, standing up with the youngest in your arms

"Seriously this guy." his sister groaned "I was having a good time."

"Tonia dear, we can continue our conversations tomorrow." you winked at her, it was a promise

"Fine."

Both of you bid farewell to his mother and made your way towards Teucer's room and tucking him in.

"Happy?" you turned to your fiancée, a narrowed look in your eyes as he grinned beside you

"Of course, sweetheart!" he pecked your lips as he pulled you closer

"Can you not do it in Teucer's room? Have some shame." his siblings' comments were endless, this time it was from his older brother.

"That's why were going home." Childe picked you up as you made a surprised yelp making the other party roll his eyes "Also, get ready to lose tomorrow brother. I'm getting that white deer for my lady."

"I'm looking forward to it."

The walk was short towards Childe's home as he preferred living alone. It was a grandiose manor and you were sure you will never get used to how big it was and filled with such furnitures of the finest quality.

"Well, how was your day darling?" you hummed, arms snaking around his neck

"Oh you wouldn't believe it."

...

It was there.

You felt it in the cold breeze that wafted into the room.

A shift in the flow of the wind, it was different yet familiar at the same time. Leaving the window open as the harsh temperatures of the night climbed and crawled inside. The curtains danced in the turbulent current of the gale, carrying songs only you could hear. Songs that made mountains tremble and build civilizations at the same time.

there was something foreboding, something terrifying and something heavy and dark that devoured anything in its path.

You heard him first before he came in through those doors, that tousled ginger hair of his caked with melting snowflakes in the warm glow of the lamps. His rugged appearance caused by the hunting competition between him and his older siblings induced his worn out state. That soft yet jaded smile of his was what welcomed you as he trudged inside the bedroom, lazily discarding his clothes on the basket for dirty laundry and entering the bathroom for a quick shower.

"why is the window open? " he asks you, sliding inside the warm covers

"I just wanted fresh air ." you smile as you shut the windows and pull the blinds enough for you to see the moon that hung above the sky. Joining him under the covers, you cradled him, his head resting on the crook of your neck. Your hands finding their way into those soft locks of his , entangling them as he hummed softly against you. Those arms of his that held weapons and skin littered with scars both old and new now held you close, so tenderly as if he'd never taken a life before.

"sing me a song, sweetheart. " his queries were simple yet genuine

"of course." you sang until you equated him to a sleeping newborn

It was warm, so warm that you could have mistaken it for a summer afternoon in Liyue, resting on the couch with silken pillows and window showcasing the view of the harbor below. The steaming cups of soothing tea Beidou would brew for you when nights became cold at times she would pay you a visit after trading that would take weeks, months and rarely years.

you slept.

Why is it cold? you wondered, Did Ajax open the windows?

You were blessed by the tsaritsa so such climates shouldn't matter to you.

You woke up.

A shadow was cast over you by the man youve sung to sleep. Virulent blue eyes looked at you with so much abhorrence, for a second you couldnt recognize them and thought it was a stranger to which you were ready to terminate.

"Ajax?" your voice was hoarse, as you slowly lost the feeling in your lips.

He was crazed, still trapped in that dreaming state of his, drifting between experiences. Today was a re-enactment of a memory he would never speak of, not even to you. There were parts of him he'd never tell you, such a soul as yours should never hear.

You choked and coughed as the metallic taste of mortal ichor filled your throat. How could you have not felt anything earlier? Was it because of your futile attempts to coax Ajax back into reality or was it because of the numerous thoughts your mind came up with to he answer as to why he is in such a virulent state. Excruciating pain filled your whole body as you writhed and struggled under his grip. It felt as if something was being ripped out of you.

"Ajax, darling come back to me." you cried, it took so much to even utter a word as you bled out, you know not where but you could feel it. The liquid vital for your survival was seeping out of you, flowing like a lazy river on an autumns day, only that it was warm, sticky and addicting.

"Ajax?" a hiss comes from that mouth, he cringes as you freed your numb hands to hold his face and he let you, seeing as to there was no point in stopping you as you dangerously danced on a tight rope of life and death. You couldn't tell in that delirious disposition of yours if his eyes were shifting between Ajax or the primal eyes of a beast hunting its prey.

It wasn't too late was it?

But why didn't your eyes meet his?

Who snuffed out all the lights?

"I've abandoned that name a long time ago."

The cold took over you completely, freezing you until you broke under his touch with words left dying in your ichor filled lips

and then fear was the last thing you felt.

fear that he might not return to his sweet, charming self.

fear that he will curse everything in his path.

fear that he might attempt to use different various methods to bring back what was lost

and fear of his ruination.

you care not for your death, even in your last minutes of life, you dare not blame him for what he's endured so far. only wishing he never had to experience such in the first place.

This is what the wind warned you about in its lullaby.

...

Childe woke up for the second time.

Oddly more worn out than the day before, but your songs always worked, how come? . He wondered if you left to make breakfast as the covers felt empty as he reached out for you. No, you were a late riser, always having to slumber in the middle of the warm covers of the bed you both share. It was he who mostly did the cooking in the morning. So your presence gone was a displacement in the moment of his waking.

His eyes had to adjust to the view of the room as he sat up, a yawn escaping his lips as he called for you. The pitter-patter sound of the water on the bathroom tiles were non-existent as he strained his ears to hear for any trace of you.

"What..." he was confused as to why the room was trashed, furniture broken in half and strewn about the room, the drapes shredded and laying on the floor and the mirror shattered to pieces, shards sharp enough to cut through skin yet he slept through such a thing?

his first concern was your safety as you had not been present in the room and it him.

the heavy stench of blood lingered in the air. His enjoyment for such things turned into something suffocating because blood was never shed in his own home nor in his very room. In the state of confusion, something dark caught his peripheral vision. A large blemish in the covers beside him, it was dyed a deep dark crimson and he knew well what it was. He began to shake in worry, telling himself not to panic until he finds you safe. All he could remember was you singing him to sleep, held captive in your soft arms, encased in your warmth, so how did it come to such a morning that looked like a result of a monster's tantrum. He calls out for you, his bare feet on the floor as splinters punctured them and he didnt care. he had to find you.

The hallways looked haunting, the portraits on the walls taunting him and he swore he was going lose it if he hadnt found you sooner, every room was achingly vacant and it felt like a dream. He calls for your name again in a frenzy as he rushes through the place, had the mansion been this big? he thinks as he runs down the stairs.

There in the fireplace, the dying embers of fire lit from the night before, wood giving away and turning into coal as the burning smell mingled with similar stench that engulfed the bedroom, the same dark liquid on the sheets was present as well, only that it was painted into the wall and bled down creating a cascading waterfall.

Because there you were, with arms spread out as if welcoming each and every sinner for solace and blessing them with forgiveness, the drying mortal ichor behind you creating a halo. Your lips upturned into something soft as if you'd do anything disgraceful to keep the effeminacy on a soul lost to ruin.

an angel crucified.

that oh so heavenly face of yours could rival anything beautiful, even statues would crumble under you, nations would go to war for you and bodies of those who want you would turn into a throne built for you and you only. You were immortally ethereal even in death.

Ajax, dear sweet Ajax felt his legs give away, energy having siphoned from him as he trembled so much that it could rival the mountains when they shook. Thalassic eyes, wide blown into grief, anguish and all other emotions crashed against him like strong waves that could drown anyone caught up in it. He knelt as pain spread through him like wildfire, burning, scorching and killing. Agonized cries filled the room and if someone were to pass by, they couldve mistaken it for a dying animal. He gasped and choked on his own breath as he dared to look at you, the tears freely flowing from his eyes, down to his pale cheek and finally falling off his trembling chin to be hungrily absorbed by the carpeted floor that was also tarnished by ichor.

He felt crazed as he wept and in that moment of insanity, he remembered. That most disgusting sin he's ever committed that he should never be pardoned for in the life he has right now and the next ones he will be in. Through the blur of tears, he saw his hands and he wished he didnt.

Sullied hands befitting a murderer.

He screams into the ground, doubling over as his hands find their way into his hair, gripping it and ripping out those jacinthe locks of his. He could never forgive himself now and he never will. He wails out loud until his own throat collapsed into a croaking mess.

and then he couldnt find himself no longer.

The sand of time seemed to trickle down slowly. His eldest siblings came looking for him, to continue the hunt. A once peaceful encounter turned into a nightmarish reality as they witnessed their brother rocking back and forth with you gingerly wrapped in his arms, mumbling your name. Lips pressed to your forehead as he prayed and begged for forgiveness over and over in hushed torn whispers as if it were enough to bring you back and cover that gaping hole in your abdomen.

"What did you do?"

...

"Brother, when are they coming back?"

Oh darling Teucer, innocence reflecting off his eyes as he tugged on his brother's sleeve. The toy you gifted him clutched tightly at his side.

"I dont know kid, their mission was sudden so its best to wait. Can you do that Teuc?" the truth about you was kept behind closed doors, only adults can speak of and if they did, it took time to keep the conversation smooth and off of any grief nor sadness when your name reached their tongue. The younger ones would never know until the time is right. When everything was taken care of and hearts moved on. 

Your funeral was held in secrecy yet was it was grand. Something that would hold the significance of your memories with them. It was beautiful, your favorite flowers lined along your coffin, and you. Looking ever so ethereal even when death has kissed you, clad in that dress Childe bought for you. 

"uh huh!" the youngest ginger nodded eagerly and skipped away as the eldest sighed into his hands, the pressure weighing heavily on his shoulders as he worried more and more about his younger sibling. Another memory, a mind broken and a his soul withering. was there any way to save him? 

Days seemed to go by as any glimpse of the man was scarce. Until one day they ceased to see him altogether. It started at lunch, a week after the funeral when it took everyone to coax him into eating more as he lost weight  and trickled down to a whole day. Cooped up in his room, clinging to a pillow with the fading scent of you. and then he was gone, like a snowflake melting upon ones forehead. They grew anxious and thought of the worse until they caught wind that he was back in Liyue from one of the agents only then were they allowed to breathe a little better. 

"Childe, what finds you here?" the calm tone of the geo archon's voice broke him out of his trance

"Have you seen my fiance?" Zhongli blinks at the question of the harbinger, he knew what befell you and yet this man before him seemed clueless enough as to what he committed. How Childe did what he did, he seemed to sympathize with in a way that would make him understand his behavior. 

" I have not." he couldnt bring himself to tell this man the truth. Perhaps he was sparing him, spearing that mind of his into spiraling down into nothingness and a heart that was held by a thin piece of thread. "Perhaps it is better to enjoy yourself while you wait for them." 

To deviate oneself from the loss might be the best way Childe right now until his mind is ready to accept the torment of the heavy truth that would slew this man. 

"I see. " he smiles and yet it feels so empty to Childe, the reason? He wouldnt know or atleast his mind wouldnt allow him to know 

"Ill see you around then Xiansheng." 

Everything that he portrayed lacked and all he could do as he's always did. 

...........

i had to.

I hope yall would get Childe :)

[spookybias]

[ attractiveness everywhere, stupidity everywhere ] — kang taehyun

pairing: kang taehyun x gn! reader. genre: fluff, crack. warning: mention of bugs, mc doesn't have any friends. for: @ficscafe's dialogue prompt event. word count: 1960 note: obviously i wasn't sure how to end this T_T

prompts: #22: "stop staring, it’s creepy" + #23: "what the hell are you wearing?" + #25: "you got something on your face." "what? where?" "your stupidity. it’s everywhere."

You shrieked at the sight of a tick crawling up your leg, and immediately began swatting at the skin in an attempt to slap it and any comrades that might have kept it company off of you. As a cold breeze passed, you brought your knees up to your chest and wrapped your arms around yourself in a hug. The thought of more ticks crawling all over you, consuming your blood and body in their tiny, red glory, sent shivers to your spine. The wait for your guardian to come pick you up from school was beginning to feel endless, and although the sun was shining, the warmth was certainly not existent on this particular day.

The thought of having to wait longer in the chilly weather only produced more thoughts of ticks and ants and other bugs finding the time to crawl on you. Anxiously, you dusted off your tutu skirt and legs once more, and even your jean jacket every few minutes. You thought that waiting at a nearby cafe instead of at the high school grounds was a better option, considering you refused to let any of your peers find out that you were still being picked up by someone. But you weren't expecting to become the seven course meal for some ticks.

The sunlight began to beam down. You were gracious for the heat to finally be hitting your shivering physique, but immediately became irritated at the brightness that you were sure would blind you if you sat at the table for another half and hour. You rose a hand to your head, trying to block out the sunlight, and caught sight of a boy from your school making his way over.

You realized who it was, and your knees began to tingle. You were eighty-five percent sure that the tick hadn't bit you, and that the twinkling panic in your body was due to the pretty guy plopping down in one of the seats across the table. Taehyun shuffled through his backpack, pulling out some snacks.

The desire to impress one of the cool kids from you school flew in like a pigeon at the sight of bread. You leaned back in your chair, legs crossed in what you hoped was a sexy angle, and twirled a piece of your hair around your fingertips. Before you realized what you were doing, you made a mental note of everything that was attractive about taehyun; his half brown, half blonde hair, his pearly whites, and his gentle but assertive hands. overall, his face was amazing. You mumbled to yourself as you watched him eat his animal crackers, unaware of just how creepy you appeared.

"Is there something you need?" Taehyun looked up from his notebook and sighed. He picked up his pack of crackers and held them out to you. "Are you hungry? Do you want some?" He waved the food in front of your face.

You were left dumbfounded. The tone of his voice made you feel like you were some kind of wild animal trying to prey on him, and he was trying to distract you in order to escape. You knew you weren't the best around people, but never predicted that the boy you'd seen people swoon over for ages talked to others like they were beneath him. "No, I don't want anything from you." It came out much more rude than you had intended. perhaps you were something feral, and your defensive instincts had kicked in.

Taehyun blinked twice before setting his pack of crackers back down. "Stop staring, it's creepy." Then he looked down, taking note of your appearance. He had never seen someone combine a jean jacket and a tutu skirt in forty degree weather. "What the hell are you wearing?"

Feeling self-conscious, you pulled your knees up to your chest again, tugging at your skirt. "What? You think I'm weird or something?" You weren't trying to sound so targeted, but you were used to people picking on your taste in everything, and attacking first had become your immediate reaction to others. "You don't have to sit here."

"Calm down," Taehyun held his hands up with a look of so much disbelief that you wondered if you seemed like you were about to shoot. "You seemed cold, even from all the way over there." Your eyes followed his thumb pointing over his shoulder to the nearest crosswalk, the direction he had come from earlier. "And it's no wonder. You're wearing a skirt in weather like this."

"I thought I looked cute..." You mumbled into your arms crossed over your legs. "Besides, you have no control over what I wear. I can show as much leg skin as I want to." You ended your sentence with a pout.

"I'm not saying you don't look cute." Taehyun looked directly into your eyes. "It's nice seeing an already attractive person in a strange, but nice outfit." Your face started to feel hot. "And you're right, I have no control over what you want to wear. I was just concerned is all. It's freezing and I know you're cold in that skirt."

"So you care?" The words tumbled out of your mouth before you could catch a hold of what you were saying. You weren't exactly used to people who weren't your guardian worrying about you.

Taehyun rolled his eyes and flipped to a new page in his notebook. "I would rather you don't pass out from the temperature right in front of me."

"My guardian usually tells me if it's hot or cold," You went on to say, no longer remembering that Taehyun was one of the cool kids, and instead eating up the idea that someone seemed interested in you. "The sun was out, so I assumed it would be better weather today."

Look at me, you thought to yourself, talking about the weather with someone handsome.

"You have a phone right?" Taehyun suddenly questioned.

Your eyes widened, a tiny bead of sweat dripped down the side of your face. You managed to stutter out, "Y-yes. I do. W-why?"

"Phones have weather apps, idiot. Start checking yours." Taehyun didn't bother to look up from his book. You wondered if he was still interested in what you had to say, if he had more questions after this one. "If you don't have the mental capacity to do that, then at least open your window and stick your hand out."

"Oh ok." You screamed into your skull. You had let yourself get a little too excited about Taehyun's question. You were brought back to reality. Taehyun was a cool kid, and you were a weird new student, an outsider. There was no way he'd give you his number.

The clouds moved in, blocking the sunshine that had previously been annoying you. Taehyun's appearance had made you forget about your irritation entirely, though. It was silent except for the occasional sound of the cafe door a few feet away swinging open joined by the sound of a customer's footsteps as they power-walked out with whatever they had bought. You wanted to talk to Taehyun some more, but wasn't sure what you could possibly say that hadn't already been said to the boy a million times —that day.

He was just that popular.

Taehyun jumped at the sudden sound of a slap on skin. You shrieked at the sight of an ant on your leg. Taehyun could distract you from the cold and the sunlight, but not from your worst nightmare coming true.

"Oh my gosh, they're eating me!" You wailed.

"What on Earth are you talking about?" Taehyun closed his notebook and put it away. It was impossible for him to get some studying (and snacking) done with you around. "You really are crazy."

"There was an ant, and earlier there was a tick. Am I gonna die? They've been attacking me all day!"

Taehyun squinted. He wondered if you were mentally okay. Maybe the lack of social interaction was the cause of your eerie behavior. "Ants aren't much of a problem, but did the tick bite you?"

"No, I don't think so." You patted down your clothes.

"Then you're fine," Taehyun started to pack up his things. "I mean, if the tick did bite you, it's possible that your legs could go numb and you'd never walk again—"

"WHAT?!" You weren't sure if your life was flashing before your eyes or if the sun's demonic brightness had finally gotten to you.

Taehyun stared blankly at you. "You got something on your face."

"What? Where?" Panic began to strike again at the thought of a bug crawling on your cheek.

"Your stupidity. It’s everywhere." Taehyun grabbed his bag and stood up. "And I'm starting to believe it might be contagious, so I'll go now."

"You're leaving?" You scrambled around for your bag on the back of the chair and followed suit.

"Yeah, my ride should be here in a few minutes. I'm just going to stand by the corner." Taehyun walked off. You stood frozen in place.

"T-Taehyun!" You called out.

"Yes, ____?" He looked over his shoulder expectantly. "I don't have all day," He reminded as he took a look at the invisible watch on his wrist.

"You know my name?" You didn't think anyone at your school knew your name. No one talked to you unless they hadn't been paying attention to what the teacher was saying and needed a recap.

Taehyun turned around and looked at you. "Of course I know your name. We're in the same grade."

Oh. You had gotten ahead of yourself again. "Taehyun." You fiddled your fingers and lowered your voice. "Can I stand next to you while you wait for your ride?" It was silly, really, but that was the kind of person you were.

Taehyun continued walking. "Yeah, sure. Stop being creepy about it." There was a hint of teasing in his voice and a growing smile on his face. You were so stupid and weird, and that made him want to learn more about you.

And so you stood beside Taehyun for the next three minutes, utter and comforting silence surrounding you both. You thought you looked like two strangers who talked to each other and stood next to each other like they weren't strangers at all. You shook your head, letting the desire to be close to Taehyun shake. He'd probably let anyone stand next to him on the sidewalk.

A black van with tinted windows pulled up to the curb. It looked suspicious and you wondered if Taehyun was quite the suspicious character. You also wondered if you should probably run as far away as you could from the van. Then the door opened, and you caught a glimpse of an older guy with red hair sitting inside.

"Hurry up, Taehyun. We're gonna be late to game night, and I just know Beomgyu and Kai are hiding all the good cards." The guy peaked his head out and eyed you. "Taehyun you have an interesting taste."

"Your hair is weird," You immediately shot back.

Taehyun turned around. "Do you need a ride?" You gulped as you watched him put his bag in the car.

"Uh, no my guardian should be on their way. And I'm not allowed to take rides from strangers." You scratched your head awkwardly. "Not that I would want to ride with that weird guy in the back," You managed to finish.

Taehyun chuckled. "I'll leave first. Don't wait here on the corner by yourself, though. Someone might mistake you for a prostitute. It's not exactly safe," Taehyun warned. "See you at school."

"Got it." You retreated back to your empty cafe table, and watched from afar as Taehyun's car drove our of sight.

[enigma-im]

Fifth Day of Christmas...

Trope: Snowed in (NSFW) Relationship: Goliath x Human Word Count: 7,808

Swords clash in a symphony within the Mid-lands woods. The Goliaths have come from the mountains to ambush our camp. We never assumed we wouldn't be safe, especially with winter coming. Who would have guessed the Goliaths would be so bold as to challenge an incoming blizzard just to slaughter a few of us. It's truly too bold, too stupid.

I look out at the cluster of people, the Goliaths standing high. It's clear we have the number advantage, but they have strength. Men and women surround a single giant just to be beaten away with a single blow. It's ridiculous. The cold bites at my lungs as I charge into battle, joining two others attempting to befall the seven-foot man.

Together we swipe and swing at the revolting beast, aiming low in hopes of knocking him down. One soldier gets a jab in as the goliath blocks a blow from another. We both take the chance to cut at the knees. The goliath falls to a kneel, growling in frustration before swinging wide and knocking the other two away. I manage to stumble back into the cold dirt. Attempting to get back to my feet I see the goliath has beaten me to it, standing above the two fallen soldiers with a triumphed sneer. He reels back, aiming for the closest one. With a fatal swoop, he befalls the first one, spilling their blood to the dirt below.

I can't be shocked anymore, the sight an unforgettable one. It's almost numbing now. I quickly stand, gripping my sword in a harsh grip. The goliath reels his arm back for another blow to the woman at his feet. Working on pure adrenaline I launch at him, digging my shoulder into the wound on his side. The goliath cries out, pushing me aside as he cradles the bleeding wound. I don't let him get an edge, doing what I can to get him away from the injured soldier still laying at his feet. Stomping towards him I kick my leg high, digging my booted heel into the cut on the back of his knee. He falls to a kneel once more.

"You petulant worm," he snarls, reaching out for me. I try to step back, failing as he grabs my heel. He drags me towards him, standing to dangle me headfirst above the ground. My sword falls from my grip, hitting the dirt with a soft thud. I can't pay it any mind as this behemoth pulls me higher in the air. Not bothering to think I do the first thing I can. The wound on his side catches my attention. I drag my fist bag, launching it towards his side for a quick jab.

He wails again, dropping me harshly to the floor. My shoulder pops as the dirt gives no resistance. I watch the man stumble, breathing heavily as he clenches his side. Our eyes meet for just a moment, a few flurries dancing between us. I don't take the time to listen to whatever hateful words he wishes to spit my way. I can see the bloodlust and fury in his eyes, I am his sole target now and nothing is going to stop him.

I shuffle off the floor quickly, trying to look for my sword before the man can react. He swings for me, growling like a beast as he does. I stumble back, still having no sight of my sword. At his next attempt at my life, I give up the search. Knowing the losing battle before me I do what a soldier should never do. I run.

Twisting away I book it away from the fight, running through the tree with the cold air stabbing at my lungs. A voice screams 'coward' in my head but my will to live is stronger. I hear mighty footsteps follow me, calling out with grotesque promises. I don't make it far till I'm knocked on my stomach, my shoulder throbbing with the impact and weight. I'm twisted to my back, the man hovering above with a sadistic grin and sneer of pain. I can feel his blood dripping onto my clothes, the only warmth to be found in these woods.

"I have you now," he grabs at my throat," such a poltroon to run from battle." his fingers dig into my neck, choking me easily. I scratch at his arm, pry at his finger, reach for his face. Nothing works, the corners of my eyes darkening. With a last-ditch effort, I writhe and kick, aiming for anything to get some leverage. I don't want to die, please don't let me die here alone.

I kick at his hip, him wincing a bit. With that last bit of focus, I jab the toe of my boot into his side, blessing the fallen soldier for the well-aimed wound. He barks out a cry of pain, his fingers loosening enough for me to take a greedy gulp of biting air. I kick again, screaming a war cry as I push him off. It's a feat in its self to get him off.

I roll onto all fours, breathing hard to get the black dots out of my vision. Coughing while he wheezes, it's the only moment we have. Getting to my feet first I look over to him, he's kneeling by a decline. I take a few wobbly steps towards him, exhausted at this point. He looks up to me, trying to get to his feet with an angry growl. I'm surprised he makes it, walking on equally uneasy legs.

"I'm going to enjoy spilling your blood, little human," he seethes," it has become my right."

"Shut up," I pant.

With the last bit of energy, I have I run to him. I thud against his stomach, grab at his knees, and dig my nails into his still bleeding wound. He falls back, taking me with him. His back takes the brunt of our weight, me being launched off as he tumbles backward. We roll and skip down the steep incline of the hill, hitting every rock, root, and tree to be found. My shoulder aches as do other parts of my body. As my head meets a rather pointed rock do I wish for death.

A groan breaks through my haze. I open my eyes, looking up to trees and fat snowdrops. A few land on my lashes, my eyes flickering shut. I feel like shit. My body is throbbing, my view rather fuzzy, and my fingers numb. Another groan catches my attention, coming from above me. I tilt my head back, looking at the man trying to sit up. I startle at the blue marking curling down his bald head. My stomach lurches as I launch upwards, barely getting to my feet with the small amount of energy I have left. I know once I'm somewhere safe I'll be down for the count.

"Worms, all of you," the man whimpers," bested by a worm, me?" I watch him pathetically try to move. He looks worse than I feel, his side leaking life into the frosty debris below. The wound has grown since I last remember, stretching over his stomach. He tries to sit up, clenching his hands in the dirt, and seething every attempt.

He finally just lays there, looking at me with such disgust. I nearly feel nothing at the sight, just numb to this whole experience. He will die soon, bleeding out or freezing from the elements. I may do just the same, looking to the unclimbable incline and empty woods. Perhaps I could be so lucky to find shelter somewhere, a journey that may cost me much. I sigh.

"retched, the lot of you," he spits," may the gods damn you to the foulest parts of hell. To have your inners stood across miles. Be cursed for what you have done to me today!" it's almost sad to watch him like this. The final words of a dying man.

"Shut up," I look around some more. My best bet is to just start walking, look for some shelter. If the gods could bless me today. I start walking. The man curses and snarls at me, shouting his last bit of distraught like a pathetic animal. I walk on.

It isn't long until I come across a cabin, boarded up for the winter. It's promising. I walk up to the nailed in planks, reaching out to attempt to pry them. My shoulder screams in protest, as I do I. cradling my arm I look to the door. I can't get in. I look to the windows, they too are boarded. This close to shelter and I'm left to perish.

In the distance, I can still hear the shouts of the stubborn man. Surely he was to die by now. I shake my head, admiring his strength even in death. Thinking of a plan I circling the building, finding nothing but stacks of firewood resting against the side.

"Bollocks," I grumble. I'm not strong enough to get in…but someone else might.

I snap my head in the direction of the insolent man. Could he help me get in? no, he is too wounded. But if I treat said wounds, maybe he could be of some use? Would he be strong enough though? I cry out in frustration. It seems it's the only chance I have. Why not spend my last few hours with an enemy?

I hobble back towards the hill, hearing the man before spotting him. He is left exactly where he started. It seems he hasn't tried to make any progress. His head snaps to me, baring his teeth as I near.

"Come to finish me off, human," he barks.

"If I help you, do you think you can pry out some nailed boards before we freeze to death," I ask, not bothering to waste any time. He scoffs, turning away.

"Why should I accept help from you? Do I offer my assistance just for you to stab me in the back the first chance you get," he asks, sounding awfully stupid. I'll let myself think it’s the lack of blood causing his idiotic suggestion.

"Wouldn't you rather take that than dying in the dirt like a forgotten man," I ask, shivering as a breeze flows by.

"I rather die with my honor than betray my kind to help you," he barks a laugh," I'm faithful to my people unlike you, you poltroon scum-."

"Shut up," I interrupt," pride on the shelf, help or don’t?"

He glares at me, fingers clenching and unclenching at his side. The offering was rather nice in my opinion, even if the lack of trust is there. For now, I need him and he needs me, let's not make it more complicated than that.

"Fine," he grunts," if you can help then so will I."

I don't bother with words, collapsing to my knee with a wince beside him. The minimal supplies I have attached to my person is unceremoniously dropped to the ground. I don't bother cleaning his wound, taking a small amount of time to wrap it instead. He groans and whimpers like a child, nearly reaching for me to stop. I ignore him, stuffing wrapped bandages against his side before covering it all with wrapping. I hope the pressure is enough to forgo any more blood loss on the way to the cabin. I just need him strong enough to pull some wood, nothing more.

I'm little to no help getting him off the ground. I try to tug him up with my good arm but the jostling runs to the other anyway. He manages mostly on his own to get up, standing on his own two feet. His hand covers his side and he stumbles onward.

We walk like a bunch of drunks towards the cabin, nearly collapsing as we stop at the door. I watch as he easily pries the boards off the door, ripping them off as easily as ripping paper. With the wood cast aside, he opens the door and walks in. I follow after, annoyed at the equally cold interior.

"I'm going to get a fire started, you can rest for a bit. You have done enough," I say as I rub at my arms. I look around the room, spotting the heath with stacks of wood on the side. Before I can even take a step there I heard a loud thud. I jump, looking towards the goliath in fear. To my surprise he isn't standing, having collapsed on the ground.

I sigh," I thank you for your help but if you die in the middle of the room I'm going to be pissed."

That night was the longest in my life. Nearly getting killed in battle, then nearly dying from exposure, and now trying to start a fire with a broken shoulder. Hauling the wood was a challenge in itself, now trying to spark the flint. I would give anything to be able to roll over and rest but there is still much to be done.

I start a fire, warming myself for a bit before searching around the cabin. Finding a bedroom with blankets and a kitchen with jarred food. I send praise to the gods above. I drag all the linen to the main room, making two cots for the goliath and myself. I don't bother trying to drag him closer to the fire, exhausting all my courtesy towards him. Wrapping him in a blanket after checking his wounds is all I can bother within one night.

With my vision tunneling, I lay down in my cot and take a well-earned rest.

I startle awake the next morning when I catch the Goliath watching me sleep. His gaze is contemplative, to my surprise, but still rather brutish. I stare at him as he stares at me, not sure what his mood is this morning.

"you didn't kill me," he starts bluntly.

"That I did not," I answer.

"Why," he demands.

"it would not have benefitted me," I snuggle further into the warmth of the blanket.

He huffs," didn't think killing your enemy before they get the chance to kill isn't beneficial?"

"depends," I shrug," are you planning on killing me?"

He regards me for a few moments, his jaw ticking," No."

The goliath begins to stand, looking steadier than last night. His blood-soaked shirt is stiff and ripped. He takes a large step towards me, I flinch. Though I reluctantly trust his words, the years of fighting have left much ingrained. The recoil jostles my shoulder, making me bite back a whimper.

"Hurt," he asks, walking around me towards the fire. I can't pay him any mind as I breathe through the pain that has worsened from last night. Rolling onto my back I try all I can to remain still, the throbbing starting anew.

"I asked you a question," the goliath growls.

"Yes," I bark.

He chuckles," good. I'd hate to be the only one." I glare at his back. Slurs begin to roll towards my lips but I hold them back. Though he was near death before, I am in more pain now.

I hear the goliath poking at the fire, throwing another log in before stomping towards me. On reflex, I flinch, wincing again. He crouches down beside me, grabbing at my arm and jerking me upright. I spit out a curse, whimpering like a child. His meaty fingers poke and prod till I'm near tears.

"Stop," I shout. He glares, taking his hands off me.

"it's dislocated," he sneers," it has to be popped back into place." he reaches for me again, I twist away.

"Don't you fucking touch me," I snarl, shuffling farther and farther away from him. He remains kneeling by the cot, scoffing at my departure.

"Fine," he slaps his hands to his thighs," deal with it yourself."

I watch him trot off somewhere out of sight, stomping all the while. His heavy steps echo around the cabin, shaking the walls a bit. I'm impressed he hasn't knocked some of the decorations off the walls. Hell, I'm impressed he can stand up straight without hitting his head. I hear some clanking of glass, telling me of his location. With him out of the room, I breathe easy.

My arm makes me feel useless and I try to keep busy. Sorting out supplies and checking the fire becomes tedious with one arm. I take to looking at the piling snow outside, it already reaching around a foot high. Even without the blizzard out there, I had no intentions of leaving, it seems neither did the goliath as he licks his wounds in the main bedroom. We keep to ourselves most of the day, him coming back as the day grows to night. Even then he remains in the farthest corner from me. Not that I mind, keep the brute away less we break this unsteady truce.

I try to head to the cot, struggling to lay down with every angle hurting my shoulder. I try to bite back whimpers, not letting him get the satisfaction of hearing them. The hardwood is uncomfortable, so much so that I consider going to the bedroom to sleep on the mattress. The threat of freezing keeps me where I am.

I wiggle around enough that the goliath lets out an annoyed sigh," if you would let me pop it into place then you would have a better time getting comfortable."

"Piss off," I grumble.

He huffs again," you humans are too damn stubborn for your own good. I'm sure this war would have been dealt with years ago if your people would stop acting like children."

I scoff under my breath, not falling for the bait. He continues anyway.

"I'm tempted to see how long you'll keep use of your arm. With us snowed in I'm sure you won't last till the sun melts it all. As weak as you all are I'm nearly impressed with your resilience to help. At this point I believe killing you would be a mercy as amputation would get you dropped from service," he rambles on. I never knew goliaths could be so mouthy, saying nothing of importance in a conversation. He grates on my nerves till the pain of hearing him is worse than the pain in my shoulder. His constant insults nearly make me consider taking my chances outside.

As he goes on his next spiel I sit up, glaring at him as I stand. With a stubborn amount of determination, I charge at the nearest wall, slamming my shoulder against it. A loud pop echoes around the room, silencing the annoying goliath. I wheeze against the wall, panting hard as I slide down to the floor. Tears roll down my cheeks as a sob wracks over my body. My whole arm throbs, telling me of my success and idiocrasy.

I look to the goliath, blowing a loose strand of hair out of my face. He looks surprised, then impressed. It's short-lived though as he looks down at the sword he is fiddling with, having found it on the wall.

"It seems humans are stupid above all else," he mumbles. I huff, thunking my head against the wall.

The silence begins to bug me as the days go on. After his baiting, he hasn't said much else. During the day he sticks to the bedroom, coming back to the main room at night. I try to keep busy, running out of things to do besides count rations and look out at the white landscape. The fire has been kept lit all day, our woodpile beginning to run low. I know there is a large stack outside but the idea of going out there chills me to the bone. At some point I'm going to have to, that thought keeps me busy.

We sit in our cots one night, staring off into space.

"Our fire is going to die before the snow melts," he says casually. I lazily look at him, watching him look to the heath. The glow of the fire gives him a beautiful glow, lighting his markings like a painting.

"there's some chopped wood outside," I answer. He nods.

"I'll retrieve some tomorrow morning, give it enough time to dry out," he states.

"no," I glare at him," I'll grab it, you can't be trying to get your giant self through that snow. Besides, you can reopen your cut lifting those logs."

He glares back," like you can do any better with your arm?"

I sit up," I can do better than you getting through the snow. So what I lack in strength I make up in time."

"by the gods woman," he shouts," can you cease your insolence for one day? Your fire is admirable but it will get you killed. You will rest, do I make myself clear?"

His scolding demand boils my blood. Who does he think he is making such commands? I'm not his to push around or control.

"No, you don't. I will go out there with or without your permission because you aren't my father or commander," I shout. I nearly get up to grab the wood that second, my ire demanding action.

"This is the thing with you humans, we try to do something kind and you basically spit in our faces," he slaps his hands on his thigh," there is no more discussion, I will get the wood in the morning."

"No, you-," he interrupts me.

"End of discussion, now go to bed," he scolds. Before I can say anything more, he rolls over in his cot. I want to scream in frustration, feeling like a child at this moment. Reluctantly I roll over and go to bed as well, fuming as I do.

I aim to wake up early, sneaking out before he can wake up. He still rests in his cot as I roll out of mine. I smile in victory as I make my way to the door. Wrapping my blanket around myself I head out to start the mission of carving a path through the snow. As I reach for the handle the door swings open, forcing me back a step.

"Morning," the goliath greets me, holding an armful of wet wood. I scowl up at him, blowing a stray hair out of my face. He snickers, walking past and setting the wood down by the hearth.

"How'd you wake up before me," I throw the blanket down in my cot. He organizes the already large stack of wood, spacing them out to dry faster.

"Your snoring kept me up, I was already awake," he shrugs.

I sulk, dropping back in my bedding with arms crossed. He looks over his shoulder, laughing as he catches sight of my scowl.

Today he actually spends time in the main room, warming up by the fire and checking on the wood. Minimal words are exchanged but still better than before. The reluctant truce feels less reluctant now.

Night falls and the logs still aren't dry. The small amount we have left can barely keep the fire blazing through the night. We both stare at the hearth.

"We can bundle up more," I offer.

"There aren't any more blankets," he says.

"We can lay closer to the fire, that might help," I try. The idea of freezing during the night isn't an ideal one. The small fire could keep us warm, but just barely. We can try to use the wet wood but it risks snuffing out the flame we already have. I can't think of much else to do.

"we're going to have to huddle for warmth," he sighs. I snap my head towards him, confused by the suggestion.

"Huddle for warmth? Like, share a cot," I ask. He nods. "Well, that's definitely out of the question," I shut him down.

"excuse me," he barks," why is that?"

"I'm not going to share a cot with you. Not even a few days ago you tried killing me, cursing my name to the gods in hopes that they will gut me and spread my entrails for miles," I shake my head," so no, I don't trust you."

"so, you trust that I won't kill you in your sleep but sharing a cot is where you draw the line," he asks, a smile curling his lips. I glare up at him, not appreciating his tone.

"It wasn't like I had a choice," I snide back.

He grins," it's not like you have much of a choice now, too."

I squint at him," you're enjoying this aren't you?"

"not at all," he fights back his smile," having to cuddle up next to my enemy isn't the highlight of my week."

"then it's settled," I clap my hands," we don't share a bed and we just risk the chance of freezing. I love it, glad we're on the same page." I stand up to walk away. He snatches my hand, tugging me back to the floor.

"No, not agreed. I can swallow my pride enough to do this and so can you. I'm not so stubborn to put my wants over my needs," he bites back. I glare daggers at him, he gives it right back. The battle of will begin, me debating on the weight of his words. I'd rather share the damn cot and keep warm but the problem is doing it with him. This truce is only here long enough for us to survive then get back to the war. I won't let myself sit here and pretend that we could be friends. No, that's out of the question. Still, we don't have to be friends to survive. I just have to bite my tongue and get on with it.

"fine," I shout," grab your bedding, it's larger than mine."

He jumps up, piling his sheets in his arms before dropping them in front of the fireplace. We sort it all out, layering some on the floor to keep the chill out. I snuggle under the blanket, looking up at him as he removes his shirt.

'Whoa, whoa," I yell," don't do that." he throws the dirty rag away and crawls into bed. His body gives my heart pause. The wound on his side has healed very nicely, looking more healed than I would have figured for only a few days. His stomach is toned, along with his chest. The fire allows shadows to dance over his torso, adding another level of appeal to his massive frame.

"skin to skin is better to keep warm. Don't have to waste time warming up the clothes," he explains, reaching out and tugging at my shirt. I slap him away, feeling more girlish at this moment than at any point in my life.

"No, no, I'll be keeping mine on," I curl my arms against my chest. He snorts, letting me be as he drops beside me. I watch him, still conflicted on letting this go on. Everything is so confusing. The goliath looks… well, attractive, lounging against the bed. His angry features look softer at the moment, almost relaxed. I don't like seeing him this way.

I lay upon the blankets, turning towards the fire. I jump when his hand curls over my stomach and tugs me against his body. He is so warm. It takes a considerable amount of effort to relax, trying my damndest to fall asleep. I close my eyes and try to pretend the warmth coming from my back isn't his.

Sleep eventually tries to take its claim. My mind fading in and out of rest. As I nearly give in I feel something press against my shoulder, foreign words being mumbled near my ear. His hand fists at my shirt, his head nuzzling against mine. I feel him kiss the back of my neck, mumbling more soft words to my back. I gasp at the feeling, my cheeks tingling from more than the fire. He stiffens behind me. Neither of us moves, neither of us makes a sound.

Nothing is said as we both pretend it never happened. Falling off into tense sleep.

The next morning is…awkward. He wakes up before me, jostling me awake as he runs out of the room. I believe he holds up in the bedroom but I can't tell or gain the courage to check. I'm in a flurry of thoughts as the tingle on the back of my neck remembers his lips. Why did he do that? Surely he hates me, or the most tolerates me. His constant disrespect to my species as a whole has shown his true feelings. For fuck sakes, he tried to kill me not even a week ago.

I circle on the thought the whole day, trying to make some sort of sense of the small bout of affection. It isn't till later that I think about my feelings towards him. I don't hate him, that's clear. I just have a bit of distrust for him. The war has been going on for years now, starting over something as trivial as land. It's grown into this hatred that's on sight. I've killed a few of his people and he has killed a few of mine. As is life as a soldier. But is that a factor now? This little bubble we have created seems to have made those rules disappear. He is domineering but kind, loud but sweet. I don't hate him, I just don't trust him.

He doesn't come back in as the night falls, staying in his room. The wood has dried enough to be used, keeping the fire large. I end up going to bed without seeing him that whole day.

The next morning I wake expecting to see him. I actually hope to see him, to get some sort of guidance on what to do around him. I look around the room, not seeing any evidence of him being here. I sigh, a bit sad at the fact he locked himself away. It's weird to be so disturbed at his absents. I ignore it and get on with the day.

The snow outside has begun melting, the sun shining brightly through the trees. It's still a good two feet and dangerous to venture in but the time here is coming to an end soon. As I watch the water drip off the roof, I grow nervous. I'll have to try to head back to my platoon soon, getting back to the war. That thought ruins my day.

The sun sets and the goliath still isn't here. Nearly two days now and I've heard nothing but some stomping around. At least I know he's still alive. I feel antsy now, tossing and turning in my cot. Why is he still avoiding me? It wasn't that bad what happened, is he embarrassed? Maybe I should go break the ice, make some peace before we part ways.

I shuffle out of my cot, wrapping the blanket around myself. Walking further into the house I stop in front of the closed bedroom door. What am I doing? Perhaps it's better to turn back and pretend nothing happened. Pretend that he didn't hold me close and whisper sweet-sounding words. A lapse of judgment happens to us all. I sigh.

Grabbing the knob I open the door. I shuffle into the darkroom, the light of the moon guiding me towards the bed. A figure sits up in the bed, glowing partially in the light. I walk around the bed, crawling in beside him. His large hands grab my hips to tug me closer. All thoughts evade me as I follow his lead. I throw my leg over his hip, straddling his lap. His hand glides up my back, petting over my braid. He digs his fingers into my hair.

"I wante-," he tries to speak. Words aren't important now. Without much thought I quiet him with my lips, taking his for mine. It's his turn to gasp, freezing while I slant my mouth against his. His fingers clench, tugging on my hair, reacting swiftly. His kiss is sweet. It's a warmth I've craved all day. I pet at his chest, touching the cold skin peeking out the tears of his shirt.

"you're cold," I mumble against him. He forces me back, licking at my lips. I trace his tongue with my own.

"you're so warm," he smiles.

His freezing fingers dig under my shirt to send a chill down my spine. I shutter in his hands, relishing in his touch trailing up to my chest. He kisses me as he twists our positions. Slowly, he guides me onto my back as he crawls over me. I don't bother thinking, wanting to focus on his touch.

He removes his shirt while I shove mine off. We smile at one another, leaning back into another kiss. I pull him close, straying off the cold with his heat. His hips slant against mine, grinding hard into my crotch. His hardening cock brings a zap of need to my body, craving more and more.

We can't wait a second more, peeling our pants off and guiding his large cock to my wet heat. I'm almost hesitant in taking him, his length and girth way bigger than I'm comfortable with. When he pecks my cheek I trust him to be gentle. I take his cock with a choked cry, his grunts playing around the quiet room. As he bottoms out we both take in a much-needed breath.

"Varoth," he says suddenly. I look at him bemused.

"What," I ask, grabbing at his arms.

"My name," he smiles," Varoth." I almost laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. This whole time I never knew his name.

I chuckle," It's nice to meet you Varoth, I'm Evelina. You can call me Eve." he grabs my hand, holding my fingers in his palm as he lifts my knuckles to his lips.

"it's a pleasure, Eve," he presses a kiss to my skin. It's silly and sweet, I want to hit him or kiss him.

With our introductions out the way, he begins to pump. His hips slowly undulate, grinding into my hips with every descent. The feeling of him is beautiful, warm, and intoxicating. Part of me realizes the taboo of it all, sleeping with the enemy. Yet, I can't bring myself so care.

He fucks me like he cares, petting along my sides and worshipping every inch of me with his touch. His lips press every space he can reach, sucking and nipping to his heart's content. I can't look away, watching in awe as he lazily pumps his hips and kisses my chest. Not being able to take it any longer I drag him up, meeting his eyes with a smile. My thumb pets at his cheek before I slant my lips against his.

"you're so beautiful," he purrs against my mouth," so strong and determined."

"Yea," I ask, licking his top lip," I thought you hated how determined I was." his hands trail down to my hips, gripping them to buck harder in his next thrust.

"I hated how it pleased me," he groans," everything about you draws me in. That's the only thing I can hate about you." I flutter around him, twitching at his praise. His face clenches up for a moment, showing his blissful torment.

We make love this night, no doubt about it. Our slowly climbing peaks don't need to be rushed as we just enjoy one another. We kiss and bite, mumbling praises to the other as the fire inside stokes to an inferno. I break first, almost startled by the sudden pleasure. I writhe and cry out, clenching around him. He doesn't falter as he watches me fall apart. It's not till I'm laying exhausted in the sheet does he take his own end. His hips clap against mine, taking his fill before spilling in me. He groans long and loud, collapsing atop of me.

Sometime later we lay cuddled in bed. He curls around my back, hugging me at the waist. His arm pillows my head, allowing me to play with his hand. I compare our sizes, amazed at how easily he can fit my hand in his. His large fingers please me, them curling over mine.

"Were you embarrassed about the other night," I ask as I trace the lines of his palm.

He hums," I didn't know you were still awake."

"so you decided to hide in here till the snow melted," I tease. He grabs my hand in his, intertwining out fingers.

"It sounds childish when you say it like that."

"Well, it was," I say. He nips at my shoulder in retort.

"You have a power over me that makes me act like a whelp. I can't help but act a fool when you're near," he pecks my shoulder. I hum, smiling to myself.

We fall asleep in the cold room, keeping each other warm. It's the best sleep I've gotten since we got here. Though my toes feel near frozen and my thighs feel sticky, it's the most restful night.

Come morning I wake to a breeze ghosting over my back. I shiver, rolling over to snuggle into Varoth. Cold is all I'm met with. I stretch my arm out, feeling the empty bed. Confused I bolt upright, looking over the vacant area. I look around the room. His clothes are missing along with him. Perhaps he is already by the fire.

I get dressed and walk out into the main room. The only thing that greets me is a blazing fireplace, even the cots are cleaned up and put away.

"Varoth," I call out.

Nothing.

I search the whole cabin, an unsettling feeling curling in my chest. When I open the front door I get my answer. The snow has melted through the morning, coming to a manageable height. In the snow is footprints leading out and away. My jaw ticks as I slam the door shut.

Guess it's over now.

I pack up my things numbly. The hike through the woods is lonely, not even the birds keep me company. It's well towards sunset when I finally find civilization, a small town a few miles away from the woods. I make contact with the crew stationed here and get back to my life before everything.

The next few weeks feel hollow. Working has lost its appeal, it's passion. I fought for a purpose, to be free of the goliath's anger. To reclaim the lands they stole from us. It was a solid following, but now? Every fight I can't even bother to look at them, seeing the humanity in every single one. What's the point of reclaiming the mountains? Why try to take that away from them when it's all they have?

It's a month later when I resign from the war, dishonorably discharged. I try to live out of the path of the war but it seems there it's not much of an escape. The people still rant and rave about the goliaths. I pick up and leave, making it to a neutral town far away from it all. Starting a new life in a new land.

I make a career for myself as a blacksmith's assistant. The years of hard labor in the service have toughed me up for such back-breaking work. I offer the large orc my help in fetch tasks, at least till I learn enough to be of actual use.

"Eve," the orc grunts," you don't mind heading over to the lumbermill to get me some wood for handles?'

"Of course not," I jump up," anything to not be sitting in this sweltering heat."

The older man laughs, wiping sweat from his brow," you're telling me."

With an objective, I make my way down the village. The small hunting village is home to a melting pot of creatures. It's almost a haven for all. Orcs and dwarves work together along with humans and elves. It's nice living somewhere so accepting.

I make it to the mill at the edge of town. The saw is heard from down the road, the crew already hard at work. I walk around till I spot someone chopping wood in the center of a pile of logs. He is a pasty man, large and strong. I call out to him.

"Excuse me, sir," I shout over the saw. The man launches his ax down again, splitting the log easily. With that done he glances over his shoulder. I almost recoil at the sight, my traitorous heart lurching.

"Evelina," Varoth gawks. His deep gravelly voice nearly calms my nerves. It's nice to see him, at the same time that it isn't. I almost contemplate running.

"Varoth," I growl. He tosses his ax, walking over with his loud steps. His quick movement startles me into taking a step back. He comes to me fast, grabbing at my arms before I can race off. I fight in his hold, angry and frustrated with him. He left and it still stings. I never let myself think about it, labeling the memories as forbidden in my mind. He pulls me flush to his sweaty chest, my feet dangling off the ground. His mouth captures mine in a fierce embrace.

For a moment I can forget my ire, melting into his touch like a lovesick woman. I give myself that few seconds, and only that.

I push him away, shaking out of his arms and falling to the ground before slapping him across the face. He barely flinches, his head staying still.

"You don't get to do that," I stab my finger into his chest," you have no right!"

"I know," he grunts, looking at me with awe. He doesn't look mad or confused, but happy. It plucks at my nerves and my heart.

"Fuck you, Varoth," I spit," you don't get to grab me like that and kiss me as nothing happen. Like you didn't leave me alone in that bed, confused and worried. Do you understand how much it hurt to see your footsteps in the snow that morning? I had to suck it up for weeks, pretend that what happened never happened. I had to fight on like my enemy doesn't look just like you." a frustrated tear rolls down my cheek. I wipe it away and continue, letting out the anger and hate I've hidden for weeks.

"You made me so confused! I knew what I was before we fell off that hill, I knew what I fought for. Then you came and fucked me up, fucked me over. I was left conflicted and scared as I walked back to the life I knew. But it really wasn't the life I knew, it was all wrong. I had to drop everything I used to know and start all over again because you fucking kissed my neck and whispered sweet words. So fuck you, Varoth," I vent," fuck you."

Speaking felt like opening an old wound. I always imagined what would happen if I saw Varoth again. I thought I would just walk by him and pretend that nothing went on between us, to hold my head high and ignore him. I wanted to be better than this, to care as little as he did when he left. I hiccup, snorting back snot. I can't do that. That night meant more to be than him it seems.

I shutter as sobs try to wrack my body, the months finally catching up to me. Varoth tugs me into his arms, petting at my back as I cry. I beat at his chest, wanting to be angry, but all I feel is tired.

"I'm sorry, Eve," he crouches down to his knees, burying his face against my hair," I couldn't stay, we both know that. Saying goodbye would have been too hard for me. I was a coward, and for that I'm sorry." I let him hold me, stealing his comfort as it's what I'm owed.

"You should have said something," I mumble, exhausted, against his shoulder," I felt so used that morning. Like that night meant nothing to you. I could only think that you truly saw me as some low life human to be used and discard."

He recoils at my words, reaching up and cupping my cheeks. His eyes dart between mine, his brow pinched in concern.

"That night meant everything," he says sternly," I am just a coward who couldn't face the consequence of the next day. Do not think any longer that I wanted to use you because that is the biggest lie I can think of."

I can't help but snort in amusement," I guess you're the real poltroon."

He smiles, softening as he speaks," yea, I guess I am."

We stand in the lumberyard just staring at one another, so much left to be said. Yet, all I can think about is kissing those plump pale lips.

"Varoth," I cup his hand against my cheek," why are you here?"

His thumb pets under my eye," I moved here shortly after the snow completely melted. I couldn't fight in a war I no longer believed in."

"I understand that," I nod bitterly," should I be so bold to assume I'm the reason for that change?"

He smiles, leaning down to drop his head against mine," of course you are. Every change I've made since meeting you is your fault." I choke out a laugh, more tears rolling down my cheeks. Nothing stops me from reaching up and kissing his cheek, his nose, his lips. I've missed him. He returns the gesture, making a smile curl up my face as he kisses me everywhere.

"I have yearned for you every day," he kisses my cheek," scolding myself for being such a fool ever since."

I giggle from his attention," you have been known to be an idiot, but I've missed you too."

He stops his kisses, rolling his forehead against mine," do you think I'd be allowed to make up for lost times?"

"I don't know," I look to him with a teasing glint in my eye," you still have to make up for leaving me cold and alone in bed."

"That I do," he shuts his eyes," perhaps spend my whole life making up for that mistake."

It's a long while before we can gain the courage to split apart, making plans to meet up after work. He helps me carry the wood to the blacksmith, catching me up on his life since he found the village. I can't stop the smiling that graces my lips.

I think everything is going to be a-okay.

[pandastern]

What’s Your Poison, Captain Levi

Part 1: Desire

Sub!Levi Ackerman x Dom!Reader

Warnings: explicit, mature content

Word count: 2989

Genre: romance

When Levi overhears a fight between Y/N and Erwin about their newest addition to the squad, his curiosity leads him to investigate. Little does he know that this decision will confront him with his deepest and darkest desires he had hoped to keep buried.

The castle fell silent after a long day of work, most of the cadettes were already asleep and those who weren't, better got to it before he found out. Levi sighed deeply and downed his last cup of tea. The fragrant blend had lasted him for almost 2 months, but as so many things in his life even this was coming to an end. 

Levi did not allow himself many luxuries. A clean space and some tea. That had always been enough for him. 

It had been a week since Eren had joined his squad. The boy was so lively, so full of life and determination. How many soldiers had he seen with the same kind of attitude. How many had died before his eyes.

Putting down the cup, he got up and rubbed his eyes. Levi couldn't tell how long he had been sitting there, contemplating so many things, he could barely remember what he had mulled over. Maybe he was just utterly sleep deprived. 

Yes, that had to be it. 

“Off to bed it is then…” He mumbled to himself, blowing out the candle on the table. The moon was shining brightly, the light coming through the windows illuminating his way enough to find his path without needing another light source. 

How eerie this castle could be at night. The creaking of old wood and the howling of the summer breeze almost sounded as if the building itself was breathing.

Halfway up the stairs that led to his quarters he suddenly heard a door slam in the hallways below him. The loud sound made him freeze. “This better not be one of the brats out of bed.” He grumbled and listened into the darkness.

“No Erwin! I dont give a flying fuck. That kid has been here for a week. A Week, Erwin! He's been in my office with burns, a bleeding nose, overexhaustion and oh, yes, snapped tendons! Ah! No! Close that mouth of yours I don't want to hear it! I don't care that he regenerates like some Lizard on drugs! Eren is 14!”

“He is a soldier and doing his duty. As should you. Eren is not a child and he knows the cost of his purpose! This young man has seen more than enough of the gruesome reality of this world to make his own decisions!” 

“Yes, Life is shit. Reality is cruel. Trust me, I fucking know that! It doesn't change the fact that you are sending children to die, asshole. And no excuse of yours makes it right.”

“Y/N, you-”

“No, fucking save it. I don't want to hear another word. I am not a soldier, nor a cadette, so you can shove your Commander bullshit right back up your arse.”

The sound of angrily stomping footsteps followed by a never ending string of curses echoed through the staircase. Levi rose a brow. He had recognized that voice. Y/N was one of the Medical staff they kept here to support the survey corps. Usually that woman worked under Hanji Zoe's Squad unless she had to take care of injured soldiers... Or Eren. 

He couldn't remember having ever heard her use that kind of tone before. He'd seen that woman pop a dislocated limb back into place while sweet-talking the whimpering soldier into a blush like it was nothing. Not much of a soldier herself, he had to admit, but she kept her medical office under strict rules that no one dared to break. Y/N was strict, but she was never harsh. Not like this.

He knew it was probably for the best if he just went to bed. It was none of his business. They weren't friends so he was probably the last person she wanted to talk to right now. Especially since he was also a reason why Eren was here in this castle. Granted, if he and Erwin had not intervened the boy would be dead by now. However that didn't change the fact that whatever argument Y/N had had with Erwin she would most likely have with him as well. And as someone who had seen what that woman was capable off, he'd rather not be on the receiving end of that.

After hesitating for a moment Levi sighed deeply and turned around and followed in the direction of where Y/N had stomped off to. Why, he couldn't say. Maybe it was that slight tremble in her voice when she had hissed at Commander Erwin, that he had never heard before. Maybe he was just...curious.  

It took a little bit of searching before he found her. Y/N was sitting outside in the grass, resting against a tree. When Levi approached her the scent of something sweet and burning wafted around him. 

“What the hell are you smoking?” he asked and wrinkled his nose. “Don't tell me you actually got your hands on tobacco. What merchant did you shake down for that?”

Taking a deep drag from the hand rolled cigarette in her hand she gave him a very calculated look.

“Isn't it past your bedtime Captain Levi?” Her lips curved into a smirk that made her look like a Cheshire cat. “Don't you know? To stay sane in this wretched world everyone needs a little pick me up. Some people like to fuck an excessive amount, some people drink alcohol till their liver burts like an overripe tomato. Others…”

She took another drag from the cigarette, the sweet musky smell getting stronger. “Others just know where the good stuff grows.”

Y/N chuckled softly, shaking her head. Levi didn't reply to that. He could sense the frustration in her demeanor. “It's not like you to numb yourself with substances to escape whatever upsets you.”

Another dry laugh.

“I am not. This is St. John's wort and lavender. Helps me sleep. And considering you're up at  this ungodly hour I am guessing you could use one as well.”

Levi watched as Y/N softly patted the grass next to her, motioning for him to sit down. With a sigh he let himself fall into the grass. Silence spread between them and Levi just watched her carefully. 

“I heard your fight with Erwin.” He finally said.

Y/N clicked her tongue and shot him a glance through narrowed eyes.

“Oh? So you're here to...what? Scold me?”

“No. Not like a brat like you would listen to me.”

“It doesn't matter what I think anyway, does it?”

Levi sighed and stretched out his legs, leaning back against the tree. “You know that what we do here is necessary. You also know that Eren is not a child. No matter his age. It may not be pretty and it may not be what you want for him, but you can't forget that Eren killed twenty Titans by himself in his Titan form.”

Grinding her teeth Y/N pressed the cigarette bud into the ground and cursed again.

“Fuck you. Don't you think I know that?! I am fully aware that this kid can turn into a building sized naked killer man. Trust me, Hanji told me all about it in one of their ‘I am horny for Titans’ rants. It doesnt change the fact that he is a child. Just because he's seen some shit doesn't make him any less of a 14 year old kid. If you're sending soldiers to die, then at least make sure they are fully grown first.”

Her voice had gotten louder with every word she spat out before she cut herself off. Levi watched her take a deep breath and pull out a second hand rolled cigarette.

“We have no choice. Not when the survival of the human race is on the line.” he stated with a stern voice. It wasn't that he didn't understand where she was coming from but sometimes sacrifices had to be made.

“Spoken like a good little soldier. I know that of course. Doesn't mean I have to like that shit.” Y/N scoffed. “How far you've come from just a little underground street rat.”

Levi stiffened. It had been so many years since someone had brought up his origins. He wasn't ashamed of who he had been, but being confronted with it so suddenly still made him tense up.

“What, surprised? Of course I know. Where do you think I come from. You're not the only underground rat dwelling on the surface. Like you, Erwin was the one who pulled me up.”

Now she sounded almost bitter. 

“Now that you mention it, it explains a lot about you.”

Like that time when he had watched her knock a hysteric solder out cold with one brief move so she could treat them.

“I suppose it does.” Y/N pulled out a lighter and ignited her second cigarette, taking a deep drag. “I've always been good with herbalism. Drugs...Poison...Back then I used that knowledge to cater to Clients with a very particular taste of pick me ups.”

Another side shot glance and the smirk returned on her lips. “But enough about me. What is your preferred poison, Captain?”

The swift change of subjects did not go unnoticed to him. Not that he minded. He personally didn't much like to talk about the past. That, however, caught him off guard.

“What do you mean?” He asked carefully.

Y/N sat up, put out her cigarette and leaned closer, her eyes having a glint in them he had never seen before. “Like I said before. Everyone has that little something that keeps them sane. So what is it for you? And please don't say tea. That doesn't count.”

“Why wouldn't it count? Who gets to decide what keeps me sane if not me?” he huffed. Levi didn't like where this conversation was headed. As Y/N leaned a little closer, he instinctively leaned back but the tree trapped him in place. 

“Because I am talking about something more...decadent.” Her husky chuckle made him shiver, her face now so close to his, he could feel her breath on his skin. She smelled sweet, just like the herbs she had smoked earlier. To his surprise it wasn't unpleasant.

“So...tell me. What is it the Levi Ackermann, humanity's strongest soldiers desire? What is it that makes your fingers itch? You always seem so stoic but I know there's more. I can see it in your eyes”

Levi finally recognized the glint in her eyes. It was the same look a cat had that was playing with a mouse, ready to pounce. And he didn't quite know how to feel about that.

“I have no idea what you're going on about.”

“No?” Another soft chuckle that made the hair on the back of his neck stand. She was so close now, he could make out the soft dusting of freckles on her cheeks. Before he could stop himself he evaded her eyes to focus himself.

Soft fingers grasped his chin, forcing him to look at her.

“Y/N-”

“Do you think i haven't noticed? The way your eyes follow me the moment I step into a room?” She whispered.

Levi could feel his face grow hot. Had he really been so obvious? 

“I- wait, Y/N its not- “

Before he could answer, Y/N moved even closer, climbing into his lap. Levi stiffened, his eyes wide as her warm hands cupped his face. 

“It's okay, I don't mind. Not like I haven't done the same thing…”

Her body was pressed so flush against his, her body heat almost scalding him. Levi's breath caught in his throat. Their faces were so close, noses touching, breath mingling together and somehow the entire world started to fade away, leaving just the two of them together. His heart was beating so fast, he was sure the sound must echo through the entire castle, but he just couldn't push her away. He knew he should. He knew he couldn’t allow this. Knew this wouldn't end well for him.

But the look in her eyes told Levi, Y/N already had him in a trap he couldn't  escape. Not that he wanted to.

“Such pretty eyes you have, Levi.” She whispered in a low voice. “I’ve always wondered what's going on behind them.”

Keeping one hand on his cheek, Y/N gently brushed a strand of hair out of his face making him shiver. No one had ever touched him that way before. “W-what do you mean?” He managed to whisper hoarsely.

“What you crave of course. Everyone has something. Fantasies of pleasure and lust that keep playing in your head when you are all by yourself and need some release.” Y/N laughed softly, her thumb brushing over his bottom lip. Gods he was blushing like a boy but that look in her eyes kept him enthralled, unable to move a single muscle.

“I have two theories. Lets see which one hits the spot.” She purred. “My first theory is that you crave control. You are the captain after all. So what is it you think of when you watch me?”

Another shiver ran down Levi's spine, Y/n's feather light touches ghosting over his skin igniting his nerve endings in exhilarating sparks. Why was it so hard to breathe? 

“Do you think of me, naked? Tied up with ropes, suspended limbs hanging in the air like a doll...completely and utterly at your mercy as your wandering hands coax soft moans out of me? Do you dream about teasing me till I fully submit to your authority?”

Heat started pooling in his stomach and instinctively Levis' hands moved to her hips gripping them tightly. Y/N leaned in, softly brushing her lips against the corners of his mouth. Levi froze, his fingers digging into her soft, supple skin. “W-what?”

She was searching his eyes intently and it felt like she was stripping away every little layer of protection he had built over his lifetime. Dangerous. She was dangerous. He'd always known that. Hed known the moment their eyes had met for the very first time.

“No...no that's not it…is it?” A lascivious smirk spreading over those sinful lips of hers. “So I was right. See, my second theory is the one I find most plausible. It's human psychology after all…”

Her hands started to travel down his jaw before resting gently around his throat. Levi swallowed hard. He could feel himself tremble softly and that predatory glint in her eyes told him, she felt it too.

“You don't wish for control Levi, do you? You crave release. So much responsibility on your shoulders. Always having to be reliable. Humanity's Strongest. A leader in his own right. But what you really want is to let go. To give yourself into reliable hands that roam your body just the right way”

Levi could feel her lips on his ear, nipping at the soft skin. The gasp escaping his parted lips was almost treacherous and wrong. But dammit she was right. And he hated that she was.

“I am right, aren't I? I can feel you getting excited…”

As if to prove a point Y/N rolled her hips against him, coaxing a soft moan out of his parted lips. Levi's head fell forward against her shoulder, the scent of her herbs wrapping around him, more intoxicating than any booze he'd ever tasted.

“Please-” He rasped almost helplessly.

“Please? My, my, Levi...such beautiful sounds you make.”

More featherlight nips and kisses trailing down his jaw and neck, making him dizzy. She was toying with him.

“Your arms tied behind your back, maybe even on your knees. Helpless and taken care of at the same time. That's what you crave isn't it? That's the deep dark sinful little desire that's burning in your heart. Submission.”

Nimble fingers threading into his hair, gripping it tight before yanking his head back. 

“F-fuck!” The moment the groan left him Levi already knew he was done for. She was gonna swallow him whole.

“Say it Levi...is that what you want?” Y/N purred, her forehead touching his. It was an order. She was giving him an order.

Levi shuddered under her gaze, his throat so dry he barely resisted the urge to lick his lips. “Y-yes…”

“There we go...that wasn't so hard was it? Don't worry...I'd be more than happy to do that for you darling. I will keep you safe… take you apart piece by piece until you lose yourself in pleasure. Until you fall… and then I will put you back together.”

Her lips were hovering over his, a tease, an invitation. Why couldn't she just kiss him already?

“What...are you saying?” Levi whispered barely audible, his chest heaving with every breath. His lungs and all his senses already filled with her scent, her body pressed again so flush he could feel every curve through her clothing.

“I am making you an offer, Captain. And I want you to think about it before you answer. If that is what you want...come find me in my office. I'll help you fly in the best and worst way  possible...understood?”

Not knowing what to say or do, Levi just nodded. There was no way another word could make it past his lips. He wanted her. He wanted her so damn bad, the desire was burning him up alive.

Her soft chuckle echoed through the night.

“Good. I bid you goodnight then. Come find me when you're ready.”

Before Levi could process what she had just said, Y/N got off him and jumped to her feet as if nothing had ever happened. His body shivered at the sudden lack of heat, already feeling empty without her so close to him. 

Stunned, Levi watched her wink at him before disappearing into the night. What the hell had just happened?

[glitter-x-gold]

requested: sarò la luce di sera (Måneskin)

requested by @/Sheruie on Archive of Our Own! (link on the blog!)

in which Cora doesn’t think she can do it anymore, but thankfully, there’s always family to show her that she can

@/Sheruie requested, here it is :)

Cora is a female character on this case, as an obvious reference to the song. However, how you perceive and interpret Cora is your own choice.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: ⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️

- suicide attempt (nothing explicit, but still, implied)

~ * ~

Outside the hotel room, the night was dark and silent, the chilly breeze from the slightly opened window making Cora shiver slightly. She took a deep breath, followed by a sharp exhale, as she faced the unlabelled bottles that stood on the nightstand, at arm’s reach.

Some kind of dark, freezing void had taken over her chest, killing anything else, any other happy feeling that dared growing. It had been like that for weeks, maybe months, and she just didn’t believe there was any other way to live anymore. She just didn’t feel like she was strong enough to keep going. They certainly wouldn’t miss her much, right? No one wanted a broken someone, a person who could no longer put their own pieces back together, or at least pretend things were okay.

Laying abandoned on the bed, her phone buzzed, once, twice, the screen lighting up with unspoken urgency.Cora had told them she didn’t feel like going out that day.

Non mi va, raga’. Sono troppo stanca.

Ethan and Vic had respected her decision, though making sure she knew they’d come back running if she needed them; they had noticed how Cora hadn’t been herself for the past days. Maybe a little rest would help her get back on her feet. Thomas had kissed her forehead before going; a silent “Please be okay”. Damiano had stayed behind for a second longer to take her hand in his and squeeze it lightly, to then look her in the eyes with such intensity he had said everything without words. It didn’t matter how much she tried to hide it; he could see right through her. Now her phone was buzzing again. And she was ignoring it, still fighting an internal battle as to what she was about to do. She looked at the wrinkled paper she had left beside her, her shaky handwriting barely intelligible. She wasn’t sure if she should; however, she didn’t know if, come the time, she’d be brave enough to proceed. To finally stop burdening everyone. When Cora felt the dampness on her cheeks, she realized she was crying; her throat seemed to be closing, and an irrational panic arose to her brain. For the first time in weeks, she could feel, and what she felt was fear. She had the pill bottle in a firm grip, but something paralyzed her, so she remained there, sitting on the bed, crying, unable to do anything. A raging fire had replaced the numbness, destroying everything in its path, and Cora just wasn’t sure what was worse anymore.

The door to the room opened before she could process what was happening; she could hear the guys’ voices, chatting and bantering. She’d recognize Damiano’s laugh anywhere. Cora couldn’t even move, all she could do was cry, her breath in short, shaky puffs that hurt her aching chest. The sounds ceased abruptly when two friends fell silent, as they noticed her presence on the other side of the dimly lit bedroom.

“Cora?” - she heard Thomas call - “Cora?”

As they noticed she didn’t react, their calls for her grew louder and more worried. All of a sudden, before she could realize, a hand was placed on her shoulder, the cold contrasting with the excessive warmth of her skin.

“Cora… baby, what happened?”

Damiano was the first to notice the bottle Cora was holding in her hand; then, his gaze settled on the wrinkled sheet of paper placed beside her. Given her current state, it wasn’t at all hard for him to put two and two together. Setting all his heartbreak aside, he knew he had to think quick, so he brought himself down to his knees in front of her, while Thomas sat beside him, unable to hide his shock.

“Look at me” - Damiano asked, softly - “Cora, can you please look at me?”

While still gasping for air like a fish out of water, Cora made an effort to meet his gaze, focusing on something, anything but the thoughts that flooded her head. Moving gently, slowly, he placed his hands on top of hers, trying to unclench her fist and ease her grip on the pill bottle.

“We’re going to let this go, okay, amore?” - he said, while still trying to pry her fingers away from the object

Without realizing, the girl was whimpering, when she finally gave in to Damiano’s touch and opened her hand, releasing her grip on the pills, letting the container fall to the carpet with a soft thud, as it was replaced with the boy’s hand on hers. Damiano had climbed up on the bed to sit beside her.

“Did you take anything?”

Cora shook her head hastily, finally abandoning herself to the crying, no longer fighting her feelings, struck by the thought that she had almost done it. Thomas, still sitting in his place on the floor, was suddenly overwhelmed by the realization that if they had come home a minute too late…The girl was now huddled against Damiano’s chest, as he tightened his hold on her ever so gently, tears running down his own face, smudging his makeup.

“Andrà tutto bene, piccola” - he whispered, voice thick with his own overload of emotion - “We’re here now. Andrà tutto bene”

Cora tried to speak, to say something, anything, but instead all that left her chest was a loud, completely broken sob. Thomas took her hand, he too still confused and trying to fight past the shock that clouded his judgement momentarily.

“Perdonami”

It was, at last, the first intelligible word she was able to say.

The blond boy finally found it in himself to speak.

“There’s nothing to forgive. We love you so much”

They heard the door open again, Ethan and Vic’s voices speaking softly. They, too, fell silent, their features suddenly heavy, as they saw Damiano still holding on to Cora, both crying like children, and Thomas’ hand interlocked with hers, quiet tears, too, running down his pale cheeks. Exchanging a look, they took a step forward, making their presence known.

“Cora? Damià?” - Vic asked, confusion and worry in her voice - “Thomas… what’s happening?”

Ethan was the quickest of the two  to catch a glimpse of the pill bottle laying forgotten on the carpet beside her. Then, he saw the note, and a hand flew up to cover his mouth in shock. Vic followed quickly. In a moment, both were, too, sitting next to the rest;  Ethan on the bed, beside Cora, Vic on the floor, right next to Thomas, looking up at the pair. Damiano just felt thankful to have the girl safe in his arms; that they hadn’t been too late. Her cries had quieted down a little. The older boy left a gentle kiss on her forehead.

“How did you know?” - she asked, almost whispering

Thomas was quick to reply.

“You weren’t taking our calls. We were worried”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m a burden. I just thought you would be better off without me”

It was Ethan’s turn to speak up.

“Don’t say that again. Please” - he asked, hurt - “we love you, Cora. You’re our sister. We want to help you”

Then, Victoria:

“Don’t shut us out. We’ll fix this, we promise you”

Finally, Damiano cleared his throat and seemed to take a moment to think of how to phrase his thoughts.

“Sorellina mia, non sei mai sola… trust us on this one. Let us take care of you. We’ll make it okay”

For the first time in weeks, Cora felt an overwhelming amount of love replace the void that had been sucking all happiness out of her. A tiny little spark of warmth flickered on her heart, fueled by her family’s soft touches and kind words.

Damiano wiped the tears from her cheeks while his own still rolled down his face.As they huddled up together, taking comfort in each other, she knew they wouldn’t leave her. She had love. Something worth staying for.

--------

translations:

“Non mi va, raga’. Sono troppo stanca.” - “I don’t feel like it, guys. I’m too tired”

“amore (mio)” - (my) love

“Andrà tutto bene, piccola” - “Eveything’s going to be alright, baby”

“Perdonami” - forgive me

"Sorellina mia, non sei mai sola” - “My little sister... you are never alone”

(A/N): this is a very, very sensitive topic I would not normally write about. however, if this is a way to, somehow, bring any sort of comfort to someone going through a rough time, I am happy to provide it for you. let this be your reminder that there is always something worth fighting for.

this is a small story that in no way, shape or form glorifies mental illness. not only is it unrealistic and irresponsible to take it lightly, it is dangerous.

last but not least, everyone struggles at some point in life. bad days don’t last forever. you’re never alone. you’re so so loved. if you, like Cora, are not in a good place right now, remember there’s no shame in asking for help.

you can do this. it gets better. my inbox is open if you need a friend.

[maxparkhurst]

River Stones

The air was thick with summer heat, tasting of salty brine and realism. Hot winds rolled in over the fetid Sounde. Quietly suffocated the last inkling of spring idealism in the relentless humidity. Oppressive in the morning with only the scorching promise of a sunburnt blue sky in the afternoon, the days dragged on at an unforgiving drawl. Boralus responded in kind. Men shed their shirts and women bathed by luncheon. Children doused themselves in the sea and elderly sheltered in the shade. By the third bell toll, the Harbor was quiet as some retreated for an afternoon nap.

With the bustle of the city fading into a distant hum, Max waded knee-deep through brackish waters. Majority of her afternoon was spent in the Winterdeep Basin searching for Riversbud. The channel flowed near Bridgeport, just on the outskirts of Boralus. Waterfalls brought run-off from the mountain peaks, tempering the water with tepid pleasantry. Max appreciated the reprieve from summer’s blistering heat as she cut through the water’s glass surface and rummaged through its depths. Her skin greedily drank from it. The sun had rubbed her shoulders, elbows, and cheeks raw on the trek here.  Dried and stretched her skin like a piece of papyrus waiting to become parchment.  Having just her elbows submerged sent chills down her spine. She could only imagine how heavenly it would feel to sit beneath the waterfalls until she shriveled like a prune. Alas, there was work to be done and o’ so little time to play.

Her fingers skidded over river stones, feeling along their worn-smooth faces. It probably spent years hidden in the creek. Its story eroded by an endless stream until only a featureless stone remained, evolving into a perfect version of itself. As all things do. As it is written. A disquiet smile touched her lips as she flipped the stone over. The mud beneath was chilling and rife with algae. She bit back a disgusted whine as she dug through the slime. Buried beneath the muck, a stalk of Riversbud grew. Its sewn blades brushed against her fingers. Elation warmed her numb hand.

Max saddled back on her haunches and plunged her other hand into the brackish waters. She took a deep breath, counted to three, and pulled with all her might. The stalk didn’t need much coaxing. It ripped from the mud without so much as a protest, and all her efforts sent Max reeling back. Her feet slid over the smooth stones. Her arms windmilled for purchase. She blinked incredulously as she found herself staring up at the sky, creek water slowly seeping through her clothes. The execution was far from perfect…

Bemusement melted into quiet contemplation. Inspite of it all, the water felt incredible against her flushed skin. She blew out a sigh and closed her eyes. Allowed the stream to wash over her and smooth away all her imperfections. It murmured secrets in her ear. Foretold the cycles from summer to winter and back again. And she listened. Listened to the whine of bloodflies and the hum of cicadas; to the whisper of a sea breeze and the drawl of the creek; to the flushed song of an encroaching season which blanketed the Sounde in a scent of cotton meal seed. And clenched in her fist was evidence. Riversbud caught in a clump of still drying mud that seeped through her fingers.

The sound of laughter dancing through the air broke Max from her stupor. She peeked an eye open and searched the creek bank. Master Reynold’s met her gaze with a withered smile as he leaned over his cane. He canted his head and breathed another laugh. “Having fun?”

Warmth swelled in Max’s chest. Her lips curled into a wide, toothy grin as she threw herself up and hoisted her prize. “Yes!”

All things have their seasons. A young apprentice should cherish their summers. Embrace them. Keep them close for they will need them when winter comes. When the water stops flowing and the lake freezes over. All an apprentice will have are their summers to keep them warm as they tread across brittle ice.

*** Max stood at the door where Light, Death, and the Deep meet. Surveyed the second-floor apartment with an air of familiarity despite never having stepped through its threshold. The sky was still grey as the sun began its slow crawl into the sky. Winter’s touch lingered on the crisp air, sending goosed-flesh along her arms. She warmed herself by lighting a cigarette, allowing the buzz of nicotine to settle thick over her skin as she searched the closed off windows for answers.

“Where did you go?” she muttered, tendrils of smoke spilling over her lips.

She breathed a single syllable laugh when she was met by the distant squalling of gulls. Foolish of her to think she’d find a response. The curtains were closed and the apartment was empty. There’d be no unfolding of truths- not here, at least. Not any more.

Max sucked down the cigarette in a few greedy puffs before tucking the bud in her pocket. She chewed on the remnant burn in her throat. Let it ground her in the moment as she slipped from the apartment’s shadow and into the street. The path she followed wasn’t one marked by map or sign, but by the footsteps of another’s nightly ritual. Its stones weathered and worn, possessing stories hidden in their little imperfections. With half-lidded eyes, Max traced the path. Only barely aware of the awakening city as she coaxed secrets from the stone.

Did the scent of salt feel nostalgic? Make her think of summers spent wading through creeks? Or was it the quiet of a road less traveled that allured Seraanna? The temptation to steep in shadows too much to ignore?

She paused just below the entry arch in King’s Rest, a scowl pulling her lips taut. Those were all her own thoughts. Truth be told, Max found it hard to conjure an image of the Ren’dorei. Nothing but wisps of shadows and whispers came to mind. And in their depths, within the dark between the stars, she found inklings of doubt.

Have you considered the idea that this is all deliberate? A ploy for attention?

Those accusations rang cold and hollow. She didn’t want to believe them,  but as she stood alone on the narrow streets she began to wonder. Max shoved her hands in her pocket. Continued her walk down into the promenade. Gone without a word or trace. Seemed so uncharacteristic for someone who thought in layers; someone clever enough to name her home the place where Light, Death, and the Deep meet; someone like Seraanna. Or, so she thought… The dynamic between her and Seraana had always appeared fair; a truth for a truth. Yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that perhaps she didn’t know the woman as well as she thought. Not enough to devalue the idea that this had all been part of a greater design.

Max finally came to rest at a lamp post. She leaned against it with all the familiarity of an old friend, looking out over King’s Rest as she stewed in her own misgivings. Felt pointless to continue the walk. Wasn’t much else she could do. Nothing that Mary and Foxrun couldn’t. Another sigh passed from Max’s lips as she reached into her pocket for her cigarette tin. Perhaps this was for the better. It’d be one less person who knew about Crimson.

The metallic tin glistened in the morning’s light, her reflection casted back. She gave herself a melancholy grin before popping open the tin. It’d be one less person who listened.

Max chewed on a fresh cigarette.

There are no such things as coincidences. Just a single narrative written by the same hand. Just like a river stone born to be smoothed of imperfections, everything has a destiny. And the whole of the universe conspires for your success in achieving your destiny. You just have to listen.

You need to take action and listen…

And a smile crept on her lips. There rested her problem.  Not with a one-sided trade of truths. No. She simply hadn’t been listening.

[Mentions: @longveil​  & @foxglovethings ]

[ Continuation from here ]

[spookyspaghettisundae]

Impossibilities for All

Numb legs. Dry mouth. Cold sweat.

Light shone from buzzing streetlamps and from lonesome windows, a hollow valley of brick and steel. Stars twinkled in the black sky, far above.

The tapping of sneakers echoed arrhythmically, sometimes scraping across asphalt whenever exhaustion weighed them down enough to drag. When she shouted, only her own echoes answered.

Lifeless cars stood parked along the sides of the streets. A piece of newspaper rustled as it danced madly on a gust of wind, tumbling down the sidewalk.

She had been running for what felt like forever. Her sides hurt. Even more so every time she stopped to rattle at locked doors or bang on them with her fists or call for help. Things she did less and less frequently because they proved to feel more and more pointless.

Advertisement posters of smiling people stared at her with lifeless eyes and muted corporate colors from the sides of a graffiti-covered bus stop, and neon signs glowed everywhere in the windows of shops and from the tops of tall buildings.

Yet with all these signs of a world that should be teeming with life, a city that supposedly never slept—even in this witching hour—she was all alone. Every street, every alley, every corner; all devoid of life. A husk of an urban metropolis.

Completely abandoned except for her and her pursuer. And the trail of blood she was leaving wherever she stumbled, dripping from an arm and a leg.

Every glance she shot behind her, he remained absent. But she knew he would show up any second now. If not after looking over her shoulder the sixth time, then the seventh. He had been following her since she stumbled drunk out of the party, and he had killed her friends with a crowbar.

He turned a corner and stood at the end of the street crossing from where she had just run.

As far as his attire was concerned, he looked normal. Normal as far as crazy serial killers were concerned. Crinkled three-piece suit. Holding a crowbar in one hand, hanging down with something dark dripping from it.

Just some guy. Just some crazy guy.

Just… minus a head.

And yet he walked. He walked quickly—he walked quicker than her.

And when she started running, so did he.

She did not even bother with yelling. Just no point.

Breath had to be saved. Her weary legs had to carry her faster, she had to make up for her limping, and the distance between them would shrink quickly. The sound of Kelly's skull cracking underneath the swings of that crowbar still haunted her. Rob had tried to fight back, and the end of the crowbar ripped his eyeball out with the first sickening crunch, not to mention what it must have done to the rest of his head after other blows had followed.

The headless guy with the crowbar was unstoppable. Merciless.

And just a little bit too fast for her. The deaths of her friends had bought just enough time for her to run away.

She tripped on the curb and stumbled and caught herself before running right inside a movie theater where the doors stood wide open. The letters on the glowing sign above the entrance read

THE PIANIST

Not a soul in here either, just wide-open halls with velvety red rugs and brass decor and a diffuse, warm light. Would have been nice under other circumstances.

Her breathing ran ragged, her lungs burned like they had been doused in gasoline and set on fire. She shoved her way inside a bathroom door and grabbed it from the inside and pulled it shut in hopes of stopping it from swinging—and making her pursuer struggle to find her here.

She backed away from the door and when her sneaker squeaked on the bright white clean tiles underfoot, she gasped and held her breath.

She even caught a drop of her own blood in her hand before it could hit the ground. Had to make sure he could not find her here.

She backed farther away and crept into one of the stalls and closed it behind her and locked it and stood up on top of the toilet seat where she crouched down, doing her best to not make a sound, trying not to breathe despite wanting to vomit, and her nostrils flaring more and more, and trembling all over the longer she denied her lungs that vital air.

Footsteps thumped outside. He had caught up. Ran down the movie theater hallway in his mad chase.

The thundering footsteps went right past the door to the ladies' room.

She allowed herself to breathe.

Then the running stopped.

Her breath stuttered, freezing as she held it once more, letting the searing pain in her lungs flare back up again.

Thump, thump, thump. THUD.

The bathroom door creaked as it slowly opened.

A shoe screeched when it twisted on the squeaky-clean tiles of the floor, punctuating nearing of his footsteps.

WHAM.

The door to the first stall slammed.

"You did this to me," said a raspy, gurgling voice.

The first time he had spoken since losing his head. How in the hell was he speaking, anyway?

WHAM.

The door to the second stall slammed against the wall.

"You did this to me, and you will pay," said Headless.

She had done this to him. Just yesterday. She somehow knew it had to be him.

She had bumped into him on a crowded sidewalk and down he went, tumbling right into the street where a fast truck blared its horns and swerved too late—where its massive tractor winged his head. Headless looked more like his head had been sliced off at the neck and less like half his skull had been smashed to bloody bits of bone and brain by a speeding truck. But to her, there was no doubt.

It had to be him.

WHAM.

The door to the third stall slammed against the wall.

Last door before reaching the one she hid behind.

"I'mma need all I can get to have a new head reattached," said the voice, crowned by something like retching sounds. Bubbling with anger.

Thud. THUD. THUD.

He kicked away at the door to her stall.

"I-I d-don't have any m-money on m-m-me," she stammered out in pleading. "B-b-but I have money! I can get you money, man, just l-l-leave me alone!"

She did not really. She lived on the edge of poverty even her attire said otherwise. Like most people she knew, like most people who lived outside the center of the city. But she would have promised to pluck the blue out of the sky for him at this point.

THUMP, THUMP, THUMP.

Headless reared back and then lunged at the door with his heaviest kick.

THWUD!

Whatever the bathroom stall walls and doors were made of, it all splintered once he jammed the crowbar in and started jimmying it open, widening the gap to sharp sounds of the material snapping and breaking entirely.

She shrieked when he cracked open the lock far enough to reveal his decapitated silhouette.

WHAM.

She screamed when he kicked the busted door fully open.

Headless pulled his crowbar back in both hands, readying to bring it crashing down on her skull with full force.

She flinched before he even lunged. Slipping on the edge of the seat, one of her shoes slid straight into the toilet and got immediately soaked. She flailed her arms to break her own fall and accidentally flushed.

Fa-WOOSH.

Water splashed everywhere, shooting cold wet up all around her. She sputtered and her hands found no traction on the walls of the stall, fingertips and palms just skidding down as she fell and fell and fell.

The vortex of water dragged her down, the horizon transformed into the toilet's bowl, and the crowbar smashed into its edge like a dark meteor, exploding in an avalanche of white ceramic chunks the size of boulders that chased her down the spiraling world, spinning around and around, making her dizzy and sick but also impossible to see as she screwed her eyes shut in the flood of water, flushed right down the toilet.

Impossible?

Sure. But Headless was impossible, too.

She left behind one impossibility for the next, shooting down dark watery corridors like a kid riding down a slide in a water park. Except that her clothing was drenched, her lungs burned even brighter as she held her breath to not inhale whatever water enveloped her, and horror shook her with a chest-bursting fear of death.

Everything else was drowned out.

The dark tunnels meandered, pushing her along and slamming her against the sides of metal walls surrounding her.

Then the flood abruptly ejected her into a brighter environment. Even with her eyes shut, she could tell that some lights glared around her. She hit the ground hard and rolled, water splashing and spraying all around.

Finally, she dared to breathe, gasping for air. The pain of having skinned her knuckles and knees set in with delay. Trembling and bloody as she surveyed the damage, she pushed herself up off the ground.

Asphalt. Back out on the empty streets again.

Her thigh and her arm also hurt from where the crowbar had hit her in their previous encounter. She spat and got up and then instantly bent forward as a wave of nausea welled up inside and made her entire body buckle. A jet of vomit shot from her mouth before she could pull her hair back, splattering the street, and emptying her insides of all the booze and finger food she had ingested in that night.

The rancid, stinging taste lingered, and her eyes had teared up so much that the neon-colored nightscape blurred around her, yet she still distinctly noticed something odd in the splash of vomit, staring at it in disbelief and disgust.

Some pills. Not any she remembered popping and nothing from her prescription.

Had someone slipped her those somehow?

But how?

It was not like you could just roofie someone without them noticing. And if it had been in the food, these things should have dissolved beyond recognition by now. It had been hours, right?

With trembling fingers, she wiped some chunks and gobs of vomit from her strands of hair and then pushed it all out of her face. The smell only diminished with delay.

Finally had a chance, finally stood still, and looked around. Her clothing was sopping wet like she had been in a swimming pool, still dripping like crazy, admixing with the smells of iron and dirt. The cool breeze made her shiver beyond the exhaustion and pain and terror wracking her body with tremors.

The asphalt around her was wet and the gushing of water never stopped, sloshing and sloshing in an infinite torrent behind her. It still sprayed from a busted fire hydrant on the side of the street.

The nightly city around her, however, was still just as deserted and abandoned as before. She reckoned she might be stuck in a nightmare, but the pain said otherwise.

She stopped looking around—not only because it was making her feel dizzy and queasy all over again, but because her gaze came to rest upon the crowbar on the ground.

Droplets of watery residue on the black iron of the crowbar reflected all the colorful lights from her environment.

She snatched the tool up and gripped it in both hands, muttering a curse under her breath from the fiery pain of her knuckles stretching where top layers of skin had broken, exposing the ones beneath with a sheen of fresh blood.

With the crowbar in her hands, she staggered away. And walked. Finally breathed, defying all the pain and the cold and the terror.

Every glance over her shoulder helped ensure that Headless was nowhere to be seen. She wandered the streets, not as desperate to find help anymore. Somehow, she had just given up, even if she was still far from accepting death and welcoming its dark embrace. It had all made way to anxiety, a simmering dread of being all alone in this huge, soulless city.

Walking past a darkened storefront window, her own mirror image made her stop. Made her choke. Made her stare in disbelief.

She was wearing a business suit now. A perfect fit, crinkled and in need of ironing, but it would have looked good on her under other circumstances.

Impossible?

Sure, but she had just flushed herself down a toilet only moments ago.

In disbelief, she looked down, patted herself down. To ensure that it was not just the reflection, to make sure she was not just losing her mind.

Indeed, she was wearing the crinkled suit. Just like Headless earlier, though tailored to fit her frame. Still drenched. It would take forever to dry; she would catch her death by exposure in the cold air like this. She needed to find a safe haven somewhere.

Hell, she needed to limp her way to an ER. Headless may have busted her leg and her arm.

She still bled.

And then: voices.

Voices echoed down the streets. The tiny flame of hope flickered in the back of her mind. It flared up into a flame and shone brighter than any nagging doubt.

Traffic, too. A horn honked somewhere else.

She jogged down the sidewalk, rounded the next corner, and there they were.

Everybody. The city was as alive as it should be, even this late at night. Some people loitered around at a bus station, waiting for a ride home. The red taillights of a car glowed at the next crossing; its engine purred as it took off from where it stood when the traffic lights turned green.

She approached the group at the bus station. They were fully engrossed in whatever conversation they had going on. It sounded somewhat unimportant, but then again, it all sounded like incoherent slurring to her. Had she suffered a concussion, too?

Some of them drunkenly swayed, visibly having spent some time at a party just like the one she had come from.

She fought the urge to cry out, did not want to come across as a crazy person. Instead, she limped over to them.

Other than a few furtive glances laden with disgust like she was some sort of homeless person, they paid no attention to her.

She reached up to tap one of the guys there on the shoulder, and he swiveled.

Too quickly—he bumped into her.

And she fell, stumbling right into the street.

The honking horns of a truck blared as it sped by the bus stop in that very same moment, cleaving off the top of her skull and spraying the asphalt with bits of bone and brain matter.

The people around were all shocked, scarred for life, one of them screamed in terror. Just like she had when this happened to Headless the day prior.

When the police officers had concluded their investigation and someone zipped up the body bag, the world went dark, and the air tasted like plastic.

The zipper opened to a place of blinding bright light, phosphorous white in color and exuding an unbelievably cold air. Machines uncaringly beeped and hummed around her.

Strange figures in surgical masks—their heads horned like devils—all huddled around her bed and leaned over her. They looked like they were dressed like hospital staff, but the objects they held and wielded looked more like they belonged in a workshop's collection of power tools for woodworking.

The spinning saw blade cleanly cut through skin and bone with a high-pitched whine and squelching whenever it had to sever the softer tissue. Though she could not resist, could not fight back, and just witness; at the very least it did not hurt. The demonic doctors took off what little remained of her head until only the flat stump of a headless neck remained.

Eventually, a third demon showed up with a clipboard, studying it with hollow eye sockets and then turning his head as if to lock eyes with where hers should have been.

"It says here that your faith plan does not include body part replacements. Unless you can pay the soul exchange out of your own pocket, you'll have to make do like this for now," said the demon doctor.

He shoved the glasses back up the bridge of his nose which made little sense because he had no eyes to speak of. He sighed and flipped a page on the clipboard, then turned away with a shrug.

Minutes later, two orderlies carried her by the arms and tossed her outside the hospital entrance where she landed on her ass, just as if they were bouncers throwing a troublesome drunk out of a nightclub.

The crowbar clanked as it landed on the sidewalk next to her. The demons in white outfits disappeared back inside, and the sliding doors closed behind them.

Now that she was Headless, she saw no other option than to reap some souls. Not that she saw anything at all, strictly speaking—she just knew these things instinctively.

And she might as well start with the guy who had bumped into her and killed her.

Bastard was probably out there, somewhere, partying.

He had done this to her.

And he would pay.

—Submitted by Wratts

[anxiousnerdwritings]

Lights Out 

                                                  Prologue

It's a cold and cloudy, wintry Tuesday morning, the type of day you would rather be curled up in your home with something warm, then out in the freezing cold. The streets were calm and quiet than usual, which was odd regarding Gotham City. People were bustling about through the biting chill of the breeze to their destinations, not paying any mind to one another. Among the bustling crowd is a (h/c) girl making her way to the local cafe, where she works as a barista and baker. Briskly walking to get away from the cold, she weaves her way through the crowd with thoughts of warm coffee and fresh baked goods in mind. Walking up to the front doors of the cafe, she unlocks the door letting herself in, heading to the backroom. She opens her locker and puts her stuff inside before heading behind the front counter. Putting her apron on she starts baking the pastries for the day. While preparing the mornings stock of goods,  she hears the cafe door chime, she looks up seeing her coworker walk in. "Hey Y/n. Here early as always." she says groggily. "Hey Amelia. Yeah you know I have to be here early to start baking." Y/n laughs. "Right, we'd be out of business without your delicacies. I get that but how can you be up so early?" Amelia yawns, "Well I actually wasn't sleeping. I had a couple of papers due, so I stayed up to finish them," She admitted dusting off the remaining flour on her apron, finishing the pastries. "Alright, alright, but you better go home and get some sleep after your classes," she says with a hand on her hip and the other pointing in a scolding manner. "Yeah, yeah, yeah." 'Ameila, always the mother hen,' Y/n laughs to herself, getting back to work.

        After finally opening the cafe for the early morning rush of freezing commuters, Y/n gets to work taking customer's names and orders while Amelia gets the pastries ready. It's not long before the rush comes to slow, a few people sitting around taking in the warmth before beginning their day. It's almost time for Y/n to end her shift after she takes her last order of the day, a tired looking college aged guy walks through the door bundled up in an expensive looking winter jacket with a hoodie underneath and a pair of joggers. "Hey there, Tom. Here for the usual?" the cheery (h/c) girl asks, " Yes but I think I'll try one of your pastries today." He says with a tired smile,  " What would you recommend Y/n." "Sure thing Hun. I like most of the stuff here except the lemon tart, but that's mainly because I don't care for the bitterness so early in the morning, add your plain black coffee to the mix and you're in for one hell of an after taste." She laughs and he chuckles before she continues, "But my favorite is the apple and cinnamon muffin, especially for a cold morning like this." "Yeah the lemon and black coffee doesn't sound so good, but the apple cinnamon sounds like what I need. I'll take that," Tom chuckles, paying for his coffee and muffin.

      'She seems happy even for this early in the morning,' I think. 'But isn't she always.'  Smiling to myself as I walk to my usual table in the back, I sit down and pull out my laptop checking over a paper for my first class before thinking back to the barista. I come here every morning before class for my regular coffee, trying to keep my eyes open. I use to make the long trek a few blocks away from campus before this place opened up right by my apartment. I made the lazy decision to try the place out when I couldn't make myself trudge the extra few blocks. I thank my tired state of mind for that everyday since. My first time here, it was packed, I almost walked right out, but something stopped me. With my feet rooted to their spot in line, I patiently waited my turn. When I got to the counter with my beverage already in mind, a black coffee, can't go wrong with that. I lost my train of thought though once I was greeted by the barista. 'Hello, what can I get you this morning?' Came her sweet resounding voice. I could tell she was trying to hide the tiredness in it and she was doing a good job at it too. If I didn't know any better I'd think she was a natural morning person, but being a detective aided me with miniscule things like that. 'Uh, yeah. Could I get a black coffee?' 'Sure thing! What's the name?' 'Tom,' I reply not thinking clearly, being caught off guard by both her and my tiredness 'Okay, Tom, that'll be out in a few,' she says handing me my change. I walk off to the farthest table in the back and wait for my coffee. "Order for Tom! One black coffee and a cinnamon muffin!" I'm pulled from my musings by a familiar voice calling my "name". I mentally face palm every time I remember the encounter. If Dick, Jason, or even Damian were there, they'd give me so much hell for it. I get up from my spot to get my order. "Here you go. Hope you enjoy the muffin." She smiles as I take my coffee and muffin back to my table. Sitting down again, I can't help but note the same smile she always wears, looks more like an accessory than genuine at this point. But I don't think she's realized that herself yet. 'God, what am I thinking. I don't even know the girl and I'm already trying to wrap myself up in her' I sigh putting my laptop back in my bag and leaving. As I'm walking to campus, drinking my coffee and eating the apple and cinnamon muffin, I can't help but think about how the muffin melts in my mouth. Warm and soothing, with a sweet and crisp taste. It really is good, no wonder it's her favorite. Reminds me of the cute barista,"Y/n," I whisper her name. As much as I try, I can't help but smirk as the name rolls off my tongue.

            A few minutes after "Tom" left, Y/n ended her shift, heading to her first class of the day.  The only thing on her mind being the new murder mystery book she'd gotten from the bookstore a few days before. She just couldn't wait to continue reading it again. If it wasn't the book on her mind then it was the next episode of her other new obsession; Crime Time Mysteries. A new TV series about old and new cases some solved and some unsolved. Some of the cases even happened in Gotham. Not that that was a surprise. It's the one thing that keeps Y/n in town. As odd as it sounds, crimes have become a big part of her life, in regards to books, movies, and the media. Her father was a crime author. She grew up helping her father with his ideas. So it goes without say why she can't help but be pulled in by the enigma that is Gotham. Even at the cost of her own freedom. 

                                                             Accused

What's going on?  

Where am I?

      Why am I covered in blood?    

Amelia?

        Amelia, where are you?  

   Sitting up, you looked around trying to gain your bearings. Once your eyes focus on the room room around you, you can tell your on the bathroom floor in Amelia's apartment. 'What the fuck is going on...?'  Helping yourself up, you stagger out of the bathroom, you hold yourself up against the hall walls, your legs feeling like their jelly, you have to force yourself to stay leaning on the wall. Staggering to the living room, you drag yourself from the hall to the kitchen counter, using it as leverage to support your body weight. Getting to the entrance of the kitchen leading to the living room, you slip on something, falling on your ass. Laying on the guard, you can feel something sticky all over your arms and legs. Lifting yourself up on your knees, you look at your limbs and around you seeing some sort of dark liquid all over the floor in the dark apartment.    Registering the metallic smell of blood, your not fully comprehending what you've walked out on. Your head is pounding and your whole body is numb but hurts all the same. You try to get yourself up again but fall, laying on the ground, you just stay there trying to focus on gaining your senses back.  

   Your jolted out of nowhere, having blacked out, by the sound of banging on the apartment door and you hear yelling too. Having gained feeling back in your body, you sit up again, looking around and taking in your surroundings. Your completely horrified to find yourself covered in blood. Getting up you try to stand up but you trip over something, looking over your shoulder, your petrified to see Amelia's dull, blank eyes staring at you. Screaming you try to crawl away from your dead friends body. Too caught up in your own horror, you don't notice the apartment door being kicked open. Gotham City's police department is rushing into the apartment and surrounding you. Your so confused and frightened, you're being yelled at, accused of murder.  You don't know what's even going on. You're being pulled up harshly and thrown into a wall, having your Miranda rights shouted to you. You're so out of it, you don't register your body throwing and flailing around trying to get out of the officers hold. You can't even hear your own voice as you scream that you didn't do anything.

   Finally being able to weasel yourself away from the police officers, you run to the apartment window, throwing yourself through it. Rushing after you, the officers aren't able to grab you before you've thrown yourself through the window pane, and begin to fall along the side of the apartment complex. Landing in a dumpster, you lie their for the briefest moment, before launching yourself out of the dumpster. Hooked on pure adrenaline, you're barefoot, covered in blood, wearing sleeping shorts and a tank top running down the empty alley trying to look for somewhere to go.

   Coming across a hole in the side of a building, while wandering around an alley, you try squeezing yourself through the hole, being able to get yourself through. Pulling yourself into the building, you look around seeing the place is some warehouse that looked abandoned. Sighing to yourself, you walk around, wandering up a staircase leading to an office. You sit yourself under a window, trying to calm down from all the adrenaline, you take the time to really take in your appearance. You're covered in blood and dirt, with bits and pieces of glass in your skin. Your tank top and sleep shorts are ripped and torn, and your bare feet are caked with more dirt, blood. There are even some pieces of rocks, gravel, and glass in the bottom of your feet. Trying to figure out what the hell happened, you try to focus on remembering the last thing you did. But you can't think straight, your head is throbbing. Curling in on yourself from the intense pain, you let yourself fall into a heap on the ground, giving into the overwhelming pain, you let yourself drift off again. But there won't be any peaceful sleep from this day on, only the restless need to run. Run for your freedom, for your life.  

A/n: This is a story I’ve been working on my  wattpad account. I have a few other WIPs on there too, that I might post later on depending on the feedback I get on this one, This is the story regarding the mystery/thriller obsessed Reader who ends up being accused of her best friends murder. While on the run she meets a local hero who can already tell that Y/n is innocent. They offer to help her prove her innocence. With her knowledge of crime based media, the hero and Y/n compile all the evidence that’ll prove her innocence, once and for all. Along the way they’ll come across heroes and villains alike, who all have their own intentions for being involved. 

[rinnysega]

Out in the Rain - A Simpsons Fic

Hello all! I’m back into the swing of writing this week with my half of a fic trade with @spooky-simp! Thank you for your patience since this has been a crazy week, and I hope you enjoy this story of friendship between Ned and Bart.

Bart’s head was pounding with throbbing aches and pains. His throat was raw and scratchy, and now his clothes were soaking wet with the rain. His eyes and cheeks were still sore from the arguing and the crying from before, even though his world was very quiet now, and they were all just fuzzy memories. Just soft squeaks from the chains of the swing set were his company. That and the rain that pelted the sand into a sludge at his feet.

He slumped over to stare down at his shoes, holding his forehead in his palm as he tried to stop the spinning. The exterior forces of a growing storm were at war with the internal forces of an even bigger storm within him, and the collision made the boy feel trapped in solid stone.

Arguments were always an unfortunate byproduct of a life lived with his family. Bart felt by now he should have gotten used to them, but as he was nearing 15 years old, they only seemed to further agitate the growing boy and pit him against his own sense of self. His emotions were running a race his brain couldn’t run. What he felt was beyond his years of thinking, and while he didn’t know why he felt such sudden and aggressive emotions, it didn’t make them any less painful or mind-consuming. This must be the mess all teenagers go through, and why they really are the worst years of one’s life. The grunge songs of his youth were right.

The rain was coming down harder, and Bart slicked his hair back and sat up to stretch his back. The pain he felt from being hunched over for so long was numbing. The drops of water landed in harsh blows against his skin, and he tried to ignore their small stings while he looked around the dark and deserted playground. The streetlamps were barely an aid in seeing anything - not that expected to see anything.

But then, a bright light appeared somewhere behind him and reflected on the rain drops as they came down in harder sheets with the breeze coming in from the north. Bart turned on his swing, his hand over his brow to see the shadow of a man holding a flashlight, and he could hear the sound of the rain hitting tarp - an umbrella, of course.

Soft footsteps made their way to him and the water was blocked from hitting him further on the swing. His eyes caught the familiar face of his neighbor, and somewhere deep down inside him was a wave of peace.

“Flanders?” Bart asked.

“Hey, I thought that was you, Bart,” the man replied. “What in God’s good graces are you doing out here in this mess?”

“Well, what are you doing out here?”

“I went for a night walk, but I didn’t think the storm would catch up this quickly. Good thing I come prepared.” He motioned to the umbrella. “Now again, son, what are you doing out here?”

Bart wanted to walk away from him to avoid the discussion, but even he had to admit it was nice to be sheltered from the weather, even just a little bit. He instead bowed his head and held himself - in part to shield himself from naggy questions and another to keep himself warm. He was freezing.

“Homer and I had another fight.”

“Oh dear. Well, that’s no good.”

“Yeah, no duh.” Bart rolled his eyes and looked back at him.

“Well, Bart, I’m sure whatever the argument was about isn’t worth you being out in this weather. I’m sure your dad would appreciate it if you went home where you’d be safe. Then you two can talk things out in the morning.”

“Communication may work in your house, Flanders, but not in mine.”

“Then at least go home to protect yourself. Flu season is just around the corner, you know.”

Bart’s hands tightened around the chains of the swing. “I’m not going back there tonight.”

“Not even to your treehouse?”

“No.”

Ned stood there in thought for a moment. “Well, what about my house? It’s not on your property but at least your Mom can see you from the window, and she’ll know you’re okay.”

Bart was quiet.

“Bart?”

“Fine. I’ll do it for her.” He stood up from the swing and walked around to Ned who opened his arm to wrap across his shoulders. His sweater was a welcoming source of heat after being out there for so long. He may be a pissed off teenager, but he wasn’t stupid. Even he didn’t want to get sick because of his father.

They walked the few blocks back to Evergreen Terrace, and Bart only took one glance over at his home while Ned fiddled with his keys to unlock the front door.

“Just take your shoes and coat off at the door. You can get out of those wet clothes in the laundry room and I’ll bring you a fresh pair of Rod’s pajamas. What a blessing you boys grew up together and wear the same size, huh?”

“Uh huh…” Bart was half listening as he slipped off the soaking jacket and hung it up on the rack. The warmth of the house felt like a hug, and one he desperately needed at that.

“Guest room’s where it’s always been. Your toothbrush is still in the cabinet you used last time you were here.”

“How long ago was that?” Bart asked.

“About two months ago I believe.”

That felt like a punch. Before that he could count several more times he’d been a guest in Flanders’ house - just to get away from his own. Had he really been here that many times that he started keeping a toothbrush there?

“....Hey Flanders?”

“Yeah, son?”

Bart stepped over the pile of soaking clothes and gave the man a hug. His first one that he prompted on his own after all these years. One when the two of them were so close to being the same height after so long. Bart was growing up and close to adulthood, and he felt the gesture for his neighbor was long overdue.

“Thank you.”

Ned gave him a soft few pats on the shoulder, not really knowing what else to say aside from his usual, “Anytime, son.”  

For the first time in a long time, Bart surprised him by hugging him first. He was growing up.

[hardlyinteresting]

Spring Awakening

1940s!Bucky.  Bucky returns home from war a different man than he used to be. Bucky falls in love through the seasons.  Trigger warnings: Mention of war, kind of shitty parents (nothing specific). Let Me Know What You Think of It!

It’s spring when he first sees her. The breeze carries the smell of newly blossomed roses and early morning dew drops. She wears a blue dress and a white cardigan sweater; perfectly stitched flowers of pink and purple with little green leaves frame the wool collar. A brand new set of pearls rest against her collar bone. She looks like something out of the films from before the war; all grace and sophistication as she sits and reads by the window. He holds his cap in his hands in an attempt to hide his calloused and roughed up hands. His perfectly ironed trousers and new dress shirt do little to hide the life of hard work and war he’s seen. He follows her father silently to the garage where he’s shown the Rolls Royce he’ll be driving and maintaining for the family. Her father does not ask him if he served in the war, and for that Bucky is grateful. 

When he came back from the war he found work on the docks but quickly tired of the tales from men who thought the war was nothing but glory; from the men who never really made it to the front lines. He’s looking forward to his new job where he might work in quiet and solitude most of the day. He’s shown the tool bench and given a quick walk around the workshop. Everything he might need is tucked away in neat drawers and hung on the wall behind the worktop. He appreciates the order, it’s something civilian life lacks. He spends his first day of work doing a general tune-up and checking the car over. He wipes the grease from his hands on a handkerchief as he makes his way back to his own car at the end of the day. The sun is setting and the red bricks of the house seem to glow a brilliant amber. In a passing glance, he can see the family sitting down to dinner- with crystal glasses that sparkle under chandelier light, and silverware worth more than a months rent- through the window. What a wonderful life that must be, he thinks.

At home, Becca is excited to hear about his day. Their mother scolds her for running in the house and pestering her brother. He smiles politely at his mother excusing himself to wash up before dinner. They sit together at the small round table in the kitchen eating meatloaf off mismatched plates. Becca excitedly tells stories about her day at school, the latest gossip; any interest in Bucky’s work long forgotten. His mother shoots him a knowing stare as he rubs his left shoulder on his way up the stairs. “I’m alright Ma, I just got to get used to using it again, is all”.

It’s a week later that she gets into the back of the Rolls for the first time. The smell of her perfume fills the car; Lilly of the valley and roses. It smells like the one Becca had tried on the day he took her into the department stores. She doesn’t speak except to say where she’d like to go and what time he should pick her up again. He’s okay with that. She doesn’t speak like any of the girls he’s ever met. She sounds like Kathrine Hepburn with all her soft ‘r’s and annunciated vowels. There’s something fancy about it, and he supposes that’s the point. Mid-Atlantic, just like the film stars and the rich. He wonders if she always talks like that, or if it’s something she’s been taught to do for show. 

Exactly two hours later she slides back into the back seat in the same place he dropped her off. “Home, please” is all she says taking off her hat and her white crochet gloves. 

By the time summer rolls around Bucky has saved enough money to make sure Becca has school supplies in the fall and to buy himself some new shoes he needs. He makes sure his Ma is working less now that he has a stable job. Winnifred isn’t one to sit still and insists on making herself available to babysit the neighbourhood kids on days when she’s not inundated with washing, ironing and mending for her long list of customers. 

On Sunday nights Bucky makes sure he’s home on time for dinner so he can bring Becca to the shop to treat her to a soda or an ice cream cone. The pain in his shoulder is worse some days than it is others, but he pushes through. The numbness sets in afterwhile and it doesn’t hurt too badly. Even on the bad days, the muscle pain hurts less than the bullet that caused it. 

It’s a warm summer in New York, but Bucky doesn’t complain. Alone in the garage, he works in just his undershirt. He comes home at night with grease smudges on his neck and brow bone from wiping away sweat throughout the day. His employer attends polo matches; his wife hosts garden parties, but their daughter spends her days indoors as often as she can. Dressed in white linens she sits by an open window and reads, her ringlet curls blowing in the gentle breeze as her cheeks turn pink in the warm sunlight.

It’s a day in July when she appears in the garage. She looks so out of place wearing her bright yellow dress and white crochet gloves in the room of unfinished wood and exposed brick, he holds back a smirk as she stands in her little white shoes on greased stained concrete. “I need a favour”.

“What can I help you with Y/N” “I’d like to go to the beach,” she tells him holding up her woven bag with the blue bow. “Does your father know?” “Of course”. Bucky doubts it and he briefly considers saying ‘no’ until her father asks him himself, but she looks at him with gentle desperation he’s never seen before.  He nods. Wiping his hands and rolling his shirt sleeves down. 

He waits in the car, giving her space to have her fun. He watches as she takes off her shoes to let her toes touch the water, she holds laughs as a seagull makes off with a pretzel from the pretzel stand, she sets a blanket down and settles into the sand to read her book. She reads until the sun goes down and everyone has collected their beach umbrellas and towels to head home until there’s no light left to read and then she just sits. She watches as the water erases the footprints left in the sand and the pebbles and sea glass are swept away once more. 

Locking the car he makes his way towards her, his footsteps silent in the sand. If she knows he’s approaching she doesn’t acknowledge it. 

“Miss?” Bucky speaks. “Hello James,” she answers softly, and he knows that he could listen to her say his name forever. “I hope you don’t mind me saying, but I think it’s time I take you home. Your folks will be worried”. He can’t imagine how worried he’d be if Becca was out after the street lamps came on. “Thank you James--for bringing me to the beach” she says turning to look at him. He can tell she’s been crying, tear tracks shining against her skin under the moon. “Anytime  Y/N”.

Neither of them speaks as he helps her roll up the blanket and put it back in the bag along with her book: For Whom The Bell Tolls. 

When Bucky gets home it’s nearing midnight. He spent the whole drive home thinking about Y/N. Why was she crying? maybe, he should’ve done something about it. He thinks about all the other girls who had been on the beach during the day, laughing with their friends and walking arm in arm with their dates. He wonders if she spends all her time alone. Winnifred sits in the kitchen listening to Abie’s Irish Rose on the radio while she mends a pair of Becca’s stockings. Bucky hangs his cap on the hook by the door before going to sit at the table with his mother. “Who’s the lucky girl?” Winnifred asks a smile playing at her lips. “There’s no girl Ma” “I just figured you must be out on a date for you to be home so late,” she says looking up at her son, “You’re allowed to do the things you did before the war you know” Bucky takes the hand she offers him from across the table giving it a squeeze, he knows she worries. “I know Ma”. She lets the silence sit between them before she speaks again, “If it wasn’t a date, why are you so late”. “Y/N wanted to go to the beach”. “At night?” “No, no,” he shakes his head his brow creasing as he thinks about the day, “She was there all day, she just sat and read all alone”.

“She sounds awfully lonely,” Winnifred smiles sadly, she squeezes her sons hand tight before getting up, “I saved you some ham and potatoes”. 

It’s Autumn. The groundskeepers spend the whole day raking up the fallen leaves from the gravel driveway, and the lawn. Washes the car in the afternoon sunlight thinking that the warm sun might keep his hands from freezing in the chilled water bucket. The change in temperature makes his shoulder stiffer but he tries to ignore it the best he can, the same way he tries to ignore the fact that he’s been home for almost a year and nothing is the same, nor will it ever be again. He tries not to think about the man he was before the war; fun and flirty, full of life and so sure he had plenty of time left to enjoy. A man in the peak of his early twenties. Now, he finds himself feeling empty more often than not. Now almost 27, he feels worn down and so unsure. 

Y/N finds him in the garage later that day tuning the engine, and he can’t help but think that she looks like the sun itself in her yellow skirt with a matching jacket. And for the first time since he first laid eyes on her, he lets himself think she’s rather pretty. He knows that before the war he would’ve been bold enough to ask her on a date, he would take her dancing and maybe steal a kiss at the end of the night if things went well. He wonders if she dances, if she’s ever been swing dancing or if she’s only ever waltzed with boring rich boys at Christmas parties and weddings. He gives her a drive to the city; to the cinema. She wants to see Notorious. Bucky wonders why even after all the news clips, all the grainy footage of the destruction overseas, everyone still wants to make movies about the war. Everyone wants to see a hero, he supposes. Bucky is about to ask what time he should be back to pick her up when she asks him to join her. “I’ve never been to see a film alone before. Would you mind terribly?” She asks her hands holding tight to her little black purse. “What kind of man would I be if I let a pretty girl go see a film alone?” he smiles kindly. 

The movie isn’t as bad as he thought it would be. They got most of it wrong in his opinion, but what does his opinion really matter to anyone but himself? Y/N holds onto his arm as they walk back to the car. 

Would she even say yes to a date with him if he asked? He dismisses the thought immediately. Her father would kill him, and who knows what kind of trouble Y/N would be in, going out with a poor boy from Brooklyn. He would be in his right mind to shake her off his arm and keep his distance now, but he can’t bring himself to do it. She seems happy for the first time in a long time, and he hopes that maybe just having someone with her has warded off the loneliness for just a little while. 

“When was the last time you saw a movie?” Y/N asks on the drive back home. “It was before the war”. She’s quiet for a moment a crease growing between her brows, “I’m sorry--I wouldn’t have asked you to come to see that movie with me if I had known. Of course, I should’ve known”. “It was a fine film,” he assures her, “you couldn’t have known, I didn’t tell you”.

In November Y/N takes more trips into the city as she begins her Christmas shopping. Bucky waits patiently in the car and helps her carry boxes and bags full of clothes and perfumes, hats and ties, handkerchiefs and new cufflinks. 

Bucky starts saving to buy his Ma a new radio. Theirs broke back in August, and though she didn’t say anything, Bucky knows she misses listening to her radio programs while she sews. He keeps the perfume he bought for Becca in the drawer in his room. A fancy one from the department store. He spent more than he should’ve, but she’s his only sister, how could he not? It’s the night of the first snowfall, Bucky is finishing up in the garage, sorting his tools and cleaning his hands when he hears a door slam. He assumes it’s one of the housekeepers leaving for the night. 

Y/N is standing by his car when he finishes locking up the garage. She’s shivering in her red wool coat with its fur trim and her leather gloves.  She looks like she’s about to freeze to death. 

“What are you doing out here? You’re going to catch a cold”. “Will you take me dancing?” “I’m sorry--What?” “I want to go dancing”. “It’s late. I finished work for the night Y/N. I can take you into the city tomorrow if you like”. “I want to go to the dance hall. Can we not go as friends?” Every sensible part of Bucky knows he should say no. But instead, he says: “We can’t go as friends, but you can be my date”.

He swears to god Y/N almost squeals with happiness as she climbs into the front seat of his car. 

He’s not dressed as nicely as he’d like to be on their first date, but Y/N doesn’t care. She’s all smiles all the way to Manhattan. And he wonders if this is the first date she’s ever been on, and he feels like he’s letting his mother down. He should be dressed properly, he should’ve brought her flowers. She deserves better.

It only takes a song and a half for Y/N to get the hang of swing and Bucky is impressed, and happier than he’s been in a long time. They slow dance too, standing as close as they possibly can, he’s careful where he puts his hands. He likes the way she tucks her head beneath his chin. He feels like he can protect her. And he wants to freeze at this moment. The first time he’s felt truly alive since the war. The girl he’s adored for months held safely in his arms. He doesn’t let himself think about the blood he spilt in England, France or Germany, or why he really doesn’t deserve to be touched by someone so pure and untainted by the war. 

When the dance hall closes she begs him not to take her home yet. They sit in the backseat of his car watching the sun come up. She leans her head against his chest, her legs curled up on the seat beside her. He presses a kiss to the top of her head and she holds his hand tighter. 

“Thank you,” she mumbles through a yawn, the night finally catching up to her.

“No, thank you”.

He gets her home before her parents wake up and before the house staff arrive. And he starts his work cleaning the Rolls early. 

When he gets home  Winnifred smacks him up-side the head twice. Once for having her worried sick about where he’d ended up, not coming home for 24 hours. And another time for keeping the girl out all night. She reminds him that she taught him better than that. And he knows. Becca gets scolded for making jokes about Bucky having a girlfriend. 

Winter, he hates it. The snow reminds him of the time he spent trudging through the woods in Europe, and the cold goes straight to his shoulder. He wakes up in pain and goes to bed in pain. He prays that it’s a short winter this year. By the time Christmas comes around Bucky and Y/N are going steady. During the day he takes her into town when he’s not working on the car. She makes him go to the movies with her, and he takes her to dinners in Brooklyn. She loves it. She meets the people he knew before the war, his friends from school on their way to work in the docks, Dorothy who works at the diner, she makes sure to have apple pie ready every Friday for when Y/N and Bucky visit. On Christmas Eve while her family talk business in the living room and entertain guests Y/N sneaks out the house to catch Bucky before he leaves for the night.

“Hi James,” she smiles sweetly against his lips, holding tight to the lapel of his coat, standing on tippy-toes.  

“Hello doll,” he smiles back. His hands quickly make their way to her arms in an attempt to keep her warm. 

She gives him a new pair of leather gloves, a pair nicer than he could ever afford, and he’s grateful but ashamed that his gift to her isn’t worth as much. “It’s not much, but I thought you’d like it”. He hands her the leather-bound book, wrapped with a twine string bow. She holds in tightly to her chest, fingers running along the binding. A Farewell to Arms. 

“It’s perfect Bucky, thank you”.

His mother nearly cries when she unwraps the new Crosley radio. She tells him it’s too much. He tells her it’s not enough. Becca loves her new perfume and makes sure it’s sitting proudly in the centre of her vanity table. Becca gives him a new pair of socks and a shaving razor. His mother gives him a new knit sweater and a kiss to his forehead. “Hopefully, if you're warm enough, your shoulder will stop acting up”. 

On New Year’s Eve, Y/N meets Bucky’s family during the day. She makes sure to kiss him at twelve noon, “This is our New Year’s kiss,” she tells him. Winnifred makes stew and bakes cookies. Becca spends the afternoon asking Y/N about her clothes and showing her the makeup she’s bought with her pocket money recently. Y/N makes sure to help Winnifred in the kitchen. She hasn’t a clue what to do, but she’s a fast learner and Winnifred is patient and kind. 

It’s spring and almost Bucky’s birthday. Bucky and Y/N go on picnics when they can. When it rains they take drives and park off to the side on dirt roads. Sitting in the back seat while the rain pelts down on the roof of the car and cascades down the windows, Y/N reads aloud from whatever book she’s reading her back to Bucky’s chest. He plays with her hair and steals kisses between paragraphs. He could listen to her talk forever. She says she likes his accent more, 

“At least it’s from a real place,” she says. 

He humours and gives in when she asks him to read sections from her favourite poetry books. There isn’t a single thing he wouldn’t do for her. 

She asks him about his shoulder one day when she catches him wincing while he works on the car. 

He tells her about how he got shot as honestly and with as little detail as possible. She tells him that she wanted to be a nurse when the war started, but her parents wouldn’t let her. He can’t bear the thought of her overseas, and he tells her so. 

“I’m sorry for upsetting you,” she says.

“You could never upset me”.

Bucky saves his money for an apartment. He has six months rent stashed under his mattress. 

He’s another year older, Winnifred buys lamb for dinner, and Y/N joins them for dinner around their little kitchen table. Becca makes sure he gets his birthday beats. He doesn’t have the heart to tell her that he can hardly feel them, with her tiny fists and weak wrists. She apologises and hugs him when she realizes she had hit his left arm. When the table is cleared and the dishes are done, Becca and Winnifred leave the couple alone. The radio plays in the background as they slow dance on linoleum tiles. 

“Marry me?” He asks as the song ends. “Yes,” she replies without hesitation. 

Winnifred lets Bucky have her wedding rings. Y/N wears her engagement ring on a chain tucked beneath the collars of her Brightly coloured blouses and dresses. 

It’s nearly June when they tell her parents. Bucky wears his best clothes, makes sure his shoes are polished. His mother’s words “Be honest, that’s the best you can be,” ring in his head. He rings the doorbell and waits. He holds his cap in his hands, the way he did on his first day on the job. 

“Sir, I’d like to speak to you in private, if I may,” Bucky says when her father answers the door. He’s smoking a cigar and ushers Bucky towards his office. 

Passing the staircase Bucky sees Y/N. She’s wearing the blue dress she had on the first day he saw her and he wonders if she did it on purpose. She smiles encouragingly, her hand held over where he knows her engagement ring hangs. 

“Sir, I’d like to ask for your permission to marry your daughter. I know it seems like I don’t have much, but I have money saved, I have an apartment ready in the city. I can support Y/N. I love her more than anythin--”

“I don’t give you my blessing. But you can marry her if you wish. Just know, that if she chooses to marry you, she is not part of this family any longer. Should she choose to marry you, she is choosing to live the life of a poor Brooklyn wife,” He takes a puff of his cigar settling into his chair behind his desk, “The choice is hers”. 

In July, Bucky and Y/N marry in the same church Winnifred and George Barnes were married in. Becca is Y/N’s maid of honour and extraordinarily excited about it, to say the least. They don’t have a cake or champagne but they do have their own apartment to go home to. It’s tiny, two bedrooms, a kitchen, and a bathroom, but it’s home. Bucky hums familiar tunes as they dance their first dance in their kitchen. 

It’s spring again when their daughter is born. They call her Rose.  They wrap her in a handmade blanket Winnifred gave them; tiny pink and purple flowers with little green leaves are stitched at each corner.

[junie-bugg]

The Heartrender - Chapter Three: Flickers

Hello all!

Here’s chapter three of my Everlark fic ‘The Heartrender’, in which I inadvertently utilized the “only one bed trope” 😏💕

You can read here on Tumblr or here on AO3 (I suggest reading on AO3 because I add a poem at the beginning of each chapter that I feel fits nicely with the story.)

Rating: Explicit

Warning: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Sexual Content

Relationship: Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark

Tags: Enemies to Lovers, witch!Katniss, witch-hunter!Peeta, AU - Shipwrecked, AU - Fantasy, Sexual Tension, Explicit Sexual Content, Furs and Fires, Angst and Fluff and Smut, sexually experienced Katniss, virgin Peeta, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Loss of Virginity, Laughter During Sex, Blood and Injury, Imprisonment, Peeta has some prejudices to work out, Peeta also has an accent, Inspired by Six of Crows

Summary:

He hated her. He hated her for what she was: an abomination, a demon sent to tear at the fabric of the natural world. He hated her for making him want to laugh. He hated her for being so brazen and sensuous and everything the women of his country were never allowed to be. But mostly he hated her because he realized he didn’t hate her. Not even a little bit.

After a shipwreck has left an abducted witch and a member of the ominous Order bent on wiping out her kind stranded on the icy shores of an uninhabited land, the two must work together to survive or face tearing each other apart in the process.

Chapters: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04

Chapter Three: Flickers

Night had fallen, and with it, the temperature. Peeta allowed the witch to hold his arm so she could keep his blood warm. When she retracted her hand every once in a while to readjust the pelt around her shoulders, his jaw clenched. 

He shouldn’t miss her touch. 

“Do you have any idea where we are?” she asked. 

“Near the northern border of the Permafrost. Though I don’t know how far from the capital we were before the ship sank.” 

“We’re walking to Fjordhingă then?” 

“Yes,” he replied. Fjordhingă was the trading capital of the north. It was to be the last stopping point of The Bloody Rose’s voyage before they headed west to Sjorkden. If he and the witch could make it there by foot, perhaps Peeta could talk their way onto a ship. But how would he get the witch on board? What if she ran away? The thought had been nagging him like a fly on his brow.

Even with the witch there to keep his blood pumping, he felt his limbs freezing up as the temperature continued dropping. He desperately scanned the darkening horizon, hoping to find an outcropping of rocks they could huddle under, or maybe another whaling camp. Instead, he spotted a gabled roof. 

“Oh, thank god,” he breathed and started tugging the witch along. 

“Lieutenant…” she said apprehensively. 

It wasn’t just some stray shack. It was a fishing village, with squat houses and a trading outpost, all perched on the cliffside and overlooking the ocean. One circular dirt road cleared of rock and vegetation lay at its center and clusters of small stone buildings had been constructed around it. The houses had wavy glass panes in the windows and soot-blackened chimneys, though no light shone onto the street and no smoke rose into the sky. 

An abandoned village then. 

Even better. 

Peeta hastened his pace. 

“Lieutenant, stop!” the witch yelled, tugging him back behind the village’s low border wall. “Look at the flagpole!”

Peeta’s heart sank when he saw an ominous black flag waving high above the rooftops. 

Black was for plague. No wonder the place seemed abandoned. 

Everyone had died. 

He thought they were going to move on, but the witch set her shoulders back. Her face took on a quiet focus.

“We need to be careful. We can’t just barge in. There may be corpses.” She dropped his arm and moved around him. He watched her walk to the door of the closest house and lay a palm to its wind-weathered surface before he could stop her. 

He sucked in a breath. 

She was too close. 

“Don’t!” he barked and pulled her away. 

She whipped her head around, a scowl pulling her brows together. “You’d rather we die of plague then allow me to use my god-given powers?” 

“Don’t drag god into this.”

“Oh don’t worry. I doubt we have the same one,” she retorted. “Now get out of my way.” 

He didn’t want her touching that door, but he knew what she was doing. He’d read about the practice of purification in class, but he hadn’t imagined it would smell so good. 

Pure white light emanated from within the building, flooding out in bright streams from the windows, the minuscule cracks in the stone walls, the deep hollow of the chimney. Long shadows crept along the ground, shifting in oblong patterns as the light in the house moved. The witch’s hair and clothing snapped in some enchanted breeze, pulling ebony locks and fur upwards in a cascading arc until the light faded and gravity pulled her hair back down in a glossy curtain. 

The air tingled with the sharp scent of mint. 

“I thought you could only manipulate bodies,” Peeta got out. 

“I can do a great many things you wouldn’t understand, lieutenant.” 

“Don’t call me that,” he muttered. Lieutenant was his title from the Order. It felt wrong to hear her speak it here. 

“Would you rather I call you by your name?” she asked. 

Peeta didn’t respond. 

“Didn’t think so.” She turned the brass knob and the door swung in on itself. “Welcome home, lieutenant.” 

X

By noon the next day, she had purified the entire village. 

It was a spell, an easy one, that burned away rot and disease. Each time she pressed a hand to a doorway, the windows filled with that bright celestial light, her hair rose above her head as a flame rises above a candlewick, and she burned away any trace of plague inside. Scraps of cloth that had been coughed into, drops of dried blood on the floor, corpses that had been left behind. Each house was spotless when she was done. 

They had slept in the house farthest from the others, on the far side of the village. It was small, with only a kitchen, sitting area, and one bedroom. There was a sizable stone hearth in the kitchen, plenty of split logs in a wicker basket by the back door, even some strips of salted caribou meat in the pantry. First, they had scarfed down the meat, and only after, with the salted flesh chewed and swallowed, did they think of their thirst. Peeta made a fire while the witch lugged a burnished pot outside to gather snow. They drank the warm melted water and then collapsed into bed with their clothes still on. 

It was a real bed, with a canopied frame and pillows and soft, quilted blankets. Peeta was too tired to object when the witch curled in against his chest, and once more he spent the night with his nose buried deep in her hair. 

As exhausted as he was, Peeta was a soldier. He woke early, as he always did, and found that he couldn’t fall back asleep. The pale morning light of dawn bled through the curtains. Anyone else would have rolled over and tried to catch a few more hours of shut-eye, but Peeta couldn’t. The witch’s heat against his chest was too much, like a beating, throbbing wound that refused to heal. He untangled his arm from around her and then hurried to the door, grabbing a spear in the pretense of hunting. 

Winter burned his nostrils as he took in deep lungfuls of air. He was a boy raised in the fjords of southern Sjorkden, and a man of the northern academy. He’d thought he’d seen the bitterest winters the world had to offer when ice would form between the stones of his tower dormitory and he and Yasser would have to sleep on the floor by the black iron furnace for warmth. They would go to breakfast with blue nail beds and teeth that chattered so violently sometimes it was hard to chew. But he realized those nights were nothing compared to this, a winter’s chill so sharp that it cut out a spot for you into the very landscape, made you feel as if your skin was crafted of snow, your bones pressed from ice. 

He secured the fur around his shoulders and tried to replace thoughts of piercing silver eyes with thoughts of breakfast. 

But the winds of the north were unforgiving, and the frigid bite of the air only reminded Peeta of how warm he had been with the witch. By the time he had finished hunting, having speared only one measly hare, his limbs were frozen, joints locked as if welded, lips numb under his teeth as he tried to bite the life back into them. 

He found himself anticipating coming back to the village, wanting what he so desperately fled only hours before; to tangle in bed with the witch once more, a merry fire crackling in the hearth, the warm press of her body cradled against his own, his nose buried in the hollow beneath her ear, soaking up the heady scents of jasmine and fresh rain and sunlight until he was drunk on her. 

His thoughts were peaceful until he remembered the sin of what he had been considering. 

Laying with the witch was practical. The use of her magic against the cold was necessary. There was nothing charming or romantic about having to rely on an enemy for survival. He should despise his needing her. 

She wasn’t human. She was dangerous. 

It was foolish to forget that.

X

Yasser collapsed into the seat across from Peeta, his dinner tray laden with a bowl of brown grits, boiled sausages, some mushy looking turnips, and a small cup of water. 

“Did you hear what happened to Larone?” he asked, his urgent tone cutting under the loud din of the dining compartment. 

“No,” Peeta replied, unsure if he wanted news of how Wilhelm was handling his first witcher voyage. The antics of newbies were fun to hear about at the start, but when tales of seasickness and fatigue reached the ears of experienced witchers, especially witchers on the cusp of earning their freedom, the stories were more annoying than entertaining. 

Yasser greedily stuffed a spoonful of grits into his mouth and swallowed before continuing. “Well, I’m telling you anyway. If I have to know, you have to know.” 

“Can I finish eating first?”

“No. Now eat your sausages, growing boy!” Yasser mimicked the garbled, high-pitched accent of one of the servants from the academy, Mrs. Jengon, who had doled out food in the great hall. Each and every student was a “growing boy” in her eyes. Even the ones who had finished their battle with puberty. 

Peeta frowned and took a tentative bite of sausage. 

“Alright, I’m going to try and say this with as much grace as possible,” Yasser said solemnly but then burst into peals of laughter, slamming a fist against the table so forcefully the plates rattled. “Oh, who am I kidding? I don’t think I can. Larone gave the Heartrender a little too much to chew if you know what I’m saying.” 

Peeta stilled. “He didn’t.”

Yasser cocked a thick eyebrow, his mouth crinkling around the corners. With his flaming red hair and bright green eyes gleaming under the oil lamps he looked like some kind of buff leprechaun. “He did. And now half his pisser is being packed in ice.” 

Peeta’s stomach rolled, his body instinctually clenching in phantom pain as he imagined it. He set down his fork with the sausage impaled on the end and pushed the plate away. 

“God…”

“But don’t tell anyone I told you,” Yasser added. “The commander wants to keep it under wraps. Doesn’t shine very well on him, does it? If his recruits are dumb enough to stick their cocks between witch jaws?”

Peeta didn’t tell a soul but the news still spread through the ranks like a wildfire during drought season. Yasser updated him at breakfast. Larone was in the infirmary being tended to by Dutch, the crew’s one doctor, and wouldn’t be out of recovery until the ship reached Sjorkden. Peeta felt bad for the boy, but it was his own foolishness that had gotten him into trouble, and now he’d never bed a wife or sire heirs. Larone’s power crawl was over before it had even really started. 

Peeta relieved Hans Gerholt from guarding duty that night, disgusted when he saw no one had bothered to clean the Heartrender up. Larone’s blood had splattered her face, dried, and then cracked. She looked absolutely monstrous with a red dipped chin. 

“You here for a good time too?” she said, picking up on Peeta’s discomfort. He didn’t respond, just sat down stiffly in the guard’s chair and listened to the creaking of the boat, the squeaking of rats in the walls, the soft clinking of the witch’s chains when she shifted across the cell floor. “Your little friend showed me his even littler friend. I barely bit him and it was half off.”

“Stop talking,” Peeta growled, angry at himself that he had risen to her bait. He knew she just wanted to get a rise out of him. The weeping girl was gone, replaced with one who had accepted she had nothing to lose. 

“Now your commander…” she drawled, eyes flashing in the partial darkness. “His would have taken more gnawing.” 

Peeta didn’t much care for the commander. He was old and cruel, but it was the principal of honor and his loyalties to the Order that made him rise so sharply from his chair that it tipped over. He lunged at her through the bars, pulling her up against the cold metal by her collar. “Hold your tongue, witch, or I’ll cut it out.”

She tsked quietly, hanging limply in his grip. “Did your commander ever tell you where he found me?” She saw the confusion in his eyes and clung to it. “Of course he didn’t. No pious soldier of Sjorkden would ever reveal he had been cavorting in a pleasure house.”

“You’re a whore,” Peeta whispered, almost disbelievingly, the pieces clicking into place. He released her and she fell to the ground in a weakened heap. 

On the surface, she looked the same. Wrinkled red dress, oily black hair, sunken cheeks. But now there was something alight inside of her. Heat smoldered like molten silver in her eyes. 

“You and your kind have called me many things, lieutenant. Witch. Slum scum. Unholy daughter of Krell. But I’m afraid ‘whore’ is where I draw the line. I did not choose that life, it was thrust upon me, and here I am now. Free of it.”

Peeta looked down at her. He thought the commander had put her in those iron hand caps to keep her from unleashing her powers. She could not kill if she could not curl her fingers. But now he suspected they had come from her time in Ellsworth. How long had she been wearing them? From the rust on the padlocks, he suspected a long time. “How ironic that you speak of freedom while you lounge in chains.”

“Freedom is a fickle thing, lieutenant. I may be stuck here in this cage, but I suspect you carry one wherever you go.” 

Peeta’s nostrils flared. That familiar rush of rage he experienced during combat surged through his limbs, but with nowhere to go, his head soon swam with it. “Do not pretend to know me. You’re repulsive. A perversion against nature.” 

“I am nature. You are just too brainwashed to see it.”

“Nature does not defile the earth. Or slaughter the innocent by the thousands.” 

“My people have committed no such crimes. We were healers before you forced our hands to bloodshed. I suggest you try looking upon yourselves before you go blindly doling out sentences.”  

Peeta was at a loss for words. The nerve of this girl, injuring Larone and then preaching about who the real enemy was. Coaxing out his anger and frustration when he was normally so good at hiding it. Ever since he ran away from home, he had learned the hard way that emotion in the face of an enemy was weakness. He could not afford to let her under his skin, no matter how hard she clawed away at him. He was ashamed to admit it, but he had found himself thinking about her on nights when he wasn’t on guard duty.

That stopped now. 

“Rot in hell,” he spat as he righted his chair.

“You will,” she growled.

X

The witch burned the red dress in the kitchen fireplace. The fabric steamed and curled into blackened strips, sending dark plumes of smoke up the chimney like released ghouls. Peeta didn’t have to ask her why she did it. He knew she burned the dress to try and burn away the memories of her capture, and perhaps the memories that came before. If he thought about it, the dress must have been from her time in Ellsworth. He could only imagine how a girl of her beauty would fare in the clutches of a pleasure house, the horrors unleashed upon her when the rights to her body were not her own. He wondered how she could even bear touching him. 

A man. 

A stranger. 

If burning the dress had worked, he couldn’t tell. She came to bed in a fur-lined nightgown and quietly rested her cheek on his breastbone. His cheeks burned, shame lacing itself into his stomach lining when he didn’t push her away. 

“I’ve never heard a heart song so gentle,” she murmured admiringly. She sounded surprised. 

Peeta’s chest ached. He was suddenly self-conscious of how fast he was breathing and in his fight to slow down, hadn’t asked her what she meant. 

They raided each house one by one. The people of the village were either dead or had moved on when the plague hit. They left behind dressers full of clothing, shoes, pots and pans, utensils, pottery, carving knives, firewood, axes, the occasional sword, hunting supplies, wax candles, furniture, toys, paintings, family heirlooms. All the trappings of domesticity. 

The pair took a pan here and a pair of shoes there. Peeta had found two large packs with which to stuff items in. His pack would contain a small assortment of kitchenware, food, some firewood, and the water sacks. She would carry extra clothing and furs. They planned on spending a couple of nights in the village before restarting their journey north to Fjordhingă. 

In the days they spent stocking up on provisions, the witch took over hunting duty. She didn’t hunt with spear or snare as Peeta had learned. She used her powers to crush windpipes and burst hearts. Wild dogs stopped dead in their tracks, keening over like sacks of potatoes. Birds plummeted from the sky, cold before they hit the ground. He enjoyed the bounty, feasting on a new roast every night and salting the leftovers, but with every meal, he grew warier. He had heard the stories of course, of the deathly potential that Heartrenders possessed, but seeing her in action was completely different from hearing some old tale around a campfire. Just how powerful was she? And when she determined he was no longer useful as a means of body heat or when their little truce no longer suited her, how easy would it be to kill him? A curl of her fingers or a flick of her wrist and he’d be dead. 

Maybe he’d made a mistake by letting her live. 

Every night when he watched her sleep, the voices of the masters pressed into his head, willing his fingers to close around her throat, to witness the light drain from her bulging, terror-filled eyes and have her know that he had bested her. 

Him. The seed of a pathetic, weak-willed baker. Wielder of no arcane power and with no legacy to help carve the way. Just him and his own two hands against the world. As it had always been. 

But no matter what his common sense was telling him, of how dangerous he knew her kind to be, he couldn’t do it. He would reach for her neck and then freeze, afraid to go any further. If she didn’t stir he’d stay his hand, running feather-light fingers across her pulse point, quietly admiring the way her angled features softened in sleep. But if her eyelids fluttered or her breathing changed he would retreat as if she had burned him. 

“Where were you sired?” Peeta asked one night as they ate a bird the witch had caught. The bones were small and Peeta had to be careful not to break them with his teeth. He gnawed on a piece of cartilage as he waited for her reply. 

“Excuse me?”

“I mean-” Krellian was not Peeta’s first language. He had picked it up between his boyhood and his blood christening into the Order, but he had limited knowledge of words. He learned Krellian and Narubi and Hannako from old, leather-bound textbooks and even older professors. For years he had studied all the archaic tongues they hoped he would someday snuff out, but he did not know slang or turn of phrase, and his accent was rounded in his mouth compared to the crisp consonants of a native Krellian speaker. 

She spoke as if she were tiptoeing through a flower field. 

He spoke as if he were crashing through it. 

“Where did you… grow?”

“Grow up?”

Grow up. Peeta slotted the term into his memory for future use. “Yes. Where in Krell did you grow up?”

The witch narrowed her eyes, those silvery irises glowing like moonlight from behind a cloud’s ragged border. “Why? Are you planning your next raid?”

“No, I-” He ducked his head, his cheeks burning furiously. “I’m just curious.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“I won’t tell you, lieutenant,” she snarled. She threw down her uneaten bird’s wing, splattering congealed blood everywhere. “Besides, you don’t deserve to know.” Her anger was eager, ready to be unleashed upon him even in quiet, semi-companionable moments such as mealtime. She confused him. Why was she flirty and seductive when they lay in bed together but bitter and closed off when he tried having a casual conversation?

Although to be fair, he hadn’t been very open with her either. And not particularly kind.

“It was just a question.”

“A dangerous one. Go ahead and ask another. See if I’ll talk.” Her eyes glittered as if they were playing a game she knew she would win. 

Just another thing he didn’t like about the witch. How ashamed he felt when talking to her. Minor slip-ups, cracks in his armor of indifference. She had a talent for coaxing them out of him as if she were pulling secrets from a drunk man.

But he was in too deep now. Might as well try to get something out of her. 

He lowered his gaze to the fire and asked, “Then what’s your favorite color?” 

The witch blinked. She hadn’t been expecting such a mundane inquiry. She was silent for a moment, probably contemplating if giving away this piece of information would in any way compromise her. She decided a favorite color was harmless. 

“Green.” 

He pictured it. The verdant green of a forest. Lush and deep and full of secrets. 

Just like her. 

“Mine is orange,” he offered. “Soft. Like a sunset.”

She cocked a dark brow. “Not red for the blood of your enemies?”

Peeta raised the drumstick back up to his mouth, suppressing a smile. “That comes in a close second.” 

She had laughed then, a sound so joyful and clear that Peeta’s heart clenched and he stopped chewing just to hear her better. 

X

She awoke screaming one night, flailing about under the sheets and shoving him away as if he were stabbing her. He had been awake when it started, unable to quiet a storm of racing thoughts. If he hadn’t been so alert, perhaps he wouldn’t have sprung to her aid so quickly. 

“What is it?” he demanded, suspecting there was something biting her under the covers. He threw the blankets back, but there was nothing. “Huh?” he asked when he couldn’t make out her quaking mumbles. 

“Just a dream, it was just a dream,” she whispered to herself, and then she dissolved into tears. Her face glistened wetly in the moonlight and she shrank away when he reached to pull the covers back over her. 

The next night, he took some furs and slept by the fire in the kitchen, afraid she wouldn’t want him in bed with her. But when he was about to doze off, she padded through the doorway. 

“What are you doing?” she demanded.

“Sleeping.”

“On the floor?”

“But… you… last night… ” he stammered. 

Her face hardened as she crossed her arms self-consciously. “I’m sorry you had to see that, but I’d feel better if you stayed in the room with me.” 

“You kicked me,” he argued.

“Not on purpose,” she hissed. 

The two glared at each other, and then the tension broke. The witch softened, her shoulders sagging like a loose bowstring. “Please.”

He should have told her no. Instead, he said: “Alright.”

X

She dreamed of clients. Harsh hands and sour breath. Shackles looped around a bed frame. 

He wasn’t allowed to touch her after those dreams. Not for a long while at least, and when they would eventually come together again, he let her choose when to climb back into his arms. 

“What makes me different?” he asked quietly one night as she clutched his shirt, her tears drying over his heart.

She raised her head to meet his eyes. “Can you feel your own heartbeat?” 

He could if he focused. If he held his breath and silenced his thoughts. He nodded. 

She sounded sad, as if she were quoting somebody when she said, “If you listen close enough, you can hear that all heartbeats are different.”

It sounded like Krellian nonsense. Heartbeats sounded like heartbeats, but it was out before he thought to stop himself. “What is mine like?”

She laid her head back down and inhaled slowly through her nose, listening. “It’s gentle and steady. Like the lapping of the ocean. Ever present and soothing. I’ve never heard one quite like it.” She inhaled again, steeling herself. “It makes me feel safe. Which is ironic because it belongs to you.” 

He smiled but she couldn’t see it. Then he asked, “And what does yours sound like?” 

There was a long pause and then she said, “You can listen if you want.” She sat up in bed, pulling him along with her, and with gentle hands twined through his hair, tipped his ear to her breast. 

It was hard to concentrate. The heels of her hand on his cheeks and her fingers laced across his scalp made him feel as if she were touching him everywhere. But then he forced himself to lean into her chest, the shell of his ear pressing against her sternum, searching for the sounds of her very being. 

At first, he heard nothing, just felt the rise and fall of her breaths, but then, as if cotton had been removed from his ears, he heard the heavy beat of life. The first thud was loud like a cannon shot, but the second was quiet, like the dull closing of a door. Her heart sounded like it was limping on stilts. Hobbling along unevenly. Long step, short step. Over and over. Cautious. Afraid. So unlike the girl he’d come to know. But it was all there, hidden away deep inside of her. 

“See?” she whispered. “We’re different.” 

But they weren’t. Not really.

When she fell asleep and Peeta remained awake, he tried reaching within himself to feel his own heart again. It was like the constant beating of waves as she said, but he didn’t find it soothing. Every beat felt achingly blunt, as if his heart was slowly ripping itself apart to make more room. 

It terrified him that he didn’t know what that meant.

X

On the morning of their departure, he rose, dressed in a black tunic and pants, clasped a heavy fur cloak around his shoulders, and then sheathed a sword at his hip. He stepped outside to swing it around, getting the feel for its weight. 

The sword was heavy, made of polished steel that glinted in the cloudy morning light. Compared to the swords he had grown up with, the blade was plain. There were no holy etchings in its metal face, no onyx embedded into the hilt, and no divine blessings had been uttered over it, but he felt a fierce rush of strength all the same. Peeta was used to heavy swords and the leather-wrapped pommel felt right in his hands, as if he’d been missing a part of himself without a weapon. 

“Is that really necessary?” the witch asked, her voice carrying from inside the house and over the frostbitten yard. When he laid eyes on her, a hot jolt flooded his body as if he’d just caught himself from falling off a roof. 

She leaned against the doorframe, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, but he could tell from the way she warily focused on the blade that she was on high alert. A caribou hide nightdress brushed the tops of her dusky knees and her hair was loose and mussed on one side. The side she had pressed against his body in the night, Peeta realized. 

“What else would you have me use?” Peeta asked darkly, unsure why the witch got to use her powers whenever she wanted, but when it came to Peeta’s talents they were disapproved of. 

“You have a Heartrender with you,” she said arrogantly, pointing at herself. “You’re just going to be lugging around a sword for show and no offense but I’d rather you carry extra food.” 

“It’s not for show. This sword is to protect myself against you,” he said angrily, pointing the blade in her direction. 

She took a hurried step back as if she expected him to advance. There was a heavy, quiet moment as Peeta watched her from behind the sword’s edge. 

And then she sharply twisted her wrist. 

Peeta’s heart rate skyrocketed. 

Her voice was low, dangerous as she said: “I don’t know what your superiors told you, but a sword is no match for a Heartrender.” She began squeezing her fingers together and Peeta’s heart stuttered, his chest clenching painfully as if he were having a heart attack. Stabbing heat pulsing through every vein in his body as if his blood had turned to molten lava. He fell to his knees, dropping the sword into the hard-packed dirt with a hollow clang. 

“Stop,” he begged, clutching at his chest. His breaths came in ragged pants. He was falling apart under the pressure. “Please.” 

She tensed her hand, unsure whether or not to let up. Her eyes were frightened, but there was resolve there too, as if she had imagined this situation before and had already decided the outcome. This was her chance. She had a pack full of food and supplies. She had her enemy in her clutches. She was going to do it. He was going to die, right here, in an abandoned village where no one would think to come looking for him. Where no one would know his name. All who wandered would stay away from the black flag, and he’d be the feast for wild animals and the decay of time. 

He should have killed her when he had the chance but he had been weak and now his chances were spent. 

She squeezed tighter, her fingertips almost touching her palm. And then all of a sudden, her face crumpled. With a strangled gasp of breath, she released him. He fell to the ground in a quivering heap as his heart rate plummeted and then righted itself. 

“I’m so sorry,” she sobbed, trying to stem the flow of tears with her hands. She disappeared back inside the house and Peeta was left to stare shamefully at his own tears pooling in the dirt.

[ivarsrideordie]

The Sleepover

Must be 18+ to read. No if, ands or buts.

Pairing: Alex Høgh Andersen x Reader

Warnings: Fluff, maybe angst, kissing, idk it’s pretty tame for me.

Title: The Sleep Over

Words: 2,724

Masterlist

This will also be posted to my  AO3  account in the future.

I wrote this for @honestsycrets for Christmas.  It’s a little late and I’m really sorry about that.  Also, thank you for the moodboard.  

If you would like to be tagged, comment or message me.  I’ll be happy to add you.

The sweet smell of sugar cookies baking in your oven fill your small apartment that sits atop a small insurance agency on a busy downtown Copenhagen street.  You crack one of your windows open, allowing your place to cool off a bit from all the baking.  The streets bustle with shoppers going from store to store gathering their last few Christmas gifts.  Felix, your black-tabby, jump up on the open windowsill and watch the little squirrel-sized people scurry through the street.  Distant horns honk every so often along with the sound of bicycle bells and angry shouts here and there.  

“Felix! Don’t jump out now.”  You scold him just as he decides to curl up on his window blanket.

Felix just looks at you, then starts to clean himself.

“Gross. So rude, Felix.” You say with a disgusted face.

You start making your last batch of cookies, this time, chocolate chip. Alex was coming to visit tonight so you had to make his favorite or he would never let you live it down.  your stomach flip-flops at the thought of Alex.  He is one of the funniest, kindest, happiest, handsome people you had ever met.  

‘Wait, did you just think handsome?’  You thought to yourself.

Sure, Alex is very handsome.  He has been a good friend for several years.

*Flashback*

You remember the day you met him.  You were with your friend, Josie hanging out in the park.  Alex and his friends were playing Frisbee.  Alex was showing off his skills and his friend threw it too hard.  Next thing you knew, Alex was falling headfirst into your picnic, knocking over the wine and stepping on the plates of fruits and cheese.  He did an acrobatic roll, landing on his back in the grass just past our blanket.  

You remember yelling at him, calling him a fucking dumb fuck and throwing some grapes at him.  Alex was beet red with embarrassment but laughed so hard when a grape smacked him on the tip of his nose.  You could have sworn he was looking at Josie the whole time he was playing Frisbee with his friends, but when he sat up from the fall, he was looking at you. He offered to pay for our wine and food and to get the blanket cleaned.  With your good nature, and even though you were pissed, you declined his offer.  But Josie snatched up his offer. She was the one who brought everything after all.  You guess you shouldn’t have declined for her.  

Josie decided she was no longer angry when his friends came over and started flirting with her.  She loved the attention.  She always got it, which is what surprised you. Alex was talking to you instead of her.  That never happened.  Ever.  

Alex asked for your number since she was busy, said he would call for me to come to get the blanket after it was cleaned and left with the blanket in hand.  A few days later, you got a text from him asking where we could meet.  At first, you were confused, not knowing who this stranger was.  All you could think was ‘Stranger danger!’  After a few texts of confusion later and he reminded you of your encounter in the park.

You remembered the way his light blue eyes searched your face, studied your features.  You guess you were doing the same.  You could still remember the little scar on his chin, how he had a smudge of dirt on his cheek, the way his voice was so soft and soothing.  You had decided to meet him on the pier closest to your place.  

You gazed out at the rippling water as you patiently waited for him.  your eyes closed at the touch of the canals slight breeze.  The time came and went.  You thought You had been stood up.  You weren’t too upset.  You mean, he probably had other plans and forgot all about you. You tried to hold back tears, but even in protest, they fell down your cheeks.  Just as You were about to turn back to walk back to your place, You saw him in the distance, running towards you with a big bag in hand.  He nodded in recognition and smiled brightly.  Your face instantaneously lit up with a huge grin.  He showed up. He actually showed up! Quickly, you wiped your tears from your eyes as he reached you.

“I am so sorry.  There was a line at the dry cleaners.  I thought I’d never get out of there.”  He said.

“It’s alright.  I was enjoying the nice breeze we have today.”  You lied.

“I don’t think I ever got your name.  My name is Alex.”  He said, holding his hand out to shake it.

You looked at his hand and grinned.  “Really?  We are going to shake?” You snickered.  “My name is Y/N.”

You took his hand, shaking it.  His palms were warm and calloused like he worked somewhere where he did heavy labor.  His thumb lightly caressed the top of your hand, his eyes locked on yours. You felt a warmth run through your body.

“Y/N? What a pretty name.”  Alex said with a smile.

He had to be joking right?  It is such a plain name.

“Thank you.  So is Alex.”  You joked.

He laughed.  His laugh was contagious.  It made your face light up and your heart sing.  His smile was as bright as the sun.  You know he’s not perfect, but how can he be so perfect?

“So, where is your friend?”  He asked.

Your heart sank into your stomach.  He did want to see her.  You knew it was too good to be true.

“I’m not sure what she’s doing today.  D-do you want me to call her or give you her number?”  You frowned.

It must have looked like you had the wind blown out of your sails by the way his face fell too.  You were trying so hard to hold back any kind of emotion.

‘I just need to numb myself for another 10 minutes, if that long.  This will all be over soon.’  You thought.  

“I just want to give her this.”  He said, holding up the blanket.

“Yeah. I got it.”  You said shortly.  “I’ll call her for you.”  You looked for her number in your contacts and pressed send.

“No! Please.  You can take it.”  He hurriedly said.  “I wanted to see you.  Please?”

You heard Josie pick up.  your end was silent.  Josie started asking if you were okay, if you needed help or if he hurt you.  You just replied that you were fine, you had her blanket and would see her tomorrow.  She hung up the phone after she sang her goodbyes to you.

“Please?” Alex begged.  

It was adorable.  You were trying so hard not to be mad.  

“I didn’t mean to upset you.”  He said, taking your hand in his. “So, Y/N? Would you like to go get some coffee or something?”

You blinked away tears, one trickled down your cheek.  Alex frowned when he saw this.  He placed his palm against your cheek, wiping it away with his thumb.  

“Sure. I’d like that.”  You said with a smile.

Alex gave a soft smile.  He held out his hand for you to take.  He walked with you, hand in hand to the nearest coffee shop.  The line was winding halfway down the block.  

You sighed.  “I don’t do this, ever, but since it’s such a long wait, do you want to go have coffee at my place?”  As soon as you asked, looked to your feet in embarrassment.  You couldn’t believe you just asked that.

“Sure! If you are okay with that, I mean.”  Alex said with excitement.

“It seems to be getting colder.”  You shivered.  

He took off his coat and placed it around your shoulders.  “Better?” He asked.

“Much.” You smiled warmly.

His coat was so toasty.  It smelled like him, the sweet smell of his cologne mixed with a tiny bit of his manly musk.  You breathed in deeply.  

Once you were back at your apartment, You made coffee and offered snacks.  You got to know each other and talked well until the sunset.  You wanted to kiss him.  You wanted him to kiss me.  You were afraid to make a move.  You didn’t want to ruin any kind of friendship you would ever have.  Alex kept reaching out, touching your hands, hair, cheek, shoulder, anything he could.  He looked at you in a way you had never been looked at before.  You were mesmerized by his stare, his eyes.  God, his eyes.  

Finally, Alex said he had to go.  He had work the next day.  He promised he would call or text or both.  You gave him back his jacket, never expecting to hear from him again.  Early that next morning, your phone buzzed with a text message.  You smiled.  

*Flashback ends*

The buzzer on the door rings and snaps you out of your thoughts.  The chocolate chip cookies are in the oven and baking.  

“Y/N, let me in!”  Alex hollers from behind the door.  “I’m freezing my fucking balls off out here!”

You giggle-snorted into the door monitor and pushed the button to unlock the door.  You heard Alex’s big clunky footsteps climbing up to your apartment. The alarm in your oven notified you that this batch of cookies was done.  You were removing the gooey chocolate chip cookies from the baking sheet onto wax paper when Alex walked into the kitchen.

“Ah! There you are!”  Alex said with a big bright smile.  “Did you know it is snowing?”

“No! Is it?”  You ran over to the window.  “Would you look at that?!” You grinned.

“I hear it’s going to get worse. I mean, I might have to crash here tonight if it gets too bad.” Alex winked.

“Well, you know where your bed is and where the blankets are if you do.” You smirked and pointed to the couch.

“Ah, man!  Come on!”  He whined.  “Can’t you sleep on the couch for once?”

“Nope! My house, my bed.”  You giggled.  “Besides, Felix will keep you company.”

The fat lazy cat lifted his head briefly when he heard his name being called.  

“Yeah. He seems to be the only pussy I have gotten in a while.”  Alex cackled.  

You shook your head as you tried to hide a smile.  

“So, why haven’t you got yourself some?”  You asked before you could stop yourself.

“Uh...” His eyes grew wide.  “Well, I guess I haven’t found the one.  Or maybe I have and I could be waiting for her to figure it out.  Either way, I can wait. Besides, if I really need it, that’s what this is for.”  He smirked and made the jerk-off motion with his fist.

“Oh, lord!”  You burst out laughing.  

His words made your mind race.  ‘Waiting for her to figure it out,’ kept racing through your thoughts. ‘What if he means me?’ Your heart fluttered.

“Are you making any more cookies?”  Alex mumbled through a mouthful of cookie.

“I hadn’t planned on it!  But I guess I better make more.”  You huffed.  Alex had already eaten half of the chocolate chip cookies. “What did you do?  Make a sandwich out of those?”  

“You know how much I love your fresh baked cookies.”  A big chocolaty smile spread across his face.  “I think it’s time you teach me how you make these.”

“Oh? You want to help instead of watch this time?”  You raised an eyebrow.

“Sure! Why not?”  He grinned.  “So what do we start with?”  He looked into the flour jar.

“Get three eggs from the refrigerator.  And the butter.”  You said as you reached for another clean bowl.  “Oh and the milk!”  You ran around the kitchen gathering the ingredients you needed, all the while humming to yourself.  

Alex had placed the eggs, milk, and butter on the counter and took a seat on the stool at the end of the island.  He watched you dance around the kitchen, picking up bowls, spatulas, spoons and measuring cups.  You brushed a stray strand of hair out of your face but it fell back in its awkward place.  Alex stood from the stool and helped you unload your arms from the miscellaneous baking items.

“Thank you!”  You said.  

Alex didn’t answer.  You glanced at him and noticed he was staring at you. This was a look you had never seen on his face before.  Alex reached out and tucked the stray hairs behind your ear.  His thumb slid over your bottom lip as he pulled his hand away from your face.  

“So, where do we start?”  Alex asked, pretending as nothing happened.  

You licked your bottom lip hoping to get some sort of taste of him. “Uhm, you want to put a few cups of flour in this bowl.”  You handed him the measuring cup.

Your tongue danced around your lips, licking still for more.  You watched Alex count out the cups of flour.  Your eyes trailed up his arms. His big strong biceps flexed.

“Now what?”  Alex smirked.  

His voice broke your trance.  You looked at his face to see him grinning. He chuckled under his breath when he saw your cheeks grow red with embarrassment.  You wondered just how long he was watching you watch him.

You cleared your throat.  “Put the eggs in.”  You dryly swallowed.

“Eggs? Gotcha!”  Alex said, grabbing the eggs and cracking them into the bowl.  

You were still playing with your bottom lip wondering what his skin tasted like, what his lips tasted like.  You were staring into space when you heard him.  

“How am I doing?”  A low growl next to your ear brought you out of your thoughts.  

Alex stood next to you, his face close to yours.  His lips so close to your ear you could hear him breathing.  You could feel the warmth of his breath on your cheek.  

“Looking good, Alex.”  You smiled nervously.  ‘Why am I nervous?  It’s just Alex!’

“Yes, you are.”  Alex whispered even closer to your ear.  

“What?” You squeaked.  

“You heard me.”  Alex said softly.  “You look beautiful today.”

“I-I...” You stammered just as Alex’s lips touched yours.  

You melted into the kiss.  Was this really happening?  Were you dreaming? His tongue licked at your bottom lip.  You were the first to break the passionate kiss.

“Alex,” You moaned.  “What are you doing?”

“Fuck, I love hearing you moan my name.”  He groaned.

“I thought we were just friends?”  You whispered.  

“We have always been more than friends.”  He said, placing soft little kisses down your neck.

You leaned your head back into his shoulder allowing his lips to glide down your skin.  His strong arms wrapped around your waist.  

“Why today, Alex?”  You whimpered as his nimble fingers trailed down to the top of your jeans.

“Why not?”  He nuzzled his nose under your ear, his warm breath sending chills down your spine.  “I’ve always wanted to be with you.  And I know you want to be with me.”

“I do, I have.”  You confessed.  

“So, I decided today would be the day.  If you kissed me back, I knew I was right.  If you didn’t, I would know I am in the friend zone and try to move on.”  He said and started peppering kisses down your neck again.

A moan escaped your lips.  Fuck, he felt good.  You had never felt this before with any other man.  His lips were like little electric sparks caressing your skin.  He had snuck his hand under your shirt.  His fingers were like fire. You giggled a little when he hit your ticklish spot.  He silently snickered.  

“Sorry.” He laughed.

“It is okay.”  You said.  You raised a hand, turning his face towards yours.  Your plump lips brushed against his.

“Should we finish the cookies?”  He said between small kisses.

“Fuck the cookies!  I’m going to bed.”  You smirked.

“Oh.” Alex frowned.

“Are you coming with me?”  You licked your lips.

Alex’s eyes sparkled in delight.  “Fuck, yes I am!”  He exclaimed.  

You couldn’t believe it.  He was finally yours.  You had been waiting for this moment for so long.  You took his hand in yours as you led him to your bedroom.  

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[chroniclackofselfpreservation]

Creatures of the Night

Chapter 16 - when love’s reliance ends

Back to the Beginning   < Previous chapter / Next chapter >   

AO3

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(TW: verbal and physical abuse, PTSD, flashbacks, toxic relationships, graphic imagery)

(The title of the chapter comes from "Unkindness" by Charles Swain)

This can’t be happening, was what Virgil would have thought, had he been in a decent state of mind when he was swallowed by the Witch Queen’s beast. Instead, he fought the urge to faint as hot slippery muscles contracted around him, forcing him deeper into the demon’s gullet. 

Ursula was right. He was pathetic. He should be fighting right now. Scratching and biting; anything to get the serpent to throw him back up.

But he did nothing.

It was like his mind couldn’t completely register what was happening. That, and the pain in his newly broken leg kept him just dizzy enough to keep him unfocused. 

Panic coursed through him like someone had opened his mouth and stuck his face under a waterfall, and yet he wasn’t yowling in terror. He was barely thrashing.

Virgil couldn’t breathe, but he couldn’t tell if it was the white hot terror of imminent death seizing in his chest or the disgusting lumps of slimy muscle pressing into him, suffocating his small frame.

He could shift into a human. Right? That must do something. 

No. Bloodwyrm had eaten plenty of humans before. Unless he could turn into something bigger, there was no hope. He was going to die here.

His lungs burned. His leg sent spikes of pain up his entire body every time the muscles pressed down on it. He choked on bitter, tacky fluids he couldn’t name.

Virgil vaguely felt Ursula’s presence in his mind. 

I can’t believe you’re being serious right now, she complained.

How long before he hit stomach acid? How quickly would it kill him? Would he die from the burning or just drown first? He couldn’t believe he was going to be digested.

Alright, fine, hold on… she muttered, their connection waning. 

Virgil’s lungs spasmed and the sticky slime filled his mouth, his nose. His body felt heavy. His eyes slipped shut…

                                                * * * * * * * * * *

“...dead? Can I take his eyes? They’d go for some solid coin.”

“Shut up, he isn’t dead yet.”

Something pressed down hard on Virgil’s ribs, forcing whatever blocked his throat up and out. He squirmed weakly as he vomited up juices that definitely weren’t his own. All of his limbs felt weighed down, like he’d just waded through mud… or… 

Images and smells assaulted him out of nowhere. His ears filled with that horrid squelching sound, and his eyes flew open, his breath catching in his chest.

“What’s wrong with him?” Remus asked, poking him. Virgil wanted to growl, to scream, to claw Remus’s eyes out, something, but he couldn’t move, staring blankly ahead and suffering through the agonizing sensations wracking his mind.

“He’s all slimy,” The hobgoblin noted.

“I think Bloodwyrm swallowed him,” Ursula said. A wave of her hand, and Virgil was dry once more. 

Virgil let out a shuddering breath, curling in on himself. 

Remus poked him once again, and he shivered. 

“Leave him be, goblin,” Ursula said softly, getting up and walking away. Remus grumbled something under his breath, but obeyed. Virgil should have been grateful for that small act of kindness, but he couldn’t. 

He couldn’t think of anything else but the feeling of being eaten.

                                                * * * * * * * * * *

Days passed in a blur. 

Virgil didn’t speak. He wasn’t sure he could, at this point. He stayed in his human form as much as possible, vainly hoping that being big and intimidating would help him feel better. 

It didn’t.

He still woke up screaming, or as a terrified, confused cat. Everything he did was exhausting. His heart constantly raced at little things, like the lights being out, or the sound of Remus swallowing his food. 

That was what really got him. Remus would chew his food loudly, gulping water down, watching Virgil from the corner of his eye. Virgil would usually end up storming out of the cottage, or getting so worked up he swore he’d kill Remus in his sleep. 

Sometimes, he was so angry he thought he’d explode, but for no reason in particular. When he finally did start speaking again, Ursula rolled her eyes and asked if he was finally over “the whole mission-thing.”

“I’m fine,” he lied. Remus grinned at that, and Virgil felt a little pocket of dread open up inside him. He hadn’t told either of them yet, but he couldn’t use his powers. Aside from shifting between a cat and a human, he hadn’t been able to perform any of his usual magic. 

He was useless, and now completely helpless to defend himself from Remus. It was only a matter of time before they figured it out.

                                                * * * * * * * * * *

“What do you mean you can’t do it?” Ursula demanded around a mouthful of stew. 

Virgil’s chest constricted. “I—I don’t know, I guess I haven’t been myself lately, and—”

Ursula slammed her spoon down on the table and Virgil flinched. She pointed the utensil at him like a weapon. “You’re still hung up on what Bloodwyrm did, aren’t you, you pathetic cat? I thought I told you to stop freaking out about it. It’s over. It happened, like, a month ago, now.”

“I’m not freaking out about it,” Virgil protested, but it came out halting and breathless. “I don’t know why my magic isn’t working.” 

“Nature spirits almighty! You’d think you were tortured or something! You just broke a leg, Virgil, stop being such a baby about it,” she said, throwing her hands in the air. “I might just get it in my head to make Remus my familiar instead of you, how about that?”

Remus perked up. “Really?”

“No, you’re too ugly,” she said, waving a hand. Remus snorted, nodding in agreement. 

Virgil shrank down. 

“For crying out loud, you stay in that human form so much, it’s like you think you’re a person, or something! Get a hold of yourself, you aren’t a kitten anymore. Bad things happen to everyone, Virgil. You aren’t special,” she grumbled. 

“I’m sorr—”

“Shut up! Could you be less pathetic for five minutes?!” She snapped, and flung her bowl of stew at him. The bowl struck Virgil’s shoulder and bathed him in scalding broth. He cried out, stumbling back. 

“There’s your dinner. I’m done arguing with you. Go clean yourself up before you get crap all over the floor,” Ursula muttered, walking off to her room in a huff. Virgil wiped his face, careful not to flick his hands and get it everywhere. He went to go outside, but his hand was covered in broth, and he didn’t want to touch the doorknob. Wiping it on his tunic as best he could, he stepped outside into the freezing air. 

“If I were Ursula,” Remus mused, leaning out of the kitchen window the leer at him, “I’d send you back to the palace and have Bloodwyrm finish the job.”

“Go away, Remus.”

“No, I don’t think I will,” he said, rocking a little on the sill.

Virgil glared at him, but he couldn’t deny the streak of fear coursing through him. He knew it would only be a matter of time before Remus realized that Virgil couldn’t fight back anymore. 

His grin stretched. “What’re you gonna do? Cry really hard? You know, I heard that if you stomp on the ground and say his name four times, he’ll show up.” 

Virgil stalked away, off to the river to clean himself up. He heard the crunch of Remus hopping out of the window and tromping through the snow after him. Virgil may not be able to fight back with magic anymore, but he was still taller than Remus by two and a half feet. That had to mean  something, right?

Virgil knelt in the snow at the riverbed, quickly shucking off his stained tunic and dunking it in the water. If he were his normal self, he could have been rid of the stain in a matter of seconds with a few quick words. Now, he was shivering next to a river like… like a mortal human. 

He was a familiar. A magical creature. And yet in that moment by the river, with Remus tracking lewd pictures into the fresh snow only yards behind him, he’d never felt more human. 

“Kitty! Come check this out! Did I make the tits too big?” Remus shouted, apparently forgetting his previous engagement of pestering Virgil. “What am I saying? Tits can’t be too big. They are a bit lopsided, though.” He shrugged. “Points for realism, I guess.”

Virgil didn’t respond, shivering as the winter breeze swept over his bare shoulders. It was going to take forever for the fabric to dry if he hung it outside. Maybe he’d hang it by the fire, and keep a careful watch on Ursula’s bedroom door. 

His hands became numb and clumsy with cold as he wrung out his tunic. It still smelled like stew. 

He’d have to try and warm himself by the fire as well, if that didn’t attract too much attention.

Steeling himself, Virgil dipped his cupped hands into the stream and splashed his face with the icy water, working the tacky broth from his skin and hair. 

A ball of snow struck the back of his neck, and he nearly lost balance and fell into the water. 

Remus hooted triumphantly and sauntered over. “You know, I think I’m gonna miss your old self.”

Virgil glowered up at him. “What are you talking about?” 

Just as he said the words, something smooth and wet wrapped around his ankle. Virgil’s head filled with the glint of smooth gold scales and he scrambled back, managing to slip on the bank and tumble into the icy stream. 

“Old Virgil didn’t make it so easy,” he said, crinkling his nose. 

Seething, Virgil pulled the slimy black root from his ankle, and chucked it at Remus, who easily dodged. 

He started back toward the cottage. “See you inside, kitty-cat!”

Virgil stood, trying to still his shivering body and hammering heart. He retrieved his tunic from where it had landed in the snow, and made his way back to the cottage as well.

The cottage meant warmth and shelter from the elements.

But it also meant pain. And memories. And shame that hung around his neck like a chain.

Yes, it was in these moments Virgil felt more human than ever.

                                                * * * * * * * * * *

Six months later.

Virgil followed behind Ursula as his normal, four-legged self, watching her back and tensed shoulders. They hadn’t been back inside the Witchlands in decades. Not much had changed. 

Ursula fingered the charm she wore about her neck, something she'd spent months crafting for the express purpose of slipping past the banishment spell keeping her out of the Witchlands.

Remus walked beside Virgil, absentmindedly trying to grab his tail as it swished through the air. 

Ursula was in a bad mood. Primarily because the entire reason she’d needed the charm was so she could meet up with someone who apparently knew how to fix Virgil. 

He was proving more than a little inconvenient to say the least. 

They all rounded the side of a hill and found a quaint little log cabin nested among the trees. Smoke seeped from the chimney and warm light shine from the windows. 

Ursula stalked forward, pushing the door open without knocking.

A figure in a billowy green blouse, brown leather corset, and cotton pants looked up from her seat beside the fire. Her hair was the color of coal smoke and her eyes as amber as the setting sun. 

She smirked. “You know, Ursula, maybe if you had more manners—“

“Oh, shut up, Amaryllis. I need a favor.”

The other witch shut the book open on her lap. “A favor?”

Ursula scowled. “I broke you out of a demon-guarded dungeon, you know.”

Amaryllis winced at the word “demon.” Virgil guessed she must have similar, bad experiences with the beast. As did most people who crossed its path.

“More like blowing a hole in the wall and letting us take care of the rest,” she muttered. “Fine. What do you want?”

“My familiar’s broken,” she said, stepping aside and gesturing to Virgil. 

“Really?” Amaryllis said, looking between Remus and Virgil skeptically. “Which one is he?”

“Don’t be smart,” Ursula snapped.

Amaryllis rolled her eyes, then fixed her gaze on Virgil. His ears flattened against his head against his will, his tail dropping to the floor. He’d grown hateful of attention.

The black-haired witch looked at Ursula and Remus. “I’m going to need you two to step outside.”

“Are you serious?”

“As the constellation.”

“Whatever,” Ursula muttered, turning on her heel and pinning Virgil with a glare. He took half a step back, watching as both she and the hobgoblin left. 

Amaryllis grabbed her book and reopened it, leaning back into her chair. “Finally,” she sighed, touching her finger to her tongue and turning a page, “She’s such a terror, isn’t she?”

Virgil shifted, unsure of what to do. Should I shift to a human? he thought. How would he talk with her otherwise? Unless, of course, she didn’t need to talk to him.

“Oh you’re quite alright the way you are, Virgil,” she said, not looking up from her book. 

Virgil stiffened. She knew his name! 

You can hear me?

The witch’s eyebrows knit together. “Of course, I can. I’m a witch.”

You’re not my witch.

“So? As long as you want me to hear you, I can. Jeez, did Ursula not teach you anything?”

Virgil shrank. Sorry.

Amaryllis’s eyes went wide. “What? No! I wasn’t mad at you, I’m angry with Ursula if nothing else.” Her voice went soft. “What has she filled your head with?”

Can we get onto the part where you fix me? Virgil asked impatiently. The sooner he was out of the spotlight, the better.

“Okay,” she said, though she looked as if she was definitely not okay with moving on. She glanced at the corner of her cottage, but there was nothing there. “What seems to be the problem?”

I can’t do magic anymore.

“What do you mean?”

Other than shifting, I can’t do magic. It just doesn’t come out. Even shifting gets hard if I’m… upset… or something.

“Do you have any idea why this is happening?”

…Yes.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

No.

Amaryllis’s eyes narrowed and Virgil’s pulse picked up. “Was it Ursula?”

No, he said, then carefully thought to just himself, though she certainly hasn’t helped. 

The witch set her book on the side table. “When was the last time you sat on someone’s lap?”

Virgil went still.

“Or let someone pet you? Any type of affection?”

...I don’t remember. 

Amaryllis patted her legs. “Would you like some?”

Virgil hesitated.

“You can say no, if you want,” she said. “Whatever you decide is fine by me.”

He padded forward slowly, fighting with himself inside. Yes, he wanted it, but at the same time his body was freaking out at being within range of her hands. Hands that could grab and tug and hit. How was this supposed to help him fix his problem?

Entirely too soon, he was at her knees and was faced with a decision. Biting back on his fear he leaped from the floor to her lap. He remained facing her as he sat down on her legs, but couldn’t bring himself to look at her, instead fixating on the arm of her chair. 

“Thank you for trusting me, Virgil. That was very brave of you.”

Virgil felt his throat grow right with emotion. He couldn’t cry as a cat—not the same as a human would, at least—but it would have been a close thing had he been in his other form. 

“Can I touch you? Feel free to say no,” she said. Virgil was shocked. She was being so gentle with him. It made sense, seeing as he was broken, but he wasn’t used to being asked permission for anything. 

Go ahead, he said, still not meeting her eyes. He tried not to jump when the tips of her fingers grazed the fur along his spine, but his body jerked anyway. 

Sorry.

“You don’t have to apologize,” she said, petting him again, this time with her full hand, scratching very softly. 

Virgil felt his eyes closing, a deep rumbling filling his chest. He greeted the purr joyfully, like a long lost friend he hadn’t seen in ages. 

Amaryllis stroked his back, his legs, his chest, even the side of his face. Virgil felt more relaxed than he had in… in a really long time, now that he thought about it. She ran her hand over the top of his head and down the back of his neck—

Every muscle in Virgil’s body tensed. He felt dizzy and suddenly weightless. Tossed through the air into a gaping, fanged maw…

Her hand left his fur immediately. “I’m sorry. I should have asked.”

He blinked, swallowing back the revulsion creeping up his throat. He shook his head. It wasn’t your fault. It was actually quite nice, he said.

She smiled softly. “Your claws are buried in my legs, Virgil. I think that’s a pretty clear sign you aren’t alright.”

He looked down and saw with mounting horror that she was right. He’d hurt her. He retracted his claws as fast as he could, scrambling back off her lap. She didn’t try to grab him, which he was a little thankful for.

I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, he blurted, ears pressed flat.

“I assure you, I’m fine. Look, I’m barely bleeding. It was just a scratch.”

He’d made her bleed. Oh, Ursula was going to kill him. 

We need to leave soon, he said, glancing nervously at the door. Can you help me get my magic back, or not?

Amaryllis looked at him sadly, but stood and said, “Yes, I can.” She rummaged through a few of her things before pulling out… a button? It was black and oblong, with purple swirls spiraling toward its center.

What’s that supposed to do?

“It’s a talisman—well, not yet, but I’ll make it one in a minute. It’s sort of like a link, connecting you to the magic you lost.” She lifted a finger. “Now, this doesn’t fix anything. Without it, you’ll remain as you are until you go through the much longer process of actually healing.”

But I’ll be able to do magic again?

“Yes,” she said, almost sadly. “You will do magic again.” 

The witch fixed the button to a chain, looped it around his neck and chanted sweetly, “Stitch the soul and patch the heart that power never again shall part. As long as round the neck you wear, this talisman shall your load bear.”

Virgil felt something click back into place inside of him and he couldn’t help but give a content little sigh. 

Amaryllis stood and opened the door without another word. Remus was a little ways off chucking pebbles at birds. Ursula stood from her seat on the front steps, looking between them. 

“Well?”

“He should be fine, now. Just make sure he keeps the talisman with him all the time,” Amaryllis said.

Ursula left with little thanks, Virgil trailing after her.

Virgil’s life would not get easier, but he would never forget the kind witch of the woods who reminded him what it was like to be loved.