#snowflake experts

[fairytaleromancing]

(♡˙︶˙♡)

[irndad]

i wish i knew you wanted me - s.r.

a/n: okay this ended up being so so long forgive me!!! i hope you like<3 summary: based loosely on 'bad habit'. spencer got asked out by reader 5 years ago, when he was recovering from his dilaudid addiction, and turned her down. now, he's in love with her, and pining for her. also, jealous!spencer. she fell first, he fell harder. wc: ~2k

She’s very pretty. It’s distracting. Right now, she’s staring intently at his hands, and he feels hot under her gaze. It’s been a while since he’s done this, the little rocket trick, but she’s visiting the office, and Garcia had mentioned he’s a magician. 

“That’s incredible!” She exclaims, a giggle in her laugh, and he feels the swoop of his stomach, the butterflies of it all, “You got them so high up!”

“It’s just physics,” he laughs, meeting her warm gaze. Her smile is one for the ages. 

She’s here dropping off a file. They’ve known eachother a really long time, actually. She was an expert witness for them, once, years ago. She spoke with ease, both on the stand and in person. Equal measure kind and measured, and Spencer had adored her on first glance. They’d met when he was just getting clean from Dilaudid, and Spencer’s been in love with her since not long after than first meeting. That’s pretty much the only thing about her he wishes he could take back. 

He still has a hard time thinking about it, the fact that he met her when he was barely himself. Still, she’d been kind, listened to him talk and let the others tell her that he was…going through something. It was on his two month sobriety date (which she’d had no way of knowing) that she’d asked him out. 

Sometimes, when he can’t sleep, he replays the memory in his head. How she works just south of their office, and how they’d meet at the café nearest, and chat for an hour before calling a cab home. 

On the other side of the veil, he can picture that night, years ago now. How she’d looked with the snow kissing her nose, dotting the edges of her faux-fur hood. She’d stuck out her tongue to catch a snowflake, and he’d almost combusted and the adorability of it. 

“You look nice,” she’d said, although at the time he’s pretty sure he looked gaunt. He’d only recently started to gain the weight back- but still, her praise felt like stardust. 

“You look nicer,” he’d said back, gently bumping her shoulder as a fond gesture. Her little grin is well-worth how awkward they both look on the street.

“Listen,” she had said, stuffing her hands into her pockets, the size of the coat causing her hands to disapear from sight entirely, “I asked JJ and Morgan, and they said you’re not seeing anyone.”

“Oh, yeah. They love reminding me of that. Not everyone can be like Morgan and have dated half the western hemsiphere.”

He felt embarrassed, her watching him. It’s nice, but sometimes feels like staring into the sun. 

Her chuckle was nervous, not fully reaching her eyes. 

“You okay? 

“Yeah,” she swallowed again, before speaking, “I was wondering, um, if you might want to grab a drink with me?”

“Sure,” he’d replied back, amenably. He couldn’t tell why she looked so nervous, “I can’t really do hard liquor, though. Maybe we can invite the team.”

“No, Spence, I was wondering if you and I could go on a um, a date.”

And he’s frozen. Because this might be the second time he’d ever been asked out, and second, this might be his dream girl. She’s gorgeous and kind and she’s in front of him, asking him out. 

“I um,” his mouth was dry. He’d be a bad boyfriend. He was a recovering drug addict who already was bad at talking to people, and she lit up a room whenever she walked in. She finds him easy to be with, easy to care for and he’s bound to fuck it up. He couldn’t imagine giving that up because he was too greedy to take what he got. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

He almost took it back with incredible speed, with that flash of disapointment on her lovely face, and the knowledge that it’s because she wanted him, before she quickly regained her speech.

“That’s totally alright! We’ll just be good friends, yeah?”

In the here and now, they are friends. Best of, really. And he made the right choice. He’d lashed out at Emily a month later in a withdrawl, and he knows that he’d have done the same to her, and now, she’s still in his life. 

The drawbacks of course, to being her friend, means she has dates. Boyfriends, as well, and he’s been a…friend, through it all. Good friend. She’s never suspeced him of anything more, of course, after he’d categorically rejected it. 

(Even though this rejection plays in his head all the fucking time, like a torturous groundhog day.)

She’s beautiful today, a blue blouse with a scarf lazily around her neck, and the way she’s leaning over his desk to see the  trick before she drops off her analysis. 

“Alright, Spence,” she says, her rose perfume wafting in the air prior to her hopping off the corner, “Did you need anything else? Today is my half-day, and Harry wanted to take me to Art Insititute.”

Harry, is the boy on rotation at the moment. Spencer has no impulse control and a super-computer expert best friend, so Spencer knows that Harry is 6’0 on his Driver’s License, and is a Financial Analyst. Spencer knows from her own mouth that this will be the third date, and that he’s a little boring but she’s attracted to the fact that he was direct and wanted to go out again. 

Low bar, but one Spencer couldn’t even clear. He doesn’t say any of that, though.

“That sounds fun,” he says, instead of saying that he’d love to walk her through the inscriptions on each art piece, love to kiss her in front of something thats’ beauty does not come close to her’s. “Are you thinking it might run long, or are we still doing the bookstore and TV at mine after?”

He’s been looking forward to this all week. He bought special marshmallows for her cocoa. He also htes to imagine her date running long. 

“Nah,” she smiles, “besides, he’s just some guy. You’re Spencer.”

Morgan doesn’t say anything when he looks down at his. paperwork, and scribbles instead of thinking, the best he can. 

________________________________

Don’t think about the fact she was on a date. Don’t think about how Harry might have got to kiss her. Just don’t bring it up. 

“How was the date?”

She shrugged, pulling at the spine of a hardcover novel. 

“It was fine. Like I said, he was kind of boring.”

“So why’d you go out with him again?”

“I dunno, Spence, I just… I want a boyfriend, you know? I want someone to want to be with me.”

She is so beautiful. She laughs with her whole chest, and she listens to his stories and chimes in with her own expertise. She has a voice that seems like it’s spun gold thread, and he’d give anything to kiss her. 

“I get that,” he says, instead of anything he’s thinking. She’s wearing brown lipstick, transfer proof. He’s in love with her. “There’s got to be guys lining up for a girl like you.”

“That’s a nice thought, Spence. Not the ones I’d like.”

___________________________

This thought haunts his evening, and when he parks and they start the walk-up to his apartment, a confession hammering at his throat, a physical urge. She’s giggling at some long physics joke he’d made, and he’s addicted to the soft bell of her laughter.

His apartment is small and lovely, and he enjoys having her in the small and dark of the night, the sun set over what he wishes were two lovers. 

“You are really pretty, you know,” he says, once she’s settled into his chest, a sick satisfaction of knowing Harry got a quick thank you text before she darted over to Spencer’s arms. 

“Thanks, Spencer. You’re a good friend.”

“Why do you always say that?”

“That you’re a good friend?”

“I’m not saying you’re pretty because I’m a good friend. I’m saying it because it’s true, and I enjoy saying true things.” 

“You don’t…I don’t know why you’re saying that, Spencer. We’re friends and I adore you and I’m here right now, but you don’t need to make it harder on me.”

She looks nervous, and a little disapointed. He wants her to know, that even if he’s missed his shot, she’s not going to be alone. He’s gonna spend the rest of his life hating whoever knew to take the best thing offered to him, but Spencer- he knows he is not going to be the last to love her. He grabs her hand without thinking, her doe eyes peering into his with some emotion he can’t pin down. 

“Hey, I’m not trying…to make anything hard for you. I don’t ever want to do that. I just… some day someone’s gonna see you and want to be with you and I’m going to watch it and know it was inevitable.” 

The words taste like barbed wire. 

Ask me again, he wants to beg, I’m ready now. I’ll do it right. 

Is that even true? Is it just that he wants her bad enough he’s willing to risk not doing it right?

“You’re so sweet,” she sobs, and oh, she’s crying. Just a little, but tears prick at the corners of her eyes. “You make it so hard to be your friend. And I know that’s my problem, that you’ve always been straight up with me. I asked you out and you said no, and I know that-“

“I know that I was too late, and freaked out about being with someone like you when I was still so fucked up.” they’re so close to eachother, he can smell her chapstick. His chest aches. “Sweetheart, that had nothing to do with you. It was all me. It’s a train I missed that I’m gonna spend the rest of my life wishing I’d caught.”

He feels uncomfortably bare, even in the oversized sweater that she’d gotten him last Christmas, and that he’d pretended had been from his lover all of that week. But it’s important that she knows.

“What do you mean, ‘too late’?”

Her voice is small, so quiet he barely hears it. She threads her nimble fingers into his slender ones, and his heart is hammering. 

“I-I was on Dilaudid, or just barely off, you know- you wouldn’t want to be with someone like me. You asked me out when you didn’t even know that.”

“I know you now. Years worth of knowing.”

“And you haven’t asked me since.” 

“Spencer,” her voice is warm, rich like silk and grainy old music, and he wants to drink this image in, her fingers stroking the side of his face like he’s holy. He wonders if he’s dreaming, with how good she feels to be so close to. 

Ask me again, he wants to beg. I’m ready, now. 

“Spencer Walter Reid,” she says, properly holding his hand, bringing her soft lips to his hand, kissing his knuckle. He feels anointed, blessed by a higher power. “Could I take you out on a date?”

“Yes,” he says, finally. Five years of waiting melts away as he kisses her, warmth and light seeping into existence, a dream brought to tangible life, to touch and reality, “Actually, wait,” he says, and finishes before her face can fall, “Would you be my girlfriend?”

It’s maybe playing his cards too much, but her wide, ear to ear splitting grin is everything he needs to see, everything he might need to see for the rest of his life. 

“Took you long enough, boy-genius.”

“All you had to do was ask again!”

If she has a complaint about that, it certainly couldn’t be heard by the many, many kisses that would follow. 

[shaisuki]

THE SNOWFLAKES ON YOUR SHOULDER

Zayne's an expert for fixing things including heart related problems and yours wasn't an exception. He can take apart your heart and fill the holes of your once shattered heart but can he really do it? When it is you who's refusing him now?

❆ ₊⋆ ──── notes. thank you for sticking until the end. i apologize in advanced for where this fic is going. if you can tell, i'm dumb af in everything and it does not exclude my own writing.

❆ ₊⋆ ──── taglist. @fandomenbylover @vurelliex @hi-itsmee28 @mentaltrouble2201 @agustdxjiminx @aboobie @samoankpoper21 @sylusgirlie7 @crazy-ink-artist @twilightsmissingfur @traumaramacenter @zeskyzed @lucifers-silhouette @milkmily @sillyfreakfanparty @babygirlarchives @what-is-this-fangirl-life @furinaaa1

❆ ₊⋆ ──── content warnings. heavy angst + description of injuries + car accident + blood + hospitalization + medical inaccuracies + implied noncon/dubcon + arguments + stalking + possessiveness + sabotage + grave injuries + jealousy + arranged marriage + lots of crying + ooc zayne + yandere themes + lots of grammatical errors + rushed ending.

READ PART ONE HERE. PART THREE.

It was a drunk driver.

The collision caused by someone behind the wheel under the influence of alcohol. Multiple witnesses stated that it was swerving side by side. Hitting the concrete barriers before occupying the next lane where misfortune is bestowed upon you. The car drifted before crashing into your car. You didn't have the time to avoid it for your mind merely registered what was happening — struggling to grasp your situation before you can hit the brakes.

Zayne was about to clock out for the night. Petrichor lingered in the moist earth and along with it, comes the night breeze caressing his skin. Then, he hears the familiar wail of the ambulance. The blue and red light dances in his vision as the vehicle approached — the sound of multiple footsteps echoed in the once silent medical bay.

Although Zayne was familiar with the emergencies running in and out of the hospital — there's the undeniable twist in his stomach. The wind colder and shifts into something more sinister like there was a disaster to struck and that's when the paramedics came rolling the gurney. It was you.

The surgeon wouldn't mistake it as someone else's even it was a glimpse, there was no denying it was you.

Zayne moved before his mind can think. There was no hesitation in his movements. A thousand assessments running in his mind, expecting all the possibilities and how to save you. Forgetting for a moment that a doctor isn't allowed to make diagnosis nor operate to a patient when it's their loved ones or someone they're closed to.

The reputation he even held at the moment of having accomplished multiple medical breakthroughs didn't allow him to get to you. Greyson whirring past from him as he joined the others.

For the first time Zayne have never felt so scared in his whole life, not even the time when he lost control of his Evol. Helplessly watching you disappear between the double doors and to plunge into unknown. No assurance of what to come. He sees you on his mind. It wasn't the angry tears streaming down your face that you desperately wiped that keep repeatedly playing on his mind — it was you drowning in your own blood.

He didn't even notice the crystalline layer of ice creeping up on his arms and to his shoulders. Blooming like flowers in his neck and covering his cheek.

SURGERY IN PROGRESS — AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY

It's been hours and long surgery hours means the trauma ranges from severe to grave circumstances. It wasn't his first gig to tell how worst a injury is. It was the results and results is the only thing that mattered to him.

Patience was Zayne's strong suits but from how the clock ticks by, every second and minute passing by and the coldness circulating in the ward — he was slowly losing it.

Greyson emerged within moments later. Surprised at him lingering outside the operating room.

“Dr. Zayne.” Greyson paused in greeting. His nerves settling in at the man in front of him before clearing his throat. He knows Zayne didn't want the unnecessary thoughts or what. He simply wanted to know the details.

“She's stable for now....” Greyson drawls out, trying to discern Zayne's reaction but was meet with the same stoic reaction. However the green in his eyes seems to darken and Greyson suddenly feels uncomfortable. “The injuries she sustained were beyond what we hoped to repair.” The spectacled brunette continued.

“The impact were severe and we were informed that the airbag of her car didn't deploy during the impact. She took the full force of the crash — multiple rib fractures caused internal bleeding we have to intervene before it got worst.”

Greyson paused again. His words dying out before coming out again. He feels like an intern again being poked out like a laboratory specimen under Zayne's cold gaze.

“The next hours will be critical for her, Dr. Zayne. She will be monitored closely and we will see how her condition progress.” That's all Greyson needed to say before leaving. He glances behind him. Dr. Zayne was really capable of showing stronger emotions. Greyson pondered while he walked. All the years he worked being an assistant to Zayne — is the first for seeing him like that. He's capable but to those who manage and it wasn't you.

Perhaps it was guilt that ate him up and Greyson couldn't care less about it. It wasn't his place to judge someone, not to Dr. Zayne.

Zayne made his way towards your room before going to his usual rounds with the other patients. His footsteps echoing in the quiet ward. It was barely morning when he came. A few hours reduced in his sleep when his nightmares consists of you — behind the steering wheel.

“You wanted this.”

He hears you say in his dreams. Blood bubbling up in your throat and the corners of your mouth trickles with the crimson liquid as you cough up more of your blood. Staring at him with your eyes slowly being drained of life. Your body riddled with cuts and your blood flowing from your arms as it drips in the concrete road. You drowning in your own pool of blood.

It was two days before the accident after your outburst. He was disconcerted after that when his gaze meets the cold hard door that you slammed shut. He never seen you so hurt before or he got used to you being silent and having to bear the burdens of him brushing you aside.

He was selfish. Taking you for granted and failing how you slowly turned miserable in this arrangement. He knows no love would bloom in this agreement for his heart belonged to someone else before he knew it and you knew it too.

In your own little ways you loved him without realizing and it destroyed you in the end.

The door slides automatically. Zayne had gotten used to the smell of disinfectants and clean linen in rooms but the never the sight of you laying still in the bed. Dead to the world outside. You would hate to see him being in the same room.

The room's dim and cold. Curtains shut cause it was needed for patients like you.

He checked your vital signs. Stable but never awake. Zayne thinks you're floating in your consciousness without planning to wake up cause he was with you. Waiting and watching. But how could you wake up when within a few hours of the surgery the night you were brought in. A bleeding in your brain was found causing seizures.

His colleagues have said that it was a miracle that you pulled through. Operations after operations was done and if you were weaker — you would have died before the next complications start.

The soft beeping of the monitors can be heard along with the air conditioner.

The cardiac surgeon pulled a chair nearby. He takes the sight of you. Bandages were wrapped around your head and there's more under your clothing. A few thin cuts in your face that was starting to heal. There's a jagged wound in your arm too. A glass shard was embedded inside upon impact. The bruises in your body were darker already entering the stages of healing.

It's already been a week now. His gaze soft towards you. He places his hand above yours. Clasping it gently and letting the warmth of your hand seep in the coldness of his own. Zayne looks back at you again and his hand holding yours. It's been long since he held it.

Should he have held your hands more? Should he assured you of what little security you needed with him? Or gave you the attention that you deserved?

None of it mattered. There's no use of pondering things that he should have done to you and for you to end up hurt by the consequences of his own shortcomings.

Zayne glances at the clock. It's time for his daily rounds with the other patients. He caresses your hand again before letting go. Adjusting the pillows for you to lay comfortably and gazes at you one last time before going out.

You woke up a month later.

It feels like you were in a deep sleep and to be awoken so suddenly. You squint your eyes for a few times. Slowly registering your surroundings. It was surreal. Weren't you just driving moments ago? And why can't you breath?

Tears pricked at the corner of your eyes as you desperately claw the tubes connected to you. Ripping the IV line in process that your arm began to bleed out. It only stopped when multiple hands came to hold on you. Nurses rushing to your side as the alarm blares from you yanking the tubes.

It was so sudden. You were scared and confused before the pain settles and burns the entirety of your body. Everyone was a blur to you and the lights blinded you.

That was a few days ago. You've gone multiple tests to check your recovery. Aside from the few broken bones. A risk of possible seizures that was assuredly ruled out. The latest technology for medicine have worked for you minus the coma that your brain have to do. You were healing nicely.

Zayne have made his appearance after you woke up. Staying by your side and barely left you. He takes your hand in his when you wanted to walk. Assisting you in your bathroom breaks and far as going to clean you up.

“A nurse should be doing this, right?” Zayne remains emotionless. His coat draped in one of the chairs and his sleeves are rolled while he gently wiped your skin. You were still in the midst of recovery. “Yes, it's theirs but as a doctor our duty doesn't limit on surgery and medical advices.” Your lips form into a tight line while you stare at him.

Your brain may have jumbled and bleed but you still remember the night where you poured all those bottled feelings to him and it still hurts. You wished you've gone what most comatose patients undergo through after waking up is that having their memories temporarily wiped or maybe completely.

Ignorance is bliss. That's what you lived for and you're about to abide by it — again.

Zayne noticed the tears pooling at the corner of your eyes. He puts the damp cloth aside. Examining your face for any signs of discomfort. “Are you feeling any pain?” He asks softly and you shaked your head. “Just tired.”

I'm so tired of you. Of us.

It feels you were back to square one again. This time your tolerance for pain must upped cause it doesn't hurt anymore than it used to aside from the pain of your wounds healing. “I want to be left alone.” You mutter. Pushing yourself to the bed and propping against the pillow. Zayne pulls your blanket to cover you. He longingly stares at you and nods.

“You can call me anytime you want.”

You just closed your eyes and pretended you didn't hear him.

After a week of multiple scans, therapy and rehab, you were discharged. A follow up check-up were needed. You didn't care about it. All you can think is you're out from the hospital and you won't be seeing Zayne again or you hope so.

“I can take myself home.” You protested. Standing outside of Akso Hospital waiting for a taxi, Zayne beat you to it. His white coat long abandoned and was replaced by a darker one. You assumed he was just taking you outside until you see his familiar black Audi A6.

He didn't leave room for any arguments as he placed your bag in the backseat. He's assisting you even being seated in his car. Zayne hears you huff and see your round cheeks puffed up. You weren't good at hiding your frustrations. He paid it no mind before starting the engine of his car and he drives you home.

The car came to a stop outside of the black familiar gates. You raised a brow at him. “Do you need to pick something from your house?” You fiddle at your seatbelt. Zayne gave you a curt answer. “No.” Opening the door of his car, he turns around to open yours.

“What do you mean?”

“You are still recovering. A bed rest is needed for you to recuperate fast.”

Your brows scrunched up. “Then I can do that at my home. I don't want to be here.” Zayne ducks towards you, a click can be heard as he pulled the seatbelt. He shakes his head, unconvinced.

“Multiple rib fractures, a brain that is still at risk for developing future seizures. You need a professional to be with you and I'm more than capable of taking care of you. It's also beneficial for us to live under the same roof since we're about to be wed.” He say without stopping. Stating the pros and cons on what about to come and clearly, you didn't have a choice.

The last part made you snort. Bubbling in your throat before studying his expression that remains the same.

“Wed? You're going to torture yourself and me by continuing that? Come on, Zayne. It's not too late for us to end this. We'll have our separate ways and you will get your happy ending. Don't always try to play the thoughtful son. I'm sure daddy and mommy will understand you and so are mine.” You sighed, shaking your head in surrender.

“We're both adults.” You muttered under your breath but enough for him to hear it.

“We should save this conversation for another time.” Zayne's voice the same sharp tone and you sighed.

The vast garden wasn't enough to cover the whole residence where Zayne lives. The large windows occupy most of the walls. Letting the natural sunlight in, creating a atmosphere for relaxation. A spacious living room greets you. The color schemes mixes of white and gray with a touch of greenery in the corners. There's also a mezzanine which you assume is Zayne's office. A glass window were also placed there and he can see the entirety of the living room.

This is going to be your home. Temporarily.

You won't be staying in a house that doesn't feel like home with him. Someone who's heart belonged to another. Home is where the person is and you were a stranger but a intruder is more befitting way to call it.

Zayne hovers behind you as he guides you upstairs. Afraid that you'll trip or lose balance. Although he's against of you being discharged so early in the hospital. Knowing the risk and complications that your body have to suffer due to your internal injuries but you can be so headstrong at things and to avoid certain complications he gave up to your wishes in exchange that he's supervising your whole recovery.

He stares at you. Trying to gauge at your reactions but met with the same gaze as you scan the room. Muttering a small thank you under your breath again. Resigned at your current situation with him. As someone perceptive, Zayne knows what's currently going on your mind. You were tired and is still on the process of recovering. The wounds may yet to heal on your skin but deep inside your heart was long shattered and even he's in the expertise of curing heart diseases he can't fix what he broke.

Was he this dismissive and cold towards you during the times when you tried to initiate things? Of making efforts to gain his attention? Of trying to know him since although the match is wasn't you both wanted, you wanted to have a common ground with him and only to ignore you.

“Is the bed comfortable for you?” He asks, following your movements as he watches you take a seat in the edge of the bed. “It's fine.” You shrugged. “Can you leave me alone now? We both have a long day.” Shooting him a glance before looking down to your clasped hands in your lap. “I'll be back later.” Zayne curtly nods before he stops in his tracks like he's about to say something and then decided it wasn't worth it. You hear the door shut.

After a dinner meticulously prepared by him and watching you like a hawk while you eat. Making sure you were taking spoonfuls after spoonfuls of food that your body needed. You were back in your bedroom, dressed in loose pajamas. It was engraved to you to dress in loose clothings since it was needed for better access when doctors and nurses check your vitals. It was easier and you're not putting Zayne in more work and to stay longer with you.

The few buttons of your top were undone. Zayne methodically moves the diaphragm of his stethoscope pressed in your chest. “Breathe slowly.” He instructed you and you did. You weren't embarrassed nor insecure as he listened to the sound of your heart. You were literally poked and prodded while you were undergoing surgery and Zayne have probably seen you naked during your stay at the hospital. “Breathing's good. However I advice you to be in bed rest in the next days and some light exercise will do.” Spoken like a true professional. He takes his stethoscope and you button your pajama top.

“You can call me anytime, (Y/N).” You weakly nod. Your head hitting the pillows and pulling the covers up.

“Goodnight, (Y/N).” Zayne says to you as he reached your bedroom door. He was only meet with silence.

In the years of Zayne being a doctor, it was common for comatose patients to experience withdrawal and he understands what you're going through at the moment. You were in coma while the world continued to spin and everyone getting on with their lives but it wasn't just withdrawal you were experiencing. There comes the fear and the guilt after your outburst. He knows you were shaken up by the moment those words left your mouth.

It was his fault. He never should have made you feel the way of never being enough for him. He should have made his intentions clear towards you and not let you run around circles. Throwing you in a loop and only to destroy what left of your respect towards yourself. The conversation earlier in his car replayed in his mind. You wanted him to call off the engagement and go in separate ways. You were contemplating about it for a long time and finally have the courage to tell it to his face. There was no happy ending for this arrangement but Zayne was willing to try. Start over again with you and pick up the broken pieces of your heart. That leaves him to a question, is your heart still intact for him?

Dr. Miles Peterson — Chief of Trauma Surgery.

You briefly glanced at the name plate placed in his glass table before returning to your gaze at the man that was one of who operated you after your accident. Normally, the chief isn't typically involved with the check ups but since you're the fiancee of the esteemed cardiac surgeon — Dr. Zayne, the VIP treatment was there and it doesn't bode with you well.

“So far as good, your reflexes are back to normal and after the follow up scans everything seems fine. Are you—”

Before the trauma surgeon could continue, the glass doors opened and revealed Zayne. “Excuse me.” He greets, his gaze landing on his fellow surgeon before yours.

“Oh, Dr. Zayne.” You can hear the slight waver of his voice. Clearly intimidated by Zayne's presence. It wasn't also the age of the cardiac surgeon intimidated his peers but his achievements and pioneering on his chosen field of expertise although they were different.

The trauma surgeon, Dr. Peterson gestures for Zayne to sit down in the seat across yours. “Please, do not mind me.” Zayne speaks in his professional tone. The same even and measured of his voice still commands authority even in the simplest of conversation.

“So going back, Miss. Have you been experiencing any discomfort or lingering pains in the affected areas?” Dr. Peterson continued to ask you.

Zayne can see the slight hesitation in your face. The twiddling of fingers in clasped hands rested on your lap and he can see how you swallow. There's still the nervousness when you get to be questioned with certain doctors.

“She does.” Zayne cuts you off. The trauma surgeon's full attention was on him. “There's episode of phantom pains, the brain interpreting the affected nerves as signal for pain but there's no mistaking that her thoracic region is still affected by the injuries and is still in the process of healing. Aside from that the tenderness of her abdomen is long gone and is functioning well.”

“That's expected. It may take another months for it to disappear. Don't worry, Miss. With the right medication and therapy it will be gone in no time.” He explains and Dr. Peterson noticed the glare you were giving Zayne.

Uh, oh. Is there trouble in paradise? He thought to himself. It was the same look his wife gave to him. Sensing the tension in the air, he briefly ends the discussion.

This one was new scene unfolding in front of him. The great Dr. Zayne is having trouble with his relationship. He guessed not all relationships have the perfect touch of happiness and since Dr. Zayne is young, it was bound to happen. He lets out an exhale. Relationships sure takes hardwork.

“You don't have to accompany me in every check-up. I can manage it on my own.” You started, Zayne was starting to annoy you with his constant hovering over you.

“It is necessary. I need to know everything that happens to your body since I take care of you.” Zayne calmly explained as you walked besides him. His white coat abandoned and underneath that coat he usually wears is his three-piece neutral colored suits.

“I'm going home.” Spinning your heel around towards the nearest exit but before you can take a step, Zayne stops you. “No, I'm taking you home. Let me grab my things and we can go home.”

Fuck. Why was he so adamant in being this around to you? It was suffocating. If you were the same person before you got tired of him, of chasing him — you have jumped out of joy earlier but now, you want to be treated like air again.

It was difficult.

Zayne pushes the shopping cart while you walked besides him in the aisle of the department store. The grocery was quite depleted since you started living with him and Zayne was the one who usually picks up the needed stuff in the house along with a warm meal — it was the first time you both did it. Mindlessly and silent walking while you both take a look on the available items displayed in the shelves.

He was about to turn around when a familiar voice called out to him. It was familiar to you too. How could you forget that voice. Your body turns rigid. A lump forming in your throat. It was immediate. The tears forming at the corner of your eyes, pooling at your eyelids. You desperately fluttered your eyes in a series of blinks. Stopping the dam that was threatening to spill.

She didn't notice you. You can walk away and not see how they would lovingly gaze at each other. A silent romance that bloomed between them before time existed. You felt like a intruder. A villain who stopped them from getting their destined fate. Breaking them apart and no matter how you destroyed their bond. They will always come back and find each other.

“Zayne! Fancy seeing you here. I came to the hospital but you left early.” She cheerily greets him, her voice bubbly with the genuine air around her. She was so nice.

Sensing that you were about to run away again. Zayne firmly holds your hand in his and no matter how you tried to discreetly take your hand off him, he keeps the tight grip on yours.

“I apologize, I was accompanying my fiancee, (Y/N).” It was your time to finally meet her this close and with that, you keep your tears at bay. “Hello, nice to meet you.” Politely greeting her and even you wanted to cry, you muster the most sincere smile you can offer.

Concern was plastered to her face when she noticed the misty glazed in your eyes. “Are you okay?” She asks. You smiled at her gently. “Don't worry. It's just allergies. No biggie.” You assured her.

“Oh, I should be going to the restroom. Zayne can talk to you now.” You yank your own hand from him. Tapping his shoulder and smiling back again to her. You walked away from them with your held high and the tears that was threatening to spill earlier came rolling down your cheeks freely.

Thankfully, the restroom was vacant. Your tears were dried up, the moment you entered. You caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. You look ghastly. Shabby compared to her. You look at your sweater. Stained with the droplets of your tears. What are you a kid?

You reach our for a tissue. Dabbing it to dry the sweater. You look so stupid every time you look at her. The ugly insecurities that keeps surfacing after you buried showing up again and again. Everything's so stupid at you. Fucking choice of clothing. A oversized baby blue sweater and long dark denim skirt with white sneakers while she looks so chic in her red ruffled hem top with a open black sleeve shrug and a tight black jeans with her black combat boots.

She's everything you're not.

She's beautiful with all her charms. She holds Zayne's affections. We're you really that bad in your past life that you need to be punished so bad. To witness a love that transcends time without knowing each other and ending up in every timeline.

The texture of the tissue being repeatedly rubbed raw to your dampened cheeks caused it to sting. The tears continuously flowing and no matter how much the tissue soaks of your tears, it continues. The sink was filled with tissues soaked with your tears.

Your reflection was mocking you. Did the gods cursed you and granted you to be this ugly. You look so dumb right now. Crying your eyes out in front of the mirror and you convinced yourself you weren't hurt anymore.

By the time you were done crying, it looks like life was drained out of your face. Moisture was drawn out and your eyes are red in the rims. That's what you get for crying. You turned on the faucet and let the cold water run in your palm before splashing your face. You slapped your round cheeks. Taking a few deep breaths and checking your reflection again. Making sure your face are not that puffy than it's usual puffiness and your eyes weren't that red anymore.

It's okay. It won't hurt anymore. You tell to yourself. You'll break free from this farce of an engagement.

Zayne followed your retreating form and you got your eyes glossy again. The sight breaking his heart all over again. He looks at her. “I apologize, you can reschedule your appointment again. I must go.” He didn't wait for her response and followed you. Leaving a puzzled her and the abandoned shopping cart.

He take out his phone and presses the tracking app. It was needed. You have the tendency to wander off in your own and from the coordinates of your location you were still around the area. You weren't lying when you said you needed the restroom and Zayne waits for you outside.

“(Y/N).” Zayne calls out to you. He takes your hand in his. Linking it to his once again. “Let's go home.” Your brows furrow. “What about the groceries? What about her?” He shakes his head. The strands of his hair swaying to the movements of his head.

“It's nothing. We can do it another day. I'm sorry for forcing you out here. You're tired. Let's pick some takeout, okay?” He suggested and he pulls you closer towards him.

Was your hands were always this soft? Plush and gentle, a contrast to his own calloused hands. The slender digits perfectly fitting in your own pillowy ones. He should have held your hands more. The warmth of your own palms seeping through his colder ones. Providing him the safety of being yours.

That night, Zayne have watched you climbed up in the stairs. Shutting the door of your room. You didn't join him at dinner that night.

When Zayne made sure you were asleep. He slowly opens the door. He can make the outline of your plush body under the covers. Sleeping soundly after being jaded out by today's event. The bed dips by his added weight. Leaning towards your side. His elbow propped above your head.

He studies your expression. Gently gazing at the softness of your features. There's your eyes shut but cried so many tears because of him. You were not her. Although he feels they shared many lifetimes with no memories of it. She feels like home. The jasmines will always reminds him of her but what about you. You weren't at fault here. You loved him genuinely and in exchanged he hurt you.

Love must know sacrifices. He knows it very well. He did — a thousand times.

However when the night you were on that gurney, bleeding and unconscious. It was the first time he felt what it was truly to lose someone.

His fingertips grazes at the surface of your plump cheek. It was warm. “I keep hurting you,.... don't I?” He whispers. “I'm sorry.” It was a apology for being unfair to you.

“Mmm....” Your eyes fluttered open. Your voice riddled with sleep. “Stop hurting me, Zayne. Stop hurting us.” You slowly blinked and your breath goes back to the same steady rhythm and when he grasp your cheek. A tear rolled down from your eyes.

Of all the things he could have done. He presses a kiss to your temple. Staying for a minute by your side while he listens to your heart beat. Thump..... thump.... thump.... the sound of your heart beat, slow and steady. You were alive in his arms and the thumping of your heart lulls him to sleep and for the first time, he slept peacefully that night besides you. No nightmares to haunt him.

It must be your brain playing tricks on you or it was the side effects of your brain being squished from the accident. Last night, you went early to bed with your stomach grumbling but the tiredness washed over you then something cold grazes you. A voice whispering and you see Zayne. You mumbled something and then the drowsiness took you again and brought you back to your dreamland.

The images were eerily vivid and you can't differentiate if it occured on last night's bout. You only shrugged it off.

There's the faint sweet scent of pancakes drizzled with maple syrup as you slowly descended down from the flight of stairs and in the kitchen you see Zayne plating the warm pancakes.

He takes the glasses and placed it along besides your plates in the respective place. The steam from his mug filled with coffee dances.

“Good morning.” You greeted out of courtesy.

“We should eat together. You must be hungry since you didn't eat last night.” The neutral monotone voice of his is tinge with softness.

“Don't you need to be in the hospital now?” You asked out of curiosity. Lately, Zayne's been acting more hands on to you despite the speedy recovery and it totally weirded you out.

“I've got an hour before I go and you must eat. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day and should not be missed.” He says, pulling out the barstool under the counter. You sit besides him.

Zayne watches you take a bite of your breakfast before starting on his. There's only the subtle sound of utensils clinking and a beat of silence before you broke it.

“Zayne?” You asked without looking. Focused on the delicious meal in front of you.

The surgeon pauses and then hums in acknowledgement. “I'm continuing my work at the museum.” You revealed to him and it's not like he can dictate what you want to do.

Working in one of the biggest museums in Linkon as a curator wasn't your dream job but it's something you certainly enjoyed. You only told him as being civil to him since you live in the same roof and you can get away from him.

Your fiance puts his cup down. The green in his eyes flickering with hardness before returning to its usual pallor. “Although I'm against the idea of you being back in your work, I must say it's better for the sake of your health. You've been cooped up here for too long.” There's a tinge of reluctance in his voice but you ignored it as you angled yourself to look at him.

He meet your gaze and you offered him a small smile. It didn't reach your eyes, Zayne noticed that. It was a look of politeness and resigned at the same time. Your eyes seems dull since that accident and the unexpected meeting with her.

His fingers twitches. The slender digits rising to reach yours but forms into a curl. He knows he's making it worst towards you.

The breakfast ended with no words being exchanged after the brief conversation.

That was mistake. A poor judgement in his part.

It was a logical reason on his part to allow you back. You have your freedom and a career during the duration of your nonexistent relationship with him. Arranged but never engaged to each other's lives. It's his own words but you made the efforts to support him and be involved in his life. In which he falls short of. He treated you like you were his obligation.

Now, he's getting the taste of his own medicine.

Zayne have been staring at his phone for the last thirty minutes. Barely glancing at the reports needed to be typed, the consultations that needed to be scheduled and doing his rounds. Waiting for the text message that will never come.

It was slow. The usual things you do for him slowly disappearing right before his eyes. His desk felt empty and devoid of any bright color that usually occupies his desk. There's always a sprig of jasmine in the corner. The one that you always brought with you when you visit him. Knowing the significance of it on his life.

How painful must it be to you that the flower was a symbol of his affection towards her and you kept giving it to him as reminder of their many shared lives.

A spectator. Silently watching while your heart breaks at any given moment. You didn't beg and wistfully respected his wishes. What truly hurts you is when the times he acted like he was being forced to be in your presence and you kept silent about it. Blaming yourself entirety for his shortcomings.

Zayne takes off his silver wired glasses. He sees the time in his clock and it was time for him to clock out and pick you up.

The museum where you worked at is one of the biggest buildings in Linkon. He parks outside near the exit where he knows you'll be appearing anytime soon.

It didn't take too long for him to wait for you. He was about to open the door when suddenly a man approaches you, holding a bouquet of your favorite flowers. You were startled at first and from the looks of your relaxed body language, you knew the person. Accepting the flowers with a grateful expression before bidding a goodbye.

You saw him but you didn't bother to hide the flowers in your hands. You only greeted him and went to his car like you always did when Zayne started picking you up after hours of your work.

You stare at the space in front of you before looking at Zayne who was doing the same. His eyes fixated on the bouquet of flowers resting in your lap. “Who is he?” Zayne asks you nonchalantly. Studying your expression with a shrug you answered him. “It's Theo from work. A colleague.” Absentmindedly stroking the velvety petals.

“Why the flowers?” He clears his throat. Gripping the steering wheel before igniting the car, there's the faint thrum of the car and Zayne began to drive. You paid no mind to his question, not finding any sense or malice and it was harmless.

“Just celebratory flowers, I guess. Me coming back to work and recovering from the accident.” Your voice soft and sincere, he glances at you before returning his gaze to the road.

“And you don't see anything more to it?” You raise a brow at his question. There's a underlying meaning to it but it could be just your imagination.

“Yeah. It's just flowers and I think it's nice to receive them.” Focusing your gaze on the road.

“I see. He must have put a lot of thought on them. It seems he likes you..... A lot.” His tone wasn't accusatory but the usual same monotone voice and there's a weight on it.

“Why do you care? It's not you to meddle with my affairs. I'll admit I like Theo but it's the not the way you think of it. He's cool and the typical friendly colleague you'll find in a certain work jobs and I know there must be in yours too and I don't care about your relationship with others.” You let out a slow, heavy sigh. Something between frustration and disbelief.

“I apologize for upsetting you and implying that you're invested in your colleague's behavior towards you. It didn't strike me that you're fond of flowers.” Gods. Zayne was getting in your nerves these days and if it wasn't for his constant hovering, this one took the cake.

“I'm not and thank you for noticing. It doesn't hurt to receive flowers once in a while without asking.” You replied sarcastically, you didn't even realize that you were gripping the stems of the flowers before loosening. Apologetically caressing the almost wilted flowers.

You asked Zayne once about giving you flowers but that was your mistake. You thought girls asks for that kind of stuff but if he wanted, he could. It just didn't matter to him and that was the last time. You received flowers, many times but it doesn't mean anything special if it wasn't from Zayne, it's meaningless.

He knows but he didn't have the capacity to give it to you and you were stupid and naive for entertaining the idea that you're special to him. It was a well wasted time begging for his attention.

The ride all the way home settled in a silent one. You didn't even notice his hard grip on the steering wheel.

The peonies were a nice vibrant shade of yellows and pink. It was a nice arrangement with baby's breath being added and from the looks of your contented smile, you loved it before the familiar unshed tears glossing in to your dark eyes.

The twitch in your hands, the familiar rubbing of your thumb and index fingers together in your clasped hands. If he speak even a single word, you'll break again. That's why he remained silent. Seeing you cry because of him was painful enough and he's only giving you more reasons to be hurt — again and again.

He doesn't love you. Though the sight of you with a another man brought a sensation that he wasn't familiar with. His ears burn more like a tingling feeling. The sudden tightness of his throat and his chest felt like it was being weigh down by something heavy. A nagging voice echoes in his end although no words were said. The more he sees you smiling from the thought of your supposedly colleague who may have or have not feelings for you that is not entirely professional than what you think.

Is it jealousy he was feeling? It was such an ugly feeling. A cancer to one's being and he didn't like it one bit when you're close to someone who's not him. You can be distant to him as anytime you like but he can never tolerate you being close to others.

He finds you later at night in the kitchen. Clutching a piping bag as you carefully put dollops of batter into the parchment tray. A perfect circle for his favored baked goods. The sight feels of warmth. Seeing you wearing that apron dusted with flour and the other dry ingredients.

After tapping the sheet pan a few times to remove air bubbles, setting it aside to let it rest as you moved to make the filling. It was quite tasking, singlehandedly whisking the ingredients and Zayne joins you to your little baking session.

“You're going to develop carpal tunnel if you bend your hands like that while whisking.” He takes your hand from behind. His thumb gliding over to your wrist before holding the back of your hand. Gently guiding your own in small circles before putting enough speed and not to strain your wrist. He places his other hand to the other that holds the mixing bowl.

You didn't protest. Quite taken aback at the sudden gesture. You feel the hard planes of his body behind you. His gaze following your every move that he holds on his own. “You ought to teach me sometime.” He casually commented. Keeping his grip firm on yours. You didn't respond and it's only the sound of the whisk scraping the contents of the mixing bowl.

It took a few minutes before the filling reached the desired consistency. Zayne slides his hands above your arms before pulling. When he steps back to give you space, you turn around. Without warning he reaches forward. He gently lifts your face to meet his gaze.

He feels you stiffen under his touch before using his thumb to wipe the flour smeared to your cheek. “You got something here.” He caresses your round cheek. His touch lingering on your skin, mesmerized by the softness before his gaze landed on your lips. There's a slight tremble to your lips and he let go.

None of you dared to speak. Funny, he's taking interest now. You snapped and he made the efforts to reach out to you. To know you better. He's making up for the past neglect and you weren't angry anymore at him.

A small bitter smile is drawn to your lips as you take the sight of the baking tools cluttered in his kitchen counter. It was desperation when you first learned how to bake. Wanting to impress him with his favorite sweets once you learned he has a sweet tooth. It took trial and error. Then what once act of desperation turned into a hobby that you greatly enjoyed.

You realize all of your life was built on trying to get the cardiac surgeon's attention to you. From certain interests to personal choices.

Or perhaps it was his guilt that telling him to act this way. Turned the tables to care for you.

“You're really acting weird, Zayne.” A deep frown being etched in your face. You brushed the advances he did after the accident. You weren't in no mood to deal with those kind of affections.

“How so?” His voice gentle towards you.

“You never bothered to do stuff with me before. You always brush me off and now, this?” Your hand covers your stomach. Rubbing your side to comfort yourself. He follows your movement.

“Are you feeling guilt after the accident, Zayne?” His fingers twitched. His jaw clenches and something dark clouded over his eyes before returning to their normal. He was silent for a bit.

You take his silence as a cue to continue. “I got hurt days after my drunken outburst and you think it's your fault this happened and you're feeling guilty — You should stop doing things that should have made me happy if I were still my stupid self. I don't need you looking after me because you think you're responsible for all of this. I don't want to be treated like I'm a task that you can't get rid of.” You avoided his gaze. Nibbling on your lower lip.

The words stung. Part of it was true and the other half was a lie. Zayne did truly care for you. The nightmare that vividly appeared on his dreams while you lay unconscious in the hospital bed came surfacing.

You are his responsibility. Whatever the consequences of your actions or what happened to you is his to carry since you were about to be his wife.

He takes your remarks seriously. He leans in close towards you. “I admit it was guilt but I was wrong. I was scared. I was afraid that I've truly lost you and what I feel for you right now is entirely different.” He brushes his knuckles along your round cheek.

Zayne looks at you straight in the eyes. There is some emotion you can't recognize behind them but it spoke volumes of sincerity and tenderness. “You are not an obligation. You are my responsibility. The moment our marriage was decided, I vowed to myself that I'll take care of you. I apologize if it's not what you wanted. I'm not quite versed in this kind of things.” His voice trails off like he was unsure of his words.

“But when it came to her, it all feels natural doesn't it? Like it was meant for her.” You retorted. There was no harm in it. It was merely the truth.

“I'm not chastising you for it and I really don't blame you. I accepted it a long time ago. You don't have to pretend, Zayne.” You take his wrist before putting it to his side. Shaking your head slightly. A serene calm washing over you. It stung a lot but you weren't upset about it anymore.

“I'm not pretending, (Y/N). My relationship with her is strictly professional. That's all.”

Truth be told. Zayne was losing feelings for her. He made her relationship with her as nothing but a physician to his patient. There wasn't any outdoor activities besides the confines of his office. It was all for the sake of check ups and nothing more. And if he cared, it's the kind of care a doctor will give to his patient and nothing more.

He was honest. The moment the words left his lips, the realization dawns in. There was no longing or hesitation nor the conflicting emotions swirling behind his words. It was hard for you to accept it.

“It's all in the past now. What I want is in front of me.” His voice sincere, dangerously and surprisingly tender. Your eyes widens and he presses a kiss to your forehead. His arms wrapping behind you as he holds you in his arms. Your head on his chest. You didn't return his hug, your arms hanging in your side.

Despite all of that gestures, you can't shake the feeling that you were trapped now.

Zayne entered your room after knocking and he finds you sitting near the cushioned area by the window. Curled in the spot and your cheek is pressed in the glass window. Absentmindedly staring at the rain drops rolling down in the window pane.

You turned your head slightly to glance at him. Barely acknowledging his presence already used what he's about to do. The mandatory body checkups before you go to bed. He's on his sleepwear.

He sits across you, you have a enough space for him. You can feel his body heat through your pajamas. Warming your cold legs. “Is something the matter?” He inquires. Joining you in watching rain drops racing down. The downpour was still heavy outside.

You look at him, resigned. “Yeah.” His gaze softens, his gaze flickers to your plush body. The pajamas you wore fits to your body perfectly. He looks at you before you can notice his gaze wandering.

“I'm going to return to my home.”

“You are home.” His voice flat. Leaving no space for you to argue but your emotions were stronger.

“I'm not. I think it's the right time for us to talk, Zayne.” His heart skips a beat, not liking where this conversation is going but his face remains the same stoic look.

“You don't have to take care of me anymore and I don't want to be married to you.” You say it — loud and clear.

“Is this what you truly desire? What about your parents?” You didn't notice the way his gaze darkened.

“Yes. My parents will understand and yours too. We're both adults that won't be tied by their wishes and don't act like you don't have a choice. You'll figure it out.” He can see clearly the misty glazed of your eyes.

“It didn't have to be this way. We can both work it out.”

“No, it won't. I don't want you to only pay me attention when I'm injured or I'm in my death bed or I'm spewing curses at you. I don't want you being this sweet, clingy, possessive guy who gets upset at me being with others. You can be controlling too even you don't realize it.” You shifted from your position, standing up like his presence suffocates you.

“I don't want that, Zayne. I don't want to get tied to you. I don't want to be with you anymore.” Your voice cracks at the last line. Zayne stands up, approaching you.

“It was nice knowing you and I must have been lucky for a short amount of time for the way you took care of me.” You mutter under your breath and Zayne hears every syllables of your words under the silence of the room. He hears all of it. The small sighs you emit.

He cups your face in his hands. His expressions unreadable.

The roundness of your cheek, a perfect fit to his palm, like it was meant to hold you. A bitter smile appears on your face. A crystalline clear liquid flows down from your eyes before he wipes it with his thumb.

“Set us free, Zayne. I don't want to be hurt by you anymore and I don't want to hurt you. There's no point for staying in each other's lives.” The sound of your voice rings in his ears. He doesn't want to do it. He's into deep to let you go now. What once denied is being accepted and Zayne would rather drive himself into madness than let you go.

He leans to kiss you but you avoided his kiss before he can touch your lips. He only kissed your cheek and his eyes darkened.

“I won't.” There's a pregnant pause before he continues. The sudden drop of temperature made you shiver and you didn't know if Zayne was using his Evol. “ I won't let you go. You're mine. You were promised to me and I'm going to fulfill it.” He presses his body to your soft body.

“What are you doing?” Panic streaks to your once resigned voice. His touch rough. Gripping your pillowy waist with strength that borders on painful. There's a certain urgency on his voice.

“I'm showing you my undivided attention.” The room got colder as he spoke those words. A shiver running down your spine. You meet his gaze and to meet with those same flecks of gold in his green eyes swirling with emotion you can't discern. The coldness and was it darker than the usual?

You turn around to run but his hand caught your wrist. Forcing you to get back to him.

A cry rips from your throat as Zayne pushes you down in the soft duvet of your bed. He holds your head behind to soften the blow as your body collided on the bed and within seconds his hands pins your own.

“Zayne, stop!” You begged, frantically scrambling to escape his deathly grip. “I'm not going to stop even you beg and cry. I'm yours and you're mine. I have every right to touch you as I please.” His voice colder than the usual and you feel the full blow of it.

Tears streamed down your eyes as he forcefully kisses you. His lips were cold and the contact of your lips in his made it warm.

“No!” He hears you cry again. Pinching your side and it made you gasp. He wasted no time shoving his tongue inside you. Swirling his tongue in places he can reach. Tangling the wet muscle of his own to yours. “Mmph... — hah” Kissing you deeply as he can to show you how he can mark you as his own. Claiming you as his.

He moves your arm above with his hand still pinned on you. Leveled on your head and putting the pressure that you can't move the right part of your body while he kisses you. His brain and body moves in sync. Letting go of your left hand, his fingers deftly unbuttons your top. Pulling the remaining buttons until they popped. Revealing the warm, creamy texture of your skin.

“Ssh, don't resist. It's going to feel good soon.” He assures you and despite the relentless begging for him to stop, he didn't. Continuing the assault, his hand wandering from place to place. Mapping every inch of your body. Committing every detail of your beauty marks on his mind. He studied a lot of human bodies but yours were different. Lush and full with warmth that only you can give.

His lips traveled down to your chin and to the side of your neck. Adorning you with his kisses despite the incessant squirming. He will never let his guard down or give you the opportunity to escape from his hold.

You're soft. Undeniably soft. Your skin reminds him of those fluffy cakes he used to indulge himself with. Sweet and warm. The words repeatedly plays in his mind while he tastes your flesh. He made sure to leave a mark on your neck.

Your cries goes weak by the minute. The soft gasps you desperately muffles spills the more his hand wanders. He pauses. Staring at your face stained with tears.

What was he doing? This isn't like him but if it's only the way you can stay so be it. He can later reflects his action.

He takes your hand in his. Kissing your knuckles. You squirmed at his touch and you dared to look at him.

“If I stop, will you change your mind and stay with me?”

You remained unmoving beneath him. Another fresh batch of tears rolling down at the corner of your eyes.

“No. It won't change anything.” You meekly answered. Trying to escape his grasp.

“Very well.”

That is what you last heard.

The surgeon could get used to mornings like this. Waking up next to you, your naked body pressed against his chest and watch you sleep. Last night's exertions was too much for you to handle and he did try to be gentles as possible to you but his feelings took over.

The dark bruises in your skin was the testament of it and there's nothing like quite like it. He presses a tender kiss to your shoulder. Nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck.

His cold hand caressing the exposed flesh of your body under the covers. His hand rests on your round stomach. It was a mesmerizing sight as he remembers it jiggling while he moves inside you. Kissing your tears goodbye, worshipping you like you deserved.

A thought crosses his mind. He don't mind having a child with you before the wedding. It makes his claim stronger towards you. A underhanded method that you won't ever leave him.

[modernapplications]

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[lay-z]

✨️ Day 4 ‒ Mama's boy

Synopsis: Captain Price knows he can count on his team; no matter what and no matter when. He knows it and his soldiers know it, too. 1–4–1. Still, to say you were shocked when he’d asked you to play his darling girlfriend at his annual family Christmas gathering, is an understatement.  

Pairing: John Price x fem!Reader  Warnings/Info: No smut. | military!Reader; humour; fake dating (or is it???); awkward flirting; sexual tension; cussing; fluff; happy ending; teammates to lovers 

Word count: 2.4k 

↳ back to 🎅🏼 Masterlist ☃️

This is for the lovely @staytrueblue ! You've become the absolute Captain John Price expert to me. Hope you'll like it! 🩵

You pick at the hem of your dress; deep red velvet with elegant long sleeves, a tight top with a Carmen neckline which allows a peek of the soft curve of your shoulders, and a bottom that flows seamlessly into a skirt that reaches just above your knees.

A white pearl choker adorns your neck, along with the matching earrings. You’ve done your hair and make-up, and added a spritz of your most expensive perfume – and you don’t question yourself why you’re even doing this much, but perhaps it’s simply the all-consuming urge to please and impress your Captain, like an eager pup with its owner.

You’ve cleaned up nicely for tonight and you’d be more focused on that if it wasn’t for that tight ball of anxiety manifesting deep down in your gut since this whole ruse had taken root a few days ago. It didn’t help when Price gave you a genuine compliment after picking you up from your apartment on base, either.

Trying to relax back into the soft leather of the passenger seat, you decide to glance out of the window and distract yourself by watching the steady storm of snowflakes flutter furiously outside, covering the scenery in fresh powdery snow while the engine of the car purrs steadily.

Aston Martin Vantage. V8. British racing green. Jet-black rims. Sleek interior. Holy shit.

You’ve never sat in a car like this before, nor did you expect Price to own something fancy and flashy like this. Then again, you didn’t expect him to ask for this favour, either.

“Would you stop worrying, darling? You’ll be fine.”

Your eyebrow quirks as you glance at Price, giving him a side-eye as you hear how casually he drops that pet name in that gruff voice of his. It shouldn’t feel like this, this right, shouldn’t make the hair at the back of your neck bristle this pleasantly.

Darling.

“Getting into character already, sir?” You can’t help but ask teasingly, unable not to take the piss out of this whole situation you’ve found yourself in.

Your Captain and superior asking you, one of his Sergeants of all people, to accompany him to his annual family Christmas get together, and what a shit show it is going to be. You’re sure of it.

However, Price huffs, brows furrowing as he keeps his sharp eyes focused on the snowy road.

“Might as well,” he counters curtly, “and stop calling me ‘sir’, will ya? We’re not on duty and I need this – us – to be believable.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you make a dismissive gesture with your hand, pondering for a moment before turning your head to really take a good look at him this time.

John looks handsome, too handsome and too civilian, wearing a dark grey chequered pair of chino pants that accentuates his firm rear a little too well, with black dress shoes and a simple black turtleneck sweater that stretches over his broad chest, shoulders and bulging biceps.

The cab of his car is cosy warm and filled with the scent of his tangy yet subtle cologne, a smell that makes you want to hook a finger into the hem of his turtleneck sweater, tug the fabric down to expose his neck and then bury your nose in it to take a sniff.

Yes, no, you’re absolutely normal about all of this.

Your eyelashes flutter as you blink those thoughts away at once, clearing your throat awkwardly.

“So, uh... W-What should I call you, then? Honey buns? Babe?” You quip and cringe internally at your own joke, though you’re gauging his reaction as he drives over to his parents' house.

“Baby? ... Good boy?”

His jaw clenches under his beard, you can see it in the way his temple twitches, and the leather of the steering wheel creaks softly as he grips it tighter. Interesting.

“John is fine,” he answers eventually, “Sweetheart or love if you’re feeling bold enough after a glass of wine, ya bloody lightweight.”

“Sweetheart... Love...” You repeat those pet names quietly, testing them out on your tongue regarding him, still your Captain and superior – and the man you’ve been harbouring feelings for, for the past few years, if you’ll finally start to be really honest with your damn self.

“Okay, I can do that.”

He reaches over and pats your knee; the warmth of his rough palm seeping through the thin fabric of your black tights, “I know you can, darling.”

The first few minutes were incredibly awkward, but that’s just you – being incredibly awkward in general.

Put yourself in any gunfight, jumping out of planes, fake dating Gaz or Soap for a mission, or stalking a target for days on end without a break – no problemo, – but social interactions outside of the field? One such as this?

Oh, boy.

However, you stick to the plan, to the detailed briefing John has given you prior to tonight, and it does seem to work.

His father, William, is surprisingly chatty, but you could also already smell the bourbon on his breath when he went in for a brief hug at the front door.

His mother, Margaret, though, she’s not an easy read, and you quickly realize where your Captain got his steadfastness from. A proper lady who’s obviously the head of this household. He’s got her piercing eyes and appraising look, and you know you’re being scrutinized thoroughly, but she’s friendly enough and gives you space, though you’re already anticipating the moment she’s going to herd you away from her son to put you through the wringer like a wet kitchen towel.

His older brother, Robert, wife Deborah, and two kids, Luke and Ben, are easy to fool, though it seems old Bobby gets a kick out of trying to make his younger brother and especially you flustered. It doesn’t work on John, but after a first glass of wine, you have to admit that it does work on you.

Robert is even less funny than John and that’s just because he’s trying too hard; trying too hard to make everyone like him, and you wonder why John lets him get away with it, but then again, Robert’s the firstborn son, so maybe it’s just the respect John is forced to have for his older brother that’s holding him back. Classical sibling and brother hierarchies, and all of that.

“Say, how did Johnny even manage to woe a woman like you? He’s as charming as an ice pick that one.” Robert dares to ask during dinner, and you actually get offended by that.

“Charming enough for me,” you retort, staring daggers at him and wishing you had an ice pick to throw right about now, “I prefer a straightforward man over some bootlicker.”

Deborah laughs while Robert looks bewildered, eyes flickering between you and John, who’s seated next to you. You cringe internally at yet another blunder, but then you see John’s smug smile out of the corner of your eyes, and his hand finds your knee again under the table, lingering there for the remainder of dinner.

His mother keeps watching and observing from her seat across from you at the long table, a small smile tugging at the corner of her red-painted, wrinkly lips.

John’s younger sister, Alice, shows up right after dinner, before everyone is moved back into the spacious living room to exchange presents; with the large, decorated Christmas tree looming in the corner next to the fireplace, where the birch wood is already crackling nicely.

Alice is an artist, a photographer, living in Paris. Her flight got delayed due to the weather, hence why she’s late. It’s clear by the way John pulls her into a tight hug while simultaneously calling her a muppet that he prefers her over Robert.

She’s a cold breeze of fresh air; a whirlwind full of buzzing energy, joy and kindness, and she would almost be too much for you in any other situation, but when she embraces you gleefully and welcomes you into the family, it’s too easy to get lost in that fantasy for a moment.

This whole ruse is starting to turn cruel on you, really.

Especially, when John’s large and warm hand comes to rest on the small of your back, just above the curve of your rear, once Alice demands to take a picture of you two in front of the Christmas tree. You glance up at him as he towers next to you, smiling boyishly at his little sister while he pulls you closer into his side, one arm curling around your waist and making you go somewhat rigid as you practically feel his strength and dominance radiating off his body, and there is a touch of possession in the way he’s holding you, too.

Or perhaps, you’re simply imagining it.

A sudden camera flash goes off, blindsiding you momentarily and you blink away the dots blurring your vision when Alice speaks up again.

“Alright, thanks for the mugshot, cherié,” she quips, snapping her fingers at you as if to wake you up, “Give me a good one now, aye? I need to capture proof that John actually brought a woman home for once. Look at your poor man; bloody sap’s completely infatuated with you.”

Infatuated? You blink dumbly and glance up at him instinctively as if to check for that yourself, acting as if you could tell how said infatuation would even look like.

And then, your stomach drops and the blood in your veins starts simmering, toes curling in your pumps to ground yourself as soon as your eyes lock with his slightly glazed, steel blue eyes, like a steady flow of ice melting in a rivulet.

Sometime, somehow, in this moment, your hand reaches up to rest on his chest, manicured fingers splaying over the fabric of his sweater to feel his strong heartbeat thudding against your palm–

... and then, Alice coos at you two – breaking the spell.

“Yes! That’s more like it, cherié!”

You excuse yourself after Alice gets the perfect picture to her liking, and before John can follow you, his mother urgently calls out to him, asking for his help in the kitchen.

Meanwhile, you almost feel bad that Alice’s family photo album will have a staged picture of a fake relationship in it, one that will taint it with a big, fat lie.

It shouldn’t be like this. You shouldn’t be here tonight and yet, you are, after having agreed way too quickly and eagerly to the Captain’s request to play his girlfriend and help getting his family to back off.

Now, you find yourself wandering the hallways upstairs of his old family home, where he grew up in, you’d learned; sipping your glass of white wine absentmindedly while you study the rows upon rows of pictures littering the walls, like a walkway through time.

It feels like overstepping a boundary, but John should’ve expected you, a trained special forces soldier, to sneak off at some point to snoop around a bit; he never explicitly told you not to, after all.

You get stuck on graduation pictures of all three siblings, though your eyes linger on John, standing at attention in his dress uniform; tall, handsome, very beardless and fifteen years younger, at least, and you catch your smile before it can spread into something too fond.

Taking another slow sip, you feel a familiar presence behind you; still, you wait for him to address you first and maybe chew you out for being nosy.

“Don’t get caught up in the past, darling,” his gruff voice cuts through the peaceful silence, “I’ve long lost that youthful charm and vigour.” He chuckles gruffly.

Darling. There it is again.

“You can drop the act when we’re alone,” you mumble into the glass as you take another sip, trying to get rid of that damn flutter of nerves deep in your stomach, “I’m positive we’ve fooled them well enough tonight, sir.”

His footsteps are dulled by the carpet covering the hardwood floor as he keeps approaching you from behind, and your grip tightens around the wine glass, nearly shattering the delicate glass, when John’s powerful arms come to wrap around your midriff from behind; his buff body moulding against your back like it’s meant to be.

Admittedly, you go rigid again, holding your breath, stiff as a board.

His breath is warm, a hint of smooth bourbon catching in your nostrils as he leans in to murmur against your ear while his arms tighten around your waist, “I told you to stop calling me ‘sir’, haven’t I? Mhm, darling?”

You shudder involuntarily in his sudden embrace, this forbidden intimacy, breath hitching as your brain begins to short-circuit at once.

“Yeah… You did,” you croak out, voice coming out too breathlessly for your own liking, “But there’s no one to fool here right now, John.”

His chest rumbles and reverberates against your back with something like a pleased hum when you use his first name.

“Not trying to fool anyone, love. ’s just you and me now. ‘sides–”

He then nuzzles his nose against the exposed juncture where your neck meets your shoulder, trailing the tip of his nose along the smooth curve while his beard scratches over your skin pleasantly.

“My bloody mother knew the moment we stepped over the threshold of this house. Thought I’d trained ya better than tha’, Sergeant, or were you not faking any of this after all, hm?”

Despite your better judgement, you allow yourself to lean into his embrace, feeling his body heat seeping through the velvety fabric of your dress.

“Were you?” You counter-ask overzealously, tongue loosened by the alcohol you’ve already consumed, before biting down on your bottom lip, though you can’t take your question back to swallow the words like you probably should have.

“Faking it… I mean.” You add, clearing your throat awkwardly as you continue clutching your wine glass.

There is a heavy pause, one that has your pulse thrumming violently in your neck with each passing second of his silence, until John’s low, gravelly voice murmurs, his lips brushing over that sensitive spot right below your ear.

“Thought I was already being terribly obvious, darling.”

[cc1010fox]

Fox: Sir, get down! Palpatine, ducking: What is it? What's happening, Commander? Fox, holding his hand out to catch the falling...powder?: I don--I don't know...Maybe it's a poison attack? Palpatine, standing slowly: Are you confused by the snow? Fox: Snow? No...It doesn't snow on Coruscant. Palpatine, chuckling: The snow machines are relatively new. They keep the snow targeted on areas with a high tourist population. Something of a fun little surprise. Fox, watching a little snowflake land on his glove and quickly melt: It is snow... Palpatine: Made from a purified water and a safe process of freezing. You can catch the snow on your tongue. Children often do. Fox: ...A weakness in security then. Palpatine, chuckling again: I will accept your expert opinion and refrain from catching snowflakes on my tongue then. Later that day, when he decides he is alone, Fox takes off his helmet to catch a few snowflakes on his tongue. It makes for a heartwarming video to share with the Coruscant Guard, one caught by a trooper tucked away to hide his smoking.

[anika-ann]

Walking Back Into My Own Myth - A.B.

Type: long one-shot, significantly AU, supernatural elements

Pairing: sorcerer!Andy Barber x reader   Word Count: 22,2k (🥹)

Summary: They warn you not to wander the woods alone; but the woods feel more like home than the house you grew up in. They warn you not to confuse your head with childish tales of supernatural; but sometimes fiction feels more real than your own life. They warn you not stay alone with a man you just met, let alone in his house; but sometimes danger lurks in unexpected places. Sometimes, one can rely on the kindness of strangers. ... Or can they?

Warnings: soft dark, NSFW, 18+, smut (unprotected sex, oral, fingering); softdark but rather soft I think (come on, it’s me, also sort-of redemption arc?), dubcon, sex pollen and non-consensual ‘drug’ use, orgasm control, allusions to praise kink, possessiveness; supernatural elements, near drowning, mention of a dead animal, arseholes relatives, allusions to mostly emotional (past) abuse, minor injury and blood, language and SO MANY words and so much smut; 'little bird' as a term of endearment

A/N: Alright. First of all, this is one of rare occurrences of me writing softdark, so be warned. Second, this story is a callback to a perfectly innocent lovely event by @yenzys-lucky-charm back in autumn, specifically to this post. And third, I do realize that 22k fic is a massacre. I believe it flows best when read as a one-shot, but if you are understandably intimidated by that, there is a heart divider approx. in the middle where I feel taking a break is most suitable. At your convenience. Enjoy 💕 A/N 2:Dividers by @saradika-graphics 

The frozen leaves were crunching under your boots, a soothing sound between your harsh breaths and huffs and occasional curses interrupting the otherwise peaceful song of the woods; rustle of the glazed grass, soft creaks of the branches bowing to the wind, a barely audible clinks of sharp snowflakes having created a beautiful harmony.

A harmony much needed after you had just left the utter chaos of a family gathering which, as usual, ended up in drowning the holidays in a cesspool of negativity. And as it often did, the negativity seemed to revolve around you.

You didn’t know what you had been thinking, coming here. You had a life outside of this small town, a mostly good one too; you had no reason to visit your hometown whatsoever, year after year, naively hoping for a change. But family was family, your mother always said; one did not turn back to their own blood, even if they had become the almighty big city girl.

As if. As if you were that.

The said big city was now finally feeling at peace as she had walked out of the door, having had her fill of lousy loud human beings, turning to the quiet of nature instead.

The one place where you all truly came from.

The one place that loved you no matter what.

The one place where you had never been and never would be judged.

You had always been drawn to woods, even as a little girl.

To the quiet place to hide from the overwhelmingly loud world, from boys pulling your hair until your eyes watered for their fun, from other girls cutting it for the very same reason, from teachers waving it off with kids can be a bit cruel, so what?

Of course you kept escaping. The embodiment of the cliché of a small town since young age; the designated weirdo. The one who’d rather ran through the woods than the few streets and newly built clothes store; the one who was more interested in fairytales and myths than videogames; the one fascinated by pagan tales from the old continent and local legends than the Bible. The very definition of pariah; side-eyed by peers, looked at through fingers by the adults and elderly. No matter how much you had moved towards normalcy to be approved of during the years, the small-town folk, as always had put the label on you having used the special kind of glue they were experts at making. It stuck.

And so did your love for the woods.

Hikes became your hobby, the woods your only solace. The safest place on Earth; for which many gave you strange looks still, more so since you had moved to a big city that offered but a daily walk in a minuscule patch of greenery.

Naturally, parks weren’t the same as here; here, in the woods, you felt like you could finally breathe.

The only reason why you had chosen the city was your job; your job and the visceral need to leave the very people you had just left in the house far behind. The city was but a jungle of steel and glass and concrete, constant noise and raging sea of people crushing your soul; but if there was one thing you hated more than the suffocating atmosphere of a city, it was the small-town gossip and narrowmindedness. 

You only came back to your hometown once a year, for Holidays. And every year, you regretted it.

The constant jabs from your family, about your job, your tiny apartment you finally moved into after years of having to cohabitate with various unique personalities; about your hair and make-up, about your weight, wrong no matter which side of the scale it leaned to. The never-ending biting remarks about being unable to keep a man. And all that, followed by offended comments that you couldn’t take a little teasing.

Mocking was the right word. Goddamn bullying.

So no, you could not take a joke like that; especially when they were twenty in a row.

And you had tried, you truly had. You nodded and chuckled and complimented and helped around the house, but nothing was ever done right. And you suffered the mocking, because in the end, those people were your family and family loved each other and maybe you were indeed a little too sensitive. So you kept trying, year by year. You had been to Sunday school as a kid, despite despising it, really – so for Holidays, you joined everyone in their prayers, coming to midnight mass, participating in traditions. Like a good girl; like a good daughter.

You accepted the family hypocrisy too and participated in that silly and very much non-Christian tradition of theirs, of all single family members throwing apple peels into water to reveal the first letter of their future spouse’s name; every year, despite the game being rigged, an utter nonsense, if for nothing else then for the fact that everyone ended up with an O or C or U, because, well, that was what apple peels looked like. Ironically, all your siblings and cousins had actually married someone whose name started with the very letter they had received in their ‘prophecy’, a little too self-fulfilling for your taste; but you congratulated them anyway and kept throwing the apple peels in too.

And you did it wrong, again; a scandal. This year, your apple peel curled mysteriously enough to a create a form resembling a cursive A, the first in family history. You always had to have something extra, didn’t you? God.

You loved your family; you did. You told yourself you did, because no one was perfect and unconditional love was bull. But you had never felt so completely alone and unloved as when you were with them.

You wondered why that was; and the answer was clearer than the skies on a freezing December night. The tears that stung in your eyes had little to do with the wind growing icier and sharper; it had everything to do with clearly being an unlovable person.

If you never came back from your walk, they probably wouldn’t even notice. Not until they felt like humiliating someone, again, and suddenly realized their favourite target was missing. Who would be their next victim? Probably you. The joy of talking about someone behind their back was a great substitute to laughing to their face, you supposed.

You scoffed and sniffed, shaking your head as you resumed walking. The short trail you had set off to – slightly underdressed, you had to admit – looked different than usual this time of year. Indeed, only the frozen over, crunchy leaves instead of snow; not even winters were what they used to be. You should have never come back.

As the falling snow finally seemed to stick, rather pieces of messy ice than soft snowflakes, you made the executive decision to stay away from your relatives and this town next year.

This year would be last they ever they’d ever see you.

Arriving to the clearing among the trees brought a genuine smile to your lips, the first one in two days. The sight of the lake – too small to become a favourite destination of families during summer heatwave, hugged from afar by tall white birch trees and caressed by long leaves of grass and reeds with a single old willow tree offering a sanctuary to a little girl wishing to enter other worlds through reading – moved something deep within your chest. A memory of peace, nostalgic longing for days when life had been easier – but it hadn’t.

You gulped, letting you heart lead your steps. Pulling out hands from your pockets, your fingertips grazed over the white bark, flexing gently as if to grasp the harmony of the old days where escaping the judging looks by getting lost in old myths still appeared like a plausible solution to all problems. Brushing over the thin branches of the willow tree, you could almost feel the summer breeze toying with the leaves, protecting your ears from the echo of scoffs and cries. Stupid fairytales! Pick a real book for God’s sake at least! Learn the Scripture instead! Blasphemy! Fables for silly children! You’re messing and confusing your head with those childish fantasies!

One corner of your lips rose higher, a memory of just how much fonder you grew of the stories with every speck of dirt people threw at them. Folklore, was the right word. Old wives’ tales. Legends. A touch of magic from times when people still believed in it and wrote their faith into traditions that could be sacred and bloody all at once. How was that different from drinking the blood and eating the body of Christ?

The hypocrisy of a small town.

You too, were a bit of a hypocrite, you assumed; you badmouthed the apple peel tradition, only to dive with fascination into myths and traditions of another; but those, those were yours to explore, yours to cherish. Not pushed at you.

You remembered sitting in the willow’s shade, much smaller at the time, reading with batted breath the stories of crime and punishment for toying with forces beyond human compression, with life and death. A series of stories passed by word of mouth, gathered and weaved into simple poems; a tale of two sisters walking in the death of a night on Christmas Day to a frozen lake, wishing to glimpse their future in the water surface. You recalled the moral of this particular story too; it was better not to know; in the story, one of them learned about her upcoming marriage, the other about her own death. Was it truly something one wanted to know…?

Perhaps there was morbidity to it, but it used to fascinate you; the mystics of it all, the morals, the question of what if you had that chance. What would you do? Would you, too, be seduced by a mirage of your dead beloved to walk to your near demise? Would you give in to the temptation of riches at expense of a life? Would you risk gods’ punishment for wishing to know what only gods were meant to know, your future?

Would you?

With a bitter chuckle, you crouched by the lake, fingers carefully caressing over the thinnest layer of transparent ice.

Years and years ago, even a month ago, you would say it was not worth it to tempt fate. It was better not to know, to be content with what one had at any given moment, to only keep on hoping for a happy ending rather than to learn about an inevitable tragedy; such was the message of the old tale, sticking with you firmly your whole life. 

Then, two weeks ago, your cheating dick of a boyfriend – ex-boyfriend, naturally – graciously gifted you a broken heart as an early Christmas gift on top of everything else barely kept together with your weak hands.

Would you like a glimpse of the future, a speckle of hope, looking at you from the water surface? Yeah. Hell, you might jump into the ice-cold lake if it meant someone would tell you everything was going to be okay.

A shiver ran down your spine as a gust of cold wind blew, weaving snowflakes into your hair; a prompt and a warning, you would have thought several years ago, a childlike faith in the supernatural.

But there was no supernatural. Oh no, humans managed to punish themselves and each other just fine on their own, sometimes without a crime preceding it.

With another chuckle – because what was the worst thing that could happen? You’d see your own face staring back? – you pressed against the thin layer of ice, surprised by its firmness.

“What the-“

You leaned into it further, pushing harder, more bewildered by the resistance than anything; a distant sound of a creaking wood reached your ears, the wind playing in the branches.

An echo of a voice.

A soundless whisper of your name.

Your head snapped to the direction of the almost haunting voice, nothing but the clearing and the woods surrounding you.

“I’m losing my mind…” you muttered under your breath, sighing, turning back and pressing against the ice once more.

The sudden loud crack took you by surprise, your feet slipping as you retreated your hand too quickly, losing your balance.

The next thing you knew, a scream was dying in your throat as you gulped for air, the freezing water gripping you neck to toe, your suddenly heavy limbs feeling like having to move through thousands shards of glass.

Your body spasmed painfully at the brutal temperature drop, even your lungs burning from the seemingly colder air.

Your heart thundered in panic, beats so wild the poor muscle might actually burst or simply give out, your temples pulsing with its frantic echo. Your vision blurred with black blending into all the white surrounding you.

This was what encounter with death looked like; ice-cold, sharp, pale and hopeless.

You were going to die and your heavily flailing limps barely keeping your head above water would not be enough to save you. You were going to drown. A bastard child of a sob and desperate gasp for air tore from your lungs, the ice cutting through your skin and flesh.

Then, the haunting call of your name again, closer, warmer.

Come to me.

I need you.

Fight.

You hungrily bit for more air, your head spinning, the voice growing louder with every word, urgent, but soothing all the same, like a helping hand extended.

Don’t you give up.

Come find me.

It might have been God; might have been the spirits of the woods. Most likely, it was the shock making you hear imaginary voices.

Your fists clenched despite feeling like your knuckles were being grazed by razors, a deep cut not drawing blood but making it turn into ice instead. Still; you pushed against the water, feet kicking madly, the tears springing from your eyes as burning as lava in comparison to your skin.

Another kick. Push. Arms so heavy, and so, so cold, thousands of knives piercing your flesh, tearing a desperate raw cry from depth of your lungs.

You squeezed your eyes shut and screamed again, pushing with all your remaining might, throwing your arms around.

Solid surface. Crunchy leaves. Your dug your numb fingers into the stiff ground, grabbing nothing but dirt but pulling and kicking out at the same time anyway.

A minuscule motion; your chin, your neck, on the solid ground. Not thick ice – earth. The woods. Your best friend.

A pathetic cry of laughter burst from your ribcage, shaking violently as you forced your muscles – not even feeling like your own anymore – to keep pulling. To keep kicking out, an absurd imagery of your ex’s face being behind your feet causing you to choke out a brief bark of laughter again and pull. And again and again, your shoulders, torso, legs, sagging against the frozen land.

Your body shook beyond your control as you tried to roll over, your boots making a pathetic splashy sound that barely reached your ears over the pounding in your head. Your chest was expanding and deflating rapidly as you laid on your back, slow blinks against the still falling snow and the sight of grey skies. Every single cell in your body screamed in pain, every motion like a fresh stab wound, but you couldn’t stop; you couldn’t stop shaking.

Whatever survival instinct you had took over as your hands pushed pathetically by your lower back so you could sit up and then scramble to your feet.

The process of standing up seem to last an eternity and half, the temperature dropping further; and when you did stumble to your feet, standing on legs that bent to the wind almost as much as the leafless branches, you nearly toppled over and fell head first back into the lake, your vision blurring.

Whether the water surface would show your future was the furthest thing from your mind; it was just the cold. Brutal, deadly cold. That and warmth.

That, and the strange kind voice, perhaps your very own guardian angel who seemed to love you, the only being in this goddamn universe, whispering in your ears.

Come, my love.

Keep walking.

And you did. Dry sobs erupting from your throat, boots practically freezing to the ground in between every step, exhaustion and the unforgiving cold etched into the very fibre of your being, you dragged one foot along the other, step by step, the miniature distance walked mocking you harder than all your relatives combined.

But it wasn’t their voices you heard; this one was sweet. Like a hot chocolate with whipped cream and pinch of winter spices on top, warming your frozen bones; like what you imagined a hug by a fireplace felt like, a kiss to your temple with affection without pretence. Like gentle palms cradling your face before his lips touched yours, tasting like true love; like a burning touch to your bare skin, dragged so softly, teasingly, before finally giving you what you desired.

Come to me.

I’ll keep you warm.

Keep you safe.

Dark spots danced in your vision, making you dizzy, your heavy eyelids slipping shut; your knees, quaking so hard they could no longer carry you, buckled and sent you plummeting.

Your palms met a rough surface as you flailed your arms out, barely caught against the bark of a tree, scraping your skin enough to draw blood. Your eyes snapped open, another ragged sob tearing from your achy throat.

And that was when your vision cleared despite the blur of tears.

A light.

A cabin. A small house; a cottage? Who the fuck cared.

It was an occupied house; warm light spilling from one of the windows, smoke coming out of the chimney, a promise of everything your body desperately cried for. Almost feeling its warmth radiating all the way to your numb fingertips, you gritted your teeth, strength you never thought you possessed poured straight into your veins, having already almost frozen over.

In the very back of your hazy mind, it occurred to you that you had never seen the house despite your numerous hikes; then again, you had no idea where you had walked, left being right and right being left, the only one certain direction being forward.

Again, who the fuck cared. You had never seen a cozier place in your lifetime; a lifetime that was soon going to end should you not will your useless legs to keep moving forward.

Reaching the porch staircase, you grabbed onto the beautiful wooden railing for balance, propping up to make the step.

And missing it.

You sagged against the railing, barely catching yourself before hitting your head. You propped back up, forcing your leg to rise higher, one step, two steps; the one remaining as tall as the Everest.

You sobbed again, lamenting the absence of the warm honey-like voice. Where was it now, huh? You were so close and needed another nudge, another-

The door of the house opened cautiously, revealing an outline of a figure, inviting light spilling around him; a tall, broad man, his face, the most handsome features you had ever set your eyes on, twisted in a frown and a flicker of horror.

For a beat of motionless silence, it flashed through your slippery mind who of the two of you appeared more frozen in the absurd scene; another beat, light and delicious warmth pouring from inside the house, like an oasis in the middle of a Siberian dessert.

And then he was moving, without a word, only sucking in a horrified breath as his hands slid under your arms and lifted your near deadweight with little effort, helping you not only to overcome the last step, but also the endless distance from the stairs into the doorway.

The interior was warm enough to make angels weep, enveloping you like a loving hug; but his touch felt like a central heating poured into your veins, his grip firm and certain despite the ice patterns having grown on your clothes surely cutting into his skin. Perhaps all alarm bells in your head should be ringing as he kicked the door shut behind you, leaving you alone in the middle of godknowswhere in a stranger’s house, a stranger who was now leaning you against the wall as your legs gave out at last and fought with the zipper of your coat no less, but they didn’t.

No alarm bells; all you heard was his gentle whisper.

“Let’s get you out of these.”

Zipper torn away, hands sliding under the fabric to peel it off of your violently shaking body, your teeth kept clattering.

“I’ll get you warm in no time.”

Your sweatshirt next. Your boots. Your socks; a cry of pain escaped your bluish lips, his warm hands gently enveloping your foot to allow you bask in his warmth.

“I’m sorry, I have to do this. We need to get all these off.”

Your shirt followed.

Your body, as if on instinct, moved slowly but willingly in tandem with him, small motions to aid him rid you of the cold until it didn’t.

You could feel the change of temperature bite into your icy wet skin, a lick of sharp pain; an instinct led you to reach out back for your clothes to fight the once again brutal change.

He grasped your hands, easily gathering your wrists in one palm, a gentle but uncompromising grip.

“No--- no! Look at me. Can you hear me?” he asked.

The squeeze on your wrists and the direct question finally pushed you from mindless haze to blurry reality.

It dawned to you that yes, climbing back into cold soggy clothes would not help.

Jaw quivering, teeth still clattering, you nodded, not trusting yourself to speak, only following his order. And oh, were you looking, the reality creeping in slowly, but gaining sharp edges just as a brief smile passed his lips.

“Good.”

That he was. Good.

And incredibly handsome.

Not but a few years older than you, dark well-trimmed beard complimenting his sharply cut features, elegant nose girls must have swooned over as much as over the surprisingly warm blue of his eyes and his slightly messy hair combed up in a way that called for your fingers to run through it. His shoulders and arms, while not enormous, gave impression of being able to carry you without too much issue, lean waist and long legs with muscular thighs making him look like some sort of a fever dream of yours; or in this case, a brain-freeze dream.

“I’m going to pick you up and carry you to the bathroom, alright? I’ll start a bath for you,” he explained, his hands already sliding under your body – and gods, was his touch like a taste of heaven, so deliciously and thoroughly warming against your painful goosebumps – rising to his full height and delivering on his promise as your hands automatically reached to wrap around the back of his neck for stability.

He did not even flinch at the icy touch; he did not even blink at the fact he was now carrying a woman, a perfectly vulnerable woman, stripped to her underwear sticking to her stiff nipples, so cold and soaked through that the fabric might as well be non-existent, completely see through because of course you had chosen white today. But he just kept walking. His gaze roamed, perhaps growing slightly darker, but mostly focused on your face and the path.

He truly must have been a figment of your imagination.

The cloudy droplets remaining on your skin seeped into the lovely light blue of his henley, a shaky apology spilling from your tongue, earning you another smile and a shake of his head, the former turning softer when you stuttered out a ‘thank you’ as well.

Without a word, he set you down once he reached his destination – bless the floor heating feeling like prickly heaven against the soles of your feet – moving to the bathtub and starting the water as you simply stood there, wrapping your arms around your body for both warmth and keeping your non-existent modesty. As he tested the temperature, he checked up on you from the corner of your eye, a swift head-to-toe glance before he took a small bottle by the tub, adding a few droplets to the water. Soon, the bathroom was filled with pleasant smell of fresh blossoms and herbs.

“We can’t have the water too hot as not to shock your system, but this essence can work true magic, believe me. Come on.”

An absurd idea of being thrown into the water and having your head held down under struck you, freezing your feet to the floor.

He remained stood straight by the tub, tall and large and so much stronger than you, hovering. His concerned eyes met yours, suddenly wide with fear.

A warm voice; a haunting whisper.

Come to me.

I’ll keep you warm.

I’ll keep you safe.

A shudder rocked your body, still trembling with the cold having seeped deep enough to reach your very soul.

Come, my love.

I need you.

“Can you hear me, little bird?” a voice cut through the fog of your mind, causing you to wince, an image of a baby swallow of all birds flickering in your vision.

A hazy memory of the innocent sweet creature having fallen from its nest, your own small hands, hands of a curious child, tenderly holding it in both palms as you lifted it back to its home. There you go, little bird.

A sharper memory, hands stained with dirt as you covered the small bird in its shallow grave, having found its wing torn away just as a group of boys were running away from the lake, with a burning hope in your heart that the bad luck meant to follow those who kill a swallow would catch up with them. Your tears felt cold on your cheeks, so cold against the white-hot anger of having seen them hurt an innocent creature, a breathy whisper of sorrow and compassion on your lips. There you go, little bird. No one can hurt you now.

“I’d never hurt you, little bird. I promise.”

You blinked, eyes refocusing on his sincere features, his hands raised in the most universal gesture of meaning no harm.

What an odd phrasing, you thought. What an odd nickname. Endearment, really.

Another shudder ran down your spine, but your feet began moving on their own volition, shaky steps towards the bathtub, the man’s steps, in return, retreating to give you space.

Something in your heart trembled softly at the gesture, the smallest of relieved smiles in the corner of your lips, one he hesitantly reciprocated.

“I’ll leave you now. I will only bring some dry warm clothes and leave them by the door, okay? I’ll wait so you have time to get in,” he assured you. “I’ll knock and I won’t look.”

“W-why?”

The question fell from your lips before you could think twice about it, earning you a sad smile speaking of just how profoundly he understood the duality of the question.

Why wouldn’t you take advantage when it would be so, so easy?-- - Why do you, hell, everyone, think I am not worthy of staying for and looking?

“Because you deserve better, little bird,” he said, sincerity threaded in the simplicity of his words.

You deserve everything, the echo of the warm voice washed over you, fresh tears stinging in your eyes.

“Stay as long as needed. We have all the time in the world.”

With those words, he finally left the bathroom and closed the door. The key remaining in the lock from the inside; you could easily deny him access and force him to place the clothes outside. It would be a wise thing to do, too, to protect yourself, especially with how vulnerable you had already revealed yourself to a stranger, a much larger man who could choke the life out of you or take whatever he pleased.

So why did you want him to come here, to check up on you, to come closer and look, the thought awaking an entirely new kind of heat inside you?

You shook your head, peeling off your ice-cold underwear and climbed into the tub as fast as possible, even as you knew it might hurt at first, the reward only coming after a while.

Instead, an entirely different experience awaited you.

You couldn’t supress the moan of pure bliss as the water enveloped you and warmed you through in an instant with what could only be described as love; tenderly grasping your frozen-through flesh, caressing your skin in a way none of your lovers had ever bothered, leaving not warmth, but heat in its wake, your muscles relaxing and stringing with anticipation all at once.

You observed the water, not having even stilled yet, with mute wonder. Your skin, having earned grey undertones, was back to its natural colour without a tinge of pain, having you swallow a cry of relief. Essential oil or not, your stranger had not exaggerated; this indeed felt true magic.

It was a mere bath; but it felt so sinfully good your body turned pliant in an instant, your adrenalin-filled mind clearing and fogging in bliss.

Carding your fingers through the water curiously, it felt as if the water returned the affection tenfold, caressing your skin all over again, slow and sensual. A circle on the water surface with your middle finger felt like an invisible soft touch up your inner thighs, a teasing that left burning need in your core, so painfully out of place and oh so right and addictive. Swirling your hand in the water playfully; a sensation of hot lips attached to the apex of your thighs, firm and hungry.

“Good--- heavens-“ you sighed, head tipping back, your lips parting with a gasp, something in the back of your mind tingling with danger.

Having nearly died – and the realization should be like a bucket of ice-cold water, a terrible pun intended, but it was nothing short of exhilarating instead – you did not retreat from the danger, sinking into it instead.

The delicious warmth inside you only grew as if a reward, your fingers gliding through the water again, a breathless whimper on your lips as you felt a delicious stroke deep within your sex. Another curling touch to the water; a curling pressure against your special spot, stars flickering behind your eyelids.

“Fuck-“

Come, my love.

I’ll keep you warm.

I’ll keep you-

A knock shattered your illusion; you grabbed the edges of the tub with a gasp, blinking open your eyes not having realized you had closed them, sinful images of the very man who now stood behind the door dissolving and yet remaining torturously vivid in your mind.

“Everything alright, little bird?”

“Y-yes. You can come--- come in,” you stuttered, heat of embarrassment washing over you like a tsunami.

God gracious-

What kind of a crazy person were you?Who in their right mind, no matter how scrambled from near-death experience, would lust and touch themselves – but were you? It felt like someone else did, and gods, did you love that feeling, needing more – who would do this, right in the bath that the kindest stranger, so respectful of their privacy, ran for them? Imagining him, no less, his large warm hands gripping you as if he never wanted to let you go, needed you more than air-

He slowly opened the door ajar, a careful, respectful peek inside the room as he slipped a pile of neatly folded clothes through the crack, his gaze finding yours.

“I hope you’re feeling better, little bird.”

Oh he had no idea just how much better. He couldn’t have and yet, something in his gaze sparkled, something dark akin to amusement, so alluring, quickly replaced by a flicker of contentment once you nodded, not trusting your voice, again. It was only then when you realized you were still slightly above water and perhaps, whether he wanted or not, he did get a peek of your breasts.

Not that he commented on it. Because out of two of you, he was apparently the decent one.

“Good.”

Without any prompting, he moved back.

He was already closing the door, when you blurted out the question. “Wait---! What’s your name?”

You gulped as he paused, his gaze meeting yours again.

“Andy. You can call me Andy.”

You tested the name on your tongue, a sweet treat you found yourself wanting to taste over and over.

He rewarded your efforts with a smile, one that had air catch in your throat.

He had smiled before, a heart-stopping curl of lips on an exceptionally handsome man. But now, for the first time, his smile reached his eyes; warmth like no other spread through your veins, a longing settling in your chest as the door closed and you were left alone – and wanting – once more.

The clothes were too big for you, sleeves and pantlegs too long, unsurprisingly; and unsurprisingly, they were as just as Andy said, warm. And very soft and comfortable, with tones of a scent that made your head spin in the best way, tempting you to bring the sleeves up to your face and breath in deeply just before you rolled them up.

They were just a pair of sweatpants, a henley and a sweatshirt, boxer briefs and a pair of fluffy socks; but they felt like home.

And so did the space.

Andy had carried you up the stairs; a beautiful staircase made out of light wood with traditional sturdy railing, offering a view of the ground floor. Sneaking from the bathroom however, it was not where you headed straight away, your eyes drifting towards the other two door at your level, your stomach making a funny flip; perhaps an office or a guest bedroom and his bedroom. The tingle in your fingertips as your hand reached out of its own volition for the doorhandle was almost unbearable; you had to clench your fist hard enough for your nails to leave moons on your already scraped palms.

You shook your head at your own creepy urge to explore, turning a sharp right towards the stairs instead.

Heading down where you could hear clinks of dishes, you took every step slow, fingertips brushing over the railing; it almost seemed to pulse with warmth of life, causing your breath to catch. Or perhaps it was the view of the ground floor.

When Andy had brought you inside, your vision was still rather blurry, all your attention focused on not dying of hypothermia and on the handsome stranger sent to you by heavens itself; now, when you had the opportunity to appreciate the interior, you did.

The living room seemed as if cut out from a lifestyle magazine, except it didn’t, little details making the scape appear actually lived in. A quilt thrown over the armrest of a small sofa, a pillow or two on each of the pair of armchairs in earthly tones of green, large enough to hide in comfortably with a book, the stony fireplace inviting for cosy winter evenings; the three books balanced on the coffee table in a hazardous stack whispered of how Andy might have spent some of his evening exactly like that. Four bookshelves filled with readings of various length, in between several pieces of art on the wood-panelled walls, not expensive on a first glances, but perhaps all the more loved. A pair of wide windows offered the last remnants of daylight, aided by the warm fire of the fireplace. Multiple plants to compliment the earthly tones and woodwork; and yet what made you smile was the abandoned empty cup, whispering of this place being someone’s home.

Resisting the urge to linger and perhaps examine just how soft was the quilt and how comfortable the armchair would be, you followed the noise to the kitchen; rather spacious as well, tuned to slightly darker colours than the rest of the house, the light entering from large windows prevented it from being too dark in daytime, the lamplights immersing it in warmth at nighttime. The wide counter stretched along two walls as well as the cabinets, creating enough space for variety of dried herbs, teas, spices and other casings as well as several basic appliances, the workspace almost robust in comparison to the dining table with three wooden chairs and soft emerald cushioning.

There seemed to be so much love and attention poured into the space, much like into the cozy living room, that couldn’t but you wonder which of the two were the true heart of the house to Andy.

As you entered and he turned to you with a smile, you couldn’t but believe it might be the kitchen, for he looked as if he belonged; and with an unfair pang of jealousy, you realized it was also hard to believe he lived in his home alone.

Then why did he give you his clothes, a voice in the back of your head questioned. Why did you see no photographs of a lovely wife or family? Why did he look at you from head to toe and back, meeting your gaze with his smile growing, a content, almost possessive glimmer in his eye?

You were losing your mind, you were sure; and the unfairly handsome stranger was the cause of it.

As he was the cause of you liking the fact all too much, the flash of a memory of how good it had felt to play with the water, imagining his hands mapping out every inch of your body, made you shiver and your breathing waver.

You needed to get a goddamn grip on yourself.

But how could you, when his warm voice washed over you, a gentle deep timbre, friendly, resonating in your ribcage?

“Hey. Good enough fit?”

“Yes,” you agreed quickly, clearing your throat as your voice came out rather choked. “Thank you, Andy. I can’t repay you enough.”

“Nonsense. Come sit down,” he beckoned to the table lightly, taking a wooden tray with two cups of tea and a teapot and setting off the same direction. “I don’t know about your tastes, but I think this tea could be just what you need.”

You smiled hesitantly, your heart swelling at his offer. He had already done so much for you, helped you in, ran a downright magical bath for you, lent his clothes to you; sitting down and stealing more of his time felt like an imposition, taking all too much with no way to repay him indeed. And surely, he had so much better things to do.

But it would be impolite to refuse, you argued with yourself as your steps instinctively followed him, as you pretended it wasn’t the way the muscles on his shoulders and back shifted under the thinner navy shirt he had changed into hypnotized you, his mere presence, a certain quiet charm, tempting you to stay. And if was asking you to linger for a while longer… yes, it would be very impolite and you’d be your worst enemy.

After all, tea sounded like a wonderful idea for your suddenly parched throat.

“’Kay.”

His smile with a crinkle in the corner of his eyes was like a caress on your cheek, ending with his fingertips under your chin to tip your head back for a kiss.

You needed to get a grip on yourself. Fast.

As you sat down across the table from him and he set one of the cups in front of you, the strangely sweet herbal aroma washing over you as well as his attentive gaze, you caught yourself wrapping your hands around the cup not only for warmth, but for steadiness as well.

Your heart seemed too unsteady in the face of the handsome man, skipping a startled and entirely too pleased beat when you took note of him doing the same with his cup – almost comically small in his large hands – revealing an absence of a wedding ring.

Come to me.

Come, my love.

I’m all yours.

Heat flushed your face at your observation and at the painfully clear echo of a sweet voice, your head snapping back up.

Andy observed you with certain kind of curiosity in his blue eyes, wordless intensity that almost made his irises appear darker. It had your heart hammer in your chest with everything but fear. It was magnetic, almost coaxing you to climb over that damn table separating you and-

“Thank you,” you blurted out, nodding towards the tea, taking a quick centring breath and then cleared your throat. “You have a lovely home, Andy.”

“Thank you. It took a while but… I did make it into my own space.”

My own space, he said. A deliberate or coincidental choice of words?

Was he telling you, between the lines, that there was no one else and that he had noticed your ogling and didn’t mind, welcomed it even?

Or was it subtle reminder that you were but a guest invading on his own space and peace and his hospitality was nearing if not already overcoming its limit? People did not choose to live secluded like that on accident.

Mostly, you reminded yourself self-deprecatingly.

“Thank you for letting me into your home. I promise to be out of your hair soon,” you assured him. It earned you a disapproving frown.

“Nonsense. I’m glad you’re here. It’s pretty cold outside.”

“No kidding,” you muttered, lowering your gaze briefly. “I just… I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

Meeting his eye again at his thoughtful hum, there was something infinitely warm in his features; it travelled through your veins, a shot of ecstasy of being wanted spreading into every cell in your body and making you feel light and anchored at once.

“Don’t worry, little bird,” he said, one corner of his lips rising higher in almost a smirk as your breath caught at the endearment rolling off his tongue with what could only be liked to indulgence. “That’s impossible.”

He held your gaze, your heart thundering in your ribcage, minute breaths coming out short by the minute as he seemed to lean in closer, stealing oxygen from your lungs, heat pooling in your belly. Fuck, he was so close, tempting lips framed by the beard you just knew would be soft and just the right amount of harsh against your skin, against the intimate flesh of your thighs-

“What happened at the lake?”

You startled in your seat a little, hands twitching, a powerful painful skip of a beat of your heart, the intimate bubble having grown around you popping with a loud snap.

“W-what?” you breathed out. “How did you know-“

“It’s the only body of water nearby,” Andy responded, voice perfectly levelled, oblivious to the cold fingers of fear creeping to the back of your neck. He smiled even, despite the concerned lines on his forehead. “Suppose you didn’t decide to get a dip in the fountain and walked all the way from the centre of the town.”

I’d never hurt you, little bird, I promise, his earlier words echoed in your head, followed by another almost haunting promise.

I’ll keep you safe.

And then, a sultry one:

I’ll keep you.

“Oh.”

You laughed nervously, shoulders slumping.

It felt so silly to be thrown off guard by his question; it made perfect sense he’d figure out you were by the lake. And you had to admit, that quip of his was quite funny too – as much as it was clear he added it to put you at ease.

“Eh, sorry,” you muttered, unsure where to look, too embarrassed to meet his gaze. Your hands found the cup again like a salvation; a steady point and the ideal excuse.

Taking a sip, you were shocked at the alluring taste; sweet with just a hint of something savoury, tingling on your tongue and sending pleasant heat all the way down your spine, euphoria exploding behind your eyelids. You didn’t remember closing your eyes but when they fluttered open, you imagined this was what seeing the world in colour for the first time after years of being blind felt.

You took another sip almost instinctively, certain it had to only be the first impression, sweetly warm liquid a blessing for your body; but it tasted just as delicious, striking every chord of your senses just right and beyond.

“Good?”

You refocused your gaze on Andy, his eyes firmly set on you, an almost mischievous twinkle in his irises.

“Like nothing I’ve had in my life,” you said bluntly, earning a chuckle and – was that a hint of a blush on his cheeks as he lowered his gaze a took a sip as well?

“Uhm, thank you. It’s one of my favourite blends I’ve ever made.”

That stunned you.

“You’ve made this? That’s incredible.”

Granting yourself another taste, you then set the cup down almost religiously. Andy watched you do so, a pleased smile in the corner of his mouth, having returned to holding your gaze, expectant.

Right. He had asked you a question before you experienced a little taste of goddamn Eden on your tongue.

You taste like Eden on my tongue, honey.

A shiver ran down your spine, your mind scrambling for the ice-cold memory of the lake, so wistfully distant and yet digging its claws into you all over again.

“And uhm, to answer your question. I just… I was by the edge, slipped and fell right in,” you said, shrugging it off to hide a different kind of shudder, freezing water as if beginning to pool at your feet, slowly swallowing your ankles and creeping up ad up…. “I didn’t-- the ice wasn’t too thick and I just--- it was… I barely made it out.”

You didn’t realize your hands had started to tremble as your voice trailed off, vision blurring slightly, until a warm hand covered it, steading your hold on the cup. The air had grown too thick in your lungs, making it difficult to breathe in; and then it was gone along with the water, with just a few words and a lingering touch.

“I’m glad you did,” Andy whispered, voice as gentle as his touch. “I’m glad you found this house too. That you’re safe.”

I’ll keep you warm.

I’ll keep you safe.

Concern. Care. A ghost of a promise you had trouble grasping, a voice so close to your ear you could almost feel the warm breath on your skin, but you knew that should you turn, you’d only see air. So you didn’t.

And you could not keep looking forward either, not anymore. Unable to bear the sincere weight of Andy’s words, you instead glanced at his hand enveloping yours so easily, so naturally; so right. As if it belonged there and always had.

But it didn’t, did it?

Your hands, you – didn’t seem to belong anywhere. Never had. No one had ever wanted you to stay. No one had ever cared enough.

Not until Andy.

“Well at least someone is…” you muttered absently, swallowing the sardonic chuckle.

And how pathetic was that? Not of him, but of you? A complete stranger, taking you home like a stray nearly-drowned kitten on Christmas Day, because no one else wanted you and he was the only one to give a damn.

Gods, how sorry he had to feel for you? How fucking lame was it of you to have even thought of him such sinful thoughts when all he must have seen was a-

A gentle press to your hand had you squeeze your eyes shut as to keep the tears suddenly gathering at bay.

“Hey now. What do you mean by that? I’m sure there are plenty of people who worry about you, family, friends… a partner,” he added after a brief hesitation and was that not a case on point.

Of course he was hesitant.

Why would there be one? Who would want you as their partner?

You scoffed.

“Sure,” you echoed.

Heavy silence settled over the room, suffocating and itching, only interrupted by your slow wavery breaths. Andy’s hand remained over yours, as motionless as he seemed overall; a scene frozen in time.

Was he judging you? Resisting the urge to laugh at you? Pitying you? Or did he feel nothing at all, so profoundly disinterested now that you slipped so carelessly, opening up?

That was how things always were, weren’t they? Once façades began to crumble, once people started to reveal true colours, they were vulnerable to judgement; and with the mystery cracked like an old toy, the intrigue was lost, along with their interest.

Was that what was happening now? All the kind care, all the sweet words Andy had said, losing meaning because they never held one in the first place?

Swallowing thickly, you looked up, unable to bear not knowing, preferring to tear off the band-aid at once.

A lump grew in your throat as you caught his eye, worry etched into his expression, a soft frown above an even softer gaze. Compassionate. Gentle. And laced with an inexplicably deep understanding.

He might as well be staring into your soul.

And you didn’t know how; but suddenly the dam just burst.

And you told him all, barely pausing to take a breath.

You told him about having been the pariah all your life, about feeling so alone, only finding solace in nature and fables and myths, at never being enough, for your family, for your friends, colleagues and boss… and clearly for every single one of your boyfriends since two of them had simply left and the latest one hadn’t even had the decency to leave before jumping into someone else’s bed.

About being but a side character to your own story, because no one ever believed you could be important enough to be the lead. And perhaps not even you; not anymore.

But the funny thing was that as the words spilled, you didn’t sob once. As if someone had untangled your tongue and the coil of pain in your chest at once, you went through tender, achy points of your life as if you were listing important plot points of someone else’s story, someone you did not even care for, really.

You wept silently, voice hoarse but steady, tears of not pity nor rage but cold comfort streaming down your burning cheeks.

You sipped your tea in between and all you felt was relief; speaking these things to a man who was basically a stranger, a stranger who showed you more kindness than all people you know had in a year and judged you less than all your past company combined,was incredibly liberating.

It felt like letting go. It felt like dropping dead weight you hadn’t realized you had been carrying, just so you could rise to greatness.

And something unreadable in Andy’s unwavering gaze whispered with tender determination that he believed that was exactly what you were meant to do for some reason.

His thumb ran over the back of your hand, having relaxed in his grip, turning it over to caress the sensitive skin of your wrist, sending a pleasant tingle all the way down to your toes.

“You deserve so much better than your family’s poison, little bird. As for those assholes, the last pathetic piece of shit in particular… well, I bet he doesn’t even realize what’s he lost, he’s just that daft.”

Normally, you had tendency to defend Jason when anyone bad mouthed him, the habit sticking for days after he had revealed himself to be a lying cheating bastard; but now, you remained quiet, a corner of your lips even rising up in a genuine smile as Andy’s finger seemed to draw a nonsensical pattern over your skin as if he wasn’t spitting profanities. Your gaze, tears having already dried, lifted to meet his.

You felt warm; so thoroughly warm as if your bones had been never known a day of summer, achy in the constant cold, until now.

Until this strangely charming man whose silence could speak volumes, whose words felt like a balm to your soul; because unlike when spoken by others, his words threaded lace as tenderly as a spiderweb around the wounds in your heart, cradling it with gentleness and a promise of steadiness.

You couldn’t put your finger on it; something about Andy made you want to believe. And to give in; to anything. To give in to something you hadn’t even realized you had buried and was now creeping its way out to the sun, eager to bask in his comfort and praise.

And gods, the quiet powerful outrage in his voice made your heart flutter, your core stirring with heat and whispering that ‘pathetic’ was the last thing that came to Andy’s mind when looking at you. The heat having taken permanent residence deep within you had nothing to do with the warmth of the bath or the tea and everything to do with his ever-present touch, the rich timbre of his voice, his undivided attention.

“And you’re never alone, little bird.”

Gods, he was handsome; almost maddeningly so. He must have chosen secluded life, you thought; attractive people like him had it easy, people agreeing with them left and right, tripping over their feet to be in their social circle and tend to their needs, bask in their light.

And he was quiet, respectful and so incredibly inviting, making you open yourself up and wishing to be seen, because being seen by him meant being appreciated; it was too much to resist.

“I’m sorry I sprang all this on you,” you said, so dully in comparison to the power behind his own words, but as you did, you realized you should be apologizing. In fact, you should be going; it was getting dark and as lovely as Andy’s attention was… burdening him with your past was the least attractive thing to do and the crawl of embarrassment found its way out onto your skin, your hand retreating from his. “I… I don’t know what got into me. I should go; I definitely am overstaying my welcome at this point.”

Andy tilted his head, brows creasing; not in quite in anger, only discontent. 

“I told you; that is impossible. We haven’t even finished the tea,” he pointed out, already reaching to pour you another cup. “And I’m glad you got this out of your chest, it feels like you needed that. And I was happy to listen… as much as I feel like someone should teach your asshole ex how to treat a woman as precious as you.”

You gulped at his last words, the flutter in your heart inevitable at his praise, your exhale slow and shaky as Andy’s fingers carefully found your hand again once he finished serving the tea. You hesitated in retreating your hand again, the touch almost electrifying.

You were flattered; so awfully flattered and absurdly needy for this man and his attention which seemed to go way beyond what you could imagine in your wildest dreams.

It would be so easy to be convinced to stay a little longer, perhaps explore what turn the afternoon, evening or even night might take; which was why you had to leave. Because this was not you.

Was it?

Andy’s fingers interlaced with yours, his voice dropping to a murmur. “If I had a woman like you, I’d cherish her every day. I’d treat her like a damn queen.”

You couldn’t explain it; the sensation came as sudden as lightning from clear skies and just as powerful; his words like a tender kiss to your throat, right over your carotid, your eyes fluttering shut, your breath stuck in your lungs.

A hazy image of a living room, a cup with a couple of swallows drawn in thin lines on the coffee table, fading into a blur as the focus shifted on one of the armchairs; you sprawled in it like a queen indeed, one hand laid on the armrest in a fierce grip as your fingers interlaced with those of another, the other hand tangled in his hair.

Bare thighs held apart by Andy’s shoulders wedged in between, a large hand pressing firmly against the flesh of your inner thigh as if burning a brand, his tongue licking deep into your pulsing channel, his beard the most delicious burn against your sensitive folds, his groans and your moans mingling in music of eager lovers, head thrown back with your throat raw from the cries of his name.

“Andy, please-“

The potent jolt of pleasure in your core snapped you back to reality with a gasp on your lips, furious blinks focusing your vision back to Andy’s face; there was a gleam in his eye, but it was his smile, so genuine as he squeezed your fingers reassuringly, so damn gentle and completely unaware of how aroused and wet you were, that had you feel a pang of shame in your gut.

What was wrong with you-

“Like you deserve. You deserve so much better and so much more, little bird.”

You deserve everything.

I will give it to you.

You’re mine to keep and cherish-

“Thank-- thank you,” you stuttered out, head swimming with the echoes of the poignant image, swearing you could feel brands tenderly burned into your skin where Andy had touched you, a tingle in your core as he tasted you so indulgingly, an echo of his beard burning your intimate flesh--- except Andy had not done either of these things outside of your messed-up head.

“Nothing to thank for, little bird,” he said, a lopsided smile adorning his lips even as his brows creased in a soft frown. “We’re missing something here. How would you feel about cookies with your tea?”

Staying for another cup of tea was a terrible, wonderful idea.

Basking in Andy’s presence with his attention focused solely and so unwaveringly on you flushed your cheeks with heat and kept stirring the barely containable explosive attraction to him; but worst of all, it lowered your inhibitions bit by bit, your confidence, as shaky as it was these days, growing under his touch and seemingly genuine interest.

Interest in you.

You had long abandoned the idea of him viewing you as completely pathetic; and with each inch of space between you disappearing, your heartbeat was picking up. With each half-smile, with every question about what you considered the most boring cliché parts of you, you were being pulled into his orbit, intrigued by the lack of sharing information about himself all the more.

“I’m not all that interesting, little bird,” he said when you asked. Instead of an answer, you were gifted another inch of distance erased, his stormy blue eyes boring into yours. “I’d rather hear all about you.”

He was a beautiful puzzle; and the more enigmatic he appeared in comparison to you as you stripped a layer after layer of yourself, the more you craved to figure him out.

And with every entry into his mind kindly denied, you found yourself craving to explore him in the physical world then at least.

To feel the muscles of his arms shift under your palm, to confirm his lips tasted as sweet as the tea he had been drinking with you, to find out just how much of a mark his beard could leave behind when his lips trailed down the column of your throat, over the sensitive skin of your thighs. The need burned within you, causing you to shift in your seat several times already in search for friction, your body almost beyond your control as you turned your still connected hands so your smaller one covered the back of his, most of your willpower focused on not slipping your fingers under the hem of Andy’s sleeve to brush your fingers over his forearm, the very forearm you could almost feel pressing against your throat softly as he pushed you against the wall and drove into you with wild abandon, over and over until your knees could not hold you-

“Give me something, Andy,” you asked, fighting to keep your voice steady as you felt your breathing quickening again with the unholy images painted in your head. “What do you enjoy doing? What is your favourite meal, favourite colour, season even… scent or taste?”

Oh honey, you know my favourite taste.

I’ll have you taste it on my tongue once I’ve had my fill.

A scorching shudder rushed down your spine, your hand automatically reaching for your cup as your throat turned dry for the n-th time in Andy’s presence.

“I enjoy working with herbs,” he admitted after a while, an absent, fond note to his voice. “Essential oils. Natural remedies. Teas and… others--- What?”

For the first time in a while, his words did not provoke a visceral reaction; not the kind that kindled the crackling heat within you. Rather curiosity and admiration, your smile softening without your permission.

“I know you said you’ve made the tea… hell, probably the essential oil for the bath too.” He nodded in confirmation, tilting his head slightly in curiosity. “It’s just… I would have never guessed. You…”

“What is it?”

You chuckled, shaking your head, worried you’d offend him not by your thoughts, but by your clumsiness. But a squeeze on your hand encouraged you gently, having you lick your lips as you gathered your scattered thoughts.

They all seemed so scattered in the past hours, gathering only for all of them to be pulled to Andy and the intense stormy gaze of his.

Storm. Danger and freedom. Freedom to be.

“It’s silly, you just… you seem like the kind of person whose mind is always racing. This… quiet force, keeping to yourself, intelligent, so strictly rational,” you tried to explain, already feeling like you were failing.

“Are you saying I’m a madman for my interests, little bird? A charlatan?”

Something flashed in his eye, but not angry; challenging almost, tantalizing, making your breath hitch.

Try me, honey.

Oh? Look at you, giving up so easy.

Giving yourself up to me.

You shook your head, both to erase the sultry voice in your head and the sinful images it painted and to deny Andy’s words.

“No. I’m saying many people would argue that trusting herbal remedies and nature’s healing power is everything but rational. But-“

“But you are not one of those people, are you?” he finished for you, a slow smile spreading on his lips, just a hint of condescending that seemed to pull you in closer despite your better judgement. “You know better than that, little bird, don’t you?”

Let me, honey.

Let me and I’ll teach you all you need to know.

You gulped, willing your lips curl up in a smile. “I do. That’s why I keep coming back from the city. Nature will always feel like home.”

Andy hummed, a satisfied smirk that felt like a lick straight up your core settling on his lips, causing your free hand to curl in a fist at the sudden blissful assault on your senses--- gods what was happening with you?

“Speaking of power… you called me a quiet force. What did you mean by that?”

Caught off guard in more ways than one, you cursed the slip of his--your tongue.

“Well, I didn’t mean that as a bad thing-”

“Explain it to me then, little bird,” he coaxed, gaze hypnotizing you, seeing so deep you were sure he was becoming aware of the effect he had on you, if he hadn’t known the whole time, that goddamn smirk of his almost wolfish, a taunt you desperately wanted to respond to as your body had been for hours now. “If it’s not bad, what is it?”

It was obvious it had to be the opposite then; but he wanted you to say it. There was no denying the heady tension in the room, setting your skin aflame; there was no denying he was flirting and he was not at all subtle about it anymore and yet, the cold silver of insecurity whispered to you that you should hold back, hold up the last defence before he could destroy you completely.

“Sometimes… there’s power in silence,” you whispered, honestly and yet evasively. “It makes words even more powerful then.”

He considered your words for a moment, gaze flickering down to your lips, your tongue instinctively flicking out to wet the sudden dryness.

“So you’d rather we sit in silence?”

But you make such beautiful noises for me.

Don’t hide from me.

Let me hear it all.

You were going to suffocate.

You were going to suffocate if Andy’s hand didn’t move, didn’t grasp your wrist and pulled you up, his body colliding with yours so your lips could meet and he could drink the answer straight from your mouth just for his other hand to sneak between your bodies to tease and taunt you with his fingers, sliding so easily into your sweatpants, his clothes like a claim on you, more of a claim to have them pool at your feet as his fingers finally breached you-

Your breaths were coming out short despite your efforts to slow them down, your core pulsing as if you had been kept on the edge of bliss for hours, knowing the feeling all too well despite never having had a lover attentive enough to bother with even five minutes.

“Not-- not quite. I like… talking to you.”

“Mmm, me too. Why is that?”

You shrugged with a shaky smile, shifting in your seat and rubbing your thighs together as his voice, that damn voice, Andy’s and the sultry one in your head sounding just like him, felt like a relentless teasing in its own right.

“I--- I like hearing what you have to say. And I… like your voice. It’s warm… gentle.”

And sinful. Powerful.

So powerful you could command me to get on my knees for you and I would, without a single thought, stripped bare if you wished so, lips parted for you and awaiting, dripping down my thighs like I am now, pleading for you to use me, basking in your possessive touch, gentle or rough or both, crying my voice hoarse when begging for more-

The potency behind your own thoughts had you jump to your feet with a loud scrape on a chair that seemed to barely rattle Andy as you slipped from his grasp, his gaze simply following you, the smile remaining on his lips.

“I should go-“

He straightened in his chair, forearms leaning onto the table, his sleeves riding up just an inch, the silver of skin causing your head spin with the urge to touch it, to lead him to lay it over your own throat as you’d walk backwards toward a wall-

“Stay, little bird. It’s already dark and… don’t you want a reprieve from the chaos, from the terrible behaviour of your relatives?” he questioned, both reasons somehow seeming like but an afterthought. “You should stay. I have a guest room if that’s what you’d like.”

But I don’t think you do.

I think you want something else.

All you need is to ask, honey.

Ask and I’ll make sure gods themselves hear your cries when you shatter for me over and over and still beg for more.

“I-“

He reached out for your wrist, long fingers circling it easily and pressing just a little.

The touch rushed through you like a wildfire, whiting out your vision.

A large sculpted body covering yours, lips drinking hungrily and sharing the sweet tangy taste on his tongue as you whimpered, craving more and more and more. One hand circled around your wrist to keep your hand pinned next to your head, his free hand roaming, pinching, squeezing, until it settled on your hip, grabbing firmly to guide you as he thrusted into you, so deeply and fully, his tongue wickedly exploring your mouth and swallowing your every plea to never stop, his name the only thing in your mind and on your lips, your other hand fisting the sheets as you desperately tried to meet his thrusts halfway; to have him reach deeper, to own you, to mark you, to make you his, only you, only him, always.

The pleasure pulsed within you as strong as if you were just there, nearly causing your knees to buckle, your hand barely catching onto the edge of the table.

And all of sudden all you could see was Andy’s face, smirk wiped off to make space for concern as he towered over you, one hand firmly holding yours while the other carefully rested on your hip to support you.

“Are you alright, little bird?”

No. No you weren’t.

You were losing your goddamn mind and he was not helping and you should go whether it was dark or not, because if you didn’t, you’d grab Andy by the hem of his stupidly ordinary shirt that was hiding the most delicious body and you’d kiss him deep, begging him to do to you all the things your mind had conjured in his presence, pleading him to have you however he’d like, to use your body in the most depraved ways he could think of.

“I’m fine,” you choked out, stepping back hastily and on instinct beaten into you – verbally and more than once literally – since childhood, you grabbed your empty cup and walked to the sink, feeling Andy’s worried and bewildered gaze on the back of your head as you started the water.

The worry etched into his gaze just before you escaped his grasp – so genuine and kind – made you wonder just how out of your mind you were.

How much of the flirting you had imagined as an aftermath of hearing a voice so painfully similar to his giving you promises dripping with sin? How much of it had been real? Your own body was your worst enemy, betraying your attraction to the man who hadn’t hesitated to help you, respectful when he had had all the chances to take advantage---

Just how much of his actions had been sincere, nothing but selfless aid to a person in need, that your brain had twisted into a desire of his to mirror your own?

Your hands trembled as you washed the cup, the echoes of pleasure still travelling through your body, now soured with doubt and fear of your own wild imagination.

Andy’s warm presence behind you made your breath hitch, tension building in your back as all your body called for was to drop the damn ceramics and lean back to his front, rubbing like a cat in need of affection, to grasp his hand and lead it to the apex of your thighs and just press to relieve some of the painful throbbing. He reached around you to stop the water as you stood taut like a bowstring about to snap, feeling his breath fan over your cheek, your lips parting to taste it on instinct, eyes falling shut.

Please, you wanted to whisper or scream, not sure what you would beg for. Just please.

“No, little bird… queens don’t do the dishes. Less so when they are guests in my house.”

You gulped as you felt him take the cup from your now motionless hands, setting it down carefully to the sink, the heat radiating off his chest too much to bear.

“I’m… not a queen.”

The words were meant to be filled with humour, self-deprecation even, but you barely spoke at all, throat almost too tight to get the words through.

“I will treat you like one,” he promised, a tempting rumble in his chest, his lips mere inch from your burning skin, his beard scratching it just slightly, sending you spiralling into madness. “If you let me.”

Let me, honey.

Let me break you in ways you didn’t know you always yearned to be broken and then put you back together.

Ler me claim you.

And fuck, you should go.

You really, really should go, but as you opened your eyes, catching a glimpse of your reflection in the window, your eyes wide and cheeks flushed as if you had a fever, his presence the problem and the remedy at once, you couldn’t will your feet to move.

As if trapped in his orbit as he watched you in the reflection too, eyes as dark and burning as coal, his gravity pulled you in; you turned your head towards him, hesitantly meeting his gaze, instantly finding yourself trapped in it.

Scorching heat licked at your core, spreading through your veins like a wildfire when his fingers traced along your jaw, lips hovering so close to yours as if still asking permission and yet, his thumb pressed against the corner of your mouth as if he was the one who couldn’t contain himself. You shuddered violently at the simple touch, your muscles clenching harder as not to fold and lose your last crumbling defences.

Why resist, little bird?

You’re already mine, aren’t you?

Always have been.

“Stay, little bird. Stay and I’ll show you how you deserve to be treated… loved on,” he coaxed, gaze flickering to your lips having pressed in thin line to contain the whimper threatening to spill; his thumb brushed over your lower lip and tugged lightly, leaving no hope for the next needy sound not to escape. Gods, the spark of lust in his eye, the satisfied drop in his voice at seeing your body betray your desire, gravitating towards his. “That’s it. Let me show you how precious you are. How beautiful… how tempting.”

He released your lips from his touch only in favour of skimming his own over your mouth, nothing short of a temptation, as if you weren’t already seduced by the sweet promise alone.

Shock of pleasure rippled through you at the barely-there contact, images flashing though your mind anew, Andy kneeling between your legs as you lied sprawled in the armchair, your body trapped under his so sweetly and torturously as he filled you like no other, his lips devouring you as you laid facing him on the very bed, bandaged hand on your hip, his dextrous fingers sneaking to tease you open for him, his hardness pressing against you, his name a breathless plea falling from your lips.

And as the mirages dispersed, the throbbing need stayed.

“Please,” you heard yourself whisper and for the second time today, the dam broke, letting all you had been keeping for what felt like eternity spill out without control.

The second his lips fully pressed to yours, you were lost and felt finally found.

Explosive desire all but set you aflame as his hand moved to your hip to spin you just so he could corner you against the sink, his other hand grabbing the back of your neck to keep you steady.

And fuck did you need to be kept steady, because his lips didn’t explore carefully; he devoured you right away, your desperate whimper swallowed by his tongue licking into your mouth, your hands having somehow scrambled to grip the fabric of his shirt and fisting it as you pulled him even closer, every inch where his body touched yours a salvation by hellfire; every empty space between you like icy winds. 

Coming out for air felt like drowning in the frozen lake all over again, body only warmed by Andy’s lips tracing a burning path down your throat, the zipper of your hoodie tugged down, fabric pushed aside to reveal the painfully stiffened nipples under the thin fabric of the henley, a satisfied groan vibrating against your carotid as Andy cupped your breast and flicked his thumb over the hardened peak.

He might have as well relentlessly played your body for hours, the surge of pleasure causing your hips to meet his in a frantic search for more, your head spinning. You were burning. You were burning and you were cold and you were going to lose your damn mind unless he spun you around, tore your clothes away and filled you up with his cock this very fucking second-

“Andy, please-“

“Please what, little bird?” he chuckled darkly, the scrape of his beard and the huff of air against your throat unfairly spine-tingling.

His hand sneaked under the henley, fingertips brushing over your belly, over your ribs, squeezing your flesh higher and higher, his other hand carding into your hair and not quite tugging, but keeping it in a firm enough grip to prevent you from escaping the assault of his mouth on your throat.

As fucking if you wanted to escape this-

“I need you,” you choked out, feeling the desperate tremble in your body.

Somewhere back in your mind was a small voice wondered how you had never needed a man like this, wanted yes, but not like this; you craved him. For this, for his touch, for his mouth back on yours, for a single point of contact you’d claw your way out of hell.

You released the dead grip you had on his shirt just to slide under the fabric and the pulse in your core at finally truly touching him was nothing short of unholy and you needed more.

“Oh honey. What do you need from me?”

He rocked his hips against yours, his hardness pressing briefly against your mound and you whimpered, your knees nearly buckling.

Yes, yes, yes, again-

“Maybe this?” he suggested huskily as he repeated the motion against your arching body, a cry escaping your lips, feverish words you no longer had a control over spilling as the all-consuming fire licked at your insides.

More, more, more-

“Yes. Please--- touch me, take me-- make me yours- please”

Andy stepped back, your body suddenly feeling freezing cold, his hold on your hair easing so you could face him as he stared straight into your eyes – the perfect picture of desire personified with crimson lips curled in a smirk and irises almost swallowed by how wide his pupils were blown. Absurd fear of him rejecting you now, now after he had given you a taste, filled your lungs like icy waters, reluctantly melting as his broad palm made its way down your front torturously slow, fingers almost absently tangling in the laces of your sweatpants as he stopped just so far from where you needed him the most.

He held you gaze just as you held your breath in anticipation, his fingers sliding under the hem of your sweats, under the waistband of the boxershorts and lower and lower as he spoke, the sight of him hypnotizing like eyes of a predator to a willing prey.

“Oh little bird, that is exactly my intention,” he assured you, barely audible over the roar of blood in your ears, your whole body vibrating with need. Please, please, touch me- “But I’ve been a good host, haven’t I? So I think--- fuck, you’re drenched for me, so fucking needy--- that it’s time for me to feast and taste as much of you as I want.”

You didn’t quite hear him over the whine crawling out of your throat as he dipped his fingertips in your slick only to quickly retreat his hand and leave you so torturously empty again.

But gods, he kissed you and you could breathe again even as it wasn’t enough, his grip on your hip steering you to move, to walk backwards, your vision a blur, all your senses swallowed by Andy; his hot lips and skilled tongue, demanding touch echoing your own, grabbing you, searching almost frantically for places he hadn’t explored yet, mirroring your own greedy hands, your sweatshirt lost somewhere on the way as he steered you to the right, your nostrils full of his scent and the sweet aroma of the tea indeed having lingered on his lips—and suddenly you were stumbling and falling, soft landing in Andy’s arm as he lowered you to one of the armchairs, pulling at your sweatpants and boxers at once, his touch finally back where you craved it more than anything you ever had in your damn life, his name a broken prayer on your lips.

And then his lips were gone from yours, trailing down your neck, a graze of teeth that made you see stars, his thumb circling your sensitive bud and causing your hips to jerk into his hand, a sweet chuckle dripping of sin filling your ears.

“So responsive, little bird, so needy… don’t worry, I’ll give you what you need,” he vowed, your eyes opening half-mast only to witness him retreat and sit back on his heels, his hands planted on your knees, mouth attaching to your inner thigh just above your knee, a poor substitute to the taste of heaven his thumb had offered you.

He was tormenting you; he was tormenting you, denying you what you craved, not only stalling but stalling further, his mouth leaving hot wet trail up your drenched inner thigh, the sensitive flesh burning under the soft scrape of his beard, your legs spreading in mute yet urgent plea. And still, he continued indulgingly slow; your hand twitched as to move and give yourself some relief, but an instinct warned you that it could only prolong your torture.

“Andy-“

He smiled at you from where he had just pressed a bruising kiss to your flesh, eyes dark as the night itself, glimmering in the dancing flames of the fireplace reflecting on the goddamn mug you had spied earlier too, reminding you of how his lips had touched the edge of his cup with indulgence, how he had met your gaze as if he had known, as if he had known already he was about to drink from you.

It was not enough; nothing was enough, and you shifted in his grip, your hips sliding lower on the chair, core pulsing in emptiness.

“Please, please, Andy, don’t keep me waiting, I need you-“

One of his warm palms sprawled over your lower belly, pressing hard to keep you still, his tongue licking a languid stripe up your skin glistening with your juices, and he was so so so close-

“Fuck, honey, you taste so sweet… such a vision, begging for me so prettily.”

You didn’t recognize your voice as you sobbed in frustration of being praised in vain when he didn’t touch you when you NEEDED IT--- and then you were throwing your head back as wave of ecstasy washed over you, Andy finally flicking his tongue over the cut of you.

You grabbed the armrests with such vigour you might worry about breaking it had you not been delirious with want, hips bucking forward and this time, Andy had mercy on you – he groaned at the taste of you, licking with indulgence, twisting his tongue just right, his hold on you easing as the pressure inside you built and built and you were meeting his advances with enthusiasm, your hand finding purchase on his hair, to ground yourself, to beg him to continue without words because you had no voice.

You were tittering on the edge of release, every single cell in your body singing praise to Andy’s name for the waves of bliss almost reaching you, when his hand found yours and tore it from the armrest, fingers interlacing with yours and squeezing.

You would have never thought that could be your undoing, but it was.

Stars exploded in your veins and you tasted stardust on your tongue, a raw cry torn out from your throat, your back arching as white-hot pleasure shot down your spine and curled in your core with the heat of supernova being born.

And it wasn’t stopping. Andy wasn’t stopping, instead he pushed harder against your hips as you writhed against the overwhelming sensations, his tongue curling and breaching you, tasting the very depths of you and your cries were a breathless plea to the gods to have mercy on you and to Andy to give you more and more and more-

His pleased groan resonated in your bones, the force of bliss nearly shattering them to dust for the winds to take; but instead, Andy’s grip on your body moulded them into something torturously  beautiful and divine, the sound pulled from your lips nearly unhuman as you fell apart, the world tilting from its axis and balancing on the only steady point of the damn universe, on his hold on you, his tongue gathering proves of your undoing with lustful glee, his thumb drawing circles and swirls over your hipbone in silent approval.

By the time his mouth finally retreated, you were shaking, chest rising and falling in rapid successions, your vision blurry with tears as he rose to his feet and released your hand in favour of cradling your wet cheek, the forefinger of his other hand following the salty path of your tears, painting your swollen lips with them tenderly.

Even with vision unfocused, you were all too aware of the straining fabric of his pants, of the lustful glimmer in his eyes, lips shining with your arousal curling in an almost sweet smile.

“You’re stunning when you fall apart for me, little bird. Even more so than I imagined,” he declared softly, so painfully softly you couldn’t but whimper at the praise, the sound muted as his thumb pressed against your lips much like back in the kitchen, this time pushing its way inside your mouth, gaze zeroing on the eager reaction of your body.

You sucked his finger right in, almost blinding desire bursting in your belly, a carving for just a taste of him, for feeling the weight of him in your mouth as you’d swirl your tongue around him, heady aroma of sex filling your head. You needed. You needed to feel him and your hand acted without your permission, reaching to stroke his hardness, to move to kneel in front of him right there and feel the hard floor against your knees because it wouldn’t matter, it would be fucking privilege to-

Andy’s hand landed on your shoulder, light but firm, his eyes still feasting on you hungrily sucking on his thumb with a heart-stopping smile, tongue sneaking out to lick his lips as you still reached to feel the weight of him in your hand at least, moaning around his finger as the true craving – to have him fill you where it mattered the most – rocked through your entire body.

“So eager, little bird… but not now,” he retreated his hand from your mouth, gently slapping away your hand from him and pulling you to your shaky feet instead, body flush to his, lips on your ear. “You asked me to make you mine and that’s exactly what I’m gonna do.”

You weren’t sure how exactly you got upstairs between stumbling on your boneless feet, your greedy hands and all-consuming assaults of his lips on yours; but what you were all too aware of was how whenever his lips detached from your mouth, you were already missing them as if it had been eons, and when he released you from his hold in order to strip his pants and boxers and to rid you of your top, it made your body cry for his attention all the more.

You had but a glimpse of his length and it made your mouth water, your core pulsing in desperate emptiness all the more painful when he sat on the edge of the bed and you could finally take him in your hand, appreciating the smooth warmth length, precum leaking, inviting you to stroke him and sink onto him right away.

“Come to me, little bird,” he husked, tugging at your wrist to have you straddle his thighs, hand like a burning brand landing on your hip, already pushing you down as if you needed encouragement.

His name fell from your lips like a prayer when you felt the head of his thick cock catch at your entrance, hips bucking in foolish need to take him all at once, to have him fill you to the brim.

“Yes, little bird, I’m right here… look at me.”

His broad palm cradled your cheek, sliding along your jaw to grip just a little too tight and force you to meet his hungry gaze even as your own irises must have glazed over when you slowly begun sinking down on him, satisfaction and greed shooting through your veins and curling in your lower belly, your thighs shaking with effort to hold yourself back.

Until you couldn’t.

With a desperate whimper you pushed your hips flush to his despite the slight tinge of pain, the reward of white-hot pleasure all-consuming, Andy’s groan like the sweetest melody and a soothing caress down your back.

Fuck, he was breath-taking and you could die right there and hell you would die if you didn’t move, didn’t feel the deliciously thick length of him drag slowly through your pulsing walls, driving into you again and again, filling you like no other, slow, fast, deep, sloppy, it didn’t matter, you just needed more, you needed to move, bracing on his broad shoulders, nails digging into his bicep, you needed-

He pressed firmly on your hip to keep you still, your cry of despair at being denied swallowed by his mouth, his smile wicked and addictive, only feeding your desire to feel him more, your muscles straining as you fought to rock your hips just a little, needing the smallest friction like your life depended on it.

And Andy wouldn’t let you.

With strength beyond comprehension, he held your middle in a cage, his mouth having never ceased to devour you as his free hand slid from your face, fingers trailing over your collarbone to your breast, fondling all too briefly as you tried to arch into his touch, before he moved on over your belly, pads of fingers circling in the slick dripping down his length, a languid caress where you were connected like a bolt of lightning down your spine urging you to try and thrust forward only to remain achingly still, a whimper pushing past your lips.

It bordered on cruelty; your core pulsed with such force it almost hurt, every cell in your body as if on fire only Andy could quench but instead continued to tease you, groaning into your mouth as he indulged at the sensation of being sheathed in your throbbing warmth.   

The relief when his fingers retreated was a punishment all the same, the second his touch disappeared your body crying for it to return. His lips detached from yours just as his palm sprawled over your lower belly, so full of him, his voice a rumbling siren’s song as you felt sweat running down your back from the tension taunting your muscles.

“You feel me, honey? Feel how deep I am?”

He watched you with hooded gaze, predator boasting at catching his prey in a deadly trap she so willingly crawled into, your core spasming at the hunger in his dark eyes hypnotizing yours, half-mad with the animalistic desire.

“Yes-“

With a satisfied hum, his hand retreated again, causing you to whimper because no, that was where you wanted him to touch you, you wanted it everywhere, you needed him to keep owning you—

“Fuck-“ you sobbed as his fingers trailed over your throbbing clit, your walls clenching around his length, your abdomen trembling with effort to fight his grip and chase your release. “Andy, please, I-“

“Oh, but this isn’t just about you, honey, is it?” he scolded you gently, hoarse voice dripping sin and satisfaction as he returned to petting the apex of your thighs, the sensitive flesh gripping him like a vice and it was just not enough. “I wonder how long you could keep still on your own if I asked you, how long until you’d beg me-“

Not a second longer was the answer, more so when he twisted his hand so wickedly that long fingers continued teasing your entrance while his thumb circled your clit, agonizing need rushing through you like an electrical current, your whole body arching and yet staying so painfully still, writhing in his hold, tears of frustration gathering in your eyes.

“Please, please, please, please, Andy, love, please-“

His fingers stilled, ceasing their torture and yet it felt like denying you further until just as your sob pushed past your lips, his hand gently cupped your face, so painfully tender it had your wet eyelashes flutter, a sudden reprieve as Andy’s gaze seemed to trapped you outside of time and space and your own body; it felt like a sip of fresh water on an unbearably hot day, his damp fingers tracing the lines of your face, something flashing in his gaze, something you could not hope to comprehend but felt so achingly soft.

“Gods, you’re a vision, little bird, so beautiful… so thoroughly and undeniably mine, aren’t you?” he whispered, something akin to reverence in his voice as he continued to brush his fingertips over your skin as if committing you to memory.

And then he was kissing you; your breath caught at the unspeakable delicacy of the kiss, even his beard feeling softer as his lips carefully danced against yours, almost meekly, as if you could dissipate into thin air if he pressed too hard. The disparity to his previous advances was staggering, your heart fluttering, tears gathering in your eyes for an entirely different reason. He was just so damn soft.

“Andy…”

His smile against your lips was just as delicate as his kiss, your heart stumbling in your chest when you found him observing you with glassy eyes, his thumb, still carrying the heady aroma of your juices, brushing over your lower lip lovingly.

“I’ll give you everything I have, love… can’t seem to deny you,” he mused, one corner of his lips twitching up, his hand slowly sliding down your body, appreciating every inch of flesh in its path, his touch growing firmer as he went, his lips nearing yours again, his deadgrip on your hips releasing at last, speaking his next words directly to your mouth and angling the world from its axis all over again. “Take what you need, little bird.”

The words cut through you like a bolt of lightning, burning through every fibre of your being at once, the violent desire having been building through the past hours slamming into you at once, twice as hard, impossible to contain.

A breathless scream tore from your throat.

You cried out Andy’s name, your body acting on an animalistic instinct of chasing pleasure now that it finally could, nails digging into his shoulders for support as you rocked your hips against his with wild abandon, head thrown back in ecstasy every drag of his length through your tight walls sparked anew, coil rapidly tightening and undoing in your belly as it wasn’t nearly enough, never enough, more, more, more-

“Fuck--- that’s it, honey, keep going-” he groaned, hand stroking your back slick with sweat, his other hand gripping your ass cheek to guide your movements just the tinniest bit to your mutual pleasure.  

And you listened, chasing an unreachable peak, grasping at Andy’s neck, moving closer to his still maddeningly clothed torso, bouncing up and down, grinding your pelvis against his and it was not enough, not with your hands so firmly planted on his shoulders when your thighs alone quivered with exertion, a rare catch of his shirt against your clit nearly making you see stars and pushing them away from your reach all the same, fingers fisting his shirt in breathy outrage.

“Andy, please-“

“I’ve got you, honey.”

Next thing you knew your head was spinning, your body achingly cold as you were tossed on the bed on your back, Andy’s touch gone; and then he was hovering above you, his warm body completely bare at last, stretching over yours as he sheeted himself in your heat in one single thrust, stretching you to your limit again and feeling like heaven and hell combined.

His mouth captured your needy whimper when he once again remained all too still, one of your hands, having started to explore the god-like body of his, grasped at the wrist and pinned next to your head in an exhilarating display of control, leaving an ounce of it for you too as you jerked your hips against his, over and over, unable and not wanting to stop for even a moment, because you could feel it at your fingertips, the taste of pleasure unparalleled awaiting you when you’d come around his cock and felt him spill inside you.

The thought alone had you writhe under the soothing and yet frustrating weight of Andy’s body, his kiss tinged with amusement before he released your lips, setting them free to chant his name.

“Patience, little bird. I told you I’ve got you.”

And by gods, he did. He did, pinning you to the mattress and driving into your tight channel over and over at almost punishing pace, his hand sneaking between your bodies to swipe up the juices smeared all over your and his thighs and toy with your swollen bundle of nerves, blinding pleasure lighting you alive.

“Yes-“

“You feel like fucking heaven, honey. Will never have enough--- come for me. Give it to me, show me you’re mine-“

Falling apart felt like scorching heat consuming your body, burning every single cell in its wake, a shuddering breath of Andy’s name like a prayer rising from the ashes back to life, his spent filling you to the brim just as you were being reborn.

And so was your need.

You had never felt anything like it, the crushed seeds of logic in your mindless haze whispering of how this shouldn’t be possible, how you should be beyond sated but with every taste, with every peak, each more powerful than the other, your thirst was not quenched but rekindled, your limp body craving more, more, more; more of this, more of Andy, more of anything and you would die unless you’d get it.

You could barely focus your gaze on Andy’s face hovering above yours, a bliss having flushed his cheeks pink and his eyes with tantalizing glimmer, his fingers tender as he pushed your damp hair from your face.

“Please…” you rasped, not recognizing your voice anymore, blood rushing past your ears wildly. “More.”

His smile was soft, a gentle press of his lips to your forehead and the slightest rock of his hips against yours pulling a desperate keen from your parched lips.

“Do you want to be truly mine, little bird?” he asked, his voice grave and raspy as his breath fanned over your face.

“Yes!”

“Truly? Bound to me?” he continued, the words not carrying any meaning, his voice, gods, his voice, like a caress over your inner thigh, like a touch of bliss somewhere deep within you, in your very soul, a promise of endless pleasure. “You’ll be mine, mine to love and keep and protect… and I’ll be yours…”

Anything. Anything, just more, more-

“Yes- Andy, please.”

A peck to your lips, then another to your cheek and one to the corner of your mouth; each sparking a flame licking at your womb, causing your muscles to spasm, your hands, now free of his hold, grasping at him, nails dragging down his back, urging him to move inside you, your hips buckling pathetically as all your energy had been burned out while your need pulsed with life within you all the more.

Please, just-

“Bless you, little bird, I waited for you so long and did not even know… tell me you want me.”

“I want you-“ you sobbed, vainly pulling yourself up to be flush against his body.

“Need me-“

“Need you. Only you- please.”

“As you wish, little bird.”

All of sudden, a flash of ice-cold clarity cut through your haze, an agonizing stutter of your heart in your ribcage.

The low lights of the bedroom reflected on the blade which seemed to materialize in Andy’s hand out of thin air, a gleam of determination in your lover’s eye.

Wincing helplessly under his heavy weight, you squeezed your eyes shut, your life – a good life, not bad at all –flashed before your eyes, a muffled cry of confused want and utter terror escaping your lips as you tried to make yourself as small as possible.

You could feel him shift above you, inside you, the smallest motions sending almost nauseating desire through your body still, tears of overwhelm gathering in your eyes and spilling over as your heart fought for every last beat you’d be given in this life.

You were going to die.

It was the most absurd thought flying through your head, a painful chuckle almost tearing through your lips; you were about to die, mad with arousal for you own murderer and should anyone ever learn, you were going to turn into inspiration for a cautionary tale for the very books you had been reading since you were a child. Or perhaps those on serial killers.

You didn’t want to die!

“N-no, please, please, Andy-“

It was pathetic. Voice hoarse from having pleaded him to fuck you, for more and more and more; it was almost a foreign voice and yet undeniably yours, somehow still laced with devastating desire not to live, but to be ruined by his cock over and over, still thrumming deep within you.

A low grunt and a hiss; droplets of thick warm liquid landing on your forearm, coppery smell tickling your nostrils.

You couldn’t help it; you always had been morbidly curios, hadn’t you?

With a shuddering inhale, you cautiously blinked your eyes open, heart once more skipping a painful beat, your hand twitching to cover your mouth.

Features twisted in mere discomfort, Andy glanced from his right palm – from the crude deep cut on his own palm – to your face, grimacing as if only now his pain registered, eyes wide with something other than lust and satisfaction for once.

Compassion?    

“Don’t worry, little bird. I’ll be gentle and I promise it will hurt for but a second,” he rasped, your body turning rigid with horror. “Stay still for me, love.”

And you did.

Mutely, with but shaky breaths on your part and his, his grasp on your left wrist was shockingly tender as he laid your hand on the sheets, staining your skin with crimson, his blood seeping into the fabric below. His gaze held yours just as gently, something apologetic and warm in the thin ring of blue around his blown pupils.

You inhaled sharply at the sting of pain, a whimper of Andy’s name pushing past your trembling lips and then it was gone. From the corner of your eye, you could see the blade, having appeared so suddenly, disappear just as fast.

Andy’s thumb stroked the heel of your palm, his lips curling softly in a smile, the hand which had held the blade moving to cradle your cheek.

“Are you ready, little bird?”

As the fear slowly dissipated, you left the forgotten hunger for his body creep in slowly, blooming from your core through your belly, your chest, through your limbs all the way to your fingertips and toes, warming every single muscle, every nerve ending, tingling in your lips, growing and growing with every rapid beat of your heart, a shudder rushing up your spine at the gentle onslaught of want.

A single beat of your heart, two, three, four- and then it slammed into you with force of a star being born in midst of chaos, back arching, muscles straining with instinct to continue chasing the carnal pleasure, hips thrusting up as you felt Andy stiffen inside you again with a breathy chuckle.

“Yeah, you’re ready, love,” he hummed, lips slanting over yours, stealing your breath, every minute roll of his hips sending a shock of ecstasy through your system bordering on pain he drank straight from your mouth.

His hold crept from your wrist to your hand, fingers interlacing, palm sticky with blood pressing against your own wound.

You wailed.

The guttural sound rippled through you just as you hit another peak, Andy’s thrusts stuttering with a curse on his lips as your walls gripped him in a vice, your whole body spasming with paralyzing waves of euphoria, tears springing from your eyes.

Your body floated. You’d swear, had you had any control over your lips, that your soul ascended to another plane of existence. Nothing held you chained to earth anymore. You felt free and weightless and full of light, all-consuming but so so warm and soothing you felt a sob tearing from your chest, a distant sensation of your lover – your lover, your love, your everything – spilling inside you, his lips pressed to your throat, his weight on you, his gentle hold on your hand the only things grounding you and wrapping you in an overwhelming feeling of safety. 

Your name, softly spoken; whispers of little bird, tender pets to your hair.

Growing aware of your body trembling in aftershocks, whatever unbearable pressure you distantly remembered crushing you finally released you from its clutches. You opened your heavy eyelids, a blurry image of a stunningly handsome man, Andy, all you could see; and you were at peace with that.

He still held your hand firmly in his, leaning over you, worried gaze roaming your features as you felt your chest heaving with slow ragged breaths.

“Andy…”

“I know, little bird… it was almost too much, wasn’t it,” he whispered, your heavy eyelids slipping shut again, a tender kiss landing on them.

“Mmm… ‘most,” you echoed, exhaustion settling in every fibre of your being now that feeling of deep contentment washed over your body, cleansing you of the insatiable hunger.

“That’s my pretty little bird.”

A brief peck to your forehead was the only warning you got before Andy’s warmth slowly lifted from you, oh so carefully sliding out of you, a vague sensation of your nose scrunching in discontent reaching your brain. He squeezed you fingers too, you thought, but his voice sounded as if from miles away.

“I’ll be right back, honey.”

His retreating steps were the last sound you heard before sleep took you into its merciful arms at last.

You didn’t feel the careful touch of a warm cloth washing away the proves of intense love-making from your most intimate flesh, nor the kiss to your hipbone. You didn’t feel another cloth wiping away the blood from your hand, couldn’t see Andy’s pained frown at the shallow cut on your palm, nor you could hear the hoarse whisper as he traced his fingertips over your wound, erasing it without trace, a weak smile passing his lips.

No one but him could see him even as he felt thousands of judging eyes on him when he walked back to the bathroom, washing the blood off of his hands and tearing away a strip of clean cloth to wrap around his own palm, tightening it more than necessary with every tug, the throbbing pain only justified; a fraction of punishment that should be inflicted on him, a lump growing in his throat as he dreaded and couldn’t wait to walk back and lay on his bed, sharing it with someone after endless years of solitude.

Leaning his hands on the sink with a shaky exhale, he hung his head low even as something so light and beautiful thundered in his ribcage, fingers flexing, the fresh wave of pain pushing him to look up. The face starring at him from the mirror was one of a selfish monster; a selfish monster craving love just like any other being with hot blood pulsing through its veins.

He just wanted to love and be loved. Was that really so wrong of him?

It didn’t matter anymore; he’d made his choice and made yours as well.

Stepping back into the bedroom, he found you sound asleep, somehow having turned to your side, facing the door as if you eagerly awaited his return and the dreams took you too early. The frown on Andy’s face softened, something sweet humming in his heart, the lump in his throat releasing just a bit at how peaceful you appeared.

Circling the bed, he stretched alongside your body, propping on his elbow to feat his eyes on you.

You glowed with wild beauty, hair a soft tangled mess around your head, skin still flushed, kiss-swollen lips parted, bare skin of your tempting body enticing him to touch.

My little bird.

I’ll keep you safe.

I’ll keep you warm.

You deserve everything and I will give it to you.

You are mine to love and cherish and protect.

With a sigh releasing the immense pressure in his ribcage, he brushed his lips over his fingertips before bringing his forefinger to the side of your neck. Drawing tender lines, his touch trailed to your nape, down your neck, over your shoulder blade and shoulder, a swirl of ink left in its wake reaching gently over your collarbone almost to your breastbone. Curls as delicate as your soul, thin petals of wild flowers and trees; and surrounded by the beauty of nature, a little swallow.

Content with his handwork, pressing a soft kiss to your nape, Andy laid himself behind you, arm wrapping around your waist to pull you flush to his chest, your soft warm body moulding into his perfectly as if it was always meant to be.

He draped covers over you both to keep you warm as he had promised.

Slowly pulled into consciousness by fingers carding through your hair as gently as if threading through dreams, you felt your lips curl in a brief smile, the sensation of a warm firm body wrapped about you protectively rousing you from your sleep with finality.

Just as slowly, the events of yesterday came back to your memory like an echo, echo of freezing-cold water, all-consuming need and overwhelming relief found in Andy’s arms, in Andy’s bed.

That was where you were, feeling just as relieved; just as light even as sleep still weighted your body, delaying your movements and making them sloppy, your hand landing ungracefully on Andy’s chest, his quiet chuckle causing you to purse your lips and finally will your eyes to open.

The first sunrays were peeking through the bedroom window, casting light to the warm space, illuminating Andy’s form from behind and giving his tousled hair almost supernatural glow; and yet it was nothing compared to the soft glow in his eyes as he watched his fingers toy with your hair, as his gaze met yours, dreamy, with a tinge of concern.

“Good morning,” he husked, voice warm and gentle like a cup of coffee on a cold winter afternoon.

“Gd mornin’,’” you muttered in response, causing a brief smile pass his lips, before his brows drew together, his dark blues roaming all over your face, his fingers trailing down your cheek.

It was a little unnerving, the attention, your awareness of just how much of a mess your appearance had to be after a long wild night spent tangled in the sheets insistent in your mind; and the fact you were still completely naked safe for the duvet Andy must have covered you with did not help your case.

He did not seem to mind.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like a changed woman,” you replied without as much as a thought, only to be surprised how true the words were.

You did feel different; transformed, for the lack of a better word. A huge weight you hadn’t been aware you had been carrying seemed lifted, aches and worries in your heart and mind soothed, the only ache remaining being a pleasant reminder of last night. One brief flash of fear; a memory of a blade and blood, yours and Andy’s – but where you could see a cloth wrapped unceremoniously around his hand, you realized you could flex both of your hands without as much as discomfort.

Before you could ask – why your hand carried no mark while Andy’s carried a potentially still bleeding mark of something you did not understand and yet seemed to understand better than yourself – he spoke, hesitance lacing his voice.

“Well… you are. You are mine,” he whispered.

The thought sent a surge of warmth through your chest, a smile unwittingly spreading on your lips. Feasting your eyes on the man who had indeed made you yours quite thoroughly, his unfairly handsome features made you almost oblivious to how quiet and shy he sounded; and how fast his heart thundered under your palm.

“You’re bound to me now, little bird, as I am to you. Forever.”

Forever mine.

Forever yours.

You blinked, unsure what he meant and yet; the sincerity and gravity of his words left no doubt that he was sharing a profound truth. A quiet, powerful presence of an ancient entity not to fear but certainly respect hummed in the depths of your ribcage.

In your silence, Andy moved his hand so the pads of his fingers now laid tenderly over your collarbone, instinctively drawing your gaze, air catching in your throat in awe.

Dark indigo-like ink adorned your skin, stretching from the curve of your shoulder as far as you could see over your collarbone and cleavage, a breathtaking piece or art; a love letter to nature etched onto your body in simple precise lines without shading. You heart raced in your chest as you reached out cautiously, fearing the tattoo you did not remember getting might disappear.

It did not; but images filled your mind, images of your bare body standing in Andy’s bathroom, your back to the mirror, glancing over your shoulder and marvelling at the intricate pattern, delicate leaves and swirls as if protecting a small bird; a swallow.

The astonishment stayed within you as your gaze refocused on the inked skin of your chest, your mind a whirlwind of confusion. You would say with certainty you had never stood in the bathroom like that nor admired the tattoo; and yet, you were absolutely sure, somehow, that this was what your back now looked like, this was what you would see if you walked to the mirror and made the image true.

Your stomach fluttered, a tingle of caution; and still, no matter how much you tried to make sense of why, you were not scared. Curious, rather; fascinated even.

Glancing up at Andy, you found him watching you closely, his eyes brimming with careful hope and expectation of a blow to his face at once.

“How?” you breathed out, his unhappy grimace deepening.

The sight twisted your heart.

You were lost; and yet it seemed he was the one needing guidance and support and all you yearned for was to give him exactly that.

As you placed your hand on his cheek, already missing the sensation of his heartbeat, his eyes fluttered shut, a shaky inhale rattling his ribcage. He nuzzled into your touch, a soft scratch of his beard against your palm. His hand slid to your waist, fingers flexing briefly as he met your gaze, his eyes a storm of emotion.

“A bonding like that… requires three elements of a body; saliva, seed and blood. Once exchanged, along with your consent and with the drop of potion in your tea… we belong together now, little bird. And… there’s no force on the earth that could tear us apart.”

Your pulse skyrocketed at the gravity of his words.

It sounded terrifying; it sounded definitive.

It sounded wicked.

And it sounded right.

It should scare you, a low voice whispered in the back of your mind, but it was drowned in the melody of your heart finally finding peace.

Forever. No force on Earth that could tear us apart.

The echo of the voice having been with you ever since you fell through the ice and nearly drowned washed over you sweetly; if felt like coming back to a safe harbour after years and years spent on a raging sea.

You didn’t understand technicalities; you did not understand at all. But you understood how the fact this was right was everything that mattered.

That and the fact Andy was watching you now, perhaps even more overwhelmed than you, awaiting your reaction to the confession because that was what this was. A confession. No matter what his words would have said, the weight of his transgression was written in his cerulean eyes.

And your heart ached and called for his.

Sliding your hand to his nape, you shifted closer, slow enough to see his eyes widen and lit up with hope before you brushed your lips over his, a pained sound in the back of his throat almost making you stop; until his fingers flexed in the flesh of your waist and gripped, pulling you flush to his chest, free hand sliding under your cheek to angle your head and deepen the kiss, your lips parting in invitation and a plea.

Like a spark of life to your body; like a drop of the most precious of wines on your tongue. Exhilarating. Addicting.

“Oh little bird…”

The soft cautious voice turned warmer, lighter and heavier with desire all the same as both his and your hands began to roam, every touch like sunbeams shining from within your bones, your body arching against him in instinctive search for bliss.

“What if they come looking for me?”

Andy smiled as you blurted the question, licking into your mouth instead of an answer and making you keen, the hold on your hips encouraging you to meet the roll of his own.

“They’ll never find you, love. This house does not exist in the earthly realm, not for most of the year… don’t worry, little bird.”

That piece of information should worry you, yet you could not bring yourself to care enough; instead, the tingle in the back of your mind whispered of earthly plane and other realms, of forces beyond comprehension, tales remembered from childhood of unhuman entities coaxing people into their grasp with a promise of what their heart craved.

Feeling the thunderous heartbeat under your palm, the warmth and firmness of Andy’s body, there was no denying how wonderfully alive and human he was; and yet, words of potions and bonds and forevers were telling a different tale.

“What are you, Andy?”

Another smile, mischievous as his touch trailed down your chest over your belly, along your hipbone, grasping the back of your thigh to lift it so he could slot one of his muscular legs between yours, the delicious friction against your rapidly dampening core causing your thoughts to scatter.

“Does it matter?” he whispered to your ear, teeth nibbling under your earlobe, drawing a whimper from your lips.

No. No, it did not. The one thing he was was devious, his lips chaining one kiss after another along your throat, your head thrown back as your nails dug into his back.

“I’ve had many different names, little bird. The only one that will ever matter to me is the one falling from your lips as you shatter for me again.”

The image was almost palpable, Andy’s soft hair in your fingers as he lifted you towards the stars and yet; another question, much more urgent, cold fingers of doubt creeping along your spine, threatened to put the flames of bliss igniting in your body out at once.

Forever was a long, long time, no matter how much of a hyperbole Andy could have used.

And in your experience, men did not love for even half of it or less and chose their forever with much more care than he had.

“Why me?”

Andy’s body turned rigid for a moment, safe for his head snapping up to search your gaze, the wheels in his head turning as he tried to decipher your tone.

You willed yourself to hold his serious gaze even as your heart raced, worried you had overstepped; worried you might get what you bargained for. Heartbreak.

Whatever Andy found in your gaze – be it pride or desperation – it drew a sigh from his lips, his touch retreating from your intimate flesh in favour of grasping your hand and linking his fingers with yours.

“The moment you fell into water… I knew you were mine and always had been,” he said slowly.

Your breath hitched, threading uncertain waters again, in more ways than one.

The moment you fell into water… he knew. Whatever that meant. The moment you fell-

The moment you heard him for the first time. The voice, even as it had been veiled with mystery at first, the voice you later recognized as his own pleading for you to fight. The very moment…

“I… I think I heard your voice,” you whispered, certain you’d find laughter in his eyes, because what you were saying was absurd, a figment of imagination of an extremely stressed mind, but there was no trace of it. Not at all.

Warmth, yes. Humour? Not in the slightest.

“Yes, that’s possible.”

“But… how? Why?”

Sighing again with a gentle squeeze to your fingers, he let his other hand wander, soft pads of his fingers brushing over your skin, following the lines of your tattoo with his touch and sight alike, speaking lowly, almost absently.

“Time is an illusion, little bird. An elaborate one, but only an illusion. On Christmas Day, the veil surrounding it is the thinnest – that is why people who come to the blessed lake on Christmas Day and cut though the ice do glimpse their future. Those who fall in… they literally soak their body in the ability.”

“Ability…?” you echoed weakly, your breaths coming out shorter as intangible weight settled in your chest. “Ability to… glimpse into the future? No, that’s not--- not-”

Flashes. Images of you looking over your shoulder, a precise picture of a tattoo you had yet to see, Andy kneeling between your legs as you laid sprawled in the armchair, his body draped over yours, hand pinned next to your head, his bandaged hand on your hip as his lips devoured you on this very bed-

“Little bird?”

You opened your mouth, no sound coming out, your head spinning as the images replayed in your head, over and over, hazy and yet sharp, details you could have not imagined, not truly. “I-- yesterday, I saw these… flashes, I was sure they were-”

You gulped, cheek flushing with heat at the admission, your gaze fixed on Andy’s chest, unable to meet his eye until his fingers slid under your chin, tipping your head back just a bit, his gaze intrigued – and serious.

“…fantasies.”

A little smirk passed over his lips, a flicker of mischief that soon gave way to something softer and graver. “But they weren’t, were they?”

You shook your head, even as the glaring truth was only now dawning to you.

“I saw this too. I think? Maybe. Your injured hand… and I think I saw-- I have a swallow on my back, don’t I?”

His eyes widened, a speckle of pride in his gaze as he slowly nodded.

“Yes. I’m sorry, little bird, I know it’s difficult. From what I know it is hard to make sense of these images. Those who bath in the lake at the sacred time…” he trailed off, a frown twisting his gentle expression, another sigh leaving his lips. “If they survive, they are bound to fall into madness, the strain on their mind too great.” 

Your heart stopped.

It must have, because the sudden stab of ice-cold fear tore straight through it, blood crystalizing in your veins.

You couldn’t breathe. A few words and the icy waters of the lake surrounded you all over again, filling your lungs with thousands of needles, the glassy shards all around you pulling you under, pulling you down, down, down-

“But--- but does that-“

And just as fast, a warm firm grip pulled you back up, a protective cage of hands cradling your face, gentle and steady, your vision reducing to pair of fiery blue eyes.

“No. No, because you are mine. We are far from the earthly realm and you are bound to me the most potent way there is. And if, if that’s not enough, I will find a way to protect you even if it’s the last thing I ever do.”

I’ll keep you safe.

I’ll keep you.

I’d never hurt you.

You’ll be mine, mine to love and keep and protect and I’ll be yours.

Your heart was soared, tears gathering in your eyes at the warmth radiating from Andy’s palms alone. There was no space for doubt left whatsoever. His blazing determination would scorch the entirety of the earthly realm he had spoken of and leave nothing but ashes if it meant keeping you safe.

And that, that was exactly what made no sense; because you had not encountered a single human being in your whole damn life that would feel a fraction of the affection Andy seemed to harbour for you in less than a day.  Nothing was as real as his hands on you, as the sweet ache in your body from yesterday, and yet this, this could not be real.

“Why? Why of all people, why would you choose-”

“I told you,” Andy said, just as passionately, pleading for you to understand. “You fell and I knew better than anything that you were mine and always had been.”

You didn’t understand. But perhaps you did. Or you would.

Perhaps that was what he meant when he said time was an illusion; right now, you did not know, but you would and that was all that mattered, because you might as well know already.

Your head spun, pressure building behind your eyes and yet you could not tear your gaze away from the soft storm in Andy’s eyes.

Let me, honey.

Let me and I’ll teach you all you need to know.

“So what… it was fate?” you muttered, the words, yet again, absurd to your own ears.

Andy smirked, the expression so out of place and so perfectly fitting to his handsome face your stomach made a little somersault. Releasing you from his grip, he simply continued to cradle your cheek as his other hand began to toy with your hair, his smile softening as you felt yourself relax at the tender yet playful action.

“Fate is a series of deliberate choices, little bird,” he said, letting the strand of your hair fall only to wrap another one round his finger. “I… I made my choices, some of which I am not proud of, and you made yours. You chose to come back to your hometown. Chose to escape the family gathering. Chose to walk to the lake and try your luck looking at the water surface with shy hope – because years ago, when you were still a child, you chose to read a particular book of legends.”

With every word, your heart was picking up again, hammering in your ribcage, your mind latching onto pieces of information Andy could have guessed but spoke with unshakable certainty.

But then, the look in his eye was painfully tender you shuddered at being at the receiving end, thoughts scattering again, reducing themselves to one single thought.

No one. No one had ever looked at you like that.

“Much like you chose to help out a little bird back to its nest when only a child yourself. Chose to release a spirit of a baby swallow mere days after, perhaps even unwittingly calling luck upon yourself that would once find its way to you.”

“How- how do you-”

“I told you. I knew when you fell. Because I got to glimpse beyond the veils of time too,” he explained gently, letting silence stretch, allowing you to process the information that was nothing short of absolutely overwhelming. Mind-blowing.

He had seen; he had seen parts of your life no one even knew about, moments you barely remembered. He knew about a small, meaningless act of kindness years and years ago, he knew-

The sudden realization stuck you like a lightning, a choked sound born in the back of your throat, a breathy whisper.

“Little bird…”

“Yes,” Andy confirmed, just as quiet, gaze glimmering with affection as his fingers moved from caressing your hair to your shoulder, reaching behind you, blindly following lines of a tattoo you knew were there and now knew why. A small swallow amongst the leaves and swirls. “And that’s your why. All these images of your life, past, presence, even future, flashing before my eyes. They showed me all of you. Who you were, how good, how sweet, an innocent soul with faith in forces of nature and beyond… you were perfect. You are perfect, little bird. And I couldn’t let you-- not when I knew what might happen if I--- I knew you were to be mine and I wanted to be yours. I steered you, just a little and I knew it was wrong of me to meddle with your life and I knew I should have let you go… but even when I did, your steps lead to me still and then you were here, and I-”

Your fingers silenced his laments, confession and declaration all at once, a simple touch to his lips working like a charm, his eyes falling shut.

Your heart was beating so vigorously you were sure it would beat its way out of your chest.

There was so much to process, so much to feel, so much to understand and thread through; but at last, you understood two things.

One: this truly was meant to be, be it fate or series of choice or divine intervention.

Two: he needed to stop.

“You saved me.”

Andy shook his head, taking your hand into his and holding it to his chest, lips barely moving as he whispered.

“No and it’s not that simple. My voice and enchantment might have helped, but you saved yourself. And since the moment you did, since you came in, I’ve done things, wicked things to have you-“

You recalled the scorching need for him, the bath, the tea, his touch eliciting visions, little puzzle pieces falling into place, even as the image remained all too incomplete; the puzzle of him, a simple man with something extraordinary throbbing in his soul, a lonely man craving love beyond what you could possibly imagine, tortured way beyond what he had brought upon you yesterday and had soothed all the same and you couldn’t.

You couldn’t but forgive whichever transgressions he had committed if he was beating himself over them and his original intentions were threaded by something soft and pure.

It was your turn to cradle his cheek and wordlessly ask him to look at you and trust you.

Obeying, Andy hung onto your lips, two two pools of cerulean sadness awaiting judgement and asking forgiveness all the same, almost absurdly so, because you had a feeling that should he want to, he could have made you mad for him all over again, a drop of a potion, a flick of a hand, and you’d have no choice but to succumb to him.

But he didn’t.

It only solidified your decision.

“No, Andy. You saved me… your very own little bird,” you added with a smile tugging at your lips. “And maybe calling a little luck upon yourself in the process, I suppose. I—whatever you have done… it only sped up what I would have felt for you either way. And… if I was meant to be yours, if I am yours… then you were meant to be mine.”

A shaky inhale. You had never imagined a man of his built would spoke in such small vulnerable voice, but he did. A single word, tinged with careful hope:

“Yeah?”

“Oh Andy…”

Actions speaking louder than words, you pulled him for a kiss, soft, slow and deep, the softened flame of your desire flaring up again, this time with no doubts or unspoken questions.

His lips tore away from yours with an urgent plea.

“Show me, love.”

“Was trying to,“ you muttered, confused and a little hurt, only for Andy to shake his head and bring your hand to his lips, a tender kiss to your fingertips sending a tingle of electricity rushing through your body all the way to your toes. “Andy, what-”

“Think of us… of a pattern, a mark… much like your tattoo. If I am yours… where would I carry your mark?” he whispered, the fervour in his voice making your heart stutter in your chest.

Oh Andy.

You did not need to think for long; there was only one choice, truly.

As he squeezed your hand, enticing you to touch him as if that was enough to make the pattern appear, his gaze eagerly followed your movements as you carefully brushed over his sternum.

With a breathless chuckle on your lips, you watched the ink of a familiar colour – the colour of your eyes, you realized, only slightly darker, much like your own tattoo mirrored a darker shade of Andy’s eyes – draw a line of the pattern on your mind, perfectly matching your own. Over his collarbone; over the mass of his shoulder; over his shoulder blade.

As you retreated your hand, content with your handiwork, you caught Andy’s soft, so achingly soft gaze, zeroed on your awed smile.

Whatever he was – whatever he was beyond yours – he carried something good and beautiful in his very core.

“Thank you, love.”

A gentle kiss to your fingertips, another little jolt of energy; as he placed your palm over his rapidly beating heart, no ink spilled anymore. Before you could marvel at that, he captured your lips with his, a brief kiss before he sighed with emotion so profound you felt your eyes prickling with tears again.

“I think you saved me, little bird. And I will spend forever by repaying you.”

You didn’t know how long forever was. You didn’t know what awaited you, even as you soon might get a glimpse of it, but one thing you knew for sure.

“There’s no rush, love… we have all the time in the world.”

And in the earthly realm, just as Andy said, as soon as the clock struck midnight on a Christmas Day, the house disappeared from view; along with the woman, once a superstitious kid, carrying her to a happier realm she may never, ever leave.

And with the house was long gone, invisible and untouchable to mere human senses, the only trace of her left was but small droplets of blood on the white bark of a birch tree; giving birth to unearthly crimson blossoms as soon as the first spring sunrays caressed it with its warmth, the ices of the lake melting.

Complete masterlist

Andy Barber and misc masterlist

Phew... You did it! You finished reading!

If you find some time and energy, please, let me know if you enjoyed 🥺 Honest. This is one of my rare soft dark babies and I'm nervous as hell posting this and I obviously spent a lot of time on this one, so... hoe with me? 🥹

Thank you for reading either way 💕

BTW, the book referenced in the story is very much real and used to be one of my favourites as a teen. It’s Kytice by K.J.Erben (translated as A Bouquet of Czech Folktales, I cannot tell if it's a good translation as I haven't got my hands on it; or biligual version simply called Kytice).

P.S. everything is a oneshot if you post it in one go 😌🤭

[charlesslut16]

-Pregnant christmas-

summary : you and lando visit his family pregnant...

PAIRING : lando norris x fem!reader

WARNINGS : none

note : i am so sorry that i didn't post for two days but i had so much to do with collage that i ahd no time to update.

december masterlist ; masterlist 

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

You stepped out of the car, the crisp winter air biting at your cheeks as you and Lando arrived at his family's home for Christmas. The air was filled with the scent of pine and anticipation, a light blanket of snow covering the ground, making everything seem like a scene from a holiday card.

The crisp winter air carried the scent of pine and cinnamon as Lando Norris, the Formula 1 driver, and you, his radiant wife, made your way to Lando's family home for a magical Christmas reunion.

With beautiful snowflakes dancing around you, you approached the door adorned with lights, nestled amidst a snowy landscape, adorned with twinkling lights and wreaths.

Lando squeezed your hand gently as you walked up the front steps, his smile warm and infectious. He was excited to introduce you as his wife and share this special time with his family, especially with a little one on the way.

The house was adorned with twinkling lights, a magnificent tree standing proudly in the corner, adorned with colorful ornaments and tinsel.

Laughter echoed through the halls, and you were immediately enveloped in a flurry of hugs and greetings from Lando's family.

As you entered the cozy home of the Norris family, the warmth of festive cheer enveloped the two of you. Lando's family greeted you with open arms and infectious enthusiasm.

His mom, a bundle of joy and warmth, enveloped you in a tight hug, her eyes shining with happiness.

"Welcome, both of you! Oh, look at that bump," she exclaimed, gently placing a hand on your growing belly, a gesture that made Lando beam with pride. His mother adored you.

Your pregnancy bump, adorned with a festive ribbon, was immediately ushered to the comfiest armchair by Lando's mom, who insisted she would take it easy while the others bustled around, preparing a lavish Christmas feast.

The day was a whirlwind of festive activities. Lando's nieces and nephews eagerly showed you their handmade decorations, each one proudly displaying their artistic skills.

Lando, ever the mischievous one, snuck behind you and whispered silly jokes in your ear, making you burst into fits of laughter. He could be serious if he wanted to be, but you liked him better this way.

Amidst the joyful chaos, you found yourselves in the cozy kitchen, where Lando's dad, an expert in culinary delights, was concocting his famous Christmas dinner.

The aromas of roasting turkey and spices filled the air, and you couldn't resist stealing a bite of the freshly baked cookies cooling on the counter, you were allowed, I mean you were pregnant.

As the day drifted into evening, everyone gathered around the fireplace, cups of hot cocoa in hand. Lando's sister, armed with a guitar, led the family in singing classic Christmas carols.

Lando, ever the enthusiast, joined in, his voice blending harmoniously with the melodies, eliciting smiles and applause from everyone. He truly was an angel, your angel.

Later, you found a quiet moment with Lando by the glowing tree, the twinkling lights casting a magical aura around you both. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close, and whispered,

"This is perfect, isn't it? Spending Christmas with you and our little one on the way."

You nodded, feeling a surge of emotion as you rested your head against his chest.

"Absolutely perfect," you whispered back, your heart swelling with love for this man and the family you were becoming a part of.

The evening ended with exchanging heartfelt gifts, laughter, and embraces. Lando's mom pulled you aside, handing you a beautifully wrapped box.

"For the little one," she said with a knowing smile, her eyes twinkling with excitement.

It was a beautiful little necklace with Norris been standing on it. You knew that either bean would be a girl or a boy, she or he would appreciate and love the lovely gift.

As you and Lando drove back home, the moon lighting the snow-covered landscape, you couldn't help but feel a profound sense of gratitude and happiness.

"I love you, Lan. I hope that we can spend a thousand more Christmas together."

"I love you, angel."

"And I love you, bean," Lando added and gave your bump a little kiss, as he stood at a red traffic light.

The day had been filled with love, warmth, and the promise of new beginnings. And as you both nestled into each other's arms, you knew that this Christmas would be a cherished memory forever etched in your hearts.

[tickly-trashcan]

Icing Cookies {Ekko x Jinx}

Advent Calendar Event!

A/N: oughhh ekko has been my fav since day one but after season two i needed more ekko content and i also miss him and jinx's antics hehe so i decided to write for these two!! they're so silly i love them and i hope y'all enjoy!

Summary: Ekko and Jinx are decorating some cookies, but Ekko's look... a bit odd.

Word Count: 1k (under the cut!)

“Jinx, these look like shit…”

“No, only yours do.”

“Hey!”

Jinx laughed, nudging Ekko with her elbow. “What? I’m right! Have you never decorated cookies before?”

Ekko huffed. “No, I haven’t! I didn’t think it would be this hard, either.”

Jinx looked over at Ekko’s batch of cookies that he had been decorating. They… did indeed look like shit.

Ekko had helped Jinx bake the cookies and that had been easy enough, but as soon as he picked up a piping bag, they suddenly looked like globby, horrid lumps of goop. There were colors mixing into weird colors and Jinx could not tell what most of them were even supposed to look like. There was some icing dripping onto the counter from some, and others had bits of cookie exposed where there definitely should have been icing.

Ekko sighed and wiped at his nose, accidentally wiping icing on the tip of it. Jinx held back a laugh, but he noticed her change in expression. He frowned. “Are you laughing at how bad they are?”

Jinx grinned. “Maybe~!”

Ekko groaned and let his head fall back in exasperation. He set down the icing bag he had been holding and crossed his arms. “I give up. You finish them.”

Jinx whined. “No, Ekko! I can’t make all of these without you! My poor hands will get tired!”

Ekko raised an eyebrow at Jinx. “You were just making fun of how bad my cookies look.”

Jinx shrugged. “It’s the thought that counts?” Ekko started to walk away and Jinx had to grab his wrist and drag him back. “Hey, hey! They’ll still taste the same, just do a few more with me!”

Jinx looked up at Ekko with pleading eyes, pouting her lip slightly. Ekko sighed and gave in, making Jinx snicker victoriously. She put the piping bag back in his hands and held onto his hands, walking next him as he watched her carefully.

“Never thought the Boy Savior would need saving, but here we are! I’ll help you pipe a few so they don’t look too much like shit.”

“Watch it, Jinx.”

“Okay, okay, sheesh! Let’s start with a snowflake, that should be easy enough.”

Jinx guided Ekko’s hands while he applied pressure to the piping bag. It went across the cookie in small lines, Jinx correcting Ekko on how much to squeeze the bag when it got a bit gloppy again. In the end, it was much better than Ekko’s previous cookie attempts. It took a bit of creative interpretation, but it was a snowflake if you looked close enough. Jinx put her hands on her hips triumphantly and then pat Ekko’s shoulder.

“Good job! It’s a very special snowflake. Y’know, no two snowflakes look the same.”

Ekko nodded his head, a small smile on his face. Jinx went back to her own cookies, but Ekko tried to get her attention again. “Hey, can you… help me with one more?” Jinx raised an eyebrow at him. Ekko rubbed the back of his neck. “I– I mean, you don’t have to…”

Jinx smirked. “Ohh, I see. You need my expert cookie skills, don’tcha?”

Ekko hummed. “Something like that.”

Jinx picked out an ornament for their next cookie and decided to make it blue. This time, she demonstrated how to do it for Ekko on her own cookie and then watched as he tried it himself. He piped some green icing onto his ornament cookie, but he was struggling with the evenness of the icing. Jinx chuckled as she watched and leaned against Ekko once he finished.

“I’d put that on my tree.”

“You would?”

“Yeah… maybe near the bottom where no one could see, but I’d still put it on!”

Ekko chuckled and rolled his eyes. He set down his piping bag and leaned his back against the counter. Jinx hummed and stood in front of him, leaning against him as his eyes widened.

Jinx watched Ekko closely, noticing his eyes flickering down to her lips and back up to her eyes. She smirked and leaned closer to his face, but he did not lean back at all.

“Jinx…?”

Jinx leaned just a bit closer, making Ekko almost stop breathing in anticipation. She let her hands rest on his hips, and just as he closed his eyes, she gave his hips a gentle squeeze.

Ekko yelped and jolted back, hitting his head against the cabinet. “Ow!! Hey– Hehehey!! Jinx, wahahait!”

“Huh? What’s wrong, Little Man? Is something funny?”

“You– Stahahahap!!” Ekko laughed as Jinx crept up his sides. He tried weakly to shove her away, but she had him pinned. He tried his best not to squirm because of all the cookies behind him, but with Jinx tickling him, that was proving difficult.

“Someone’s got the giggles!” Jinx chuckled, pinching his sides as he whined through his laughter.

“Jinx, dohohohohon’t!!”

“Hmm? Don’t what?”

“Tickle mehehehe!”

Jinx grinned and latched her hands onto Ekko’s ribcage, making him gasp. “Tickle you? Well, if you insist!”

“NOHohoho!! Jinx, plehehehease, not thehehere!!”

“Why not? I thought this was your favorite spot!”

Ekko whined and laughed, trying to clamp his arms down. Jinx laughed along with him, but finally let up when his laughter started to get hiccupy. She chuckled as she watched him come down from his fit of laughter, but he could hardly muster up a glare for her.

Jinx leaned in close to Ekko again, smiling as he finally managed to stop giggling. “What is it now, Jinx?”

“You have something on your face.”

“I– What?! Where is–?”

Jinx kissed the tip of Ekko’s nose, cutting him off mid-sentence. He stopped, staring at her with wide eyes as she smiled. She licked her lips and hummed. “It must have been icing. We were supposed to ice the cookies, Ekko, not your nose.”

Ekko huffed and pressed his forehead against Jinx’s. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

Jinx shrugged. “But that’s why you love me, right?”

Ekko wrapped his arms around Jinx, burying his face in the crook of her neck. “That, and so many other reasons.”

Jinx wrapped her arms around Ekko as well, holding him tightly. They held onto each other for a few moments, but then Jinx stuck her hands under Ekko’s arms, making him shriek and burst into laughter again. She laughed with him as he squirmed in her grip. They would finish decorating those cookies… Eventually.

[darkficlord69]

Cregan Stark x Targ!Reader

Warnings: smut, 18+, unprotected sex, 18+ language, death, character death, angst, sadness, not proofread

Cregan Stark was indubitably a wolf: ever since he sprang up from his mother's northern womb he had a savage attitude kept in place by his house's sterling reputation for personal integrity. But when his gaze locked onto yours, all semblance of restraint evaporated from his big muscled body like a snowflake slowly melting under the hot sun. When he met you, he felt like a starved animal ready to pounce, to hunt, to eat something so positively delicious that it would satisfy him to no end...

Despite having lived your whole pampered life on Dragonstone, under your mother's constant and loving supervision, you felt at home in the snow covered Winterfell. And when you descended from your mauve scaly beast with a wingspan bigger than the tallest watchtower in Deepwood Motte, you shivered although you were drowning in thick layers of fur and wool. That is, because you met Cregan. He looked at you with an intesity that was at odds with the iciness of the climate and you could do little but avert your gaze to avoid losing yourself in those stormy grey eyes that twinkled with desire.

"My lord, it is an honor," you curtsied clumsily due to your heavy attire but Cregan quickly put a hand on yours to help stabilize you and prevent you from falling face-first in the snow.

"The honor is all mine, my princess," he replied in a husky voice that almost brought tears to ths corners of your eyes. Whatever passed between you was a dangerous thing, hotter than fire, yet fickler than a shard of thin ice.

"I hope your journey was pleasant," he said.

"Oh, definitely, my lord of Winterfell. Now, I believe the politics and scheming can wait for the morrow, but riding Kocsaryon has made my belly rumble in hunger. A feast is in order, if it please you."

Cregan gave a curt nod and led you to the Main Hall, where a feast had already been laid out. The long wooden tables groaned under the weight of hearty soups for each heart, each dish more decadent than the last, the aromas mingling in the air like a seductive promise of indulgence.

At the center of the hall stood a massive boar, its skin crisp and golden, crackling with fat that had been painstakingly rendered over hours of slow roasting. It was stuffed with onions, apples, and a medley of herbs that filled the air with their heady scent. The juices ran clear as it was carved, pooling on the thick wooden platters beneath, where hunks of dark meat were passed around to eager hands.

Beside it, platters of venison, seasoned with juniper and garlic, had been seared to perfection, the meat tender and pink within, the crust dark and fragrant. Roasted root vegetables, earthy and sweet, nestled alongside them, their edges caramelized to a rich mahogany.

A serving girl approached Cregan to clear away a platter of untouched meat and your eyes darkened when her hair brushed against Stark's shoulder.

You stuffed yourself until your belly groaned and then you chanced a glance again at Cregan who was watching as you cleaned your fingers by putting them in your mouth and slowly sucking in a suggestive gesture that was meant as a provocative invitation. Lord Stark's eyes hardened with unmistakable lust and he rose abruptly, mumbling excuses to confused guests. He promptly grabbed your hand and led you outside.

"If you will follow me, my lady. I have something to show you."

By the time you left the warmth of the Great Keep, you were wholly intrigued by this escapade. Cregan knelt before the weirwood tree that seemed to weep blood as you joined him in prayer.

"So, are going to..." No sooner had you started to ask your question, than Cregan's lips were on yours, kissing you with a ferocious intensity that went beyond mere words. His expert tongue left a trail of saliva down the column of your neck, your jaw... He licked and sucked like a newborn wolf pup, but his groans were the howl of a fully grown member of the pack.

"Oh, gods!" you yelled, uncaring of who may hear.

He quickly disrobed you, your smallclothes thrown far, far away and then you were naked beneath his lord's piercing gaze, trembling with anticipation as heat pooled between your legs.

"Cregan, pleaaase!"

The night beneath the godswood was a symphony of passion and primal need. The ancient trees stood silent witness as you and Cregan came together, your bodies intertwining with an intensity that left you both breathless. The air was cold, biting even, but the heat in your lower stomach was enough to ward off the chill for a time.

He kissed you with a fervor that spoke of years of restraint finally unleashed. His hands, rough and calloused from a lifetime of wielding swords and axes, were surprisingly gentle as they roamed your body, tracing every curve and dip as if committing you to memory. You shivered beneath his touch, but it wasn't from the cold. It was from the raw power and the undeniable hunger in his eyes, the kind that made you feel like the only thing in the world that mattered.

As the night deepened, the cold crept closer, seeping into your bones. But you were too lost in him, too lost in the way he made you feel alive in a way you had never experienced before. You clung to him, seeking warmth and comfort in the strength of his embrace, in the heat of his body pressed against yours.

But the North was unforgiving. The warmth of passion was no match for the biting cold of the northern winter. Even as Cregan held you close, his hairy body shielding you from the worst of the elements, the chill began to seep into your skin, turning your breath to fog and your lips to ice.

Cregan sensed it before you did, the way your shivers became more violent, more uncontrollable. He pulled back, his brow furrowing in concern as he looked into your eyes, now glassy with the onset of hypothermia. His heart clenched painfully in his chest at the sight.

"You're freezing," he murmured, his voice rough with worry. He pulled you closer, trying to rub warmth back into your limbs, but it was too late. The cold had already taken hold, and no amount of heat from him could chase it away.

You tried to smile, tried to reassure him that you were fine, but the words caught in your throat, your lips too numb to form them. You could feel the warmth of life slipping away, could feel the darkness creeping in at the edges of your vision. But you didn't want to let go, not when you were here, in his arms, where you had always dreamed of being.

"Cregan..." you whispered, your voice barely more than a breath. "I'm sorry..."

His eyes widened in horror as he realized what was happening. "No," he growled, shaking his head. "No, don't you dare leave me."

But you were already slipping away, your body going limp in his arms. The last thing you felt was the warmth of his tears on your face, the last thing you heard was the desperate, broken sound of his voice calling your name, begging you to stay.

When the dawn broke, the godswood was silent, the snow around you undisturbed save for the imprint of Cregan's body beside yours. He held you tightly, even as the life had long since fled from your body, refusing to let go, refusing to accept that you were gone.

The godswood bore witness to many things over the centuries, but the sight of the Lord of Winterfell, the fearsome wolf of the North, cradling the lifeless body of the one he loved, was something that would linger in its memory forever.

For Cregan Stark, the godswood would never again be a place of peace, but a place of sorrow, a reminder of the warmth he had once held in his arms and the cold that had stolen it away.

Guyss, this is my first fic! 🫣 Please let me know what you think so that I can improve my work 🐺🌙💫 Thanks for reading! 💝

[petite-siren06]

Ice skating with your penguin hybrid lover.

CW: None

‧₊˚🎄✩ ₊˚🐧⊹♡

Ice skating with your penguin hybrid lover can be either really fun and enjoyable or very embarrassing. When you’re first starting out he very much teases you in a playful manner. Like if you don't have good balance he will tease you and call you names like clumsy, stumblebum, awkward, etc.

He is very much an expert on the ice and will give you tips on how to loosen up and glide elegantly on the ice just like him. If you do end up falling on the ice. [Like me 😭] He will rush to your aid. His little snowflake just got hurt. He immediately checks for injuries only for you to tell him that you’re fine. He tries to check if you're putting on a front so you don’t look bad but when he sees you're genuinely fine he relaxes. He’s still kinda worried so he skates alongside you. It kinda feels like a mother hen looking over her baby chick.

The little chicks follow after the two of you happily sliding on the ice. Some of them are on their bellies, some are on their feet. But they happily greet you and your lover as they skate on by. The other female penguins also give good tips while passing by much to your boyfriend's dismay. He wanted to be the one to teach you, not someone else but you reassured him that you do not want to fall on your butt again. He begrudgingly accepts the help from the other female penguins.

Once you finally get the hang of it without needing his help you two start trying to do poses and without even knowing you two won a couples contest. The two of you then proceeded to start a random snowball fight with the little penguin babies. Which resulted in the kids winning cause it was 4 against two which then turned into a 6 v 2. The two of you end the day at home curled up on the couch with hot chocolate and some soft christmas music.

｡ ₊°༺❤︎༻°₊ ｡

Merry Christmas!!🎄🎁 [And happy holidays to people who don’t celebrate! 🎉]

[devildomwriter]

All is Calm, All is Bright | Leviathan x Reader

.7K words | GN! Reader | CW: none

Leviathan sketched the dimensions of his room down on a piece of graph paper. He continued to look around, making a plan in mind as you stood there with the box of Christmas lights.

For the first time ever Leviathan was letting you decorate his room for Christmas, even if it meant temporarily moving some of his prized action figures. The Christmas Ruri Chan was nonnegotiable though, she stayed no matter what.

He held up the graph paper to show you where he thought the lights might be best placed and you sat the box down to take a closer look.

“The lights won’t bother Henry 2.0 will they?” You asked him and he frowned and quickly walked to the tank.

Henry swam up to him to listen to what he had to say. Leviathan spoke to his fish as frankly as he would anyone else and Henry twirled around once in place.

Leviathan turned around and grinned.

“As long as we turn them off when we aren’t in the room.”

You frowned. “When aren’t we in your room?”

He blushed and shrunk in a bit and turned back to Henry to discuss. They appeared to be in a negotiation so you let it continue until it reached a firm conclusion.

He turned around grinning. “I’m just gonna put a blanket in front of his tank so he can sleep sometimes.”

A question came to mind you’d never thought to ask before, so you turned to your local fish expert. “How many hours of sleep do fish need?”

“Goldfish like Henry usually sleep about eight hours, sometimes up to twelve.”

“Wow, no wonder he’s concerned about the lights. That’s a majority of the day.”

Leviathan nodded, very touched you cared about his fish friend’s well-being.

After attaching a rod over the aquarium with temporary hangers, Levi borrowed a giant blanket from Belphegor that covered the tank. He quickly opened it back up after hearing Henry wanted to see you set up the lights.

He nodded and turned to you excitedly, unpacking the box of brand-new lights. He blushed at the thought you went out to the store to buy lights just for him. You decided not to tell him Satan had rage ripped the others apart when he couldn’t easily untangle them and that’s why all the lights were new this year, courtesy of Satan’s credit card.

You sat down on his beanbag chair next to him and started taking the lights off from around the cardboard they were looped around.

You and Levi carefully coordinated where you dragged the lights to make sure nothing tangled up. After everything was tested and working, you and Levi consulted his graph paper to see how many feet of light you needed to line the ceiling walls as you planned.

With no-damage hangers, you and Levi used stools to start lining up the lights on opposite sides of the room.

You slowly but surely began moving your individual ladders until they were right next to each other.

You grinned and high-fived Levi as it had all gone according to plan.

“We make a pretty good team, huh?” You pointed out and he blushed and nodded. He quickly got down from the ladder and held out his hand for you to take so you wouldn’t trip coming down the steps. He wasn’t trying to flirt, he just knew how clumsy you were. But the touch of your hand firmly holding his was enough to make him hide his red face in his sleeve.

You laughed and walked over to Levi’s light switch for the moment of truth.

Both you and Levi’s eyes sparkled as you looked at the lights and icicle lights wrapping around his room.

“I-it’s actually really cool…” Levi admitted, not expecting much from this.

“Perfect! Because we’re far from done!”

“Huh?”

“We still have snowflakes to hang from the ceilings, we need something cool to highlight Santa Ruri-Chan, I got Christmas decorations for Henry’s tank, and we need some Christmas music too.”

Levi looked surprised at your intricate plans but nodded obediently.

“Anything you say!”

While you helped decorate the rest of his room, Levi’s tail wagged happily as he swam around his Henry, placing the ornaments where the fish directed him to.

You laughed to yourself at the sweet sight and when Levi noticed he blushed but couldn’t hide it well as the lights illuminated his shy expressions of love.

[shaisuki]

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐆𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝚰𝐒𝐓

[ 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒: 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐃 ]

SYNOPSIS. Overlooked by your whole life in favor to his patient and also childhood friend — you kept quiet. Silently loving the man that belongs to you in a arranged marriage and sometimes you get tired too of asking to be noticed. A outburst from a drunken confession, leads you one thing to another. Miraculously surviving a fatal car accident and being placed under the care of your distant fiancé. Things started to change and so is he. Zayne can't take his eyes off you now. You got his whole attention and he's not that willing to let you go.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: A huge thanks to @itsmearia01 for requesting this one and turning this into a whole trilogy with extra scenes. You can also buy me a ko-fi.

THE CHAPTERS CONTAINS THE FOLLOWING. heavy angst + non mc + unrequited love + arranged marriage + yandere themes + ooc zayne + implied noncon/dubcon + pregnancy + babytrapping + emotional cheating + possessiveness + clubbing + neglect + emotional manipulation + gaslighting + implied murder + car accidents + blood and violence. dead dove do not eat.

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟏: HEART OF GLASS

It wasn't your place to dictate what his heart wants but sometimes you wished his affections were directed to you — just once. was it difficult to spare you crumbs of affection or when Zayne noticed how you start to pull away from him and it was too late for him to realize how damaged the relationship was you desperately trying to build and you got tired of wanting him. can he still get you back? or must he turn to drastic measures?

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟐: THE SNOWFLAKES ON YOUR SHOULDERS

Zayne's an expert for fixing things including heart related problems and yours wasn't an exception. He can take apart your heart and fill the holes of your once shattered heart but can he really do it? When it is you who's refusing him now?

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟑: MY HEART IN YOUR HANDS

a night of his love bore a result. one that you can't escape from. you were still determined to let go of him and put him the story and happiness he deserves even you'll be left with nothing but a body with a shattered heart — Zayne is a another story. He's not willing to let you go when he's already in too deep.

𝐄𝐗𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐒

❆ MC TRYING TO RECONNECT WITH ZAYNE

❆ TELLING A OLD FRIEND ABOUT YOUR SITUATION

❆ ZAYNE FINDING OUT YOU KILLED YOURSELF

❆ ZAYNE REACTING TO YOU BEING KIDNAPPED

❆ DEVELOPING STOCKHOLM SYNDROME

❆ HOW MANY KIDS HE'LL WANT

❆

[mysticasrandomhorde]

Noble's Will Au: Warden Trials (Pearl Clan Editon)

Pearl Clan: (first two by @creatingnonsense )

Lian: Participated in a test of staying in one place and not flinching when Lord Kleavor swings their axes close to their body. Was the youngest participant there. Managed to gain the noble's favor by staring them down when they swung their axe-like hand an inch from his face. Gained a "x" scar on his left arm as his marking.

Blessings: Geomancy, ability to summon and sense different types of rocks or geodes in an area. Tough as rock skin, making him durable to most damage. Can use and shape rocks around him as a way to defend or protect himself. Small control of the earth, still learning how to control it.

Calaba: In her younger days, her trail was searching for a personal item that Lord Ursaluna hid itself in the Miralands. Fighting off wild pokemon and wading through pools of mud, her persistence is what gained the noble's favor. Has a large paw marking on her back.

Blessings: Expert level Terraforming, ability to cause mudslides and sandpits along with diging out safe caves and holes. Increased sense of smell, her tracking techniques are unmatched. Has fangs and claws similar to her noble, along with a light layer of fur on her limbs.

Palina: Gave up her chance of becoming a Clan leader to become a warden. Had to walk along a small path of heated volcanic rocks lit by Lord Arcanine, made it to the other side with burns on her feet and hands from losing her balance. Amazed by her determination, Lord Arcanine gave her a flame marking on her ankles for winning his favor.

Blessings: Immunity to heat and fire. Mastery over Pyrokinesis, including lava. Can summon volcanic rock to get across liquid surfaces. Can Generate flames from thin air from her hands and feet. Gained her noble's facial markings along with claws and fangs.

Ingo: An unlikely canidiate due to being an outsider, but was given a chance by Lady Sneasler herself. Participated a trial against other people, receiving a scratch wound caused by the noble laced with their poison, then having to climb up a rocky cliffface without succumbing to the poison's effects. After stumbling a few times, Ingo managed to make it to the top with shaking and very cut up hands. Gained three claw scratches run along his neck, collarbone and upper chest as his marking.

Blessings: Gained expert-like agility and reflexes, along with immunity to poison. Increased speed and ability to climb steep surfaces. Has claws and fangs laced with poison, light fur covering his arms.

Gaeric: Had to take a plunge into freezing cold water before making the trek up to the peak of the Icelands while Lord Avalugg blasted cold air down, making the participant be knocked off the path. Managed to make it up there before sunrise, on his knees half -frozen and slowly succumbing to frostbite. Gained a snowflake tattoo as his forearm as his marking.

Blessings: Immunity to the cold along with immense strength, crystals of ice collect on his skin and harden like armor. Can summon and manipulate snow/ice, along with summons snowstorms.

Bonus one

Irida: Gained the role of clan leader after her older sister, Palina, refused it so to take the Noble Arcanine's trial. After taking the Oath, she takes a trek up to the Temple of Sinnoh at Sundown, getting past obstacles made by the wardens.

Blessings: Gained a pink tattoo of a group of stars between her shoulde blades. Ability to wrap reality around her to travel small distances (teleportation) and a greater affinity with manipulating water of any state around her, including the vapors in the air.

Noble Pokemon names:

Lord Kleavor: Taichi "Great sword"

Lord Ursaluna: Hanzou "Half, to hide"

Lord Arcanine(past): Hiyoshi "Sun's blessing"

Lady Sneasler: Onna "woman, lady"

Lord Avalugg: Satoru "Enlightenment, wisdom"

[cailinsblog]

A Snowy Victory | Cole caufield

Cole caufield x reader

Summary: After Cole’s game-winning goal, him and his girlfriend Y/N walk through the snow, Y/N wearing his jersey, enjoys the cozy, romantic atmosphere as they head home to celebrate with hot cocoa.

Masterlist

The crisp winter air was biting, but it didn’t seem to matter to Cole Caufield and his girlfriend Y/N as they made their way out of the Bell Centre, a victorious smile on Cole’s face and a skip in his step. The Montreal Canadiens had just wrapped up a thrilling game, with Cole scoring the game-winning goal in the final minutes—a goal that had the entire crowd roaring and chanting his name. Now, with the game behind them, he was heading home, but not alone. Y/N had been there, cheering him on, her eyes lighting up every time he skated across the ice.

The snow had started to fall just before the final buzzer sounded, little flakes drifting down from the sky as if they were celebrating too. The streets were quiet for a Saturday night, the occasional car passing by and the soft crunch of snow underfoot the only sounds as they walked hand in hand toward the parking lot.

Cole looked over at Y/N with a smile that was impossible to miss, his heart still racing from the excitement of the win. The snowflakes settled in his dark hair, and his breath came out in small, puffy clouds as he breathed in the cool air. Y/N was bundled up in a thick coat, the edges of her scarf tucked into her jacket, but what made Cole’s heart swell just a little more was the Montreal Canadiens jersey she was wearing. It was his jersey, the number 22 on the back, the fabric slightly oversized on her small frame, the sleeves rolled up just a bit to keep them from dragging.

“You look cute in my jersey,” Cole teased as they strolled, glancing over at her with a playful grin.

Y/N laughed, leaning into his side slightly, the light from the nearby streetlamp making her face glow. “Well, it’s *your* jersey. I figured it’s only right I wear it when you score the winning goal.”

Cole's smile grew even wider, his chest swelling with warmth. “You’ve got great taste.”

Y/N’s smile was mischievous as she looked up at him. “I know I do. And you know, it’s a good thing you scored that goal, or I would’ve had to wear someone else’s jersey tonight.”

Cole chuckled, shaking his head. “Lucky for me, I showed up when it counted,” he said, pulling her a little closer as they walked.

Snowflakes continued to fall around them, each one landing delicately on their jackets, hair, and eyelashes. The world felt peaceful, the noise of the city muted under the soft blanket of snow.

Y/N looked up at the sky, catching a few snowflakes on her tongue, and giggled softly when she managed to catch one on the tip of her nose. Cole couldn’t help but laugh too, his heart feeling light and full of happiness. He had everything he could ask for: the win, the crowd’s adoration, and the love of the woman by his side.

But then, as they walked under the glow of a streetlamp, a particularly large snowflake landed directly on his head. It melted instantly against his hair, but it caused Y/N to giggle again, the sound light and carefree.

Cole, still walking and now feeling the tiny wet spot on his hair, glanced over at her with an exaggerated frown. “Hey, you’re laughing at me,” he said, his voice feigning offense.

Y/N just shrugged, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “I can’t help it. You’re adorable. And you’ve got snow in your hair.”

“Maybe it’s a sign that I’m the snow king,” Cole said, trying to sound serious, but he couldn't keep the smile from breaking through. “I’m basically a winter wonderland expert.”

Y/N stopped walking for a moment, eyes narrowing as if she was evaluating his claim. “A winter wonderland expert, huh?”

“Yeah,” he said, his lips curling into a playful grin. “You should come with me sometime. I’ll show you how to rule the snow.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Is that so? And how exactly does one become an expert in snow?”

Cole stopped walking too, his voice dropping to a teasing whisper. “I could show you, but… you might need to be a little closer for the demonstration.”

Before Y/N could respond, she leaned in toward him, her lips brushing against his cheek as she kissed him softly, the snowflakes seeming to pause around them in the moment. Her lips were warm against his cool skin, the faint scent of peppermint lingering from the hot chocolate they had shared earlier. Cole closed his eyes, his heart skipping a beat as he felt the gentle press of her kiss.

When she pulled back, Y/N was smiling, a soft flush in her cheeks from the cold air. “I think I’m getting the hang of this ‘winter wonderland’ thing.”

“You’re already a pro,” Cole said, his voice soft but with that familiar warmth only she could draw out of him.

Y/N smiled, taking his hand again, this time holding it a little tighter. “Well, if I’m going to be an expert at snow, I think I need to learn from the best.”

Cole’s grin deepened, and he gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Lucky for you, I’m always here to teach you. But first…” He paused and, without warning, brushed the snowflakes out of his hair with his free hand. The snow melted almost immediately against his warm skin, but he made a little show of it, like he was brushing off imaginary snow.

“Alright,” he said, “Let’s go find my car. I’ve got a victory to celebrate with my favorite person.”

They continued walking, the snow continuing to fall around them in a steady stream. The quiet evening wrapped itself around them like a cozy blanket, the snowflakes falling in perfect harmony with the rhythm of their footsteps.

When they reached the parking lot, Cole opened the door to his car, holding it for Y/N as she slid into the passenger seat. He was about to shut the door when he looked back at her, his expression soft and sincere.

“You know,” he said, leaning in just a little, “I don’t think I could’ve had a better night. Winning the game was great, but spending it with you?” He let the words hang in the air, his smile a little shy, but genuine.

Y/N smiled back, her heart full as she looked at him. “I feel the same way. I’m proud of you, Cole. But I’m even more happy that I’m here with you.”

Before he closed the door, Cole leaned in for another quick kiss, this time on her forehead, the warmth of his lips a perfect contrast to the cold air around them. Then, as he pulled away, he finally shut the door and jogged around to the driver’s side.

The drive home was peaceful. The radio played softly in the background, but the real melody was the quiet, contented feeling between them. They didn’t need many words. The evening had already spoken for itself.

As they pulled into the driveway of Cole’s place, Y/N felt like the night had been a perfect dream, the snow still falling gently around them, the whole world quiet except for the soft crunch of the tires on the snow-covered driveway.

Cole turned to her, his eyes soft as he unbuckled his seatbelt. “How about some hot cocoa to end the night?”

Y/N laughed softly, already unbuckling her seatbelt as she leaned over and gave him one last quick kiss on the cheek. “Only if you make it. I’m still waiting to see if you're as good at making cocoa as you are at hockey.”

Cole’s grin returned. “I’ve got a lot of skills. Making hot cocoa is just one of them.”

She laughed again, rolling her eyes. “Alright, Mr. Winter Wonderland, let’s see if you can live up to the hype.”

And just like that, they were home. But the night wasn’t over—not yet. They still had each other, the snow, and a whole lot of warmth waiting for them inside.

[bluecapsicum]

Cold winter skies illustrations for my daily meteorological fiction project, Reports From Unknown Places About Indescribable Events (Twitter, Instagram, Mastodon, archives on my website).

Keep reading for the companion texts.

December 31st: We report: sometimes, we think we know what to expect when it comes to the sky. We go a few days, maybe a couple of weeks without much happening, a rainbow perhaps, a contrail... We think we know the sky. It happens then, that the clouds twist and knit into impossibilities.

January 4th: We report: we went to the planetarium with our expert, once. We spent an hour watching as we got further, and further away from Earth, then the solar system, our galaxy, and then our galaxy group, until there was nowhere to go anymore. We got brought home, to our beating heart.

January 11th: We report: good morning, we would like to draw attention to a lovely and unexpected event occurring at this moment. Would you please look up to the clouds and notice how, though the sky is largely grey, the gulls flying overhead are tinted orange by the sunrise light? Thank you.

January 12th: We report: in the hollow of a valley, sleepy lightning bugs. There is grey little light dragging itself through the air like it does not want to be here, and we are cold with our hands in our pockets and our nose in our scarf and our ears exposed and bright red (nobody sees).

January 22nd: We report: we have missed a train today, but we can only hope that the train dearly missed us in return. We waited at the station for the next one for a long time, watched people get off and on different trains until it got too cold for us to wait outside. Wispy cirrus.

January 27th: We report on a winter morning: there was a robin and a few hares, blending in with the snowy grass. The snowflakes were heavy enough that we could hear them fall around us. We could smell the cold air until our nose started running. Grey sludge on the side of salted roads.

January 28th: We report: it is after nightfall, but there are still many sparrows chattering in the trees. The air is dank out here, and as we walk, we can feel condensation forming on our face, the white puffs of our breath dissolving into the night. Our expert walks a few steps behind us.

January 31st: We report sometime around sunrise (what sun, rising from where, one might ask on this cloudy morning). The light, weak and mournful, does not weigh enough to reach down the deep blue dark of the ocean. The sea, torn by the wind, is busy frothing and making everything capsize.

February 20th: We report: the barometer and the thermometer are both down. It rained a lot last night, and today, the waters are murky, agitated even through the advection fog. We cannot see the horizon. We picked up a nice, pearlescent seashell that glimmered in the sand amidst all the grey.

February 24th: We report: hares in the fields, then a partridge later. The mud is frozen, the clouds are thick. Not much wind. Some colza and daffodils blooming on the roadside. A little bit more of February, its low skies and its half-steps, the transitions in the light and the time.