#going for a long walk through the woods in early autumn

[charliemwrites]

Chapter 1

Content: Violence, Murder, Horror Elements, Masturbation, Kidnapping, Threats, Mild Pet Play, the One (1) use of an ableist slur

It’s the middle of October when Soap convinces you to go camping.

Autumn has sunk its teeth deep into the countryside, bleeding green from the trees and leeching warmth from the days. Deep shadows and lengthening nights are cold enough to condense breaths into pillows of steam. All of the little critters are fattening up and bedding down for a frigid winter, prepared to be snowed into burrows and dens until spring pries away the ice.

Your hip already aches through the first half of your morning exercises. The ghosts of splintered shrapnel prick beneath tender scar tissue until the rust of sleep flakes away. Lying on hard, cold ground sounds like a one-way ticket to agony. You’d much rather be one of those fluffy bastards curling up to hibernate. You tell Soap this on Monday when he initially proposes the idea.

Besides, you add, trying not to chug your coffee, Soap’s in no condition to be fucking about in half-frozen woods either. Not with his finicky nerve pain.

On Wednesday, when you meet up again, he takes a different route. It’s been too long since you two last dipped into a civilian-appropriate but military-adjacent activity. Paintball, knife-throwing, base-jumping…

Your bed is starting to feel too soft and too big again. The city is loud but not the right way. The tedium of self-imposed routines is starting to grate on nerves still tuned for combat. If you don’t get out before the trap of winter snaps closed, you might go mad. You can see it in Soap’s eyes too, a manic glint behind glass blue.

But still. Camping feels too much like what you’ve just left – the shrinks probably wouldn’t approve. Not that you’d ask them.

On Friday, Soap offers a compromise. His grandfather (“Seanair”) left him an old hunting cabin out in the countryside. Nothing luxurious, but it’s got a fireplace, cots, kitchenette, bathroom. It’ll be more like holing up in a safehouse than roughing it for a mission. More importantly, it’ll be gentler on your battle-worn bodies.

That next Monday, you meet him at the café with supplies packed and an honest anticipation for a week off the grid.

*

“Yoohoo! Any murderers about?” Soap calls. “Any armed psychos? An angry raccoon, perhaps?”

You scowl, caught behind him in the doorway. “I thought you checked it out already?”

“Aye, but ye ne’er ken,” he reasons, shrugging. He shuffles in as you nudge him. “We’ve the luck o’ the devil, you an’ I.”

You snort as you start kicking off your shoes. “True enough, I s’pose.”

“Course, I like our odds against any weirdo wi’ a knife, don’ you?”

You shrug. “Maybe. Not so sure about a raccoon though. Think we’d be fucked.”

“Och, tha’s right. I remember your lectures about rabies.”

“Good.”

You snicker at his grimace, likely feeling the phantom sting of vaccines.

The cabin is cute, honestly. There are only three rooms – the living room/kitchenette, the bedroom, and the bathroom. The bathroom is small enough that you could stretch your arms across the width of it and touch both walls, but it’s got a working shower so you’ve no complaints. The bedroom has a dresser and a nightstand, plenty for you and Soap.

While you set to work putting the groceries away, Soap putters about opening windows and making up the beds. The two of you don’t immediately have much to talk about, considering how often you see each other and the long drive out. It’s alright, though, you’ve long grown comfortable in stretches of silence together.

Once settled in, you suggest a walk to explore the area. Part of it is genuine interest in appreciating nature before the sun sets early. But there’s also a large, paranoid part of you (sounding like your old captain) that demands you get your bearings. Just in case.

There’s a loch about a mile from the cabin, a beautiful sheet of dark glass big enough for decent fishing. You’re able to see the row of holiday homes on the other side but wouldn’t be able to see any people on their docks out there. You and Soap follow a deer trail for a way, exchanging stories of your respective childhoods.

No surprise that John MacTavish was a wild child with a rebellious streak that got him in trouble more often than not. He gets you laughing bright and easy before long, and for once it doesn’t feel like playacting as a Normal Functioning Person.

When the sun starts to skim the evergreens, you return to the cabin. You start up a pot of cheesy mac while Soap gets the fire going, pyromaniac that he is. Once it’s burning nicely, he starts closing up the windows. Not too soon either – the temperature is starting to dip and twinging at your hip, unhappy from sitting in the car so long.

The two of you hum over empty carbs and excess dairy by the fire, a glass of scotch for each of you. When you’ve had your fill, he washes the dishes, you pour another round, and the two of you settle together on the old sofa.

“Almost been a year,” Soap says after a while.

You sigh through your nose, stare into the dwindling pool of amber in your hand. “Three more weeks.”

“You miss it too.”

Against your will, your eyes slide sideways, to the hand he’s clenching and unclenching on his thigh. There’s a wicked line of scar tissue beneath the sleeve of his shirt where the surgeons salvaged what they could. Mostly successful too, apart from the damaged radial nerve that ruined his career.

“So much, Soap, fuck.”

You didn’t mean to say that. You’re supposed to be the healthy one here, encouraging this necessary and healthful change to your lives.

As if reading your mind, Soap hums, bumps his elbow into your ribs. “No shame in it.”

You shake your head. “I don’t even know what I miss.”

“Feeling useful, I reckon. Feeling… necessary,” he muses, subdued.

It’s insightful but too accurate. Too selfish. You rub your thumb over the lip of your glass.

“I hate that I can’t keep an eye on Price and Gaz,” you say. “Feels like I’m always waiting to hear the worst, ya know?”

“Yeah,” he whispers roughly. “I ken.”

*

The two of you end up falling asleep on the couch. Soap, sitting up with his sketchbook, and you folded into the corner against the arm, book pages fluttering between lax fingers. At some point, the cramped position aches enough to wake you. Your eyes flutter open, low fire throwing long, deep shadows across the wooden wall.

Something is watching from the window.

You jolt up, hand reaching for the gun you no longer carry on your thigh. The movement jostles Soap awake as well. It involuntarily draws your eye, just a fraction of a second. But the haunting shadow is gone by the time you turn back.

That’s not enough for you. You roll to your feet, hiss as your knee threatens to give. But you manage to get your balance and snatch your combat knife from your boot as you storm towards the door.

“Kit? Kit! The fuck is going on?!” Soap calls.

“Saw something!” you reply.

There’s a flashlight hanging by a hook next to the door. You grab it as you burst out into the chilly air, tensed for a fight. A quick sweep of the front yard and immediate tree line reveals nothing. Steps soft and careful, you approach the side of the house, expertly gripping your knife.

“On your six,” Soap breathes behind you.

“Copy.”

You round the corner, eyes scanning the trees, the brush. There’s no movement, no suspiciously rustling branches. You tilt your head, listening for anything past the normal sounds of the night. But there isn’t even an unusual silence in the dark world around you.

“Just a dream, then,” you sigh.

It wouldn’t be the first time. Unusual, though. Your nightmare-induced hallucinations usually conjure guns in your face or teammates bleeding out on the floor. Not strange figures at the windows. Still, you can hear the explanation of your shrink trying to soothe you. Middle of the night after drinking, in a new and atmospheric environment. Plus, there’s been all that fuss on the news about a serial killer; nowhere near you and Soap, mind, but still. Subconscious or some shite.

“Let’s do a sweep anyway,” Soap says.

Your chest warms. “Alright.”

Naturally, there’s nothing. Soap only gives you a one-armed hug as you return to the cabin. One final check of the interior – since you did leave the door open when you rushed out – and then the two of you turn in for bed.

*

The next day starts lazy and slow. A strange reprieve from your body’s military-trained urge to wake early. It’s nice, though, to snuggle beneath the covers with Soap’s soft snores only a few meters away. You play pre-downloaded games on your phone while you wait for him to wake, enjoying the lie in.

Breakfast is enjoyed on the little porch out front; you bundled up in a woolen throw while you sip coffee. It’s shaping up to be an unusually sunny day, and you agree to a longer hike around the loch before lunch. When you return, you settle on the porch again to read while Soap chops wood.

Which, well.

You don’t mind a bit of entertainment between pages… or paragraphs… or…

Soap hasn’t neglected his physique at all since the discharge. All corded muscles, broad shoulders, and tapered waist. Watching the bunch and release of his arms has always been a guilty pleasure of yours, and so blessedly indulged during training sessions in the 141.

You try not to sigh and drool over it (him) like a repressed Victorian.

“Ach, fer fucks…”

You snap to attention, book set aside. “Is your arm acting up?”

He’s set the hatchet down, grabbing at his elbow with a pinched expression.

“Aye,” he grumbles.

You trot to his side, pleased that he still instantly submits to your care. He lets you manipulate his arm, prod along the nerve pathways and bunched muscles that are spasming in pain. His groan has no business being that low or rough or close to your ear. But you ignore it like you always have, focus on getting him right. Barely even register when he sets his jaw on top of your head.

A few minutes pass in silence while you try to massage away the worst of the flare up. When he finally sighs, slumping into you a little, you gently squeeze his forearm.

“Bampot,” you huff.

“Aye, I ken,” he mumbles.  “’S why I have you.”

You click your tongue. “Someone’s gotta keep you alive. Next time let me help.”

“Not on yer life.”

You pinch his side, grinning wickedly when he yelps and jerks away. Little shit. Your favorite little shit, damn him.

He allows you to help carry the firewood to the rack next to the tiny shed. It’s round back of the cabin, covered by an old blue tarp. Soap is in the lead and sees it first.

“Oh, well isn’t that pure dead brilliant,” he huffs.

“Hm?”

You peak around him and blink at the rust-colored splatters decorating the side of the shed. There’s a dark patch in the scraggly grass as well and drag marks into the trees. Clearly, some prey fell victim to the circle of life here. Recently, too, from the color of the blood.

“What do you think it was?” you ask. “There aren’t wolves here.”

“Nah, but coulda been a fox.”

You scrunch up your nose. “This close to us? Usually foxes steer clear of humans.”

“Feral dog, then, maybe.”

Maybe.

It’s a lot of blood for anything a dog or fox would risk taking down, though. Even a feral one.

“C’mon, let’s get inside. Need a coupla pills ‘fore mah arm starts taking the piss again.”

You help him stack the firewood and then follow him back to the cabin. And if you linger on the blood, your random dream, and the lingering sensation of eyes on you… well, nothing new for you.

*

It pours all of the next day. Soap says it’s good timing, that he won’t have to wash the shed himself. Both of your injuries are acting up, though, and you spend the day trying to find different positions to appease the ache in your hip. At one point, he has to help you to the shower, your leg feeling too weak to support your weight. It’s frustrating, but you’ve had nearly a year to learn to cope.

Soap lifts your spirits, though, like always. Convinces you to play Scrabble and keeps insisting that he’s just using Scottish words. It ends the way it usually does – you and him wrestling like children, trying to trap the other to determine the winner. You only just manage to get a hold of him, though he puts up a good fight. He eventually admits that “daylich” isn’t actually a word and he didn’t deserve the triple word score.

Then he breaks out a pack of biscuits as a peace offering and all is forgiven. The two of you nibble on those while watching a movie on your laptop and then shuffle off to bed.

Long after Soap has fallen asleep, you’re awake. The memory of his body against yours always leaves you feeling branded. Like the heat of him burns right through your clothes. It’s been… probably too long since you last got off. Way too long since someone else got you off. And yeah, you had a couple of shameful secret wanks around teammates back in the day, but things are different now. You’re not high on adrenaline in the military anymore. No excuse for shoving a hand down your pants.

Still, your thoughts spiral as you finally start to doze. Rough hands on your hips, your thighs, your throat. Gentle but teasing at the true strength they possess. A hot tongue along your cheek, treating you like something to savor… or to devour. A shadow looming over you, dwarfing you. Phantom sensations that you crave as much as you shy away, wanting it but knowing you shouldn’t.

The throbbing between your thighs rouses you. Sleep-addled, you give in. You’d be embarrassed of how wet you are if anyone else were to know. And of the soft, needy noise you make when your brush your fingertips between your thighs. But Soap is still snoring steadily, and the pounding of the ongoing rain makes you brave.

You stroke slowly and gently over the bundle of nerves at first, mimicking those dreamt touches. It’s almost as maddening even when it’s your own hand. Sleep is half-dragging at you, though, and you speed up, drawing tight little circles at the top, teasing lower to stoke the heat burning in your gut. Your breathing picks up, little breaths past an open mouth.

It’s really not going to take much. Not with how long it’s been, how much you want it, vague thoughts of your darkest fantasies flickering through your hazy mind. You tilt your hips down, get the pressure of your heel against your empty, aching hole. You rock a couple times, high-pitched noises caught at the top of your throat.

You come imagining a big hand around your neck choking off those sounds. Have to slap your free hand over your mouth as you shake and writhe through it. Drag your nails up your bare thigh just to balance out the unbearable pleasure. And then you go limp against the pillows, panting and shuddering through aftershocks.

When you extract your hand from beneath the blankets, you blink at the wetness coating your fingertips for a moment. If someone asked, the excuse you’d give is not touching anything with your wet hand. But truthfully, you’re just indulging in impulsive hedonism as you suck your own fingers.

“Fuck,” you whisper to the shadows.

Then you climb out of bed for a proper cleanup, ready to finally fall asleep and definitely not think about how much quicker you came knowing that Soap was right there the entire time.

*

It’s raining on and off the next day. You and Soap take a little walk during one of the dry patches, though it’s cut short with how sore your hip still is. Soap collects more firewood from the shed, keeps the flames well fed while you putter about. Nap for an hour, start rereading one of your favorite books, watch a scary movie with him, make American flapjacks just for the sake of it.

Even though you should be feeling stir crazy, Soap has always made for good company. The day passes pleasantly into an early night, the sun standing little chance against the thick cloud cover.

You and Soap are settling in with scotch when frantic knocking interrupts the peaceful quiet.

“Help!” a ragged voice screams. “Someone please help me!”

You hardly exchange glances before the two of you are up. Soap goes for the door, gun in hand. You scramble for the ever-present medical kit that earned your call-sign, left out on the counter.

Soap yanks the door open; a man tumbles in. Middle aged, lanky build, bleeding from a long cut on his forehead. His ankle is twisted at a damning angle. You scan him for obvious weapons, but his t-shirt and muddy boxers reveal nothing but bruising and scraped skin. His hands are empty as they scrabble at the floor, trying to drag himself inside. Soap slams the door closed and locks it.

“Please!” the man cries again. “You have to help me!”

You drop to your knees beside him, already popping your kit open.

“We’re going to help you, sir,” you say evenly, “but you need to calm down.”

“You don’t understand,” the man gasps as you help him sit up. “H-He… he’s out there.”

“Who?” Soap asks, grip shifting on the gun.

“S-some psycho,” the man answers. You work easily past his shaking, getting a look at his swelling ankle. Definitely broken… with force. “In a mask.”

You blink, shoot Soap a look. Have the two of you fallen into some weird horror movie by accident?

“What did he do?” Soap asks.

“H-he attacked us with a big bloody knife.”

“Who’s ‘us’?” you ask. “Who else was with you?”

“The lads – my friends – my brother. Oh, god…” He pales further. You brace him, eyeing the packaged shock blanket peeking from your kit. “Danny is dead. There was so much blood.”

“How many?” Soap asks, voice hard. “How many of you are still alive?”

“I-I don’t know. I barely got-got away. Oh, god—”

He dissolves into tears and whimpers. You rip open the blanket and drape it around the man, then scoot down to his ruined ankle. Over his head, you frown at Soap. Something is missing here. This man was with at least three other people, but one man attacked them? There’s something to be said for shock and surprise and fear, but still…

“Soap?”

“Gonnae see if I can find survivors,” he says. “I’ll send ‘em your way if I find any. You stay here, take care of this ‘un.”

“That’s stupid,” you argue. “You can’t go by yourself!”

“No different than recon, aye? Not gonnae engage, but we cannae leave anyone bleedin’ out there.”

Your mouth twists. No, no you can’t leave civilians potentially wounded with a killer out for blood. Discharged or not (war criminals or not… and you both are, technically) you’re both too dutybound for that.

“RV here in ten and I’ll have the car ready for exfil.”

“Affirmative.”

He crosses to you, knocks your foreheads together – a pre-mission gesture you never thought you’d receive again. You close your eyes for a second, squeeze the back of his neck. Then send him off with a firm nod.

You lock the door after him, then return to the man.

“Are you two military or something?” he asks.

“We were,” you answer, “medical discharge.”

“Oh brilliant! You’re telling me that my only hope is a couple cripples?!”

You level him a flat, unimpressed look. “I’m a medic with more kills than you’ve got chest hairs, understand? Shut up and brace. I need to wrap your ankle.”

He whimpers and whines and curses while you set and compress it. Nothing you haven’t heard before, vehement as it may be. Ungrateful, though, you think vaguely. Save a guy’s life and he’s calling you all sorts of derogatory names while you try to salvage his ability to walk.

“You done?” you ask, interrupting his latest stream of expletives. “I need to hear if someone is coming.”

That only shuts him up for a moment before he’s piping up again. “Do you have a weapon?”

You tug your pant leg up to show the knife strapped to your calf.

“Do you even know how to use that?!”

“Look, I know this is a lot for you, so maybe you should stop talking for a while.”

His face twists, brain turning to anger as he tries to cope with his own fear and new trauma. You don’t pay him any heed, wiping off his head and closing the still-weeping cut with butterflies. All you can hear over his wheezing is the rain outside. No footsteps or screams or, most importantly, gunshots.

With the worst two of the man’s wounds seen to, you take stock. You’re not dressed for any sort of confrontation in lounge pants and socks.

“Here. Start treating your legs and arms,” you say, pressing gauze and wound wash into the man’s hands.

“Where are you going?!” he protests.

“Need to prep to leave,” you explain. “Shout if you hear anything.”

He doesn’t look thrilled, but you’re already up and hurrying to the bedroom. You climb into a thick pair of cargos – relieved that your fashion sense hasn’t improved since the army – and a thermal shirt. Your pistol is waiting in the side pocket of your duffel, loaded and holstered. The weight of it is comforting against your thigh; you’ve missed it.

You grab the bags and carry them back to the door, check your watch. It’s only been four minutes. If Soap isn’t back in another six, you’re going out to get him yourself, injured civilian be damned. Everything you’ve gone through together; you’re not going to lose your best friend to some overdramatic wanker with a knife.

“What are you doing now?!” the man asks.

You give him another once over. He’s done a decent job prioritizing the worst scrapes and cuts, they look clean enough. Most importantly, he seems less faint than when you left. Giving him something to focus on must have helped.

“Checking the car. We’re leaving as soon as Soap gets back,” you answer.

“A-at least give me something to protect myself with!”

You try not to sigh in annoyance. What good would he even be, unable to walk and shaky on adrenaline? Still, you take pity and tug the knife from your boot, offer it to him handle first.

“Not the gun?” he complains.

“No.”

You jog out to the car, gun in one hand and duffels in the other. It’s raining again, getting harder by the moment. There’s a steady, sharp pain radiating throughout your leg, threatening to knock it out from under you. You grit your teeth as you toss the bags in the backseat and move to the ignition.

And the car doesn’t start.

“Shit.”

You don’t waste time trying it again. It should be in perfect condition; it must have been tampered with.

When you approach the house again, you hear shouting from inside. You pick up the pace, nearly skid across the wooden floor when you get there. The man is huddling up by the couch, white knuckling the knife.

“I-I heard something!”

“Where?” you demand, scanning the immediate area. Thank fuck that Soap’s seanair believed in minimalism.

“In the back.”

You frown. “The only way in is through windows back there, and those are locked.”

Right?

“I know what I heard!”

“Stay here, then.”

You click the safety off and pad the short hallway to the bedroom. Don’t bother announcing yourself, or any idiotic “who’s there”. You kick the unlatched door open and sweep through the room just like you would for a raid. The tiny lamp on the nightstand is still on, illuminating the sparse space.

You check under the first bed, then sidestep and tilt your head to check the other. Nothing.

“There isn’t—”

The window is open. The window is fucking open. How?!

You spin on your heel, just in time to see a hauntingly familiar mask bent over the gurgling body of the man. There’s no hesitation as you raise the gun and fire twice, but the killer has already rolled out of the way. Well fuck that.

You rush from the bedroom, fire another two into the couch as you round the corner. He’s a fast fucker, waiting by the wall adjacent to the hall as you exit. And he’s fucking big. Slams into your side – your bad side – like a tank. It fucks your balance, and you go down with a snarled curse, winded as all his weight lands on your much smaller frame.

On training and instinct, you slam your elbow back. There’s a crunch, a grunt of pain. But damn him, he doesn’t let up. A big hand finds yours on the gun. You yelp as he squeezes hard enough to feel the bones bend. The gun fires – bang, bang, bang. His head is right by yours, the hard edge of his mask pressing into your temple, panting in your ear.

You lash out with your other arm, though your aim is off. Instead of hitting his throat, you get his jaw instead. You plant your boot on the floor and push, trying to get out from under him. Instead, he rolls with your back against his chest. The gun clatters as he snakes a thick arm around your throat. You grab at his forearm, but you know you have no hope of matching him in strength.

You scrabble for the knife in your boot, but it’s gone.

Fuck, you gave it to—

The cabin ceiling is getting spotty.

Your fingers brush the killer’s leg, find a familiar shape tucked at the side of his boot. You snatch up the knife and drive it into his calf. He growls, but the arm on your throat blessedly disappears. You suck air, blinking past dark edges. Twist onto your front and blindly fumble for your gun.

Manage two shots right to his chest. He falls limp. You wait a beat, two. He doesn’t move again.

You click the safety on and holster the gun. And then, out of morbid curiosity, crawl closer to the body.

“Holy hell,” you breathe as you get a good look at the mask.

He’s wearing a skull over a black balaclava. Not just a prop either you realize when you tap at it. It’s real. Human. Thin cracks spiderweb along the front orbital bone, the corner of the eye socket – from where you elbowed him, you think. Beyond them, his eyes are closed and still, the skin painted black.

“Big scary fucker,” you murmur. And if you’re a bit admiring… well, it between you and a dead body. A couple dead bodies. Can’t forget about the other guy. “That was almost fun.”

“Kit!”

You jolt, barely able to hear Soap’s voice over the pounding rain, but relieved to hear it. A hiss escapes between your teeth as you get to your feet, hip protesting. You have to grab at the couch to catch your balance. Then brace yourself and walk carefully towards the door.

Your fingers are just centimeters from the doorknob when an arm wraps around your neck again. You flail, try to kick off the door, but it hardly even makes him stumble. Then there’s a sharp pinch in your arm, sibilant shushing by your ear, and the world goes dark.

*

The world comes to you in bits and pieces.

Something soft under you. A slight ache in your hip. Fabric around your bare legs. Voices? You think you recognize the rumble of Soap’s brogue, but not whoever he’s speaking to.

Soft golden light creeps past your fluttering eyelashes. Soap is sitting across the room on… a big floor cushion? You blink a couple times, adjusting your slightly blurred vision. But yep, that’s him, sitting on a gigantic pillow. And… is that his throat mic?

“Mm… John?” you call, rubbing at your eyes.

“Aye, Kit. Nice ‘n slow now. We’re alright.”

You hum and push yourself up, limbs heavy. Once you’re sitting, Soap speaks again. Gentle and calm.

“You remember what happened?”

You pause, frown. It comes to you in a slow trickle. The trip, the forest, the cabin… and then it floods back. The injured man at the door, the killer, the struggle. The ambush as you were going to meet Soap at the door.

“Fuck,” you whisper.

“Aye.”

You give him another once over. That’s not a throat mic; it’s a collar. A thick black leather thing, complete with a silver chain that trails off somewhere behind him. You stare for a second, bewildered.

“Don’t be jealous. You match.”

Your head whips around to the hulking figure in a doorway to your right. He’s just as imposing as you remember, tall and fucking built, dressed in all black and mask still on. The soft lighting casts spooky shadows across the eye sockets.

The words process a moment later and your hand darts up to your neck. Sure enough, there’s a wide leather band around your neck. You’ll give it this, though – you didn’t even notice it until he said something. Not too tight, comfortable even. Clearly made with long-term wear against skin in mind. There’s a chain attached to yours too and you follow it to an anchor in the wall.

“If it’s any consolation, ye look right bonnie,” Soap calls.

You snort. “’Course I do.”

The killer shrugs off the wall. You watch as he saunters closer in long, heavy strides. No point in scrambling away or trying to run – you’d have a limited radius of escape if he didn’t grab you first. Besides, you’re not about to cower to some spooky bastard with a couple dirty tricks up his sleeve.

He crouches down well within your reach, clearly not concerned about you lashing out. You tilt your head in defiance, meeting his eyes for a moment before he flicks his gaze down. He reaches out, gloved fingers catching your chin. Not hard, but firm enough that there’s no arguing when he tilts your chin up.

Fabric brushes the sensitive skin of your neck, above and below the collar.

“Pretty kitty,” he purrs. “Glad I didn’t bruise this lovely neck.”

Two fingers press against one side a little harder, edging beneath the leather. You recognize the gesture as you swallow. He’s checking your pulse. You’re proud that it’s still steady and unhurried.

“Not scared?” He doesn’t say it like it’s a question.

You arch your eyebrows. “Should I be?”

His eyes flicker. “Not if you behave.”

You run your tongue over your teeth, resisting a sneer. Past his shoulder, Soap is watching with a smirk. Unharmed, you note again. He’s fine. You’re fine, despite slight soreness from the brief struggle. If there was something to be concerned about (apart from the obvious) he would have let you know right off the bat. So, you take a calculated risk.

“Yeah? And what do you consider behaving?” you ask.

The corners of the killer’s eyes crinkle. You knew enough masked men back in the military to recognize a hidden smile. He’s amused by your snarky question. Another good sign.

“Good pets obey their masters.”

You blink, breath leaving you in a soft rush. It… makes sense. Just not the answer you expected. Stupid, maybe, given the collars, leashes, and dog beds. You’ll have to blame the lingering drugs.

“There are so many shelters, you’ve got to be kidding me,” you blurt, bewildered.

The man snorts, hooks a finger under your collar and gives an almost playful tug. An entirely instinctive part of you catches its breath. You’re glad he’s not measuring your pulse anymore.

“Those can’t talk back,” he answers simply, shrugging.

Soap barks a laugh. “Well, you’ll get what you asked for with us then.”

You grin crookedly, showing all your teeth. “And then some,” you agree, reaching up to tug the hand from your collar.

He jerks harder this time, unbalancing you towards him. You catch yourself on both hands, feel a blaze of heat across your nose and glare up at him through your lashes.

“No touching, kitten,” he says. “You’ll have to earn that.”

You try not to roll your eyes, not quite willing to push your luck too far yet. But it’s a near thing.

“Sure, let me get right on that,” you scoff dryly anyway.

He clicks his tongue, but no further retribution comes save for one last warning tug. Then he’s standing, towering over you again.

“I need a shower. You two settle in.”

And he just walks off. Like he didn’t just take two former SAS operatives as human pets. You wait until you hear distant water before turning to Soap.

“What happened?”

“Ambushed me,” he grumbles, sitting back against the wall. “Snuck up as I was trying to get you untied. Bastard is trained.”

Soap’s pouting, even though there’s an entire police case of victims who weren’t as lucky as him.

“Trained like us, you mean?”

“Aye.” Soap pauses, looking at the floor pensively, brows furrowing. “Means he had every reason and way to hurt us.”

You nod. “He had me in a hold and his knife hand free. Could have done anything with it. Let me stab him instead.”

Soap hums. “And, well, there’s a basement. Could have brought us there too, I reckon.”

He glances at the doorway the killer was lingering in when you woke. You get what he’s saying – or not saying, as it were. The two of you are hale and whole only because the killer decided to make it so. Because, as all evidence seems to suggest, he wants pets.

“You figure he means it? About… us?” you wonder.

Soap shrugs. “He’s no reason ta lie.”

That’s what you’re worried about.

“News says he’s a sadist,” you point out. “His idea of a pet might be...”

“Aye, but then why do all this?” He gestures to the big soft beds, which you know must have been a bit expensive for their size and comfortability, and the well-made leather collars. You’ve even got a blanket at your feet for the cool air. “Nae, I think even sadists miss a bit ‘o companionship now n’ then.”

You hum. Makes sense, in the part of you that’s seen the worst humanity has to offer and risen up to greet it. You’ve seen plenty of shit, plenty of people, and the things they’re capable of. But even “monsters” go home to family, to hobbies, to entirely wholesome things that they enjoy just because.

That’s the hard part about war. Seeing the most depraved and evil examples of humanity and reconciling that they have qualities one can recognize in themselves.

“The plan, then?”

“Say we go along with it for now,” Soap says, shrugging. “Not like we could get free as we are anyway.”

You hum in agreement. The chain is clipped to the wall anchor by a thick padlock, and feeling at the collar earlier, you know it’s the same on the other side. The collar itself is too high-quality to come apart without something sharp. So you’re stuck. Even if you did will a lockpick into existence, you’ve no intel on the rest of the house or even where you’d go from the house.

“But listen, Kit, I’m no’ gonnae let anything happen to you. If this gets violent, I’ll tear the walls apart with my hands if I hafta.”

You smile, wish suddenly and fiercely that you could hug him. He looks like he could use it; god knows you could.

“I know, John,” you soothe. “I will too.”

He nods, jaw twitching, then sighs and sits back again. The two of you sit in silence for a few moments, digesting the plan. You take an actual look at the room you’re in – a den, it seems like. A fireplace in one corner, a decent sized couch to your left. Beyond it, you can see a clean and modern kitchen. There’s a coffee table, end tables, lamps, a goddamn rug. It’s downright cozy; like something out of a magazine.

“Nice voice, though, aye?” Soap chirps suddenly, snapping your gaze back to him.

“Soap.”

“Och, don’t ‘Soap’ me,” he grumbles. “You look me in the eye and tell me tha’s no’ a voice made fer sex.”

And damn him, you can’t.

“Can’t say I was thinking about his voice when he was waving a big knife at me.”

“He can wave his big knife at—”

“I’m gonna kill you myself—” You snarl, balling up your blanket and chucking at his stupid, wiggling eyebrows.

“Oi, you two,” aforementioned sexy voice chastises from the hallway.

You wrinkle your nose as Soap grins at you, a shadow in the corner of your vision as the killer comes into the room again. He brings a cloud of clean water and bergamot. He smells good.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” you hiss, dismayed.

“Problem?” the killer asks.

He’s got the mask on again (or still? You hope he doesn’t shower with it on, that’s unsanitary) but you can hear him arching an eyebrow. Stubbornly, you turn away to glare at Soap some more. It’s obvious he realizes what you’re referring to from the way he smothers a snicker, though.

Shithead.

You don’t get away with it for long before a hand is pulling your jaw up. Rough only because you resist for the briefest fraction. Once he’s got your face where he wants it, though, your captor’s grip isn’t painfully tight.

“When I ask you a question, I expect an answer, kitten. Understood?”

Your hand twitches to grab at the hold but remember what he said about touching without permission. Stubborn as you may be, you’re not actively trying to incite violence against you or Soap. The plan is to go along with… whatever this is. So you swallow a bit of your pride.

“Understood.”

He hums like that’s not quite the answer he wanted, but it’s acceptable for now.

“Now, is there a problem?” he asks again.

“Apart from the kidnapping?” you snip. “Everything is right as rain.”

He snorts, smooths his thumb over your chin, slow and dangerous. You go still, refuse to falter but careful not to provoke further.

“You’re going to be trouble, aren’t you?” he muses almost to himself.

“Must have expected it,” you reason honestly, “know you watched us for a few days.”

He tilts his head, eyes eerily unblinking within the unholy shadows of the skull. “Longer’n that, pretty thing.”

You open your mouth but don’t know what to say. Longer than the days at the cabin? How long? And how did you and Soap not notice?

Your spiraling thoughts are interrupted by fabric gliding over your bottom lip. His thumb threatening to slip past. You snap your jaw closed, nearly catch the tip of his finger in your teeth. He chuckles and finally releases you, making for the nearby couch.

He settles in with sigh and flicks on the TV. There on the screen is a flashing headline:

Another Ghost Victim Found.

Next

Masterlist

[smolvenger]

Yggdrasil (Loki x fem! Reader Oneshot)

Summary: Your husband, the god of mischief, has made the ultimate sacrifice for his friends, and the world...he lives, but now he is alone...that is until you choose to join him in his solitude and make a life there.

Warnings: MAJOR spoilers for the ending of the Loki series. Angst, but fluff and hurt/comfort. YN becomes a goddess in her YN-y moment. Brief mentions of sex and pregnancy, but no smut at all. Fix it Fic goodness. Canon and Norse mythology is not a code and more like a guideline. Is it accurate? I don't know. And this is fic world. Accuracy don't mean shit. I just want my boy to be happy after all that and do my part as a Loki fic writer after...THAT.

Word Count: 2K

@fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract @eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise @wolfsmom1 @cheekyscamp @mochie85 @muddyorbsblr @asgards-princess-of-mischief @huntress-artemiss @ijuststareatstuffhereok89

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

You walked over to the tree. It was incredibly beautiful. The vines reaching out. The colors are everywhere. The trunk of it twisting, twisting round. The blueness and soft greens that surrounded you. Light purple flowers high up, blossoming. You had heard of it in stories. Maybe dreamed of it once. But here…here in person it was even more beautiful.

“Hello there, Yggdrasil.” you greeted with a smile.

There was a breeze in the wind. It rattled the leaves above. The starry sky. It didn’t feel too cold here- it felt sweet, crisp. An early autumn night. You took several steps closer until you were right before the trunk. Your voice lowering.

“But I know who you really are…who is in there…” you continued.

The search had been long. It had been a month. A month since you saw him. The look on his face, and felt his sacrifice, his steps going forward. Now here it was-in person. Here he was.

It shivered in response. You went up, gently placing a hand on the bark. 

You felt the curves of your lips to a gentle frown. A voice that was not begging…only requesting. Soft, but grounded. As grounded as the tree was though in it’s magic it seemed like it floated where it grew.

“Please…take me to him…it is all I want, all I wish, all I ask for…please allow me to see him…even if it’s only once…”

Was your prayer answered? Even heard? You sucked in a breath, feeling your chest grow tight with anticipation. The delicate lines of both despair and hope on a thin line.The golden band around your finger felt tight- shimmering amidst the dark wood of the tree.

The vines relented. They thinned and opened up- as easily as silk. There was a glowing opening within the tree. You felt it- a stillness. As if you were waited. Expected.

Inside it, you took your steps into the heart of the tree. It felt like the cool mist, the light rain as you walked through-like the light rain that poured the first night you let him into your bed. Your heart raced, your palms clammy. 

Was this a mistake? The wrong one? It had to be…it had to! It couldn't have done that unless… it was really…no- was this it? Would Yggdrasil kill you? Destroy you for knowledge so intimate, so secret?

Branches, vines, leaves- so much wood here. There was a green light that glowed about it, shining everywhere- how perfect for him, you mused. 

Your head turned. Throat going dry and tight with dread, fear. You searched around. Eyes skittering through the thick vines.

You looked around-nothing but the greenery…

Then…there was a voice. Breathy, baritone, low, rich-and it whispered your name in echoes. 

The greenery opened up. You saw first horns. Then…

There, on a throne, surrounded by vines, there he sat. Pale and handsome. He was always handsome to you. Despite the lines of care, his drooping eyes…it was him. You knew that face- caressed it, kissed it so many times.

His eyes then lowered to you. Its blueness seemed darkened, dimmed. Then he looked at you, squinting. He whispered your name again, to you. You felt everything in you freeze. You wanted this. Processed it. It was real- very, very real.

“Is…is that…” he began to whisper.

Tears brimmed up your eyes and you cupped your mouth, as you felt them drop down your hand already.

“Loki it’s you!” you cried out.

Sobbing hard, you ran into him, almost tackling him into a hug. Crying so hard your whole body shook with each tearfall. So much your face felt hot, even as it scratched against his cloak- against the long vines. You felt his hands wrap around you. And you heard him just say your name again- an incantation. A spell to bring you back. A spell that worked. You cried as he held you, the vines around him shivering.

“What…what is it…why…why did you come here?” he asked.

You released the hug. Wiping off your tears with your sleeve like a little child. Your tone returned to the old teasing. 

“You silly man! What kind of wife abandons her husband?”

Loki’s mouth opened, but he said nothing. His face was in awe.

“I came here for you! I figured out how- and I did!” you replied.

He let out a deep sigh. He lifted his white hand, caressing your cheek. You leaned into it, enjoying the intimacy, his touch that you had been deprived of, that he had been deprived of too for so long.  

“You know I cannot leave this. Ever. I…I must do this, my love…I had to…to save all of them…to save you…I…I must make sure…their stories all…all are happy…are managed, well…even yours.” he voiced. His face serene, though a tear fell down across his cheek.

You then took his hand and clutched it. 

“Loki, the many times you comforted me when I cried. Stood by me. Protected me when I was in danger, scared. Saved me, even. And you know how…how lonely I would get in Asgard. Who else would run to my side to comfort me…but you. I shall do that for you!”

His eyes widened.

“But…you cannot give up your home, your life!” he replied.

You shook your head.

“I will make a new one here- we will make a new one here…Thor and Frigga gave me their blessing before I left. They saw how happy we made each others…and that is what they want. I told them what you did. The people you saved…and they’re…they’re proud of you.”

He blinked rapidly, more tears falling down. You lifted two of your hands- cupping his face lovingly. He had no choice but to look in your eyes.

“When we were married, we promised, before the AllFather and AllMother to always stand by each other...I will honor the vows I made on that altar, as you honored your vows to me,” you declared.

The wind rustled above. Inside, there were a few violet buds that dangled, moving slightly. Willing the flower to open.

“My darling….Asgard will lack its princess.”

“A mere consort? No! I am not an heir to anything! A mere accessory to a throne, a part of a painting…and nothing eles? And alone? Loki,  I don't need a palace, gold, riches, and titles…I only ask to be loved and safe…and Loki…you will be alone…now- you won’t be. I will stay by you. We will face this new part of your life together!”

There was a slight grown from the wood. Both of you looked about, your hands dropping. He nestled into the green cloak he wore around him. His helmet perfect for him- never once slipping off his head.

“It’s quiet here…there’s no one…nothing…a life of nothing…but making these stories” he mused.

“Then let me stay…let me help…if only…if only to be with you…I will live here. If not near- then give me access. I will stay here, come by every day. Visit for hours…just to be with you.”

“My darling…sweet, sweet wife…I was alone and I…I don’t have to…”

There were tears in his eyes.

“Thank you…thank you, my dear…”

He pressed his forehead to yours. The cold metal of the forehead touching your own. You only held hands. Felt each other- the love in your systems bursting forth.

A vine went to you, grazing against your arm. You lifted a hand.

“Which one is this?” you asked.

“This one…a man named Steve…or Marc…he’s three at once, it’s very complicated….” Loki explained.

You lifted a finger to touch it. There was a ripple. The vines shook, some of them went to you. You wondered…you lifted a hand. It allowed you to touch it. There was a small, reddish glow, it went up and through.

“You just…just…made something happen…something will occur for Steve…he’s about to learn what gifts he truly has…my dear…has this happened before?”

“No- not until now…”

“You think that…you have a certain…gift?” he asked.

The vines reacted in turn. You realzed as you touched them, you could help move these stories. Turn them- touching made something happen and Loki would tell you.

“My dear…you have a gift. One of fate…”

“Then…I guess I cannot leave now. You will help with stories. I will help with fates. We both have work to do.”

He smiled.

“Asgard now has a new goddess…” he said. You went up, and kissed him. You cried as your lips touched. And there was a shudder that went through the trees and rattled through the forest like a wind. 

It was an adjustment. Making a home just outside of the remains of the earth. Fortunately, you knew enough magic to get by. To transport and conjure food. Even gather some from the nearby village. Enough to make a garden, a home.

And every day, you walked out to Yggdrasil. Vanished for hours. Then returned. 

For the villagers, it was odd that a goddess of fate was just going about the streets getting groceries among them. You merely shrugged and laughed it off. 

You said your husband was busy. Quite busy. He had an important job-crucial one. Yet people wondered at you- the mysterious goddess who lived in a cottage by the woods, whose husband never appeared, and vanished into the forest. The forest at the end of the world, mind you- every day and returned with a smile on her face as if nothing happened. 

It was quiet and simple. No opulent balls and feasts of Asgard. But no fathers with clear favorites and tears and bloody battles with countless corpses and heartbreak either.

 How often you polished the horns on his helmet and washed his cloak by the river. Then he would tell you all about what happened. Fates and stories.  You would mend them, mind them. Determine what worked, what did not. And you would laugh and cry so hard over every story on earth of each person you would feel like a rag rung out…yet in a good way.

And you would wrap your arms around him. Sit on his lap on the throne, as you did back then so many times before. Kiss him and nuzzle into him. Feel his touch- remind him through the brush of your fingers through his dark curls. I am here, I am here, I am here. 

It was like being remarried- A honeymoon fortress of oak, willow leaves, and flower petals. The newness of your husbands role, his abilities. As well as yours. But without everything else…no, you didn’t need anything else. Only each other.

It was a month later, you knew the change. You felt it. The suspicion. The inkling you felt since you began your journey. Counting on your fingers from when it last happened, and your journey to him began, the timing was right. The intuition. The small ringing of a bell in the back of your head getting louder, and louder with each passing week. The one reason on the backburner that was never confirmed. And now it was. You both wanted it. Hoped for it. Now, though the circumstances could have never been guessed, you would both receive your wish. The confirmation long awaited. 

On Yule, you teasingly adored the tree in ribbons. Loki inside scoffed, rolling his eyes. But it only made you laugh harder. In Spring, you collect its flowers and put them in vases. In Summer, you cooled beneath it’s shade. Loki made sure your story was hte one most preciously protected, guarded. You made old charms from the flowers with his magic- for your safety and good health. Flowers worn over your head in crowns, on your neck. And in Autumn, you watched as they oranged and swirled. How lovely they were surrounding you as you held each other. 

A year and a half went by before you knew it, as swift as mortals lives. the cottage had an infant girl living in it.  She had dark hair, and your skin and eyes. And she was starting to walk. You held her up by both hands in the grass before the forest.  

“Come along Freya! There’s a good girl! A step at a time!” you cooed at her.

Who knew what her powers would be. What she was goddess of. But here, she wasn’t a goddess. She was just a baby.

She was Babbling as the grass tickled her feet. The loving, green dress you tucked over her. You held her tiny, chubby hand as she experimentally bent her knees. Then she made a sound of triumph.

Motherhood was not going to stop your gifts and powers as a goddess of fate. You touched the vines and turned fates however. But you had to give happy ones to the friends of him. The ones who meant so much to him, did so much for him. For Mobius, you made sure his sons grew up healthy and strong and happy, with long vacations by lakes and oceans. For Ouroboros, you gave him several awards and successes as a writer and the inspiration and motivation to create, pour water into his own well, and never lose the joy of it. You made sure they all were safe and content. 

 You scooped little Freya up your arms, giving her a kiss on the side of her head. She was behaving well- not crying loud to wake the whole village. Needing perhaps a cradle from the vines of Yggdrasil again in Norns Know what time of night if she was especially fussy. 

You walked her again to the tree. She looked out with her wide eyes. One hand trying to touch the leaves, the vines, the branches. A thing of flowers bloomed for her. One leafy vine went over to graze her cheek. She kicked in enthusiasm, giggling in such pure joy.

 You smiled at her and then at Yggdrasil. Seeing the portal open once again.

 Knowing he was inside again- to see her. Meet her. Hold her as he did when she was a swaddled newborn to be brought- for him to just hold her. Despite the great loneliness of Loki’s inital fate, you all did everything to change it. He would meet Freya and watch her grow up. He would see her, hold her, love her. Again. Again. And again. 

You turned your face to the baby with a smile, and then to the portal door and the god of stories waiting inside.

“Freya- let’s go see your father.”

[omgrachwrites]

The Night We Met (Chapter Two)

Pairing: Mattheo Riddle x Potter!Reader

Summary: Over the summer you connected with the boy who is quite literally your twin's mortal enemy. Things start to fall apart in the darkness of the autumn.

Warnings: fluff, swearing, angst, everyone lives au, takes place in 6th year, James being the best dad ever

A/N: I am so sorry this took so long to come out! But thank you all so much for the support for this fic, I love you all! xxx

Chapter Two

The guilt you felt in your stomach was so unbearable that you ended up leaving the pub early, making excuses to your friends and ignoring Harry’s suspicious looks. It wasn’t until much later in the evening that your dad knocked on your door and when you let him in he sat himself on the edge of your bed.

“Y/N, what’s wrong darling?”

You looked at James with tears in your eyes, “dad,” you sniffled, “Mattheo is hurt and it’s all my fault.”

James sighed as he wrapped his arms around you, “it’s not your fault sweetheart. I know that he was here last night, you know, he could have stayed.”

You shook your head as tears fell down your cheeks, “I didn’t want to put him or anyone in any danger, I need to see if he’s okay.”

“I’ll take you.”

You scoffed at your dad’s words and took one look at his face and you realised that he was being deadly serious, he wasn’t joking, “are you insane?! What if he’s there?”

James shrugged, like the notion of his enemy wanting to kill him didn’t phase him at all, “then we’ll be careful, but I am not letting you go alone, not there.”

You let out a watery laugh as you swiped your hand over your eyes, “I love you, dad.”

“I love you too sweetie.”

You were driving through the lower part of the village when James spoke up, “wait, isn’t that him?”

Your eyes followed where your dad was pointing and you felt a jolt, your heart dropped and it wasn’t at the sight of Mattheo’s beautiful broken face, it was the sight of Pansy Parkinson’s hands all over him. You saw her smile as her fingers threaded through his hair and your heart was at the bottom of your stomach when you watched him smile back.

James made to get out of the car but you stopped him with a hand on his wrist, “dad, please don’t.”

James sighed as he glanced back at your face and pressed a kiss against your forehead, “should we just get some ice cream and go home?”

You shook your head, “I’d rather just go home actually, I’m sorry that I made you drive all the way out here for nothing, dad.”

James shook his head, “you didn’t make me do anything, sweetheart. I was happy to do it,” he glanced at Mattheo once more before biting his lip ad starting up the car again, “you know that he’s not good enough for you right?”

You smiled at your dad as he pulled the car away and you took one last look at Mattheo from the window.

When you were upset, James wanted to spend as much time with you as possible but you really just wanted to be alone. It took some convincing but James finally allowed you to take a walk by yourself to clear your head. You knew why he was so protective but it irritated you sometimes, of course you would never tell him that.

You blinked tears out of your eyes as you stared at the little stream that rushed through the clearing in the woods. A twig snapping made you jump and you instinctively clutched at your wand and drew it, ready to defend yourself if it came to that. You relaxed when he came into view, running a hand through his hair.

“Y/N,” Mattheo sighed as he came to sit next to you on the cool grass, “what are you doing here? It’s so late.”

You looked up at the brown eyes that regarded you with so much warmth, he certainly didn’t have his father’s eyes, that was for sure. They were so different to the cold eyes that beheld you at the start of summer.

“I’m so sorry,” you finally whispered, allowing your tears to fall.

Mattheo sighed as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and kissed the top of your head, you could smell cigarette smoke as you clutched at his shirt, “maybe it’s for the best, Y/N.”

You sniffled and pulled back to look at his handsome face, “what do you mean?”

Mattheo scoffed as he took his arm from your shoulders and turned away from you, “don’t play coy with me, it’s insulting. I know whatever is going on between us has an expiry date. I mean it’s obvious, you and your brother are the golden children of Hogwarts, the heroes, there can never be a place for me and you to be truly together. We need to face the facts, Y/N we’re no good. You’re destined to have a great long life and I’m destined for the Dark Arts.”

It hurt you to hear him speak like this, so blatant and cruel, “it doesn’t have to be that way between us.”

“Y/N,” he wiped your tears away with his thumbs, “it was always supposed to be this way, it was fun and it provided us with a good distraction. This was doomed from the start, Y/N.”

Your resolve crumbled as you stared into his eyes and you realised there was no point in fighting for him if he wasn’t going to fight for you, “maybe we shouldn’t have even started this Theo,” you sniffled and pulled away from him.

“Let me walk you back?” he offered.

“No,” you whispered, “no, I actually just want to be left alone.”

As soon as you walked through the front door, James was waiting for you, “it’s over,” you wiped your eyes with the back of your hand, “I’m sorry for putting everyone in danger.”

James shook his head and pulled you into a hug, “you’ve got nothing to apologise for, I just want you to be happy.”

You forced a smile at your dad and kissed his cheek, “night, dad.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

The last few days of summer went by in a blur and soon you were saying goodbye to your parents as you left for school. You knew that Harry was nervous about going back to Hogwarts after what had happened at the Ministry. You knew he would get through it though, he always did.

“Are you going to be trying out for the Quidditch team this year, Y/N?” Hermione grinned as she looked up at you from the book that she was reading.

You laughed and mockingly glanced over at your brother who was in deep conversation with Ron, “as long as my brother does the right thing and puts me on the team,” you laughed before shaking your head “I would never expect him to just put me on the team, I’m not too sure this year, I was thinking about trying out but maybe I’ll leave it,” you shrugged.

Hermione nodded with a smile before she regarded you with warm brown eyes, “have you been okay? It’s just recently, you’ve seemed a little sad and distracted.”

You bit your lip, Hermione was your best friend but you just couldn’t bring yourself to tell her the full story, not yet anyway, you shrugged and gave her the cliff notes version, “I was seeing someone and it didn’t work out, we were just too different I guess.”

Hermione nodded and didn’t press further, instead she looked over at Harry who was beginning to rise from his seat, “Harry? Where are you going?”

“Um,” he mumbled as he looked at you with wide eyes and you had to hold a laugh in, it looked like he hadn’t bet on getting caught, “I’ve just got to check something,” he quickly stuffed something into his pocket and you narrowed your eyes. He left the compartment before anyone could question him further.

“What’s going on?” you asked Ron, “what is he hiding?”

Ron frowned as he looked over at you, “it’s nothing, you know that he’d never keep anything important from you.”

Did you know that? It seemed as though you weren’t the only one keeping secrets over the summer. By the time the train was pulling into Hogsmeade Station, Harry still wasn’t back and your friends had somehow convinced you to meet up with him back at the castle.

As you were walking up to the carriages that pulled themselves, you heard a voice call out to you, “oi, Potter! Where’s your loony brother?”

You whirled around and found yourself face to face with Mattheo, there was a sly sneer on his face and his eyes were hard and cold, “fuck you, Riddle.” He was going to play this game? Fine. “What the fuck is your problem?” you snarled beneath your breath so the others wouldn’t hear you.

“I- “his eyes darkened and his face hardened. He shook his head and stormed past you, knocking his shoulder against yours as he did so.

“Merlin, he’s a creep,” Ron muttered as he and Hermione caught up with you, “are you okay?”

You smiled up at the tall boy, “yeah Ron, I’m fine. Thank you.” What the hell did you even see in Mattheo?

The sorting ceremony was over and you were enjoying the glorious feast when the doors flew open. Snape stormed in, his cloak billowing behind him, Harry came in after him and your heart jolted as Hermione gasped and Ron muttered something beneath his breath. Your twin’s face was swollen and bloody, you had an idea who had done this to him. You glanced over your shoulder to glare over at the Slytherin table. Malfoy had a sneer on his face as his eyes followed Harry and Mattheo grinned as he took a sip of his pumpkin juice.

“What happened to your face?” Hermione whispered.

Harry shook his head, aware of all the nosy students staring at him, “not now, later,” he tried to smile, presumably trying not to split his lip open again before he looked at you, “does my face look normal?”

“Hmm,” you squinted at him and tilted your head, “yeah, apart from your massive nose.”

Harry laughed before wincing in pain, “you’re a prick, Y/N.”

You laughed as you drained the rest of your pumpkin juice, you couldn’t wait to get to bed so you were very thankful when Dumbledore dismissed everyone. You couldn’t help but notice Pansy walk off with Malfoy, not even giving Mattheo a backwards glance.

“Scared her off already have you?” you remarked, sidling up to Mattheo.

He frowned at you as he walked up the stairs, “I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” he hissed shaking his head, “I didn’t have anything to do with what happened to your brother by the way,” he nodded as Harry walked past with his eyes fixed on the marauders map.

You sighed as you folded your arms, glancing up at Mattheo’s fading bruises, “I’m sorry that he hurt you, I didn’t think he actually would.”

Mattheo scoffed, “you knew what would happen, you just didn’t care.”

“Of course I cared.”

Mattheo shook his head, “I honestly can’t be arsed talking about this let’s just treat each other like we usually would, like this summer never happened.”

“What, like we hate each other?”

“No,” he replied, “like we don’t even know each other. Because we don’t, not really, you were just some pretty girl that I enjoyed kissing over the summer, that’s all.”

Your mouth opened but no sound came out as you watched him walk in the direction of the dungeons.

“What was that about?” Hermione asked, making you jump and look at her guiltily.

“Oh you know, just same old shit,” you laughed and Hermione nodded but she didn’t look terribly convinced. You would have to be careful or you would be giving yourself away.

------------

Taglist; @primscat @thelifeofsecretpenguins @ehwhatever26 @siriuslycaptainofthedawntreader @nevillescomslut @hannahnikohl @5-seconds-of-animals @sanjanapm @abbiesxox @kaverichauhan @cat-loves-music @elijahslover @torresbarnes @ikyourwonderingwhyinameditthis @scream4melove @

[viridwns]

Do you know when you'll be able to finish Miscommunication, part 3 with Yan!Douma, Yan!Akaza, Yan!Kokushibo, Yan!Muzan x FEM!Reader?

I have a draft saved rn. It still needs loads of editing and I still need to write the ending. In the meantime, I'll give you a small sneak peek as a reward for being so patient with me ;)

THIS WILL BE EDITED IN THE FINISHED PIECE! IT IS BUT A ROUGH DRAFT

-

Shut up shut up shut up—

Your fingers clench around the fabric that was covering your chest.

It was soaking wet; having absorbed most of the water that was percolating down your hair and skin.

Your heart, it was beating too fast. It was loud in your ears, and by the gods, it hurts.

You pushed yourself even deeper into the hollow trunk of a rotten tree. Your breaths were shallow and uneven.

Calm yourself. Otherwise, they will find you.

You tried to scare yourself into absolute silence, but you were already frightened enough.

You knew everything you did was too loud. With their inhuman sense of hearing and smell, this wouldn't cut it.

You hoped the deer blood that coated your body would suffice as a scent blocker. The still moist substance mixed with your sweat, tears, and even blood if you were unlucky enough to have cut yourself while running.

You begged that the dead of the innocent prey wouldn't be in vain.

Splinters dug into your abused flesh. You bit your lips and squeezed your eyes shut. All to keep a sob from spilling over your lips. You just had to wait for first daylight, the first few rays of sun. Then you would be free.

No,

Not even then.

You had to escape this hell bound country. Maybe then you could find peace.

It's mid summer already—it was still early autumn when I visited Japan.

Has it really been that long? You felt your hands starting to shake at the thought of having disappeared from the face of the earth for so long.

This was the first time you were successful in avoiding their grasp. All it took was pretending to play house with them and gain enough trust.

You had to hold yourself back when they allowed you to go outside the first time. It was hard not trying to leg it the first few times, but it got easier over time when you were carefully working out your escape plan.

Muzan should be recovered by now.

Instead of wallowing in self-pity and feeling miserable, you stopped fighting them. They had been suspicious, which you expected them to be. It took you months to break the armor around Muzan and take his trust in your hands. You had twisted it, played with it, and made him think that you loved him. You felt yourself leaving your body whenever you sweet talked him, fed him delusions; it pained you too much to be mentally present.

You knew how keen Muzan was on having a routine. You gently merged your outside time in his regular schedule, so instead of having to beg to go outside, he almost forced you. It was routine, was it not?

It would be at dead of night when you walked through deserted woods. Taking in every path, every misplaced branch, anything that could make you recognize where you were. The number of monsters walking with you variated every night. Usually, it was all four of them. Sometimes, it started with just you and Muzan, and the rest joining mid walk.

The minute you saw the lake, your plan was set in stone. You subtly suggested cooling down in the water, already loosening your kimono a little. Douma answered with throwing you over his shoulder and almost teleporting to the lake.

The rest didn't really know the intent behind it. You were never this bold with them, certainly not bold enough to suggest skinny dipping.

Your lips started to twitch due to having strained a smile for too long, but you had to pull through. Even when Douma started to undress you, his fingertips adressing every curve with care, you pulled through.

This went on for weeks. It would have been suspicious if you wanted to go swimming every night—you just waited for Douma to suggest it again, which he did, a lot. Even Kokushibo made a subtle comment about it once.

But you knew tonight was the night to make all gears turn.

Muzan had been the one wanting to go for a swim. You had purposely riled him up the whole day long just so he would make this suggestion. A calculated action turning into a wanted outcome.

The other three were out on a mission, just like you had planned.

It was just him and you.

Your legs were wrapped around him, your lips on his, your mind out of your body.

Muzan was in a state of delirium when you cried his name, begged him for more. You knew what he liked, what he expected, and like no other night, you gave it all. You defiled yourself, made your body an object he could own.

Just for this one chance.

When he was at the peak of his high, when you knew his senses were jumbled and overloaded, you pushed a mouthful of wisteria into his mouth—death's kiss.

-

Hihi

[wooahaes]

morning glow

pairing: non-idol!95z & gn!reader

genre: fluff. kinda can be interpreted as romantic.

word count: 1.0k~

warnings: sleepy reader + hannie being tormented by cheol + shua. just silly fluff! vague mentions of food but none present in fic. vague alcohol mentions.

daisy's notes: idk what these guys have but i want it

Sometimes, despite loving Seungcheol and Joshua, you truly despised them. This morning was another one of those days. Let’s go on a walk together before we go home. You didn’t even remember which one of them said it: you were just dragged out of bed this morning by Seungcheol (Joshua was responsible for Jeonghan), and forced to bundle up for a morning hike in the woods. Despite the way you and Jeonghan had been leaning against each other for a few minutes, ready to nod back off (or just find a way to sneak back to bed), your tormentors had kept the two of you there. At least Joshua had been nice enough to kneel down and re-tie your shoes for you, only lightly teasing you for looking like you’d fall asleep any second.

“We can watch the sunrise together,” Seungcheol said, pulling an arm around your shoulders. “You’ll like it.” 

You mumbled something incoherent instead. Where was Jeonghan? You turned your head to see that Joshua was already holding his hand to keep him close, not letting him slip away too easily. 

“They’ll wake up more when we start going,” Joshua had been smiling, fingers intertwining with Jeonghan’s. 

Jeonghan tried to tug his hand free. “If we don’t run back.” 

Jeonghan could enjoy a nice morning. So could you, to be fair. But the four of you had stayed up late, drinking a little and joking about stupid shit for far too long. You should have known Seungcheol was serious about this walk when he stopped drinking early into the night, saying that all of you promised to go.

“I mean it!” Seungcheol called back over his shoulder. “I’m not letting you miss the sunrise out here. Both of you should have gone to bed when we did instead of staying up.”

Okay, maybe this was partially your fault. Could they blame you? The two of you had fun talking.

The autumn leaves crunched underneath each step you took, your body leaning against Seungcheol’s until you woke up further. Although he kept his hand in yours, you’d slowly straightened up over time, waking up more and more in the chilly morning air. Joshua and Seungcheol kept the conversation going while you stewed in your still-sleepy thoughts. Maybe if you could get out of Seungcheol’s grasp, you could steal Jeonghan and go back to the house. Maybe the two of you could cuddle up instead, too, and be warm and sleepy together. Yet the moment you started to wiggle your hand free, Seungcheol’s grasp tightened.

“You’re not going back,” he said, that teasing lift in his voice telling you that he knew exactly what was going through your head. 

Joshua laughed, so light and airy, and came up to your other side. His hand slipped into your other one, pulling it from its pocket, as he swung your arms. “Just one morning,” he said. “We won’t bother you two anymore.” 

Jeonghan sounded far more awake than you were, “You owe us breakfast.” 

“Done.” Seungcheol chuckled. “I think this is nice, though.” 

To be honest, it was. Despite the chill of an autumn morning, you liked the company you had. The air felt more refreshing, too. The leaves were changing and falling, and the crunch of leaves was satisfying. The sun wasn’t fully up yet, just high enough that it wasn’t completely dark out. At some point during this walk in the woods, it stopped feeling as though you were being dragged along and like you were spending some time with your favorite people. Seungcheol was bundled up warmly, although he finally let go of your hand at this point (maybe it was because Joshua still had your other hand—you couldn’t take off to go back to bed… which, at this point, you weren’t planning on it anymore) and unwrapped the scarf from around his neck. 

“Hold on.” With all of you stopped, Seungcheol had begun to wind the scarf around you, tucking it close enough that you’d stay warm. “If you’re cold, you should tell us.”

Of course he’d notice. Seungcheol always noticed the little things like that. Joshua looked at you as well.

“Do you need my jacket?” He asked, already reaching to mess with the zipper, “I don’t mind.” 

Jeonghan glanced at you, eyes darting back. Sure, the sunrise was tempting, but… Siding with Jeonghan? Even more tempting. All of you had a few more days, after all…

“Yeah,” you said, fiddling with the scarf. “Thank you, Shua.”

The gentle smile he had almost made your heart break. But he let go of Jeonghan’s hand, and immediately the two of you broke away, Jeonghan’s hand slipping effortlessly into your own. Amidst yours and Jeonghan’s cackles, you could hear Seungcheol whining as he took off after the two of you, Joshua calling you a traitor in the distance. Your lungs were aching in the morning air, heart racing as you and Jeonghan raced your way back to the house. By the time you made it there, you’d collapsed onto the front porch, leaning against Jeonghan as he laughed softly.

“Tomorrow,” he said out loud. “We’ll go watch the sunrise tomorrow.” 

With a giggle, you wrapped your arm around his. “Mmhm. Tomorrow,” you agreed. 

By the time the other two approached, having given up on chasing the two of you, the sun was rising in the sky. Seungcheol swatted at Jeonghan, pushing him to move closer to your side as he plopped himself down next to him. Joshua came to your other side, snuggling in to watch the sky with all of you.

“You were right, though,” you mused aloud. “It’s pretty out here.”

“There’s a better spot to watch it,” Seungcheol pouted, nodding toward the woods.

“Then show us tomorrow,” Jeonghan said, head resting on his shoulder.

Joshua squeezed your hip gently. “Alright,” he said. “I promised you guys breakfast.” He’d unzipped his jacket, draping it over your head, “but now you’ve gotta help.” 

Despite your groans in protest, the three of you followed Joshua back inside after admiring the sunrise for a moment longer. At least you were with the three people you adored most in the world.

taglist: @twancingyunhao @wonuziex @synthetickitsune @staranghae @weird-bookworm

[mandoalorian]

tolerate it [javi peña x gn!reader]

“I made you my temple, my mural, my sky…” 

Warnings: this is not nice, I'm sorry. This is pure, unadulterated angst. Based on the song tolerate it and You’re Losing Me by Miss Swift herself.  Word count: 2000approx. Author’s note: one thing about me is I come back every 6 months, drop a one-shot, and then leave again. Was feeling a bit of seasonal depression today. I don’t enjoy fall as much as the rest of the world, it seems, but here is an autumnal fic to get your spirits going. Masterlist Ko-fi

Fall.

Two take-out cups of piping hot Colombian ground coffee warming up your bare hands, because you thought it was too early for gloves, and the trees standing naked and tall with crusty red leaves blanketing the damp ground beneath your chunky boots. Holding the newspaper in the crook of your elbow, you sigh as you feel rain begin to fall from the grey clouds above. You pick up the pace, striding through the swarms of busy people doing their seasonal shopping, just wanting to get back home dry.

Your wishes weren’t commanded and you stumbled through the front door of your townhouse sopping wet, hair stuck to your face and mascara now three inches down your cheeks. You put the coffee cups on the dining room table along with the newspaper and took off your coat. At some point, Javier came in and sat down at the table. His fingers pinched at the corners of the paper. The pages were ripped and wet and the ink was bleeding into an incoherent smudge on the front page. Javier opened the lid of his coffee and took a sip before immediately scrunching up his face and putting it back on the table. You turned to face your partner, only to be met with his lips curled into a frown and his brows furrowed together in disdain. You looked at him, helpless and apologetic.

“What’s wrong now?” You huffed, searching for answers in his empty brown eyes. You were tired of asking the question.

“It’s cold,” He muttered, his eyes not leaving yours as he awaited an explanation like he was owed it. His words are blunt and sharp but you have no choice other than to take his indiscretions on your shoulder.

But instead, you offered him nothing short of a scoff as you emptied the pools of water from your boots.  The storm outside was loud and persisted with long wails and cries. In silence, you sat next to Javier at the table, and in spite, drank your cold coffee.

After a few moments, you smiled to yourself, wanting to lighten the mood and remembering something that you had seen on television a few days ago. “You know, in California, iced coffee is a thing? Yeah, that’s how they prefer to drink it over there.”

Javier grunted in acknowledgement, leaning back on his chair and folding his arms over his chest.

Your eyes flicked between the oak wood dining table, and the way you had set it so beautifully with your fancy China and centrepiece. The empty vase waiting for a fresh bunch of flowers stood tall and was gleaming after you’d spent a good chunk of your day cleaning and polishing it. A single, pumpkin-scented candle flickered in between you and Javier, your gaze fixated on the dancing ember. Finally, you looked back at Javier, who was taking shallow breaths as he awaited you to pay him attention.

When you fail to do so, it causes a problem. “I have to get to the office,” he announced after a few minutes of silence. 

“But it’s a Saturday,” you replied. Ever since Javier got his big promotion, it meant he could do fewer hours and stop working weekends. He hadn’t gone to the office on a Saturday in nearly two years. Javier stood up and put on his leather jacket, the same one he’d kept from the 70s. He still rocked it, of course, but in this climate, it just wasn’t smart. “You’re going to need something warmer than that jacket, you’ll freeze to death.”

You stood up, your chair scraping against the floor, and went to walk to the bedroom, finding a coat for Javier to wear. You picked one out that you knew he hated. It was long and plaid and not his style at all, too ‘modern’, he called it, but it was the only thing that would stop him from catching a cold. You grabbed a pair of gloves and a scarf and walked back out, following him into the hallway. He waited for you and stood leaning against the door frame, looking at the outside world ahead of him.

Sure enough, the storm had cleared up in a matter of minutes and golden rays of sunlight peeked through the now white clouds. Your heart fell, deflated when Javier refused to wear the coat and the scarf you’d picked out for him. 

“The gloves, at least,” you begged him, your eyes wide and glazed with unshed tears that you didn’t realise you were holding back. The air was thick with flaws and indecisions. Javier felt a pang of guilt in his heart when he read your expression and took the gloves from you, shoving them in his jacket pocket, a silent promise that he might just put them on later if he remembered.

“Will you be home for dinner?” You asked quietly.

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” you nodded. Javier placed a chaste kiss atop your head. “I love you.” You promised him, but the words were lost on him.

“See you later,” he replied, before pulling away and walking over to his truck. 

You’d normally watch him get in and drive away but this time, you shut the door before he even stepped off the patio and sauntered into the living room where you slouched onto the couch, hung your head low and closed your eyes. Darkness. You wondered how long you could keep fighting this. You were so tired of giving your all, only to be met with so little appreciation back. What was once the richest of love had turned cold and empty. You gave him endless empathy and he was killing you. 

Javier pulled up outside of Luna Azul, his favourite bar. He hated this. He didn’t like lying to you, but he just needed to get away. He pulled out a cigarette and rested it between his lips, pushing the front door open and immediately taking a seat at the bar. Lighting the cigarette, he took a deep inhale of the nicotine, letting it sting his throat before exhaling. He loved you, he really did. He didn��t remember a point in time when things shifted, he didn’t understand why things had changed so much. You were still his person, his soulmate, he knew he’d never find anyone else like you, but there was just something missing.

“Hey Javi, why the sad face?” Elza, the barmaid asked, already pouring him a whiskey on the rocks, his usual order. “Did someone die?”

Javier feigned a smile before downing his drink. “Rough day.”

“Ah,” Elza said softly. “Trouble in paradise?”

The words made Javier wince. He gestured for another drink, of which Elza promptly poured him. “I guess.”

“I’m sorry to hear that Javi,” Elza frowned. “You deserve better.”

Javi’s frown deepened. He swirled the whiskey as he processed Elza’s words. He really didn’t believe that he deserved better, Hell,  he barely believed that he deserved you, and you were more than good enough. You were perfect. 

And suddenly, for Javier, it all made sense. He was damaged goods. All those years in the DEA, fighting in a war… that’s what had changed Javier. The years of trauma that he’d never confronted… never got help for. He had hidden his feelings, fought his nightmares and pretended like they didn’t bother him. He’d come this far, he wasn’t scared… he couldn’t be scared, he wasn’t allowed to be scared. He had to be strong, brave, get over it. Javier downed his second whiskey, his skin getting white hot as realization gushed over him. Elza filled his glass up with a third, watching the agent intently.

You weren’t the one who changed, he was, and it took him this long to realise. It was all becoming so clear now, how hard you had been trying and how he hadn’t even said ‘I love you’ in six months. Javier’s stomach was in knots, he didn’t know how or why you’d stayed this long when he had given you nothing in return for your efforts. Impulsively, Javier downed the third whiskey. 

Something had to change. He had to change—get better. He knew now that was the only thing that would fix the relationship he’d been taking for granted. He had to go home and apologise. He had to make things right before it was too late. Javier stubbed out the butt of the cigarette and stood up abruptly, only to be met with ruby-red lips crashing down on his hard. Teeth biting down on Javier’s lower lip, Javier let out a small groan. He hadn’t been kissed in so long. But these weren’t your soft, sweet lips. Javier pulled away, eyes widening when he saw Elza standing in front of him with a smirk.

Javier rubbed at his lips in an attempt to wipe away any traces of infidelity. This is not what he wanted or needed right now. He had to get home and fast. Without sparing a single word to Elza, Javier dived out the door and jumped into his pickup truck.

Grey clouds gathered outside as Javier jogged up the driveway, an indication of another storm. You were cooking when Javier arrived home. You were so surprised to hear the front door open as he’d only been gone for half an hour or so. You’d been thinking hard and decided that if tonight wasn’t any different than previous nights then that would be it. You'd be out the door.  The thought of it was soul-crushing because you wanted to marry this man. But you couldn’t take it anymore. Fighting with all your strength and might only to be ignored.

“Hermosa,” Javier greeted, exasperated and breathless. If your eyes weren’t immediately drawn to the remnants of red lipstick on his lips, you might have noticed his tear-stained cheeks and puffy eyes. He’d been crying all the way home, crying for being so stupid and reckless for all these months, for not taking care of himself, but most importantly, not taking care of you.

Your heart plummeted in your chest and you dropped the wooden spoon that was in your hands. It clattered on the floor, the noise making Javier jump, but you stood there, still and unwavering. Silent tears began to stream down your cheeks and you couldn’t strain your gaze away from your boyfriend who was smelling thick of alcohol and had another woman’s lipstick on his face. That was it.

He had dealt his final blow.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

its been years since I've redone my masterlist so im starting again from scratch. if you see this and want to be added, let me know.

[clockwork-ashes]

Wildflowers

Summary: Eris goes to the Spring Court looking for Lucien, and instead finds Tamlin (short one-shot).

Note: Thank you to everyone who shared plot ideas! I'm still working on them :) Huge thank you to the lovely anon that suggested something with Tamlin <3

Eris sat on emerald grass, a green so rich and lovely, still damp in the cool air of the early morning. Leaning back against the rough bark of an old oak tree, he kept his long legs stretched out, booted feet crossed at the ankle. 

The strong scent of wildflowers lingered in the air, sharp and unwelcome with every breath Eris took. He gazed up lazily, letting his head fall against the wood behind him, tracking rays of sunlight as they filtered in through countless branches. 

Eris was always struck with how still the forest was in Spring. Unmoving, as if the trees were made of stone, a stark contrast to Autumn’s constantly falling leaves. He could at least admit that it was beautiful, full of vibrant colours, despite the fact that all the plants were always in half-bloom. 

It was not often that Eris found himself on the other side of the shared border between the two courts, past the gradual change of the seasons. It was even less often that Eris left the Forest House without the High Lord’s permission, but he was prepared for any of the reactions his father might have upon hearing of his whereabouts. 

With a sigh, Eris turned his attention to the small path foot soldiers walked daily during their patrols. He had set one of his own soldiers to keep a steady watch of who came and went, and had been surprised to hear that it was Lucien who took the earliest of shifts on the sunniest of days. 

Lucien had never cared much for armies, had left that to his older brothers so he could hone his skills as a courtier. Eris had heard whispers that Tamlin had made Lucien an emissary, a relatively smart decision considering Tamlin could barely hold a conversation. 

As Eris watched the High Lord of Spring make his way down the path instead of his younger brother, he felt his lips pull down in a scowl. He silently cursed the male who had given him such a dreadfully wrong lead, wondering if he should simply winnow back to his home. 

Tamlin looked troubled, Eris observed, and it was a testament to where his thoughts might have been that he did not notice an Autumn Court prince sitting just out of his line of sight. 

With a sharp whistle, similar to the ones Eris used to capture the attention of his hounds, he made his presence known. He watched as Tamlin whirled in his direction, caught by surprise but still ready for a fight. 

Tamlin had his claws out, sharp and glinting in the light of the sun. Canines longer than usual pressed against his lips, eyes flashing like a mountain lion’s. He kept a large hand on the silver hilt of his longsword. 

Eris scoffed as their gazes met, as Tamlin’s shoulders dropped slightly in relief. It always managed to shock Eris how trusting Tamlin was, young and untried as a High Lord, perhaps too optimistic when it came to believing that Prythian was in a time of peace. 

“Lost in thought?” Eris asked, loosening the laces at his throat. 

Tamlin’s dark eyes tracked the movement, hands falling to his side. “Looking for Lucien?” he called back, claws smaller, but still sharp enough to cause damage if he so wished. 

Eris offered the High Lord one of his most charming smiles, responding with a question of his own. “What if I said I was looking for you?” 

Tamlin scoffed, taking a few careful steps towards the tree Eris was sitting under. “Then I’d call you a liar.” 

“I’ve been called worse,” Eris shrugged. “You look troubled,” he added, hoping Tamlin might give him some interesting information and this whole pointless interaction would not be for nothing. “Copper for your thoughts?”

Tamlin ran his fingers through his hair, tucking a strand behind a pointed ear. “Go back to Autumn, Eris, you won’t find Lucien here.”  

“It’s been a few short years and already your company has run my little brother from your court?” Eris raised an auburn brow, he had heard no indication that Lucien had gone elsewhere. 

Tamlin frowned at the suggestion. “He’s in Summer, going over trade agreements.” 

Eris hummed in response, deciding he could bring such news to his mother. “And you just couldn’t be bothered to join him?” 

“Hybern’s sent one of their generals to my shores,” Tamlin winced before he continued. “I thought your father would have said, she’s looking to stop in Autumn next.”  

Eris waved his hand in a careless gesture. “He’s probably already decided that there will be no alliance made between us. Wariness and good sense come with old age,” he warned, hoping Tamlin was smart enough to send the general back to her island. 

Tamlin simply nodded, and Eris figured their conversation was over. 

He elegantly stood, straightening his brocade waistcoat. “Always a pleasure, Tam.” 

Tamlin scrunched his nose up in annoyance at the way Eris had shortened his name, entirely too familiar. “I’ll tell Lucien you were looking for him.” 

“No need,” Eris shook his head. “I came to see you, after all,” he drawled. 

Tamlin frowned in response. “I think he’d like to know, sometimes I feel like you’re the only one of his brothers that ever mattered.” 

“Do as you like,” Eris clipped, voice measured despite the emotion that nearly choked him. With no warning, Eris winnowed from the Spring Court, leaving its High Lord and the sharp scent of its wildflowers behind him.

[xsapphirescrollsx]

Hallows' Eve

Written: Oct 2 2020

Pairing: dark!Bucky Barnes, dark!Steve Rogers, dark!Clark Kent x Black Female Reader

You expected a nice night on the eve of Halloween with your boyfriend, Bucky.

A/N: Ahh shoutout to my bff @titty-teetee for indulging me with this idea lol. I love ya >:D

October 30th, middle of somewhere, Texas.

Well, there was a house-- rickety as it was, the home stood in a clump of mesquite trees, accented with tufts of Johnsongrass, springing up through the cracks of the stone walkway and leaning against the stairs to the front porch. It had never looked darker than this night had. But even so, the jagged wood roof  rose high to a second story, long windows looked like eyes with the small front door for a mouth. A steady breeze moved through the trees, shaking and whishing the long thin branches, slicing through the air. The whispering of nature speaks to you, like God to man, invoking what has been and what was to come. An unexpected thin place perhaps, the house, having not been filled for quite some time looked like it could have been haunted. Maybe a part of you wished it was. Like the walls and foundation had the ability to make up its own people within, or remembered who once lived there. 

Bucky’s fingers nudged your lower back as you walked alongside him. The duffle bags zipper clinked against the fabric and you were suddenly aware of how quiet it was out here. The crisp autumn air, slowly contorted to that spikey chill of early winter lingered on your skin. So you walked closer to him for some quick warmth. 

“They should be--” said Bucky, lights glowed up from the dirt road. The paleness glowed over both you and Bucky, the house, the dormant land. “There they are.” he said pausing for a moment and then continued once again.

“You had to pick the spookiest spot huh?” you said under your breath. 

He shrugged as he stomped up the stairs. “I was here yesterday, I got it ready. It’s a perfect spot for a quick get away.”

“But did you have to invite company? I was looking forward to it just being you and me.”

Bucky rummaged for the keys in his pocket as a couple of car doors slammed behind you. 

“‘Come on babe, Steve doesn’t have anywhere to go really.”

“I’ll start the fire!” shouted Steve. 

You didn’t turn around, your eyes stayed on the shadows of Bucky’s face where his eyes should have been. 

“Okay, I get that. But what about the other guy? What did you say his name was? How do you know him?”

Bucky jabbed the key with the lock, he chuckled a bit before answering. “Clark Kent, his name is Clark.”

“So you’re picking up strays now?” 

“Get to know him, you’ll like him. He's a great guy, hardly a stray...”

You followed Bucky into the house slowly, he flicked on the switch flooding the living room with light. Okay, you thought, doesn’t look so bad. At least the furnishing appeared to be from within the last ten years, the walls looked newish, with sharp borders, and reasonably decorated. 

“Besides, I picked you up, remember?”

You dropped your bag flat on the ground. “Hey, now. Are you trying not to get lucky while we stay here?”

Bucky continued into the house with the grocery bags. “I’ll get lucky regardless.” he cut his eyes over his shoulder back toward you. It sent another chill, this time up your inner thighs. He wasn’t lying.

“Oh god, not that stupid-”

Bucky ducked in close, the flimsy plastic mask buckled under the pressure of nuzzling your neck. You gazed into the bathroom mirror at Bucky who’s rubber Michael Myers mask was staring lifelessly back.

“I know you wanted to try something different….but….”

His hands kneaded your sides, higher he climbed over your sweater to your breasts.

“You look ridiculous…”

One hand left your nipple and began tugging at the top of your leggings.

“Shh…” he tried to stifle a laugh. “..just go with it..”

And you did, by leaning your head back against the blue denim jacket as his fingers wondered underneath your underwear.

“..let daddy have a feel.” his breathy question muffled through the mask. Slowly he began to circle your clit, mouth hanging open your hand held the top of his black gloved hand and pushed him to press harder.

“Look at yourself...how needy you get.” he whispered.

You try to peer beyond the mask, the slits for eyes but there was nothing. Only darkness met you there. Bucky brought up his hand, held it in front of the mirror and you. He split his fingers, thick wetness strung between them like webs.

“Bend over-- hold on to the sink.” he ordered, with his hands disappearing behind you. The sound of his clothes ruffling you stared back at the mirror.

Bucky stepped forward, knocking your ankles apart with his shiny black boots and yanked your pants, underwear down and gently, he tipped into you. His long length traveled against your folds sinking further inside.

Ghostly scenes are made from the smoke casting up from the flickering fire being fed from lava colored coals. The metal chair underneath you feels cool on your bottom, because even though you are sitting on a blanket the cold night air hangs around you. 

Steve was ending his story. Though hardly a spooky tale, it didn’t have to be, for his tales were based on true events. Speaking of blood and gore the morbid tone grew in his voice and brought a shadow of delight in his eyes. You carefully watched him, observed his hunched over shoulders, his eyes turned to yours sometimes while he spoke but mostly stayed on the fire. 

You chugged from the bottle of hard cider as Bucky ate, that stupid mask was pulled up over his brows. But Clark Kent, this stranger, sat nearly directly opposite. You moved your eyes to him ever so often while Steve told his story. One of the two thought about food on the way here, chicken, you guessed was their craving. Clark leaned back, his black jacket bunched at his waist as he rose a hand to his mouth. The crunch of the crust of fried meat did not break Steve’s momentum. 

When he finished, Bucky nodded to the accuracy of the amount of soldiers, to why the only man left was brave and courageous. Clark’s eyes met yours over the flames, his skin pale, the wavy dark curls framed his face. He smiled at you as he chewed. You noticed it then, unsure why you wouldn’t have before, he held the grey cooked bone between his fingers and stuck the end in his mouth. You blinked, maybe you were seeing things -- this was your sixth cider for the night.

“Are you eating the bones?” you asked.

Clark continued to gnaw on it till it broke off in his mouth. “Waste not want not,” he said through a mouthful.

He continued to stare back at you and at the same time a chill coursed its way down your spine. Shivering in the gentle breeze the urge to go to the bathroom shot through you. 

“I’ll be right back,” and excused yourself from the fire.

Had to be a bit past ten p.m., though this was supposed to be a pleasant fall break, it didn’t truly feel that way. Not with two extra guests. You tried to not feel so desperate to be alone with Bucky. You finished washing your hands and opened the bathroom door. In the dark, lit up by the light of the bathroom a figure stood. You jumped so hard, grasping at your sweater, bent over grabbing your waist, the boogeyman mask simply stared back at you without moving.

“Bucky I swear to -- why would you? -- take that stupid thing off-” and you reached for the mask but his hand grabbed your wrist. Slowly he walked over the threshold, leaned over and flicked off the light. 

“Oh no!” you feigned a plea. “Seriously..--help..help.” you giggled through another.

The door slammed behind him trapping the dark inside. He pulled you close at first, residing to his strength, you let him touch, grab, pluck at your body. Backing you back up against the sink the rubber mask pushed against your neck, smiling in the dark you could hear him attempting to kiss you there. 

His hands ran around the waist of your leggings, one big hand gripped and caressed your ass, slipped toward your split and rubbed your asshole. You jumped again, this time wrapping your arms around his neck. Different, he had never done such a thing before, but you went with it. 

His finger crawled passed it, his other hand pushed down the front of your legging and circled your clit. 

“..help...a big bad man...help..” you chuckled under a moan. 

He jerked you away suddenly, pulled down your leggings and underwear, with a hand on your shoulder he forced you to bend over. The room filled with the sound of a smack to your back side. 

“Bucky!” 

The stinging lingered but white hot pain replaced it with another hit from his gloved hand. 

“Okay!” you rushed out. Maybe he was just being kinky, perhaps your pretending might have put him out of the mood. 

He hit you again making you grip the lip of the sink harder. “I’m sorry daddy..” you hissed.

He was back behind you again, his whole body pressed against you, scratching at the skin of your ass he plunged two thick fingers into your entrance.  Heavy breathing billowed from under the mask, hot air pooled over your shoulder and around the back of your neck. The weight of him bent you forward. He pulled out his fingers from within you and began to prod with something warmer, and far thicker at your slit as his other hand tangled with your fingers on the sink. 

And he pushed in, “..damn!” you moaned.

Jerky, irregular thrusts stretched you more than what you remembered. “Bucky!” you gasped, hoping he would slow the pace. But the other hand grabbed for your throat, squeezed tight and pumped you harder. 

“Daddy, please..” you half begged, half needingly whimpered. 

That changed his stroke, and soon the ache descended into bliss. 

“Fuck...daddy…”

His hand on yours returned to your clit, pushing hard and swiping steadily, your knees nearly buckled. Thicker for sure, veiny too, you thought, god what the loss of one sensory can do on a drunk mind. Your body bucked back against him as you rode out the orgasm. He squeezed harder, hissing and groaning under the mask you could nearly imagine him as someone else. And when he stilled inside of you, even his hiccups of pleasure could be thought of another. You shook the fantasy away as he stepped back. 

Before you could even turn around, the door opened, your eyes shot to his brown boots and then up to his back. And he left you there.

You stuffed pieces of a premade popcorn ball into your mouth. Bucky sat there weaving a tale of spirits walking through walls, of ancient gods embedded into objects best left to rest where they laid. Still buzzing hard you stayed captivated by his tone. It was something about the secretive way his voice projected that kept you staring at him, wondering if it could be true, but knew it mustn’t. 

It was still cool out, the shabby blanket thrown over your sore legs did little to keep the wind out. But it made for a good catcher, which is what you were doing toward the end of his story. Picking up pieces of fallen popcorn, and pizza flavored chip crumbs somehow made it to your mouth despite the only source of light was a waning fire.

“So if you ever hear your name called..don’t ever answer back, unless you can see it’s a actually living person.” Bucky finished and glanced over at you proudly.

“I hate that story.” you slurred your words a bit and shook out the blanket on your lap. “I hope you’re happy, you have to walk me everywhere until we return home.”

You picked up the last bottle off the ground and drank the last bit. The clash of flavors swirled on your tongue leaving a bitter after taste.

“Babe do you have any gum?”

“There’s a pack in the middle console--” Steve spoke up. “Back there in the truck..” he said hooking his thumb over his shoulder.

You rolled your eyes over in Steve’s direction. A smug grin, and a wrinkle on the side of one eye simply gazed back at you. 

“You’re fine,” he said finally. “You’ve got us here...nothings gunna get you.” he reminded smoothly.

And the moment was quiet, poised on the end of the gentle breeze blowing through the heat of the fire. The rustle of sleeping honeysuckle vines, somewhere near the old rotted out shack Steve’s truck sat was the only identifiable sound for a few seconds. 

“Fine.” you huffed and stood up to get that gum.

You walked down the dirt path the short way from the front of the house where Bucky, Steve and Clark sat. The tin roofing of the old shed rocked, and slapped against itself the closer you got. And of course Steve parked on the other side, out of the sight of the house and fire. But you walked quickly, or rather, as fast as two aching legs could in the cool weather. 

The knocking sound only got heavier, louder as you squinted in the dark toward the blackest corner of the area. Steve’s truck was within a few footsteps and you batted away any imaginings of spooky phantoms. You slipped passed the door, your hand flipped up the middle console and snagged up the pack of gum before slamming the door back. And when you turned around, just off from where you had previously walked was a figure. The white, deathly pale mask was the only part you could really see.

“Fuck!” you shouted, dropping the pack of gum. “Bucky!” you hissed and reached back down to retrieve it. 

The yellow fire light was at his back when he moved forward toward you. 

“Okay...no more mask!”

You stuffed the gum under your arms and went to yank at the mask. But he caught your arm and squeezed down like a vice grip. “Hey--easy there..” you said quietly. 

He pulled you toward the shed, but just outside of it, along the rotten wall of it a few old deep freezers were lined up against it collecting weeds, and dust. 

“Oh no, Bucky..those look super dirty..” you tried to jerk your arm away but he only pulled you harder. “...Really? You’re this committed to fucking in that mask?”

This time your hand grabbed enough of the back of the mask to rip it fully up over his head. At that same moment you were jerked forward between the rusty freezer and him. Your eyes now bulging and fighting for light to correct what you were seeing in the dark stared up at him. You blinked several times once more before you realized the angular features did not belong to Bucky. Thick curly hair, messy all over haloed around his face, and of course, you weren’t sure why you hadn’t noticed before, he was taller. It was Clark.

You made to quickly move away from him but he snapped you back, “Get off me!” Your voice shook, and so did your body. 

“Bucky’s right over there...all I have to do is scr--”

The air whipped out of your lungs so fast as Clark slammed his palm over your mouth and rushed your back down on to the freezer. 

“I’ve been waiting all night for this..” he whispered.

No amount of squirming could equal the might Clark welding against your struggling. It was like a man made of iron held you down, even when his other hand disappeared between your legs, the tearing of your legging, your underwear did not loosen his hold. And then the unfolding of his clothes paired with the gentle brushing of the vines against wood near your head sent you into hysterical kicking. Your legs on either side of him squeezed, and jerked to no avail. 

“-don’t act so innocent. You’ve already fucked two different men tonight.”

You stopped kicking, eyes wide above his hand you glowered at him through the dark. “You won’t mind..will you?”

Shaking your head you held your breath. The thick end of his cock began to push past your folds. 

“Slut.” 

He lowered his forehead on to yours, what you imagined was him staring back down at you but could see only the tip of his nose. A shuddering breath pulled through your nose as he sank further to his balls. “You’re wet from it still…”

He started snapping into you, hard and fast, slapping his lust into your unwilling cunt. Clark’s hand slipped to your chin, his lips hovering above yours. 

“Are you going to call me daddy too?” he asked, with his breath steadily huffing into your mouth. “..Say it for me baby..” 

“Let me hear that little desperate voice..” He kissed you, slipping his tongue along the inside of your lower lip and then against your face as you turned your head. “Come on..” And then he started jabbing, a feral thumping into you. Sharp pains up your thighs shot further into your core. You denied him and he lowered his head to your neck. He sucked on your skin, flicked his tongue around and inside your ear. “Say it,” he whispered. 

You whimpered in response as his teeth began to snag on the wet skin of your neck. He sucked hard, drawing out needle points of pain. 

You pray to god Bucky could hear this, you’ve been gone too long certainly either Steve or him could. Clark kept nibbling, and groaning in between thrusts. When you refused once again he shoved his palm back over your mouth, the other brought your wrist up and twisted it into a bone breaking angle. 

He stopped moving inside of you as his deep voice raked over clenched teeth, “What was that?” he asked. The warm palm slid down to your chin. 

“..daddy.” you shivered out.

You could hear the satisfied smile in his voice. “Good..girl.” he whispered. 

“That wasn’t so hard to say was it babe?”

The sound of Bucky’s voice from the darkest, most grown up side of the shed sent your eyes reeling in the dark. Clark put his hand back over your mouth and kept going. 

Bucky stood at the edge of the freezer, in the dark the features of his face were smudged. A gentle hand caressed the top of your forehead. 

“It’s okay, sweetheart. Let Clark finish.”

At Bucky’s words, Clark released your mouth, he rose up and held your upper arms down as he continued to fuck you roughly. Your eyes stayed on Bucky’s silhouette, high pitch whimpering up at him did not go unheard. 

Bucky cupped your chin and head. “Shush,” he hushed down your sobbing face. 

Another pair of hands tore at the front of your sweater. To his right, another figure stepped to your side. The figures loomed over you while your breasts chilled, and peaked in the cool night air. A deft hot hand kneaded and groped at the nearest one. 

“You told us she was good….” Steve pinched your nipple hard. “She’s fucking outstanding.”

Bucky leaned over you, he grabbed for your thigh but you kicked away. Clark relinquished some leverage to pull your thigh up so Bucky could hold your ankle. “Yeah, get in there good.” Bucky’s voice rose above your strangled cries. Steve got your other leg, held it folded it in high and tight, that allowed Clark to pound you deeper. 

He grinded his hips into yours burning his stiff cock into your core. His grip tightened around your arms pinning you for good below him. “Where am I going to empty my balls?” Clark demanded on a puff of air. 

Tears slid down the corners of your eyes. They rolled from the darken outlines of Bucky above you to Steve at his side and then back to the man between your legs. 

“..in me.” you sniffled out. 

“And who are we--” Bucky asked softly. 

You didn’t bother to look in the direction of his voice, Clark’s head threw back, a deep moan started in his chest as his hips kept pumping. “Say it baby..” Clark whispered.

“..daddy.” you whimpered.

[honeybeefae]

A Court of Wings & Fire: Chapter Four

Summary// Eris had control of everything in his life. The war was over, he was planning to take the Autumn throne, and nothing was left to surprise him…until he met you. A mating bond with an Illyrian was like a spit in his face and neither of you could understand why fate had put you together. You both swore off relations to each other, refusing to even be in the same court, but you should have known that fate is not to be tested.

(It's been a long time coming but chapter four is here! I think the bingos really helped my creativity blossom and spark this story back to life! I am so sorry for the long wait but I hope you all enjoy it!)

WARNINGS: This chapter does contain a slight illusion to SA towards the very end. It doesn't explicitly mention it but a reader could infer so just be cautious!

Chapter One / Chapter Two / Chapter Three / Chapter Five

The ceiling above your bed was starting to get all too familiar as you stared at it for the hundredth time this week. Sleep seemed to be evading you no matter what you did and so you had been left alone with you, your thoughts, and the ceiling above. All you could do was replay the deal you had made with Eris over and over in your head, wondering if you had made a mistake.

You knew he did not care what happened to you but with the revelation that severing this bond could unmask it, he seemed to be keen on making sure it all stayed a secret. Eris, for one of the first times in his life, had to rely on someone else and you knew it was killing him.

He had been staying true to his word since your conversation, not even so much as grazing the thread of fate so that it felt like it wasn’t there. Rhysand had found Eris minutes after he had finished up with you and you knew that if they didn’t need him, Rhys would’ve ended his life right there.

They all interrogated him ruthlessly. Cassian and Azriel flanked Rhys’s sides as they worked through his reasoning, his motives, and if he was telling the truth. He repeated the same story he had given you and despite all of his past mistakes, you believed him. 

Rhys did too.

Everyone had made sure that you were okay with the arrangement, pulling you out of the room so you could speak freely. Of course, you weren’t truly happy with having to keep this connection, this bridge, between his world and your own, but you could deal with it. As long as you both stayed as far away as possible, it was doable. 

A sharp knock on your door had your head turning, raising a questioning brow as Rhysand opened it and walked inside. He was in normal clothes for once, though he was still handsome, but you could tell something was wrong.

“What do you need so early in the morning?” You asked suspiciously, glancing out your window. “The sun is barely up.”

“There is something amiss in the Autumn Court. The wooded area around the Forest House. I don’t know exactly what but Elain had a vision and…” He trailed off, scratching the back of his head.

“And what? You want me to go?” You frowned, sitting up as your blankets pooled around your ankles. “You know I can’t go, we just had this conversation weeks ago. Why not Az or Cassian? Or Amren? Or literally anyone else?”

“Azriel is already getting ready but I need another pair of eyes on the situation. Cassian is a bigger liability than you are for this mission, he doesn’t know the meaning of being quiet.” Rhys smirked, giving you a sympathetic look. “I know everything is…tense right now but I promise you will be in and out.”

“What exactly are we looking for?” The floor was cool against the soles of your feet as you reluctantly got up, heading for your wardrobe. “And does Eris know?”

He ran a hand over his face and for maybe the third or fourth time since you’ve known him, he actually looked tensed. Rhys never liked to show his true feelings, even his anxiety, but you could tell by just the way he shifted his feet it wasn’t something good.

“We think Briallyn might have one of the troves. Or she’s trying to get it. I need you and Azriel to see where she’s sending her men and why.” He explained, looking at the door as you went behind your privacy screen and got dressed. “If she gets her hands on one of them-”

“It’ll be very, very bad.” You finish for him, adjusting your leathers and gingerly styling your hair the best way you could. “Is Azriel ready?”

“Always,” Azriel replied from the doorway, Truthteller tucked carefully in its sheath as he gave you a wink. You snorted. “In and out, okay, Y/N? This shouldn’t take more than an hour.”

You nodded and gave him and Rhys a two-finger salute, opening your balcony doors and walking onto the banister. Azriel followed behind you, opening his wings just as you dove head first off the balcony and let your wings spread wide. The free-falling feeling was something you loved every time you took flight, your stomach dropping as the wind caught beneath your wings and rose you back up to glide. 

Azriel quickly fell in line beside you, his wingspan much bigger than yours as the two of you weaved and ducked around the high tops of trees and clouds. You held your hand out as you passed over a small cloud, a small bubble of happiness breaking through the dark depression you had been in for weeks now.

“How have you been?” Azriel asked, turning his head to look at you as you glanced up at him. You pulled your hand back to your side and shrugged, leisurely flapping your wings to propel you forward. 

“As good as someone could be in my situation I guess?” You sigh, glancing down at the trees. They were starting to change colors from green to reds and oranges. “I just wish I had never gone to that meeting.”

“I think we all agree with that.” He chuckled softly. “I can’t imagine a fate worse than that…with Eris. I’ve noticed you’ve been holed up inside your room, missing training. Cassian kept wanting to bother you but I told him to give you some space.”

A clearing appeared and you paused the conversation to dive down, Azriel following right behind as your wings extended to ease your landing. Your shoes dug into the soft earth and crunchy leaves as you came to a stop. 

The forest was quiet as you took a quick assessment, not seeing anything unusual. You couldn’t stop yourself from admiring the beauty as the rising sun caught the multi-colored leaves, the wind blowing just enough to give them a rippling water effect. As much as the Autumn Court had its problems it truly was one of the most beautiful courts you had seen.

“I appreciate the space, Az. I really do.” You turned to look at him, patting his shoulder. “I know I haven’t been the best in attendance but I’ll try to do better. I think I just enjoy wallowing too much.”

“If I were in your shoes, I would too.” He smirked, adjusting his stance as his shadows curled up to his ear to whisper something only he could understand. You watched, not daring to bring up his own personal problems with a certain Archeron sister. 

You knew he was just trying to be personable, if not a little nosy, but he was the closest thing you had to a brother and he was only looking out for you. The last thing you wanted to do was talk about Eris with anyone, partly because you were scared of the bond strengthening and partly because you didn’t want to be seen as some damaged person.

It seemed like all anyone thought of you as right now was Eris’s mate. You couldn’t escape it even in your own house. 

“Hey,” Azriel whispered, lifting up a small log and resting it against a tree. “This is our meeting spot. One hour. Head north. Eyes open.”

“Got it. Be safe.” You whispered back, nodding as you started your search. The air was now still as you noticed how no animals could be heard scurrying around, an eerie quietness that didn’t sit right in such a large forest.

However, you couldn’t see anything that looked suspicious. There were no footprints, no strange markings on trees, nothing that would tip you off that someone was here. You raised your chin and sniffed, searching for any unfamiliar scents, but all you got was earth.

As you searched you remembered Eris talking about Beron’s curiosity about Briallyn, how he was looking for an alliance with her. None of you could figure out a good reason as to why he would be looking for that unless he was planning on taking over other courts, which wasn’t too far-fetched for the vile man.

If that were his true intentions he must be stupider than you thought. He would be standing alone with Briallyn against everyone in Pyrthian. Why would he risk something like that unless he was sure he would win?

You paused midstep as you remembered Rhys’s suspicion of the wicked woman having one of the dead troves. If that were true that she had unearthed one of those terrible creations, it very well could beat you all. And Beron wouldn’t put his court on the line unless he was sure of something…

Lost in thought, a small glimmer caught your eye right as you stepped into a hidden snare. You were blessed by the Cauldron that you hadn’t set it off, immediately taking several steps back as you examined the trap. The first thing you noticed was that it was not made for any animal. 

It was made for a fae.

Alarm bells went off in your head as you unsheathed your dagger and held it close to you. Why would there be a trap for a fae in a forest where they often walked? Who was this trap for? 

A crunch behind you made you turn around and lunge without a second thought, a snarl curled up on your lips as you went to strike at the intruder. However, you found yourself being wrapped in bonds of fire around your wrists, waist, and wings. It was very warm but not enough to burn you as you squirmed against the restraints, your eyes widening when you saw who was standing before you. 

Eris was glaring at you, his hair slightly disheveled and hanging freely as if he had just woken up, while only dawned in a light shirt and long pants. You flinched as

the bond within you sang at the sight of him, the smell of him, and watched as he responded the same.

“Let me go.” You hissed, fighting against his magic once more only to wince when he tightened the bonds. 

“What the fuck are you doing here, Y/N?” He snarled, coming up to you in two long strides. 

“How did you even know I was here? Did you set this trap?” You retorted, falling to the ground as he released you before quickly scurrying up to go toe to toe with him. 

“I felt you through the bond, it woke me out of my sleep.” Eris curled his fists tightly by his side. “You reckless, stupid woman. Do you know what could have happened if one of my brothers had been the one to find you? Or my father? If this is some trick to strengthen our bond or-”

“Oh don’t flatter yourself, Vanserra.” You snorted, jabbing a finger into his chest. “The last thing I want is anything to do with you or this bond. I’m here because-”

A tree branch snapped behind the both of you, your eyes meeting with his as you stilled your breathing. Everything was quiet, not a whisper of wind, and you

shivered as you felt a dark presence behind you. 

The back of your neck tingled in warning but before the two of you could even react something or someone appeared behind you and hit the back of your head, knocking you out cold. The last thing you heard was Eris yelling your name as everything went to black. 

Later

When you woke back up you had a massive headache, immediately clutching the back of your head and whimpering as you felt the large knot that was protruding outwards. As you moved you heard the rattle of chains and felt a sense of dread wash over you like a bucket of ice water.

You looked around blearily, blinking multiple times to try and clear your eyes to take in your surroundings. The first thing you noticed, or in this case smelled, was must and iron. It was an awful combination with blood and piss mixed in that made you want to hurl.

As you tried to stand you realized those chains you had heard were attached to you. They were around your neck, your wrists, and your ankles and when you tried to stretch your wings you saw that they were also locked away. 

Not my wings. Not my wings. Not my wings.

Your heart started to race as fear and claustrophobia set in, using all your strength to try and break free only to realize that you felt weaker than you had ever had in your life. It felt like you were a caged animal and as you tried one more time to yank the chains out of the wall, you heard a voice from the corner.

“It’s faebane.” The voice said, dry and tired. “It weakens us. It’s no use.”

Eris’s eyes caught yours as you looked at him in surprise, taking in the dirt across his body as well as the bruises and cut lip. He looked awful but you were sure you probably looked worse. 

“What happened?” You croaked, looking around your cell. There was a small window at the top and to the side you noticed rows upon rows of other holdings. Some were empty, some had other faes, and some had dead bodies. “Where are we?”

“Briallyn’s dungeon. Her soldiers ambushed up when you were snooping around.” He recalled, watching as you glared at him with a frown.

“I wasn’t snooping, I was sent there by Rhys. He hadn’t heard from you but he had heard a rumor about your-” You tried to explain only to huff when he cut you off once more.

“I don’t want to hear your excuses. If it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t be stuck here right now.” Eris snapped, his temper growing with every second. You didn’t know how long he had been awake but it was long enough that he had been stewing in his own anger. 

“You’re the one who started shouting at me. If anything, you drew them to us.” You argued, flinching when he suddenly drew closer to you with rage in his eyes.

“Stupid Illyrian woman. I should’ve known you couldn’t follow basic instructions. All you were raised for is breeding and raising children.” Eris sneered, venom dripping off of each word. “That’s all you will ever be good for. You should’ve stayed in your place.”

You hated the way you winced, hated letting him see how his words got to you. He was cruel, you knew, but you didn’t realize how vile he could truly be. His words cut you deep and reminded you of all the things you had been told in your life from others, especially your own kind.

“I hate you.” You whispered, blinking away the tears as you turned away to look out the cell. Those words had been said to him by you plenty of times but this time, this time you meant it with every fiber of your being.

Eris watched you, looking at how they had caged your wings like an animal, and he felt the anger leave his body. He knew he had gone too far. His anger had gotten the best of him. Again.

He watched as you brought your knees to your chest and rested your head on them, not wanting him to see the tears even though he could see the slight shake in your

shoulders. The bond inside of him twisted painfully like a knife, as if punishing him for making you upset. 

Your ears perked up as you heard footsteps walking down the hall but you tuned them out as Eris’s words replayed in your mind. He had been so mean ever since he had met you. It still baffled you that the Mother thought the two of you were meant for each other, that you would be able to feel anything towards him other than resentment.

“Lay down.” Eris suddenly hissed behind you, his tone sharp. “Now.”

You turned to give him a death glare, not in the mood to take any orders from him before you heard the footsteps once more as they stopped directly in front of you. 

“Well, well, well, look who’s awake.” A male fae sneered above you, the one beside him grinning. “I was hoping you would wake up soon.”

“Let us go now.” You ordered, trying your best to be intimidating. “Or you will deeply suffer the consequences. I promise you.”

“I like em’ feisty. Makes you more fun to break.” The original one chuckled, whistling as two more men appeared with a set of keys. “Help me grab her.”

As soon as the doors opened you used what little strength you had to leap up and strike, landing a kick to the closet one and sending him to his knees. The attack was short lived as you fell to your side in pain, struggling as someone tried to grab your feet. 

The one who fell appeared in front of you and you spit in his face, trying to bite whatever you could before you felt a large hand grab a fistful of your hair and yank as hard as he could. It had you crying out sharply in pain, feeling as if your scalp was about to be ripped off as the others grabbed your legs and arms.

They unchained you from the wall and started dragging you down the hall, the hand still gripping your hair tightly as your eyes connected with Eris. He looked like a scared child, his eyes wide and face white as a ghost. 

And despite everything that had happened between the two of you, the hatred that had grown from the bond, you found yourself calling out for him to save you.

“Eris! Eris!” You screamed, struggling against the men as the cell became smaller and smaller. “Eris, please! Help me!”

But there was no response. 

Taglist: @elizarikaallen @kristeristerin @a-frog-with-a-laptop @littlebbb @introvertsuntes68-blog @clairebear08 @feyretopia @jangmi-latte 

[writemekpop]

Psycho | Mark Lee

Summary: A curse means that every one of your boyfriends ends up dead. When you meet Mark, you’re determined to save him.

Genre: College AU, smutty

Warnings: Murder, violence - not for the faint hearted! 

Word Count: 1.4k

You were a perfectly normal college girl... except for the fact that you were a serial killer.

Jeno, Jaemin, Haechan...  Your body count was like any other girl's, only yours was more literal.

You always did it the same way: a knife through the stomach, their eyes widening in slow-motion. Their blood warm in your hands, like soup. Their bodies buried deep in the wooded hills that bordered the grounds of Goddard college. Then, the walk of shame back to your room – a secret shame known only to you.  

Your habit sickened you, but you couldn't stop. When the voice in your head started chanting a person’s name, you had to murder them. That's why you’d made an oath to never make a friend again, to never learn a new name.

Until Mark.

You were sitting alone in the corner of the college meadow, bent over your Edgar Allan Poe poem. It was early October, and the wet red bodies of newly fallen leaves littered the ground.

"Do you know how utterly infuriating you are?" a voice said.

You looked up. Your heart stuttered in your chest. The most beautiful boy you’d ever seen was standing above you. He had tousled black hair, sparkling with rain. His steel-rimmed round glasses gave the impression that he knew all world’s secrets, but would never share them.

Despite the cold, your skin was burning.

"And why is that?" you answered.

"Because you insist on being a mystery." He sat down beside you, his face widening in a smile. "My name's Mark. I think we could be friends."

You walked away. "I’m sorry. I don’t need a friend."

You tried your hardest to avoid Mark. You even shifted around all your courses so they wouldn't match with his. But he was irresistible. Before you knew it, you and Mark were inseparable.

As autumn stretched into winter, you began to get closer to him. You discovered Mark's brilliant, wicked sense of humour. Some nights, beneath the swirling snow, you sensed something hard in the blackness of his eyes. An old wound.

Before you knew it, you were hopelessly in love with him.

Every spark of pleasure Mark gave you was mixed with an equal measure of pain. Because in indulging your need for him, you were putting him in grave danger. You just had to try and resist the urge to kill him, when it inevitably came.

Until one bitterly frosty November day, Mark took your hand in his, and murmured, "You have to see my room. You were going to have to see it one of these days." His voice was light, but something burned in his eyes.

Every rational voice in your head was shouting no. This was too dangerous. In the past, the stakes had never been this high. It had never been love.

But with equal strength, the core of you was screaming yes.

So, against your better judgement, you let yourself be pulled into a taxi and into Mark's room.

Mark’s room was cramped and very dark. Clothes covered the floor. He locked the door behind you.

You knew you had to open that door immediately or you would lose yourself.

But you did not open the door.

Instead, you and Mark stood staring at each other in the dark.

The air smelled of Mark’s aftershave and his warm body. A shiver ran from the crown of your head to your heels. You wanted to laugh. You wanted to cry. You wanted to run away. You wanted to move closer.  

Then, Mark pressed himself against you. When he kissed you, your last dregs of resolve evaporated.

You felt the long-forgotten stirrings of desire awake in you. Every touch - Mark's hands cupping your face, your breast, your butt - was unbearably sweet. Yet, each one struck terror deep in you because at any moment, you could hear the whisper of Mark's name and you would feel the urge to kill.

It would have been easier, safer, if this had just been physical. But from the trembling of Mark's fingers, of your own, you knew this was no normal hook-up. This meant too much to both of you.

When you and Mark were tangled together on his single bed, his moans growing faster, you started to think you'd gotten away with it. A wild elation bubbled up inside of you. You’d beaten the game. You’d won. You’d gotten close to somebody without hurting them. You never had to kill again, you thought.

You should have known better.

Just like all the other times, the whispering began. Mark, Mark, Mark... It grew to a murmur, then a yell, then a deafening roar, screaming out that Mark was the one you had to kill next.

You pushed Mark away, fingers squeezing your ears. It was useless. There was nothing you could do to stop the wave of sound.

You could see Mark’s lips moving frantically, his worried eyes, but could hear nothing over the ear-splitting howl.

Every promise you'd made to yourself, every back-up plan, felt small and distant in comparison to the primal need to stop the chanting that was ringing in your ears.

You would have torn Mark’s room into shreds. You would have killed every student in the college. You would have sent the whole place down in flames. You would have done anything to stop that infernal noise.

The shaving razor poked out of the mess of Mark's bedside table. It glinted dully in the half-light. What you had to do was a small thing, you told yourself. One boy's life to stop an eternity of pain.

The razor was cool and strangely flimsy in your fingers, like a baby's rattle. The chanting grew louder, hungrier: Mark, Mark, Mark...

You met Mark's eyes. You recognised the look you had seen in so many other boys’ faces. The look of a man who has realised he is about to die. Teetering on the knife edge between surprise and fear.  

Suddenly, your body felt very distant, the sound very far away. You saw yourself, hunched on the bed like a cornered animal, thrusting a razor in Mark’s terrified face.

You were repeating the same old pattern. The pattern that had destroyed everyone you ever cared about. But there was another way.  A way to end the bloody parade of boys. It was no compromise, no easy fix like the restrictions you’d been putting on yourself that you now realised were futile. The murderer and the victim simply could not coexist.

Fate was a hungry carnivore, and it had been promised a meal. One human life. The only question was: who would it be? You or Mark?  

Before you could stop yourself, you turned the blade to your own throat. You made the fatal cut.

“Y/n, no!”

You could see that Mark was screaming, but the sound of his voice was muffled to your ears, getting quieter as you slipped into the abyss.

It would be lying to say that you didn't feel horror at the void you were about to enter. But beneath all of this was a full-throated joy at the fact that you had saved the one boy that meant the most to you.

You focused on Mark's face: terrified, glowing, beautiful, as everything faded.

—

MAIN MASTERLIST

Let us know what you thought in the comments or on anon! 💋

[southern-gothic-comic]

Page 17

Next 💜 Back 🖤 First

(Author Notes)

Panel 1: Later that day. They are walking through sun-dappled early autumn woods, carrying a picnic basket and a blanket, peaceful in each other’s company. Laudna’s shoulder begins to creak from the weight of the basket between them.

Imogen: What was that song you were singin’ earlier? It was real pretty.

Laudna: Oh, just some old folk song Pâté and I sing sometimes. I think I must have learned it back in Whitestone, but it’s been so long I’d forgotten some of the verses and we had to make up our own. I could teach it to you sometime, if you’d like.

Imogen: Yeah, I’d like that.

Laudna: If you don’t mind my croaking, that is.

Imogen: No, your voice is . . . lovely. I mean that.

Panel 2: Continuing on through the woods. Laudna reaches up to brush her hand through the hanging leaves as they pass.

Imogen: You said it’s been a long time, since you left home? How long’ve you and Pâté been travelin’ together?

Laudna: Oh, it’s been . . . several years now, I think. I’ve sort of lost track. We go way back, Pâté and I.

Imogen: That long? You must’ve been awful young when you started out.

Panel 3: The scene fades briefly into a memory, still framed by the trees in the present-day woods. A nameless, newly-Hollow girl is sitting on the floor in the broken remnants of a farm shed, which she has decorated with branches of pine needles, pine cones, and winter berries. There is a small collection of objects displayed on a shelf: a satchel, a length of frayed rope, a smooth stone, a raven skull, a pair of scissors, and in the corner a bed made of a thin pile of pine needles with a blanket and a rough, handmade bugbear doll. While physically the same age as in the present, there is a sense of childlike uncertainty in her mien. She is wearing the tatters of a blue tabard. Nestled in what remains of the fur trim on her shoulder is a live rat, whom she is petting and singing to in a drifting, absent kind of way. Not remembering all the words, she fills in the blanks with nonsense syllables.

Hollow One: (singing) ♪ “No king’s daughter, nor a lady am I . . .” No. “No king’s lost daughter am I, nor a lady . . . la la la, My finery’s all in tatters, and . . . la lulla, la la la . . .” ♪

Laudna: (VO) Yes, I . . . suppose I was.

Panel 4: Laudna returns to the present as Imogen continues.

Imogen: Doesn’t your family worry about you?

Laudna: Oh, they’re long dead.

Imogen: Oh. I’m sorry, Laudna, I shouldn’t have . . .

Laudna: No, don’t be. They’re not here to be offended.

Panel 5: Imogen startles as Laudna’s shoulder pops from its socket, but she doesn’t seem to notice.

Imogen: I don’t mean to pry. I’m just real curious about you.

Laudna: Well, if you have any questions, you need only to ask. As to my age . . . I feel I’m somewhere between “too young to understand everything that keeps happening to me” and “ancient beyond reckoning.” Often both, at once.

Imogen: Well, that’s . . . quite an age.

Laudna: What about you?

Imogen: Uh. Well, I turned 26 a few weeks back.

Laudna: Oh, many happy returns! I’m sorry to have missed it.

[highvern]

omg hey saw that your reqs are open hehe if ure free or if ure thinking abt taking a break from your wips would u consider writing something abt jeonghan x monster!reader from the recent one you wrote :0 of course you don't have to write a whole fic abt it but i'd like to know how they ended up together! i'm so curious ... and also i think i'm just a little insane abt that fic . well. hehe.

I too am a little insane over that fic tbh it was so fun to write!

So basically when monster!reader left the lake she essentially becomes human. Naiads/sirens aren't really known for their complex emotions in mythology lol so most of what she's experienced sans loneliness has been heavily muted because she was immortal and had been in that lake for who knows how long. did y'all watch aquamarine and how she's kinda childish about emotions? think that

But she knows she's drawn to Jeonghan, she has the insatiable urge to be around him all the time, and that's the reason she left her lake because he couldn't stay there forever but she could join him in his world.

More under the cut! this ended up so much longer than I thought but slay.

Jeonghan would show her everything, and she is wide eyed the entire time because all of this existed and she didn't know about it? It makes her feel a little ashamed for believing humans were nothing more than playthings for so long. But I digress.

He takes her to the bookshop he likes to frequent, discovers she can't read obviously (not that she cares), and promises to teach her if she wants. It's fall so the fruit orchards on the outskirts of the village are full of autumn fruit that he picks for her, watching her intently as she tries them with enthusiasm. Jeonghan even takes her through the woods, walking the secluded trails he knows like the back of his hand as she watches the animals scurry in the underbrush with wonder.

And all of these positive feelings she associates with him. Even on days where she can hear the lake screaming for her to comeback, she remembers all the things she missed that Jeonghan has shared with her. And so she stays.

Winter is horrible in her opinion. Cold and dry, she feels like her skin is going to peel off from the heat of the fire she remains in front of all day, attempting to read the books Jeonghan's collected over the years. In the lake, she'd lay down at the bottom, slumbering as the ice crystalized the surface of her home this time of year. And then, when warmer days came, she'd rise to play again. But her now human body won't let her do that anymore. So she has to suffer the biting air.

It's refreshing.

One night, wind is howling and snow is piling against the glass of the windows and she just can't keep herself warm enough under the layers of wool to find rest. So she does what she always does when she runs into a problem in this strange new world. She goes to Jeonghan.

He's shocked to see her in nothing but her nightgown at the foot of his bed, half of her face illuminated in candle light. Jeonghan's seen her in far more compromising states of dress but she always looks so beautiful it makes it hard to breath. And when she complains of the cold, he offers to let her share his bed. Respectfully.

She isn't sure how that'll help but she agrees since Jeonghan hasn't led her astray yet, diving under his blankets to be shocked by the pleasant toastiness underneath. She sighs as her shivering body slowly heats up, eyes slipping shut drowsily as Jeonghan lays a few inches away, watching her.

They wake up the next morning, tangled in one another's arms. Her cheek against his chest, legs wrapped around his to soak in the early morning. After that, she comes to his bed every night under the guise of staying warm.

And then spring comes around and she practically burst from her excitement. She'll get to see the flowers and all the new life emerge as the world wakes up. The town has acclimated to her presence now, unaware of who or what she was before this life, but hypnotized by her sweet smiles and childish laughter all the same. Each morning she practically runs to the town square to look for the garland Jeonghan mentioned, pouting when it's nowhere to be seen as she goes about her errands.

"It's still too cold." Jeonghan explains, snickering at her scowl when she accuses him of lying.

So she waits. And she waits. And she never knew time could feel like this, slow in a painful way. Time had been her friend before but now she resents him.

Then one morning, Jeonghan is acting odd. Not the odd paleness he has when he falls ill or the strange quietness when he argues with his father. But a new sort of oddness she has yet to witness. He keeps glancing at a cabinet in the kitchen over her head as they eat breakfast. When she turns to look herself, his face stretches and his eyes round; like the fish in her lake.

He isn't working in the mill today so they're meant to go explore now that the ground is soft and the sun is closer. Even the wind has turned his sharp claws into gentle hands this morning.

Just as they're about to step outside to leave, Jeonghan pulls her back by her wrist.

"I got you a gift" He whispers.

Her head tips to the side, "A gift?"

Instead of answering, he crosses back to the cabinet. There's a strange rope coiled on one of the shelves, pink and red and white. And when he aproaches her with it, spreading the length from arm to arm to display it properly, she realizes he wasn't lying about the flowers.

"It's beautiful!" She exhales, enamored by the tight twine of blossoming buds. Even in her new form, she loves beautiful things.

She gentle caresses the velvety petals, completely hypnotized.

"I made it for you." He glows in that way that he does so often under her gaze. The way most people do under her approving stare but she thinks his red cheeks are the prettiest.

Together, they hang the garland over the front door. It's meant to welcome a prosperous spring and good luck for the year. Jeonghan doesn't mention it's also a tradition for newly betrothed couples to signify their devotion to one another.

Passing through the town, she examines each new decoration eagerly, Jeonghan smiling behind her as he watches.

"Look at this one!" she squeals, a braid of three lines, crisscrossing yellow, white, and lilac.

She's ecstatic the world isn't gray anymore, bursts of color dripping from every surface possible. Even the sky has returned to a cheery blue, dimpled with gossamer clouds sporadically.

And in her excitement, she does what she's seen the humans do when they celebrate. When taverns are rowdy with drunk patrons, or when a couple gets married in the small chapel at the center of town. When the women welcome their husbands back from long journeys.

She throws her arms around Jeonghan's neck and kisses him.

After he swallows the initial shock, he kisses her back.

[the---hermit]

Walking through the woods to go at my gradma's this morning made me feel a bit like litte red green riding hood, and I have not yet decided if it's a positive or negative thing.

27|09|2023

Today I changed my routine a little bit, after having breakfast and reading as usual I took a walk to get to my grandma's place to study there. I knew there would be workers at my place for the whole day, and I needed a quiet place to focus. I ended up studying on the kitchen counter instead of the table because it's a bit taller so I knew it would be better for my back. Overall it was super quiet and I felt very productive eve though the wifi wasn't at its best. I ended up taking the afternoon off, since I worked so well in the morning and also because tomorrow will be a energy draining day. Taking a walk that early felt actually really good, the air was crisp™ and overall it felt like a really good autumn day. My afternoon was filled by tea, books and crocheting, so I couldn't wish for a better way to recharge .

Cozy hobbit autumn activities and productivity:

Read first thing in the morning

Took a walk early in the morning (I really have to work back into my routine short daily walks)

Worked on a very long but very interesting recorded lecture of my power practices class (it was about a trial of faked supernatural powers and abuse in a monastery in the early 1800s, it was one of the most out of mind things I have ever learned about, it felt more like a novel than an actual real life historical happening)

Daily Irish practice on duolingo (also when will duolingo stop making updates and moving my around levels every fucking time I open that app I get more confused and I kust want to learn uuugh)

Worked on my crochet project (I am still working on the first sleeve of the cardigan and I have to make so many mushrooms too, this project is exciting but it will take so much time to be done)

Podcasts, books and audiobooks

📖: The Book Of Lost Things by John Connolly (I love this book so much, the vibes are perfect and it's putting me in the best autumn mood ever) The Burning God by R.F. Kuang (I think I only have five or six chapters to go? Plus the final short stories from Nezha pov, which I just found out about while looking how much on the book I still have to read)

[impala-dreamer]

Tourniquet - Chapter Five

A Supernatural Dean x Reader Series Told Backwards

~Y/N has been by Dean’s side through his worst days, always there if he needs her, forever just a call away. Love is impossible to fight and more impossible to live with. Just a side character in his epic life, Y/N would give anything just to give Dean a moment’s peace.~

Please see MASTERLIST for full info/warnings/chapter links.

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works ~ Get A Custom Story

How To Lose Friends and Knock on Death’s Door

She hadn’t been far when he called, which was always strange. Strange to think that out of the entire country, they’d accidentally ended up in almost the exact same place at the same time. 

Y/N had just cleaned up a little ghost situation in Absecon, New Jersey and decided to treat herself to a little glitz and glamor down in Atlantic City. Sadly, she found none, but she did find a few really good margaritas which led her to relieve her wallet of a few bucks in Bally’s. 

That night, she hung out on the boardwalk, boots thumping gently on the slatted wood. She took her time, nowhere to go, nothing really to do. The moon was bright and its glow reflected on the ocean like a million diamonds sparkling in the swells.

The November wind was slow but cruel and she tugged her jacket around her a little tighter. 

Someday, she wanted to come back in the summer. To bring a book and sit on the beach under a rented umbrella and feel the sun burn her legs. To dodge the crowds on the boardwalk, walk through the casinos for a little air conditioning. Maybe she’d bring a friend. Maybe she’d bring Dean. She laughed at the thought of Dean lying next to her on the beach; his back red from the sun, his legs too long for the blanket, toes digging into the sand. 

Dean. 

She sighed and leaned against the wooden railing, staring off at the water. Her nose was freezing and she rubbed at it, deciding it was time to go. 

As she turned, her phone buzzed and she smiled. His ears must have been ringing. Maybe she could get him to come out right now. Despite the late autumn cold, New Jersey was beautiful. 

“I was just thinking about you,” she answered with a light laugh. 

“Y/N/N…” His voice was panicked and rough. 

Her heart sank. Another tragic call, another night of talking him off the ledge. Pushing away her smile and disappointment, Y/N squared her shoulders and focused. 

“What’s going on? Are you hurt?” 

“No.” He stumbled as if his tongue wasn’t quite sure how to form the words. “You- it’s- Y/N/N, you gotta come here. Now.”

“OK.” His panic drifted through the phone into her. “Tell me what’s going on. Where are you?” 

Heavy breathing, a choked back sob. 

“It’s Bobby…”

Thirty-one miles wasn’t very far, but she felt every bump in the road like she was running barefoot on broken glass. Her stomach ached; her muscles tensed. Twice, she’d had to slow down in fear of retching, but she grit her teeth, gripped the wheel, and pushed on. 

The trauma rooms were on the main floor behind Emergency, and they were hesitant to let her in. 

“Please… He’s my father,” she lied, but not really. Bobby had been more of a father to her in those early years after her mother and sister died than her own had been. He was the only one she would listen to when reprimanded or given advice; his house buried in the junkyard was the only place she could truly call home. “Please.” 

The tears were real even if the genetics weren’t and they let her in; a short nurse pointing the way to the room in the corner. 

Doctors ran in and out, white coats and blue scrubs blurring as tears filled her eyes. 

She stood in the middle of the walkway, staring at the body in the bed, refusing to believe that it was Bobby. 

The patterned gown was too big, hanging off his shoulders and tucked under in weird places. Plastic tubes came out of his mouth, his chest, his arms. Bright blood leaked through the white gauze on his head.

Someone called her name, but she couldn’t hear it over the monitors beeping or the racing of her heart. 

“Y/N…” 

Sam touched her shoulder and she jumped back and away, hunter’s instincts taking over. 

“Whoa-” He held up his giant hands in surrender and leaned away. “It’s me. Sorry.” 

She sucked in a quick breath and looked up into his worried eyes. His hair was a bit longer than she’d last seen; his sideburns a ridiculous mess. He opened his arms and she fell into them, grabbing the front of his green jacket and twisting it in her fists. 

“What the fuck happened?” It came out in a wet sob, but the words were formed well enough. 

Sam was shaking and braced himself by wrapping his arms around her. “He… we were…”

Confusion choked her. “Who did this?”

He couldn’t answer, he just squeezed a little tighter. 

“What happened? What- I- Sam!” 

She pulled back and looked up. His face was creased with pain, his gaze sad and empty with shock. 

“Sam!” 

Hazel eyes flit from her face to Bobby and back again. Unable to speak, he shook his head.

She tore at his jacket, tugging him closer. Her body burned with anger, not at Sam, but he was the only one around that she could beat up on and not end up in cuffs. 

“Sam!” 

“I’m-” He closed his eyes and swallowed hard. “It just… happened. I don’t-” 

Y/N could tell how hard he was trying, how strong he was being. The simple act of standing there seemed to almost break him down, but he held himself together. She pushed aside her anger and pressed her hand to his chest in a calming gesture. 

He looked down with the tiniest ghost of a smile.

She softened her voice. “Has a doctor talked to you yet?” 

Sam nodded. “Just now.” 

“What did they say?” 

“He’s um… They have to wait for the swelling to come down and then-” 

He shrugged, it was all he could do. 

Y/N’s head was pounding, her arms felt like lead. She turned to look back at the bed, at the old man lying unconscious surrounded by machines. He looked pale, cold. The thin hospital blanket wasn’t enough. She wanted to run to her car and grab another, cover him up, hold him close, but her feet wouldn’t move. She was stuck in place, looking through the glass doors as Bobby clung to life.

Her whole world was shattering and autopilot took over. There were no more words, no more questions, there was only the eerie quiet between them and the constant mechanical beeping.

At some point, she and Sam found chairs and they sat stoically sharing their pain. He clung to her and she covered him the best she could with much smaller hands.   

“He’s gonna die,” she whispered. She was staring, unblinking at the base of the hospital bed, wondering what all the different pedals and levers did. “He’s gonna die.” 

Sam sucked in a shuddering breath. “Yeah. I think so.” 

“He ain’t dyin’. Not today.” 

Dean startled them both with his refusal to admit the truth and his sudden appearance. He towered over them and Y/N tore her eyes from Bobby and looked up at Dean. 

His eyes were wide and bloodshot, the skin dark beneath. He was trembling slightly but doing his best to hide it behind a clenched jaw and tight fists. 

She wanted to yell at him, to force him to see reality, but she was distracted by a drop of blood. It fell from his hand and struck the top of his boot, splashing like a raindrop onto pavement. 

“You’re bleeding.” 

He looked down and flexed his fingers. His knuckles were torn and bleeding. 

“It’s fine.”

Y/N stood up and grabbed his hand, looking it over. “It’s gonna get infected,” she sighed. “Come on…” 

They found an empty room down the hall that seemed unused. Most of the lights were off and the ones that were on were old and dim. They snuck in and Y/N forced Dean to sit on the edge of the bed. He was quiet but she could feel the anger pushing off of him. She could see it in his eyes; feel it in the tension of his fingers. 

“What’d you do, punch a wall?” 

Dean huffed and cleared his throat. “A- uh- glass window thing.”

Y/N sighed as she dug through a cabinet, plucking out alcohol swabs and gauze. “You think that was wise?” 

Dean tipped his head back and closed his eyes. He was exhausted, scared, and running from defeat. 

“Was that or the guy’s face.” 

She pulled up a stool and steel tray, laid out her instruments and sat across from him. 

“Then I guess you did the right thing.” 

He let her examine his cuts, winced as she pulled a piece of glass from the middle knuckle, hissed when the alcohol hit his open flesh. 

Y/N scoffed and hit him again with the cold fluid. “Baby.” 

He cocked his head and looked at her. “You know I love it when you call me that.” 

She met his eye and pursed her lips. “Of all the times, Dean. Now is not a good one.” 

He shrugged and offered half a smile in apology. 

“I’m glad you called.” She wrapped his hand up carefully, sure to make it tight but not too tight. “Thank you.” 

Dean licked his lips and dropped his head, staring at the old tiles covering the floor. They were dingy and the glaze was cracked. Just like him. 

“Thought you’d wanna be here,” he replied. 

“I do. Thanks.” She smiled sadly and patted his arm. “All done.” 

“You’re a hell of a nurse, Y/N/N.” 

“Don’t you know it.” 

She moved to stand, but Dean grabbed her. He pulled at her arms and tugged the stool forward until she was between his legs. She looked up in surprise and then blinked back a fresh swarm of tears. 

“Don’t do that,” he whispered, cupping her cheeks in his warm hands and brushing away a tear with his thumb. “You do that and I’ll do that and then where will we be?” 

“Crying in an ancient hospital room,” she teased. 

He laughed. 

She sighed. 

He’d be OK. 

“Dean, I-” 

His kiss was slow but desperate. He held her face, kept her locked to him as his lips pressed tight against her mouth. She was surprised but not really. This is what he did. He called when he needed her, kissed her when he felt hopeless, let his hands roam when he needed to feel alive and connected. 

It didn’t matter why, it just mattered that it happened. 

Y/N melted against him, parting her lips for his tongue, and breathed him in. He smelled like cheap cologne and smoke, like whiskey and three days without a shower. He stank. He was filthy. His stubble burned her lips. He felt like heaven. 

Dean seemed to find his breath again within her and he sucked at her lips, kissed across her jaw, sank his teeth gently into the crook of her neck. Y/N’s eyes were rolling, her skin burning, heart racing. 

“Dean, we shouldn’t-” 

He sat back, green eyes dark and wide as he looked her over. He ran his fingertips across the hem of her shirt, followed her collarbone across on each side. He was there but not; a mechanical body moving because it had to, but his mind was elsewhere. His mind was back in that room with Bobby. 

“Dean…” 

As much as she wanted his hands to move down a little further, to sneak up beneath her shirt, rip her clothing away, she knew she couldn’t do it. She placed her hands on his wrists and pulled them gently off of her shoulders. 

He startled, shoved back into himself. He blinked quickly and then stood up, pushing her back on the rolling stool. 

“I- I’m sorry, Y/N/N-”

Shaking his head, he wrenched the door open and escaped, leaving her alone in the dim light, surrounded by the ghost of a moment and bloody wrappings. 

She wasn’t sure how long she sat there picking at her cuticles and absorbing the night. She wanted to break down, to run away and scream as loud as she could until she couldn’t anymore, but that wasn’t her. She was the bedrock, the warm blanket, the calm in a stormy sea. If she wasn’t that, she wasn’t anything. 

After some time, she managed to stand. She wiped the tears from her cheeks and his kiss from her lips. 

She gathered up the mess she’d made and tossed it all in the bin. 

She shut the lights and walked back down the hall. 

A white coat flew past her, bumping her shoulder. She turned into the hit and watched the young doctor run towards an incoming trauma. 

Outside, sirens were blaring and nurses were shouting, but inside there was a steady ringing. A long buzz that Y/N slowly realized had replaced the beeping. 

She looked towards Bobby’s room, her vision blurred and her movements slow. 

Dean was at the foot of the bed, his hands on his head as he spun away. Sam was doubled over off to the side, slowly sliding to the floor. 

It didn’t make any sense. 

A nurse in bright blue scrubs and a white knitted sweater reached over the bed and shut off a monitor. The buzzing stopped. 

Bobby was dead. 

Anguish pumped through her system and Y/N broke into a run, screaming for help as she reached the room. 

“Please! Help him!” 

Dean tried to grab her, but she slipped through his arms. 

“Please! Why won’t you do something!” 

Her hands waved over his body, unsure where to land, unsure what to do. Tears stung her eyes and she let them fall, crashing down like a tidal wave onto the thin blanket. She pushed at his shoulders, trying to get him to move, but there was no response. 

“Please!” 

She cupped her hands over his heart and tried to push down with all of her strength, to force his heart to start again, but it was no use. 

“Bobby, please!” 

She climbed up onto the bed and beat on his chest; her cries growing more desperate, more pitiful. 

“Bobby-” 

When he couldn’t stand it any longer, Dean grabbed her by the waist and yanked her off of the bed. 

“Get off of me!” 

She struggled against his hold, kicking at him to get back to the bed, but his arms were too solid, his grip too strong. 

“Y/N, stop!” 

She hissed and slapped at the arm around her middle, but Dean wouldn’t let go. 

“Dean! Let! Go!”

She clawed at his hands and Dean pulled her closer. He dropped his head and pressed it against hers. His eyes fell closed. 

“Y/N/N, he’s gone. He’s gone.” 

Dean’s voice bounded off of every corner of her mind, echoed into the deepest parts of her. She stopped fighting and collapsed, legs giving out and sending them both to the cold floor. Dean fell with her and wrapped his arms around her, curling her into his chest. 

“He can’t go,” she sobbed, fingers climbing up his chest to find something to hold on to. “He can’t. He can’t. He can’t…” 

Dean cradled her head, rocked them both gently. “Shh… I’ve got you.”

“He can’t go, Dean… He can’t.” 

He shivered against her and pressed his lips to her forehead. “I’ve got you.” 

She ran. As soon as the sun rose and she could see clear enough to drive, she was gone. She was broken and devastated and the worst part was, he hadn’t asked her to stay. 

So, she ran. 

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[mrs-gucci]

A Special Spot

anon

How about a sexy picnic with Mills out in the fall colors but make it spicy Thank you 🌹

I used @safarigirlsp's name "Nicholas/Nick" for Mills in this story, full credit to Shannon for making it up!

warnings. SMUT (18+ ONLY), doing sexy stuff outside, handjob, fingering.

word count: 1k

Autumn is such a beautiful time of year, with the leaves shedding their summer green and dusting the landscape with beautiful hues of red, orange, and brown.

You and Nick make the trek up to your special spot with a picnic blanket and basket in-tow. It’s not often that you get your beloved boyfriend for an entire long weekend, but his 4-week supply run got done early and he’s not jetting off again until early next week.

It’s hard to date someone who’s gone a lot, especially when he’s going on missions through space, which is notoriously unpredictable. But Nick is your guy, your person, and you love him enough to last a lifetime.

He chuckles when you start falling behind a bit, turning around to check on you.

“You alright back there, sweetheart?”

You huff and roll your eyes, unable to help a small smile. “Leave me alone. It’s not my fault you’re fitter and have longer legs than me.”

Nick smiles, then walks down to you. Before you can say anything, he bends down and picks you up swiftly, draping you over his shoulder. You giggle and squirm as he starts walking up the hill.

“Niiiick, you can’t carry me up there. I’m gonna break your shoulder and it’s already kinda broken from the dislocation.”

“That’s my other shoulder. You’re on my good one, so quit worrying about me and enjoy the ride.”

He hums with a smile as he walks you both through the wooded hillside and down into the little dip in the earth, where the hot springs await your arrival.

Once you get to the edge, Mills sets you down and puts the picnic blanket out on the grass while you grab the food. Both of you take a seat on the plush grass and you pour Nick and yourself a glass of wine.

You sigh, resting your head on his shoulder, the sounds of the forest and the running water nearby relaxing you.

“I love it when we come up here,” you hum, looking up at Nick. “It’s such a great escape from our real lives.”

He nods in agreement, looking down at you with a small smile. As the autumn breeze continues to flutter the edges of the blanket, you and Mills look out at the beautiful scenery and eat your food, talking about life and work and all that.

Once the food dwindles down, you look over at your boyfriend with a knowing smile.

“I know you’re supposed to wait thirty minutes after eating…”

Mills chuckles, then pulls his shirt up over his head. “Let’s go.”

You grin and quickly shed your clothes, leaving you in the bathing suit you picked out this morning. Nick pulls down his pants until he’s in his boxers, then immediately rushes towards you with his arms out.

He grabs you and picks you up bridal-style, walking both of you to the edge of the water. You try to hold on but you can’t even get a grip before he’s tossing you into the water, laughing as you screech.

“Niiiick!”

You resurface moments later and start splashing him with as much water as possible, and he jogs away to avoid the water.

“C’mere! You can't escape my wrath!” You say, running up the sand to jump on him, getting him super wet with your body.

He laughs and grabs your hips, pulling you in for a kiss. You press yourself close to him and both of you let out matching sighs, hands soon beginning to expore each other's bodies.

"Mm," he hums and gives your ass a squeeze. "Maybe it's best if we do wait a bit before going swimming. I think we can find something fun to do in the meantime."

Your lips pull up into a knowing smile. "I've got a few ideas..."

Nick gently pushes you back towards your towel higher up on the shore, and when you reach it, the two of you lay down side-by-side and resume your touching.

His large hands smooth over your breasts, your hips, and finally, down between your thighs. Yours smooth over his lower stomach and tease the waistband of his pants.

You slip your hand under the fabric of his boxers until your palm finds his hardening length, earning you a sharp breath from Mills. He quickly catches up to you, dipping his thick fingers beneath your bottoms, running them along your folds.

"Nick..." you whisper, kissing him again. "Mmm."

"You're already so wet, sweetheart. You want me that much--" Your hand suddenly gives him a firm pump, cutting his sentence off. "God."

The two of you start touching each other, exchanging various soft noises between kisses. You moan softly when he finally slips a finger inside of you, then adds another shortly after, grunting at the feeling of your walls clenching around his digits.

"Ah, fuck, Nick," you breathe, pumping him faster. "Your f-fingers are so big, baby. Feels so good."

His hips rut forward with each pump of your hand. "You're squeezing me tight, s-so fucking tight sweetheart. Mmhh, a little faster...yeah, fuck, like that..."

Your leg is starting to shake as you try to hold it up, and Nick notices your struggle, quickly helping you bring your leg to rest on his arm so he's now holding it up. Easy work for a man who has a manual labor job like his.

He moves his fingers swiftly and skillfully, managing to rub your clit as he fingers you, which unsurprisingly brings you to the edge rather quickly. Your hips grind against him and the sounds that fall from your lips get progressively louder.

Nick is close too, shaft throbbing as your hand strokes him quickly and keeps a firm hold around him. You definitely know what buttons to push and when in terms of pleasuring him.

"Nick, I-I...I'm gonna cum."

His lips work against yours as he quickens ever so slightly, providing exactly what you need to finally fall over the edge. You moan and sigh into his mouth, wave after wave of pleasure washing over you.

Seeing and feeling your orgasm sends him over the same edge seconds later, and he groans, gently biting your bottom lip as he paints your hand and wrist with his release.

You two continue to kiss as you come down from your highs, then pull apart slowly. Nick looks into your eyes, smiling softly.

"I love you, more than words can express."

You lean in and kiss him again.

"I love you too, Nick."

****

sextember taglist: @rynwritesstuff @safarigirlsp @babbushka @mrs-zimmerman

[climbthemountain2020]

Flame of Autumn - Chapter 12

Part 13/26 | Ao3

Early but shorter update!

Tilly

In Autumn, they were rapidly approaching the equinox, which meant that Autumn’s interpretation of Calanmai was on the horizon. According to Eris, in three weeks’ time, Beron would consume the mulled cider, ceremonially chase Alanna through the woods to assault her, and thus the land would be replenished. It was a garish and horrendous ceremony, as far as Tilly was concerned, and though she’d been raised in Autumn, she’d never attended one. Beron had ordered they be part of it, along with all the brothers, as the magic would affect them too and it was expected. That’s what brought them all together in this tense meeting today, as all the siblings and Tilly stood gathered around Beron on his throne, their heads bowed in deference.

“Surely it couldn’t hurt to have you participate, since you can’t seem to conceive a child on your own.” Tilly could feel Eris’ fury mix with her own, but they remained subservient to the letter. The act would be worth it in the end. She tucked a foot behind the other and curtsied, her submission at the forefront.

“Yes, father.” She heard Eris murmur beside her, hoping that would be the end of it.

“I didn’t buy you for nothing, after all,” he sneered from above them, but despite the wrath within them, they both nodded their agreement. When they were dismissed at long last, Eris and Tilly walked back to their rooms, her trailing steps behind in case anyone was watching. Once they’d arrived and gotten the wards in place, Eris’ mouth was already on her neck. It was still impossible to pull back from each other, impossible to stay away.

“I think I found something that will kill him.” He voice was hoarse, and his kisses abruptly stopped. “We can do it on Calanmai.” He pulled back from her to look into her eyes.

“I’m listening.”

Eris

It turns out that, deep within the forests of Autumn near the eastern territories, a plant existed that very few people knew about, and even less people knew how to find. The Gasping Widow.

Fitting, Eris thought. Gasping in relief, perhaps. When steeped for over a week and then consumed, it mimicked the symptoms of heart failure. It was a kinder death than Beron deserved, but a means to an end was a means to an end. He would take anything at this point.

Eris and Tilly had found that plant–an ugly thing–brown and blue and looking for all the world like a fungus, and brought it back to their rooms. They’d spent the better part of an entire day clomping around the marshy eastern forests looking for its telltale blue and brown petals. It was scentless, blessedly, considering it had been steeping beneath their bed for eight days now. Tomorrow, the concoction would go into a tiny vial dropper, and then hopefully be dripped into the goblet before the ceremonies began. Now, it was night and dark and quiet all around, and Tilly and Eris were tucked tightly together in the bed, laying facing each other, their breaths heavy as their naked chests still heaved together as one.

“Tomorrow will change everything.” She murmured quietly. “One way or another.” He nuzzled his nose into her neck.

“There is still time for you to run, Tilly. You could still go. Or we could back out.”

“No.” She said resolutely. Two days before, Beron had flogged Eris again. This time, for allowing Tilly into the garden with Alanna, which he’d somehow perceived as an inability to rule over her adequately. She softly drew her hands over the now mostly-healed lines on his back, the anger still simmering in her veins. “We will take this chance, and we will take it together. His time has run out.” She pressed a kiss to Eris’ lips in the dark.

“I love you, Matilda. To eternity.”

“I love you, Eris. Regardless of the outcome tomorrow, or any day.”

+++

Calanmai had arrived. Eris was near feral at the state of dress that Tilly had been forced into. He hated the idea of anyone’s eyes on so much of her body–he wanted to be the only one who was ever granted the privilege. Unfortunately, it was part of the twisted tradition of things, and Beron would not budge. Eris was certain that the obscenely small drapery being touted as a dress on his wife was meant to further enrage Eris, but he refused to give him the satisfaction. He had a larger goal tonight.

No one knew of their plan, save Cormac–not even the brothers. Cormac only knew because he was in charge of the guards at the event and could position them close enough that they would pass close to the goblet before the ceremony. They would form a processional into the cave, Beron, then Eris, the remaining brothers, Alanna, then Tilly last. She’d pass by the goblet unimpeded on the way in, and that’s when she would tip the vial into it. Eris would use his magic to glamour her as she did just to smoothe over any hiccups in her movements.

It would take roughly an hour for the plant to hit his heart, so Eris and Tilly would go into the woods as expected after the drums began and make their absence look convincing. Hopefully, by the time they returned looking ravaged, Beron would be dead or dying, and they would have a convincing alibi.

Tilly had been a wreck all night and today, and truly, Eris had not fared much better. They were both a mess of nerves, all of their touches and kisses charged with an energy and lingering questions about whether it would be the last time. But when it came time to proceed to the caves for the ceremony, already filled with the wild bustling of people and the generous roaring of hundreds of bonfires, they were both prepared with the faces of battle. They’d shared a final kiss in their rooms, and now it was time to sink or swim.

Tilly took her place at the end of the line, and he caught her eyes one last time before turning his stony expression forward and following his father ahead. He sent a quick prayer up to any gods that would listen to keep her safe, no matter what happened tonight. They proceeded through the line of caves, the rushing sounds of the fires and the celebratory sounds of the people drowning everything else out. He cast the glamour over Tilly, smoothing her movements out and using magic to entice others to look away or ignore anything amiss. Finally, the procession came to a stop.

He dared not look in Tilly’s direction as his father welcomed everyone and made the same speech he made every year. Then, it was Alanna’s cue to take off into the woods–just a show really. Beron didn’t seem to have noticed anything was amiss–perhaps they’d managed to pull this off. Eris steadied his breathing as the drums began, and he watched closely as Beron took the goblet in his hands and drank deeply. One gulp, two gulps, three. He lowered it, swiping his sleeve across his mouth, and the crowd cheered. Then Beron was off to complete the sick ceremony, dragging his mother even further into the depths of hell, but hopefully for the final time.

He felt Tilly’s hand brush against his as they went to depart the cave, the magic beginning to thrum through them in time with the drums. A show, it was all show, and perhaps, with some luck, it would contain the best finale of all time.

So, with that thought echoing through his mind, Eris grabbed Tilly by the waist and roughly threw her over his shoulder, walking a few steps then winnowing off into the woods as the renewed cheers of the crowd died out behind them.

+++

Both Eris and Tilly had been too nervous to actually do anything in the woods short of sitting with each other. Everything was hanging on a sharp precipice, so Eris winnowed as far as he could within the Autumn woods so the magic wouldn’t ride them as hard, and they found a patch of moonlight to try and relax in together. They planned to spend an hour or so here, make it look convincing, and then return to the ceremony and put on their shocked faces at the chaos ensuing as the High Lord title transferred down to Eris.

He stroked his thumb up back and forth over her arm, holding her close to him and wondering how life might be different for them after tonight. Without the pall of Beron hanging over them, what could they do? What could they change? There was so much potential for them to do more, both within Autumn and for themselves. Eris didn’t dare to let his thoughts get ahead of him, but he could feel that slow, steady bloom of hope that he was getting more familiar with these days begin in his chest.

Could they actually be parents? Could he even do that? Did Tilly even want it?

It was something that they had danced around the topic of instead of actually speaking about candidly. There had been no point–there would be no children willingly brought into this world as long as Beron was in it. Not if they could help it. But the thought of a little child with hair of flame, beautiful wide eyes focused on him as they lifted their arms up to him, made his heart clench in his chest. The thought of Tilly, belly round and lovely with his child, summoned other feelings in him that the magic of Calanmai wasn’t helping with at all as he adjusted himself. Tilly looked up at him, grinning with an eyebrow raised.

“Can I ask you something?” Eris asked her, looking down into her eyes as she cuddled against his chest. She waggled her eyebrows at him suggestively, smiling wickedly.

“Sure.” The glint in her eyes was wicked.

“Do you ever think about having children? With me…I mean. When this is all over?” She immediately sobered her expression, pushing against his chest with her hand and sitting up, her eyes finding his in the dark.

Her voice was quiet as she answered. “All the time.” Eris felt like his heart had taken flight and left his body. He’d expected her to think on it for a while, maybe even say no. He hadn’t expected this.

“Truly?” His voice was shaky, uncertain, but her soft smile pierced straight through his chest, stroking his heart in gentle, soothing waves.

“Every single night before we fall asleep. I think about how kind and wonderful and caring you are, and how lovely a father you would be. I count down the days until it’s something we can realistically consider, and I hoped you would one day feel the same.” The words were a balm to his soul he didn’t know he’d needed. He’d worried for longer than he’d ever admit that he’d be a terrible father, not a single good example to show him what it should look like. He’d worried that Tilly might worry becoming a father would trigger something in him, might be scared that he would turn into the monster that sired him, somehow. But here she was, unflinching and unfailing as always in the face of his doubt.

“Is it something you want, Eris?” He couldn’t stop himself from taking her face in his hands and kissing her deeply as he felt her giggle and smile against him.

“More than anything in the world. The second he’s gone, the second you’re ready.” She smiled.

“I love you, Eris. You’ll be a wonderful father, just like you’re a wonderful husband.” She pressed another kiss to his jaw, then tucked her head beneath his chin as he tightened his hold around her, thinking of all the possibilities laid out in front of them after tonight.

They waited the full hour, then let it drift towards two, before their curiosity got the better of them and they decided to winnow back. They roughed up their clothes, especially Tilly’s, scattering dirt and twigs and leaves in their hair. Eris hadn’t felt anything strange in the way of magic past the normal magic of the ceremony, and he was concerned this meant something had gone horribly wrong. Or, rather, hadn’t.

As they winnowed back to the ceremony, only Callum had returned out of the group of brothers, but Alanna was missing from the ceremonial area. Eris and Tilly both froze the moment they entered, finding Beron drinking wine and eating and generally celebrating at the large table within the crowds of Autumn revelers. He was fine. He was fine. It had all been for nothing. It hadn’t worked.

There would be no discussing it here, no communicating between them past him all but pushing her back towards the Forest House, fingers lingering as long as possible on her back, as Beron waved him over to the table to participate in the revelry.

When Eris returned to their rooms hours later to find Tilly dressed in a nightgown and pacing, he was just as baffled as she was. Beron had been in a fantastic mood–drinking jovially and bragging about the bedding and assault of his mother in the woods to the cheers of many and the pointed encouragement of Aradnus.

“Well, clearly, something went wrong. Maybe I steeped it incorrectly. The directions seemed so straightforward…” Tilly’s brows pinched in distraught confusion. Eris finished removing his clothes, still dirty from the woods.

“It’s okay, Til. Perhaps we grabbed the wrong plant? Maybe it wasn’t concentrated enough. Regardless, he seems to have not noticed the attempt, so that works in our favor. Maybe we can find a way to try again.” He turned down the covers and they got into the bed, finding each other in the middle. They didn’t speak more, but the hopelessness cut through the air around them, allowing the darkness to feel extra suffocating.

So close. They had been so close.

+++

They’d barely had a chance to open their eyes to the dark gray doldrums peeking ominously through the window and the rolling crack of thunder in the distance before a summons appeared, requesting that everyone report to the throne room immediately. The panic rushed through Eris like a roaring river of ice, and the look mirrored in Tilly’s terrified expression made it worse. After a beat of silence they threw themselves at each other, embracing like it was the last time, their mouths meeting in desperation. The tears were already rolling down Tilly’s face, leaving salty tracks smearing into Eris’ mouth.

“I love you. It’s going to be okay. I love you so much.”

“Eris, oh, gods, Eris. He’s caught us. I’ll have killed us both.” She was sobbing. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“It was both of us. It was both. It’s okay, we’ll go together. We’ll be together. In this life and the next.” The breath had fled his chest, too, and the tears burned like acid in his eyes as he gripped her to him.

“I love you, Eris. I am so unbelievably sorry.”

They held each other close, trying to calm their breaths and pounding hearts. It would be suspicious if they took any longer, so they pulled on their clothes quickly and with one last, lingering kiss, they pulled themselves together and walked to the throne room, Tilly trailing him as always, their hearts beating like the drums of war in their chests.

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