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eowynstwin · 6 months ago

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peristalsis - i.

selkie!soap x reader. suicidal ideation. strangers to "lovers." . Running away from life to the Scottish Hebrides, you meet a man who won't leave you alone. . Masterlist. Ao3.

When your mother asks you if you’re planning to kill yourself, you have to lie to her.

To be fair to you, it’s a half-lie. You have no plans. Courage, you find, is as slippery as an eel in gloved palms—you don’t actually think you could do it if you tried. You’re deeply averse to pain of the bloody sort, and doing the deed would take a will and an energy you don’t really have.

But still. You’ve stopped looking both ways when crossing a street. You forget the stove is on, hot oil in the pan popping like the report of a handgun. The sound of shattering glass is the only thing that makes your heart sit calm in your chest, and the only thing that can make you fall asleep anymore is the notion that when you die, the earth will welcome the molecules of your body back into its folds.

So a half-lie is not the truth. You sit in the terminal, the afternoon smell of airport coffee in your nose as you swear to your mother that you’re not looking for a cliff to jump off of, or a convenient wave to pull you under. You’ve always wanted to visit Scotland, remember?

You can’t tell if she believes you. Probably not. People not planning to kill themselves don’t blow their savings on a first class ticket over the Atlantic with no scheduled return flight.

Especially not after quitting their job.

The flight over the Atlantic is uneventful. Quiet as money can buy. You sip champagne at your window seat, recline as far back as you can go, and watch the ocean, far, far below. Its depths exceed, you remember, the heights at which humanity can fly—but you can’t really tell, looking at it from so far above. It looks like nothing less than a thin veneer stretched overtop the crust of the earth. A puddle that could barely cover the soles of your feet.

There’s not a single murmur of turbulence across the fifteen hours you’re in the air. Much that you might’ve welcomed it.

Your connecting trip to the Hebrides is much shorter. The massive sprawl of Glasgow shrinks and recedes as you leave it behind, replaced not long after by a spit of an island chain that, from a distance, hardly looks worth populating.

You land on Barra, on a sandy stretch of beach still wet and compact from the receding tide. There’s a cottage here with your name on the rental agreement for the next month, and your mind is already there ahead of you, thinking about arranging your toothbrush and toothpaste on the bathroom counter and sitting and listening to nothing but cold island wind in the grass. The cottage’s owner has graciously agreed to drive you there.

When you step off the plane, you miss him at first. You’re expecting someone completely different—an older man in cable knit, perhaps more mustache than face, and the morose demeanor of someone for whom sunlight is as common on the island as veins of gold. So your eyes skip over the younger man, even despite the sign he’s holding with your name on it.

But then you look again. Because with a man like him, you can’t not look again.

He’s wearing a sweater, sure. But he also looks like a rugby team maverick—burly and tall, rugged, tattooed, flaunting a dumb haircut because he’s handsome enough to get away with it.

He stands out from the few people in the airport as if the whole world has adjusted its lens to bring him into focus, sharpening his image such that anything in his periphery is too blurry to notice. He does not in the slightest look like he rents out an old fisher’s croft in the least popular place in Scotland.

But then you catch your name. Do a double take. Clutch your suitcase handle a little tighter, because when you approach, the man’s eyes widen, look you up and down, and then crease with a too-confident smile.

“Bonnie!” he exclaims when you introduce yourself. He has a deep, rough voice, burred and low. More still, he’s kilted, plaid hanging at muscular knees, with an odd speckled pelt slung around his hips.

You’ve never seen that before—maybe it’s an islander thing.

“You must be Mr. John MacTavish,” you say. Up close, there’s a weathered look to him, as if buffeted by the salt in the wind.

“Johnny’s fine,” he says, winking. His eyes are a lively, vibrant blue. The color of the ocean in some place much nicer than this one. “Welcome to Scotland!”

Then, incredibly, “Johnny” pulls you into a hug before you even realize what’s happening, brawny arms closing around you like the noose of a snare. You go rigid—what the hell?—but this man, whom you have met only just now, doesn’t seem to notice, compressing you against the blazing pillar of his body in an embrace that flattens your lungs behind your ribs.

“Um,” you manage. He smells like axe body spray and diesel fuel, and cold ocean wind. It wipes the forefront of your mind blank, like sweeping an arm across drawings etched in sand.

After at least five whiplashed beats of your heart, Johnny pats your back several times and lets you go, grinning.

“Sorry, bonnie. Scots are huggers.”

Then without warning, he reaches for the handle of your suitcase, warm hand nudging aside your own. “Let’s get you down there ‘fore the tide comes in. Canny wait t’show you the place, I fixed it up m’self.”

You let him take your luggage and follow; he sets off at an energetic clip that you struggle to keep up with. He gestures with his free hand as he talks, motions rising and falling with the tenor of his voice.

“You know you’re m’first guest? Was startin’ to wonder if I was gonna have to sell the place, no one seemed all that interested. Guess I can see why, no internet, barely any signal. Me, I think that’s a good thing, people spend too much time on their phones, y’know?”

You make a noncommittal noise.

Were you this cold before he let go of you?

“But it’s a great little place to get away, I promise you, nice and quiet, and I updated everything m’self. Radiator in the bedroom and everything!”

Another noise from you.

Thankfully, you reach his car—a small truck, older than the both of you, with only one row of seats and what looks like large spools of rope in the bed. Johnny pauses briefly to secure your suitcase beside them with a couple of bungee cords, and then opens the passenger side door for you to get in.

“It’s not too far from town too,” he continues as he slides into the driver’s seat. You attach your seat belt. He does not. “You got your essentials there. A supermarket—think you call ‘em grocery stores? There’s that and a cafe and a pub. No bank though, so let’s get cash now if you need it.”

“I have some.” You’d exchanged for a few hundred pounds in Glasgow.

“Good! You want to stop by the store? Took the liberty of filling up the fridge too, but if there’s somethin’ you want—”

“No,” you say.

“Alrigh,’” says Johnny.

You feel his eyes on you—when you look at him, he’s smiling again. You are not pleased to find, through the benefit of close proximity, that he has dimples.

“What?” you ask, suddenly self-conscious.

“Nothin,’” he says.

Johnny drives you across the causeway from Barra to Vatersay, the latter of which, he helpfully informs you, is populated by less than a hundred people.

“More wildlife than anything,” he comments, as the ocean outside the window passes by. The water is dull and gray, hidden from the sun by an overcast sky. “That’s what the tourists come for. You here to see the seals?”

“Seals?” you ask.

“Aye,” Johnny says, grinning. “They come here for breeding season.”

You ignore the quirk of his eyebrows.

The cottage stands alone, a ways out from the island’s main village at the top of a modest hillock. Island grasses sway along the dirt road as Johnny directs the truck upwards, coming to a stop a few meters away from the house proper.

It’s quaint. Thatch roof, cobbled walls. A generator hooked up on one side. There are flower boxes flanking the front door, although nothing’s in bloom; it’s the wrong season for it. The window frames are unpainted, and the glass panes, despite looking recently cleaned, are crusted with salt at the corners.

And it’s smaller than it looked in the pictures online. Even close up to it, the blue-grey sky overhead, swimming with dun-colored clouds, swallows it up.

You exit the truck into a cold breeze that tugs at the collar of your fleecy sweater. You’d read online that this time of year was the last gasp of summer into the autumn months in the Hebrides—it hardly feels that way, with the chill that drags its fingers across your hairline.

“It’s on a septic tank so y’ve got alright plumbing,” Johnny goes on, hefting your suitcase over one brawny shoulder. “Canny say much for the water pressure in the shower, but other than tha’ it’s alright. Matters more that it’s hot, ‘f you ask me—and it is! Come on, I’ll give y’the tour.”

The cottage is not big enough to warrant one. Johnny shows you the four rooms—kitchen, sitting room, bathroom, and bedroom—in under five minutes. It ends with him leaned up against the counter, arms folded genially across his plush chest, grinning at you like he knows some embarrassing secret of yours.

“Was thinkin,’” he says, scratching the stubble on his jaw with one thumbnail, “this’d be kind of a honeymoon thing, y’know? That woman with the time travel show, lots a’folks been comin’ here lately ‘cause a’her.”

“Is there anything else to do here besides look at seals?” you ask.

Soap gazes at you through half-lidded eyes, smirking. “I dinnae think you leave the bedroom much on a honeymoon, do you?”

You flush. “I never really thought about it.”

“So you’re no’ married, then?”

“No. Not—not interested.”

Johnny lifts one brow. “In marriage?”

“In anything.”

He keeps fucking smiling. You have a barely controllable urge to smack him; you settle for wringing the hem of your sweater, imagining it could be his neck.

“So what brings y’here, then?” he asks, tilting his head like a cat playing with its food. “If no’ a honeymoon?”

You frown.

The truth is, of course, that nothing brought you here. Vatersay, nor the Hebrides, nor Scotland itself were actually of any consequence. You’re ambivalent about the ocean, and you certainly don’t care about seals.

You just hadn’t been able to think of anything you wanted when you asked yourself that perennial question. You wanted nothing.

You wanted nothing.

So you found as much nothing as you could and bought the soonest first class ticket heading toward it.

Your only stipulation had been no language barrier—so here you are now, cursing the lack of such, because it means this man, who belongs on this island no more than you do, is bothering to try and talk to you.

“Just wanted some peace and quiet,” is what you decide to say.

“Needed a change, aye?” Johnny nods sagely, as if understanding. “I did too, when I came here. Was in the army. Special forces.”

“O-okay,” you say, because you hadn’t asked.

“Didnae plan to stay,” he continues.

He turns his head to look out the kitchen window; on one temple is the ghost of a scar. A starburst-ripple in the shaved side of his dark hair—nothing more.

But something about it suggests that the wound it closed around was a horror to behold.

Then he turns back to you, the corners of his mouth quirked. “But somethin’ about this place is hard to leave.” The quirk turns into another smarmy grin “Bet when your month’s up, you’ll know what I mean.”

It seems rude to say probably not. “Maybe.”

The radiator in the kitchen breathes a swell of warm air through the room, blooming with Johnny’s diesel-and-ocean scent. There’s very little space between you, him against the counter, you across from him at the sink. Johnny’s bulk claims what little room there is to maneuver, and if you tried to move away, it would require first moving closer.

“So,” you begin.

“Here,” he intercedes. “Wanna show you somethin.’”

The only reason you comply is because he leads you outside, which is a step closer to him finally leaving you alone. Johnny circles around the cottage, revealing a footpath that leads down the hill. The ground transitions from soil to sand as you both walk; the wind picks up as the sound of waves grows. Eventually you reach what turns out to be a small cove, hidden by the curve of the island, flanked on both sides by cliffs of only middling height.

The tide is only now making its way in; probably why you hadn’t realized it was here earlier. You think you’ll be able to hear the waves when you go to sleep tonight.

“Oh,” you say, unable to hide that it’s impressed you.

“Yeah,” Johnny replies, smug. “All yours. Come down whenever you like. Dinna recommend skinny dippin’ this time a’year, though.”

You look at him, intending some sort of flat response, but what you see stops your words up in the chamber of your throat.

There’s something…different about him. There’s a sharp glint in his eyes that wasn’t there before. A dangerous cant to the angle of his grin. He suddenly feels very real to you—

Like standing in front of a wild animal.

Realizing, at the same time it does, that there is no barrier between it and you.

He looks you up and down. He doesn’t even try to hide it; too-blue eyes jaunt from yours down to your throat, the span of your shoulders, lingering on your chest before drifting down your stomach and hips. His nostrils flare as he inhales deeply, shoulders lifting as his chest expands, and you get the strange sense that he’s trying to smell you.

The ice that slithers through your veins, drips down the rigid column of your spine, wars with the spike of heat that breaks across your face. You feel here. You feel very present, your heart pumping wet in your chest, electrical wisps zipping to every nerve ending and back up your cerebellum to remind your brain of every part of your existing body.

Suddenly you are in Scotland, thousands of miles away from home, freezing fucking cold, only half of all the money you have in the world left in your bank account. Tomorrow stretching out in front of you. The next day after it.

Panic, which you thought buried, turns over in your belly, grave-dirt too light to keep it down. Hard earth is beneath your feet. A light drizzle is starting overhead. You begin to shiver, your nervous system’s effort to warm your hairless mammal body up, to save you from the cold and the wet and the fucking predator standing two paces away from you while gazing at you like it can’t wait to break your bones open for the marrow inside.

“Okay,” you finally snap, though you’re unable to keep your voice from quivering. “I really appreciate you driving me, Johnny, but—”

His eyes flash. The ocean-depths of them shift with an awareness beyond your ken, the dark edges deepening, the vivid blue swirling. The expression on his face transmutes into something unknowable—like the difference between the look on a pet dog’s face and a wolf’s.

Something isn’t there that should be, and what is in its place is entirely unfamiliar.

What is in its place is something your species evolved long past being able to understand.

Then, as quickly as it appeared, the flash is gone. Johnny is human again, as if he had always been in the first place. The thin crows’ feet at the corners of his eyes crinkle, as he gives you what he probably thinks is a sympathetic smile.

He doesn’t seem able, or perhaps willing to hide how amused he is, though.

“Long flight, I know,” he croons, meeting your gaze again. “Dinna worry, bonnie, I’ll let you get your rest.”

Whatever you were about to say dies. Your mouth hangs open. Johnny backs away from you, hands casually in his pockets.

“I’ll take you to see the seals tomorrow!” he calls to you before he turns away. A sudden gust ruffles the pelt hanging around his hips. “I know all the best spots.”

He throws you a casual wave, and then disappears over the rise.

You do hear the waves that evening, when you lay down to sleep. The covers are soft over you, cozy and warm even as the ocean wind hums outside.

You can’t stop shivering.

a/n: last fic of the year (probably)! i'm so into this one tbh. i figured out the ending a while ago and i'm so dang excited to get to it.

#soap x reader #soap x you #john soap mctavish x reader #john soap mctavish x you #john soap x reader #soap mactavish #soap mactavish x reader #soap mctavish #john soap mactavish #how the hell is his last name even spelled #mwritessoap #madi writes

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nerdy-novelist017 · 1 month ago

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More Than Rest (Benny Cross x Shy!Reader)

Hiiii :) I honestly have no excuse for my lack of updates other than life is really busy rn. But I really hope you guys aren't too frustrated with me and still want to read some Benny x Bunny content. Here's a little scene I wrote when I was in my feels and missing Benny Cross

Benny x Bunny Masterlist

Summary- He never sleeps. Not really. Not the kind of sleep that’s safe, deep, unguarded. But when Benny finally lets go—shirtless, sun-drenched, and halfway out of his jeans—it’s beside you, wrapped in the sound of your voice and the scent of your shampoo.

Word Count- 2.8k

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The air had gone syrup-thick, slow like molasses, heavy with the weight of another midwestern summer afternoon.

Sunlight poured in through the trailer window in soft golden ribbons, catching on the dust that floated lazily like snowflakes that had forgotten how to fall. Outside, the cicadas sang their shrill chorus, endless and loud, while the fan in the window gave a weary clatter with each turn, doing its best to stir the heat but failing with quiet dignity.

Benny lay sprawled flat on his back across the tangled sheets, shirtless, sun-kissed skin gleaming faintly with sweat that clung to every sharp line of his torso. One arm was slung over his eyes, his fingers curled loosely like he was trying to disappear beneath the weight of the day—or maybe just into the comfort of the bed itself. His other arm rested by his side, hand limp, calloused fingertips twitching now and then in the sticky heat.

His jeans were halfway undone, the button popped open and the zipper tugged down just enough to hint at the waistband of his boxers. The denim clung low on his hips, creased and faded and worn soft in a way that made your throat tighten. The kind of undone that didn’t look accidental, even if it was. The kind of undone that made him look almost obscene in his beauty, in that unbothered, sleep-heavy sprawl.

He smelled like summer and metal and motor oil - something rough and real and deeply him - but there was still a trace of you on his skin. A faint sweetness clinging to his collarbone, the ghost of your strawberry shampoo from when your head had rested there earlier that morning.

He looked like sin left out in the sun. And he didn’t even know it.

You were sprawled out beside him, stretched on your stomach like a lazy cat, flipping through a sun-wrinkled magazine with a smudged pink lip print on the cover and water stains along the edges. Swimming in one of his old undershirts – white, too big, slipping off one bare shoulder, your legs kicked absently behind you, ankles crossing and uncrossing in the air like you had nowhere to be and no one else to be.

You read aloud in a singsong voice, every word lilting and golden, warm enough to spin the stale air around them into something soft and sweet.

“‘Ten Signs He’s Secretly Thinking About Marriage,’” you announced, clearly delighted by the headline.

Benny didn’t so much as twitch.

“Number one…” you continued, twirling a strand of hair around you finger, “he gazes at you when he thinks you’re not looking.”

You peeked over your shoulder at him with a grin. “You do that.”

From beneath his arm came a low, stubborn grunt. “No, I don’t.”

You smirked and went right on reading. “Number two…he does little chores for you without being asked.”

Another noncommittal grunt from his side.

Smirked, you pointed out, “Like how you always untangle my necklaces. Or how you replaced the lightbulb in the closet after I stubbed my toe and threatened to burn the whole place down.”

Still nothing besides a breathy hum.

“Number three…” you went on, legs swaying lazily behind you, toes brushing the edge of the fan’s breeze. “‘He lets you pick the music.’” You scoffed. “Yeah, right. You act like my records might bite you if you get too close.”

That got a reaction.

Barely, but you saw it.

The corner of his mouth twitched. A ghost of a smile. The faintest suggestion of dimples beneath stubble. But his eyes stayed closed, his head tilted slightly to the side, arm still thrown over his forehead like he was shielding himself from the world—or from you

“Number four…” you continued, but the words came slower now. You had to swallow to keep going. “‘He tells you about his childhood.’”

Silence bloomed in the space between you.

The page stopped moving beneath your hand, fingers still. You stared at the print but didn’t see it. Your lips parted, but the next words didn’t come. Because the air had shifted again—grown thick in a different way. Not with heat, but with memory.

Because Benny didn’t talk about his past in the way most people did. He never sat you down and said this happened to me. He never unraveled himself in one clean thread. He gave pieces. Tiny, jagged pieces. Offhand comments dropped like loose change. Things you weren’t supposed to catch – but did.

One night, long after midnight, when the only light in the room was the blue glow of the microwave clock, he’d murmured it while staring at the ceiling: “Used to sleep in the closet when I was little. Figured if they couldn’t see me, they’d forget I was there.”

You didn't know what to say.

Another night, after too much beer and not enough food, he’d added, “Even now? Don’t think I’ve ever slept more than an hour at a time. Not deep. Not like you.”

And then—after you had reached for his hand in the dark and he hadn’t pulled away—he had said the one that gutted you.

“Had a system. Kept my shoes on, just in case I had to run. Slept with a flashlight under the pillow, knife taped to the mattress springs.”

He hadn’t looked at you when he said it. Hadn’t blinked. Just kept staring out the window, as if the darkness might look back.

“That’s probably why I don’t sleep much now,” he added with a shrug. “Can’t tell if it’s habit or if my body just thinks rest’ll get me killed.”

You could still hear the way he’d said it. Like it was just a fact. Like it didn’t hollow out your chest to imagine a younger version of him flinching at footsteps in the hall. Holding his breath at the sound of keys in the door.

Your throat tightened.

You stared down at the wrinkled page, the words bleeding together into soft-edged nonsense. The cheap perfume sample tucked into the binding had long since faded, but you could still smell the paper—sun-warmed and dusty, like old laundry and summer heat.

Your fingers stayed still.

And for a while, you didn’t move. Just breathed. Just listened to the fan clink its tired rhythm in the window and the cicadas shrieking outside like they’d never known quiet. Your heart ached in your chest, too full of things you couldn’t say aloud.

Because you’d never known anyone like him. Someone so hard-edged, so bruised and wary, yet capable of such impossible softness when no one else was looking.

You blinked once before turning your head to glance over your shoulder at him.

And the sight of him undid you all over again.

He was asleep. Really asleep.

That same arm still draped over his eyes, but his hand had gone slack. His jaw had loosened, lips parted just slightly, the faintest breath slipping past them. His chest rose and fell in slow, steady rhythm, the kind of breathing that only came when a body had let go. Completely. Utterly. Trustingly.

Every inch of bruised skin left bare by the rumpled sheet. Every scar, every freckle, every old burn or faded scrape that hinted at a boy who’d learned to survive before he ever learned to rest. And yet – here he was. Laid out beside you, utterly unguarded, as if you were a shelter he had finally chosen. As if this bed, this hour, this closeness was something sacred.

It was too much.

Too much tenderness to carry. Too much weight behind the silence.

“Safe ain’t a thing I ever learned how to be,” he’d told you, once, voice thick from bourbon and exhaustion. “So when I’m next to you, it don’t feel right. Feels like I’m waitin’ for the catch.”

You turned her face away, back toward the forgotten magazine still open in your lap. But the words had blurred beyond recognition. The page rippled beneath her fingers as you blinked hard.

You swiped at your cheek, brushing the tear which had escaped. But it kept coming. Thick, warm tears that slipped free before you could catch them, running soundlessly down your face and soaking into the collar of his undershirt you still wore. There was no sobbing. No trembling. Just a kind of quiet, overwhelming grief—too big for your ribs to hold and too soft to scream.

Grief for the child he’d been, sleeping in closets with his shoes on. Grief for the man he became, carved out of silence and hard choices. And most of all—for this moment. For the trust he offered now, without words, simply by sleeping beside you like he believed he wouldn’t need to run.

You bit your lip to keep from making a sound. Tried to breathe through the ache—but it broke free as a shudder, small and sharp, curling in your chest.

And that’s when he stirred.

Just a shift at first—a flicker of motion through his body, a twitch of his shoulder. Then he went still. Completely still. Like some instinct inside him had gone taut in the space of a heartbeat.

You heard it before he spoke: the change in his breathing. The subtle hitch. That flicker of awareness clawing its way back to the surface.

Then, his voice—low, rough with sleep, and laced with something that sounded like worry. “Bun?”

You sniffled, barely more than a sound, and wiped at your cheek with the back of your hand like it meant nothing. Like the tears weren’t real if you caught them fast enough.

“I’m okay,” you whispered. But it wasn’t even a lie—it was a hope, said out loud.

Benny blinked, slow and disoriented, still tangled in the haze of sleep. But the moment his eyes landed on you – curled at the edge of the bed, turned away from him, shoulders trembling in that quiet, repressed way that said don’t look at me, please don’t look at me – something in him fractured.

You looked like someone trying to disappear.

And that undid him.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t ask permission. Just moved.

Slower than instinct. But with more certainty than he’d ever had.

The air kissed his skin, still damp with sleep as he pushed himself up with one elbow. Every muscle in his body ached with the weight of dreams he hadn’t meant to fall into. But none of it mattered.

You were crying. And he’d missed it.

So he crawled – quietly, carefully – to the foot of the bed where you lay, curled like a child hiding from a storm. Each shift of his body made the mattress creak, but you didn’t flinch. Didn’t look at him.

By the time you turned your head fully to look at him, he was there—behind you, beside you, with you—one arm sliding beneath your chest, the other draping across your lower back as he lowered himself over you, curling along the curve of your body like he belonged there. He pressed his chest to your spine, his breath warm at your ear. His jeans were still unbuttoned, slung low on his hips, skin hot from sleep and the sun-drenched bed. You felt every inch of him, solid and real and right there.

“Sweetheart…” It wasn’t even a question, just a gentle plea.

“I’m fine,” you tried again, but it cracked on the way out.

His arm around you tightened. Not in fear. Not in panic. Just in that quiet, desperate way people hold each other when words aren’t enough.

“Tell me,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “Please. Just tell me what’s breaking you.”

You turned her face into the pillow, as if that might protect you from the truth.

“I don’t know,” you breathed. But then—your voice wavered, and the truth began to rise like floodwater. “You were sleeping. Really sleeping. And you never do that, Benny. You never let go. And I just kept thinking… all those nights you spent afraid to close your eyes. The things you must’ve heard through the walls. The things you didn’t tell me. You were just a boy, and no one came for you. And now you’re here. With me. And you looked so peaceful, like something finally let go inside you. And it just—” Your breath shuddered. “I didn’t know it would hurt to see you safe.”

“Bunny…” His thumb brushed beneath your eye, catching another tear. “I didn’t think I’d make it this far. I didn’t think I’d ever find a place where I could close my eyes and not feel like I was being hunted.”

You turned slightly then, just enough for him to see the glint of your tears in the light.

He kissed you – gently. Once. Just below your eye, where the salt clung to your skin.

“That wasn’t sleep,” he said softly. “That was surrender. That was you.”

You let out a trembling laugh that hurt to hear. “I’m sorry I woke you.”

“I’m not,” he said, pressing a kiss to your other cheek. “You cry, I wake up. That’s the deal.”

Benny buried his nose in your hair, took a breath, and exhaled like the weight of her grief had somehow lessened his own.

You let out a small breath—shaky, wet, but gentling now that he was there. All around you. His weight draped over your back like a blanket, his arm snug across your waist, holding you close in that silent way he always did, like he didn’t trust words half as much as touch.

The tears didn’t stop completely. But they quieted. Softened. Fell slower.

Benny didn’t speak again right away. Just rested his cheek against the back of your head, his chest rising and falling against your spine like a lullaby. His fingers curled into the hem of the oversized shirt you wore—his shirt—and for a moment, the silence swelled full and sacred.

Then, after a pause long enough you thought he might’ve fallen asleep again, you heard his voice. Muffled. Sleep-rough. Almost shy.

“Hey…”

You hummed in response, too tired to speak.

“Weren’t you in the middle of reading me somethin’?” he asked.

You blinked, smile tugging slow at your lips. “You mean the article about how to tell if your boyfriend’s thinking about marriage?”

“Yeah.” He shifted slightly, one leg sliding between yours as he pulled you even closer. “That one.”

You turned your face toward the edge of the mattress, blinking at the sun-wrinkled magazine still splayed open a few inches away, half-tangled in the sheets.

“I thought you said my records bite,” you murmured, teasing gently. “Pretty sure that means you don’t trust my taste.”

He let out a small grunt—almost a laugh—and nuzzled against your hair like he could burrow deeper into you.

“I trust your voice,” he said, voice going quieter. “Don’t care what you’re readin’. Could be the back of a soup can for all I care.”

You smiled again. A real one this time. Small, but glowing.

“You’re lucky,” you said, reaching for the magazine with one hand, still tucked under the weight of his body. “Because this quiz has five more signs, and I know you’re dying to know if you pass.”

“Oh, I’m nervous as hell,” he murmured, voice dripping with fake solemnity, even as his mouth brushed your shoulder. “Lay it on me.”

You adjusted the magazine against the sheets, flipping to the right page, and cleared your throat dramatically.

“Number five,” you read aloud. “‘He talks about the future like you’re already a part of it.’”

Benny was quiet for a second.

Then he murmured, “I think I told you last week that we should plant tomatoes next spring.”

“You did,” you said. “You also said we’d need netting to keep the birds from eating them.”

“Then I’m five for five,” he said, his voice warm and slow and dripping with satisfaction. “Keep goin’. I wanna see if I score perfect.”

You flipped the page, snickering under your breath. “Number six… he picks up on your moods—even the quiet ones.”

His hand squeezed your side, thumb brushing your ribs.

“Next,” he whispered into your skin.

Your smile spread. God, it hurt to love him this much.

“Number seven,” you continued, “he says ‘we’ more than ‘I.’”

Benny shifted, lifting himself just slightly so he could press a kiss to your temple.

“We’re gonna need new sheets if you keep cryin’ on this set,” he said gently. “We’re gonna wear this bed out at this rate.”

You let out a small laugh, sniffled once, and kept reading. The tears were drying now. The ache was still there—but it had been wrapped in something warmer. Something real.

“Keep going,” he mumbled.

So you did.

Even long after he’d fallen asleep, you kept reading. Just in case his dreams were listening.

-Tag List-

@elizabeth916 @imusicaddict @jaiuneamesolitaiire @dudii4love @ironmooncat @beebeechaos @astrogrande @pearlparty @themorriganisamonster @charmingballoon @sillylittlethrowaway @ughdontbeboring @penwieldingdreamer @eugene-emt-roe @sunnbib @killerqueenfan @cynic-spirit @pomtherine @tranquilty @m00npjm @justsomewritingblog @thepassionatereader @rebecca-hvnstn @dreamlandcreations @buckysteveloki-me @simsiddy @zablife @sansaorgana @autumnleaves1991-blog @butler-trouble @lindszeppelin @wavyjassy @real-lana-del-rey @ilovehyperfixating @xcallmetaniax @lovenewfandoms @youngestxhearts @abaker74 @ateliefloresdaprimavera @thefallofthedamned @hottpinkpenguinreads @nctma15 @vendylewin @capswife @alexa4040 @pearlstiare @sweetestrose569 @18lkpeters @pao-prazz @thedreamingfish99 @mrsalwayswrite

#i need some benny cuddles #benny cross #benny x bunny #the bikeriders #austin butler #benny cross x reader #benny x reader #austin butler fandom #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler x reader #austinbutler

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after-witch · 1 year ago

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Check Out Time is Eleven [Yandere Chrollo x Reader]

Title: Check Out Time is 11 [Yandere Chrollo x Reader]

Synopsis: You're invited to a hotel for a warm meal and a place to sleep by a mysterious stranger. Soulmate AU.

Word count: 7100ish

notes: yandere, kidnapping, mentions of drugging, a really useless and non-philosophical reference to My Dinner with Andre

The red thread on his finger loses slack for the very first time in his life, and for the smallest of moments, Chrollo Lucilfer forgets himself. His steps falter, expensive, stolen shoes nearly scuffing on the sidewalk, and a startled breath quivers through his chest. His mouth gapes, ever so slightly.

In surprise.

In trepidation.

In realization.

The red thread was, had always been, attached to you. His soulmate. Whoever you were. The gentle tugging of the thread meant that after years of fruitless searching, you were finally somewhere nearby, close enough to reach. Probably, given the tautness of the thread, even within walking distance.

How lucky for him.

How unfortunate for you.

You were finally discovered. You were finally within his grasp, fingers itching, warm satisfaction blooming through his skin. How often had he ruminated over the fact that you had yet to belong to him? How often had he wondered what you would look like, how you would feel under his touch? And what you might do to him when he had you in person? Would he find himself changed, however slightly, as the others in the Troupe had been? Or would he mold you with his own presence, looming over you like a shadow?

The mere thought of you is enough to get his heart racing, bring a bead of sweat to his neck. It was so unlike him, and wasn’t that a thrill?

And then, just like that, the moment is over. He recollects himself and his mouth closes and his mind whirs back into focused gear.

He needed to find you, first thing. The rest of the logistics could come later.

His eyes track the movements of the thread, and without missing a beat, he turns on his heels to follow the direction of the movement. It was possible--no, highly probable--that you were close enough to reach on foot. Within the city, certainly, and he didn’t mind the exercise.

As he continues to walk, the cold gleam of the business district turning into rows of glitzy restaurants and downtown attractions, he’s glad that you weren’t too close. It gives him more time to think about what he wants to do with you.

The Troupe members that had already found their soulmates--and Chrollo feels a surge of pride in his chest, counting himself among them now, fulfilled in that goal--had taken on different approaches.

Some merely kidnapped their soulmates and kept them in secure locations. Simple, effective in terms of security, but that would ensure it would take him a long time to win you over. And he knows that he will do just that, eventually, no matter how he decides to keep you. Others took their time, attempting to strike up something of an ordinary relationship before revealing their knowledge of the red thread, and persuading their soul mates to come with them for safety (and romance)’s sake. Surely the more appealing of the two options, but it did come with the downside of expended time and energy.

What he would do with you depended on so many factors. Did you live in some stationary location, or were you prone to travel? What did you do for a living? Were you already in a relationship, some inferior partnership with someone who could never appreciate you the way that he could, as your only soulmate?

All of these questions circle heavily in his mind as he walks, following the thread that was becoming tighter and tighter between the pair of you. The ritzy downtown buildings were now gone, replaced by rows of old buildings that had seen better days. In place of fine dining were small cafes and diners that practically exuded grease, laundromats with blinking signs, and the occasional busted out window. The scores of people walking, gabbing, waving around fancy handbags were replaced by only the occasional person walking with clear destinations in mind, eyes in front.

As the thread becomes even tighter, it leads him down an alley that most people would have surely avoided. But he doesn’t worry about the glances of the people leaning up against heavy exit doors, or the people crouching on the ground with needles against their arms. He thinks about you. Will he find you here, perhaps, curled up in the arms of a drug dealer pumping you full of toxic chemicals that flushed you with endorphins and heat? Or you might be on the other side of the needle, pocketing cash and going on your merry way?

But, no. Perhaps not. Instead of leading him further into the den of seedy dealings, the thread brings him away, feet crunching on broken bottles, towards some type of fenced-in parking lot. Or it had been a parking lot, once

From a short distance through the metal fence, he can see burning barrels, tents, carts. The smells of cooking grills waft over, greasy foods, easy to cook outdoors. It wasn’t a new sight, in this city or otherwise. Chrollo had seen worse. Had lived worse.

And then, there--at the end of the red thread that weaved in between one of the fence’s metal honeycombs: you.

He sees you for the first time and knows, with a burning intensity that threatens to knock him over, that he needs you. He needs you now. He needs you always. You have something that he lacks and perhaps possessing you will give it to him.

Is this what the others felt, when they first saw their soulmates? Or is it something unique to you and him? Some unfathomable bond that has shaken him to his core? Not for long, of course, never for long. He regains his senses within moments and catalogs the feeling away for later analysis.

It’s you that he focuses on, now. And the fact he will have you, as soon as he decides on the where, when, and how. He wouldn’t be the leader of the Phantom Troupe if he wasn’t skilled at taking what he wanted.

Today what he wants is not a gallery of paintings or a rare gruesome artifact, but a person.

You.

What to make of you?

You’re standing in front of one of the burning barrels, rubbing your hands together. They look red and chapped, even from his vintage point. Behind you is a shopping cart filled with odds and ends. On the side nearest the fire, you had clearly laid out clothes over the edge of the cart--wet ones, from rain or maybe you’d had the opportunity to wash them. Your current ensemble is a simple hodgepodge. Clearly, you wore whatever was cleanest, whatever was warmest, whatever you could find.

He remembers such a living.

You appear to be on the outskirts, avoiding the groups scattered around the encampment. No one approaches you and you don’t approach them. A loner… by choice, or not? You wouldn’t be alone for long, if it wasn’t by choice, and in time you might be grateful for it. If it was by choice, well, there were ways to tame feral cats.

It doesn’t take much analysis to decide what to do with you, to decide how best to approach things. He’s glad that he wore something casual today. Just some simple slacks and a nice sweater. If he was overdressed, it might be more difficult. Not that he couldn’t manage it, but he enjoys advantages when he can get them.

With no hesitation, he walks through one of the ragged gaps in the metal fence and begins to approach you.

Your head jerks towards him the moment that his steps become even remotely close. He doesn’t mind. It’s only natural, especially for someone who has been living the way you surely have. There’s a tugging somewhere inside him--memory of himself and connection with you.

He smiles, not broadly, but in a way meant to disarm.

“Hello,” he says, stopping a few feet away from you.

You stiffen.

“I’m Chrollo,” he continues. His voice is undisturbed and calm. As if he was meeting you on a sunny afternoon in the park while you were both buying ice cream from the same cart. That might have been a more charming meeting, he muses, but this one can work to his advantage just as easily. “Won’t you tell me your name?”

You snatch your hands back from the barrel and step, refusing to turn your back to him, behind your cart.

“None of your business,” you say.

And oh, he thinks, it would be heaven if he could somehow bottle the first time he hears your voice and listen to it on demand. But he supposes, he has the rest of his life--and yours--to hear you speak.

“That’s all right.” He gestures towards you, the cart, your life. “I see you are in need.” You frown at him, but he continues. “How would you like to go somewhere warm?”

Your lip pulls back in a sneer and you move yourself on the other side of the cart.

“I don’t do that. Fuck off.”

Ah. You thought he wanted you to--well. It wouldn’t be the first time people took advantage of others in less fortunate situations. There had been enough of that in Meteor City.

“No, nothing like that,” he says, voice going soft. “I should have clarified. I’m a… missionary of sorts. I look for people in need and offer what help I can give. I’d like to buy you a hotel room for the week.” He notices your wary expression. “Or even the day, if that would be more comfortable for you. Somewhere you can get some safe sleep, a shower, something to eat. I wouldn’t even be there.”

He recognizes the look on your face all too well. Wariness. Suspicion. The face of someone who knows that people are tricky and greedy and cruel. That people will take things that they haven’t earned. Oh, yes-- he knows all of that so well, from both sides.

And he also knows how to get your guard to drop enough for him to accomplish his goal. Sure, mistrust is essential in an environment like this. But mistrust can always be overpowered when there’s something essential within reach. Like comfort. Or food. A warm place to stay, even if it’s just for a few hours. A private bathroom, a toilet, a tub.

“I don’t know,” you say, finally, having given him the appropriate stare down.

He nods his head.

“I understand. I would feel wary myself, in your position. It’s perfectly reasonable.” It is more than reasonable, he thinks, but you don’t need to know that. You just need to believe that coming with him will be worth your while, worth ignoring what he’s sure is a growing pit in your stomach.

“What I would like to do is accompany you to a hotel where I often book rooms for those in need. It’s a private room, of course. And I will pay for your meals.” He sees the gears turning in your mind at the promise of a bed. The promise of food. “I have my own room in the hotel, but it’s on a different floor, and I won’t have to see you at all,” he adds, and this is how he will make you step over that cautionary line. “I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable. Everything is pre-paid on my card, of course, and you’re free to order whatever you’d like. What do you say?”

He lets his words hang in the air, wafting like smoke from the nearby barrels.

You wet your lips. You glance around at the people around you. A few of them have taken notice of Chrollo, perhaps as a mark, perhaps more; but he pays them no mind. He could kill them in a fraction of a second and whisk you out of here just as easily, if he needs to… But he hopes it will not come to that.

“All right,” you say suddenly, softly. “If… you’re just going to give me a room and feed me, then all right.”

Chrollo smiles. It is, he thinks, perhaps close to a genuine one.

“Wonderful. Follow me, if you please.”

The hotel is expensive, but thankfully not terribly ostentatious. Chrollo would hate to put you off by throwing you into some gilded lion’s den. But the hotel is more reserved, classy. Comfort and luxury without any of the ridiculous trappings that often come with them.

Chrollo does bring you with him to the front desk, if only to reduce the chances that the security will kick you out for looking out of place. And you do look out of place, but perhaps that’s for the better. It will make you appreciate what he’s going to do for you more, won’t it?

You’re quiet all the while, but that’s to be expected. You only hold tight to your backpack, where everything you hold dear has been crammed, and let him do the talking. A reservation is easily made under the guise that only you are to know the room number--you certainly don’t need to know that he’ll swing back and reserve the connected room next door--and the key is given without fanfare from the polite desk clerk who gives you curious glances but nothing more.

Chrollo walks you to the elevator, ever the gentleman, and hands you the key. You stare at it. The uncertain expression on your face is unbelievably precious, he thinks. He hopes he can see more of it before it inevitably morphs into shock and anger and fear.

“Would you like some new clothing?” Chrollo asks, after he pushes the button on the elevator for you. “I can have some sent up from the hotel’s boutique. I’ll tell the front desk, so they can give the concierge the room number. Ah, and I’ll need to know your size, if you’re willing to give it.”

“You want to buy me clothes?”

You almost splutter out the words, and he has to restrain himself from kissing you right then and there. You are terribly cute, and there’s a slight disturbing tinge to how much he finds everything about you enticing so quickly. The way you furrow your eyebrows at his question. The slight look of embarrassment, the twitch of your lips.

He needs you so much, and he’s only known you for a few moments.

You tell him your size, then glance at him before staring at the glossy metallic doors. “Um, I need something warm. No useless stuff.” Your head gestures back towards the hotel lobby, where a few women are walking on the arm of male companions, dressed in sleeveless dresses and likely heading for the restaurant.

“Of course.” Chrollo does not tell you that he can envision you wearing all sorts of useless things in the future his mind is creating, brick by brick. You would look heavenly in something strapless, something slinky. Something that hangs off your shoulders. He would drape a fine wrap over them, were you behaving enough to go out with him--no one else but him will be privy to such delicacies.

For now, though, he resolves to send you the clothes he knows you want. Things will be a little more seamless if your guard isn’t entirely raised.

The elevator doors open.

Chrollo steps aside, and gestures for you to enter.

“This is where I take my leave. I will let the restaurant host know your name, and you can order whatever you’d like. It’s on my card. Please, don’t feel the need to hold back.”

You take a step inside the elevator and ah, there it is. Just the slightest hesitation. The slightest jerk of your head as you look back at him. Do you feel bad, leaving him in a lurch when he’s giving you charity? Do you feel beholden to him in some way?

“I guess it’s okay if we share a meal. You’re paying for it, anyway. It’d be awkward otherwise.” You stare down at the elevator carpet as you say the words, and Chrollo realizes that he’s perhaps misjudged the gesture. Your sense of shame, maybe, outweighs your desire to be rid of him and his potential alternative motives for assisting you.

That might come in handy.

He nods, as you turn around and make brief eye contact with him.

“Well, then. How about we meet here in 5 hours for dinner? I can send something dressy to your room, if you’d like.”

You shrug your shoulders as the doors close, which is as good as assent in his view. The string on his finger rises with the elevator, but now there is no fear that he’ll lose you. The string, something which had been maddening in its slackness for so long, is now something of a treasure itself. A little leash, keeping you to him, wherever you go.

Which, for now, is your hotel room--meaning he needs to get moving. He won’t pick anything too flashy out from the boutique; something modest, something simple. There are delicate steps to take to avoid making you feel ashamed without offending your sense of dignity all in one go.

Thankfully--for you and himself--he’s attuned to such needs.

5 hours. That would give you enough time to take a shower or bath, to change into the fresh clothing he’ll send up, to take a nap. Perhaps you’ll stare out the hotel window at the view or curl up in the bed, rolling on the fresh sheets.

Five hours would give you time to freshen up and relax, yes. And it would give him enough time to get hold of Shalnark and procure anything he needs to make your removal from the hotel as smooth as possible.

The shower is running again. He doesn’t blame you. He remembers days where a hot shower was a luxury beyond imagining.

He keeps his side pressed against the door connecting your rooms--not that you know he is on the other side with a key to yours, of course--and holds back a contended sigh as he watches the red string on his finger twirl and shift with your every movement.

What are you thinking about? He wonders. Are you thinking about how long it’s been since you had a hot shower? Are you thinking about slipping the shampoo bottles into your backpack?

Perhaps more inviting… are you thinking about him?

He knows what’s on his mind, and has been for the last few hours now. You.

What were you like, deep down, underneath your layers and justifiably guarded stance? Maybe you liked to read, maybe you once had a dream of being a dancer before life went to hell, maybe you were shy, maybe you liked to get drunk and sing your favorite songs at full volume.

What would you be like, once you were fully his?

What do you look like, underneath all of your clothing? What has nature and nurture shown fit to bestow upon you, your skin, all those secret places you keep hidden?

The thread bobbles again. Are you stepping out of the shower soon, or still scrubbing yourself? You’re so vulnerable, naked and unawares, just a few feet away from him. The water running is a delicious sound to his ears, because he knows that you’re underneath it.

He imagines what you might look like naked. He imagines what sounds you might make, underneath him, gasping and--

Oh, but he’s getting ahead of himself. He smiles and shakes his head at the rush. He should slow down, yes. Slow down and savor it all.

He clenches both of his hands. In one is the duplicate key, in the other is a syringe. Both go into opposite pockets, awaiting their respective time to shine.

The dress that arrives at your door with a prim knock from a porter is not quite what you expected--which is a relief. You expected the stranger to send up something ridiculous. Something slinky and glittering, maybe with only a half shoulder.

But instead it’s a simple dress with a flared skirt, all made from dark blue fabric. The sleeves are elbow length, the neckline isn’t too low, and there’s a matching black belt to go with it. He’s even sent up a pair of nylons, which are something you haven’t worn since you were a little kid, desperately trying to mimic your mother’s fancy outfits.

He also--and maybe this is overkill--sent up a few pairs of shoes in different sizes, along with a transcribed note instructing you to call the front desk if none of them fit, or simply wear your own shoes if you are uncomfortable with it.

This stranger--Chrollo--is awfully accommodating. And kind. And considerate.

Which is exactly why, when the dress is on and your nylon-clad feet are resting in the shoes easiest to run in, you tuck your switchblade into one of the dress pockets for safekeeping.

Maybe he is just kind. Or he’s one of those people that makes themselves feel better by occasionally being charitable; he’s harboring some sort of guilt that can be alleviated, however temporarily, by buying a person a sandwich or two.

But maybe he’s not. You’ve known people who have been hurt or killed or sometimes worse by so-called charitable people. People that lure you in with showers and hotels, meals and clothing. People that slit your throat before or after they have their way with you.

Life was dark and life was shit, and you weren’t born yesterday. If this stranger had any nefarious intentions, you certainly weren’t going to walk into them like a bleating lamb.

And yet, and yet… some part of you wanted to believe he had good intentions. You’re not sure why, exactly. You weren’t the type to look on the bright side or always see the good in people--or at least, you hadn’t been that way since childhood. Yet something about this Chrollo made you hope that he was a good person. That you’d have a nice conversation and he wouldn’t do anything more than give you a nice afternoon and a place to sleep comfortably for a bit.

It was an almost primal feeling, which made it all the more stranger. Your gut feelings usually told you something like: this place is dangerous, this guy’s probably got a gun, that alley’s too notorious to use as a shortcut.

Your gut didn’t give you silly notions, like wanting to trust someone, hoping they would talk to you during dinner, wondering if they’d be pleasant to be around for longer.

At least, not before today.

“And the lady will have the cailles aux raisins.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“Quail,” Chrollo says, allowing the waiter to take the leather-bound menu from his hands. As if your issue was with the choice of food--okay, you didn’t know what it meant, but still--and not that he ordered for you. “Stuffed with shallots, grapes, liver, and ah, I believe, some cognac, if I’m not mistaken.”

“That’s correct, sir,” the waiter says, not giving you a second glance--you didn’t even get a menu, which irked you, but considering you had nothing to pay with and perhaps the hotel staff knew it, it was a practical snub.

Your lips twist into a frown, although you suppose you can’t complain. The dish does sound good. Not that you’ve ever had quail. But it can’t be that different from chicken. Or duck. You had duck, once, as a kid. Your mother brought you to a hotel just like this for a Mother’s Day brunch and you sat at a table with an embroidered cloth and wore a pair of your mother’s white gloves, so that you would look extra fancy.

“I apologize,” Chrollo tells you. “I should have asked your preference first.” The strangest part is how sincere he sounds, like he really didn’t want to offend you. Like he actually might be interested in what you want to eat. Part of you can appreciate that, and part of you wants to finger the handle of your knife inside your pocket.

“It’s fine.” You shrug it all off. Because you can, and you choose to--but also because you’re famished and the smells wafting from the other tables is enough to make your stomach growl. “People usually don’t order things like this for me, anyway. If they do give me anything.”

Chrollo tilts his head slightly, looking at you like a particularly interesting painting on a wall. “No?”

You smile thinly. “Nope. I’m lucky if I get someone’s leftover fries from a fast food shop.”

“What a shame.” He places both hands on the table, clasping his fingers together. His gaze bores into yours. You look away, briefly, but find yourself wanting to look back. How odd. “I’m sure,” he begins, talking slowly, measuring out his words, “that must be demoralizing--to be treated as lesser-than.”

You can’t help the snort that comes out your nose, or the quick words that follow. “Yeah? And what would you know about that?” Your eyes rake over his outfit, your mind whirls over how much money he’s spent on you alone, as if it was nothing. A drop in the bucket. Some rich man playing with his money. Or daddy’s money, depending on the circumstance.

Of course, you expect him to get offended. You expect him to call you ungrateful and cancel the order and ship you out of here like yesterday’s trash. It wouldn’t be the first time someone has gotten angry that you didn’t play into their savior fantasies. Your muscles even prep to stand, your face goes stony, ready to block the anger that he’ll throw your way.

Only... none of that happens.

His face looks--it’s hard to describe, really. It’s almost like it glitches for a moment, and you see something you weren’t meant to see. You’re not even sure if he realizes it. And then his expression gets so remote and so quiet. He looks away from you for perhaps the first time, looking instead, at his hands.

“I know a lot about that, actually.”

It’s not offense in his expression but… sympathy? No, that’s not it either. You know “sympathy face” like the back of your hand, for all the good it does you.

It’s empathy. Trace, but there. A shared experience between you. Maybe that’s why you’ve felt inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt all day. Why you went with him in the first place, hunger pangs aside.

“So you’ve been…” You begin, but is there a need to finish. He’s been homeless, or something like it. Downtrodden. On the bottom.

He nods.

“Sorry.” The word comes out blurted but soft. Well, I’m an asshole, you think.

He smiles at you, a soft, thin thing--almost like a gloss that covers up his previous expression. “No, don’t be. You had no way of knowing, dear.”

Dear.

The word hangs between you silently, as if it’s being dangled on some sort of invisible string. He opens his mouth slightly--maybe to apologize--but shuts it when you don’t say anything. Instead, he simply blinks, and watches you.

Perhaps a minute ago you might have bristled at the nickname, might have sought to cut it right down, in fact. But for now, you brush it aside. He’s being nice--he knows what you’re going through. And sure, there’s some sort of guilt relief in his actions, but it’s not coming from the place of a rich man making himself feel better. It’s coming, you think, from a place of not just knowing where you’ve been but having been there himself.

Before either of you can speak, the waiter returns with your appetizer and despite the guilt in your gut, your hunger practically sings at the sight of the plate of bread and butter. It’s fancy bread, already cut, gleaming with what smells like garlic butter spread over the top.

The flavored butter is shaped like a rose and it’s only after you childishly dip your bread right into it and take a loud, chewy bite of the delicious goodness that you realize you’ve committed a faux-pas. There’s a tiny butter knife on the plate, obviously meant to delicately smear the butter onto your bread. And here you are, gnawing on the piece like some sort of medieval peasant during a bad harvest.

A pang of shame tingles over you. It’s a silly kind of shame--inconsequential, really. Who cares how you eat bread at some hotel you’ll never step foot in again in your life? But it lingers terribly. Until Chrollo picks up a piece of brand and dips it right into the butter, too, taking a chewy bite with far less graciousness than you imagined with his sophisticated appearance.

“It’s good, isn’t it?” He asks, not even bothering to cover his mouth.

You smile. You almost-snort. And the shame dissipates like ice crystals on a sunny day, as you and Chrollo both finish off the appetizer. He lets you eat more without saying a word, which you appreciate.

There’s a lot to appreciate about him, really. He’s been kind. He hasn’t been terribly condescending, dinner order notwithstanding. And he seems to know how to approach you with actual empathy and not just the sticky, coddling sympathy that most people do.

And you won’t lie--he is nice to look at. He even smells nice, but with the amount of money he had to spend on the clothing he sent up to your room, he can likely afford to buy expensive cologne.

If he notices you staring, he says nothing. Instead, he half-closes his eyes and appears to be deep in thought. Over… you? Or dinner?

He hums a bit under his breath, and you realize: it’s the music. It’s a delicate song being played by a small group of musicians set up on a stage in the corner. It’s familiar… your brain strives to catch up with your ears.

“You like this song?” You ask, because the silence has stretched too long, and the bread is now gone.

Chrollo opens his eyes and regards you with a sober smile. “Yes.” He pauses, then. “It’s--”

“Elgar's Chanson de matin,” you blurt, before he can. “I know it.”

His eyes widen, just a tad. Enough to show that he’s curious. A funny bit of pride thrums through you. It can be retribution for the quail earlier, you decide.

“You’re familiar with his work?”

You feel your cheeks heat up, even though you don’t get the sense that he asked to be cruel. He seems actually interested. Like he wants to know you. It’s nice, and confusing, and a little startling.

You nod, wishing there was more bread to break up the conversation. “What, you think someone like me can’t be interested in classical music?

“Of course not.” He answers swiftly, resolutely.

He reaches his hand towards yours and grasps it before you can think to pull away. It seems silly to yank your hand out of his, so you don’t. Even if the way he looks down at your interlocked fingers makes goosebumps dance up your arm.

His expression is so strange. He looks… lonely. And desperate. And relieved. But why?

Both of your gazes meet for one electric moment and for that moment, you feel like he sees you. And you see him. Not as clearly. But you see something inside him that is not quite on the surface. Something which does make you pull away, but not with distaste. You withdraw your hand from his slowly, like he’s a wild animal that you don’t want to startle.

The waiter, impeccable timing as ever, arrives with the main courses just as your hand makes its way into your lap.

And just like that, the spell is broken. Ripples of water dash whatever it was between you, and he’s speaking charmingly to the waiter, who appears swiftly again with a glass of champagne for each of you. You weren’t intending to drink, but maybe it wouldn’t hurt. It could calm your nerves.

Neither of you talk much for the rest of dinner. It’s not tense, exactly, but you can tell there’s something in the air. Questions unspoken, maybe, or just an awkwardness between two strangers who seem to both understand and misunderstand each other in equal measure.

The hotel’s restaurant begins to thin out after your main courses are taken away. A dessert menu is brought, and Chrollo orders a simple slice of cake for both of you.

Real vanilla bean frosting is on your lips when you ask your question. Quiet, but with most of the other guests gone, he has no trouble hearing it.

“So you were… homeless, before?”

You’re not sure why you need to know this. To confirm that he’s not some rich boy playing with his father’s money? To see how much he can really understand you? Maybe the champagne went to your head. You don’t normally drink, it wouldn’t be impossible.

His fork stalls as the question comes out. He glances up at you and there’s nothing offended or hurt in his eyes. He seems to weigh his answer before he gives it. It doesn’t really surprise you; he could be just as mistrustful of you as you are of him, couldn’t he?

“Something like that.” He rests his fork on his plate. “I suppose you are trying to decide just how much I can sympathize with your… situation.”

Heat floods your cheeks, and you’re grateful the water brought another glass of champagne that you can sip from to loosen the tightness in your chest.

If he notices your flushed countenance, he doesn’t remark on it. You like him better for it. He continues speaking, looking at you with a measured expression. Like before, his words come slowly and carefully, given to you with something akin to grace.

“Our situations were not exactly similar. I don’t find it terribly useful to compare them. Better in some ways, worse in others. Like anything.”

“Better?” You dab at your mouth with a napkin.

“Ah.” He seems to weigh his next words with even more scrutiny before he decides on them. “I had something you didn’t, which surely benefited me.”

“Which was?”

There’s something wistful in his voice now. It makes you lean forward over the table. With most of the other guests gone, it feels strange to talk so openly about clearly delicate matters. Chrollo mimics your lean, and while he doesn’t take your hands across the table into his, you get the feeling he’d like to, if you let him.

“Companionship,” he says simply. The word settles in the air like a brick that seems to land right on your chest. You blink and feel the beginnings of tears in your eyes. You really did have too much champagne, and this is all getting to be a lot. You start to lean backward when he speaks again.

“Aren’t you lonely?”

“No,” you lie. The shock of the question does make you lean back fully. Then, to be spiteful. “Are you?”

He doesn’t answer. He only looks down at his hands and the empty spot where yours used to be, and then back at you.

Nothing more is said on the matter. He pays for the meal and leaves a nice fat tip for the waiter--who has, you think, been lurking nearby either to witness your drama or to make sure no one swipes his tip from the table--before escorting you back to the elevators.

Shame slams back into you while you’re standing in front of the elevator doors.

“I’m sorry.” Sure, he asked it first, but fuck--you hate being rude. If you were rude. It was hard to tell how Chrollo felt about anything. The champagne making your head fuzzy doesn’t help. Not at all.

He tilts his head a little. “What for?”

Your eyebrows furrow together. “You know, for asking… for being…” You wave your hands around a little. It’s too hard to put into words. You’re tired, you feel out of sorts, and you’re tipsy bordering on drunk. You can give yourself some forgiveness in a lack of coherency in this matter, at least.

Chrollo regards you for a moment before he shakes his head, scoffing a little as he smiles.

“For being yourself? Or at least showing some small part of it to me? I don’t mind.” He holds out his arm and you, unsteady champagne fuzz in your head, take it. “I’ll escort you to your room, if that’s all right. I don’t feel comfortable letting you go there alone.”

You should tell him that you’ll be fine. You should. But the champagne in your brain and the way you feel drawn to him--however slightly--makes “should” fly out the window. So you nod and let him lead you into the elevator, where the ride up makes you dizzy enough that Chrollo has to steady you carefully, and you mumble out another apology.

He only chuckles a little and helps you walk out of the elevator without stumbling over the threshold. Your room is just down the hall and he keeps a steady grip on you the whole way, even though you’ve told yourself that you won’t stumble anymore. It feels weird, to have someone so close to you; to smell his cologne and feel the warmth of his skin.

It feels weird, yes, but giddy too. He is handsome. And he did buy you dinner. And clothes. And he’s not as shitty as you thought he might be at first. The way he ate the bread in solidarity with you earlier--you can’t forget that, can you? It was… cute, even. If someone like Chrollo could be called cute.

Is it the champagne, the newness of this stranger-but-not-entirely, the rich disarmament that comes with a full stomach and freshly washed face? All of the above? Whatever it is, it’s got you thinking too much about Chrollo as he gently takes the key from your hand and opens your hotel room door.

A gentleman, he only sees you just inside before taking his leave, promising to meet you for breakfast in the morning--if you’d like.

You would like, you tell him, and the door shuts and locks swiftly afterwards. Chrollo’s cologne lingers in the air, or maybe it rubbed off on you from all the steadying he had to do.

The hotel room is just as you left it. Clean and pristine, smelling vaguely of lemon. Your duffel bags and personal belongings are shoved in the corner. Maybe you’ll try to read one of your books tonight, before you sleep? It would be the first time you read on an actual bed in ages. Maybe you could even call for room service? A little midnight snack? It’s not like Chrollo would mind, or at least, he probably wouldn’t. It’d be something small anyway, nothing wild.

Unless you wanted a bubbly nightcap.

Full of ideas, you take your giddy champagne self back to the bathroom to change into pajamas that he sent up earlier, humming Elgar’s Chanson, thinking about bread and quail and… Chrollo. The knife in your dress pocket gets left on the bathroom counter. It was silly to bring it, now that you think about it.

Still humming, you flop on the bed and grab the menu for room service. It wouldn’t hurt to order some extra dessert. And another glass of champagne. Maybe two…

You’re so out of sorts that at no point for the rest of the night, before your weary head hits the soft pillow, do you stop to wonder how Chrollo knew your room number.

There are few things Chrollo truly regrets in his life. One of them, he knows, will be that he couldn’t plant himself in this town for a few months in order to properly court you; to introduce you, gradually, to the concept of nen. To the knowledge that you were his soul mate.

But it can’t be helped. He has to leave tomorrow night, come hell or high water. And he certainly won’t let you drown here a moment longer. It’s for your sake. You’ll come to realize that eventually, just as you will--in time--come to forgive him for what he must do.

You’ll no doubt regret letting down your barriers in the morning. But if you hadn’t been so keen to trust in someone, to trust in him, then he wouldn’t have gotten to see something of the real you underneath all of that built-up survival instinct. And didn’t you see something of him, too? He thinks you did. Just a moment, a spark, but it was there.

You sweet thing. He could hear you humming through the door earlier; heard you order room service (champagne and desserts) and he regretted not having Shalnark swoop in during dinner to set up some security cameras.

The key to your room feels heavy in his hand. On this side, he is simply himself, staring ahead as the red thread of his soulmate leads away from him. But once he turns it into the lock and quietly opens the door, there will be nothing between you but sleep.

He opens the door and relishes in the way the thread sags even further downward. If only you could have seen how beautiful the thread looked during dinner, all tangled up as he clasped your hand in his. That’s how the thread was meant to look. Not tight and taut and unforgiving.

You’re fast asleep when he silently enters the room and unlocks the deadbolt so that Shalnark can help him remove you from the premises. Curled up underneath the covers, you look like you’re in bliss. It’s likely the first restful sleep you’ve had in a long time. Months? Years?

How awful for you, to wake up tomorrow and realize that you’re no longer in the hotel bed. And that he’s the one to blame for it. How awful for him, too, to lose his grasp on the tentatively pleasant and revealing evening you had together. But he doesn’t think you’ll be empathetic on that matter. Not for a while, anyway.

He sits down on the bed next to you and it takes a considerable amount of self-control not to curl up against you. It’s not worth the risk of you waking, although the tranquilizer in his pocket could be jabbed into your thigh early, if need be.

Besides… you’ll have a lifetime of nights together after this.

There’s no need to rush what is finally his to keep forever.

#yandere chrollo #yandere hunter x hunter #chrollo x reader #yandere #yandere chrollo lucilfer #afterwitch writes

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gainercontent · 6 months ago

Text

The Naughty List - Part 1

It was Christmas Eve, and 20-year-old Jason Price was in his usual rebellious mood. As the snow fell gently outside, blanketing the small suburban neighborhood in a layer of white, Jason lounged on his couch in a dark hoodie, earbuds securely in place, blasting music that was anything but festive. The rest of his family had gathered in the kitchen, baking cookies and humming carols, but Jason wasn’t having any of it.

For years now, he'd grown cynical about Christmas. The magic he once believed in had been replaced with indifference and apathy. He hadn't cared about Santa Claus in ages, and to him, the holiday was just another marketing ploy to make people buy things they didn’t need. He never cared for the usual Christmas cheer—family gatherings, gift exchanges, the whole “being together” thing. In his mind, the whole season was just one big commercialized joke.

To make matters worse, Jason had learned that he was on Santa’s naughty list this year. Not that he cared; he’d long stopped worrying about whether or not he got presents. His rebellious nature had only grown over the years, and he wore it like a badge of honor. Sure, he’d gotten a few reminders from his parents, and even a half-hearted lecture about “the Christmas spirit,” but he had rolled his eyes and shrugged them off. If Santa didn’t like it, well, that was his problem.

The house was quiet, except for the sound of Christmas music drifting from the kitchen. Jason scrolled through his phone, avoiding the festivities and ignoring his family’s attempts to engage him. His mom had baked a fresh batch of gingerbread cookies, filling the house with the sweet, warm smell of cinnamon, nutmeg, and molasses. But Jason wasn’t in the mood for any of it. He wasn’t interested in the cookies, the hot cocoa, or even the Christmas tree standing tall in the corner of the living room, its lights twinkling with innocent holiday joy.

He tossed a glance toward the window. The world outside was still, save for the occasional flurry of snowflakes that danced in the light from the streetlamps. Everything felt like it was frozen in time, caught between the present and the past, and Jason couldn’t shake the feeling that he didn’t belong in this world of traditions anymore.

Suddenly, a strange noise broke his focus.

**Thud.**

It wasn’t the sound of a car driving by, or even the wind against the windows. It was too heavy, too deliberate. Jason sat up, pulling out his earbuds and staring at the ceiling as the sound came again.

**Thud.**

A faint rustle, like something—or someone—was shifting on the roof.

Jason furrowed his brow, rubbing his eyes. What the hell was that? He’d heard noises on the roof before—possibly squirrels or the occasional raccoon—but this was different. The thuds were slow, steady. Almost rhythmic.

**Thud. Thud.**

He shot a glance at the clock. It was well past midnight. His parents had long gone to bed, and there was no one else in the house. It was just him and the sound of whatever was walking—or stomping—on the roof.

Jason got to his feet and cautiously moved toward the window, pulling back the heavy curtains just enough to peer outside. The yard was still—no one was out there. The sky was dark and clouded, and the only light was from the moon reflecting off the snow. He listened again, straining his ears for any sign of movement, but the thudding had stopped.

Confused and a bit unnerved, Jason shook his head. "Stupid raccoons," he muttered under his breath. He was about to turn away when a faint, sweet scent reached his nose.

The smell of freshly baked cookies.

It was the same warm, spicy smell of his mom’s gingerbread cookies. But it wasn’t coming from the kitchen. Jason’s eyes widened as he looked toward the staircase. He could smell it more strongly now, wafting down the hall.

“Mom?” he called, but his voice was hoarse from sleep, barely a whisper.

No answer. His parents were definitely asleep—he would have heard them if they were up. Still, Jason’s feet moved almost on their own, pulling him into the hallway, the smell growing stronger as he passed the kitchen and toward the living room. But the cookies... weren’t coming from the kitchen. They were coming from the fireplace.

His breath caught in his throat. The fireplace.

He hadn’t noticed it before, but now that he was paying attention, it was almost as if the whole room seemed... different. The Christmas tree lights were flickering in a way that made him feel dizzy. A low hum seemed to fill the air, almost like a song playing beneath everything else.

Jason took a hesitant step toward the fireplace. The hearth was cold, empty—nothing unusual. The chimney was clear, but that strange scent—those gingerbread cookies—lingered in the air like an invitation.

He was about to turn away when, out of nowhere, there was a loud **CRASH** from the roof.

This time, it wasn’t a thud or a rustle. It was a full-on slam, followed by the unmistakable sound of footsteps—big, heavy boots thumping down onto the chimney.

Jason froze. This wasn’t a raccoon. Or a squirrel.

Suddenly, the air in the living room grew thick with a strange energy, and the lights flickered once more before going completely out. For a moment, the house was plunged into darkness. Jason’s heart raced as he stood there, his pulse pounding in his ears.

Then, from the other side of the room, there was a noise—a deep, heavy breath, like someone exhaling after a long day of hard work.

Jason’s stomach dropped as he realized: something—or *someone*—was in his house.

He didn’t have time to react before the sound of boots against wood echoed down the stairs. A heavy, jolly laugh filled the space, reverberating in the room.

“Ho, ho, ho!”

Jason’s mind went blank. He couldn’t believe his ears. Standing in the doorway, just beyond the shadows of the hallway, was a large figure dressed in red. A thick, snowy white beard covered his face, and his eyes twinkled in a way that made Jason feel as though he was staring at something from a dream.

There was no mistaking it. It was Santa Claus.

The old man looked at him with a knowing smile. “Well, well, well, Jason Price. You’re still awake?”

Jason could only stand there, his mouth hanging open. His head spun, trying to make sense of what was happening. “Santa...?” he managed to stammer.

Santa chuckled, adjusting the massive sack over his shoulder. “I see you’re on my naughty list this year, young man. But don’t worry, I’ve got something special for you.”

Before Jason could say another word, Santa reached into his sack and pulled out a plate of warm, freshly baked cookies. The same ones that filled the house with their intoxicating scent. He held them out to Jason, his eyes twinkling with a mix of mischief and understanding.

"You’ve been a little too rebellious, haven’t you? Maybe it’s time to find some balance."

Jason stood there, speechless. A thousand thoughts raced through his mind, but one thing was clear: this wasn’t the Christmas he’d been expecting.

With a deep breath, Jason took the plate of cookies. As he did, he realized something—the world outside, the cold, snowy night, and the strange magic filling his house, felt like a new beginning. Maybe being on the naughty list wasn’t the end of it all. Maybe, just maybe, there was something to be learned about Christmas after all.

Jason stood in the middle of the living room, still in disbelief at what was happening. Santa Claus, the jolly old man in red, had just handed him a plate of fresh gingerbread cookies, their spicy scent filling the room and tantalizing his senses. It didn’t seem real—none of it did. But there was Santa, smiling knowingly at him as if he’d been expecting Jason all along.

“Go on,” Santa said with a twinkle in his eye. “Try one. It’s part of the magic, you know.”

Jason hesitated. His stomach, still a little uneasy from all the holiday food he’d already eaten, growled at the prospect of another treat. But despite himself, the cookies looked too delicious to pass up. He picked up one of the small, perfectly shaped gingerbread men, still warm from the oven.

Santa leaned back slightly, his large belly shaking as he chuckled. “Ah, don’t worry, they’re not just cookies. They’ve got a little bit of magic in them. And trust me, they’ll change things for you.”

Jason raised an eyebrow, looking down at the cookie. The idea of magic seemed ludicrous—he wasn’t a little kid anymore, after all. But the cookie smelled so good, and for some reason, he couldn’t resist. He took a bite, letting the sweetness wash over his tongue. The spices, the warmth, the soft crumble of the cookie—it was like nothing he’d ever tasted before.

At first, there was just a sense of satisfaction. A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he chewed, feeling the holiday warmth spread through him. But then, something strange happened.

A **tingling sensation** spread from his stomach outward, radiating through his limbs like a wave of warmth. Jason froze, feeling a strange tightness around his waist. His jeans, which were already snug after a day of indulgence, suddenly felt even tighter. His stomach rumbled—not from hunger, but from something else, something *different*.

He looked down in disbelief, his hand instinctively reaching for his midsection.

Jason blinked, his breath catching in his throat. He could feel it—his clothes were tighter, the waistband of his jeans digging into his belly, and his shirt was now stretching across his chest and stomach. He hadn’t imagined it. It was real. He’d just gained weight. Right there, in the span of a few seconds.

Santa, who had been watching him closely, broke into a warm grin.

“Magic cookies,” Santa explained, his voice as jolly as ever. “Each one makes you gain 10 pounds. I can see you’re starting to understand the magic now.”

Jason’s mouth went dry. “Wait... what?” He stepped back, his mind racing. “You mean... this is real? I just gained 10 pounds in like... a minute?”

Santa chuckled heartily, his belly shaking. “Indeed. Those cookies are no ordinary sweets, my boy. They come from the North Pole, crafted in the heart of the workshop, and they’re a part of my gift for those on the naughty list.”

Jason’s mind was spinning. "But why? Is this your way of punishing me?"

Santa waved his hand dismissively, his eyes gleaming. “No, no, it’s not about punishment. It’s about balance. You’ve been living with too much stubbornness, too much defiance. These cookies are a way to teach you a little lesson about... well, about how good things can come from unexpected places.”

Jason stared at him, still not fully comprehending what was happening. His belly was already feeling heavier, the pressure of the extra weight making him uncomfortably aware of his body. He could feel it in his limbs, in his posture—the slight shift in his center of gravity, the tightness of his clothes.

“So... every cookie I eat—what, I get fatter?” Jason asked, incredulous.

Santa gave him a knowing look. “Not just fatter, my boy. You gain weight in a way that mirrors the choices you make. Each bite reflects the way you approach life, and how much you’re willing to let go of your pride, your ego, and embrace something a little more... *sweet*.”

Jason looked at the plate in his hands. The other cookies were so tempting, so warm, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to keep going down this strange, magical rabbit hole. He’d already felt the effects of the first bite. His jeans were visibly tighter, the waistband straining against the added weight. He could feel his stomach protruding a little more, his face flushed as he glanced at Santa in confusion.

“Don’t worry,” Santa said softly, as if reading Jason’s mind. “You don’t have to eat them all at once. But you should know—you *will* feel the effects. If you keep eating, your body will change. But it’s your choice, Jason. You’re not forced to indulge in the magic if you don’t want to.”

Jason swallowed hard, looking down at the cookie in his hand, then back up at Santa. There was something undeniably *inviting* about it. He wasn’t sure why, but it felt like the right thing to do in the moment. Maybe he could let go of his defiance, even if just for a while. Maybe he could try something new, something he’d never considered before.

“Just one more,” he muttered to himself, almost against his better judgment.

Santa gave him an approving nod. “Ah, good choice. A small step toward a new understanding. Go ahead.”

Jason, a mix of curiosity and temptation swirling in his chest, picked up another cookie. This time, he didn’t hesitate. He bit into it, feeling the warmth and the magic all over again.

Almost immediately, the tingling sensation returned, this time more intense. His stomach seemed to expand as if it were a balloon being inflated. His pants, which were already tight, seemed to fit even more snugly around his hips. His chest felt fuller, as though his body were adjusting to the new weight with an almost *unnatural* rapidity.

He wasn’t sure if it was the magic or his own choices catching up with him, but as the pressure in his belly increased, Jason could only stare at Santa with wide eyes.

“Okay, that’s... that’s enough,” Jason said, trying to steady himself as his balance shifted. But even as he spoke, the strange sense of satisfaction grew stronger. He felt fuller, heavier, but oddly more *content* than he’d ever felt in his rebellious, defiant existence.

Jason looked down at himself. He didn’t know how much weight he’d gained this time, but the sensation was undeniable. He couldn’t ignore the tightness in his shirt or the weight of his stomach. It was clear that he was becoming a different version of himself with every bite, both physically and, in some strange way, emotionally.

“You’ve learned a lot tonight,” Santa said, his voice kind but firm. “But remember—there’s always room for change. Christmas can be magic, but only if you let it.”

Jason stared at the remaining cookies on the plate, still warm and tempting. His stomach was already uncomfortably full, and he could feel the pressure in his waistband increasing with every passing second. He was getting heavier, and each bite seemed to make the weight more apparent, pushing against his clothes, straining his chest, and making him feel like his body was no longer his own.

He looked up at Santa, who was watching him with that infuriatingly knowing grin, as though he’d anticipated Jason’s every move.

“I think I’m done,” Jason muttered, trying to push the plate away. The first two cookies had been enough—too much, in fact. He was starting to regret even eating the first one, feeling the weight settle around his stomach and chest. But the strange part was... he didn’t *hate* it.

His belly groaned beneath his shirt, a reminder of the two cookies already devoured. It was so full now that the idea of eating any more seemed impossible. Yet, there was something about the air in the room that made him hesitate. It was as if there was an invisible pull toward the cookies, a magnetic force he couldn’t quite explain.

“No more cookies for me, Santa,” Jason said firmly, setting the plate on the coffee table, but even as he spoke, his stomach rumbled loudly, almost as if protesting his decision.

Santa chuckled softly, stepping forward with a gleam in his eye. “Oh, Jason. I think you *might* be mistaken.”

Jason's brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

Santa placed a finger on his chin thoughtfully. Then, in a flash, he poked Jason’s belly—just a light tap, right on the soft, bloated area just below his ribs.

**Poke!**

Jason gasped. The instant Santa’s finger made contact with his stomach, a strange sensation flooded his body. His belly seemed to *deflate* for a second. It wasn’t just that the pressure lessened—it was like the food had disappeared. The bloating, the fullness, it all seemed to vanish in an instant, leaving him feeling... strangely empty.

And then, the hunger hit.

A powerful wave of gnawing emptiness swept over him. His stomach growled, louder than before, a deep, almost painful rumble that seemed to echo in the quiet room. Jason’s eyes widened in shock as the hunger intensified, his gut aching with the need for more food. The pangs were so loud, so insistent, that they drowned out everything else around him.

Jason's hand went instinctively to his stomach, clutching at the fabric of his shirt as if he could somehow keep the sensation at bay. But the hunger didn’t stop. It was as if his body was screaming for food, his insides hollow, desperate for more.

“What the hell—?” Jason breathed, his voice shaking.

Santa just watched him, still grinning, his arms crossed over his chest. “I warned you, Jason. Every bite of these magic cookies does more than just fill your stomach. It changes how you feel. It alters your desires. And now... you can’t stop. You *need* another bite.”

Jason’s hands trembled as he looked at the plate, the third cookie sitting there innocently, just waiting for him to take it. His mind screamed at him not to do it. He didn’t want to eat another cookie. Not now, not after what had already happened.

But the hunger... the gnawing, relentless hunger in his gut... It wouldn’t stop. His body wanted it. Desperately.

“No...” Jason muttered, shaking his head. “I don’t need another cookie. I *don’t*.”

But the moment he said it, the hunger seemed to intensify. His stomach growled so loudly it nearly rattled his ribcage. The pressure returned in full force, and before he knew it, Jason was hunched over, clutching his stomach as if he could somehow stop it.

Santa watched him for a moment longer, his eyes full of knowing mischief. “I think it’s time for the third one, Jason. The hunger can’t be ignored, no matter how much you try.”

Jason’s resistance was faltering. He didn’t want to eat, didn’t want to give in to this strange magic. But his body was betraying him. He was too hungry, too empty, and the cookies were too close.

In a moment of weakness, Jason reached for the third cookie. It felt like an almost automatic response, his hand moving before his mind could even catch up. He didn’t want to, but his body needed it. Desperately.

Santa’s grin widened as Jason took the cookie and, without a second thought, bit into it.

As soon as the warm cookie hit his tongue, Jason could feel it—more than just the sweet flavor. His body reacted instantly. The warmth spread through him like a shock, and that empty sensation he’d felt only moments ago vanished, replaced with an overwhelming fullness. But this time, the fullness was different. It felt deeper. He could feel his stomach stretching, his pants tightening around his waist, and yet... it wasn’t painful. It was almost *comfortable*, in a strange, indulgent way.

Jason’s shirt grew tighter as he chewed, his chest expanding slightly with every bite. He could feel the extra weight settling on his body, his stomach swelling visibly beneath his shirt. With each bite, it was like he was ballooning outward, the weight accumulating rapidly.

He didn’t even notice how much he’d eaten, how much his body had changed until he looked down. His stomach, already soft and heavy, was now noticeably larger, pushing against the waistband of his jeans. His shirt strained to cover the growing mound of flesh beneath it, and the tightness in his pants was unmistakable.

Santa observed the transformation, his eyes gleaming with approval. “There it is, Jason. Just let go. Embrace it.”

Jason’s hands gripped his belly as if to hold the weight in place, but it was no use. He had given in. The hunger had won.

But something else was happening now. Jason felt a strange, euphoric warmth spreading through his body. It wasn’t just the cookies that were filling him; it was the feeling of *acceptance*. He could almost hear the soft hum of magic surrounding him, as though the cookies had done more than just make him fat. They had somehow made him *feel* full—complete.

Jason swallowed, feeling the heaviness in his stomach, and for the first time, he felt something that wasn’t just hunger or defiance. He felt... *satisfied*.

Jason had barely finished the third magic cookie when he felt an overwhelming shift in his body. At first, it was subtle—just a slight tightness in his stomach, like it had been stretched to its limits. But it didn’t stop there.

The first thing Jason noticed was the pressure around his midsection. His jeans, which had already been snug before, felt almost painfully tight now, digging into his waist. His stomach, once slightly bloated from the previous cookies, had ballooned out significantly, pushing against the fabric of his shirt, the soft fabric straining to contain his expanding form.

His chest had broadened too, his ribcage seeming to expand with every breath. As he looked down, his belly had swollen outward, a soft but firm mound of flesh that jutted noticeably past his waistline. The buttons of his shirt were pulling at the seams, and the waistband of his jeans was digging into his lower belly, the skin a little pink from the pressure. He could almost feel the weight accumulating beneath his hands as they hovered over the growing mass.

Each intake of breath made him acutely aware of how much he had consumed, and the feeling of fullness washed over him in waves. His belly had become an undeniable presence now, a heavy, rounded expanse that clung tightly to his body. It was as if every inch of his skin was occupied by this new weight, the feeling of it seeping into his legs, his arms, his chest. He wasn’t sure how much he had gained in total, but it was clear that his body had changed significantly with each magical bite.

But as he sat there, dazed from the strange magic, he realized that the hunger still hadn’t fully left him. His stomach rumbled again—louder, deeper than before. It was like a growl that reverberated through his entire body, leaving him feeling *empty* despite the vast amount of food he’d just consumed.

And then, before he could even process what was happening, Santa raised his hand with a knowing smile. The plate of cookies seemed to levitate, the two remaining gingerbread men sliding across the table toward Jason.

Jason blinked. “Wait, what?” he said, still reeling from the effects of the last three cookies. But it was too late—the cookies were already in his hands, as if they’d been beckoned by some invisible force.

Santa's voice was calm, his tone warm. “You didn’t think it would stop at three, did you, Jason? The magic works in ways you can't predict, but now that you're here, it's almost a part of you. Go ahead... just one more bite.”

Jason’s hands trembled as he held the cookie in front of him. The pressure in his stomach was intense, a reminder of the weight he was already carrying. The thought of eating another one should have made him want to stop, but that gnawing emptiness still lingered in his gut, an insatiable, magnetic pull. His eyes traced the cookie’s edges, the sugary glaze gleaming in the soft glow of the Christmas lights. It was impossible to ignore.

Without fully realizing what he was doing, Jason took the first bite of the fourth cookie. His body immediately reacted, that same sensation flooding through him—the warmth, the magic, the sense of immediate satisfaction, and yet, at the same time, a deepening hunger.

His stomach seemed to lurch, pushing outward with the added weight. The softness of his belly was now undeniable, the expanse of flesh that had once been confined beneath his shirt now visible as it pressed outward, expanding beneath his hands.

Santa watched him, still smiling. "The magic doesn’t just fill you—it *changes* you, Jason. Every bite is a step toward something new. Something different.”

Jason couldn’t speak as the second cookie was placed into his hands. This time, he didn’t hesitate. He bit into it almost greedily, as if his body needed it. The flavor hit him all at once—spicy, sweet, with a warmth that spread from his mouth to his belly.

And as soon as the cookie entered his system, he felt the unmistakable weight of it.

His belly, already massive from the previous cookies, grew further—his stomach expanding with a slow but undeniable pressure. The tightness around his waist was almost unbearable, the waistband of his jeans digging in, as if threatening to burst. His shirt stretched across his chest, pulling tight over the soft, swollen mound of his stomach. The feeling of fullness had become almost overwhelming, as though his body had reached its absolute limit.

And yet, it wasn’t over.

Jason felt a deep, parched thirst suddenly wash over him. His throat felt dry, his mouth cottony. The hunger had finally receded, replaced by an almost desperate need for something to drink.

Without thinking, Jason reached for the glass of whole milk Santa had left on the table. The cool, white liquid seemed like the only thing that could quench the fire in his throat.

He brought the glass to his lips and began drinking, each gulp feeling like it was soothing something inside him. The cold milk seemed to settle in his stomach, cooling the heat from the cookies, and for a brief moment, he felt a little relief. But as he drank, his stomach continued to react to the magic in his body.

The pressure inside him was no longer just physical. His body was growing heavier with each swallow, his stomach expanding and stretching with the milk, the cookies, and the magic working its way through him. The fullness in his body wasn’t just in his belly anymore—it was in his arms, his legs, his chest. Jason could feel the weight of it spreading through him, sinking into his bones, his skin. He was *growing* with every bite, every gulp.

The milk, thick and rich, slid down his throat easily, but with every swallow, he could feel the weight of the magic pushing him further, making him feel more bloated, more *filled*. His body felt like it was expanding not just with food, but with *everything*. The magic was seeping into every part of him.

Finally, after Jason finished the milk, he let the glass slip from his hand. His stomach was so full now that it felt like it might burst. He leaned back into the couch, the weight of his belly pressing against his legs. He was *huge*—his shirt now clung to his swollen stomach, unable to cover the full expanse. His pants, once comfortably snug, now felt like they were cutting into his flesh. The waistband dug painfully into his soft belly, the fabric stretching in ways it wasn’t meant to. He couldn’t even move without feeling the tightness, the heaviness in every part of him.

Santa watched all of this unfold, a satisfied look on his face. “You’re learning, Jason. The magic isn’t about controlling you; it’s about showing you how to embrace what’s already inside of you.”

Jason could barely focus on Santa’s words, his mind fogged by the overwhelming sensation of his body. His stomach was so distended, so *full*, that all he could do was sit there, helpless against the pull of the magic. The once rebellious, defiant Jason had surrendered to it, his body irrevocably changed, his appetite insatiable.

Jason let out a loud, unintentional burp as he leaned back into the couch, the pressure in his overstuffed stomach making the sound escape from him. It was so loud, so sudden, that it echoed in the quiet room, a perfect, embarrassing punctuation to the magical meal he had just consumed.

"Excuse me," he muttered sheepishly, though a part of him was too full and too dazed to really care about the manners he normally would’ve worried about. His stomach was so large now that the idea of sitting up or moving was almost laughable. Every inch of his body felt stretched, as though he was on the verge of bursting from the sheer volume of food he had taken in.

Santa chuckled at the sound, an amused glint in his eyes as he looked at Jason’s swollen form. The old man’s gaze shifted down to Jason’s belly, now a soft, round mound pressing against his shirt. It was clear that Jason had eaten well—too well—and now, he was feeling the full force of that magic.

Jason sighed deeply, rubbing his hands over his belly as it grumbled, still not fully content despite the massive intake. It wasn’t just a growl anymore, it was an ache—one that he couldn’t ignore, no matter how much he tried to distract himself.

"I’m... I’m going to go back upstairs to bed," Jason muttered, his voice thick from the fullness in his stomach. He could feel the weight of the cookies pressing down on him, and though he had no desire to move, he knew he had to. His body felt like it had been stretched to its limits, and sleep seemed like the only reprieve from the intense pressure he felt within.

Santa grinned, watching Jason shift uncomfortably on the couch. "You’re going to need a little more than just bed to recover from all this magic, Jason."

Before Jason could protest, Santa’s gloved hand reached out and poked Jason’s bloated stomach lightly. The action was playful, but the effect was instant. Jason gasped, his belly jumping at the poke, a shudder of sensation running through him. The pressure that had been building seemed to momentarily *shift* as his belly responded, like a balloon inflating and deflating under his shirt.

“Alright, alright, I get it,” Jason said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I’ll try to be better next year. But… can I just go to bed now? I feel like I’m going to explode.”

Santa stood up, his merry eyes twinkling as he patted Jason gently on the belly, a soft tap that felt like the final nudge to keep him in place. “You’ve done enough, Jason. Just remember—next year, you’d better be on the nice list if you want to avoid more *magic cookies*. The world can only handle so much Christmas spirit, you know.”

Jason gave a tired but sincere nod, rubbing his now-aching belly. “Yeah, yeah… I’ll be good, I promise.”

With that, he pushed himself slowly to his feet, feeling the weight of his stomach shift as he stood, and made his way toward the stairs. Every step was a little slower than usual, his body heavy, swollen, and full. But it was Christmas, after all. He had indulged in the magic, and now, all he wanted was to sleep it off.

Before he disappeared up the stairs, he turned to glance back at Santa, who was still standing by the tree, watching him with that playful smile.

“Merry Christmas, Jason,” Santa said, his voice full of warmth.

Jason nodded, a smile tugging at his lips despite the discomfort. “Merry Christmas, Santa. And… thanks for the cookies.”

Santa’s eyes twinkled, his voice low and full of mirth. “Don’t mention it, kid. Just remember, no more naughty behavior next year.”

Jason was already regretting every bite as he made his way up the stairs. It wasn’t just the slow, lumbering pace of his steps, but the deep, weighted feeling of his body. Every movement felt heavier, every step more sluggish than the last. He had never felt so *slow* before. His legs seemed to protest with each step, the weight of the magic cookies settling into his body like a dense, unshakable fog.

Fifty extra pounds felt like a mountain on his frame—his stomach, still swollen from the five cookies and glass of milk, jutted out in front of him like a balloon. It was soft, round, and *massive*, and with every step he took, it seemed to pull down on him, making his movements even more labored. His shirt stretched uncomfortably across his chest, and his waistband was cutting into his belly, the fabric straining against the sheer size of him.

By the time he reached the top of the stairs, Jason was panting, exhausted from the simple effort of going up. He stopped in front of the bathroom mirror, his reflection hitting him like a slap.

The sight of himself was almost foreign—his once lean frame had been completely transformed. His belly now looked like it was carrying a small beach ball in it. His shirt clung tightly to his swollen gut, the fabric stretched to its limits. Jason’s chest had widened as well, and his arms, once muscular but lean, now seemed thick and heavy, filled with the extra weight that had accumulated over the course of the night. His pants, which used to fit comfortably, were now pinching at the waist, the fabric pulling tight against his thickened thighs and hips.

Jason stared at himself for a moment, taking it all in. His face looked rounder too, a soft flush of color on his cheeks, as if the weight had even settled there. His lips parted, a silent exhale escaping as he looked down at his bloated belly once more, still feeling the pressure build, almost as if he had more room to grow. The fullness inside him was so intense that he could hear his own stomach growling softly, even though he knew he couldn’t possibly eat another thing.

“God, this is insane,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head. The discomfort was real, but so was the strange sensation of satisfaction—like he’d just indulged in something he couldn't control. Magic had a way of making everything *feel* so much more intense. And now, he had no choice but to live with the results.

With a sigh, Jason turned away from the mirror, giving his stomach a gentle rub as if comforting the weight inside him. He felt his body shift, a slight jiggle in his belly as he moved toward his bedroom. It was impossible to ignore the strain on his clothes, or the constant pressure on his stomach, but there was nothing he could do about it now.

He collapsed onto his bed, the soft mattress groaning under his new weight. The cool sheets felt nice against his warm skin, but his stomach was too tight, too swollen to allow him to get comfortable. He shifted a bit, but his belly was so large now that it wouldn’t let him relax fully.

Just as he was about to close his eyes and try to forget about the strange night he’d had, a familiar scent wafted through the room. It was faint at first, but unmistakable—the sweet, warm smell of freshly baked cookies. Jason’s eyes popped open, his heart skipping a beat.

“No way…” he murmured, lifting his head from the pillow to sniff the air more intently. The scent was drifting in from somewhere. The familiar, inviting aroma of gingerbread, sugar, and spice. It wasn’t just in his mind, he could *smell* it.

Jason groaned, his stomach grumbling again, this time from something more than just fullness. It was that same deep, empty hunger he had felt earlier—magically induced, of course—but it was so overwhelming that he almost couldn’t fight it. His body *wanted* more.

His eyes darted toward the door, half-expecting Santa to appear, carrying another plate of magic cookies. He could already picture them—those warm, sugary treats, the kind that filled him with a sense of indulgence and the promise of more weight, more fullness.

The thought alone was enough to make him sit up, but the pressure in his belly made him stop. He didn’t know if he could take more, but the smell—*oh, the smell*—was so tempting, so irresistible.

He groaned and turned over onto his side, clutching at his belly, trying to settle himself down. *Not again,* he told himself. *I’ve had enough for one night.*

But the scent was still there. Faint, but lingering. And Jason realized, with a sinking feeling, that no matter how much he tried to ignore it, that magic had already sunk deep into his bones. It wasn’t just in his body—it was in his mind too.

With a frustrated sigh, Jason closed his eyes again, trying to push away the hunger, the pull of that magic.

But somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that the next time he smelled those cookies, he might not be able to resist. The thought made him shudder, even as he drifted off to sleep, his body still heavy and full, his stomach aching from the weight of what he had already consumed.

Part 2 will be posted on December 25th

#belly gainer #male gaining #gaining kink #christmasgains

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chantersboard · 5 months ago

Text

Lovely To Sleep With You

Word Count 5.8K. Joel Miller x f!reader. Immediately follows Lovely To Be Rained On With You but can be read alone. After getting caught in the rain and seeking shelter in a cabin, you fall asleep in Joel's arms only to be forced awake to a horrifying sight. We learn how Reader and Joel met and Ellie's there too.

Warnings: MDNI 18+, post-outbreak, canon-typical violence, smut, fingering female receiving, oral female receiving, finger sucking, unprotected piv, creampie

a/n: once again I am publishing this despite feeling it is not polished enough but I'm tired of it sitting in the drafts lol. Thank you in advance for reading, liking, and reblogging, it really means a lot. #chantersboardwritessometimes for other written stuff

Can be found on AO3 if you'd prefer to read it there

Lovely To Sleep With You

The dangerous torrential storm has finally weakened to typical bad weather. Rain batters the cabin, its weathered roof leaking and forming puddles on the dull and damaged flooring. The room is heavy with moisture, filling the space with musty air. The insistent wind shakes the windows and whistles through small opened spaces.

Night had descended. Yesterday’s crescent moon was gone and replaced with utter darkness. The heat of the day was gone too, causing a chill in the air.

You lay against Joel on the old, sagging mattress with your cheek against his chest. You are both dressed only in your undergarments, your wet clothes scattered around the cabin with the hope they would dry by morning. Despite your bare body pressed close against his warmth, a shiver runs through you. Joel rubs a rough hand over your thigh and drapes your leg over his waist, pressing you even closer to him.

“I can start a fire,” he says tiredly, thinking of breaking down the old furniture for firewood. You lift your head and press a kiss to his neck. Your hair, still damp from the trek through the rain, brushes against his shoulder. A pang of guilt washes over him. He should do more to make you comfortable.

“We shouldn’t risk it,” you say, yawning as you return your head to his chest to listen to his beating heart.

Joel tightens his arms around you in response. He hadn’t seen signs of raiders or infected around, but you were right. There was no need to call unnecessary attention to yourselves.

You sit in silence with Joel’s chest rising and falling beneath you as his palms mindlessly rub patterns on your skin. He marvels at how soft you feel against him. His hand runs down your spine, over the curve of your behind, then over your thigh. Your body fits so perfectly against his. Why had he waited so long for this?

Why had you?

“When did you know?” he asks, his hands finding their way back on your waist.

You lift yourself up to look Joel in the eyes. “When did I know what?”

He places a warm hand on the back of your neck and rubs small circles with his thumb. Joel always had a hard time expressing himself. He had an even harder time getting others to express themselves.

“When did you start…” he pauses, mulling over his words while he commits your face to memory. Your confusion is still evident in the way your eyebrows scrunch together. Your lips are slightly parted and he swallows at the recollection of those lips pressed against his. You are so beautiful, he thinks. Really? Why had he waited so long? He decides to just blurt it out. “When did you start likin’ me?”

Your beautiful lips curl into a smile before emitting a soft giggle. The sound fills his chest with a lightness he hadn’t felt in a long, long time. You return to your spot on his chest, your sleepy eyes falling shut. “The first night we met.”

Joel is caught mid-yawn by your confession. “Seriously?”

“Mmm-hmm,” you mumble, already drifting off to sleep. “‘member that night?”

Joel closes his eyes, the exhaustingly long day catching up to him. “Yeah, I do.”

----

Ellie drags her feet, her worn sneakers picking up the dry dirt and leaving a plume of dust behind her. The sound of the coarse ground crunching underneath her is deafening in the quiet of the cool night.

“Ellie!” Joel scolds. It’s been fifteen minutes of nothing but the maddening noise.

“Joel!” The teen says back with a wag of her finger, her tone seeping with mockery.

Joel inhales deeply and takes a moment to compose himself. “Lift. Your. Feet.”

Ellie pouts. “But I don’t wanna trip again,” she whines. “It’s so fucking dark. Can we stop for the night? Please?”

Joel looks down at her. He could see in her posture that she’s tired. Truth be told they have been walking for some time, but the landscape had been mostly barren and too exposed. Joel felt it was unsafe to settle here.

“Just a bit longer,” Joel reassures. He points to a lone, single story house in the distance, the only appropriate shelter he could see. “We’re almost there.”

Ellie straightens her back, lifts her feet, and quickens her pace. “Good. I’m exhausted.”

---

Joel is already armed with his pistol when they walk across the porch to the front door of the house. Ellie stands behind him, her hand fisted around a blade, ready for whatever may be behind the door.

Joel wishes this wasn’t second nature to him. He hates that it’s second nature to Ellie. The hypervigilance, the violence, the terror. None of this should be normal.

Joel turns the door handle with ease and pushes the door open. He raises his pistol as he crosses the threshold. He quickly scans the room for danger but only finds a dusty living room. It’s obvious the place was picked through and deserted long ago. Drawers are left hanging out of a desk against the wall, a pile of books rests near an overturned bookcase, shards of a broken mirror shine against the moldy, old carpet.

He walks through the house with Ellie a safe distance behind him, while room after room is searched and found just as empty as the one before. He glances at her when there’s only one room remaining, its door nearly closed against the frame. Ellie tightens her grip on her knife and gives Joel a nod before he nudges the door open with his foot.

“Don’t come any closer!”

Joel instinctively pushes Ellie back as he looks across the room and sees you.

———

You’re sitting on the floor by a small pile of pillows, a threadbare blanket is puddled by your feet. Your bloody hands shake as they hold a gun pointed at Joel’s chest. Despite the fear that tightens your throat, you square your shoulders. You stare at the man, stare at the gun pointing back at you.

He takes you in, his eyes looking past the barrel of the gun and towards your blood soaked arms. He can see where tears have left streaks down your dirty and bruised face. He looks into your wide eyes and sees the panic there. He’s all too familiar with that panic.

“We mean no harm,” he says, making no attempt to lower the muzzle trained on you. “We were only lookin’ for a place for the night.”

You say nothing. Too afraid to talk, too afraid to do anything at all.

“We’ll leave,” he takes a cautious step back. “We’ll find somewhere else.”

You watch him take the girl’s hand as he takes another step back. The gesture is protective and filled with care. It makes you envious. How lucky is this little girl to have someone protect her? He pulls her behind him, keeping the line of your gun only on him. You look into his eyes and in that moment you think he might be just as terrified as you are.

“Wait,” you whisper, lowering your weapon. You can let them go. You should let them go. In this world one wrong decision is the difference between living and dying. But something about them feels right. Something about them feels safe.

You point your weapon to the side and pull the trigger. The gun clicks, the firing pin striking against nothing. There’s no ammo. You haven’t had ammunition in weeks. With the charade of force exposed, you chuck the useless weapon aside.

“It’s not loaded,” you say, hoping your intuition was right, hoping this man shows you mercy. The pair stand still, neither advancing or retreating. You can tell the man is calculating the situation, weighing all his options as his eyes flit between the discarded gun and your open bloodstained palms. You try to push the scale in your favor.

“There were awful men around here before.” You wipe your hands on your thighs attempting to rub away the gore. “Were,” you emphasize. “You should still stay here. It could be dangerous out there.”

His eyes narrow. “It could be dangerous in here,” he says, but you notice the subtle change in the way his shoulders have relaxed.

You shake your head. “I don’t think you believe that.”

“Maybe I could be dangerous,” he says, his hostile words softened by the lilt of his accent.

You pause, looking him over. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up, exposing muscled forearms and clean hands. The hair that curls around his ears leads to a strong jaw cushioned by a closely cut beard. Despite the scowl etched into his face his brown eyes are warm and soft.

“I don’t think I believe that.”

You watch each other, seconds ticking by with nothing said. In the far distance the distinct screech of a clicker rings out. You raise your eyebrows in a silent statement: See? It is dangerous.

“I’m Ellie.” The girl still guarded behind the man says. She ignores the man’s grunt of protest and peeks her head around him. You give an encouraging smile and she steps beside him. She places a hand on his wrist and lowers his gun. “And this is Joel.”

You nod your head and introduce yourself. “Nice to meet you,” you say, and you truly mean it.

A moment passes while Ellie looks at your arms. “Shit. That’s a lot of blood,” she says. “Are you hurt? We have bandages--”

“That’s enough,” Joel pulls the girl behind him again and motions down the hall. “Go out there.”

“But Joel--”

“Go. Now.”

In a huff Ellie turns on her heels and heads down the hall. Joel returns his attention towards you. With his fingers still wrapped around his gun he gestures down at you.

“People did that to you?” he asks. “You hurt?”

You shake your head understanding what he is truly asking. Are there bite marks underneath all of that? Are you infected?

“No, I’m not hurt.” You close your eyes and visions of your struggle with two raiders earlier in the day flash behind your lids. The memory turns your stomach. “I ran into some men that thought I’d easily give up my supplies.”

Joel nods but you can still sense his hesitance. “You’ll have to forgive me for not bein’ so trusting.”

“No, I understand.” You eye the gun in his hand and try once more to gain his trust. “You can check me for marks if you want.”

When his expression doesn’t change you take a deep breath and unsheath the knife from your belt clip. You handle the flat sides of the blade, still stained with blood, and offer the handle to Joel. “If it makes you feel any better you can have this too. It’s all I have.”

Joel looks at the knife and considers it. He wonders if any of this is worth the trouble. Surely he and Ellie could find somewhere else to rest. They didn’t need to stay here. They didn’t need to share space with a stranger. But then he looks into your eyes and finds sincerity there. He couldn’t remember the last time he saw genuine sincerity. With a sigh he shoves his gun into the holster on his hip and closes the distance between you. He gently pushes the knife back towards you and with a grunt he lowers to his knees.

“The girl out there? She’s very important.” Joel pauses as he looks down the empty hallway. “To me,” he adds.

You slide your knife back into its spot on your waist. “She looks like a good kid,” you tell him.

“She is,” he says and when his attention is returned to you there is a ferocity in his eyes. “I will do anything to protect her. You understand? Anything. ”

You swallow dryly and weakly nod, accepting the threat hidden in his words.

“Hey, Joel. You wouldn’t believe what I found!” Ellie comes down the hall, grinning from ear to ear, with a large bowl in her hand. “There’s a real life well in the back! You know, the kind you gotta pump and water comes out?”

“Yeah, I know the kind,” Joel says with a laugh as she places the bowl down between the two of you.

“I got some water in case you wanted to clean up.” She produces a clean piece of cloth and offers it to you. You hesitate to take it, somewhat in awe at her generosity. She really is a good kid.

Joel takes the fabric from her and motions out the door. “Go settle in. We’re leaving soon as the sun is up.”

Ellie waves her hand in a salute. “Yessir,” she says and marches back down the hall.

Joel dips the cloth into the bowl then squeezes some of the water out. “I’m gonna take you up on that offer to check you… just to be safe.” He waits for your hum of approval before he continues. “But I’m gonna clean your face first, while the water’s clean.”

You sit a little straighter and prepare for this stranger to touch you. “Yeah. Okay.”

Joel slowly raises the rag to your face and gently presses it against your cheek. The water cools your skin as droplets trickle down your neck. Joel takes his other hand and cups your chin, holding your head in place as his hand glides across your face.

His hands are large, so much so you nearly feel engulfed in them, but it surprises you how delicate he is. He moves smoothly, only applying enough pressure to loosen the dirt on your skin. He softly swipes the cloth underneath your eye with his thumb, not pressing too hard into the bruise that is blooming there.

He continues on, dunking the rag into the bowl and cleaning spots of your body with gentle, small circular movements then checking for abrasions. You watch him as he works, noticing the specks of gray in his beard and the broken face on his wristwatch. Your eyes follow the slope of his nose up to where his brows are furrowed in concentration. You notice his own face is covered in dirt and you recognize he smells of campfire smoke and sweat and greenery.

You wince when he brushes against your injured knuckles. “Sorry,” he whispers as he soothingly rubs your hand before continuing to scan your skin.

“I thought you were with them,” you suddenly say.

Joel pauses a moment to look you in the eye. “Hmm?”

“The men from earlier? The men I had to…” You leave the rest unsaid as you shake the thoughts out of your head. “I thought maybe there were more of them and they were coming back to kill me.”

You can feel the tears beginning to well in your eyes. You have lived in this terrible world for years but nothing prepares you for the grief and anxiety that comes after you’re forced to take a life. Nothing prepares you for the fear that crushes your soul.

Joel drops the cloth into the bowl and the displaced water splashes onto the floor. His features have softened, the look of concentration replaced with sorrow. He almost whispers when he asks, “was that your first time?”

You blink and the tears roll down your cheeks. “I’ve killed many of those things but actual humans? I’ve never needed to do that before.”

Joel considers you lucky. It isn’t safe outside the QZs. Hell, it isn’t safe inside the QZs, but out here it’s different. Wilder. Thugs, thieves, the demented. They roam this land freely and do as they please. It’s a wonder you’re just now experiencing this. But Joel remembers the first time he killed a man. He remembers the first time someone died in his hands. He sympathizes with you.

“It might not be tonight,” Joel says, swiping away one of your tears. “Or maybe next week, or next month. But one day this feeling won’t be so crippling. You do what you gotta to protect yourself and the ones you love. Ain’t no shame in that. That’s just how the world is now.”

You nod as you take in his words. You do what you gotta to protect yourself and the ones you love. Joel takes your hands in his and gives a comforting squeeze. It’s the first time in a long time someone consoled you. The warmth from his hands travels up your arms and settles in your chest.

“I think I’m done here. I don’t see anything.” He lets go of your hands, taking the warmth and comfort with him, and takes his time to stand up. “I’m gonna check on Ellie, make sure she’s alright.”

He heads out into the hallway but stops under the frame of the door. “I, uh… I don’t know what you’ve got going on but we’re headin’ west. You’re welcome to join us. If you want. Maybe use that gun to scare off some other poor fool?” He asks with a chuckle.

You laugh, your cheeks heating from his jab at you. “Yeah. I would like that.”

----

Joel’s yelling wakes you with a jolt. Again, he calls for you from somewhere within the cabin, his voice tense and worried as your name leaves his lips.

You rub your tired eyes, having barely slept. The cabin is still dark, the sky is still the color of coal, the rain is still pattering outside. You sit up in the bed, your pupils slowly adjusting to the darkness. Then, finally, your eyes widen at what you see.

Across the room stands a man, the barrel of his handgun pointed at Joel. Joel’s hands are raised in surrender as he stands between the two of you. The man’s clothes are soaked through, his wet stringy hair clings to his face. He looks sickly with a pallid face and an unsteady stance revealing a weak and tired body. But it’s the handgun steadily pointed at Joel that is most worrisome.

“Joel!” You breathe, your hands instinctively reaching to your side for the rifle that usually dangles there, only to grab at nothing. You look past the intruder to where your weapon rests against the wall near the open door where you left it earlier.

“It’s okay,” Joel reassures, turning slightly to look at you. His bare chest rises and falls quickly, his obvious worry betraying his calming words. “It’s okay,” he repeats.

The man erratically waves the gun. “Make her get up!” he shrieks. An alarmingly inhuman sound rattles in his chest as his body shivers. “Make her open the bag! I want the bag!”

The man points to Joel’s backpack slumped against the bed. Inside are the medical supplies that are much needed back at camp where Ellie waits for you. Some very good people could use those supplies. It’s unfortunate, but this man already seems too far gone to have any use of them.

You slowly shuffle towards the side of the bed, hesitating to get to the pack. “We can help you,” you manage to say despite your tight throat. “Just put the gun away.”

“Shut up! Shut up!” He takes a step to the side to get a better look at you, his gun following you across the bed. He eyes your barely clothed body and a look akin to lust twists in his wretched face. Joel places himself in front of the man again.

“Ay!” Joel yells to grab his attention. “Keep that thing on me.” He takes a small step towards him. “What do you need?”

The man wails, his skin looking even more sallow than it did only moments ago. “Sweater... sweater! It’s so cold, so cold…” His mind seems to fog as he curls his arms close to his chest. Joel inches closer before the man’s concentration returns, drawing his weapon forward again. “No! Water! I need water!”

You sit on the edge of the bed, your fingers digging into the mattress as fear beats in your chest and cements your feet to the floor. Joel stands tall, strong, and commanding but you worry nonetheless. What would you do if something happened to him? How could you explain to Ellie that something happened to him? The man slowly tilts his head, his eyes beginning to go glassy.

You have never seen it personally but you have heard stories of when people turn. They get volatile as they teeter between living and not quite dying. There is a short moment, before the infection takes over, before the animalistic urges and increased strength and stamina come forth, when the person is vulnerable. But at each stage the person can still transmit their infection, each moment must be handled with caution.

“Water,” the man softly repeats. He lets out a slow, sorrowful moan, his body quickly losing its battle with the infection.

“I have some right here…” Joel says sweetly. He takes another step, coming within feet of the other man. “Right… here…”

In a flash Joel bounds forward, startling the man to attention. He grabs for the weapon but not before a shot is fired. You wince, closing your eyes and covering your ears as the loud sound amplifies off the walls in the small space. After a moment, when the shock has subsided, you jump to your feet and turn towards the scuffle.

All you can see is a tangle of bodies as Joel wrangles for the gun. You look at him, trying to see if he’s been hit, searching for any injury, but they move too swiftly, you can’t see a thing. Joel pummels the man with his fists, shoving him closer to the door as he does so.

The man howls, the noise completely devoid of humanity.

They are near the threshold of the cabin when another shot rings out. The sound startles you, your panic increasing, as your ears ring. You move forward. You need to help Joel. You need to make sure he’s okay. You only need to get to your gun.

“Stay there!” he yells before you can advance any further. Joel has the man by the collar, and is pushing him through the doorway, darkness swallowing them as they tumble outside.

You stand there frozen, your ear facing the door as you strain to hear something, anything, other than the rain. It’s only then that you notice the stream of blood trailing out the door.

Your eyes follow the path, starting at the scattered droplets that increase into an unbroken line of crimson. You take cautious steps forward, your eyes beginning to fill with tears at the thought of this blood being Joel’s.

He is not hurt, you force yourself to think. He cannot be hurt. Since the day you met him he has been your source of stability and security. He has been your savior and your sanctuary. You can no longer envision a life without him. And now that your relationship has progressed, now that he has touched every inch of your body and you have felt every inch of him, you don’t want to think of a life without him.

You amble over to the bay window, your mind racing with horrible thoughts as your chest tightens. You lean into the windowed space, your knees knocking against the wood, straining your eyes to see through the darkness and through the rain. He is out there and you need to find him.

Just when you set your mind on grabbing your rifle and braving the blackened woods in search for him, Joel steps through the door. You pause, your breath caught in your throat as you take him in. His hands are still curled into fists, his dampened body glistens from the rain, but otherwise, he appears unharmed.

“Joel?” You whisper, your tears finally breaking through and falling down your cheeks.

His face softens when he looks at you, his hands relax at his side, the tension in his shoulders loosens. “Sweetheart,” he says, his accent a sweet song to your ears.

In a few paces he is quickly in front of you. He cups your face with both of his hands and uses his thumbs to wipe away your tears. You wrap your hands around his wrists. You need to touch him, you need to feel that he’s here.

“Are you hurt?” You ask, scanning his body for injuries.

“I’m fine. He didn’t get me.” He catches a falling tear with his finger. “I’m more worried about you.”

You sigh, pressing your face against one of his hands, the roughness of his palm grounding you. “I’m okay.”

Joel stares at you, weighing your words against the traces of dread that still lingers on your face. You do what you gotta to protect yourself and the ones you love. He pulls you in closer and presses his lips to yours.

You kiss him back, relief pouring over you knowing that he is alright. Your hands move to his chest, your fingers gliding across his wet skin as the kiss deepens. Joel’s hands leave your face to grab your waist where he pulls you close to him. His body heat envelops you as you moan into his mouth.

You love him, you think. You love this man and wish to be here in his arms for the rest of your life.

Joel breaks the kiss. “I’m glad you're okay,” he whispers against your lips.

You press your fingers into his chest, enjoying the feeling of the hair under your touch. You listen to the rain beat against the roof. “I love you,” you admit.

Joel smiles, the corner of his eyes wrinkling as he quickly responds, “I love you, too.”

And then his mouth is on yours again, hungrier this time, as his tongue pushes past your lips. He grabs handfuls of your behind and pulls you into his hardening crotch. You moan again as you rub yourself against him, feverish with the need to feel him.

Joel’s own fiery need to feel you has him unclasping your bra and freeing your breasts. He takes one in each of his large hands and gently pinches your nipples. Your back arches into his grasp, the sensation sending ripples of pleasure throughout your body. You lean back, lowering yourself onto the seat of the bay window, and push your chest forward.

Joel lowers his face and brings a pebbled peak into his mouth. His tongue dances across your nipple before he softly nips at it. You inhale sharply at the gentle pain and run your hands through his dark hair. Your breathing turns ragged when his mouth moves to your other breast, his tongue so warm and wet against you.

You rub your thighs together attempting to calm the ache that has been building there. Sensing your desire, Joel’s hand finds its way between your legs. You open yourself for him, moaning his name as his fingers drag across your panties, his fingertips finding you’ve already soaked through them. He moans against your breast as he pulls the fabric to the side and teases a finger between your lips.

“Already so wet for me,” he rasps as he looks up at you. His eyes are dark with desire. He watches you as he pushes a thick finger into you. Your walls tighten around him but your wetness allows his finger to smoothly continue on. “Look how fuckin’ wet you are.”

He begins to pump his finger in and out of you, your pleasure increasing each time he slips back inside.

Joel licks his lips. “I think there’s room for one more. But first…” Joel pulls his finger out of you and you whine at your emptiness. He wraps his fingers around the band of your underwear and pulls them down your legs. Once you're freed of the undergarment you spread your legs wide for him, pleading for him to return there.

Joel lowers himself between your legs. “What a beautiful pussy,” he whispers, running a finger across your slit. He places a soft kiss on the inside of your thigh. Then turns his face and kisses the other. He leaves a trail of kisses on your thighs, each time reaching closer and closer to where they meet.

You whine again, your desire for him breaking you apart. “Please, Joel,” you beg. “Please.”

“Beautiful, needy, pussy,” he says before his broad tongue licks up your slit and settles on your clit. You moan loudly as he sucks on your bud and slips two fingers back inside you. He hooks his fingers upwards as he pulls his hand out and slams it back in again.

Your eyes close as the pleasure builds. The tip of his tongue circles around your clit and you gush around his fingers as they piston in and out of you. “Oh, Joel,” you cry and he continues, mercilessly, sucking on you and pressing against that soft spot inside you until your pleasure peaks and you fall apart under him.

Your fingers tangle in his hair as your orgasm plows through you. You grind your hips into his face, riding every wave until they settle into gentle ripples. Once the tension in your body has relaxed, Joel presses a quick kiss on your clit and slowly pulls his fingers out of you.

Joel rises and brings his fingers, wet with your arousal to your mouth. “See how fuckin’ good you taste,” he says and you part your lips. He slips his huge fingers into your mouth, coating your tongue with your own release. You suck around him, massaging his fingers with your tongue until they’re clean.

“Good girl,” he purrs as he pulls his fingers out of your mouth. He leans in, his hard cock in his boxers rubbing against your mound, and brushes his lips against yours.

You wrap your arms around his neck, locking him in your embrace. You move your hips against his, demanding to be filled again, demanding the length of him.

Joel tuts. “Still needy?” He pulls down his boxers and lets them drop to his ankles. He takes himself into his hand and slowly pumps himself. Precum pools at the tip then slides down his thick shaft. He brushes himself against you, teasing your entrance with the tip of his cock and smearing your wetness onto him.

“Goddamn,” he whispers, lining himself at your opening. “So fuckin’ messy.”

Joel slowly pushes himself inside you, savoring the feeling of your tight walls making space around him. You gasp, tightening your grip around his neck as your body accommodates his girth. He pauses when he’s fully sheathed in you, his breathing already ragged.

“Goddamn,” he repeats, then slowly, inch by inch, he pulls out only to push back in just as slowly. Again and again he slips in and out of you, taking his time as he does so.

His pace is maddening. The slow strokes leave you wanting more. Deeper. Harder. Faster.

You wrap your legs around him. “Joel…” you don’t even care that you’re whining. “Fuck me. Faster. Please.”

Joel reaches a hand between you and softly caresses your clit with a thick finger. Stroke by stroke he increases his pace, snapping his hips deeper and harder into you.

“This what you want, sweetheart?” He asks as the room fills with the sound of his body colliding with yours.

“I…” Your thought melts into a moan as Joel increases his speed. He’s so big inside you, stretching you wide open while his finger remains between your legs. With each swirl of his digit you clench harder around him, your second orgasm approaching even quicker than the first.

“You what, baby?” Joel asks as he plants kisses along your face. He snaps his hips into you, the thickness of him splitting you in two. “You want to cum again for me, hmm? Let me feel this beautiful pussy tight on my cock?”

You attempt to answer, willing your mouth to form coherent words but all that spills out is a strangled moan. A satisfied smile spreads across Joel’s face.

Your fingers dig into his skin. “Yes!” you gasp between moans. “Yes Joel, make me cum again!”

And that’s all the motivation Joel needs. He grabs your legs, moving them until your ankles are pressed against his shoulders, positioning you so that his strokes are deeper. He slides in and out of you faster and faster, each stroke filling you completely.

You love him. You love him and you love how he knows your body. He knows how to angle his hips so that the length of him pushes against that soft spot inside you that leaves you moaning and breathless.

“F-fuck,” you gasped between deep breaths. Your pussy squeezes around his cock, sucking him in, pulling him in closer to his own climax.

“Yes, baby,” Joel groans as the head of his dick pushes deep into you. His rhythm is faltering, he’s close to coming. “You take my cock so well. Your fucking pussy is squeezing me. Gonna make me come deep inside you.”

You fingers deep into his skin as your body tightens. He continues.

“Go ahead, sweetheart. Let it go. Come with me. I want to feel this pussy squeeze the cum out of me. Can you do that for me? Can you cream on my cock?”

You nod weakly, your mouth agape in pleasure as the tension in your core finally snaps. You come again, your core holding tight to Joel’s cock as he continues to drill into you. In a few pumps he’s right behind you, his moans echoing through the cabin as he stills inside you and comes. Rope after rope of his cum spills inside you. His load coats your walls, mixing with your own arousal until your spent hole is leaking.

Joel remains like that for a while. His dick softens inside you while you both catch your breath. The rain patters against the window behind you.

You reach up and press a hand against his face, feeling the roughness of his beard beneath your fingers. “Don’t you ever scare me like that again,” you say, the fear from earlier renewing within you.

Joel pulls out of you and your empty pussy weeps with your combined release. He lowers your legs and bends down to press a gentle kiss against your lips.

“I can’t promise that,” he says, always pragmatic. “But I can promise to fight with everything I have to keep you safe so that I can come back to you.” He kisses you slowly, deep, and lovingly. “I love you and I will always come back to you.”

You look up into his brown eyes and pray he is telling you the truth. You can’t imagine a life without him. You extend a pinky finger into the air. “Promise?” You ask and wait for his response.

Joel smiles, the happiness glistens in his eyes as he hooks his pinky against yours. “Promise.”

#joel miller fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fic #chantersboardwritessometimes

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ruesol · 9 days ago

Text

Push & Pull | inbox (1)

(SUKUNA X READER)

PLOT:

You often find yourself complaining to your pen pal about the annoying IT tech at your soul-sucking corporate job. If only you knew that they shared the same identity beyond the screen.

or: the “You’ve Got Mail” au

MASTERLIST

You’re a mess when you tumble out of the elevator, your feet wobbling because of the forsaken dress code for women that requires them to wear heels. The umbrella that you accidentally ripped a hole in is dripping water everywhere, because by some misfortune, you had unknowingly thrown out its cover along with the rest of your ex’s stuff that was rotting in the back of your closet.

The price you had to pay for deep cleaning your house on a weekday was that you had to look like a complete trainwreck in front of your coworkers the next day.

Nothing seems to be going your way lately. You had accidentally added salt instead of sugar to your coffee earlier this week, had to stay past five by yourself twice in a row, and had ripped your stocking in the middle of an important meeting.

“Looking sharp,” Sukuna remarks as he walks past you with the rest of your department in tow. Shoko and Suguru throw sorry looks your way as they continue conversing with him about some show they all like. Scoffing at his attitude, you pull yourself together, throwing your broken umbrella away in a nearby trash can. You could simply buy another one at a nearby convenience store after work.

Sukuna’s attitude towards you, though? Not something that can be replaced easily. It’s been foul since you started working at the company, and you have no idea why. It’s a shame, though, if his personality were as good as his looks, you would’ve asked him out despite your lack of confidence. A man too strapping to look twice in your direction.

Your coworkers aren’t seen anywhere when you make it to your desk. You don’t blame them. There were still ten minutes till the clock struck nine, so most of them usually hung out by the IT office, which happens to be on the same floor, and right by the break room. After graduating and getting your first real job, you realized there wasn’t much difference between high school and an average corporate office. There was still a hierarchy and a system of popular kids and average Joes. A frustrating but true fact. Being a corporate slave wasn’t much different than being a loner. Well, save for the days on when you’d hang out with your coworkers after overtime.

The moment you sit, your chair lets out an odd squeak like it’s already exhausted when the day has just begun, much like you. A few heads turn, and you look down at your desk to not garner any more attention than you already have.

You slowly blink at the email login screen, but instead of entering your password, you open an incognito window and enter an archaic website’s name.

www.anonpal.com

And instead of your company’s domain login page, your computer loads an old-fashioned website. Something like Windows XP or a government services website where the icons for options like ‘log in’ and ‘forgot password’ still had a sheen designed on them.

You enter your corny little username (orchid27–named after the first thing your eyes landed on while you were signing up) and password. You don’t realize it until your joints ache, but you were crossing your fingers, hoping that he was online for a chat, all with giddy knees bouncing with your shitty faux leather heels.

But the little grey dot next to his name lets you draw a sigh instead. So you leave him a short letter venting about the little things that make your life shittier than it already is.

———

Dear ceos4unions,

I know it’s been a week, and I’m sorry for leaving you hanging. I should’ve given you some kind of warning, but honestly, life has just been incredibly shitty to me lately. It’s not even lunchtime, and I’ve embarrassed myself in front of my coworkers.

Today was just another one of those days where everything that could go wrong did go wrong. It’s the little things that tip the scale, you know? (like accidentally mixing salt instead of sugar in your coffee)

Hoping that your week isn’t soggy and is going way better than mine,

–Orchid27.

———

You had no idea who you were sending these emails to. It could be a chatbot on the site whose sole purpose was to keep it alive for all you knew, but it was cathartic to just word vomit to him. He claimed to be a man living in the same city as you. You answered your part, but refrained from going further, stating that the anonymity was comforting, to which he agreed with no protest, doing the same himself.

It felt like throwing words out into the void, knowing that nothing was going to come back to bite you over them. A sense of safety in the unknown.

You had found the website on some shady forum after your ex had left you feeling absolutely debilitated after cheating on you. Nothing gave you the same comfort you’d get when you’d see the little green dot blinking on the screen or receive a notification with a cheerful ‘You’ve got mail’ jingle. Friends had recommended different shrinks, workout classes, and whatnot, but for some strange reason, the only thing that had finally brought you out of the pits of depression was exchanging letters with a stranger.

You had a hard time trusting people. Talking about your feelings just didn’t come as easily to you anymore (not unless it was with ceos4unions). The mystery helped you cope with the fact that there wouldn’t be any consequences.

Before you know it, lunch hour rolls around. You roll your chair a few inches away from your desk, and it makes that loud creaking sound again. This time, all eyes are on you. To escape the weird stares, you trudge to the break room, where unsurprisingly, Sukuna is already slacking off.

You instantly notice his sharp gaze on you, which already makes you want to shrink into a sad little puddle on the ground. But alas, you can only feel sorry for yourself for so long, so you walk to the coffee pot for some much-needed caffeine.

“Sorry, got the last cup,” Sukuna snarked when you noticed the empty pot.

“You could’ve at least made a new one,” you say with an exasperated sigh as you open the cabinet. However, seeing that the coffee beans hadn’t been restocked was just your luck. “Are you kidding me?”

You glare at Sukuna, and he simply stares out the window. “I hope you know this breakroom is meant for the accounts department.” You know your attempt at confronting him with facts is useless. Everyone loves him too much. He makes Shoko and Suguru laugh as they share the same humor, he lends Kento his car occasionally so they get along just fine, and Choso is his best friend from college.

“Yeah, but unfortunately for you, I’m an honorary member.” He shrugs. The red coffee cup with the Zenin group logo looks comically small in his hands. All he needs is to take one big gulp, and the drink would finish.

Shoko walks in with Suguru, and they frown when they notice the empty pot. “Ugh, not now. I’m going through serious withdrawals. Feel like I could fall asleep any second,” Shoko groans as she leans on Suguru’s bicep.

“Well, Sukuna took the last cup, so what can we do?” You roll your eyes as you walk to the pantry, surprised to find that there’s only one snack left, and it just happens to be your favorite. “We’re out of snacks, too,” you point out as you tear open the packet. You feel Sukuna’s gaze flit to you, but as soon as you catch it, he looks back at Shoko.

“Well, I guess we know who we’re sending for a coffee run today,” Suguru announces with a firm tone. All three of you look at Sukuna, and he rolls his eyes.

“Fine, but I’m taking her with me,” he says as he points to you. Your eyes widen as you scoff at his condition. “And why would I join you?”

“Because I can’t carry all those drinks alone,” he says in a ‘as-a-matter-of-fact’ tone.

“Really? You have all those muscles and can’t carry a few twelve-ounce cups?”

“It’s because I don’t wanna spill them, but thanks for noticing my muscles.” You want to roll your eyes back into your head as your cheeks burn with a temperature that could rival the Sun’s. “You’re paying,” you grumble.

“Of course I am. I make more than you,” he smirks as he walks out the door. You look at your phone, hoping that time has gone the least bit faster since you entered the room.

It had only been ten minutes. Down to the company cafe you go.

—

It was hard not to be the center of attention when you were standing next to Sukuna. The man was the definition of the perfect bachelor: handsome, smart, has a great income, and towering height. He had everything most men sought to achieve. You were pretty sure you’d heard a rumor going around that Sukuna owned an Aston Martin. It wouldn’t seem that hard to believe it. He looked perfectly suited to have one.

When you finally state your order to the barista, Sukuna scoffs with amusement. “Make that one 16 ounces,” he says as he hands over his card.

“What was that about?” you asked as you both walked out of the line and towards the pick-up station. You’re finally noticing a lot of things about Sukuna that you otherwise wouldn’t have cared about because you had a boyfriend before.

Like the way his glasses have an expensive brand’s monogram engraved on the temples, or how his chest slightly strains against his navy blue shirt. Unlike you, he wears a smart watch which shows that he’s already burned off a few hundred calories today. He leads a life different from yours. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t like you as much as the other coworkers.

“I mean, if you’re gonna die, why not go all out?”

“I’m not as smart as you, so you’re gonna have to be a little more clear,” you sarcastically reply.

“Four pumps of syrup? Really? Does the idea of having clogged arteries turn you on or something?”

You chew the inside of your cheek before you dig your phone out of your pocket.

“What are you doing?” Sukuna asks, an amused smile on his face as he watches you closely. His gaze feels like a spotlight, making your fingers tremble as you unlock your phone.

“I’m not gonna die by your hands. I’m gonna return what I owe for the coffee.”

“I’ll just return the money to you. I can’t let the golden opportunity go,” he teases, and for a second, you feel like you see his canines grow, turning his smile into a wolfish grin. His eyes habitually fixate on you like you’re his prey. You don’t need your anxiety adding on to it by staring at him continuously, so you turn away, choosing to stare at the barista who was now making your drink. One pump, two pumps, three pumps, four pumps. All the syrup dripping down the walls of the plastic cup had quickly pooled at the bottom.

“Whatever. I’ve had a shitty week so I deserve at least one good thing,” you mumble, more to yourself than to him.

It was not like making conversation with him had any real direction at all. For him, it was always about running in circles or catching you at dead ends. For you, it was all about getting him off your tail, like holding your pigtails together so the bully wouldn’t tug on them during recess.

When you both go upstairs, all your coworkers are overjoyed to see the drinks in his hand (turns out the fucker can hold the drinks by himself). You quietly grab your drink as you shuffle away to your desk, the ache in your back decreasing by an increment when you get back into your bubble.

When Sukuna gets together with your coworkers, the group is bound to get loud. You look over your shoulder and notice just how much he preens when he gets attention. You think of him as a pompous peacock, trying to do odd mating dances to attract his mate, and snicker to yourself.

And once again, you notice that he is the complete opposite of you. No wonder you both butt heads so much.

–

Your superior had dumped a few last-minute reports on your head right when you were finally looking forward to getting out of your tight work clothes. When the files hit your desk, you wish to hurl them at his head instead, but instead, you smile because the extra overtime pay would really help you.

Also, because you’re still new at the company, you couldn’t get too comfortable with refusing extra work when you were just a rookie.

You go to the washroom to freshen up before leaving. The veins in your eyes were getting more prominent by the hour, and you needed a splash of cold water to give you that last bit of energy to put yourself through the gruesome hour-long train ride back home. You want to shriek at the sight in the mirror–unkempt hair, eye bags, and dry skin. It’s hard to be kind to yourself when life keeps kicking you in the gut with different problems like student loans, high rent, and the indignation of taking public transport. Add a shitty coworker to the mix and you’ve hit the jackpot for modern day struggles.

You think the day cannot get worse when you see heavy rain blurring the view outside, but when you walk to your desk, you’re surprised to find an umbrella sitting on your desk. There’s not a drop of water on it, like it had been drying since the morning. You assume that possibly one of your coworkers might have left it, but the thought is diminished when you remember that Nanami and Choso carpool, and Suguru and Shoko have their own cars.

Maybe it’s the universe’s way of saying that life can be kind after all. So you silence all doubts and click the ground-level button in the elevator, with a new umbrella in hand.

TAGLIST : @numblytemporary @sttaejoon-blog @gojoscumsluttt @lik0 @sukubusss @cherryredkissez @fushiguroooozzz @curlsnchxos @toffeebrat @lazypostfandomer @ttrinity @abbyy54 @poopooindamouf @veluoriaaa

#jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #sukuna x reader #sukuna fluff #sol ecrit #jjk sukuna #sukuna #sukuna ryomen #sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna smut #ryomen sukuna smut #ryomen sukuna fluff #sukuna x reader smut #sukuna x reader fluff

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 24 days ago

Text

As I wind down the pines 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, grief, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Left alone after the death of your grandparents, you must survive the remote backwoods.

Characters: Bucky Barnes

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

The sun peeks through the fluttering leaves, shadows rippling overhead. You shiver against the large oak knees bent, arms around your legs, woozy with the ache of your stomach. Those acorns only made you feel sick.

You need more than nuts and half-grown mushrooms. The trap you set didn't get you anything but a toad and you're second-guessing not boiling it up in a stew. You rub your eyes and let your head fall into your hands. The forest floor shifts. You can't stay out here much longer.

It takes a while to find your strength. You press your palms to the rough bark and slowly scale up to your feet. You sway and drag your feet through the twigs and soil. You stumble into a white birch.

You trail your fingers up and peel a strip off. You yank it and tumble into the dirt. Your fingers are raw from the effort. You can boil the bark and make a stew. Your grandmother would gather the same bark but used it more as seasoning or to bulk out a heartier mix.

You work at stripping away more bark. It won't be much but it's something. You tuck it into the loose pocket of your grandfather's jacket. He has no use of it anymore. You shouldn't need it out in the sun but you can't stop shivering.

You plod down the slant of the forest floor and stop. This is the wrong way. You blink and turn. You've never been lost in these woods before. You grew up here, you know it like you know your reflection, but you're lost. You close your eyes as you try to chase away the pulsing behind them.

Another deep breath. You think you know that elm. Right around to the east is the shell of Chester's mill. Your grandfather told you about the old man that once owned it. He called him a curmudgeon with too much to say.

There's the old fence post but it's no longer crooked or lonely. There are new slats hammered in next to it, secured with cross bars. You slip and dig your heels in. The old mill is not what you remember. The hanging door is back in place and the gate has been replaced with a stronger one. The shed shows signs of repairs in its mismatched boards and the mill house is surrounded in scaffolding.

The house looks best of all. The cracked windows are replaced and there's a lone chair on the porch, reinforced so it no longer dips. Someone's moved in but no one ever comes all the way up here. They only leave, in a coffin or otherwise.

Change. Things aren't like they were. They won't be. They can't.

There's a scent on the air that draws you. One you should have filling your nose in the mornings and simmering from the oven at night. The fresh, delectable waft of a tomato vine.

There isn't thought in your head as you advance across the long strands of glass. There is only the clenching in your stomach and the slickness on your tongue. You see no life as you approach. You stop at the gate and wait.

The windows shine in sunlight but curtains within keep the haze without. You search through the fog of hunger for a threat. There's only a squirrel skittering along the top of the fence, likely on a mission for its own harvest.

You slip your hands between the high slats and feel around. You flip the inner latch and the hinges give. You ease the door inward and shuffle through. You leave it open without catch.

You sniff the air and follow your nose. The lush plateau of soil and greenery delight your vision and your starving stomach. You want to fall upon it and devour every leaf and seed.

Sense flickers and guilt boils in your guts. The work that went into all this and you look to plunder. That same work that did not bear much from your own dirt.

It doesn't matter. You can't hold yourself back. You need more than dry bark and boiled water. You will take only a little. They won't notice with all they have. Two tomatoes, a bright orange pepper, and a single potato.

You use the large pockets of the oversized jacket to store it all and retreat. You stop at the gate, waiting to be caught out, waiting for the holler or worse, the gun shot. Nothing. Just the sunlight and the scent of the garden.

You shut the gate and head for the trees. It's a far way home but the promise of a flavourful stew keep your feet moving. And after...

You'll have to figure that out.

🌳

The old house stands between two broad oaks, the roots extending into the foundation. The once white stained wood is chipped and splintered. Your grandmother's old basket planters are dried out and barren. Your grandfather's bench still stands but without anyone to sit on it.

You climb the steps, the rain spout creaking, the windows groaning. You try not to see the empty garden. The wilting leaves and the churned soil. First the rains flooded out the soil, then the sun dried it to dust, and the little that sprouted fed the family of rabbits who cared little for the bristles of your broom.

Calamity. Tragedy. You planted too early. You had that feeling, your grandfather's voice in your head, but you did not trust it. After the winter blew over the shed and smashed the years of preserves, you were too eager to have something. Anything.

Desperation is the eight deadly sin. Your grandparents always said. Patience, though, is the best of all the virtues.

The door clatters behind you. You get your pot and bring it to the stove. It's the old sort from more than a century ago. You open the little door and add a small log to the ash and remnants of the last burn.

Your hands shake as you light the fire. The flames do not come easy and your fingers are sore with the effort. You shut the door and leave the stove to warm as you unpack your wares...

Stolen goods. You take out a knife chop up half the pepper and one tomato, then half the potato. The rest You'll store in the cellar where the shelves have rotted away. They will keep at least a few days.

You put water onto boil. You add the veggies and use the mortar and pestle to crush up some of the birch. You season it and put a lid on.

As it steams around the brim, you sit on the drooping sofa and lean back into the cushions. You're so tired you're weak yet all you seem to do is sleep and look for food. You're in no short supply of the former.

🌳

The stew holds you over for a week. Maybe longer. The days are hard to track in the smear of anxiety and lingering hunger. You only eat a little, never gorging, never satisfied.

Nuts. Half the shells you find have been emptied by squirrels and chipmunks. You choke down a handful of earthworms only to spew it up just as painfully. A dead bird tempts you but the diseased stench keeps you from that mistake.

You chew on the birch and some leaves of mint. You stop at the river and put your feet in. It only makes you shiver more. It's summer. You shouldn't be shivering. Oh well. You just need to eat. That's all you can think about.

You trod on, stopping to gather what you can. If you can't get more, even just squirrel meat, you won't have the energy to walk so long. Once that happens...

Your grandparents would be disappointed. They taught you better. You did fine last year, the first without both of them, but this year is not last year.

As searing as the hunger is the loneliness. You miss them both terribly. They were your people. The only ones that ever looked after you. They taught you well because they wanted to take care of you always and you squandered it.

You crash down your rear in the dirt. You sit in the shade of the pines and stare at the mill house. You shouldn't. You really shouldn't. Once was more than too much.

Your head spins and you try to steady your vision as you grip the sides of your skull. Are you going insane? It sure feels like it.

You stand before you know what you're doing. The trek through the treeline and across the clearing isn't very far at all. It can't be. You're right there at the gate.

You feel along the slat like before, reaching, reaching, reaching. You flick the lock and swing inside. No one's there but you forgot to even check.

You walk cautiously over the grass to the plot of vegetables, even riper than the last time you came. The tomatoes are so big some have fallen off the vine. Carrots!

Not yours! Remember. What are you doing here?

The juice of the tomato floods your mouth as the answer drifts away. You don't care. You're starving. On your knees in the dirt, gnawing like a ravenous rodent.

You devour the tomato and reach for another. A knife flies into the red skin and splits the fruit in half, seeds and guts exploding onto you. You recoil and cry out.

You wipe your face and look at the man at the end of the plot. His expression is as friendly as the knife that nearly sliced you. You blink and your lip trembles. You're pathetic. You're no better than the gluttonous squirrels.

"I'm... sorry. I... I... I..." you choke.

He comes forward. You stare as you take in all of him. Tall, broad, startlingly so from your vantage on the ground.

His blue eyes bore into you as the muscles of his right exposed arm bulge. His other shoulder is blunted and his shirt pinned over it. His dark hair is past his shoulders, drawn back in by a tie as a few strands slip free. His beard is dense across his gritting jaw.

You wilt and accept your fate. It's quicker this way. He stops in front of you and bends to retrieve the knife. You watch him grip it and wait for him to aim the tip at you. He wipes it on his pant leg and slides it into his belt.

He stands straight, towering over you as his hand goes to his hip.

"That's two today." He says. "Plus two before, a potato, and a pepper."

You bat your lashes at him and sway. You gulp. You shake your head and show your hands.

"I'm hungry..." you croak. "I'm so hungry."

"You're a thief," he snarls. "You're gonna pay me back."

"I don't... I got nothing, mister. I'm sorry. Please," you shrink down and cover your face.

"You got two hands and a brain." He growls. "So get up and get to work."

You look up above your fingertips. The sun limns the man's silhouette like an otherwordly wraith. You snivel and nod. You have no other choice, not unless you want to see his knife again.

You plant your feet and slowly straighten your legs. You rock as he turns on his heel and marches off. You stare after him confused. Do you follow?

You stay as you are and peek down at the mangled tomato. You're hungry enough to pick it out of the dirt. You're kept from that as the man reappears with a round apple basket in hand.

You stagger back as he approaches. He shoves it at you and grows. "Fill that up. Don't eat them."

"Um..." you hug the basket as you gape at him.

"That'll even us out." He taps the top of the basket and you nearly topple.

"Yes, mister." You agree to keep him at bay. To hope he doesn't hurt you.

You back away and turn to the tomato vines. You bend first to gather the fruits off the ground. Your head feels heavy as you plunk down the basket. Your stomach mulches the quickly absconded tomato and adds to the sudden wave.

Your head pulses and silver stars speckle in your vision. You shake your head and set your feet. Dizziness swirls in your head and you lock your knees to stay up. Before you know it, the world is black and the world is only a memory.

#bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #as i wind down the pines #series #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #mcu #marvel #avengers #captain america #winter soldier

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wintfleur · 2 months ago

Text

001. ‘ 𝓽he night we 𝓶et ’

🪽 left in an unfamiliar place you find yourself trying to grasp at any positivity that you can find in this situation. your days are filled with distractions, trying to get used to the new place while your 𝓯ears plagued your sleep at night. unknowingly leading you to the person that would help with it 𝒶ll.

warnings. angst, nightmares (Joel and Ellie are ‘dead’ in them) sunshine has moments of sadness, fluff, family bonding yay, slight cursing, pls lmk if I missed anything ⦂ 8,264 𝗐𝖼.

paring sunshine! 𝓯 miller reader x jesse

˗ˏˋ series masterlist main masterlist ´ˎ˗

Alone.

That was the first thing you noticed when you woke up—no, Ellie curled up by your side, stealing the blanket and snoring in your ear. She was so used to sleeping by your side during the past months that she wasn't ready to sleep on her own yet, no matter how excited she was to have her own room now.

Your slippers that Maria was so kind to give you quietly shuffled against the wood floors, as you made your way down the stairs, already checking Ellie's room that was across yours, no sign of her. You held onto the banister as you walked down the steps, your eyes darting across the few landscape framed photos that decorated the walls, something your dad mentioned liking while Ellie called them ‘old people pictures’.

“Dad? Ellie?” You called out into the quiet house, tying the belt of your robe tighter when you felt the cold chill through an open window. No response, only the sound of the floorboards creaking as you made your way through the bottom level of the house. No Ellie in the kitchen trying to cook breakfast and making a mess, no joel asleep on the couch. The first time you found him asleep on the couch, he blamed it on him accidentally falling asleep, but you knew it was because he didn't trust this place yet.

You started to get anxious as you checked your dad’s room, noticing the lack of his backpack and the essentials that he left on top of his dresser. Did he join uncle Tommy on patrol? Did Ellie go with him? Why did he leave without saying anything? Are they okay? The questions kept coming. You rushed back into the kitchen, hoping to find a note explaining where they went, but found nothing. Your head quickly snaps towards the front door when you hear it open and close, heavy footsteps following after and moving towards the kitchen. Relief filled up your chest, thinking it was your dad, but it was replaced by slight disappointment when you saw it was just your uncle tommy.

He looked slightly surprised to see that you were up; it was still early in the morning, and he knew you were up late enjoying a movie at the cultural hall with everyone. It was easy for him to see that out of the three of you (you, ellie and joel) that you were the one most excited about the community, your cheerful comments drowning out Ellie and Joel's sarcastic ones. Your cheerful and happy spirit was something he was so grateful for.

“Hey sweetheart, i didn't know you were up” his voice was gruff but warm as he greeted you, moving to your side to squeeze your shoulder as he placed a soft kiss to your forehead, the feeling of his mustache against your skin makes you scrunch your nose; the sight causing him to chuckle softly. Sweetheart was a nickname he had called you ever since you were a baby, your sweet smile always finding a way to melt his hardened heart and give him hope in this hopeless world that they lived in.

“Hi uncle Tommy, do you know where my dad and Ellie are?” You gave him a hopeful smile. The sight breaks his heart, knowing what he had come to tell you. He didn't agree with what his brother had done, but he could understand why he did it. He wanted to protect you from the killing, from the horrors that you’d see on the journey, from everything. Both the miller men knew it, you weren't meant for the world they lived in. Tommy sighed and scratched at his chin as he looked down at his boots, trying to gain the courage before looking back at you, your head tilted slightly to the side as you waited for his answer, hair slightly messy from sleep.

“They left to go to the fireflies.”

You visibly faltered at his words, your smile slowly disappearing from your face, your voice was much softer than before and filled with confusion. “What?”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, your dad didn't want to risk you getting hurt by going with them… not again.” Tommy trailed off into a whisper, his jaw clenching as memories of that night filled his mind. He watched as the confused look on your face turned into one of sadness. Your heart broke as you heard your uncle's words; you knew how much guilt your father held in his heart. You could see it in his eyes whenever he looked at you for too long.

“They just left me here, alone..” you whispered, voice thick with sadness and disbelief. Your shoulders sagged, and you turned your head to look away from your uncle and down at the floor, not wanting him to see you blink away your tears as his words really sank in. You wanted to try to understand why he did it, but you couldn't—you would have never left either of them. He took away your choice. It was like it was all starting to make sense, why ellie was so attached to your hip last night. The long and tight hug Joel gave you before you went upstairs to bed, the way he held your shoulders to keep you from moving, ignoring your teasing, and telling you that he just wanted a good look at you. Was this your fault for not seeing the signs sooner?

Tommy’s face softens at his niece's words, his own heart breaking at the sight of tears in your eyes and the look of sadness and discouragement on your face. He reaches for you and pulls you into his chest and into a tight hug. You find yourself relaxing in his warm arms that feel so much like your dad's. Kissing the side of your head when he hears you sniffle, he says sternly, “You're not alone.”

You have never been away from your father, not like this at least. He has always kept you close to his side, and when he did have to leave you, it was always with a goodbye. Ever since you were little and could understand, he had made it clear that all he cared about was your safety, no matter the cost. So you didn't understand why you were so hurt and surprised by the fact that he left you with your uncle—when you have witnessed firsthand the other lengths he will go to, to keep you safe.

After a few moments, you slowly pull away from your uncle's arms, his hands softly giving your arms a reassuring squeeze before he lets go of you. You sniffle and watch as he reaches into his denim jacket, pulling out an envelope from his inside pocket and holding it out to you. ‘For my sunshine’ was written in your dad’s messy handwriting on top of it. You took it into your hands, your thumb brushing against the lettering. Tommy spoke softly, “Your dad wrote this; he wanted me to give it to you.”

“He wrote me a letter?” you asked after a few beats of silence, slight shock in your tone. Your dad could barely voice his feelings, how the hell was he going to write them? It felt like a full circle moment, you would always write him little letters and sneak them into his jacket pocket or his bag before he had to leave, knowing that it would make him smile whenever he found the letter with your little doodles on them. You didn't know that he kept every single one, reading them over and over on his sleepless nights.

“Hopefully you can read his messy handwriting,” he tried to joke with a small chuckle, hoping to uplift your spirits, and he would take it as a win when he sees the corner of your lips twitching up into a weak smile. Tommy cleared his throat and gave you a smile when you looked up from the letter. “Come on, why don't you get dressed and come join me and maria for breakfast hmm?”

You honestly didn't feel like going out; all you wanted to do was crawl back into your bed and just dramatically stare outside the window for the rest of the day. Like one of those scenes you read in the book your dad got you a while ago. You remember staying up late and reading the book out loud to your dad, hoping it would distract him from the nightmares he tried to hide from you. You could see the look in your uncle's eyes, he was trying to give that distraction like you would your dad, so you nodded and gave him the best smile you could muster up, “Yeah, okay.”

Tommy smiled and nodded, he was looking forward to spending more time with you—especially with Maria present. He moved to pull out one of the chairs at the kitchen table, ready to sit down. “Great, I’ll wait for you then.”

“It's okay, I’ll uh walk over when I’m done.” You wanted some time alone, you needed to process what had happened as best as you could before you were going to start socializing with others. Tommy wanted to question it, not wanting you to be alone, but he decided against it, seeing in your eyes that you needed your space. So he pushed back in the chair and gave you a smile, telling you to take your time before leaving.

You weren't prepared for the feeling of your heart sinking in your chest when the front door closed behind him, alone again.

Breakfast surprisingly went very well, they had breakfast in their home, which you really liked—it was comforting and warm, something you made sure to complement them on, which got you a big smile from both. The food was delicious, your favorite was the bacon—now you understood why your dad complained about missing it so much. And you were really grateful that they both stayed away from talking too much about your dad and ellie.

You never saw your uncle so smiley, so happy, and calm like he was with maria. He held her hand the whole time on top of the table, not afraid to hide it. You noticed how he gave her hand reassuring squeezes through breakfast as if he was reminding her that he was still there—it wasn't like she didn't know it with how many times her eyes ended up moving to him. The way he would gently trace his thumb across her hand while she talked, his head turned to her as he looked at her like she hung the stars, He listened to her. It was a love you only hoped and dreamed you could experience yourself.

You haven't seen a lot of love in your life, not like theirs, at least. The closest to it were Bill and Frank, but still, they weren't as affectionate and sweet as your uncle and Maria were. And your dad’s and tess’s love was one you couldn't truly understand, you don't think you ever could ( neither could joel ) oh tess….

After breakfast, the three of you sat around the table and talked and laughed, telling old stories, but soon it became just you and maria—uncle tommy having to go handle a few things. He was hesitant at first to leave you, but after a big smile from you and some words of reassurance, he left—not without kissing your and Maria's forehead first. You weren't nervous about being alone with Maria; you decided in the first 20 minutes of actually knowing her that you liked her.

The two of you were now taking a walk through the community. Maria had noticed that your mood had turned a little down after you were done telling a story about you and your dad, so she offered for the two of you to get some fresh air, wanting to show you around more. You had stuffed your hands into the pockets of your new jacket, listening to Maria as she explained more about how the community worked, your eyes taking in every detail. It was so much more peaceful than the Qz, you really hoped that you wouldn't have to leave.

“Come on, there is somewhere I want to show you” Maria’s voice broke you out of your thoughts, softly placing her hand on your shoulder and motioning you towards what looked like another shop. The building was a pastel blue with big windows, it had flower pots at the entrance that were covered in snow. You followed after her, your eyes immediately looking up at the door when the sound of a bell chimes when she opens it, but your attention was quickly stolen by the sight of what was inside.

The walls were a pretty pale yellow, decorated with tons of different styles of paintings and other types of hangable art. Paint splats were all over the light wood floors, along with a few colorful rugs. The shelves against the left wall were filled with different types of pottery and knick-knacks. Next to it was the checkout counter, which was made out of a pretty polished wood; the bottom of it was slightly chipped. It was covered with a bunch of different stickers and a few drawings. On top of it was an empty vase, a few knick-knacks, and a picture frame.

The shelves against the right wall were filled with different paints and other art supplies. You took a few more steps into the shop, looking around in awe. Hanging from the ceiling were beautiful wind chimes. Towards the back of the shop were tables with organized craft supplies. It was warm. Maria smiles at the awestruck look on your face, chuckling to herself at how your mood immediately changed into something brighter. Maria broke the silence, “Your uncle told me about your love for art.”

Tommy would find you drawing on anything, any spare paper you could find, the margins of your books, hell, as a kid, you had a habit of drawing on the walls. He could never forget the big toothy smile you gave him when he found and brought you your own sketchbook. That was many years ago, the sketchbook covered in drawings and doodles from page to page. He remembered how you would always stop and admire the murals or graffiti on the walls of the buildings outside the Qz., you always complained when your dad would pick you up and continue to walk, mumbling grumpily about how they couldn't stay for long.

All you could do was give her an awkward smile; you weren't exactly sure what to say to that, feeling a little shy that she seemed to know so much about you already. Maria pulled off her gloves and stuffed them into her jacket pockets, giving you a small smile as she rubbed her hands together. “Why don't you go and pick out a few things?”

Your eyes immediately lit up, and your hands slipped out of your jacket pockets. But your excitement was quick to fade, your voice soft, “I…but I don’t have anything to pay for it”

Maria smiles and rests her arm on top of the checkout counter, leaning against it as she gives you a reassuring nod, waving you off, “Don’t worry, Tommy handled it already.”

With those words of reassurance, you let yourself move towards one of the shelves, your eyes darting over everything as you tried to find something you wanted—which wasn't hard at all. If you could, you would have everything in the shop for yourself, but that wouldn't be fair for the others, and you're pretty sure the owner wouldn't like that. You carefully set back down the empty jar you assumed you put paint brushes in, glancing back at Maria. “So, um, where's the owner?”

“Oh, Mrs Viviana spends her mornings in the church,” Maria hummed happily as she thought of the woman who owned the place. Maria grabbed the picture frame off the counter, her boots making a satisfying sound against the wood floors as she moved to stand by your side. She held out the picture frame so you could get a good look at it. The picture was a little sun faded, but you could clearly see two people who sat on the front steps of the shop; you assumed they were together by the way they held each other. You tilted your head slightly as you admired the picture. The woman, whom you had guessed to be Mrs Viviana, was looking at the camera with the biggest smile on her face, holding flowers in her hands. The man at her side had his arm wrapped around her, and unlike Mrs Viviana, he wasn't smiling at the camera. No, he was looking at her with the biggest smile on his lips. They looked so happy, so in love.

“Her and her husband started the shop a few years back, they didn't want people's love for art to disappear, they said everyone needs a peaceful escape” Maria smiled sadly as she stared down at the picture, she looked at it as if she was missing something, a look you didn't seem to catch.

“And they just keep this place unlocked?” you asked in disbelief. You couldn't imagine leaving such a beautiful place like this unlocked for the public to just walk in anytime they want. This place was so different from everything you knew, well, thought you knew at least. The little ‘shops’ that were in the Qz would get vandalized and stolen from all the time, leading to the self righteous asshole soldiers to go house to house, person to person, to search for the stolen items. They were never kind.

“This place is very different from the Qz. We have rules here that people follow, and we have trust. We're not just a community, but also a family ....it's safe here." Maria's voice trailed off into a promising tone as she turned her head to look at you. You could see it in her eyes, her unsaid words, you're safe here. You knew she meant well, but you truly only felt safe at your dad's side, and well, he wasn't here.

You cleared your throat and looked away from her and back down at the photo, with curiosity

Brewing inside you. “Is her husband with her at church?”

“No, Abraham sadly passed last year.” You felt your heart drop to your stomach at her words. Your eyes softened, and you watched as she moved to carefully place the picture frame back to its original place. You weren't sure what to say now, did you try to comfort her? Ellie always did say you were good at that. God, you really missed her.

You didn't have to think about it much, your thoughts getting interrupted by the sound of Maria’s walkie-talkie going off. She quickly pulls it off her belt, bringing it up to her mouth as she answers. You turn to focus on the shelf, feeling a little awkward if you just stared at her. Maria sighs and rubs at her forehead after she replies to the walkie-talkie, looking back at you, “I'll be right back, I just have to handle this, okay?”

“Don't worry, I promise not to run off.” You gave her a small smile and a reassuring nod, you didn't want to be the reason something got unresolved. She nodded, giving you one more unsure look before she stepped out, but you just smiled and playfully shooed her away with your hand. Once you heard the chime of the bell and the sound of the door closing, you walked towards the back of the shop.

One of the tables had this sort of contraption on it, with a bunch of different color sewing threads and….honestly, you didn't know what the rest of it was, but it looked pretty! There was a closed door on the back wall, and you really wanted to know what was behind it. Your hand instinctively reached for the brown door handle, but you stopped yourself with a surprised gasp. Your other hand grabbed your wrist to stop yourself as you quickly looked around, not wanting to be caught snooping, despite already knowing you were alone in the shop.

“How disrespectful,” you chastise yourself under your breath with a small pout, shaking your head softly as you move away from the door. You look up at the walls, admiring the paintings on the walls, all of them were in different styles, different stories, different colors, and yet they looked so perfect together. You couldn't help but get a little sad the longer you stared at it. The red was bright and everywhere it was untamed, and it reminded you of Ellie; the dark green was bold and surrounded the red and yellow, just like your dad. The yellow was bright, but it found a way to mix in well with both colors, so intertwined.

You were quick to look and move away from the painting, but stopped in your tracks at the sight of the two cushioned chairs in the back corner, a small circular table between them with a few books on top. One was a bright suede pink with a lighter shade of pink throw pillow, the other was a dark suede green with a lighter shade of green throw pillow. The pink one looked more lived in, while the green one looked fairly new. Your face dropped when you realized why.

You swallowed hard, your breath caught in your throat as you quickly looked away. It felt like you were overstepping in some way, stepping into a memory that isn't yours. You took one more glance at the chairs and painting before you turned around and returned to the front of the shop. Your heart was somehow heavier than it was before.

After you picked out your few things, you decided to wait outside the shop, believing that the cold air would do you some good. You didn't have to wait for long, only a few minutes until maria was walking towards you, stopping at the bottom of the steps, “Find what you wanted?”

You carefully walked down the few steps, not wanting to slip. You glance down at the 3 things you held carefully in your arms. One was a thick sketchbook, a pack of color pencils, and a watercolor palette with paint brushes. You smiled and nodded happily, “Yeah, I did, thank you.”

Maria then showed you around a few more shops, introducing you to the owners and some of her close friends, the two of you have bumped into. Everyone was so nice and welcoming, and you couldn't help but smile at how they talked so happily about your uncle. It made you proud. Maria had to practically drag you away from the gossiping woman, a small smile on her face at how well you got along with them.

Maria brought you back to the house that was given to you, Joel, and Ellie after another hour or so of running a few errands around the community. Your uncle and Maria were not comfortable with you staying alone at the house, and frankly, neither were you, so Maria helped you pack up the little things you had and left you to settle in their guest bedroom. You were okay with having some alone time, maria downstairs finishing up some paperwork before Uncle Tommy got home, so the three of you could spend the rest of the day together.

You really liked the guest room, the bed was big, and the sheets were soft. There were pictures and posters of things you didn't recognize on the walls. You were sitting comfortably at the desk that was placed in front of the window. The white curtains were pulled back so you could get natural lighting as you sketched the view of what you saw outside the window. You didn't realize how fast the hours were going by, so caught up in your art.

“There you are, sweetheart, you have a good day?” The sound of your uncle's voice pulled you out of your little world. You placed the gray colored pencil down on the wooden desk before turning your head to greet your uncle with a smile. You leaned back in the chair, thinking back on your day so far. “Yeah, Maria showed me around some more, everyone I have met so far has been really nice”.

“That's good,” he hummed happily, leaning back against the desk as he looked down at what you were working on. He reached down to tilt the paper to the side to get a better look at it. “Looking good, we’ll have to hang this up once you're done.”

You smiled big as you looked up at him, your voice hopeful as you asked, “On the fridge?”

“Yeah i think we can do that” he chuckled softly as he moved the paper back to how it was before he stood up straight, resting his hand on the back of your chair as he looked down at you with a understanding smile “We’re gonna leave in a few minutes to go to the town hall for dinner, we understand if your not up for it—we’ll bring you back a plate?”

You thought about it for a few moments, it would be nice to stay and just continue to get lost in your art, but you wanted to meet more people, wanting to be more comfortable with the community. You closed your sketchbook and smiled up a your uncle, “No, I’d like to come with.”

“Okay, well, come on then.” He motioned his head towards the door, squeezing your shoulder softly before making his way out of the room. You quickly clean up your colored pencils, putting them in the mason jar Maria gave you to use, before you stood up and moved to stand in front of the mirror that was on the dresser, nervously fixing your clothes and hair. “You got this,” you reassuringly whisper to yourself as you smile. You nodded confidently, mumbling the words again before quickly rushing after your uncle.

“Do you think they are going to have bacon?” you asked hopefully, turning your head to the side to glance at Tommy and Maria, who were walking at your side. Tommy let out a hearty laugh at your words while Maria chuckled softly and shook her head, squeezing her husband's arm softly. The sun was setting as the three made their way to the town hall, Tommy walking between you and Maria, the snow crushing under their feet.

“No, I'm sorry, sweetheart, that's more of a breakfast thing,” he got out between his chuckles, making you pout and stuff your hands back into your jacket pocket, hoping to warm them up. Your uncle had already gotten onto you about forgetting your mittens back at the house, and then Maria got onto him for doing the same thing, which caused you to giggle and playfully nudge your elbow into his side.

“After you, ladies,” Tommy smiled as he held the door to the town hall for you and his wife. You smiled and thanked him before following after maria into the warm building. “Wow,” you muttered under your breath as your eyes scanned the large room, mostly all the tables were filled, laughter and talking filling the room. They had draped some Christmas lights around the room and a Christmas tree in the back corner. Your breath hitched in your throat at the sight of so many people in one place.

“Come on, let's get in line.” Maria softly placed her hand on your arm, giving it a reassuring squeeze when she noticed the slight panic on your face. You swallowed harshly before letting out a shaky breath. You nodded and did your best to muster up a smile as you followed her, squeezing your hands in your pockets as you tried to push down your nerves. You were quick to realize how popular Tommy and Maria were with how many times the three of you had been stopped on the way to the food line, despite your nerves, you greeted everyone with a smile and a sweet ‘nice to meet you.

You also quickly realized that things travel fast in the community, almost everyone already knew that you were Tommy’s niece. By the time you did make it in line, your cheeks were sore from smiling so much and from the few times they were pinched. Tommy chuckled under his breath at the small pout on your lips, your hand softly rubbing your cheeks, but he was quick to hide it with a cough at the glare you sent him. “You could have warned me about the cheek pinchers.”

“It’s a rite of passage at this point, sweetheart.” Tommy patted your back before reaching out to grab a plate after you. Despite your slight annoyance, you couldn't help but giggle at his words, imagining Ellie's reaction if those poor ladies tried to do that to her. You followed the married couple to a table once you got your dinner. They sat on one side while you sat on the other. You looked around the room as you sat down, noticing all the smiles. The conversation was light as the three of you ate, it was really just your uncle talking about his day while you and maria occasionally chimed in.

“Tommy, Maria!” a cheerful voice interrupts the conversation. You put down your glass and glance up just in time to see who was approaching. Your breath hitched at the handsome smile that greeted you. He looked to be around your age, and he was tall and lean, with dirty blonde hair and the greenest eyes you have ever seen. You watched as he stopped at the table before continuing to speak, “I’m sorry to interrupt, I just wanted to let you know that we finished up the inventory list at the farm for the rest of the winter. I'll make sure to bring it tomorrow.”

“It's alright, thank you for letting us know.” Maria smiled gratefully at him, watching as Rowan's eyes moved to yours before quickly looking away. Tommy swallowed before gently nudging you with his leg under the table to get your attention. You looked up from your plate, nervously fidgeting with your fork. Your uncle motions with his head towards Rowan. “Sweetheart, this is Rowan, he helps a lot at the farm, a natural he is—a real green thumb he is.”

“More like taught from birth,” Rowan chuckled, scratching at the back of his neck, flustered from the praise. Really, his ‘natural talent’ was all because of his dad, who was also a farmer (and part of the council), and he taught him everything he knew. Rowan turned his head to look at you, smiling as he continued, his tone much softer with you, “It's nice to meet you.”

“It's nice to meet you, too,” you smiled shyly as you looked up at him, his smile getting bigger as you locked eyes. He has such a pretty smile, you thought, you blinked a few times and quickly looked away from his face, hoping that no one noticed you totally checking him out. Roman chuckled and took a step back from the table, not looking away from you. “I’ll let you continue eating, I'll see you around.”

“Oh, he’ll see you around, huh?” Tommy grumbled under his breath once Rowan was out of earshot, not appreciating how he looked at his niece. Maria slapped her husbands with a roll of her eyes before giving you a proud nod. “Look at that, a new friend already.”

You chuckled and shook your head, smiling playfully as you teased “what do you mean, me and that group of old ladies are like bff’s already” Tommy chuckles and sets down his glass on the table, completely ignoring his coaster as he nodded in agreement “Oh yeah you fit right in that's for sure”

You smiled brightly at your uncle's words as if you were being told ‘good job’. You really wanted to fit in here, you never did at the Qz, and the two people whom you felt like you could truly be yourself with—were gone. You try not to get lost in your thoughts as you listen along to the new conversation that sprouted, and you would chime in occasionally.

The rest of the dinner was filled with laughter and smiles. You said your last goodbye to one of Tommy and Maria's friends before you followed them towards the exit, before you stepped out the door, you quickly looked behind you, feeling eyes on you. You only had a few seconds of eye contact with those pretty brown eyes before he got lost in the crowd of moving people, and you stepped out into the chilly night.

“You could have saved us,” Ellie whispered as she took a step closer to you, blood seeping through her shirt and down her neck. Her arms bitten up. You didn’t know where you were, only that you could barely breathe. Ellie’s face turns into a look of hate as she screams at you, “Why didn’t you save us?”

“You’re my daughter, you were supposed to be there.” Joel's raspy voice is heard from behind you, causing you to quickly turn around to face him, covering your mouth in horror at the sight of your bruised and beaten father. You quickly turned your head back to Ellie when you heard the shuffling of her Converse against the wooden floors as she moved closer to you. “Why weren’t you there!”

“This is all your fault!” Joel screamed as he lifted his arm to point at you. You flinched and took a shaky step back. You whimpered weakly, shaking your head no as you opened your mouth to explain that it wasn’t your fault—that you would have saved them, but no words came out. You let out a choked-out sob when you noticed the bites that pierced through your dad’s jacket on his arms. You shook your head in disbelief and horror, stepping away from them as they moved closer to you, yelling and shouting that this was all your fault.

Your back suddenly hit the wall, causing you to slide down the wooden wall, shaking your head in fear as their bloody hands started to reach out for you. “Please! Please stop!” you screamed until your voice was hoarse and your throat raw. You brought your knees to your chest as you covered your head from their screams and the sounds of dozens infected outside the walls of the empty cabin you were in, slamming themselves into the walls. You sobbed, between your choked-out gasps, “Make it stop!”

A strangled gasp left your dry lips as your body surges forward, your brain showing you mercy and letting you wake up, no longer stuck in the nightmare—but now you were stuck in the reality. The sheets fell from your shoulders and now rested on your lap as you fully sat up. You stared out into the darkness of your room for a few moments, the panic stirring deep inside you as tears pricked at your eyes. You squeezed your eyes closed and rested your hand over your pounding heart as you tried to catch your breath, trying to shake away the memories of the nightmare.

The walls felt like they were closing in around you, the blankets felt uncomfortable against your clammy skin, and you needed to get out of here. You quickly moved the blankets off your legs and quietly rushed over to your clothes you had neatly folded on top of the dresser, right next to the unopened letter Joel left you. Your hands were trembling, and your breathing was shaky as you changed, your vision blurred with tears as the screams echoed through your head like some sick and twisted alarm.

You quietly slipped out of the house, closing the door behind you with a quiet click!. You didn't have a plan; you just continued to walk, focusing on anything but the ongoing battle going on in your mind. It wasn't completely dark, not with the moonlight and Christmas lights and the light fog. It was cold, it was nipping at your face, but you didn't seem to feel it—you felt numb.

You didn't know where you were going, your feet were moving faster than your brain was. Nightmares weren't new to you, you had had your fair share of them—Ellie said it was because your heart was too soft, that you couldn't just forget things and move on, so you let it stay with you. Your dad was alway there to help you when you woke up in a panic, either by talking about random things to distract you until you fell back asleep (ellie said it was really just him boring you to sleep) or he’d listen as you talked bout it, finding a way to help you with it—but he wasn't here to do that.

You felt too guilty to wake up Tommy and Maria, they have been trying so hard all day to make sure you felt comfortable—you didn't want to bother them. The sound of the snow crunching under your feet and the whistling of the wind was soothing in a way; it gave you something to listen to. You had an idea where you were, the side wall of the community. You squinted your eyes and looked around, you could barely see anything. What could go wrong? You thought to yourself with a small shrug.

You look around yourself one more time before you place your mitten-covered hand on the wood railing, before you start to carefully make your way up the wooden staircase. The chill of the wind got worse the higher you went, but you didn't care. You quickly stuffed your hands back into your jacket pocket as you finally made it to the top. You slowly walked over to the edge of the wall, biting your lip anxiously as you looked over the edge, gasping at the sight “Oh my fuck”

“It’s pretty high up, huh?” You quickly whipped around at the unfamiliar voice, completely startled at the sudden presence of another person. You took a few steps away from the edge of the wall. You didn't want to be dramatic, but the first thought that popped up in your head was the stranger tossing you over. That's kinda sad, that was your first thought… The stranger made no move to move closer to you, seeing the frightened look on your face.

“Oh—Hi! What are you doing here?” The stranger's eyes widened slightly, surprised at how you quickly went from a sweet tone to a wary tone. You looked him up and down. He was taller than you, his black hair had a few snowflakes in it, but other than that, it looked perfect. He was wearing all black—it looked good on him, wait, what? You noticed the binoculars in his hands, so you quickly looked back at his face, his cheeks were rosy from the cold, and his eyes—Wait, those eyes ...

“I could ask you the same thing,” he was quick to retort. You watched as he raised his eyebrow, crossing his arms across his chest. You felt a little flustered under his unwavering gaze as he looked at you up and down. You were wearing jeans, they flared a little at the bottom, the hem resting on top of your boots, your jacket was a dark green, your hair was slightly messy with some snowflakes in it. He could tell that you were cold, slightly shivering, your pink mittens out to see as you rubbed your arms to warm them up. You were pretty. He decided to answer your question, noticing how tense you were, “I’m on wall duty—I’m Jesse by the way”

You took a few steps towards him, sticking your hand out politely for him to shake, just like your dad taught you, as you introduced yourself to him. Jesse chuckles and takes your hand into his, shaking it softly before he lets go. He knew who you were already, but he didn't want to creep you out. “It's nice to finally meet the talk of the town.”

“That’s me,” you smiled awkwardly, not exactly knowing what to say, you brought your hand up to shyly cover your cheeks, hoping to warm them up as you averted your gaze from him, looking out past the wall. You weren't really able to see much through the fog and light snowfall. Jesse leaned against the wall as he watched you closely, clearly seeing the troubled look on your face. “So you wanna talk about it?”

“Why you're up so late, willingly freezing your ass off up here?” Jesse starts to explain further after you turn your head to him, a cute look of confusion on your face. But that look was quickly changed to a look of avoidance, he watches as you avert your gaze from him, your hands nervously fidgeting with your jacket sleeves. Jesse continues thoughtfully, “It might help to talk about it to a stranger.”

You quickly thought of the positives and negatives of telling him, and like he said, he is a stranger; there wasn't room for him to judge you. Plus, it always helps whenever you talk to your dad and Ellie about it. You swallowed hard before quickly turning your body towards him, surprising him slightly at the sudden movement. You looked at him straight in the eyes as you confessed, “I had a nightmare…about my dad and ellie. They died—and it was all my fault.”

His expression softened at your words, watching as your eyes started to water. The words spilled out of your mouth before you could stop them, more panicked than the last “I wasn't there to save them, and they blamed me for it—it’s all my fault”

Jesse frowned, shaking his head softly at your guilty and panicked tone. He could practically see the gears turning in your head, most likely coming up with more reasons on why it was your fault. He has had his fair share of night terrors over the years, he knew the guilt you were feeling too damn well. His voice was husky but promising, “They will be back soon, and you're probably going to think all your worrying was silly because they are going to be just fine.”

‘They are going to be just fine.’ You really wanted to believe him, but you just couldn't, you have been out there, you know what could happen. Your bottom lip quivered as you tried to stop yourself from crying in front of him. You shook your head, whispering weakly, “You don't know that.”

“Don't do that to yourself.” he took a step closer to you, watching as you swallowed harshly and turned to face the wall, wiping away the few tears that escaped. The small sting of the cold wind hitting your face was a welcome feeling. Jesse sighed as he turned to face the wall, looking out at the mountains. “Your mind is only playing a trick on you to scare you even more.”

He watched out of the corner of his eye as you stood there silently, your shoulders tense. The wind was blowing your hair in front of your face, hiding your teary eyes from him. He stayed there silently with you, he didn't know what else to say to comfort you—and he definitely wasn't going to tell you to stop crying and go back home. So instead, he’d stay by your side; it wasn't like he had anywhere else to go.

The two of you just stood there in silence for a few moments, just listening to the wind and watching the snow fall. You wondered if somewhere out there, your dad and Ellie were watching the snowfall. It was late, so it was probably just your dad watching—Ellie passed out. You always loved to watch the snow fall, you wondered if your dad thought of you when he saw it.

You let out a heavy sigh, your breath visible in the cold air, you crossed your arms across your chest, your hands squeezing your upper arm—wanting a reassuring touch. You weren't stupid, you knew he could be right, your mind was either playing tricks on you—taking advantage of your fears, or it was your gut telling you something was wrong, or was going to happen. Why did they have to leave me? You thought to yourself with a sniffle. You were a good shot, you listened and paid attention, you knew you could talk a lot, or get really queasy at the sight of blood—or like anything gross, but was that really a big enough reason to leave you behind?

You didn't like this feeling—doubting yourself.

“They left me here.” You finally broke the silence, your voice was so soft Jesse almost didn't hear you. He removed the binoculars from his eyes and turned his head to look at you. Your eyebrows were pitched up as you tried to come up with the words; it wasn't easy, and that was a shocker because you loved talking. “With no goodbye, they just left.”

“Was I a burden this whole time? Did they not trust me enough?” you sniffled, bringing your hand up to rub at your nose, the cold starting to get at it. Your thoughts felt like they were slowly picking at your sanity, at that wall that protected you from the dark side of your imagination. His fingers clenched around the black binoculars, he could practically see your mind jump from conclusion to conclusion. Jesse cleared his throat and held the binoculars for you. “Here, take these.”

You narrow your eyes in confusion but take them into your hands nonetheless. Jesse wasn't sure how to comfort you, but he could try to give you a different outlook on it. He looked up at the sky, pointing up. “You see that?”

You let out a heavy breath before bringing them up to your eyes, blinking a few times before looking up at where Jesse was pointing. “Wow,” you muttered under your breath as you looked up in awe at the beautiful and bright cluster of stars that you had never seen before. The stars and moon were something you had always loved to admire, you had begged your dad for a book about the stars—he never was able to find one. ( he looked very hard for it—he had hated to disappoint you )

“You see those stars? That’s Pleiades, also known as the seven sisters,” Jesse hummed as he rubbed his hands together, hoping to warm them up. You pulled the binoculars away from your eyes, turning your head to look at Jesse in wonder, hoping that he’d explain it more. “Seven sisters?”

“They are the daughters of the mighty titan Atlas and the oceanid nymph Pleione. Atlas was forced to hold up the sky for eternity—so he couldn't be there to protect them from the hunter Orion, who wanted to harm them. So Zeus turned the sisters into stars to protect them,” he retold the tale as best as he could remember. You listened attentively to his every word. Jesse blushed shyly at the awestruck look you gave him. He cleared his throat and continued much more airily, “But that’s really only one version of the myth.”

You turned your head back towards the stars, bringing the binoculars back up to your eyes, your own theories of the myth running through your head. What happened to Orion? Did the sisters want to be stars? You are leaning more to the idea that they wanted to; you wouldn't want to be so far from your dad for eternity. He watched your side profile, your nose was scrunched up cutely, your breath was visible in the cold air, and your hair was moving in tandem with the wind.

“He wanted to protect his daughters….just like your dad.”

You slowly lower the binoculars from your eyes, looking down at your boots with a small sigh, fidgeting with the strap of the binoculars. You opened your mouth to say something, but couldn't push yourself to break the silence—you couldn't even push yourself to think harder on his words. It was easier to blame than forgive, wise words from your dad. I bet he didn't know that would come back to kick him in the ass.

You have had enough of wallowing in your emotions, you needed a distraction ( another one ). You cleared your throat and scrunched up your nose as you turned to look at him, offering him a weak smile. “You, umm, have any more star facts? I don’t think I’m ready to head back yet.”

“Yeah, I think I have a few up my sleeve,” he chucked a half-smile ghosted across his lips, he knew what you were doing—avoidance. He held his hand out for the binoculars, which you placed in his glove-covered palm. You watched him with a smile as he looked for the next star to show you, turning to face you with a grin once he found the right one. The more he talked the more you found yourself forgetting about the reason why—in jesse’s words ‘why you’re up so late, willingly freezing your ass off’

𝓻oro's note. I’m sorry for how long this took to get out, it ended up way longer than I thought it was—and I wanted to post it on my Birthday!!🎈 ‘sunshine reader’ and yet i make the first chapter just filled with angst…i got carried away oops. I tried to focus a little on some world building for this chapter. And lets completely ignore the fact that i forgot to write tommy and Maria telling sunshine that Maria is pregnant 😭 Also, Tommy and Maria showing sunshine what real love is AUGH 💔 pls pls pls tell me what you guys think and what you would like to see happen next 🤲🏻

PLS SEND IN SOME ASKS FOR THE SERIES ‼️

literally listened to talk by beabadoobee while writing this ᐢᗜᐢ

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targaryenfelikayt · 2 months ago

Text

before. |Boys from horror|

characters: Bo Sinclair, Vincent Sinclair, Lester Sinclair, Jason Voorhees, Michael Myers, Thomas Hewitt, Art the clown. wc: 2, 758 summary: what happened a couple of hours before you were kidnapped. tags/warnings: suspense, slow burn, road trip, hurt/comfort, weird romance. note: my magical ladies, you can read this part separately, but I recommend dedicating time to Bo and Vincent to develop these men a little better🍓

Bo Sinclair.

Night had fallen thick over the abandoned town. No passing cars broke the silence, no obnoxious commercials or drunken laughter, only crickets and the wind chasing dust through the streets. A creak echoed from the guest room: the girl had woken up, stifled by the heat. Bo had warned them earlier, when setting up the sleeping arrangements, that the windows didn’t have mosquito screens. Still, it was better than spending the night cramming into a car. An ordinary SUV wasn’t built for three people to rest in.

She carefully rose from the bed, stepping around her friend and then the guy, nearly stumbling in an attempt not to step on anyone’s arm or leg. With a quiet sigh, she slipped out and gently closed the door behind her.

Downstairs, the lights were still on. A radio station played a week’s worth of state-wide news in the background. Under the lull of crime reports, she wandered off to find a pitcher of water.

“You can’t sleep?”

The voice came from the terrace.

Bo Sinclair had been there the whole time, quietly watching her movements, a glass of chilled lemonade in hand. Watching the droplets slide down his large hand, she swallowed involuntarily.

“I could have slept just fine, if it weren’t for the heat.”

“Told you,” he said, getting up from the bench and stepping into the kitchen. “I don’t take guests often. Go ahead and sit, I’ll get everything.”

She let out a quiet laugh and dropped into the offered chair. Outside it was much cooler.

“Knew it’d come in handy,” he said, draping a blanket over her shoulders before sitting down across from her.

“That’s very courteous of you. Thank you. I must’ve said that word a dozen times already, but really, Bo, if it weren’t for your help, I don’t know what we would’ve done.”

Hiding a crooked smirk behind his glass, Bo simply waved her off, what kind of man would he be if he left people in a situation like that?

And the lemonade was good. There was something spicy in the taste, something elusive that made you want more.

And the night… so dark… and the sky… so full of stars…

“You can sleep,” came his velvet voice, cutting through the haze. “I’ll keep watch over your dreams.”

With a single motion, Bo crossed the terrace and lifted her into his arms.

And she remembered what the grown-ups always said: Never take anything from strangers’ hands.

Even if they’re terribly charming.

Vincent Sinclair.

If anything could go wrong, it would, Murphy’s Law in full effect. The local bus that had been making runs for years? Broke down. The replacement? Out of state on a private charter. No friends going that way. No friends of friends either. And there are no other transport options on the horizon. Only one couple with an old pickup truck seemed resigned to making the trip by themselves and kindly offered to take the girl along.

“Rough day?” the older man asked, glancing at her in the rearview mirror.

Modern youth lived under constant stress yet seemed completely unprepared for sudden changes. Understandable. These kinds of surprises left no energy for anything else.

“The week has been rough,” she replied with a smile, resting her hands on the sides of her white sundress. “I thought maybe bad luck wouldn’t follow me into the next town.”

Flashing lights of a road barrier and a detour sign appeared up ahead.

“Looks like it’s not done with you yet,” the woman said with an optimistic smile, right before the first pothole stole it away.

“Or maybe it’ll be a couple hours of bad luck,” her husband replied dryly.

The girl accepted her fate. There was nothing more she could do. At least she had decent company, it was best not to ask for too much or tempt fortune to take it away.

The first half of the trip passed under a soundtrack of old country songs and hopeful chatter. The second half, however, was marked by a worsening road and an increasing urge to cry.

The driver muttered something about needing gas, just as a rusted “Welcome” sign peeked out from behind wild vegetation.

“Didn’t think this town still existed. We’ll stop in, fuel up, see what’s what.”

“Is that really necessary?” his wife asked, frowning. This would mean another delay.

“We’re running on fumes. And if we hit a traffic jam? No, sorry, this old man isn’t risking it when we’ve got a chance to fill up.”

The girl glanced out the window. No signs of civilization, only sparse woods flashing past. She would’ve kept daydreaming, lost in her own thoughts, if not for the woman’s sudden comment:

“Sweetheart, you look just like an actress I used to love, back in my day. In that dress, I mean.”

Lester Sinclair.

Hitting a wild boar early in the morning on a deserted road? Sounds like a challenge and the girl accepts it. The impact rattles her vision, and the screech of brakes still echoes in her ears. Staggering, she got out of the car, surprised she didn’t end up in a ditch. The animal lies on its back, its side punctured and bleeding, but still alive.

What if she takes it to a vet? No, the nearest town is who knows how far, there’s no time.

Maybe she could give it first aid? Damn, it’s a wild animal, injured and disoriented. That makes it dangerous.

She runs through every option in her head, but none involves putting the poor boar down. She just can’t bring herself to slit its throat, even if it ends its suffering.

Suddenly, a truck appears ahead, flashing its high beams. She waves it down, and soon a man steps out.

“What happened, missy? Not watching the road?” the redneck greets her with a grin, ignoring the situation in front of him.

“Very funny. Can you do anything?”

He glances between his dog, the girl, and the boar before replying:

“Well, nothing much to do but butcher the pig and move on.”

She groans and leans against the bumper, unwilling to accept it. Lester tries to console her, saying it’s just his job, nothing unusual, it was an accident. Could’ve been worse. Could’ve been a person.

“You know what you need right now?”

“A shot of moonshine?” she replies with a smirk, sliding back into her car.

“No,” he scratches his head, “well, maybe that too. But I meant dog therapy. Rub her belly while I take care of this.”

Without asking, he shoves his four-legged friend into her car and gets to work. The dog snuggles against her hands, climbing into her lap. At least someone’s having a good day.

The redneck taps on the window. When she rolls it down, a shaggy face greets her.

“You’re good to go, ma’am. Though your headlight’s busted. I’d drive to the nearest town just in case. If you turn right in a couple miles, you’ll hit Ambrose.”

“God, I don’t even know how to thank you.”

She offers him a ten, but he refuses outright. So, she discreetly slips the bill into the dog’s collar and opens the door for her, giving her a heartfelt squeeze goodbye.

“Oh, and one more thing” he leans down to the open window, “tell Bo, the guy who owns the workshop, I’ll be there in an hour or so. Tell him to wait up.”

“Uh, sure.”

It’s not like she could say no to a small favor. All she had to do was deliver a message, and Ambrose was already on her way.

Jason Voorhees.

Yes, she admits the place was eerily quiet, even for somewhere infamous for its terrifying, unexplainable events. Yes, some psycho in a mask had nearly caught her last time, though for some reason, he let her go. And yes, coming back here alone was a stupid, reckless decision, she had a hundred "yes" raced through her mind as her feet carried her toward the lake.

There were always dark tales about it. They said a boy drowned there many years ago, and his mother, unable to cope with her grief or perhaps through something more powerful, created an immortal being. That’s what the old folks used to say, though over time the story turned into a legend. She’d even told it around a campfire herself during her first visit. But coming face to face with a man in a hockey mask had wiped the smile right off her face.

Later, of course, she calmed down and told herself it could’ve been a copycat. There were plenty of idiots like that these days, and places like Crystal Lake attracted them like bees to honey.

So why was she here again?

Even though she didn’t fully know. She wanted to believe she’d find the answer here, but where to start and what exactly she was even looking for remained unclear. The forest called to her, its smells drawing her off the dirt road and deeper inside.

Jason had already noticed the girl returning to his domain. He’d let her go once, not that it mattered much. No one ever came back here after surviving. That was rare. Voorhees didn’t usually miss, and the old reliable machete helped make sure of that.

“Hey!” the girl cupped her hands around her mouth, “Anyone here?”

A minute passed. Then another. Nothing. Not a twig snapped under a heavy footstep.

“Right. Who were you expecting, Jason Voorhees?” she muttered under her breath.

But the man heard her. A small, involuntary smile twisted the lips behind his mask. She was closer to the truth than she knew.

Michael Myers.

Halloween was the kind of day when kids and adults alike could dress up, have fun, and play a different role. Though the girl didn’t share the general excitement or her friend’s enthusiasm, she still agreed to spend the holiday together. Her parents never let her collect much candy as a child, so now she indulged her need for that festive spirit as an adult.

Her friend was running embarrassingly late, despite setting the meeting time herself. The girl decided to call her. A couple of rings later, she heard loud curses and an echo, meaning the call was on the speaker in the car.

“Sorry, I’m on my way. I didn’t realize the city would go full-on insane tonight, literally.”

“What, drunk teens throwing themselves in front of your car?”

A soft laugh came from the other end, followed by a more serious, “No.”

“I just wasn’t ready for the overwhelming number of costumes. Maniacs, murderers, every kind of unsocialized citizen our beautiful country has to offer. By the way, what are you wearing?”

She was about to mention her fairy costume but stopped herself. That would ruin the surprise she’d worked so hard on those wings alone were a struggle! They even itched at her shoulder blades, right where they attached to her dress. Her mom had suggested magnets, but no, wire seemed like a better choice, it didn’t stick out when she moved.

“You’ll see me before all those ‘citizens’ do.”

“Ooh,” her friend teased, “intriguing. I’ve seen like five Michael Myers already, and they all look like knockoffs from some cheap Chinese website.”

“Even that deserves some praise.”

Suddenly, loud screeching brakes came through the phone, followed by fresh swearing, this time not aimed at her.

“Hey, you still there? Speaking of the devil, someone just wandered into the road, like he thought he was invisible. And you know what? He didn’t even flinch at my yelling. Just stared at me with those dead eyes.”

“Well, you did say people weren’t trying very hard. Sounds like this imitator’s really committed to the role.”

The girls laughed it off. No way there were some weirdos going to ruin the holiday. Not on All Hallows’ Eve.

Thomas Hewitt.

Oh, lovely Texas! Everyone had said the air was different here, and they were right. The air truly was different, tinged with dust, and completely devoid of moisture, but it was worth it. The girl drove mile after mile, estimating how much longer the road stretched ahead. Her back had gone numb a couple of hours ago, and her legs had cramped more than once. She might’ve kept going if she hadn’t noticed how strangely the car’s engine was acting. Of course, the heat was taking its toll on a vehicle meant for city driving. With no distilled water or any kind of coolant in the trunk, the only sensible option was to turn into the nearest roadside store.

She spotted a run-down but stereotypically Texan gas station. Leaving her car under a flimsy awning held up more by faith than structure, she stepped inside. The only other person was an elderly woman, who didn’t seem to be handling the midday heat too well. Distracted by the bell over the door, the woman dropped the sack of grain she’d been carrying.

“Sorry, let me help you,” the girl said quickly, stepping behind the counter to lift the heavy burlap bag onto her back.

“Oh, darling, you don’t have to…”

“It’s alright, just show me where it goes.”

The old woman pointed toward a trailer near a broken-down gas pump. A few other sacks were already there, so the girl made quick work of it and wiped the sweat from her brow.

“I feel bad making a customer carry my grain,” the woman said.

“Better me than you,” the girl waved it off. “I actually came to get some water for my engine.”

The old woman smiled and walked to a shelf stocked with automotive supplies. It was a wonder any of it was still within its expiration date, judging by the surroundings, customers were rare here.

“Not afraid to leave your car unattended?” the woman called from behind the counter as she rang up the purchase.

“Nope.” The girl pulled aside her shirt, revealing a pistol holstered at her hip. “I’m no good with moving targets, but I shoot clays regularly. If anything does come up, I won’t miss.”

Something flickered in the woman’s eyes, and her already sweet smile turned even more syrupy.

“Oh, honey, you'd be just perfect for my son. The ideal daughter-in-law.”

The girl smiled politely as she took the jug. Old age sure had its quirks.

“Thanks, but I’ll pass. Take care.”

“Be safe, sweetheart.”

As she started up the engine again, she noticed the woman watching her from the window. No, she wasn’t ready for marriage, let alone getting stuck in a place like this.

Art the Clown.

The art of pantomime required not just discipline but a keen eye for detail, so fine it could vanish in the blink of an eye. That clown putting on a whole show inside the diner looked oddly familiar. Yes, she’d seen him before, maybe last Halloween, passing a party shop filled with holiday decor. Dozens of those places popped up all over the city before the holiday. And who’s to say it was even him?

Her attention drifted to her coffee mug as she stirred in the sugar. Without looking up, she reached for the creamer, only to touch something soft. A white glove.

The clown was sitting right in front of her, beaming with the most charming and frankly, most unsettling smile. He held out both hands, lifting them alternately, as if weighing options.

“You want me to choose?” she asked uncertainly.

He nodded enthusiastically.

A man at the next table chimed in, amused, “Looks like we’ve got a magic trick that needs an assistant.”

There were plenty of attractive women around, each with equally attractive company, but what could she do? The sooner she picked, the sooner she could get back to watching instead of participating.

She looked at both fists once more and pointed to the left.

“Yes, I’m sure. Open it.”

But the hand was empty. The clown didn’t seem disappointed though, he leaned forward and, with a swift movement, pulled a flower from behind her ear.

“Thanks,” she said, managing a more awkward smile as she accepted the gift.

Meanwhile, he flipped over the napkin holder to reveal a stash of single-serve creamers. His gloved hands applauded her performance, and others in dinner joined in. With one last grin, he handed her a small note, then vanished out the door in the blink of an eye.

“Art always loves his assistants.”

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deansbeer · 2 months ago

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ꕀ ﹑ ﾞೀ ♥︎ introducing the . . . TERROR ✸ TWINS .ᐟ

twin theboys/bigsky au created by millie && kari. ⓘ parental advisory explicit content.

ambiverts. heavy chain smokers. twins. deceased father. absent mother. car mechanic. car dealerships. bruised & bloodied knuckles. business degrees. serious. responsible. charming. reckless.

the terror twins .ᐟ

BEAU ARLEN the older twin by thirty minutes, and you'd think it was thirty years with the way he acts. serious, responsible, always trying to clean up whatever mess ben leaves behind.

BEN ARLEN? ben's the wild one. the charming, reckless, absolutely exhausting force of nature. he's got a grin that gets him out of trouble and fists that get him right back into it.

they love each other, obviously. but they also fight like it's a sport. screaming matches that shake the walls, usually ending in one storming out and the other slamming a door.

the only thing that makes them stop fighting? someone else trying to come between them. beau might threaten to kill ben at least once a week, but let someone else take a swing at his brother? he's throwing hands without hesitation.

their family history .ᐟ

their dad was a drunk and mean as hell. died when they were teens. nobody cried.

their mom checked out long before that. stopped really seeing them after they got older — said they looked too much like him. started calling them "boys" instead of their names. sometimes forgot birthdays. didn't come to graduation.

they learned early that family wasn't about blood — it was about who showed up. and most times, it was just the two of them.

their school years .ᐟ

both of them were smart as hell. scary smart. but BEN ARLEN couldn't sit still long enough to care, and BEAU ARLEN couldn't rest until he got it all right.

BEAU ARLEN did the full four years of college. business degree. he liked structure. liked knowing what came next. liked rules because rules made sense.

BEN ARLEN made it two years. got bored. got into fights. got out. he says it was a waste of time. beau still says it was a waste of potential.

despite the chaos, they were a team. if BEN ARLEN got into it with someone — football players, frat boys, townies — BEAU ARLEN would show up, jaw clenched, fists ready. not because ben needed help, but because he hated seeing his twin bleed.

afterwards? he'd drag ben home, sit him on a chair, and ice his face in silence. ben would smirk the whole time. beau would mutter "you're a fucking idiot" under his breath like a prayer.

their adulthood & work .ᐟ

after college, BEAU ARLEN chased that "build something from nothing" dream like it was religion. long nights, tight budgets, early mornings. now? he's got his own car dealership. big glass windows, polished floors, high-end cars, and his name on the sign.

he's got a staff, a secretary, a sleek suit, and a watch that costs more than ben's entire apartment. but he earned every bit of it, and he's proud of that.

ben? BEN ARLEN works with his hands. grease under his nails, oil on his shirt, music blasting in the garage. he's a mechanic — a damn good one. it keeps him grounded. keeps the anger out of his fists and into something productive.

BEAU ARLEN got him the shop gig. told him he needed something steady. ben rolled his eyes, but he took it. and he stayed.

every time ben crashes a car — and he crashes a lot — beau replaces it without hesitation. ben always fixes the old one anyway. "you already bought me a new one, dumbass." "and you're already fixing the one you wrecked, dumbass."

it's a cycle. but it works for them. always has.

their dynamics .ᐟ

BEAU ARLEN is logic. he plans everything, thinks five steps ahead, worries himself sick. he's got a good job, pays his bills on time, has a coffee order and a bedtime routine.

BEN ARLEN is chaos. he drives too fast, drinks too much, never answers his phone. he picks fights with strangers, flirts with danger, and lives like he's got nothing to lose.

they don't always talk. sometimes they go weeks without seeing each other. but when shit hits the fan? when something really goes wrong? ben shows up at beau's door, busted lip and bruised ribs, and beau lets him in without a word.

terror twins extras .ᐟ

BEN ARLEN always calls him "big brother" when he wants to piss him off. beau rolls his eyes but secretly likes it.

BEAU ARLEN keeps a box of first-aid stuff in his kitchen just for ben. doesn't let anyone else touch it.

ben once punched a guy in a bar for saying beau was "too uptight." beau bailed him out and said thank you through gritted teeth, though, ben didn't need to do it.

they never say "i love you." they say "you're an idiot" and "don't do that again" and "text me when you get home." it means the same thing.

⟡ TRY TO KEEP UP WITH THEIR CHAOS .ᐟ ֹ ִ ꒱

¹ prove it in bed.

⌗ kari notes. millie @soldiersgirl and i are super duper excited to share with u all, our beloved terror twins !!! we came up with the idea two weeks ago (insane) and cannot stop talking about it. we hope u love them as much as we do! <3

@ deansbeer is tagging you .ᐟ @titsout4jackles @daylighted @bluemerakis @deanswidow @beausling @jensenacklesballsack @h8aaz @bluestrd @ultravi0lence14 @blue-d @stereotypicalbarbie @bluestrd @fuckedupfate @bejeweledinterludes @blossomingorchids @tinas111 @0ccvltism @bruisedfig @deanswifeyy @dollyfiles @cupidzbunny @kamisobsessed @pieandflannel @faiszt @acaibcwl @americanvenom13 @reluctanthalfwayoptimism @mahi-wayy @samslovebug @angelicjackles @sl33pylilbunny ╱ wanna be added? join my taglist <3

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dreamescapeswriting · 1 year ago

Text

Bound By Fate ~ LF

⤜ WORD COUNT: 13.6K

⤜ PAIRING: Fae!Felix x Human!Fem!Reader

⤜GENRE: Fantasy au, Fae worlds, fae talk, description of different worlds, “enemies” to lovers,soulmates, “mates” defeating an evil queen, love, slow burn?

⤜MASTERLIST

You adjusted the grip on the leash as you walked through the woods with your dog, Max, who was tugging you along the new path you'd found the week before. You'd been desperately looking for a new place to take your dog out and when you found this place online you hadn't been able to resist. It wasn't that he couldn't be around other dogs but Max seemed to flourish more when he walked alone with you rather than having the distraction of other dogs around you.

It was an old abandoned road that used to lead to a mining site but it was now just a peaceful path for dog walkers or horses to take a stroll down. It had some reviews online that you'd been reading about but none of the descriptions of photographs had done the place justice.

The path where the old road used to be, was now almost unrecognizable under a thick blanket of grass and wildflowers that surrounded it. The pavement was cracked and fragmented, nature reclaiming it at every inch you looked around.

"Easy Max," You giggled a little as he excitedly began to dive through the long grass in front of you, his ears flapping every time he bounced around. Tree-lined the pathway, providing a sense of peace and privacy and even filtered out the sunlight that was above.

Everything was peaceful, not a single sound of other civilisation around as you listened to the resulting leaves, the chirping of birds and the occasional scamper of whatever woodland creature was around.

"Max..." You trailed off as Max stood to attention, almost as though he could hear something you couldn't and he slowly began to lower to the floor, his eyes fixated on something behind some trees.

Something in the air changed, the calming sense of serenity you had been feeling was wiped away in one swoop and replaced with a sense of dread. You didn't believe in much but what you did believe in was if everything went silent in the middle of nowhere, it was a sign to leave.

"Let's go," You whispered, softly tugging on Max's lead but he barked, his tail down between his legs before he lunged at whatever had caught his attention through the trees.

"Easy! Max!" You screamed, trying to gain control of him but he continued to pull and you felt a chill run down your spine as you ventured further into the woods, a silent warning telling you to turn and leave.

"I'm telling you, no one would even know it's here." Someone said, your head shot around in search of anyone that was around but there was no one, no one at least where you were standing.

"She just wants us to take a look, we look and we come back. It's not that hard, once we're back through the portal shuts and no one would even know one has been opened. The same voice said again. Either someone was very high on drugs or you'd walked in on a set for a film, who talked that way? You frowned looking around for what was making noise when you spotted it.

It looked like a window but floating in the middle of the air, light pouring through it as you saw snow inside.

"Shit, the prince is coming. S-Shut it down!" A nasal voice said before rustling was heard, you turned away from it shaking your head thinking you might have lost your mind for seeing and hearing such things.

"Well, that was weird." You whispered to Max, about to pull him away when you felt something tugging on your bag, you grunted a little at the tug.

"Looky what we found." The same voice from before said before you felt a rough tug on your back and you flung backwards, hitting the floor with a thud and groaning loudly.

You stared up at the sky which was now a dark grey colour and snow fell down around you, your body ran cold as you stared up at the sky.

"What the fuck-"

"Morgath is going to love you," The voice from before grumbled before you were dragged to your feet, your eyes scanned over the tall trees surrounding you, the air was so cold that you could see it.

"Who-" Before you had a chance to ask, who or what had grabbed you, an arrow shot through the sky before the man - thing? - holding you hit the floor with a bang and you screamed, scrambling away from him.

"Shh, shhh." A second voice called out, arms wrapping around you before a hand was placed over your mouth and you struggled against the grip until you heard it, more people talking in hushed tones.

"She sent us to find the mortal so we're not going to fail our Queen," Whoever was holding you scoffed but kept you pressed against them, your eyes wide as you listened more.

"This must not be where the portal is. Damn him, always giving us the wrong coordinates," The footsteps retreated as did the person's grip on you and you scrambled away, turning to face whoever had been holding you.

You felt a jolt of recognition as if you had seen him before but you were almost certain you'd remember someone so beautiful. You opened your mouth to speak, but the words caught in your throat. The man was tall and broad, his ears pointed as you stared at him he was breathtakingly beautiful, with sharp, elegant features and hair that seemed to shimmer like spun gold, even with glittery pieces through it. His presence was commanding, yet there was an air of melancholy about him.

"I've been looking everywhere for you," He whispered without thinking but you stared at him, your eyes narrowing as you tried to figure out who he was.

"Who-" You barely had a chance to finish your question before the man rudely cut you off,

"You shouldn't be here," Was all he had said, his voice smooth but laced with an edge of irritation at the idea of you being there with him and you felt your ego take a hit. It wasn't as though you'd been asked to be dragged through the damn portal.

"I—I didn't mean to intrude," You stammered, feeling strangely self-conscious under his intense gaze, your eyes went over to the body on the floor but the men stepped in front of your view, blocking the dead body from your eyes.

"I was just walking my dog, and someone grabbed me." You uttered, looking around, the snow around you was making it hard to stay warm and your body was shivering thanks to only being dressed in shorts and a tank top. Your heart sank as you thought about Max back home, you hoped he'd run home since he knew the way but it didn't make the guilt weigh on you any less.

"That much is obvious," he replied curtly, his eyes flicking to your outfit briefly before returning to you, no expression written across his cold face. You suddenly felt yourself feeling self-conscious and you folded your arms across your chest to cover up yourself,

"This is no place for humans." You bristled at his tone but couldn't help being captivated by his ethereal beauty. The man was dressed in, he was wearing a crafted tunic that was a pale green colour with silver embroidery stitched through the fabric. Paired with some form-fitting trousers and a pair of sturdy boots fit for walking through the woods. Clasped around his neck was a dark cloak that looked warmer than what you felt right now.

"I didn't know. It’s not like there were any signs saying 'Keep Out'." You grumbled at him, having enough of his dark and broody attitude toward you. It wasn't as though you'd walked right in. His expression softened slightly, but his demeanour remained aloof.

"You need to leave. Now." He practically growled, his eyes darting around the forest in case anybody else was around and listening in to the conversation.

"You think I don't want that? My dog is left behind..." You hissed at him, looking around you before taking a cautious step closer to the man who had been holding you moments before.

"What is this place? Who are you?" You finally found the courage to ask and the man hesitated, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his features. Almost as though he seemed upset you hadn't known who he was.

"My name is Felix," he said finally, glancing at you and sighing a little. You were already here there was no use hiding what he was or what the place you were standing in was.

"And this is Eldoria, a realm not meant for your kind." His words were cut off, almost as though he wanted the conversation to end as much as quickly as possible

"Eldoria..." You echoed, the name feeling strangely familiar on your tongue. You couldn't help but think maybe you had read about it as a kid? Why did this place feel so familiar to you, why did he? Your eyes lingered on him once again, trying to figure out where this man had been before.

"I didn't mean to trespass, Felix. It's just... there's something about this place that feels like—"

"Like you belong?" he interrupted sharply, his eyes narrowing at you before a dry laugh left his throat and you couldn't help but feel your heart break at the laughter. He didn't need to be so harsh about it,

"You do not. Go back to where you came from. For your own safety." You wanted to say so much to him, you had so many questions but it was obvious he was not in the mood for any kind of games with you and you sighed.

"Whatever." You bit back at him, slowly walking to where you thought you'd been dragged through, your body shape was on the snow but the portal you'd come through was gone. You stared around waiting for something, any sign of it coming back but there was nothing there, not even evidence of it being in the way before.

"It's closed," Felix said flatly from behind you as if it was basic knowledge for you to know, your fists clenched at your sides. You had no idea what you'd done to make this guy hate you so much but clearly, he did. Irritation brewed inside of you,

"What do you mean it's closed? How do you expect me to leave if it's closed?" You asked, a mixture of frustration and desperation in your voice as you span around to face him. If it was closed how did he expect you to get home? Teleport? Felix stared at you coolly, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of sympathy making you frown a little. He'd never shown any kind of sympathy to you before, why start now?

Sighing a little he turned to look at you, his eyes staring into your soul as you felt your chest flutter. There was something about the brown in his eyes that felt so familiar to you, almost as though you'd stared into them before but couldn't quite place where.

"Portals to your world are rare and unpredictable. This one has sealed itself. Another exists, but it lies on the far side of the kingdom." Hearing this your shoulders slumped, how long was it going to take you to get back home? How were you even going to make it through the woods alone?

"How far is it?" You asked, looking at him and letting out a small sigh. You weren't sure how you were going to make it to the next portal but you weren't just going to stop.

"A several days' journey," Felix replied, his tone shortened. He stared down at you before clearing his throat, he knew there was barely a chance of you walking through the woods without being spotted and he knew he'd need to step in. Reluctantly.

"And it's dangerous. The realm is not safe for humans." You looked up at him, his expression was unreadable as you waited for any sign of him offering to take you.

If this place was so dangerous why was he here? Why had he been in the area when you'd fallen through, or rather had been dragged through?

"I don't have a choice, do I? I need to get home, since you're so adamant I shouldn't be here," Felix hesitated, his cold façade slipping for just a moment, a flicker or something else on his face as you stared at him. Realistically he knew that there was going to be no other way for you to get home, he knew he was your only hope but he needed to maintain distance.

"I will guide you," he said finally, swallowing a lump in his throat as he watched you closely looking for any sign of unease from you. He would need to find a way to get you through the Kingdom without being detected and your outfit was going to draw eyes to you, and the smell of you. Humans smelt incredible to certain creatures in the woods and it would take only a moment for something to catch you.

"But understand this: I am not doing this out of kindness. Your presence here is a threat to Eldoria, and the quicker you leave, the better." You frowned, feeling a pang of hurt at his harsh words.

"I get it. You don't like me or my kind. Let's just get this over with." You scoffed, tightening the bag around your shoulders and looking at him as he nodded his head.

"Good," Felix said curtly, turning to lead the way through the woods, throwing a glance over his shoulder.

"Stay close and do exactly as I say. There are many dangers in these woods, and you are ill-equipped to face them." You tried not to give him a snarky remark.

As you walked through the snow, you couldn't help but steal glances at Felix. Despite his cold demeanour, there was something about him that drew you in, something that felt inexplicably familiar. You wondered what secrets he was hiding behind that icy exterior but you shivered a little, gaining the attention from him and he felt his stomach sink at the thought of you getting sick out here.

"Why do you hate humans so much?" You questioned after a long stretch of silence. Felix stiffened sliding off his coat before wrapping it around your shoulders, telling himself it was only to mask your scent.

"It's not about hate," he said quietly, almost as though he didn't want to admit it to you but he knew it was going to be a long couple of days if he didn't admit the truth to you, or at least part of it.

"It's about survival. The presence of a human in Eldoria is dangerous. The queen - as she likes to call herself -, Morgath, will stop at nothing to destroy anyone who poses a threat to her power." Your heart skipped a beat, a threat? You barely knew how to walk without stumbling over your own feet. How could you ever be a threat to some Fae Queen?

"And do you...think I'm a threat? I'm a human I can't do anything" Your voice had trailed slightly and Felix glanced back at you, his eyes piercing into you before he held his hand up and shook his head needing this conversation to stop.

"Morgath has spies everywhere. If she learns of your existence, she will hunt you down and I can't describe the kind of things she will do to you." He looked ahead of him, there was a cottage coming up soon and he was hoping to find you something else to wear. Something to hide you and mask the stench of your human-ness.

"My hostility is a necessity, not a choice." He added you swallowed hard, realizing the gravity of the situation. You didn't feel like being tortured by someone because you were merely a human.

"I understand." You whispered, stepping closer to Felix as the two of you walked together. If it was that dangerous there then you were going to stick to him like glue.

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a twilight glow over the snowy forest as you and Felix approached a secluded lodge. By now you were practically freezing to death as you clutched his jacket around you tighter, your knees feeling weak.

"We need to make a quick stop here," he said quietly, glancing around for any sign of someone else in the area but the place was clearly abandoned.

"You can't keep walking around smelling like a human. It's too risky." He said as he began to walk toward the lodge. Its wooden structure was nestled among the towering trees, ivy creeping up its walls making it look as though it belonged there in the woods. Felix halted, turning to you with a serious expression.

"And how exactly do I fix that?" You mumbled, sniffing yourself trying to figure out what made you smell different to him. The two of you weren't too different, in appearance maybe. Felix's cheeks coloured slightly at the sight of you cuddled into his jacket, a sight that both surprised and intrigued you.

"There's a lodge here that belongs to a Fae family I know." He looked over at the door, trying not to let the sadness overwhelm him as he took in the sight of the place.

"They aren't home right now. We can find you some clothes that will help mask your scent." You nodded, following him up the creaking steps to the lodge's front door, wondering why there had been such a glum expression masking his face. Felix produced a small, intricate key from his pocket and unlocked the door, gesturing for you to enter, his eyes casting a glance behind you as he locked the door.

Inside, the lodge was cosy and warmly lit by the soft glow of enchanted lanterns, Felix snapped his fingers before a fireplace in the middle of what looked to be a living room lit itself startling you a little. The air smelled of pine and lavender, a welcome contrast to the tension of your journey here. If you were home you'd curl up in front of the fire and sleep for the night.

"This way." He whispered, leading you to a small bedroom before opening the wardrobe. He rummaged through the clothes, occasionally glancing at you and then looking away quickly, his ears tinged pink at the sight of you looking around.

Your hands ran over the bed sheets as you wondered who might have lived here, it was a beautiful home.

"Did your friends go on vacation?" You quizzed, glancing back over at him as he pulled out a soft green gown and then reached for something else.

"Not quite, they'll be back though." It almost sounded as though he didn't believe it but before you could push him more on the subject he turned to face you.

"Here," he said, handing you the gown as well as a warm-looking shawl.

"This should fit you, Sharm and you are almost the same size." He uttered the woman's name and you couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy but you had no idea why. You had no claim to him. He didn't even like your kind.

You carefully took the dress, your fingers brushing against his for a brief moment as he felt a jolt run through his skin. You noticed the way his breath hitched and smiled inwardly at him.

"Thank you. I'll, uh, change in the bathroom." You nodded behind you at the separate room and Felix nodded, stepping out of the room to give you some privacy.

As you changed, you couldn't help but marvel at the dress's quality. It felt cool and soothing against your skin, the material imbued with a faint, pleasant fragrance that seemed to blend perfectly with the forest's natural scent.

When you finally stepped out of the room, Felix was waiting in the small living area, pretending to study a map on the wall with his hands behind his back. He turned, his eyes widening slightly as he took in your appearance, he hadn't expected it to fit you so perfectly but the gown seemed as though it was made for you.

"You look... it fits well," he said, clearing his throat as he stopped the compliment from slipping from his lips.

"And it will help mask your scent." He finished, turning his attention back to the map, you slowly began to walk toward him, kneeling in front of the fire wanting to warm up a little before heading back into the snow.

"Not bad for stolen clothes. Do I smell sufficiently Fae now?" You laughed a little, sparing a glance at him and noticing the smile on his lips and a blush on his cheeks.

"Much better." His gaze was on you again as he took in your appearance, his eyes slowly drinking just how beautiful you looked in his world. Finally, he'd gotten a good look at you in a nice lightening and he couldn't help the way his heart skipped a beat. Clearing his throat he reminded himself of why you were here

"Now we just need to—"

"You didn't pick that dress just because it masks my scent, did you? You actually think it looks nice on me." You smirked noticing his glance from before, Felix's blush deepened, and he turned away slightly.

"It's practical. That's all." He said it so formally you almost would have believed him, you got up from the floor and laughed a little, stepping closer to him.

"You know, for someone who's supposed to dislike humans, you're being awfully considerate. Taking me home, giving me clothes. You could easily hand me over to Morgath and be done with it,"

"No!" He yelled, the lanterns practically shaking as you stared at him, shocked that he'd been a little loud and stern with you.

"What-"

"I have my reasons for getting you home," Felix replied, his tone softer than before. He met your gaze, and for a moment, the tension between you seemed to dissolve.

"This isn't easy for me, either. But keeping you safe is important. If I'm caught with you it would very much mean my head on a spike, something I do not need to happen." Something that no one in Eldoria needed to happen, he was the one thing standing in Morgath's way of gaining full power. With him around there was still a slim chance he could take back his throne.

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through your chest at the thought of him keeping you safe.

"I appreciate it, Felix. Really." Felix nodded, averting his eyes once again.

"Have you warmed up enough?" He questioned, gesturing back to the fire that was burning hot behind you, your body had warmed up quickly thanks to him but you nodded a little.

"We should get going. The lodge won't be safe for long." As you wrapped the shawl around your arms you looked at him, unable to resist a small quip at him.

"You know, if you keep being this nice, I might start thinking you don't hate me after all." You teased, but Felix paused with his hand on the door handle, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"Don't get used to it." He said in a teasing manner, not being able to keep the smile on his lips from growing. You laughed, and for the first time since you'd gotten to Eldoria, you felt a flicker of hope and something else deep in your chest.

Despite the danger, despite Felix's cold exterior, you sensed that there was more to him than he let on and you were going to keep pressing him for information.

"So are you going to tell me more about this place or do I have to beg for tiny bits of information?" You asked with a giant smile, trying to catch up to him as he strolled through the woods, a deep laugh falling from his lips.

"What would you want to know?" He arched a brow, turning to look at you as he kept walking with you, your eyes never leaving his even though you had no idea where you were walking, it was as though your body just knew the route.

"What other creatures are there here? You're clearly Fae and I'm assuming the queen is?" You looked at him and then in front of you, Felix smiled to himself. He'd never really had someone in his Kingdom he had to explain anything to before and it filled him with a small bit of excitement and he knew he couldn't be silent on your trip. Besides the way your eyes lit up as you questioned him only filled him with more eagerness to fill you with information.

"There are many things here, different kinds of Fae. The Queen is..." He stops for a moment trying to think of the words to describe her.

"She was made Fae, human first though." He rolls his eyes,

"But someone took her and created her for Evil, not knowing it would ultimately be the death of him as Morgath overthrew him," He glanced at you, you were clearly still listening to every word,

"Damn, Karma is a bitch here too." A laugh fell from his lips once again.

"I suppose it is,"

"Isn't there anyone that could stop her? I mean, if no one wants her in power why doesn't anyone try to stop her?" If only it was that simple, people had been trying for almost two years but she was too powerful.

"She's queen, she has many followers who will do anything to see her succeed. Including killing any Human." He nodded to you and you bit your lip, remembering the Fae that had dragged you through to this world.

"Not everyone believes in her though, there are some... admittedly very few, that want her gone and people have been trying for a long time to throw her out of power." You nodded along with him, happy you were having any kind of conversation with him. As you walked you were about to step over a log when he reached for you, his arms enveloping you right away before pressing you to his chest, his heart racing so hard you could feel it. The two of you sat on the floor as he caught his breath,

"Traps," He whispers as he points down, a trip wire on the floor before angling your head up to see the giant net above it.

"Shit, t-thanks," You stuttered, turning to face him, his face inches away from yours as you let out a small and shaky breath. Your heart practically racing but not from the trap, from being so close to him.

"Anytime," He breathed out, his eyes lingering on your face fluttering down to your lips before looking you back in your eyes.

"Felix..." You whispered, almost as though you didn't want to talk or ruin the moment, whatever kind of moment was happening between you. He inclined his head closer and you almost touched lips when a twig snapped and he turned to see what it was.

"We should move," He rushed out, carefully getting to his feet and holding out his hand for you. You stood up, your chest crashing into his as you both stared at one another again, neither of you making an attempt to move from the spot you were in.

"Yn." He breathed out, his hand running over your cheek as you felt your heart flutter, your mind completely ignoring the fact that you had yet to mention your name to him.

"Am I going to forget everything once I'm home?" You couldn't stomach the thought of it. You were almost scared to remember it, knowing what was out there but never going to be close to it again but part of you never wanted to forget the way he was making you feel. A flicker of something you couldn't read ran across his face before he put some distance between you, clearing his throat.

"I'm not sure." He mumbled, going back to cold silence as you made your way through the forest, being extra careful of where you were looking in case of traps.

The moon hung high in the sky, casting a pale glow over the forest as you and Felix trudged through the snow once again. The night had grown colder, the chill seeping into your bones as fatigue began to overtake you. Felix had underestimated how cold you were going to get since it hadn't really affected him all that much and he felt guilt crushing him. The two of you had been travelling for hours, the path growing steeper and more treacherous. He'd been trying to make the trip as quick as possible trying not to get caught with you. He needed to get you out of there as quickly as possible.

Felix glimpsed at you, noticing your slow pace and the way you stumbled over roots and rocks. Your breath came in laboured gasps and you could barely keep your eyes open as yawns escaped you. He could see you were nearing your limit and he needed to do something about it. There was no way you'd made another hour on foot.

“Yn,” he said, stopping and turning to you as much as he didn't want to stop he didn't really have much of a choice when it came to how tired you were.

“We need to find shelter.” You shook your head stubbornly, adamant that you could continue without needing a break.

“I can keep going. We have to keep moving.” Felix sighed, stepping closer to you, clearly, you were too tired.

“You’re exhausted. We won’t make it far if you collapse.” Before you could protest, your legs gave out beneath you, and you fell to your knees, hissing out in pain. Felix was by your side in an instant, his strong arms lifting you effortlessly as he stared down at you.

“Felix, I’m fine,” You grumbled, though your eyelids were heavy with sleep, you didn't want to stop not when he hadn't shown any signs of getting tired yet.

“Clearly,” he replied dryly, shifting your weight to carry you more comfortably, your body was tense in his arms and he breathed into your ear.

“Just rest. We’re almost there.” You nodded a little, your eyes slowly becoming too heavy for you to keep open but you didn't want to stop. Part of you worried you'd fall asleep and never see him again.

"What if this is just a dream and I never see you again?" He chuckled softly at your innocence,

"You'll see me when you open your beautiful eyes in the morning." He let out a low laugh and you snuggled against him, a yawn taking over you.

"Another compliment? I should feel honoured," You breathed,

"Go to sleep, Yn," He urged, you whined at him and shook your head.

"Felix..." You trailed a little, he'd said your name twice now but you'd never even told him it,

"Hmm?" He asked dryly, his eyes forward as he navigated his woods, his eyes straight ahead as he tried to make his way with you in his arms.

"I never told you my name." You whispered before your head lolled against his shoulder as he continued through the forest, his body tense as he realised he'd said your name and hadn't meant to.

Felix moved swiftly but carefully, his keen eyes scanning the surroundings for any sign of danger, he needed to get you out of there sooner rather than later, he'd already let too much go.

After what felt like an eternity, the two of you arrived at a small, secluded lodge nestled among the trees. Warm light spilt from the windows, and Felix approached the door, knocking softly, or attempting to with you nestled in his arms. Your head snuggled closer to him as you let out a small whine at the sudden movement.

A moment later, the door creaked open, revealing an elderly Fae woman, her eyes scanning over Felix before she gasped, her eyes widened in surprise and then softened in recognition.

“Prince Felix,” she whispered, stepping aside to let him in, her eyes scanning over your sleeping frame as she stared at the sight of Felix.

“Come quickly. We’ll keep your presence secret.” She told him, bolting the door shut and blowing out the light that let people know there was a lodging available inside.

This had been one of the many places Felix could come and still feel a little control over his Kingdom, Mary was one of the few people left in his world who cared he was the true owner of the throne.

Felix nodded his thanks and carried you inside of a small room. The lodge was cosy, with a fire crackling in the hearth and the smell of fresh bread wafting through the air. Two other Fae, a middle-aged couple, looked up from their seats by the fire, their expressions turning to concern as they saw their Prince carrying a person in his arms.

“We need a place for her to rest,” Felix said quietly, his eyes glancing down at you as he took in your sleeping appearance. You appeared so peaceful in his arms and he hated how perfect you seemed to mould against him.

“Of course,” Mary woman replied, leading him to a small bedroom at the back of the lodge. She pulled back the covers on a neatly made bed, and Felix gently laid you down, pulling the blanket over you and gently running his hand over your cheek, his heart racing as he stared at you. You stirred slightly but didn’t wake, your eyebrows scrunching together at the sensation of Felix being gone and he smiled weakly to himself.

“Thank you,” Felix said, stepping back and watching you for a moment before returning to the main room where the Fae who had been watching waited for an explanation.

They motioned for Felix to sit by the fire, offering him a cup of warm tea, which he accepted gratefully, sipping on the liquid and sighing to himself. He knew that they were going to have questions, anyone would.

“Who is she?” the middle-aged man asked, his voice hushed, almost as though he was scared one of Morgaths spies was around ready to pounce.

“She’s a human,” Felix replied. “She stumbled into Eldoria. I’m helping her find a way back.” The elderly woman shook her head, he already knew what they were going to say to him and he wasn't ready to admit it to himself.

“She’s not just any human, Felix. We can all sense it. She could be the one to save us.” Felix’s expression hardened, there was no way he was going to put you in that kind of Danger. There was no way he was going to subject you to that kind of torture.

“Don’t speak of that. She’s not here to fulfil any prophecy. She’s just a girl who got lost.” He hissed out, apologising for his outburst and sighing. The elderly couple left the room as Mary narrowed her eyes at him, she'd always managed to speak freely to him.

“But Felix,” She insisted, her eyes earnest as she ran her hands over his shoulder, rubbing softly.

“The prophecy speaks of a human who will break the curse. You know this.” Of course, he knew it. The damn thing had been drilled into his mind from the moment Morgath had taken the throne from his father but the Prophecy had been much older than that, older than any Fae that Felix had encountered.

In the ancient annals of Eldoria, written in the language of the Fae and etched into the sacred stone of the Elder Tree, there exists a prophecy that has been passed down through generations. It speaks of a time when darkness would fall upon the land, and a saviour from another world would emerge to restore light and harmony.

It had all been something told to children to make them sleep at night, Morgath was nothing but a nightmare until it all finally came true.

"She could be the one and you know it, you already feel it." She mumbled to him and it was true but Felix stood abruptly, his jaw clenched. He'd known it from the moment he'd seen you standing there that you were the one to fix everything but he wasn't going to put you through that. The second he'd locked eyes with you he remembered you, he'd always had fleeting visions of you, his soulmate. The visions had become more vivid as of late and he knew it was because you were closer to one another than before.

But you were human, you were breakable and would grow old. Felix was doing this for your own good, you deserved to be with someone of your own kind. The moon goddess had made a mistake making you mates.

“I won’t let her be used. She deserves to be in her own world! We’re getting her home, nothing more.” The room fell silent, the fire flickering as he shook his head. Felix turned away, staring into the fire, his thoughts a tangled mess of duty and protectiveness. He couldn’t deny the possibility that you might be the one the prophecy spoke of, but he also couldn’t bear the thought of you being thrust into such danger.

Mary placed a hand on his arm and smiled weakly, running her hand up and down his arm.

“We understand, Felix. We’ll help you both as best we can. But remember, sometimes destiny finds us, even when we try to avoid it.”

Felix nodded, though his resolve remained firm. He wouldn’t let anything happen to you. Not if he could help it.

"Don't forget while you're protecting her...You're also pushing away your own happiness." She whispered before disappearing into her own room, leaving Felix to stare into the flames.

The first light of dawn filtered through the small window of the lodge, casting a gentle glow over the room and you stirred, slowly waking to the comforting warmth of the bed and the smell of something delicious cooking nearby. You sat up, blinking away the remnants of sleep, looking at the small room you'd slept in and smiling to yourself that this all hadn't been a dream and you still had some time with Felix.

"Good morning," A woman said kindly, her eyes crinkling with a warm smile when you finally emerged out of the room. Your eyes danced around the kitchen she was in and she looked at you, almost as though she was in awe of you.

"I hope you slept well." You nodded, stretching your sore muscles.

"I did, thank you. Everything smells wonderful." You whined as you took in a deep breath to get another sniff making the lady chuckle softly, ladling a fragrant stew into a bowl bringing it over to you and leading you toward a table.

"Eat up. You need your strength." She told you, rubbing your back softly as you accepted the bowl gratefully, the warmth of the stew seeping into your hands.

"Is Felix here?" You asked as you took a cautious sip, savouring the rich flavours. Mary smirked to herself at you already asking about him. It was clear to her that you cared for him already and even if you hadn't realised you were soulmates something inside of you felt attached to him.

"He went to scout for the morning, I think he wanted to check nothing would happen to you both on the walk today," She smiles, sitting across from you and taking out a knitting needle before knitting while sitting there.

"Oh. Did he eat?" You asked softly, your eyes never leaving the bowl of stew in your hands as you slowly lifted another spoonful to your lips and carefully ate.

"You care that much already?" She smirked and you felt your body heat in embarrassment as you went back to eating in silence, Mary stilled and leaned forward.

"Don't worry dear. I made sure he ate and I've packed you both a lunch as well." She told you while stroking her hand over yours and you nodded a little,

"You're very sweet." The woman waved a hand dismissively, she'd been working this Inn for a long time this was something that was completely second nature to her at this point.

"It's nothing, dear. We're happy to help a friend of Prince Felix." Your food caught in your throat at the mention of him being a prince but she gave you nothing else on that.

As you ate, you couldn't help but notice the woman's eyes occasionally flickering to you with an expression of curiosity and something else—something that looked almost like reverence.

"Is something wrong?" You finally asked, lowering your spoon. The woman hesitated, looking around to make sure Felix wasn't around before clearly choosing her words carefully.

"It's just... unusual to see a human in Eldoria. Especially one who arrived the way you did." You frowned a little, surely there had been stories of other humans coming into the world.

"What do you mean?" You laughed awkwardly and she sighed, sitting down opposite you again and holding your hands in hers, nervously glancing around to make sure the cost was clear.

"There are old stories, prophecies really, about a human who would come to our land and—"

"Mary, that’s enough," Felix's voice interrupted sharply from the doorway, your heart picked up as you glanced over at him. He stepped into the room, his expression stern and cold like the one from the forest the day before.

Mary glanced at him and then back at you, her eyes filled with a mixture of apology and caution as she realised how scared you looked now.

"I’m sorry, dear. I didn’t mean to alarm you." She breathed out, walking into the kitchen as Felix approached, his gaze locking onto yours.

"We need to leave soon. The longer we stay in one place, the greater the risk." He mentioned, glaring over at Mary who was now avoiding his gaze at all costs. You looked between Felix and Mary, sensing there was much being left unsaid and you hated the thought of being left out.

"Felix, what is she talking about? What prophecy?" You questioned, standing up from your chair and looking at him but he avoided your gaze, shaking his head as he went to collect the bag Mary had prepared for you both. Filled with food and things for the road you might need.

"Lix." You breathed out, the nickname slipping from your mouth as though it was second nature and Felix's body froze, slowly turning to look at you, his expression softened slightly, but his tone remained firm.

"It’s nothing you need to concern yourself with right now. Our focus is getting you back to your world safely." Mary stood, her hands wringing together as she studied you closely, she knew Felix would never harm her for speaking the truth but he was a friend and she didn't want to lose him as such.

"Just know, Yn, that you are special. More special than you realize." Felix shot Mary a warning look but didn’t say anything further. Your curiosity burned, but you knew pushing Felix would get you nowhere, right now at least. Maybe you could pester him more on the road since you'd have nothing else to talk about but right now it was clear he wasn't going to move on the matter.

"Thank you for the meal and a place to sleep." You said to Mary, finishing the last of your stew before bringing her the empty bowl, she took it from you, placing it down as Felix made his way to the doorway.

"Let's go." He urged impatiently but Mary wrapped her arms around you, taking in a deep breath and you hugged her back.

"Stay safe, child. Keep him on his toes," She whispered to you. As you were about to pull away she tightened her grip.

"Trust your gut." Was all she said before Felix gently took your arm in his, guiding you toward the door.

"We need to keep moving. There’s still a long journey ahead." You spared a glance over your shoulder at Mary who looked away and sighed.

As you both stepped out into the morning light, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were a part of something much larger than you understood. The weight of Mary's words lingered in your mind, a puzzle you were determined to solve.

"Did you sleep last night? Do fae even sleep?" You asked, rambling a little as the two of you stepped into the woods again, a chuckle left Felix.

"I think I preferred you sleeping, much less questions being sent my way," You playfully glared at him and looked down at the snow that hadn't even melted despite the sun burning above you both.

"Yes I slept, I sleep just like you." He explained, holding your hand as he helped you cross over a log, his hand lingering in your embrace as the two of you walked together.

"I'm sorry I fell asleep," You uttered, you hated that you'd slept in his arms but it had been the best sleep you'd had in the longest time.

"Don't be, you're human, you tire easily. I should have expected it," Felix hadn't meant for the way it had sounded, so harsh and as if he looked down on you for growing tired.

"Why does the snow never melt?" You asked, trying to break the awkward tension between you and Felix raised an eyebrow.

"It seems your sleep has refuelled your brain then." He teased softly and you stared at him,

"I can ask about the world or I can ask about the prophecy, your choice." At the mention of the prophecy, you noticed his throat bob nervously and he let out a deep breath.

"The snow is a present from Morgath, an eternal winter she called it," He rolled his eyes a little. The woman had always had a flare for the dramatics.

"And how did she become Queen...seeing as you're the prince." You tread carefully around the topic. Mary had let the words slip this morning and you hadn't known how to bring it up to him.

"Mary let that slip did she?" He cocked his eyebrow while shaking his head. Mary had always been crafty when it came to him, he knew he should have stayed with you that morning to make sure nothing was mentioned about the prophecy, he was just glad Mary had neglected the soulmate part of the discussion.

"An accident I'm sure." You smirked, biting on the inside of your cheek as Felix rolled his eyes,

"Hmm, I'm sure." He muttered not sounding entirely convinced of the fact. Mary knew how to play people and she was playing both of you perfectly together.

"She married my father, who mysteriously died a short months later ready for her to take over."

"But surely the crown would fall to you?" Maybe it was different here but usually, a queen would never rule alone.

"We tried that, but Morgath was power-hungry. Demanded that she get the thorne only it hasn't exactly worked in her favour." He laughed softly as though he was in on a joke you hadn't known and you frowned a little,

"Meaning?" He stopped walking and held you in place, standing behind you and placing his hands on your shoulder. Your body stilled in his, relaxing a little from his touch as he leaned down toward your ear,

"Watch those trees," He whispers in your ear, your skin heating from the contact as you let out a breathy sigh. You stared over at them, waiting for something, anything, to happen but as you were about to turn and speak to Felix you saw it.

The tree slowly parted ways and sunlight was bleeding through, not an inch of snow below it, all of it beautiful lush grass and wildflowers.

"I'm the heir, the rightful heir to the throne and the kingdom knows it. It's why it still bends to my will, why some of her people fear me." You turned to stare at him, your eyes scanning his face as he smiled down at you, his fingers brushing over your cheeks to remove some of the snow that had fallen on your skin.

"She's been trying to kill me ever since," Your eyes darkened and he could have sworn he saw a flash of red in them before it faded. Your anger boiled deep inside of you at the thought of someone ever harming him.

"Why?" Your voice shook as you stared at him, your eyes brimming with tears at the thought of anything ever happening to him and Felix felt his heart clench. He was already revealing too much to you.

"She'll finally have the Kingdom at her will, she'll be able to do whatever it is she wants," He whispered, his hand gently cupping your face in his as he went to wipe away a fallen tear, you placed your hand atop of his stopping his action in place.

"And the prophecy...it'll stop her?" Felix's hand dropped from your face and he turned away from you, the trees moulding back together to hide the sunlight.

"The prophecy is a story, fictional. Made up by the people of this Kingdom who are scared." He grumbled, walking ahead of you and forcing you to catch up to him.

"If it's just a story why won't you tell me it?" You grunted as you tried to keep up with him, Felix only slowing down as he realised how far behind you were from him.

"I don't wish to bore you." He deflected quickly,

"We've got nothing else to talk about so unless you want to walk in absolute silence-" Your breath caught as Felix spun around, pressing your back up against a tree as he leaned down close to you. His face inches away from yours as his eyes bore into yours,

"Lix?" His finger lifted to your lips and she shook his head, his eyes on you but his mind clearly somewhere else as he listened to what was going on behind him.

"Morgath said she can sense it, the filthy thing is here somewhere." A voice cried out, it was navely and high pitched and you could have sworn you saw Felix shiver as he stared down at you.

"Be quiet," He whispered before disappearing right before your eyes, you reached out to touch him and he was still there. His hands held yours tightly as you watched two creatures stalk by you.

One was a wolf, the size of a bear as he sniffed around, stopping and staring in your direction. Felix could feel your heart racing and he pressed himself closer to you, your heart stilling as you waited for the wolf to pass.

"You find something?" The navily voice asked as the second creature turned to see what the wolf was staring at but it let out a growl before continuing away from you and Felix and in the direction of Mary's lodge.

Once Felix revealed himself and you, he wasted no time in grabbing your hand and quickly pulling you through the forest, his eyes focused in front of him.

The encounter had only hammered it in harder that he needed you out of there, that no prophecy about a human breaking the curse was going to be worth losing you if Morgath or any of her minions found you here. He wasn't going to let a single thing happen to you.

"Lix, please." You pleaded with him, your breathing becoming erratic as you tried to keep up with him without tiring yourself out. The nickname sent shivers down his spine as he was thrust into the memories of dreams about you. The two of you. Except they couldn't be true, you needed to be out of here before you were killed.

"We can't stop, you have to get home."

"Please...I-I just need a minute." You cried out before he finally stopped, taking you through a secluded area and sitting you down on a log, his face pale as he stared around.

"Why are they so adamant to find me?" You questioned, staring at him as you slowly caught your breath once again.

"I told you, it doesn't concern you-"

"I'm telling you! I want to know considering if they find me I'm dead, I'm pretty sure it damn well concerns me," He was slightly taken back by your boldness and he smirked a little, he should have known his soulmate would be able to hold their own when the time came. Taking in a deep breath he looked at you, he knew if you were anything like him you were going to be stubborn enough never to give in.

"It's a story we were told as kids, okay? Don't think about it too much." He told you before sighing,

"When shadows stretch across the Fae lands, And the queen of darkness takes her stand, A foreign soul, pure and bright, Shall cross the veil in the dead of night. From realms afar, where mortals dwell,

A human heart will break the spell, Bound by fate to a prince of old,

Their union is forged in stories told. Through trials dire and love concealed, The truth within shall be revealed, With courage strong and sacrifice, The cursed land shall pay the price. The kiss of life, with power untold, Will shatter chains and darkness fold, As light returns to Fae once more, The saviour’s heart shall love restored. In unity, both worlds shall see, A future bright, where all are free,."

"That's it?" You stared at him, you had to admit you'd been expecting more ever since you'd learnt about it that morning. It sounded more like a riddle than a prophecy someone was supposed to uphold.

"I told you, it's a fictional piece told to us as kids." He rolled his eyes a little and you stilled, staring at him with an arched brow.

"So fictional the Queen of Darkness happens to be real?" You slowly raised from the log you had been sitting on and Felix scoffed, shrugging his shoulders and turning to face the way you needed to go.

"A coincidence." He uttered harshly at you.

"Lix." You breathed out but he was already gone, walking ahead and trying to forget the way his nickname sounded on your lips

The two of you walked in silence for what felt like hours but the sun was still high in the sky when Felix decided to make a camp, parting the trees once again before pulling you inside and letting them shut around you both. It was spacious enough for you to rest and for Felix to get food out,

"I didn't mean to upset you," You finally whispered, your eyes watching him as he shook his head,

"You have nothing to be sorry for, I just want to get you home. I don't want anything to happen to you." He whispered, his back to you as he got the food out that Mary had prepared for the two of you. You needed food before the two of you continued on but he was rationing it so you could get another two meals out of it at least.

"But if I can help...I will." You pushed him on it and his fingers clenched around the flask he was holding,

"The risk isn't worth the cost, you need to go home where you can be safe."

"But-"

"Please," He turned to look at you, kneeling in front of you as you finally noticed tears in his eyes. Your hands slowly moved to cup his face in your hands and you slowly ran your hand over his cheeks. As long as he'd been yearning to feel your touch on him he didn't want to risk anyone finding you killing you for their own sick pleasure and destroying him in the process. He'd never recover if he lost you.

Knowing you were in the human world would be torture but not as much torture as it would be to lose you completely.

"Okay...I'll leave," You whispered, smiling weakly as you let him go, his back to you once again as he finished preparing you some food, both of you falling into an uneasy silence once more.

Your mind going back to the prophecy, if you could help him you wanted to do everything in your power to do it.

The sun had once again set, and the forest was bathed in the silver light of the rising moon, Felix could see how tired you were getting and he sighed to himself. It was one night of rest and the two of you could be at the next portal by the next afternoon if he was lucky enough not to run into any more trouble. He cast you a nervous glance, you'd been quiet ever since lunch and it worried him, if this was all the time he was going to get with you he wanted to spend it talking to you.

"Soon you'll see Max," He offered a small smile but you nodded at him, glancing over at him and smiling weakly.

"He probably ran home, my neighbours probably watching him." You whispered, wondering if you were going to go back to a bombarded questioning about where you'd been.

"Time works differently here," He admits to you, it was probably something he should have mentioned when you first arrived but between saving your life and seeing you in person it had thrown him through a loop.

"You'll go back to find it's only been about four hours missing," You stared at him and nodded a little, too tired to question him more on it and he hated it. He wanted to hear you say something, anything, even if it was a snarky remark about him, anything.

"Yn...Are you tired?" He asked, his voice full of concern as he stepped in time beside you. You refused to look at him, staring straight ahead as your eyes grew heavy.

"A little but I can keep going if we're close."

"We're not." He answered quickly, a little too quickly but if you'd noticed you didn't let on that you had and he smiled.

"There's a clearing just up ahead with an abandoned cabin, we can spend the night in there." He told you as he carefully brushed his hand with yours, taking it into his grasp and walking with you off the main path.

You emerged into a small clearing, where a secluded cabin stood hidden among the trees. Its stone walls were covered in moss, and the roof was partially obscured by overhanging branches but even from where you were standing you could see it was falling apart.

“We’ll rest here for the night,” Felix said, pushing open the creaky door and letting you inside.

“It’s an old hideout we can use. We’ll leave at first light.” He told you as you nodded, stepping inside and immediately noticing the double bed against one wall and a fireplace on the other. It was more of a bedroom than a cabin and your heart skipped a beat at the sight of one bed.

“Where are you going to sleep?" Felix followed your gaze, his expression remaining impassive though a faint flush coloured his cheeks.

“I’ll take the floor,” he replied curtly, not wanting to put you in distress at the thought of sharing a bed, besides, he wasn't sure that if he slept beside you he'd be able to hold back his feelings anymore.

“You need the rest more than I do.” You frowned, feeling a pang of guilt at the thought of him on the cold and hard floor after everything he had done for you.

“You don’t have to do that. We can share the bed. It’s big enough.” You stepped closer to it and Felix looked at you,

"Fine, but stay on your side," He pointed a look at you and you couldn't help but smile at his serious tone.

"Deal. But there isn't any-" Before you could mention the lack of pillows or anything to keep you warm a bright light flashed in the room before it was engulfed in a warm light, the sound of the fire crackling behind you both.

"Fit for a prince," You giggled noticing the bed was now covered in pillows and sheets to keep you warm through the winter night.

After eating you lay on the bed, stiffly side by side as you listened to the fire cracking on the other side of the room.

"Thank you for helping me, Felix." Felix glanced at you, his eyes softened by the flickering flames as he stared at you.

“I’m doing what’s necessary. Keeping you safe is important—for Eldoria and for you.” You smiled gently, sensing the weight of unspoken words in his tone but not pressing him any more than you had today. Right now you were just glad the two of you were speaking again, it had been your own kind of hell not speaking all afternoon.

“Still, I appreciate it. You’re not as cold as you pretend to be.” Felix’s lips twitched in what might have been a suppressed smile.

“Don’t get too comfortable. We’re not out of danger yet...We've still got a trip tomorrow,” He whispered as you yawned, your eyes slowly shutting as you nodded,

“I know,” You replied softly, your eyes slowly opening to find him again.

“But I’m glad I’m not alone in this.” For a moment, silence fell between you, filled only by the sounds of the crackling fire and the distant hoot of an owl. You shifted, trying to get comfortable on the bed, your leg brushing against Felix’s. You froze, feeling the warmth of his skin through the thin fabric of your clothes.

“Sorry,” You murmured, starting to pull away. Felix’s hand gently caught yours, holding you in place, enjoying the feeling of being close to you, even if only for a night.

“It’s alright,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, his heart getting the better of his mind as he shuffled closer to you on the bed.

“Get some rest. We have a long journey ahead.” Your heart raced at the unexpected contact, but you nodded, settling back into the bed. Felix released your hand and turned onto his side, his back to you, though you could still feel the tension in his body from the contact the two of you had shared however brief.

“Goodnight, Lix,” You whispered, closing your eyes for the final time that night, too tired to open them again.

“Goodnight, Yn,” he replied softly. As you both lay there, the boundary between you slowly dissolved as you both sank into a deep slumber, Felix's body moving on its own as he wrapped himself around you pulling you flush against his chest. His own body gave in to the fact that you were there even if for a short while before you returned home.

While the two of you slept you'd not noticed that someone had followed you deep off the trail and watched the house while you slept, waiting to pounce.

The morning sun peeked through the holes in the ceiling, waking you up as you enjoyed the feeling of being in his arms, leaving your eyes shut for as long as possible. Both of you knowing the other was awake but neither making an attempt to move or start your journey together,

"I don't want to go," You finally whispered as Felix tensed from behind you. If he was a selfish man he would have begged you to stay, if he was the King he would have begged you to help but he needed you to go home. He needed you to be safe.

"You must," He whispered, his arms leaving you as he got up, straightening his outfit before snapping his fingers to remove everything he'd bought with him in the night. The sheets and pillows disappear in seconds and you rise from the comforts of the bed.

There was a certain tranquillity in the air as the two of you began your walk that morning, a quiet anticipation that neither of you dared to break with words. Felix walked a little slower than usual, his steps deliberate, as if savouring every moment of your time together.

You noticed his uncharacteristic pace but chose not to comment on it. Instead, you walked beside him, your fingers brushing against one another, enjoying the silence and the unspoken bond that had grown between you.

As the two of you walked, neither of you noticed the snow melting behind you, leaving a trail of sunlight through the trees and wildflowers finally sprouting in the ground, almost as though the Kingdom was reacting to the two of you together.

You stole another glance at Felix, your heart saddening as you realised your time together was coming to an end rather quickly.

“Felix,” you said softly, your fingers wrapping around his own as he stilled,

"Is everything alright?" He looked at you his expression indistinct for a moment before he nodded, smiling weakly at you.

“Yes. Just... thinking.” In fact, he was in a heated debate with himself. His heart and his brain raging against one another fighting a way to keep you with him. You smiled gently, accepting his vague answer for now and continued walking together. Neither of you noticed the silent figure lurking in the shadows, watching your every move, too lost in your thoughts or one another to notice anything else.

As you finally reached a clearing, the shimmering portal to your world came into view, Max was waiting there with his tail high in the air, barking into the portal almost as though you'd only left minutes before, it's light ethereal and inviting. Your heart quickened, torn between relief at the sight of your way home and the sorrow of leaving Felix behind.

“We’re here,” Felix said, his voice tinged with a mix of emotions. You didn't move toward the portal, you merely stayed still looking at him and waiting for him to tell you to stay.

“Felix, I—” Before you could finish, a dark, monstrous figure lunged from the shadows, its claws grabbing Felix and pulling him away from you as you let out a scream. You reached out but Felix was ripped from your grasp, thrown to the ground by the creature's immense strength. The wolf from the day before was towering over him, pinning him to the ground.

“Felix!” You cried, rushing toward him. But the wolf growled turning his attention to you as it snarled, blood dripping from its mouth.

“Yn, run!” Felix shouted, his voice strained with effort. But you couldn’t leave him, you'd never leave him alone like that. Searching around you grabbed a fallen branch from the ground, wielding it like a weapon, and charged at the wolf. The beast swiped at you, knocking the branch from your hands, but you didn’t back down.

"Go!" Felix managed to breathe, if the wolf wasn't attacking you then there was a small chance no one knew you were human and you still had the chance to get out of there.

"GO!" He screamed out before the wolf stepped on his arm, the bone snapping as he screamed. The scream made your stomach drop and your heart shatter.

"YN GO!" He finally boomed out, staring at you with tears in his eyes but you shook your head. Suddenly, a blast of light hit the wolf, sending it stumbling back. Mary, the elderly Fae woman, emerged from the trees, her hands glowing with magic.

"Hurry, child!” She called out, prepared to save Felix the second you left but she could sense your hesitation and the look on your face as you took in the bloody sight of Felix.

“The portal won’t stay open forever!” You stared over at the portal and then back to Felix, The creature was recovering and quickly advancing on Felix again. Your resolve hardened and you shook your head, there was no way you were leaving, you didn't care how dangerous it was. You couldn’t leave him to face this alone.

"Yn." He warned as Mary held off the wolf, drawing it away from you as you stood Felix up from the floor, wrapping his one good arm around your shoulder.

"I'm not leaving you, Felix, I don't care," You grumbled, groaning as you shifted your body to accommodate Felix's weight.

"We need to get you somewhere safe, to heal." You whispered but as you began to walk you stilled. A woman stood there with fiery red hair and a sharp face stared down at you, an evil smile spread across her lips as she took in the sight of you both together,

"So, the prophecy unfolds," Morgath hissed, her voice dripping with venom as she stared you down, trying to intimidate you.

"The human girl and the Fae prince. How touching." You felt your blood run cold as Morgoth’s gaze locked onto you. Felix immediately stepped in front of you, his stance protective. It didn't matter that he was already wounded he wasn't about to let her lay a hand on you.

"Morgath," he growled, his voice low and dangerous.

"You won’t touch her." He added as you reached for his hands, trying to steady him, he was in no position to fight

"Romantic...but very ill-advised my darling stepson." She smirked at him, laughing a little as the chilling sound echoed through the forest.

"You think you can protect her? You, whose power has been dimmed by my curse? How pathetic." With a flick of her wrist, Morgath summoned a dark, shimmering blade, its edges crackling with dark energy. She advanced towards you, her intent clear aiming to kill Felix and you shook your head.

"No!" You cried, trying to push Felix aside out of her way.

"I won’t let you hurt him!" You screamed, moving him out of the way but Felix was faster and stronger than you. As Morgath lunged with her blade aimed at you, Felix threw himself in front of you, taking the full force of the strike. The blade pierced his side, and he gasped in pain, collapsing to his knees.

"Felix!" You screamed your throat hoarse, dropping to his side as Morgath stepped back, a triumphant smile on her lips.

"Such noble sacrifice," Morgath sneered. "But futile. The human will never save Eldoria." She spat out as Felix pulled the blade from his side, hissing out in pain. You stared down at him, your eyes filled with tears as you cradled him in your arms. His face was drained of all colour, and his breathing was shallow.

"You have to go..." He whispered, his voice barely audible as he held onto your arms but you were applying pressure to his wound, refusing to leave his side for even a second.

"No," You sobbed, clutching him tighter as tears gushed down your cheeks.

"I won’t leave you. There has to be another way." You cried heavily but Felix shook his head at you, smiling weakly through his final breaths. Morgath watched with a mixture of amusement and annoyance at the scene unfolding before her.

"Your defiance is pointless. The prophecy is a lie. There is no saviour." Felix reached his hand up, cupping your face as tears fell down onto him and that was it.

A flash in your mind before everything became clear, all of the dreams you'd had ever since you came of age, a faceless man you'd never quite been able to picture in your mind but who would constantly visit you in your dreams. Images coming clearer of you and Felix together, spending time together in your dreams, he'd always been there. It was how he knew your name and how you'd slowly remember his nicknames. Your dreams had slowly been drifting back into your memory as you spent more time together.

Your heart ached with despair, but as you looked into Felix’s eyes, you felt a surge of determination as you stared down at him,

"I love you." He breathed out, blood trickling from his lips as Morgath began to laugh erratically, knowing she was close to getting everything she'd ever wanted but your mind went back to the day before. You remembered Felix's words, the prophecy, and the power you'd felt within you.

"I love you too," You whisper, looking at him as he frowns a little. With trembling hands, you leaned down and kissed Felix, your lips soft against his.

A brilliant light exploded from the point of contact, enveloping them both not letting anybody from the outside see in. Morgath shielded her eyes, stumbling back as the light grew brighter and brighter.

As you pulled away you stood from the floor, grasping the blade that had been the one to injure Felix and you turned your attention on Morgath who was stumbling, aiming her hands at you but nothing came of it.

"What's going on?!" She screeched, snow around her melting as you smirked a little as you realised what was happening. The kiss had been the one thing to break the curse.

"The prophecy," You whispered, realization dawning on you as you realised everything had been true.

"This changes nothing! I will destroy you too!" She cried out, snapping her fingers but nothing happened, the wolf and Mary emerged from the bushes behind you, her arm around the creature as it snarled in Morgath's direction.

Felix stepped forward, his hand still holding yours taking the blade from your grasp before kissing your cheek softly.

"No, Morgath. Your reign of terror ends now." He said through gritted teeth. With your combined strength, you faced Morgath together, as she scrambled to get away and sink back into whatever hole she'd crawled from. But it was too late The power of your bond, now fully awakened, surged through you both, creating a barrier of light that repelled Morgath’s dark magic.

You felt the energy within your response to Felix’s, your hearts and souls intertwined as your fingers found one another, your eyes never straying from the woman before you. As Morgath attacked, you countered, your combined power overwhelming her. With a final, desperate scream, Morgath was consumed by the light, her form disintegrating into nothingness.

As soon as everything had calmed, you heard the birds and other wildlife slowly begin to awaken and you slowly turned to Felix, your eyes searching his.

"Felix? Are you...?" You could barely finish your sentence, you felt him dying before, you felt him dying in your arms and you were almost sure it was over.

"I'm here, Yn. Thanks to you." He chuckles, running his hand over your cheek as Mary smirks at you both.

"The curse is broken. The land will heal, and so will our people."

Felix nodded his head as he stood beside you, your hands still intertwined. The portal still shimmered behind you both, but it no longer represented an escape. It was a choice, a path to a future the two of you could shape together if you wanted to try.

Now there was no threat to you he wanted you to stay, he needed you to stay after having you so long but if you wanted to go home he would never be the one to stop you.

"Yn," Felix said softly, his eyes locked on yours before flicking over to the portal, Max still waiting for you with his tail in the air.

"Whatever happens next, I want to face it with you." Your eyes dragged away from the portal and back at him,

"Your kingdom needs their king."

"And their queen," Mary spoke from the distance, earning a glare from Felix but you giggled at him running your hand over his cheek,

"She's right...If you want a Queen that is," He looked at you, he was ready for you to leave and hadn't stopped to think you would want to stay with him.

"You're my other half, Lix, I can't even dream of leaving you," You breathed out almost as though you'd been reading his mind and he wrapped himself around you, bringing you into another kiss.

This time there wasn't a flash of magic but you felt your body explode against his as you wrapped your arms around the back of his neck and pulled yourself closer to him. Butterflies erupted inside of you as fireworks went off.

"I love you, future Queen of Eldoria," He whispered, a bark separating you both as you turned to find Max wriggling in Mary's arms, jumping free and pouncing over to you both.

"I guess someone else wants a new life here too," Felix chuckled, kissing your cheek softly before you reached down for Max, cuddling him in your arms.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Epilgoue~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden glow over the ancient forest of Eldoria. In a secluded grove, a sacred ceremony was about to commence. The air was filled with the sweet scent of blooming flowers, and the trees seemed to hum with anticipation.

You stood in the centre of a circle of ancient stones, your heart pounding with a mix of excitement and nervousness, Felix had explained all of this to you weeks before not wanting you to be scared but it still worried you a little. You wore a flowing gown of silver and green, crafted by the finest Fae artisans, its fabric shimmering like moonlight. Your eyes sparkled under the sunlight and you glanced a look at your mate who was holding your hand firmly in his own,

"Are you ready?" Felix asked, his voice gentle but filled with excitement. He'd been pushing off the ceremony for as long as he could, trying to make sure that you were truly ready for it. You nodded, your gaze unwavering from his as you smiled brightly.

"I’ve never been more ready for anything in my life." You giggled, earning a clap from Mary who had been watching the two of you. She stepped toward you both holding a crystal chalice which was filled with a glowing liquid, you eyed it up before nodding at her,

"By the power of the Elder Tree, by the light of the moon and stars, we gather here to witness the transformation of Yn, who has proven her heart and soul are one with the Fae." The grove filled with a soft, ethereal light as the incantation continued, Felix squeezed your hands, his eyes never leaving yours.

"You’re about to become one of us," he whispered, pride and love evident in his voice. Though he'd never forced you into it, you could see how excited he was for this. The two of you would age slowly together for many years to come. You smiled, a tear slipping down your cheek from how happy you were to spend the rest of forever with him.

"I’m ready, Felix. I want to spend eternity with you." Mary brightened her smile as she slowly handed the chalice to you.

"Drink, and let the magic of Eldoria flow through you." Carefully you lifted the chalice, feeling its warmth against your palms. Taking in a deep breath you gave Felix another smile before you drank, the elixir cool and sweet as it travelled down your throat.

As you finished, a radiant light enveloped you, lifting you off the ground, Felix's hand slowly left yours as he watched in awe as your transformation began. Your hair shimmered like spun silver, your eyes brightened with an otherworldly glow, and delicate, iridescent wings emerged from your back fluttering softly as you slowly floated back down to the ground with a graceful landing.

"How are you feeling?" Felix questioned as your wings continued to flutter, your eyes finding his as you stared at him. Everything was so much brighter...everything was just so much more. The lights were brighter, the sounds louder but nothing overwhelming and you could feel everything. You could feel the flowers growing beneath you and hear Felix's heart from where you stood.

"Felix, I feel... complete." You breathed out before he rushed into your arms, his wings unfurling to wrap around you both

"You’re more beautiful than ever," he murmured, kissing your forehead softly both of you forgetting those who had come to witness the ceremony.

The gathered Fae cheered, their voices a harmonious symphony celebrating the union of their prince and his beloved after so long. You and Felix turned to face them, your hands still intertwined, your love and unity shining brightly.

"I'm going to marry you under this tree," He whispered to you, just low enough for you to hear him and you giggled at him,

"Oh? And what if I decline?" You teased but he wrapped himself around you, dipping you lowly as he leaned in toward your lips.

"As if you would," He smirked, kissing you deeply as the fae around you erupted in cheers once again.

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