#the trees are getting green again so it’s pretty to have the curtains open and my goose is adorable and i have actual food to cook and

[iknowwhereyousleepatnight]

been sooooo productive lately :3

[oval3000]

Yandere CEO Miguel O'Hara x Reader

part 2

Warning: Toxic behavior, age gap, Violence, death, daddy kink, very toxic, smut, porn with a little plot, grumpy Miguel. Modern au- ish. The reader understands Spanish.

Part 1

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Everything was dark. There was no light going through. No daylight, no artificial light in the house. Everything was sitting still with silence. The curtains were now a shade of blue as some of the walls from the moon shone through.

No one here, no one around to hear. The big luxurious house sits alone in a fancy community. Not gate, Miguel hates gated communities. Having to deal with the guy a front, he hates. However, with a fancy home comes a community where each house is isolated with big gardens, separate garages, Big beautiful trees all around the green yards, and piles of roses making plain bushes look pretty.

The bedroom was closed shut. Clothes are on the floor. The outfit that you picked out for the third date was now all over the bedroom, hardwood floors.

The only thing you could hear was the sound of wet skin squelching, You sat on your back on Miguel's torso with his legs and your legs spread wide open. Your head was resting near his shoulder as one of your hands was holding onto his neck while the other was clutching the bedsheets beneath you. Your eyes were blindfolded with one of his black ties.

This is the second time he has pleasured you. The second time the both of you are naked, making love while some call just straight-up porn. Miguel wanted to play with you. He wanted to play with something that was his.

His middle finger and ring finger were so deep inside you, rubbing your walls with his fingertips. He wanted so deep that he wanted to break off his fingers. He was so drunk with your pussy, he wanted to dive in and destroy it.

After the romantic date, that he planned and did, ended, he brought you back home. He didn't tell you that he wanted to have sex with you. He didn't give you any type of warning that he wanted to rip off your clothes. The second you guys went was spent ended with watching a movie and sleeping while cuddling. Now here you are after the third date, laying there with your legs spread open while he was fucking your pussy with his long, thick fingers. He's so big and fit that you forgot how much it came to pleasure above all and beyond.

Your moans were so turning him on, it was making him even more horny. He was so horny. After the date, you went to the bedroom and started to change into your pj's when he came from behind wrapped his tie around your eyes, and blindfolded you.

He told you that he wanted to take care of you and make you feel good like he did before. You got him addicted to this.

"You're so warm, cariño." he felt his fingers getting wet with how much he was playing with your pussy. "You like my fingers, don't you. Is this pussy mine, baby?"

He watched as you squirm with his touch inside you. "Y-yes!~...Ahh!...oh~....."

"Yes, what." He stopped moving his fingers.

"Yes! Daddy!...Ah! This pussy is yours!`...Oh.." You moaned out. He didn't pump his finger, he was just playing with your insides which made you act crazy. He moved again. The teasing made you feel more hot.

"I want you to gush on my fingers, reina. I want you to cum. Cum for me baby." He moved his fingers faster than before. The sound of your pussy getting slapped around made him roll his eyes back.

"Ahh! Oh.....Miguel!" You screamed feeling a wave coming through. Squirting all over his fingers, coating them, and drenching them with your juices. He took his fingers out and gave a few flicks on your clit which made you spray even more, "Ah!Ah~"

"Que chula es mi reina." He gave you a kiss on your cheek. You couldn't see what he was doing you could only feel him shift and move around.

You felt your back on the bed and his presence on top of you. He went under your wet pussy, feeling his hot breath near. He kissed your thighs and moaned, making it vibrate. "I want to taste you, mi amor."

Your hands were gripping on the bedsheets as went in a started to suck your clit with his mouth. You felt the vibration going through with the moan he let out.

His touch was everything. He made you so high that you couldn't remember anything. You couldn't even remember your name. The only name you were moaning out was, "Miguel~...Miguel!~...Ohhh~ Miguel!!"

That night, he fucked you. He came inside you so many times that you felt so bloated with his seemed. He pleasured you so many times that it made you forget. His pleasure made you forget.

You were honestly grateful that you listened to your ob-gyn a couple years ago about birth control. You never planned on having sex, you just wanted to fix your period pain. Even though the IUD was a freaking pain to be inserted that you felt like dying, you never knew that it would come in handy.

As days went by, his lawyers came to the house and discussed more of the marriage license. He told them that you were ready to sign. When you told him that it's a bit early for you to get married, he quickly snapped at you.

Now that the paper was in front of you and the pen was in your hand, you realized how real this was. How everything was. You'll be married to this man. You'll now be Mrs. O'hara.

His lawyers were talking to him about the more paperwork that you'll be doing since you have to change your last name. You stared at the paper trying to read it, but the only thing you could see was the blurriness and your heartbeat taking over your brain.

"What's wrong, mi amor."Miguel placed his hand on your back. You stared at him and saw his face. The man that you'll wake to for the rest of your life.

You remembered the night you told him that you weren't ready. He screamed at you. "N-nothing." You wrote your signature on the dotted line.

Paperwork after paperwork, you are finally married to Miguel O'Hara. The lawyers and a private judge, who's one of Miguel's friends, congratulated Miguel and left. "What's the matter, mi amor. You're so quiet."

"I just didn't plan to be married right away. I thought I was." You looked at him and images of him grabbing you and dragging you to the bedroom, yelling at you that you will marry him no matter what. His pleasures make you forget." Nothing, I...I'm happy."

"Are you still not sure about the marriage." He got closer to you. "Because if you aren't sure."

"No!..N-no I am sure! I'm happy." You said to him.

His mouth turned to a smile. "Good! how about we go to the bedroom and have a moment as newlyweds." He kissed your neck. "We could start having a little bundle of joy." He placed his hand on your stomach.

"I think we should wait first. We just got married and we should enjoy ourselves before-" You couldn't finish your sentence.

His red crimson eyes stared at you, "You don't want kids? Because if you don't want kids," he held your waist a little too tight, "then."

"I-I do!" You whinced at how hard he was gripping your waist. "I just thought-"

"You thought wrong. We're going to have kids and we are ready for it. Trust me, once we get a little ñiño or ñiña then you will see that you've always been ready." He grabbed your hand and dragged you back to the bedroom.

Tell him about the birth control! You heard a voice in your head. Don't tell him! You should bear his child! You shouldn't! He gave you everything! You should still enjoy your life first! You're his wife! Kids can be a handful! You're being ungrateful! You deserve better!

His pleasure made you forget.

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"I made an appointment to check our fertility." Miguel tossed his phone on the couch and sat next to you. "We have it tomorrow, early morning, okay."

It's been five months since the both of you have been trying. You were shocked that the birth control was holding on strong.

Every night, he would fuck you deep inside. Sometimes he would fuck you rough. On other nights, he would fuck you gently. There are times when you would go to sleep early to avoid it, but then you'll feel him on top of you, fucking you.

You eventually told him that you might get pregnant if you guys take it slow and don't spend all night in bed naked. You told him that your body needed to rest maybe that's why you couldn't get pregnant.

Your heart was racing. You were panicking. You couldn't shed a night's sleep at all.

When you felt the sun shining through, you felt your stomach getting heavy. You had to use the bathroom to relieve yourself of how nervous you were. You felt so nauseous that your legs couldn't start jiggling up and down.

You heard him waking up, so you quickly cleaned yourself up and got ready for the day.

He put on a casual blue shirt and some jeans. You tried to urge him to not miss work, but he replied by saying that he's the boss and that missing a day won't harm him or the company. You looked at the clock as the time was getting close for the appointment.

Just tell him! Maybe he'll understand! you thought to yourself. You lied to him. You have been lying to him for five months. "Let's go." He got up from the armchair and headed downstairs.

You followed him from behind. Your cuticles were starting to bleed with how much you were picking on them. "Wait, Miguel."

He turned around, "What?"

"We can't go." You said. He stood in front of you. He was so tall and broad that it started to frighten you. "There's nothing wrong with us."

"What do you mean?" He asked. You shook your head. Why are you so scared? Stop being scared? You told yourself. Your eyes were getting watery. "(Y/N)?"

You looked at him, "I'm......I'm on birth control." You looked at his face and saw how angry he got.

His face was no longer the usual face he made. His eyes were darting right at yours."What!"

"I've been on birth control for two years now. I got it when I first turned 18. I'm sorry. I should've told you, I'm sorry." You explained to him.

"If you were on birth control then why didn't you tell me!" He yelled at you.

"I don't want to have kids now. I'm not ready. Miguel please," You cried to him. "Migue-"

"Pills or inserted?" He asked. "Answer me!"

"It's an IUD." You replied.

He took your hand and pulled you towards the front door. "They'll take it out."

"Wait! Miguel! I'm not ready! Please! Please don't do this to me!" You sobbed to him, trying to get free from his grip. You pulled your body away from him but his strength was easily overpowering yours.

He turned to you and grabbed your face. "No! You don't get to do this to me! You've been lying to me! This entire time I thought that we couldn't have kids, but now you're telling me that you are on birth control!"

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" You cried out.

"I don't want to hurt you. I really don't want to hurt you." He closed his eyes, taking deep breaths.

"Please don't hurt me! I'm so sorry!" You felt his grip so tight on you.

"Your privileges are over. You're no longer going outside. You no longer have access online. We're going to get that thing remove and once it's done, I'm going to fuck you day and night. I don't care about your pleas. I don't care what you say, I'm going to put babies inside you." He dragged you back to the bedroom and threw you on the bed.

He called the doctor and told him that the visit was now going to be a home visit. The doctor came in and removed the IUD from your body. When the doctor left, Miguel went in and did what he told you.

The only difference was that he wasn't gentle. He wasn't calling you sweet names like he did. Instead, his wordplay was more...degrading. Calling you a bitch or a slut.

Every day, he'll fuck you. Any chance, he'll bend you over; whether it was the kitchen counter, the bedroom, or even the bathroom, he'll bend you over and fuck you.

One night, he was rougher than ever. He was fucking you deep and hard. He was making you tear up. "Ah!...Mhmm~ Ngh!...Fucking bitch! take my fucking cock! Fucking whore!" He thrust in and out.

He pressed your head on the pillow with your ass up in the air, "Ah!...I- Fuck! I'm going to put a baby in there! fuck~" He will slap your ass and continue to fuck you ignoring your sobs to tell him to stop.

That morning, he was gone when you woke up. You went to the bathroom and turned on the shower. You felt the water running down your body. You sat on the floor and cried your feelings out.

When he came home, he opened the bedroom door and started to undress himself. You lay on the bed, hearing his belt buckle hitting the floor. You were staring away from him, covering yourself in blankets. You covered your face, letting out a cry. "Please." You sat up and stared at him with desperation. "Please. You're hurting me."

"I'm doing what's best for us." He said.

You sobbed. You cried and cried. "You're not seeing what you're doing to me! You're hurting me! You said that you'll love me! You said that you won't hurt me!" He got on the bed and got closer to you. "No. No...NO! NO! STOP! STOP! NO! NO!" you kicked and pushed until you felt your hand slapping him across his face. "I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU!"

You ran to the bathroom and closed the door. You locked the door and ran to the tub. You got in and curled yourself into a ball. You could hear his knocks and calls out for you.

"I-I'm sorry baby. Please open the door. I didn't mean to hurt you." He said it in a concerned tone. He never meant to hurt you. He didn't. He never realized what he had done. "Carño..Por…porfavor… I want to see you, please. I need to know that you're okay. Mi amor." He wanted you to hit him back to get back at him for not realizing how much damage he had caused you. That was never his intention. He never wanted you to be scared of him. The way you looked at him, the screams you made It sounded and looked like you were going to be killed. It was a wake-up call to Miguel, to finally get some sense and see what he had done. "I'll let you do whatever you want. If you want to go outside, I'll take you. I'll take you wherever you want to go. If you want to hit me, then hit me and punch me. I just want to see you. Porfavor! Carñino! Abra la puerta."

You never answered him back. You stayed in the bathroom for hours and hours. Eventually, those hours turned into days.

Miguel, every day, kept talking to you and telling you to open the door, but there was nothing. He was getting worried. The only response he got from you was when he saw that the food he left out was eaten, so at least he knows that you're still alive. He would leave out a blanket, pillows, and some fresh new clothes so you could at least be comfortable. He doesn't know if you are ever going to forgive him and he doesn't blame you.

At work, he hardly concentrated because all of his thoughts were of you. When he comes home from work, he'll stare at the door contemplating if he should knock the door down or wait until you are ready.

"Mi amor," he said softly. "Perdoname…Perdoname…Porfavor." he sat down on the floor near the door. "I won't force you. I won't do those things to you. Please, open the door. If you don't want to have kids now, then I'll wait till you're ready. I was so eager to start a family that I didn't think about how you'd feel. I'm sorry." he rested his head on the door. "I'm sorry for not listening to you," he closed his eyes, feeling guilty for all the things he had until he remembered the other little things he committed. The murder of your mother. Does he feel guilty for that? Not really.

"You won't hurt me?" You finally said, softly.

He opened his eyes wide open. "Mi Amor? No. I won't hurt you, I promise. I promise baby. I swear to you. I swear to everything that I won't hurt you ever again. Let me in, please." He heard the door unlock and moved his body to turn towards it. When he saw the door open, he finally saw you and you saw him on his knees. He wrapped his arms around your waist and placed his head on your stomach. "I love you. I love you. I love you. Te amo, mi amor. Te amo mucho. I'll never hurt you. I never wanted to hurt you. Not you. I'll do anything you want me to do, but please forgive me. I can't live without you. I can't live without you. I can't. I can't. I refuse to live without you. I love you so fucking much. Mi Vida. Mi Sol. Mi Cielo. Eres todo para mi. I don't care if the world ends as long as I'm with you, I'll be the happiest man alive. Mi Princesa. Mi Reina. Mi Amor." He kissed your stomach, your hands, your arms, your legs, he trailed his way up to you and cupped your cheeks. "I love you so much, I'll burn this planet down so it can just be the two of us."

"You really hurt me, Miguel." You said to him.

"I know. I know, princess. I hurt you so much and you didn't deserve it. The things I'd done to you. The things I've said. If I ever even dare to say any of those things to you again, kill me. Shoot me in the head. I'd rather be dead than hurt you ever again. I love you." He pulled you into a hug, feeling you in his arms. "I love you, Mi amor."

You felt his warmth once again. His touch. His gentle touch. "I love you too."

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The cold was settling in. The snow was covering the roads and sidewalks. Kids are out building snowmen and angels. Christmas lights are out and colorful shining through the city.

The local church with many kids and parents getting hot cocoa, warm blankets, and jackets. Helpers handing out gifts to kids. Light Christmas music playing on the speakers.

You rubbed your hands together to get a bit of warmth. "Mi amor, I told you to bring your mittens, you're gonna get cold." You turned to Miguel who was getting a pair of mittens from his dark brown coat. "Here," He took your hands and put on the warm mittens. Your warm mittens. "Mi vida." He placed a kiss on your forehead.

He went back to hand parents hot cocoa or tea and kids some presents. Many kids were surrounding him as they thanked him. They were talking to him about how cool the gifts were. He gave their parents, who didn't have a car, a gift box with their new car keys inside. He gave single moms a free two-day spa ticket they could use alongside a professional babysitter's phone number, who could watch their kids free of charge. Of course, Miguel is the one paying for all of this. A true hero for the people.

You handed out bags of candy to kids and saw how big their smiles grew. Family taking pictures with a Christmas tree behind them. You never had a true Christmas day. The first year you spent with Miguel in the house and your mom, Miguel was in his office all day while your mother was partying it out. You remember when Miguel knocked on your bedroom door and gave you a diamond necklace, matching bracelet, and earrings. The second time was just you and him. He gave you a gorgeous dress ( that matches your style perfectly). And now here you are, giving presents to the people in need. Looks like there were signs all along.

When the night ended, the both of you went home. Miguel told you about the New Year's Eve party at the company. You couldn't pay attention because all you could think of was the faces those kids made. The way they were so happy about the littlest things. The way Miguel was so gentle with them. The way they all played with each other.

The New Year's Eve party was nice with all the scientists and workers gathering together and talking about their latest project. Everyone was talking to Miguel about his work and the intervention of how far everything has gone with science and technology. Miguel introduced you to everyone as his wife. The fact that you felt yourself blush over that was something.

He kept you close to him and always held your hand everywhere you both went. Even if he wasn't there, the two guards are there to protect you. Miguel then gave a speech to everyone as a thank you for their hard work and dedication for their long hours of using their knowledge to further enhance the evolution of people's health.

The car ride was comfortable as you listened to music that felt nostalgic. Miguel blasted the radio, placing his hand on your thigh the entire ride back home.

"It's so freaking cold outside, but I tried to warn them about this." He took off his pants and shirt. "We're busting our asses to maintain a functional solution for this polluted crisis." He put on some gray sweats and a plain white t-shirt. "Shortly, all of this will be over, and we'll have normal winters and easy summers." He walked over to the bed and saw you sitting in your chair with your vanity spaced out. "Are you okay, mi amor?"

You snapped from your thoughts and looked at him. "Sorry. What were you saying?"

"Is everything alright? You spaced out. I know science can be boring and can make people drive off." He continued to talk, removing the pillow to lift up the blanket.

"I think I'm ready." You told him. Miguel stopped what he was saying and what he was doing. He stared at you with his mouth hung open. "I want a baby."

It was cold. The air was making things freeze outside. The cold roads were turning into ice, making it slippery.

The only thing that was making everything warm was the body heat you both were creating.

Miguel was sitting on the armchair with his legs spread open. He had his hands on your back, holding you tightly. His face was buried into your chest, kissing it, leaving hickeys all over. He lifted you up and down so gently and sensual. He ran his hands all over your body as you are on top of him, pussy deep into his cock.

You moaned out the pleasure of his cock hitting your cervix making your head tilt back. He lifted you up as you wrapped your legs around his waist.

He, gently, placed you on the bed and continued to thrust into you. He placed his hands on yours and intervened his fingers with yours holding each other's hands. He kissed you so passionately and deep it made you feel butterflies in your stomach.

He lowered his body closer to yours rested his head on your neck and picked up the pace with his thrust. Your hands were on his back feeling his cock drilling you in and out. His moans and grunts entered into your ear and were mixed with your orgasms. His soft moans turned into words that made you feel good. "I~ I love you...Ah!~...I love you, mi amor."

He made love to you. He made you remember.

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The crisp, orange leaves fell down and landed on the green yards all over. People put their carved pumpkins out on their porches. Horror films are being played on TV. Halloween decorations are being put everywhere. Spooky music fills the air through the loudspeakers. The fresh air hit your face as you ate all the pretzal bites you bought. Your two guards were holding two cups of pigs in a blanket and more pretzel bites while walking aside from you.

you threw the now empty cup into the trash bin and entered the store. You looked through and found all the cute things that made you smile.

You ate the rest of the pretzal bites on the way back home. You placed the shopping bags on the couch and went towards the kitchen. You saw the chef that was making the food. You were now his taste tester, but were just hungry.

You heard the front door open and close and saw Miguel coming in. He walked up to you and kissed you on the lips. His hand made its way to your stomach and gave it a little rub. "How was little one today."

"He wanted pretzal bites." Miguel bent down and gave a kiss on your swollen belly. "I think we're gonna need to buy a pretzel place."

He chuckled, "He's gonna be just like you. How was shopping?"

"Good. I bought this cute onsie and a tiny little binnie. I know he's gonna grow out of it fast, but they were so cute." You explained and showed it to him.

That night, you woke up in pain. You looked at the clock and saw it was two in the morning. "You're going to be trouble to put to sleep, aren't you?" You whispered while rubbing your belly; the pain was getting worse. You took deep breaths while feeling the contraction. You got up and moved to be more comfortable. Another wave of contraction came in closer when, all of a sudden, you felt a big wave of water running down your legs. "Miguel!"

He quickly woke up, "What's wrong?" He got up from the bed and saw you in excruciating pain.

"My water just broke."

The ride was fast and safe. Miguel timed the contractions and told you to take deep breaths.

The labor itself was painful, but you were just happy to finally meet your baby. Miguel was right by your side during everything. He let you hold his hand while you squeezed it. Miguel demanded that you have the baby on your knees so gravity can help you out and it did.

When you heard the baby cry you cried with joy.

After the after-birth, you lay back down on the bed as the nurses placed the baby on your chest. He was an exact copy of Miguel.

"What should we name him?" He asked.

"How about Gabriel."

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Miguel came home from work and saw you breastfeeding your son. It's been a month since you came back home with your newborn son. Miguel has been more helpful than ever. He stayed up at night to feed his son so you can have your rest. He would change his diaper instead of asking you. "Mi amor, I've been thinking about hiring a professional nanny to come and help while I'm at work." He told you.

"Are you sure?" You asked.

"Por su puesto, mi amor. It'll be nice for someone to come in and help while I'm not here." He said to you, taking the baby from your arms, and cradling it. "I've found a professional nanny who also has a degree in nursing. She worked in healthcare at the children's department and also in childcare for 20 years. Of course, you'll meet her as well and determine whether or not she's fit for it, I just thought it would be good to get a little help. Besides," He kissed the baby's head while rocking him, "we plan on having more, right?"

You met the nanny, who was professional and caring. She already had kids of her own and is now a proud new grandma. You gave her all holidays and weekends off. You also made sure that Miguel gave her a holiday bonus and benefits for herself and her family. She helped you whenever you needed it.

This was your life now.

Miguel's dream came true. He got the woman he loves and a family. He'll make sure that nothing will ever take that away from him.

[wearywinchester]

Restless

Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: When a nightmare of that days hunt plagues you over and over, it’s next to impossible to hide your distress from the older Winchester.

Warnings: angst, nightmares, blood, injury, swearing, fluff, kissing

Again. Again for what felt like the fiftieth time in the last half our did you wake up. Realistically, more time has passed than a mere thirty minutes but it didn’t matter, not when you woke up short of breath, the sound of your gasp in contrast to the silence of the room having added to your already persistent fear.

Your heart was racing a mile a minute as your whole body jerked, moving to prop yourself up on your elbows as the shirt you wore clung to your back from the same sheen of sweat that sat in your face. The breeze from the open window helped, it cooled you, but the heat still flooded in your cheeks temporarily from the burst of adrenaline you felt upon waking from another nightmare.

Maybe another wasn’t the right word, not quite, because that’d imply that the narrative changes every time and it doesn’t. It’s the same scenario, the same script, the same turn of events. It’s all the same and it comes to haunt you each and every time you close your eyes.

The bed was empty, the room was empty—it was just you and the gusts of wind drawing your eyes to the window in half fear that that damn monster was going to come in and grab you.

It was irrational, you were almost one hundred percent sure, because that thing was dead and gone but your mind refused to believe it to be true. That much was sure as you looked at the window, at the curtains pushing towards you from the breeze blowing in. As you looked at the trees beyond the window that were swaying just like the ones back at the place that was haunting you every time you closed your eyes for more than a second or two.

You sat there, unsure of yourself until you finally were. You pushed back the covers and pressed your bare feet to the cold hardwood floor, padding over to the window and shutting it, shutting out the potent threat you thought may have been lurking right on the other side.

Your heart rate picked up again, not that it ever really settled, but it wasn’t until you’d gotten up that you really realized how affected you were. You were standing there on wobbly legs as you shook the slightest bit, hands shaking to mirror it. Your lip wasn’t that far behind as the tears continued to press and burn behind your eyes. You were so tired, frustrated even and you couldn’t bring yourself to get an ounce of restful sleep. You knew you wouldn’t be able to.

The urge for a distraction became to great when you found yourself just standing there in the middle of that room, running your hands over your face in hopes of a refresher but finding yourself brushing over the cut on it from earlier today. You were quick to recoil, those tears trying desperately to make an appearance. But you wouldn’t let them.

You left the room empty behind you as you followed the glow of light coming from downstairs, the old floor creaking beneath your feet. Bobby was out with Rufus and Sam was doing who knows what research at this hour because that was Sam. But that’s not who you were looking for, you were looking for a green eyed hunter who’s whereabouts were something you had a good idea of.

He knew it was you, of course he did, he knew the pattern of your footfalls. He could pick it up distinctly even in a room full of a thousand different sets of them. Not only that, but he knew you were distressed, he knew there was something bothering you ever since that hunt was wrapped up and finished with. It wasn’t just that ever so slight frown, or the way you drug your feet from more than just fatigue. It wasn’t any of that that gave it away.

It was the fact that you wouldn’t even look him in the eye. You were quiet as ever, that pretty smile of yours never reaching your lips, hardly even mustering a fake one just to humor him. You weren’t yourself and he noticed before you did.

You tried to be quiet, light on your feet as you walked, hearing the tap of his boot on the floor before you rounded the corner to the little kitchen Bobby had.

He was sitting at the table by the wall, papers scattered amongst the old and scratched wood surface, his laptop propped open with the next article on another case on it.

You didn’t even want to think about another hunt, mainly because you couldn’t, not when you were so beyond stuck on this one without an option to sway your mind to think about something else. You were stuck there, stuck in a loop that terrified you each and every time you thought about that stupid monster and the way it taunted you. You were frozen in that moment and every time you tried to think of something else it pulled you right back to it.

“Y/n?”

You blinked, looking at green eyes when he spoke your name and saw the way his brows were knit together.

“What are you doin’ up?” He asks, curiosity in his tone with a hint of something you couldn’t place.

He knew.

You stood there for a moment, scrambling for the reason that wasn’t untrue, you just couldn’t bring yourself to tell him the full truth of why you’d wandered down there in search of the older Winchester. You couldn’t bring yourself to tell him how safe he made you feel, at least couldn’t in that moment. But you couldn’t stand there all quiet and timid forever, that wasn’t like you.

“Just checking in on you, see what you’re doing,” you shrugged, voice quieter and you looked him in the eyes for the first time since early that afternoon.

He hums quietly after a moment passes, a moment of looking at you carefully, a nod following it as he bites the inside of his cheek softly. He didn’t believe it, not even for a second did he believe it. Yes, you might very well have been checking on him, but he knew that wasn’t it. He knew that wasn’t the only reason, the only thing that had you wandering down there in search of him. He knew you far better than to believe that’d been the sole purpose of why you were standing a mere few feet away from him in the middle of the night when you’d been tired the whole ride back there.

For a minute you thought your answer was solid, fool proof, for a good minute you thought you’d made a steady reason but you knew better. You knew he’d see right through you and it had you shifting on your feet. It had you growing more timid the more he looked at you with that look that spoke a thousand words.

You cleared your throat. “I uh, I should get—”

“You’re bleeding,” Dean interjects, the crease between his brows deepening.

“What?”

The cut on your cheek, that one from the hunt that you rubbed your hands over in your daze upon first waking up. That’s what he was talking about.

“Y/n, look at me,” he says.

You let out a huff, frustration from lack of quality sleep after having been plagued with the same recurring nightmare and the green eyed hunter standing in front of you having brought it out all the more. So you huff, you huff and turn to look at him for the briefest of seconds just to say you did for his sake before you turn away again.

“There, it’s nothing,” you say, a little too defensive for your own good.

“Bathroom. I’ll be there in five minutes.”

“Dean, I said it’s nothing,” you argue softly, but this insistence was very much there in your voice.

“I wasn’t asking, sweetheart,” he says, he gaze just as unrelenting as yours as you stare at him with narrowed eyes in an attempt to show your displeasure as best you can.

He wasn’t swayed.

That huff of yours comes back, sounding once more in the older Winchester’s direction as you spun on your heel and you could’ve sworn you heard his chuckle behind you, that one he always does when he gets the most stubborn hunter there is to listen to him for just once. Stubborn second only to him.

You stomp back upstairs, quietly at that, seeing as there’s at least two people in Bobby’s house that are able to sleep soundly, and somehow Sam and Bobby always manage to be the ones who are.

You reach the landing, the old hardwood floor creaking under your feet as you round the railing and walk the few steps to the small bathroom on the right. You switched the light on and hopped up on the counter, legs dangling as you exhale a softer sigh, not quite a huff but the same intention sitting behind it as you purse your lips.

It wasn’t very long before you heard those boots thud against those same stairs, creaking along that same pattern and sure enough it’d been five minutes just as he said he’d be. Five minutes before Freckles appeared in the doorway with that look on his face that you hated, you hated it but you knew you loved it all the same.

“Surprised you listened. Thought I’d have to throw you over my shoulder and drag you here myself,” he says, his humor in his words.

“Don’t push it, Winchester,” you say, hearing his chuckle once more.

You watched as he ducked down, opening the old wooden door of the cabinet under the bathroom sink you sat near on the counter. Watched as he swiped that familiar old first aid kit from its rightful spot and set it down next to you.

You were quiet as you watch him open it, dragging his finger along the compartments until he found what he was looking for. You were quiet as you sat there feeling small, because you may have been giving him attitude, your usual playful banter. You may have been flashing him a pretty smile that truly was reserved just for him, but deep down that fear still sat heavy within you. Heavy as you sat before the one that’d give you the shirt off his back and protect you from anything even if it’d meant he’d go down swinging.

You knew that, you knew you were the safest you could possibly be so long as he was around. And you’ve got Sam, you’ve got Bobby, but you’ve got Dean. You knew it but the way that hunt plagued you the second you closed your eyes for more than a few moments, it had your stomach twisting with that fear that maybe, just maybe that monster would come back to get you. That maybe it wasn’t brought to its very last breath by an angry Winchester.

The worry settled down deep within you, worry that Dean never stopped noticing as he kept his eye on you ever since it’d happened. You might not have noticed, but he knows you far better than you’d ever think, and he could tell something was off with a simple half glance, but there’s not a chance he’d let his gaze linger for that short of time. That was impossible.

“Sweetheart, I can’t clean you up if you refuse to look at me,” he says, lighthearted yet concerned all the same.

“Am not,” you say, quiet and almost pitiful.

He knew.

He sighs, soft and borderline frustrated with your stubbornness as he looks at you with pursed lips. He meets your gaze until you watch his eyes flit over to your cheek, his brows creasing together a little deeper.

The crimson color was smudged on your cheek from where you’d swiped it away with the back of your hand in a haphazard attempt to wipe it away and act as if it wasn’t a big deal. Truthfully it wasn’t, not really. It was a scratch and you’ve had far worse, but that didn’t matter to Dean. What mattered was that you even got hurt in the first place.

“Dammit, Y/n,” he says quietly.

“Oh, stop it,” you grumble.

He looks at you with a less than pleased expression, though it was still soft with concern.

His hand is calloused and warm as he brings it up to settle gently on your other cheek, palm cradling your face as his thumb presses to your chin to keep you from turning away from him.

“Hold still,” he says, that familiar concentration on his face as he grabs a peroxide soaked stack of gauze.

“It’s not like you’re giving me stitches, Dean,” you say, moving only slightly just to be redirected by a soft nudge of Dean’s hand.

“Yeah, well, I’ve given you a hell of a lot more than I’ve ever cared to,” he says, “and don’t argue it because you know that’s true.”

Your shoulders slump a bit as you sigh, leaning into his palm a little. He notices, he notices the action right away even if you won’t admit your resignation to comfort or the fact that you’re letting him clean you up. It’s something you always fight him on, something you’re so stubborn in trying to do yourself because weakness is something you don’t like showcasing, and that’s something he knows very well.

You’re quiet for a little bit after that, wincing only slightly when he grazes over the cut along your cheek, the antiseptic stinging enough to make your cheeks flush warm.

You could feel his gaze on you, something you couldn’t meet for more than a brief second or two before you averted your own, feeling the way his thumb brushed along your chin by the hand that remained settled on your cheek. It was a simple act of comfort, gentle and small, sweet in contrast to the gruffness he portrayed for himself.

It wasn’t that big of a deal, not really. You’ve had far worse injuries that you’ve been on the receiving end of on hunts much worse than this one, so the amount of time he’s been taking on it simply proved that he was fussing over you far more than he needed to. If you’d have brought it to his attention he’d have denied it with a grumble or two and pursed lips. Maybe even an eye roll. But you knew just how much this bothered him, even if it didn’t bother you.

What bothered you was the repetitive nightmare that plagued your mind every single time you settled down for even just a minute of sleep. What bothered you was the way it made you tremble and startle from said sleep, only to met with the quiet night of the reality you were in. What bothered you was the way you continued to shake with a pounding heart as you lay awake until you’re tired enough, too tired to keep your eyes open.

He watched you like a hawk, looking for any sign of pain you fought so hard to hide. Watching for any bit of weakness you were determined to keep at bay. The look in your eyes, something on your mind he couldn’t quite figure out, but he knew it was more than just that cut on your cheek. The way your lip jutted out ever so slightly, the smallest of quivers making it tremble under the pressure of whatever was distressing you.

He found himself letting his gaze linger on you, antiseptic soaked gauze still brushing over your skin as his other hand remained cradling your face. It lingered and you didn’t even notice, not the way green eyes took in your every movement, no matter how small. Not the way his brows stayed furrowed in the utmost of concern as he analyzed every single bit of your expressions for even just the smallest hint of what’s bothering you. He knew better than to think you’d tell him if he asked.

All you could think about was the way that hunt had been haunting you, tormenting you, replaying in your mind of how much that damn monster would’ve put you six feet under in a heartbeat had it held you captive for just a minute longer. You were scared out of your mind, heart nearly bursting with fear when you’d found yourself to be quite alone, all by yourself in the middle of the woods with no idea how to even get yourself out of the restraints you found yourself in.

It was horrifying, terrifying, something that had you not so quick to jump on the next hunt Sam will surely stumble across the next morning. You didn’t scare too easily, used to the frights the world of being a hunter will throw at you. You were stronger than that, more fearless, but you couldn’t stop the way it ate away at you and you couldn’t help but let yourself be scared this time.

It made your mind swim with scenario’s that haven’t even happened, with over dramatic what if’s for the next hunt and the one after, and every single one after that until you finally do meet your fate who knows how far into the future. It had you spiraling into this, that, and the next thing until—

“Y/n, hey.”

You heard the concern in his tone, eyed flickering to his to see the way his gaze matched his words. You looked at him, looked with furrowed brows, a softer expression than his own. You felt that sting on your cheek again, now that you were brought back to reality and away from your thoughts.

“Hm?”

Your hum was simple and soft, sounding as though you didn’t just space how for an amount of time you weren’t even sure of at this point and you didn’t really want to know. All you do know is that you’re beyond distracted and a very concerned Dean is giving you those eyes that let you know he’s caught onto the fact that you’re not as fine as you say you are. But that doesn’t mean you won’t try and convince him anyway.

“You with me, sweetheart?” He asks, soft as his words hold a certain caring that was reserved for you.

They were paired with the brush of his fingers along your hairline, delicate and gentle as the run through your hair and down the side of your face until his hand cradles your cheek once more.

He waits for the words that sit on the tip of your tongue, waiting to see if you’d tell him the truth or tell him some half-assed lie that he’d never once believe. He knew it’d be the latter because that’s how you are and there’s no denying it. You’d rather let yourself suffer than look the slightest bit weak and he thinks it’s an absolute load of crap, even if he was the very same way. But he didn’t care about himself, he cared about you, and that was the difference.

“With you,” you say halfheartedly, soft as your tiredness began to coat your words.

But you were distracted, so tired yet so restless all the same and your brief moment of spacing out had given way to that very fact. It didn’t help your cause with the older Winchester and you could kick yourself for letting it show.

You nuzzle into his hand some despite it, the gentle affection something that you seek a little bit more than the desire to keep your distress at bay.

“Y/n.”

The single use of your name was firm and all knowing, something that draws a deep exhale from you and a deeper crease in his brows from him.

“Would you quit looking at me like that?” You say, tilting your head away from his hand and pursing your lips.

“Would you quit acting like there’s nothing wrong?”

You bite the inside of your cheek as your brows knit together all the more tightly, watching the way his gaze is relentless as he stares at you. He knew you weren’t yourself, and he knew it was more than just being sleepy, he knew you like the back of his hand. You’re his sweetheart after all, you can’t pull a fast one on him.

“De,” you say, soft and on the cusp of breaking your facade. “Nothing’s wrong.”

You knew better than to think he’d believe that. It was foolish to think he’d take that answer as any bit of being serious.

A short huff blows past his lips as the second round of lies you’d so boldly told him, one’s that don’t even remotely sound real because he knows better. He always knows better because he’s Dean Winchester and he’s known absolutely everything about you down to the very reason you so much as scrunch your nose. You do it when you’re trying not to cry, and when you’re lying.

So he exhales that huff, tossing the dirtied gauze in the small plastic trash can beside the bathroom counter. You knew what that meant, that heavy breath of exasperation and frustration woven around the simple action. When it was paired with that look he’s giving you, the one with the creased brows just ever so slightly, and the pursed lips as he looks at you with all the concern in the world yet anger all the same. Not with you, but your stubbornness.

“Y/n,” he says, stern but still soft.

“Dean,” you say, effectively quieting him. There was a few passing moments if quiet after that, of him giving you that look and you giving one right back. “‘S late, I’m gonna head to bed.”

You see the way his jaw clenched, tense as he looks down momentarily, attention pulled back to you when you hopped off the counter. He softens a bit when you lean up and kiss his cheek, softens just enough to let you pass by him to slip out the door. He always calms down when you do that even though he really shouldn’t because he knows you, he knows you’re not yourself right now.

But you left him to mope angrily in the bathroom as he cleaned up the small mess he made, tucking the first aid kit back where it belongs while you make your way back to that small bedroom sleepily.

You were tired, beyond tired after the day you had, after the night you had and it was only the beginning of it. You’ve got hours left to deal with more torment the second you close your eyes and you can only hope that it won’t be so bad the next time you do. You can only hope it’ll be a fraction more restful than the last few bouts otherwise you may just breakdown completely. You’d already gone and scratched that wound open on your face from your thrashing.

The moment you saw that bed again, disheveled and slept in just as you’d left it, it brought on a yawn. It made your eyes water, eyelids growing heavier now that the lighting of the bathroom wasn’t there to keep them open. It looked inviting, so inviting, especially with the cold of the hardwood seeping into your bare feet. It looked warm and everything you’d been longing for the moment that exhaustion kicked in on the drive back.

It looked like everything you wanted it to be, but it was bittersweet. You knew what waited for you once you gave into the desire for comfort, you knew how distraught you may be. You knew you’d be met with an unhappy Winchester the moment the lies he already knew were spoken were proven at the sight of your distress. You knew it, yet you craved the feeling of crawling back into that perfectly worn bed under those blankets, tucked away in that shirt of Dean’s.

You almost had to refrain from having an argument with yourself on whether or not you should cave and climb in or if you should wait it out, wait till you can’t stay awake anymore.

You caved.

You sat up with a jolt, whole body jerking as you propped yourself up on your elbows for the millionth time that night. You went about your routine, eyes scanning the room for the possibility of a threat waiting for your gaze before pouncing. They scanned and scanned until the tears kept you from doing so adequately, spilling down heated cheeks. Your heart had been pounding so damn hard again, slamming against your chest as if to break free.

When those watery eyes glanced at the clock it’d only been a half an hour, a small stretch of time that felt like your whole entire life wrapped around each minute. It almost felt agonizing.

Dean hadn’t come to bed quite yet. Dean. That feeling crept up on you, the one that’d been there ever since that hunt went south. You pushed it off, stuffed it down the way you always do. Because that denial of yours has you convinced that you don’t need comfort, that you’re too strong for that. You’re not weak, perhaps not the strongest person out there, but damn were you ever stubborn. Always when you didn’t need to be.

But it seems as though your body didn’t give you a fighting chance, not as you got out of that bed shaking like a damn leaf in a Kansas thunderstorm. You felt wobbly, unstable but you stifled it as you walked towards that familiar wooden door, twisting the old brass knob and swinging it open carefully. Careful as if there was some stupid supernatural monster that could hear every noise you made like it was in that house with you.

But the hall was empty. Sam’s door was closed, Bobby’s the same. Just a dimly lit hall from the nightlight plugged into the wall streaming in. It was empty until it wasn’t. It was empty though you didn’t get very far, not as that set of foot falls make their way up those creaky stairs. You knew who they belonged to, you knew the sound of those boots anywhere.

You stopped in your tracks in the hopes that maybe he wouldn’t see you, something proving to be beyond ridiculous the moment his gaze lifts to yours. You see that look on his face, the way his body language changes. He tenses up, stiffens in the way he gets when he senses any need to be protective of you. He tenses yet he’s so soft all the same.

You’re hoping he doesn’t see the way you swallow thickly, hoping that the less than poor lighting works in your favor because you can feel how wet your eyelashes still are. You don’t even have the nerve to even attempt to sniffle either, surely that would give everything away, not that you had much working in your favor.

“Everything okay?” He asks, that tone behind his words more than evident that he knew the real answer.

You shifted on your feet slightly, attempting to stand a little taller to save at least a little bit of your facade. “Just getting a drink.”

Your voice was soft, more fragile than you’d like it to be as that tremble in your body fights to make its way into your throat and shake your words. Doesn’t matter how good of a liar you were, nothing would ever get past him. He might lead you to believe it’d been working for a little while, just to leave you have your pride in times like this because that’s the only time you ever lied, but just like times like this, he’d never fully let it go because he always wanted to resolve whatever was going on.

He stepped closer to you, close enough to have you tensing up over the fact that it was very easy for him to see just how bothered you were in that moment. But your brows furrow, knit together as he peers around you for a reason you can’t pinpoint.

“I see that glass of water I left there for you doesn’t even have a lick out of it,” he says, looking down at you with raised eyebrows. He watches your expression change, even if you try and hide it. “Funny, ain’t it?”

You swallow once more, pursing your lips. “I didn’t know it was there.”

You did.

He chuckles then, humorless as he shakes his head before his gaze returns to you. “You’re lyin’ like a cheap rug right now, you know that?”

“No I’m not!”

You quiet down before you wake anyone, exhaling a frustrated breath as you stare up at him with a narrowed stare.

He looks a you, gets a good long look and you can’t even begin to figure out what he’s thinking, just that your stomach twists under his gaze because there’s no way he’s not seeing the smeared tears that glisten under the softer that soft lighting. There’s no way he can’t see the sheen of sweat that lays over your skin. There’s no way he doesn’t see how unsteady you are.

You’re almost to wrapped up in your thoughts to notice the way he’s lifted his hand, finger tips brushing lightly over the side of your neck. You didn’t understand why at first, couldn’t comprehend it. But it only took a few moments to realize.

“Your heart is pounding, Y/n. Don’t even try and tell me it didn’t happen again.”

“Dean, it’s—”

“It’s not nothing. You’ve been off the whole ride home and you were off when I patched you up thirty minutes ago. I know you better than to believe whatever you’re trying to fool me with,” he says, a quiet anger in the softness of his voice as his hand finally drops to his side.

You stand there, your own anger simmering away and trying it’s best to burn hot. Angry at the way he can figure you out, angry at the way he’s insistent on making sure you’re okay when that stubborn pride is screaming for you to stand your ground and act like nothing is wrong even when it’s the last thing you need to do. Angry because you’re so tired that it frustrates you, that everything frustrates you.

You’re so tired. So much so that that stubborn wall begins to crumble, steady crushed by the desire to be comforted and safe. Nearly demolished with every second that passes as your lip wobbles under the pressure of it you.

For the millionth time that night, you caved.

“I can’t sleep,” you whisper softly, weakly. “I can’t sleep and I can’t take it.”

His expression softens when you finally give it up, finally let that guard break away as you press your face into his chest, hiding the tears that ran hot down your cheeks. It was a quick bout of them, only a few falling before you wiped them away. Just as quick as your moment of vulnerability. He could tell by the way you tensed again, and the way you turned on your heel with a huff and walked back to the bedroom just a couple feet from where you both stood.

That wall you built up was still crumbled to pieces but a little bit still remained. But Dean followed behind you, those dimples by the corners of his mouth reappearing. This is the one habit of yours that he hated. It’s one he’s gotten well practiced over the years himself, but it’s the last thing he’d ever want you to do.

He’s quiet as he tugs on the rolled up sleeves of his flannel, watching as you sit down on the bed looking miserable as ever. You looked half asleep as you leaned against the headboard, tucked away against yourself as the breeze flowing through the nearby window blows your hair gently.

He shrugs his flannel off, slinging it over the back of the chair at the desk nearby. He pulls at the laces of his boots next, kicking them off near impatiently as he fumbles with his belt buckle. It’s only a few moments time before he’s stepping out of his jeans, tugging the blankets back.

You’re fighting the urge to doze off, something that briefly becomes just a little bit easier when he tugs you down further on the mattress in a gentle motion, promptly pulling you to tuck yourself against him. It’s an opportunity you take full advantage of as you press into him, the silent action of comfort something you needed more than anything and he knew that for hours. He knew it and he was relieved you’d gone and let him protect you.

He always would, whether you protest it or not, but it’s easier when you’re not letting that stubbornness get the better of you.

You push and tangle your legs with his, weaving into him to get as close as possible as if he’s this shield that’ll keep you safe from anything in this world. He would and he will. He wouldn’t want to do anything else.

His arm his wrapped around you as you all but melt into him and his embrace, his other hand smoothing over your head, fingers combing through the tangles in your hair. He was careful as his fingertips work through knots, varying in size and he can tell you’d been tossing and turning just from that alone. He’s careful as his fingers brush along the freshly taken care of wound on your cheek.

Dean Winchester is the gruffest, toughest man you know, rough around the edges and one hell of a threat to any monster and run of the mill douchebag that crosses his path. He’s rough, but the gentlest you’d ever known as he lays there wrapped up with you in a bed that’s borderline too small for two.

You feel the softness of the kisses that are pressed to your forehead, to your nose when you tip your head back some. His comfort is the only thing that makes anything any easier, his company is the only one that ever matters. He was solid ground amongst a sea of panic and worry, he was steady and always there. That green eyed, freckled hunter was the sweetest man you’d ever known despite the temper he’s got on him, but you wouldn’t want him any other way.

You could feel that frustration subside the more time that passed, those tears not so pressing behind your tired eyes. You were exhausted, drained. That trembling feeling in your body, that rattled feeling, it was still there, a reminder of how your night has been. The affects that wreaked havoc on your body still hit you like a ton of bricks. But you were safe now, safe from the threat of more terror because there’s something about Dean Winchester that makes everything feel okay.

Even if he finds it impossible to think anything remotely highly of himself, doesn’t know of any good quality he possesses. You see all the good in him so he doesn’t have to, you know he never will.

“Sweetheart?” He says, soft as ever as the nickname his spoken against your forehead.

You hum softly, too tired to do much else as a cool gust of air sweeps over you from that window. It’s all you could muster as you lay there wrapped up with him.

“Get some sleep, won’t let anything happen to you,” he murmurs, “okay?”

You nod, you nod until you decide the action isn’t quite enough of an answer for him. You lift your head as much as your energy would allow, pressing your lips on his in a soft kiss.

“Okay.”

—

Taglist: @harrysweasleys @flamencodiva @stixnstripesworld @elegantbutedgy @campingmonkey @lanea-1 @deandaydreaming @agalliasi @malindacath @ajreturnstocringeyaccount @deanswaywardgirl @awkward-and-indecisive @drownthewitch @happyt0exist @sparkycorleone @humanmistakes @akshi8278 @kidd3ath @nyotamalfoy @elliewigginton20

[upsidedownwithsteve]

Steve Harrington x fem!reader [2.1k] soft, fluff, bed sharing.

Hawkins was dark as you strolled through it, following the white lines that led you down the middle of the streets. Houses and manicured lawns closed you in, cars parked on driveways, bikes abandoned on front porches as your watch told you it was nearing one am. 

You sighed as you rounded the corner, cursing under your breath at the Harrington residence as you noticed another two cars were parked beside your boyfriend’s burgundy BMW. The other two vehicles were gleaming, not overly familiar looking due to the trips out of town they regularly took with their owners but you kicked a rock on the sidewalk, wondering when Steve’s parents had arrived home.

The spare key your boyfriend had cut for you felt hot and heavy in your shorts pocket, useless now that the house had more than one person inside. But the night was too warm and you were restless, unable to sleep and you’d spent an hour or two tangled in your sheets before you’d slipped out your own front door and walked the blocks it took to reach Steve’s.

Undeterred, you made your way around the side of the house, the sprawling mansion surrounded by thickets of plush, green hedges and tall trees. You groaned when you reached Steve’s window, nose scrunched and hands on your hips as you remembered the boy didn’t sleep above the garage roof like you did, that there wasn’t a drainpipe or ledge for you to easily hoist yourself up onto. 

But you were so close and his window was open, the barely there summer breeze lifting at his curtains. Your chest ached a little at the thought of him sprawled out in his bed, hair mussed, eyes sleepy, skin soft. 

Fuck it.

You couldn’t lie, the climb up the tree took longer than you thought it would, your legs seemingly shorter than you had remembered. But you reached the taller branches, placing your old converse on the limbs that seemed the strongest before shimmying yourself out and across. The gap between your branch and Steve’s window seemed a lot larger than from where you’d originally viewed it from the ground and you let out a small noise of concern. Shit.

Your bare legs were scuffed from the rough bark and your movements were clumsy, but the night had been far too warm to consider anything longer than the cotton shorts you had pulled on before you’d left, one of Steve’s old basketball t-shirts falling to their hem. It had long stopped smelling of him, cedar and mint and his aftershave washed away after too many nights of sleeping in it. 

All the more reason you wanted to crawl in beside him, you thought. And if it had anything to do with the nightmares you were still having after watching the boy get dragged into the depths of Lovers Lake, well, you weren’t ready to admit it. 

The night was silent around you, the wind lifting at the loose hair around your neck and face and for once, the town felt peaceful.

“Steve.”

Nothing. Your whisper was carried away with the breeze, swallowed by the trees around you and you huffed. If you strained your ears, you could hear the soft, snuffled breathing of the boy inside, his face most definitely pressed into his pillow. 

“Steve!” You tried again, hands still wrapped tightly around the branches. 

The soft snoring stuttered and stopped and you froze, listening for the sounds of movement that would let you know the boy had heard you. Sure enough, the curtains were pulled back, your boyfriend appearing in the open window frame, eyes wide.

He hissed your name and you grinned when it fell from his lips, sounding more like a swear.

“What the hell are you doing?” He whisper yelled, his gaze on you a little panicked as he took in your dirty knees and the height of the tree you had scrambled up. 

You beamed at him, eyes roving over his bare chest appreciatively before you extended a hand to him, fingers wiggling.

“Hey pretty boy, you wanna give me a hand here?”

There was a fond, if not a little exasperated, smile on Steve’s lips as he leant out the window and grasped your hand. Stepping back a little, he murmured softly, telling you to be careful as you pushed yourself out of the tree. Your soles found the sill, your free hand wrapping around the open window frame and before you could panic at the feeling of balancing on the edge, the boy’s free hand wrapped around your waist, comforting and heavy.

He practically lifted you into his room, your body pressed up against his and you hummed happily at the feel of him, still warm from sleep. He let you slip down his front, his hands bunched in your shirt - his shirt, he noticed with delight - and as you moved, he exposed the bare skin on your sides, your stomach. 

Steve couldn’t help but smooth his thumb over your navel, biting back a smile at the stray leaf that was stuck in your hair. Plucking it out, he grinned down at you. “What are you doin’ here sweetheart, tryin’ to to give me a heart attack or something?”

If he wasn’t already guiding you over to his bed, you would’ve pouted and asked him if he didn’t appreciate your tree climbing efforts. But the boy had wrapped a strong arm around your waist, humming contently as he pulled you back into the nest of white sheets that smelled like him. 

You weren’t close enough until you were both sharing the same pillow and Steve pressed the bridge of his nose into the column of your neck, drawing lines over it until you caught the hint and tipped your head back for him. Shivers raised across your body as he pressed kisses across the skin there, your arms winding around his neck and holding him to you. 

“Just wanted to see you,” you mumbled, already feeling soft with sleep and Steve. “Couldn’t sleep.”

He pulled back to look at you, brown eyes knowing as he let his gaze roam over your features. Steve noted the slight downturn to the corner of your lips, the dark circles that started to shadow the skin underneath your eyes and he frowned. 

But he didn’t question you, didn’t push it, ‘cause you were pressing yourself further into him, the need to be close becoming suddenly overwhelming. You pushed your face into the crook of his neck, your fingers finding the soft strands of hair at the nape of his neck and you twisted them around each digit. 

You sighed into him, soft and sweet and Steve smiled when he felt your lips press into the spot underneath his ear. 

“And here I thought that I was s’posed to be the one sneaking in through your bedroom window,” he whispered, his hand sneaking up the sides of your top, warm palm running flat across the curves of your waist, teasing the soft skin on the underside of your breast. 

“Thought I’d give you the night off,” you answered, toeing off your converse and wincing when they thumped to the floor. You both stilled, listening for any movement in the quiet house. “I didn’t realise your parents were home.”

Your legs tangled with Steve’s, wrapped around the light sheets, both of you too warm for anything but the other's body heat.  Your hand travelled down to his chest, smoothing over the ridges of muscle there, the leftover marks that were starting to scar on his side. You worried your lip between your teeth as your finger flitted around the edges of the raised skin and he bumped the tip of his nose into yours to gain your attention, his hand wrapping around yours. 

“Hey,” he scolded gently, bringing your hands between your bodies, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, to your fingertips, “you either gotta stop worrying or tell me what’s going on in that pretty head of yours.”

You let out a huff of breath, pulling away just enough so you could meet Steve’s gaze. His brown eyes were gentle, still soft with sleep and concern for you but he didn’t let go, his arms still wrapped around you, fingers ghosting over your curves. 

“Just struggling to sleep, y’know?” And he did, god Steve did. You closed your eyes, let your forehead fall into the boy’s bare chest and you pressed your lips to the dip in his collarbone. “Bad dreams.”

You didn’t offer any other information on the matter, you didn’t really need to. Because when the boy closed his eyes at night, he was at the bottom of the lake looking up, watching you dive into the darkness after him. Except in his dreams, you didn’t reach him and he couldn’t break free to find you. 

He woke up sweating, panting, more often than not. Alone and on edge, awake until the early morning sun bled through the cracks in his curtains and he deemed it an acceptable hour to call your house phone and wake everyone up - he just needed to hear your voice. 

So he nodded, silent and understanding, fingers picking at the flyaway lengths of your hair and he tucked them behind your ear, the slow, methodical movement of it all lulling you into the most relaxed state you’d felt all night. 

“S’nice,” you told him, voice softer and slower as sleep settled over you. 

Steve hummed his reply, his smile hidden in the noise and he wondered what it would take to have you in his bed every night. He’d given you a spare key months into your relationship but you hadn’t had to use it all that much, not until the world decided to implode again, not since monsters and nightmares came crawling back out of the splits in earth. 

When you did, it was usually ‘cause he was in a shower after work and he always delighted in the surprise of you appearing in front of the frosted glass, giving him a show as you slipped off your clothes, letting your underwear stutter down your hips and pool at your feet before joining him under the spray. 

But then again, his parents were never home. They’d arrived back from whatever business trip they’d been on for the past few weeks when he was already tumbling into bed, his mothers head appearing from his door, checking that her son was indeed alive. 

If she noticed the marks on his side, the silver stretches of skin that were beginning to heal and scar, she didn’t say shit. 

“Can I stay here tonight?” You whispered into his skin, and then you added a soft please, as an afterthought, as if the boy needed convincing. 

He chuckled into the crown of your head and you felt his smile as you grabbed at the waistband of your shorts, still too warm despite the open window, the lack of sheets around you both. You wiggled out of them lazily, rolling onto your back for a second as you kicked them off your ankles, leaving you in Steve’s shirt and a pair of underwear that said ‘Wednesday’ on the front. 

It was Friday. 

“Hot,” Steve grinned, only half joking, and he smothered a laugh when you slapped at him without any real heat, letting him wrap you back into his arms. 

“You really think I was letting you crawl back out my window?” He told you, a hand roving quick and appreciatively over the curve of your ass before it snuck back underneath your shirt, pressing against the small of your back. 

You shrugged, yawning, despite knowing the answer, despite knowing that there wasn’t a chance in hell the boy was letting you go. It was easier together. The world turned softer, slower, when you were with Steve. The night seemed less dark, and the chances of monsters creeping out from underneath your bed seemed slimmer if you were in his. 

“Not a chance sweetheart,” he told you and despite sleep pulling your eyes heavy and closed, you lifted your head blindly to him, searching and needy. 

He gave you what you wanted immediately, lips pushing against your own, soft and warm and you could taste the traces of spearmint that sleep hadn’t taken from him yet. Despite being wrapped around him, half naked in his bed, it was a kiss that made you feel safe, at ease. 

A kiss that made his arms wrap around you a little tighter than before, a kiss that was sleep slow and languid, and by the time he pulled away, nose nudging yours, your head sunk into his pillow even further. 

“Get some sleep, yeah?” You heard him murmur into your jaw, lips pushing extra kisses there and making you smile. “You got me all night.“

And wasn’t that just something fantastic? 

[leahsixx]

a bien regarder.

a short story of a quiet morning with the Nikki Sixx and Y/N.

warnings: fluff.

lmk if any typos or mistakes.

****, OK let's do this one more time, if this goes wrong again then we'll just have to go with what we've got

Alright let's go.

I think you should bring the boom in just a bit closer. Yeah no that's too close, it's in frame - oh. Yeah that's it. OK, sound

Check

Lights.

Check

Camera, rolling.

Uh, scene 74, take 21

Action.

———

April 17th 1984. It was a sunny, graceful morning, the sun was shining thru the beige curtains making the room have an orange undertone. Birds chirping could be heard. And cars, also motorcycles could be heard driving down the streets. Only a few people were walking down the streets, it was just 9:23 on a Sunday after all. It’s such a gorgeous sight, it felt blessed. I’ve always loved mornings like these, it brung out a peaceful feeling. It felt composed, it was a peerless start to the day. It’d hadn’t been this weather in a while, it was warm, sunlit, and cloudless. My favorite. It was really my kind of morning.

I was sitting on the edge of the bed, on the white/beige sheets. A hot cup of coffee in my hands, looking out on the streets, watching a young mother with her son, a cute small boy with brown hair and he was around the age of… 5. It was adorable. They were on their way to the playground on the corner next to our apartment building. I had opened the curtains slightly, not letting too much light in yet. I was wearing a white, soft robe with pink roses on it. It felt warm and comforting around my smooth skin, it was my favorite robe. I was totally lost in my thoughts, taking small sips of the coffee i had prepared..

I snapped out of my day dreaming when i heard Nikki next to me, stirring and making small, cute little sounds. He was waking up, unhurried. I looked at him. His black hair was ruffled and messy. A ray of sun was shining on his pretty face, he looked sleepy as his dark green eyes were fluttering open. The white/beige sheets only covered the lower half of his body as he was nude from the night before. I watched his eyes open and adjust to the orange light that lit the bedroom, i had a soft smile on my face as he looked at me and he rubbed his eyes and let out a small, sleepy whimper. He looked at me as a sleepy smile came onto his rosey lips.

“Good morning..” I say in a soft, quiet tone. Scooting closer and wiping the hair out of his face, he has a lot of it.

“Morning..” He replies, he sounds very sleepy and his voice was raspy. It was quite adorable if you ask me. He was always such a sleepyhead and had trouble waking up early, i had to drag him out of bed if we had plans early in the morning. But today, he woke up on his own.. and we had nothing to do all day. It felt so good.

Nikki sits up against the headboard, he rubs his eyes once again and does a little yawn. His eyes are droopy and he looked disoriented. He had the white/beige sheets covering his lap, his skin was warm so he didn’t need them anyways. It was a warm morning, it felt like summer when it was just April.

I take another sip from my coffee before i reach my hand out and hand him it. I already had drunken half and i didn’t care to give the rest to Nikki. He smiled.

“Thank you, baby..” He mumbled and took the coffee from my hands as he started to sip it.

We sat in bed for about 1,5 hours. Nikki immediately wanted to cuddle, so of course we did. We just stared outside the window, enjoying the nature as Nikki whispered sweet nothings into my ear, it was so comforting and peaceful. After time went on it was time to get ready. Nikki was resisting but when i mentioned showering together he got up like there was no tomorrow.

We got out of bed and went into our shared bathroom. I had turned on the lights and opened the blinds of the one window that was in the bathroom, i looked outside the window to see the tall, dark trees. It was an indescribable sight. We stood beside each other in front of the sink and started to brush our teeth, Nikki’s arms were around my waist as he rested his chin on my shoulder. He was still sleepy and wanted warmth.

“I love you so much, baby..” He mumbled as he brushed his teeth. It sounded funny but it was incredibly sweet, he is such a puppy.

“I love you too.” I mumbled and spit out my toothpaste, rinsing my mouth and immediately wrapping my arms around his neck, giving him a warm and loving hug.

As we both finished brushing our teeth i turned on the shower. As we waited for the water to turn warm i took off my robe, Nikki got excited and immediately started to press soft kisses on my lips. After a moment we both stepped in the shower, Nikki was practically glued to me. I grabbed the shampoo bottle and squeezed some into the palm of my hand and started to wash his hair, massaging the shampoo into his scalp as he pouted. “I feel like a little kid..” He mumbled grumpy, but he couldn’t hide the fact he had a small blush on his cheeks. He loved showering together. All he wanted is love and affection. And i didn’t think twice to give him all of it.

I just chuckled. Pressing a few kisses to his soft little lips to make it up, he smiled every time i kissed him. His arms were around me and he kept moving and getting distracted. But that didn’t stop me from washing him. I finished washing his gorgeous long black hair, and we ended the morning by making love in the shower..

��—————————————————————————

-leahsixx.

[softlymaximoff]

Little Cloud εꨄ︎з

18+ ONLY MEN & MINORS DNI (blank blogs will be blocked you do not have my permission to republish my work onto any platform.

— A/N: it’s kinda little!reader kinda just mommy!wanda looking after you, my mommy issues are HIGH leave me alone

— Summary: the early mornings don’t go as planned but Wanda knows just how to make her baby happy again

— Characters: Mommy!Wanda, Little!Fem!reader

— Warnings: just rough mornings and mommy!wanda to the rescue

— Word Count: 1.16k

It wasn’t odd for you to keep quiet in the wake of the morning, or for Wanda to stir at your ever so slightly changing breath (an indication that you were waking up). It was odd however, to deny the open arms Wanda held out when she knew well and truly that you were in fact, awake. It was also odd to turn away from her when she tried to pull you closer.

Her eyebrows furrowed a small crease in the middle of her forehead and she let out a low, worried breath. “Baby, hey what’s up” she sat up against the headboard, running her fingers along your silk fabric clad back. Your small frame released a tense breath and you huffed into the pillow, “nuffin” you mumbled in the chill air.

Fall was coming quicker than expected this year and Wanda was loving every bit of it. She’d dress you up in outfits you could only dream of, she’d set up picnic dates under a few of her favourite trees in the orchard, she’d even go as far as make the two of you fall inspired drinks every now and again during the infamous season of beverages.

“Well, why don’t we take today slow hmm?” She mused into the early morning, her fingers running gently through your sleep camouflaged tresses. She knew when you got like this the only thing to do was wait it out and let you come to her so she’d wait for just that. With a heavy sigh, you rolled out of bed and padded towards the bathroom, missing the worried look your girlfriend gave you.

While you were doing your morning routine in the bathroom, Wanda got herself out of bed and ready for the day. She hummed a soft tune under her breath while she made the bed, tidied the room and set out a nice pair of overalls; a long sleeved tee and some autumn coloured socks to match the piles of leaves sprinkling the through orchard.

A few moments later and you were stepping out of the bathroom in your pyjamas and a fresh face. Not a word was said as she helped you slip in your clothes, using the soft moment to kiss you on the crown of your head. “My pretty girl” She reassured gently as you were practically deadweight while she ragdolled you around.

A low whine left your mouth when she finished dressing you and she just raised an eyebrow at the noise. “Hold me” you looked away from her gaze and she smiled sympathetically, bringing you in for a much needed comfort hug. The two of you stayed swaying in the middle of the room, Wanda whispering sweet nothings into the silence. Her native tongue dabbling into the air as she chorused an old Sokovian love poem.

You loved when she spoke in her language, it was pretty and so delicate when she did. More often than not, she would praise you and affirm you in Sokovian so this was most definitely not a shocking occurrence. It was however, still just as beautiful as the first time she endeared you in her common tongue.

“Alright c’mon baby, let’s get some food in you and we can loaf together on the couch” She placed an angelic kiss to your lips and you chased for more when she pulled away. Her eyes were warm and soft and they had this little glint of awe in them. Pools of forest green were now a light hazel green, little flecks of darker and lighter shades catching the light through slightly open curtains.

So the two of you fell into a well rehearsed routine while making breakfast, you making the morning coffees/ teas and Wanda working her magic -literally- with the food. A little later and the two of you were eating oatmeal with honey and cinnamon, a fall morning favourite as Wanda called it ‘Angel Oats’. The couch already had a soft comforter draped along the back ledge of it, nestled amongst the cushions complimenting the couch.

All Wanda had to do was snatch you up and hope you would at least show her a little more healthy progress than from this morning. She set the small shared bowl of food down on the coffee table and quite literally picked you up, bringing your head in the crook of her neck. Your legs instinctively curling up on either side of her thighs, essentially straddling her while kneeling on the couch.

All train of thought was gone the second you breathed in her vanilla and coconut scented shampoo. You wanted to push her away, you wanted to be a big girl, you needed to show her that you’re not just a big baby. With an unamused huff, you attempted to shimmy out of her hold, but to no avail. “Hey, hey, hey baby calm down, you never deny snuggles. What’s wrong little cloud?” her voice was now laced with a hint of sadness and your heart tore in a million pieces then and there.

“Not feelin snuggly” You whispered and looked away when her eyes widened just the slightest and those dark forest orbs now rimmed watery, imitating the nature of a stained glass window. “Oh, well that’s okay, we can just watch a movie then” she whispered quietly, using her magic to turn it on, the hot bowl of Angel Oats untouched. This game of cat and mouse lasted a whole two episodes before you looked back to Wanda with big guilty eyes.

“Mommy?” You whispered, eyes filling up quickly with big tears and Wanda had to refrain from cooing. “Oh darling girl” she pouted as you scrambled into her lap, your composure crumbling at her feather light touches along the small of your back. “‘M sorry” you whimpered and pushed yourself further in her arms when she just sighed.

“It’s alright honeylove, everybody has bad days sometimes. It’s completely normal and valid to want space. Thank you for coming back to me though. I know your thoughts are a little loud sometimes but that’s what Mommy’s here for” she pressed a delicate kiss to your cheeks as you balled your hands in little fists. “I love you” you mumbled and a chaste kiss lingered along the nape of her neck. You felt her body stutter but the two of you paid no mind. Some of your favourite moments with Wanda were the intimate yet innocent ones.

She planted one last kiss on your forehead before grabbing your shared breakfast and turning on the TV. As she fed you from time to time, you couldn’t help but fall more and more in love with the woman you called home. She was yours and you were hers. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind that she would love you for all eternity. And you, the little thing she called hers would sacrifice the entire world if it meant waking up every morning to her heartbeat by your ears.

[chiiyuuvv]

656; for cactus anon ♡ (tumblr is still acting shit); merry Christmas roady lights :)

@yuniniverse , @nenede , @sanniecatscakesff , @hyunukitty , @cake1box , @mars101 , @soul-is-a-strange-kid , @the-lemon-boy

Your eyes open to find the curtains unfastened, a yawn leaving your lips as you rub your eyes again, taking in the snowy scenery. It fell at a steady pace, covering the ground with its white powder; it brought a smile to your face.

But it drops when you look over your shoulder, finding yourself alone in your bed. You had agreed to let your boyfriend spend the night at your house since he didnt have any family to visit, and although you knew he didnt head far – judging by his shoes that were still placed by your door – it still made you a little sad that he left the bed without waking you up.

So, sliding your fluffy slippers on that he gave you as an early present, you shuffle out your bed and room, hunting him down. You werent sure if he was mingling with your parents in the kitchen, or if he was in the bathroom to wash up, that didnt matter; you needed his warmth.

The hunt didnt last long though, finding his back turned as he bends down, putting an ornament on the huge Christmas tree that sat in the back corner of your living room. He seemed so focused with his craft that he didnt even notice you enter the room, a noticeable jump leaving his body when you wrap your arms around his waist, laying your head on his back. You could feel how fast his heart was beating.

Playing it off though, he clears his throat, fiddling with your fingers. "Good morn-"

"I'm mad at you." You sleepily cut him off, buring your head deeper into his chest. "What?" He laughs at your randomness, turning your body around so that your head was resting on his chest instead. "What did I do, baby?" His fingers come to rub your hair, luring you back to sleep.

But you fight it off. "You left me.. alone."

"Oh, I'm sorry, baby," he responds, "you looked too pretty to disturb."

A blush riizes to your cheeks, your fist closed to playfully hit his arm. "I hate you, hunter." You mumble, the male laughing at your antics again before turning around and resuming his decorations.

You wake yourself up in his hold, furiously blinking your eyes open as you jump up to look overs hunters shoulder, finding that he was almost done decorating the tree. A few red and green ornaments hung at the bottom with some candy canes at the center, the only thing that was missing was the big star that would be placed at the tip of the tree.

Darting your eyes from the tree and to his hand, you watch as he picks up the said star from the little box full of Christmas supplies before going to place it at the top of the spruce. You stop him. "I wanna do it." You jump again, your arms wrapped tightly around his waist. "I wanna do it." You repeat.

"Okay," he hums, crouching down to his knees. You send him a confused look, "what are you doing?"

"Helping you reach the top of the tree. You know, you're short." You scoff in return, rolling your eyes before climbing onto the latters back and circling your arms around his neck for safety.

He pushes up with his legs and passes you the star, his hands coming down to hold the back of your thighs, watching as you happily place the star at the top, giving it small adjustments so it didnt look crooked. When you were done, you wiggled your foot to signal to hunter to let you down, but he doesnt seem to notice.

"Hunter- AHH!" when you least expected it, hunter spins his body around, throwing you to the couch before grabbing your face to press all sorts of kisses on it. "Merry Christmas, princess." He says, ticking your sides before getting up and leaving for some breakfast.

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Lost & Found - Chapter Four.

Thanks so much for your continued engagement, my lovely, lovely people of the tumblr! :)

Previous chapters - One  Two Three

Words - 3,114

Warnings - 18+ content throughout, Minors DNI. Recounts of kidnap, child trafficking, physical/verbal/sexual abuse in the coming chapters.

They peeled off in a different direction from the four bikes that had led the way through the scrapyard again, the journey through the desolate streets taking only ten minutes. The sun was just beginning to rise when they entered a long road lined with modest bungalow properties, broken down cars and debris littering the driveways of many. The small driveway they pulled into was free of such, but the lawn hugely overgrown, a large tree providing a shaded canopy over the front of the house. 

He noticed her taking in the unkempt grass, feeling a smidgen of shame at the state of it. “Um, don’t judge me too much on my lack of yard work,” he began, tucking his chin a little as he cleared his throat. “Don’t get much time for it.” She was just about to tell him that it was fine, when an opening window and a shout through it from the adjoining property halted her reply. 

“Hey yo! Loud assed, Harley riding fuckboy!” 

Guero rolled his eyes. “’Sup, Tyrone?” 

The thin curtains were haphazardly swatted away, a large man sticking his head up into view from the front room. “Yo’ bitch ass disturbing my sleep is what’s up, homie!”  

He began to chuckle quietly, sighing hard. “Tyrone, you stay awake jerking off to Porn Hub and playing video games until 6am. Ain’t nobody disturbing your sleep.” 

He lifted his chin in defiance, resting the curtains behind his large, bald head. “I couldda bin’ sleeping.” He paused, eyes flitting to Emma. “Morning, boo. What’s a pretty girl like you doin’ with him?”  

She folded her arms, dropping her head as she shuffled her foot over a loose stone on the driveway, Guero fishing for his house keys. “None of your business, bro. Get back to C.O.D.”  

“Blow me!” 

“Not without dinner and a movie,” he muttered.  

“You get pizza and a Prime rental, bougie assed motherfucker!” 

He snorted laughing, opening up his front door, suddenly pausing. “Um, you alright with big dogs? ‘Cuz I got a pitbull in there. He’s friendly as hell, but huge.”  

Emma could hear the clattering of claws and whimpering become audible, a long, high-pitched whine following. “Yeah, all good.” Opening the door, he received the gigantic, brown and white dog leaping into his arms, his tail wagging in frenzy, Guero lifting his chin and scrunching his face as he had doggie kisses rained upon him.  

“How’s my boy, huh? How you doing?” he spoke warmly, eventually putting him down, the dog wiggling his way to Emma, giving her a good sniff. Her hands reached for his huge head, stroking the soft crinkles, his green eyes looking up at her with all the purity dogs reserved for humans who gave them the simple joy of scratches. “His name’s Axl, by the way. Used to belong to my dad.” 

“Used to?” she inquired.  

His eyes saddened, his smile thinning as placing his keys down on the coffee table. “Yeah, he died about a year and a half ago, so I inherited him.” 

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she offered, Guero drawing his shoulders up slightly. 

“Thanks.” He paused, gesturing around. “Sorry it ain’t much. Let me go change my bed linen for you, I’ll take the couch. I’m guessing you might wanna shower, right? Bathroom is through there, there’s a clean towel in the cupboard.” 

She set her backpack down, immediately feel uneasy with him going to the effort, just for her. “You don’t have to go to any trouble.” 

He crinkled his nose, shrugging his kutte off. “Yeah, I do. Had a girl in there last night. I’m not letting a guest sleep in my funky sex sheets. I might not be domesticated much, but I got basic manners.”  

A little tide of panic rose in her. “Oh, I, I didn’t realise you h-had a girlfriend. I can go somewhere, go stay someplace else if it-it's going to upset her?”  

He smiled, shaking his head. “I said a girl, not girlfriend. Haven’t got one of those.”  

That information relieved her, sent a tiny spark flaring in her belly, looking at her feet as they shared a few moments of awkward silence, Guero clearing his throat. “Alright, I’ll go sort that linen.” 

“Okay. I’ll um, be in the bathroom. Oh, I h-hate to ask but c-can I borrow some clothes?” 

“Sure,” he nodded, “I’ll go find some sweats and a t shirt.” He turned, walking around the couch to the door directly behind, opening his bedroom and quickly grabbing the clean grey sweats and a white t shirt. They’d both bury her, but it was the best he could do. He was just thankful he actually had clean clothes for once, although a big enough pile that needed washing had mounted up in the corner of the room.  

He’d meant what he’d said about not being domesticated, even though his rental home did come with a washer dryer within the tiny utility room off the kitchen. His clothes only ever found their way into there when he’d all but run out of clean items. 

He passed them to her through the bathroom door, leaving her in peace, Emma taking a look around. It was decorated nicely, white tiles halfway up the walls and dark ecru painted up to the ceiling, which was also white. It really needed a good clean, though, but she wasn’t about to judge Guero for his lack of housekeeping, simply glad she had a home to be in.  

Drawing the curtain around the bathtub, she switched the shower on, the jet spluttering into life, Emma beginning to strip her dirty, foul-smelling clothes off. God, those were some tolerant guys, not complaining once about how bad she’d stunk while having to share confined space with her in the van. 

Turning to view herself in the mirror, she let out a soft gasp. Was that really her? Turning sideways on, she examined her reflection closer, her appearance a shock. She’d always been slight, but the sight of her ribs jutting out beneath her skin made her feel a little queasy. She estimated a loss of around fifteen pounds, maybe more on her two-protein-bar-a-day diet. 

With her emotions a little stirred, she stepped into the bathtub, the feel of hot water hitting her skin the most sublime sensation after almost a month of being unable to wash. Oh, it was bliss. After shampooing her hair three times, she carefully finger combed all of the knots out, taking the bottle of shower gel and lathering herself down, enjoying the familiar smell. Safe person scent. 

Standing there beneath the water, she felt further cleansed as the minutes ticked by, clean skin and hair restored, but the water sadly couldn’t do anything for the way she felt upon the inside. Choking a sob, she attempted to hold it in, her chest quivering as she began to cry. All the anxiety, the fear, the trauma of her ordeal, the years of fight, flight or freeze, it began to pour out of her in waves now that she was almost two and a half thousand miles away from it.  

Her body was wracked with the force of her sobs, falling to her knees, hugging her arms around her head, the water pelting against her protruding spine as she gasped and choked on her relief. Her past wouldn’t leave her quite as easily as her tears, it would cling to her bones like a residual resin, but for that moment the emotional release was sufficient.  

Pushing up to her feet, she turned the lever to cold, the sudden shock acting as a calming agent upon her, standing for as long as she could manage, turning the faucet off and wringing her hair out. After drying off and rubbing her hair to damp, she hung the towel on the rail before rinsing out her mouth with a cup of mouthwash, exiting the bathroom to find Guero on the couch, Axl snoring on the armchair in the corner.  

He noted that looked a little less haunted as she sat down, curling her knees up to her chest. “Better?”  

“Much, thank you,” she replied, reaching into her backpack for the bottle of cherry Coke. “How long have you lived here for, then?” Her question was coupled with a small nod towards a pile of boxes across the living room, figuring him to have fairly recently moved in. “I take it from the boxes, not too long?” 

He took a moment, the difference in her palpable. Although she still sat curled into herself, there was one notable change, his smile beginning to dimple his cheeks. It made him look even more attractive, but also caused Emma to feel a little self-conscious suddenly. “What?” 

“Nothing,” he sniffed casually, “nothing bad. It’s just that you’ve stopped stammering when you talk. It’s good to see you chill. And I moved in here eleven months ago, back when I transferred from Tuscon.”  

“So that’s where you’re originally from?” 

More words, still no stammers. It was a stark contrast to the quiet girl who had been so frightened still back at the clubhouse, still so blanketed in her trauma. He wagered that if it wasn’t just he and his dog she was in the company of, though, she likely still would be. “Nope, just outside of it. I grew up in a small town called Marana.”  

He only got a few minutes into telling her about his hometown when he looked up and realised she’d fallen asleep. To be expected, after the time she’d had of late. He debated moving her to the bedroom, but didn’t want to potentially scare her, so instead went into his bedroom and took a spare blanket, covering her with it. His couch was comfy as hell, she’d be fine. After a quick shower, he happily flopped down into a fresh bed, not waking until 11am the following morning. 

Checking on his guest, he found her still sleeping, Axl heaving his bulk from the armchair and following him into the kitchen, waiting on his breakfast. A package of raw food was taken from the fridge and emptied into his bowl, a raw egg cracked atop it.  

His dad had insisted on only the best for his beloved canine friend, something Guero followed to the letter after collecting the dog from the clutches of his bitch of a stepmother, who was all for sending him to the pound. He and Ramona did not have the best of relationships; in fact, it would be fair to say he couldn’t stand the woman. Ibarra had deserved way better, if you’d asked him. About the only things she had going for her was a pretty face and nice tits.  

He made himself some toast and coffee, eating in the kitchen while browsing his phone, checking on Emma every so often. He felt in somewhat of a quandary about leaving, not wanting to wake her since she was so exhausted, but uneasy about leaving her alone. Club duties were always null and void the day following a San Diego run, just a couple of guys in on rotation to oversee the legitimate side of life at the yard. Today was not his day in, but he had planned on hitting the gym at some point. Or he could just work out from home. He had a jump rope and kettle bells for a reason.  

While he heaved the large weights outside so he could partake of his fitness under the bright sun, Emma stirred, coming into consciousness slowly, her eyes suddenly widening. Where was she? Tension roared up her spine as she sat up with a start, her eyes wide, still feeling half asleep. Each vertebra then began to slacken as the previous early morning came back to her, breathing a sigh of relief.  

It felt strange not to wake up in total darkness, the three weeks within the container not just damaging to her psyche, but also hampering her circadian rhythms. It was light outside, but she felt as if she should still be sleeping, her tired body heavy, the weight of everything that had led to her ending up on that couch pulling upon her bones. 

She felt out of tempo, there in a brand-new place, free of her normal routines, her daily grind that had not faltered in so many years. What could she do now? Should she thank Guero for his hospitality and move on, should she stay longer? What did he expect, going forward? Speaking of her host, where was he?  

Sitting up a little more, she looked around, her attention suddenly caught by the sight from the kitchen window, of which she could just about see from her spot on the couch through the living room door. She glimpsed at a rope swinging, feeling settled to know he was still close by, wondering if she should go out to him. If she did, would he likely tell her to leave? What if he did, where would she go?  

She’d planned on a cheap motel someplace before figuring out what the hell to do next, sitting there on the couch not knowing truly how to take the first step into this new existence she’d finally managed to secure. With her head buzzing in anxiousness, she settled back down, hugging the blanket around herself. It smelled like him.  

Falling asleep, the next time she woke up it was dark, rubbing her eyes as she sat up, Guero over in the armchair, watching the TV on mute, subtitles flickering across the bottom of the screen.  

“Hey sleepy, ’sup?” His smile was warm, comforting. “Didn’t wanna wake you up, you’ve been out all day.” 

“What time is it?” she muffled, yawning against her arm. 

“Just gone eleven.” 

Her eyes widened at that revelation. “Shit, I’m sorry. I’ve probably been in your way all day. Unless you went out? I woke up earlier and you were in the backyard, though. I haven’t ruined any plans you had, have I?”  

Laughing softly, he shook his head at her flustered words. “Nah, day off. You haven’t gotten in my way either. How’d you feel?” 

“Better,” she admitted, stretching her arms above her head. “But like I really, really need to brush my teeth.” 

He nodded in the direction of the bathroom. “There’s a spare toothbrush in a packet under the sink. Help yourself. You hungry?”  

“Thanks, and yeah, a little bit.”  

“Toast? That’s about all I got in, and even if I did have better stuff, I wouldn’t trust my cooking. I burn water. I’d probably give you food poisoning just from trying to make pasta.” 

She snorted softly, stifling another yawn. “I don’t think that’s possible.” 

“It is with me. Trust my level of disaster in the kitchen, because it’s off the damned scale!”  Getting up, he headed for the kitchen, Emma going to make use of the bathroom, taking a shower while she was there, too.  

“Clean clothes, and toast is done.” He called through the small gap in the door he’d stuck his arm through, putting down another pair of sweats and a vest for her. She called her thanks, getting out and dressing, placing the clothes she’d had on in the very overstuffed laundry hamper in the corner. 

“So, when do you want me out of here?” she asked tentatively as she sat down, picking up the plate of perfectly golden toast. He was perhaps less of a disaster than he made out, she thought, biting into the first slice.  

“There’s no expiration date on it. Until you find your feet, I don’t mind. Kinda like having company, and I think my dog likes you, too. Not just ‘cuz you have toast either.” Nodding down at Axl, Emma followed his line of vision, the dog looking hopeful for a small mouthful of what she was eating.  

He would have added that having a girl so damned pretty in his home was never unwelcome, but he knew she really didn’t need his unsubtle flirting at that moment. This was not an occasion where he’d let his mouth run away with itself. She seemed to settle to the idea that her time there wasn’t limited, both making small talk as she ate, Guero excusing himself to let Axl out when he began to whine.  

When he arrived back, he found her asleep again. It didn’t surprise him. God knows how much proper rest a person got in a shipping container. He pulled the blanket up over her, this thumb skimming her slender shoulder softly, going back to watching TV with the subtitles on.  

While sitting there quietly chastising the choices various serial killers had made in body and evidence disposal, such mistakes inevitably leading to them getting caught (‘should have buried the body deeper!’ ‘Use bleach to clean blood stains!’ ‘Fucking dumbass was asking to get caught!’) he continued to look over at his sleeping guest every so often.  

She was a complete enigma to him, but he felt so compelled to try and help her. Maybe he was a sucker for the whole damsel in distress thing, maybe it was because he felt a swell of pride at being the person who she seemed to be most comfortable with, perhaps a little of both.  

“Just don’t freak the poor chick out by trying to get on top of her.” He muttered to himself, laughing at his own idiocy for even letting it cross his mind. As if she needed that right now. A further half hour and he decided to call it a night, stripping off and crawling into bed. While he slept soundly, the same couldn’t be said for Emma.  

A hand grasped her throat, her windpipe bending with the indentation from a large thumb, a fist meeting her skull.  

“This is not good enough, you hear me? I said do you fucking hear me?”  

The voice was so booming and loud in her brain, it catapulted her from slumber, sitting up with a start, gasping. She then jumped again at the small woof from beside her, turning to see Axl lying on the floor next to the couch, the dog on high alert.  

“Sorry for waking you, handsome boy,” she cooed, her hand finding his head. He rose to his feet, jumping up on the couch to curl against her, licking her cheek before he got comfortable. “Aww, look at you. My protector.” Feeling herself calm, she wrapped an arm around her furry new friend, her hand idly stroking at a swirl on his chest before it stilled, sleep pulling her in once more. 

Thankfully, it was dreamless.  

[renecdote]

give some tree the gift of green again

Summary: 

Buck doesn’t make a habit of it.

Really, he doesn’t. If he adds up all the times he’s had stitches in his life, it’s not even two full hands of fingers. And the ones for the surgeries on his leg? He’s pretty sure those don’t count.

So the way Bobby sighs and says, “oh, kid,” when the doctor leaves the curtained off cubicle of the ER to get a suture kit is completely uncalled for, in his humble opinion.

For BTHB: stitches

[Read on AO3]

Buck was seven the first time he got stitches. He remembers being scared, holding Maddie’s hand tightly, his father a stoic presence in the corner of the room. He remembers ice cream afterwards, and takeaway Chinese, and not seeing his mother all night.

A few days into healing, the stitches started itching like crazy and he woke up one morning covered in blood because he accidentally tore them open scratching during the night. It’s something he’ll never forget: waking up to his mother’s shriek when she came in to get him up for school. Her hysteria turning quickly to snappish anger, his father brusque as he told Buck to get in the shower, Maddie gentle as she towelled his wet hair dry.

“I didn’t mean to,” he told her, chin wobbling.

“I know,” she soothed, her gentle smile reassuring. “You’re not in trouble, Evan, mom was just—surprised.”

It’s funny, the way you remember things that happened when you were a child, all blurred edges and bittersweet reflection. Hey remember that time you woke me up for school and thought I was dead— is the start to a childhood story that might be laughed about in other families, or at least talked about, passed around at family holidays and pulled out for embarrassment at birthday parties. But Buck can’t even remember having a birthday party past four years old—if that one isn’t just a false memory anyway—and the Buckleys definitely never shared family stories.

(They never really did family at all.)

There used to be a scar on his arm where those first stitches were, but it was already faded by the time he inked over it with a tattoo at twenty-one. A few years after that, it was gone completely, just one more invisible scar, but Buck’s fingers still know where to trace to find that invisible line. He thinks they probably always will.

***

The first time he needs stitches as a firefighter, Hen takes him to the ER. She’s calm and professional and Buck misses Maddie so much he wants to cry. Thinks he might cry, actually, eyes stinging and lip bitten so hard to hold back tears that he splits it open and tastes blood when he licks them.

“Cap’s going to send you home,” Hen says when they’re back in the battalion truck, three new stitches above Buck’s eyebrow, her eyes focused on the road. “I’m telling you so you don’t think it’s anything personal.“ Because I know what you’re like, she doesn’t add. “You’re hurt, he’s going to send you home.”

“I’m fine,” Buck says, but it’s a flat protest. He winces at every flash of the streetlights as they pass.

Abby has been gone for two months, hasn’t replied to his messages in two weeks, and he has started dreading going back to his—her—empty apartment after every shift. He’s supposed to be working two extra twenty-fours covering for C shift this week, but there’s a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that says Bobby is going to spontaneously find someone else who needs the extra work more.

Hen’s right: Bobby sends him home.

Buck only sulks about it the whole drive back to the apartment, then for a few more hours after that, then again when he wakes up late the next morning with a vice-like headache and finds that he still hates the whole situation.

There’s a part of him that wants to call Maddie, to say “I’m okay but I got hurt at work,” and let her make him feel better. He wants to say, “I miss you,” and hear that she misses him too. He wants to hug her, wants her to cup his cheek the way she always used to when she was reassuring him. He wants, and wants, and wants.

“How’s your head?” Hen asks when he walks in for their next shift.

The headache is lingering, but Buck smiles, all bravado. “Never better.”

Chimney snorts where he’s buttoning up his shirt.

“Did you actually rest like you were supposed to?” he asks, and it’s something more than skeptical. Something almost… brotherly.

“I rested,” Buck replies, rolling his eyes. He hides a wince in the shirt he’s pulling over his head, careful to lift the neckline so it doesn’t drag over his stitches. When he gets it off, Hen and Chimney are both looking at him, matching expressions on their faces. Buck frowns. “What?”

Chimney raises his hands innocently.

Hen says, “You look tired, Buck. Are you sleeping alright?”

Not really. Buck bites his cheek, rummaging through his bag for his LAFD t-shirt.

“I sleep fine,” he answers, and his smile doesn’t wobble. “Is Cap cooking breakfast?”

They let it drop.

***

It’s Chimney who finds him in the bunk room later, quiet in the way he opens the door and slips inside, finding his way through the room without turning on the lights.

“Here,” he says quietly, and the ice pack he settles over Buck’s head is almost instant relief.

Buck sighs, shaky, and keeps his eyes closed in the darkness.

Chimney lingers, uncertain, then sits down on the edge of the bunk, his boots scuffing against the thinning carpet.

“I know we’re all shit at asking for help,” he says, and it’s hard to tell in the darkness, with his eyes closed under the ice pack, but Buck doesn’t think Chimney is looking at him. “But you know you can, right? Ask us?”

Buck’s chest feels uncomfortably tight. He sat beside Chimney’s hospital bed and held his hand, once, and until this moment, he’s not sure he really believed that Chimney would do the same for him. He’s not sure what to do with it, knowing that he would.

“It’s just a few stitches, Chim.”

The quietest of sighs.

“Right. Just a few stitches.”

Cold slides down his neck and Buck shivers, hands curling in the blanket. Chimney shifts, the faintest impression of warmth that might be a hand, and Buck thinks, for a moment—but no, Chimney is just standing up.

“Cap says you can stay behind next call,” he offers, and unlike yesterday it does sound like a suggestion, not an order. “You can start dinner prep if you’re up to it.”

His footsteps retreat, as quiet as they came, and the door is closing before Buck remembers to say, “Thanks.”

He’s not sure if Chimney hears him.

***

Eddie is the one who takes him to the hospital the next time he needs stitches. He drives faster than he should, and sticks close by Buck’s side, a hand on his back as he says magic words like “laceration” and “blood thinners” that get them through the ER doors with hardly any wait.

In hindsight, it all feels a little dramatic.

At the time? It feels a little like Eddie saves his life.

(He googles it, the way he googles everything: how long does it take to bleed out from a cut on your calf?

Answer: hard to say, but blood thinners definitely speed the process up.)

Afterwards, Eddie takes him home again—to his own house, that feels more like home than any place Buck has ever lived in—and he sits on the Diaz couch, sunk low into a borrowed hoodie, watching Tarzan swing through the jungle.

“You can watch something else, you know,” Eddie says when he sits down beside him, pressing a warm mug into Buck’s hands. “Chris isn’t here, it doesn’t even have to be PG.”

Buck blinks at the rippling surface of his tea.

“You don’t like Tarzan?”

Eddie’s face does something that means no, he doesn’t like Tarzan, but he’s not sure if he’s going to offend Buck by saying so.

“I was more of a Little Mermaid guy,” he shrugs, sipping his own tea.

“Huh.” Buck imagines a little Eddie Diaz singing along to Under the Sea and can’t help grinning. “My favourite was Mulan.”

Eddie nods, like this makes sense. Maybe it does.

“Maddie took me to see it when it came out,” Buck tells him. “We went after school one day and I remember I ate so much popcorn it made me sick, and mom and dad were mad that I’d ruined my appetite with junk food before dinner, but Maddie sat with me until I felt better and sung the songs she could remember from the movie.”

He thinks that’s how it happened, at least. He remembers being sick, and his parents arguing with Maddie, and her singing True To Your Heart, but the memory pieces are broken, jagged where his mind has fit them together. Maybe they don’t go together at all.

“Maddie always took care of you, huh?”

Eddie is smiling at him, but there’s something a little sad under the softness, a little I see you, I see what you’re not saying. Buck shifts, uncomfortable, trying not to grimace at the pull of the stitches in his leg.

“Yeah,” he says, shrugging. “I mean, you took care of your sisters, right?”

Eddie hums. “Never had to drive them to the hospital, though.”

He reaches out and taps Buck’s knee, just above the neat row of stitches.

“Still not sure why you wouldn’t let me call her today,” he adds. “You know she’s going to find out when you call out of work tomorrow anyway.”

Buck huffs. “That was a suggestion—”

“Which you’re going to follow.” Eddie raises his eyebrows. “Aren’t you?”

Buck huffs again, sinking lower, chin disappearing into his hoodie.

“That’s what I thought.”

Eddie is smiling when he reaches out to tousle Buck’s hair.

Or. Buck’s thinks that’s what he means to do, but his fingers just push back through the mess of curls, too gentle to do any damage. Then he tugs up the sweatshirt’s hood, pulling it low over Buck’s face, so that he can barely see to blink up at Eddie, hardly daring to breathe. It feels like a second, a minute, an eternity; one breath, then the next, then the next.

“Long day,” Eddie says, something low and fuzzy in his voice now, everything soft and muffled past the curtain he has pulled over Buck’s head. “You wanna nap?”

Buck wrinkles his nose. “Are you treating me like your child? I think even Christopher is too old for nap time, Eds.”

He can’t see Eddie’s smile anymore, but he can hear it.

“Suit yourself, I’m going to nap.”

And he stands then, holding out a hand. Buck sees it floating at the bottom of his obscured hoodie vision and frowns. He hands over his tea, automatic, and Eddie takes it, then holds out his other hand, fingers wriggling when Buck still doesn’t move.

“You coming?” he asks.

“You just don’t want to watch Tarzan,” Buck replies, but he takes Eddie’s hand and lets himself be pulled to his feet. Lets himself hold on a bit longer, too, because… he wants to. And Eddie’s right, it has been a long day, he can blame it on the ordeal if Eddie tries to pull away.

But Eddie doesn’t pull away. He just squeezes Buck’s hand, so close and yet so far from the way he squeezed his shoulder in the hospital waiting room, and waits until Buck is ready to take another step.

***

Buck doesn’t make a habit of it.

Really, he doesn’t. If he adds up all the times he’s had stitches in his life, it’s not even two full hands of fingers. And the ones for the surgeries on his leg? He’s pretty sure those don’t count.

So the way Bobby sighs and says, “oh, kid,” when the doctor leaves the curtained off cubicle of the ER to get a suture kit is completely uncalled for, in his humble opinion.

“Wasn’t my fault,” Buck mumbles, thick and bloody through the gauze held against his lip.

“I know.” Bobby squeezes his leg. “Do you want me to call Eddie?”

Buck makes a face, then winces at the way it tugs at all his cuts and bruises. He hasn’t got a good look at himself in a mirror yet, but he knows it’s not going to be pretty. It’s a miracle his jaw isn’t broken, but his nose definitely is.

(The real miracle, Buck didn’t tell the doctor, is that he somehow hasn’t broken his nose already.)

“I’m not going to be able to kiss him, Bobby,” he groans.

Bobby looks like he can’t decide whether he should be amused or sympathetic, his face caught somewhere between both. “Your face will heal, Buck,” he says, patient. “I’m sure you’ll cope.”

He might not. Tomorrow is supposed to be date night, and they had plans for all the things they were going to do without Chris for an evening. Plans.

“Tell you what,” Bobby says, as the doctor comes back in. “I’m going to step outside and call Eddie, then check in with the rest of the team. You’ll be okay here?”

Buck would smile if it didn’t hurt so much. “It’s just a little needle, Bobby. It’s not even you it’s going in.”

Bobby rolls his eyes. “Smartass.”’

He does make a quick retreat though, the curtain swishing shut behind him.

“Right,” the doctor catches Buck’s attention, smiling kindly. “You ready for this?”

No, Buck thinks, but he just closes his eyes and waits for the first stitch to go in.

When it’s done, there really aren’t that many of them: two in his lip, three more in his cheek. Safety glasses saved his eyes, at least, and other than the broken nose, most of the damage is superficial. Really, it could have been worse.

He’s had worse.

Buck is still dreading the recovery though.

“Eddie is coming,” Bobby tells him, reappearing after the doctor has left again, leaning over Buck while he lies on the bed and tries not to move his face.

Buck just hums; he never doubted Eddie would come.

“You don’t have to wait,” he tells Bobby, but Bobby is already sitting down on the stool the doctor left beside the bed, making himself comfortable.

“Hen and Chimney have things handled at the station,” he replies. “I’ve got time.”

Buck’s dad stayed that first time he got stitches, but he wasn’t really there, not the way Bobby is now. The way Bobby has always been.

Speaking hurts, but Buck pushes through it to say, “Thank you.”

Bobby shakes his head. “You don’t need to thank me, Buck.”

He does. Not just for staying, or for pulling him out of that building—for everything else, too. For being so much more than a Captain. For that first time, even, when he sent Buck home but told him to call if he needed anything and he meant it.

Bobby must catch something on his face because he leans forward to squeeze Buck’s hand.

“You don’t need to thank me,” he says again, firmer.

And these days, Buck can almost believe it.

***

By the time Eddie arrives, the hospital is ready to discharge him. Buck is out of the gown and back in his dusty LAFD shirt, sitting on the edge of the bed while he tries to decide whether bending to put his boots on is going to hurt. Answer: probably, but surely not more than anything else does at the moment.

“Hi, honey,” Eddie murmurs, fingers gentle carding through Buck’s hair before settling at the back of his neck, thumb at the corner of his jaw as he takes in his face. “This looks like it hurts.”

Buck shrugs, one shouldered. Painkillers have taken the edge off now, but everything still feels tight and achy, like one wrong muscle twitch is going to crack his whole head open.

Eddie kisses his forehead, soft and lingering. It’s a tiny thing, it shouldn’t even help, really, but it does.

“Ready to get out of here?”

“Desperately,” Buck answers, and it’s a hissing, lisping mess of a word through his swollen, stitched together lip, but Eddie doesn’t laugh at him. He just kisses his head again—a quick, almost absent thing this time—then bends to help him into his boots.

“I texted Chris,” he says on the way out. “Gave him a heads up that you’re hurt. I think ice cream and feel better movies are in your future.”

It hurts, but Buck can’t help smiling.

“Tarzan?”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “I think we can skip Tarzan this time.”

Buck kind of loves him a stupid amount—incorrect Tarzan opinions and all.

“I want to kiss you,” he sighs in the car, watching the sunlight turn Eddie’s lashes golden, a little concentrated wrinkle between his brow as he checks the traffic before turning onto their street.

Eddie glances at him, a smile tucked into the corner of his mouth. “You want to kiss me?”

“Shut up,” Buck complains, biting his cheek to stop his own smile from pulling at his stitches. “I mean it.”

He meant it the first time too: sitting in his Jeep in Eddie’s driveway, turned sideways to watch his best friend’s eyes flutter closed as he clutched the coffee Buck handed to him, their shift bags slung into the backseat, side-by-side like they belonged there together.

“I want to kiss you,” he said then, without really meaning to.

And then he’d said it again, when Eddie had frowned, still half asleep, sunrise painting his face in yellow and pink: “I want to kiss you.”

And Eddie had nodded, put down his coffee, and said: “Okay.”

Then he’d kissed him.

Buck wishes it could be that simple now.

Eddie parks in their driveway, then picks up Buck’s hand and lifts it to his lips to kiss his knuckles.

“I wish I could kiss you too,” he says, squeezing Buck’s hand. “But I don’t want to hurt you.”

You won’t, Buck wants to say, but right now he knows it’s not true. He twists their grip, lifting Eddie’s hand in turn, and ghosts his lips over his boyfriend’s knuckles, more intention than touch. Eddie smiles.

“We survived five years without kissing each other,” he points out. “I think we’ll last one week.”

He’s right. Of course he’s right. But that doesn’t mean Buck has to like it.

“I’m never getting stitches again,” he swears. “Never.”

Eddie just shakes his head, fond. “Okay, baby.”

(And when Buck does, inevitably, need stitches again, he kindly doesn’t point out the fact that with all his bad Buckley luck, a resolution like that never really stood a chance.)

[callsignbaphomet]

Something cute and wholesome with Loke and Uthorim. I reeeeeaaaaally hope I did Uth some justice and portrayed him correctly. It's always nerve-racking to write someone else's character but goddamn is it not a fun experience.

TWs: None.

It was automatic by now, Uthorim would wake up and the first thing he would do is stretch his arms to gently place them on Loke. On a shoulder, thigh, chest or midsection, as long as there was some contact he would leave his hand on him. Loke was usually warm to the touch which was a soothing contrast to some of the cold nights and despite all the scars and how worn and beat down he was for his age he felt soft. Uthorim softly inhaled as the light from the rising sun peeked through the tattered curtains. Before he even opened his eyes he turned over and gently dropped his hand on where he thought Loke’s thighs would be. His smile quickly dissipated when his palm touched the cold sheets. He quickly opened his eyes and found Loke’s side of the bed empty, while disappointed he figured Loke had woken up and couldn’t go back to sleep so he got up. Uthorim decided to do the same and get started on breakfast though before he did he looked all over the cabin for Loke. When he didn’t find him in the cabin he figured Loke had gone out to hunt down some radstags or check to see if the traps had caught any fish. The nearby river was surprisingly low on radioactivity and the critters swimming within those waters seemed safe to eat.

After Uthorim washed up and made breakfast he noticed Loke hadn’t returned yet. A sharp pain slowly made itself known in the pit of his stomach when the thought of Loke having run off again quickly flashed through his mind. Before panic could set in he went back into the bedroom and found all of Loke’s things neatly tucked in the corner. As he exhaled in relief he leaned on the door frame. All those weeks without him felt like something reached inside of him and ripped everything out, he couldn’t go through that again, not after he found him again and vowed never to leave his side no matter what. Once he calmed down he grabbed his jacket and decided to look for him. He knew Loke was capable and his parents had trained him well but his right knee and shoulder were in pretty bad shape, going out to hunt on his own was a bad idea so Uthorim wanted to help him out in any way he could.

As soon as Uthorim opened the door he was stunned to see Loke sitting on the wooden swing that hung from the large tree in front of the cabin. When Uthorim first got to the cabin that swing was broken but out of boredom he decided to fix it as the mere sight of it gave him a delightful sense of whimsy he hadn’t felt since he first met Loke.

“Honey? What are you doing out here? It’s freezing.” Uthorim said as he made his way towards Loke.

Loke didn’t answer. He just kept his head down while his hands loosely gripped the rope. He wasn’t even swinging on the swing, he was just sitting on it.

“Loke? Baby, are you okay?”

“Couldn’t sleep.” Loke finally answered in a croaky tone as he kept his head down.

“It’s okay.” Uthorim crouched in front of Loke and gently tucked some of his hair behind his ear to get a better look at his face. Loke’s eyes were puffy and red as if he’d been crying. His pale green eyes avoided Uthorim but as soon as Uthorim placed his hand on Loke’s chin and slowly caressed his cheek with his thumb Loke looked at him and closed his eyes while leaning towards him. A thin stream of tears trickled down his cheeks. Loke opened his eyes again and looked right into Uthorim’s. His eyes looked so worn down and tired that for a second Uthorim thought Loke was going to faint right then and there.

As Uthorim opened his mouth to say something he noticed the sleeves of Loke’s jacket had fresh blood on them. A wave of panic washed over him and he quickly unzipped his jacket. Uthorim was horrified to find his shirt drenched in blood, he then noticed there was blood on the lower parts of his pants and on his boots. Uthorim lifted his shirt to check him for injuries but Loke grabbed Uthorim’s hands and in a monotone and low voice said, “It’s not mine.”

Confused and concerned Uthorim looked up at Loke and waited for him to clarify.

“It’s his.” Loke said as he pointed behind him.

Uthorim stood up and looked towards the direction Loke was pointing to. Several yards away the mangled and torn remains of a body sat up against a tree. He couldn’t see the details and preferred not to but by the looks of it it looked like a yao guai tore the person apart. Uthorim looked around in case whatever did that was still around but then knelt in front of Loke.

“What happened to them?”

Loke looked at Uthorim with a deadpan look on his face. He was devoid of any emotion which made what he said next almost terrifying, “Me.”

“Babe, what happened? Who were they?”

“Woke up in the middle of the night and couldn’t go back to sleep. Had a dream that made me feel just really out of it. Think I didn’t wanna go back to sleep in case it came back, you know? Tossed and turned for a while but I got out and went for a walk. Kept walking and walking until I saw this other cabin further west, didn’t really think nothing of it until I saw a man sitting on the porch brooming it. I kept my distance in case he felt threatened enough to shoot first and then ask who the fuck I was. Never know how tweaked people are out here.”

“Smart, people tend to act out of fear.”

“Yeah. Thing is I had this gnawing feeling just eating away at me so I looked at him again and I recognized his face and this overwhelming burning sensation just took over. This was rage unlike any I ever felt before in my life. Without thinking I just walked up to him and as soon as he saw me he instantly recognized me. Bitch actually had the nerve to apologize to me for what he did. Like apologizing to me would take back what he and his friends did to…” Loke swallowed hard and took a deep breath as he tried to compose himself.

“Did what?” Uthorim asked with concern in his voice, “To you?” His tone turned stern as he grabbed Loke’s arms. The thought of anyone hurting Loke sent Uthorim into overdrive.

Loke couldn’t bring himself to answer. He wished what happened had been done to him instead. He would’ve switched places even if it meant carrying around more trauma, though he’d simply do what he does with his trauma: swallow it and pretend it isn’t even there. Anything to have spared a minor from experiencing something so horrific and cruel. Uthorim could feel as Loke began to shake and saw that he was visibly uncomfortable which made him all the more worried.

“Honey, talk to me, please. What did they do to you?”

“That caravan we traveled with hired a group of mercenaries to get them up north but they made everyone uncomfortable. Most of the time they were drunk and high off whatever they had, and could barely shoot straight. Spent almost every night shooting into the air and being loud enough to draw unwanted attention to the caravan. From the second Jela and I joined the caravan one of ‘em was eyeing Jela and tried to get close to him but I shot that shit down as soon as I noticed it. Told him he’s a minor, he told me to fuck off so I threatened to curbstomp him. Sometime later Jelani told them to fuck off with their bullshit ‘cause they were scaring some of the people. Then sometime after that happened the caravan lead came to us with a proposition: he’d pay those guys for their services and then tell ‘em to fuck off and hire us to take them as far north as we were comfortable with. We agreed and they left after making a scene and throwing threats around.”

Loke paused for a moment. He wasn’t sure how to navigate around the subject, especially without Jelani’s consent. He remembered how horrified Jelani felt when he found out other people aside from Loke knew what happened to him.

“A week later I woke up and Jelani wasn’t at the camp, he wasn’t anywhere. A few people from the camp and I went out looking for him and after almost two hours Dagny came running up to me. Her mouth was shut with duct tape but Jelani wasn’t with her. I panicked and got her to take me to him. Found him in some old run down house two miles from the camp. He was in the basement beaten and…” Loke knew he could trust Uthorim but remembering how he found him that morning was something that would haunt him for the rest of his life and the less he thought of it the better though he knew he couldn’t just ignore what happened. It hadn’t happened to him so ignoring it wasn’t an option.

“That asshole,” Loke pointed to the body, “and the others came back, grabbed him in the middle of the night, beat the fuck out of him and…when I found him I thought he was dead. There was so much blood and he was covered in bruises…found him with his jeans down to his knees and a lot of blood down his thighs.”

Uthorim circled the words Loke had said in his head for a bit, they felt heavy and rancid but the more he thought on what Loke had just told him the more his brows furrowed as he realized what Loke had just told him.

“No.” It was all Uthorim could muster as he understood what Loke was trying to tell him in a subtle way. Uthorim looked back at the body and understood why Loke had torn him up the way he did but part of him thought he’d gotten off easy. He felt the same way Loke did, apologizing to Loke instead of his actual victim, and after the fact as well, felt like an insult. Had Uthorim known and had he been there when Loke was tearing into that man he would’ve gladly helped. No one deserves to be subjected to such a brutality but he felt it was twice as brutal since it happened to a seventeen-year-old kid, to his family. What was worse was that Jelani wasn’t there, the need to hug him was overwhelming. Sure, it wouldn’t take back what happened to him and it sure as shit wouldn’t make him forget it happened or probably make him feel better but it was Uthorim’s way of letting him know he was there for him. Jelani’s absence felt all the more rotten now that he knew what had happened to him and why Loke was so worried about him.

“That shit happened to him because of me. Every choice I’ve made has been a mistake and he ends up paying for it.” Loke lamented as he began to cry.

“What? No! No, baby. It wasn’t your fault. They did that to him.” Uthorim pointed at the body with one hand while he used the other to lift Loke’s face so he could look at him to make sure Loke knew he was being truthful. “You have done everything you could to take care of him, you’ve put your own needs aside to make sure his needs didn’t go unanswered. You chose to risk your life so he could live. Not many people would do that. You’re an impossibility, my love, no seventeen-year-old kid who just lost his parents would’ve made it this far and in one piece much less with a two-year-old toddler.”

“Uth, look what happened to him. He was raped under my watch! I failed to keep him safe!”

“That doesn’t mean it was your fault and you didn’t fail him. Shit’s always gonna happen but it’s what we do after it happens that determines whether we failed our loved ones or not. You took care of him after it happened, I wasn’t there to see it but I know you, the second you found him you did everything you could to make sure his injuries were taken care of and you were right there with him to see to any and all physiological and emotional injuries too. I know you, I know what kind of person you are, I saw it the night we met at the fort. You were freezing because you gave all the blankets to Jelani, you didn’t leave his side for one second even though you were starving, you didn’t get any rest despite the fact that you hadn’t slept in days to make sure his fever didn’t come back. You were sick too but you didn’t say anything so the doctor’s attention was fully on Jelani. The love you have for your kid? I’d never seen dedication like that in my life. I think I fell in love with you that night. Everyone’s too busy taking and getting but hardly anyone gives of themselves like you do.”

Loke had no idea how to respond to that, he was overwhelmed by what he was feeling and what Uthorim was saying. There was truth to his words but the amount of guilt Loke felt was enough to choke him, he felt it was his fault for letting his need for revenge get the better of him when he saw Iain again. When he saw her all he could remember was the look on Jelani’s face when she shot him and at that moment he acted without thinking. If he hadn’t killed Iain neither of them would’ve needed to run away to avoid the NCR. If they didn’t need to run away Jelani wouldn’t have been assaulted and they certainly wouldn’t have been separated like they currently were. That sickening guilt that had been haunting him for fifteen years had reached its peak that morning when he found Jelani in a puddle of his own blood and since then it was lodged into his throat and no matter what Loke did it wouldn’t budge. He just wanted the two people he loved to be safe and happy.

Uthorim gently pulled Loke’s face towards his and softly kissed him. He didn’t need an answer, the look on his face was enough to let him know his words had reached him even if it would take a while for the realization of it all to manifest itself. Loke lazily returned the kiss. He felt spent and emotionally raw not to mention the fact that even if he wanted to he couldn’t stop crying.

“I’m sorry, love.” Loke whispered into Uthorim’s mouth as he kissed him back, his tears were sliding down his cheeks.

Uthorim picked Loke up from the swing and brought him back into the cabin. By that time breakfast had gotten cold and Uthorim was sure Loke wasn’t hungry and if he was to be honest with himself he was more concerned about Loke than he was hungry. When he first got to the cabin Uthorim had cleaned it up and fixed various things around the cabin to make it more livable, one of them being the bathroom, he managed to jerry rig the bathtub to act as a shower. When he noticed the river nearby was safe to use he kept several gallons of the water after boiling it. A neat little trick he learned from his days in the Brotherhood of Steel. He walked into the bathroom and undressed Loke who had gone mute, it was a response to stress he had since he was little, and turned on the shower. He walked Loke into the tub and as Uthorim reached for the soap Loke grabbed his hand and pulled him towards him. He understood the gesture and undressed to join him in the shower. Uthorim washed Loke and then himself, it would’ve been a bit easier had Loke not spent the entire shower hugging him but he didn’t care, Uthorim knew he was feeling vulnerable and as long as he could he’d offer whatever solace he needed. Once Loke stopped crying they shared kiss after kiss with the occasional light touching. It wasn’t meant to lead anywhere, it was just pleasant and soothing and even if it did lead to something else Loke wasn’t about to complain, he missed Uthorim more than he thought he could miss anyone.

Once Uthorim dried Loke and then himself he grabbed Loke and carried him back to the room where he sat down on the bed and placed Loke on his lap. Loke sighed as he wrapped both arms around Uthorim and leaned his head on his chest. Hearing his heart beating was the single most soothing thing he ever experienced. Loke wanted to tell Uthorim how much he missed his touch, how much he missed hearing his heartbeat, how he missed running his fingers through his hair and softly brushing the tip of his fingers over every inch of his body, how much he missed seeing his smile that could easily light up the night, and how much he missed holding him in his arms and being held by him. Tears began to form in Loke’s eyes again as he closed them and just took in Uthorim’s scent. He had so much he wanted to say but didn’t want to overwhelm him so he did the only thing he could think of that he knew for sure could summarize all that he was currently feeling and wanted to say. Loke wrapped his arms around Uthorim’s neck and nuzzled the side of his neck for a bit before he slightly opened his eyes and with a slight trembling in his voice whispered, “Jeg elsker deg.”

[questionablequeeries]

You Looking At Me Looking At You by Ozzy Osbourne

Steve wished he could run away, be normal again, just…exist. Instead, he was crawling through a gate, falling onto a stained mattress as the mood ring clinked against the chain on his neck. Honestly, he and Dustin had both pretty openly and loudly fought against using the trailergate, but it really was the most logical one they could get to, safer than watergate, farther from Vecna’s house than Creelgate (he’d wanted to call it douchebaggate and was once again vetoed) with a softer landing than Roadgate. He couldn’t help thinking back to when Eddie pointed out that slapping ‘demo’ onto everything lacked any semblance of creativity and found himself agreeing that maybe they just didn’t have it.

“It’s gone!” Dustin’s loud voice broke through the quiet, running towards…ah, shit.

“Henderson! Dustin, wait!” Steve ran after the kid, but he couldn’t help staring, “Where is he?” He whispered, looking around as if anyone else would have answers.

“Some demobeast probably, well, ate him.” Nancy offered her own suggestion, looking surprisingly green and guilty upon opening her mouth, “It doesn’t matter. We need to go.”

Robin, ever the more comforting, reached out and took Steve’s hand silently, giving it a squeeze and breathing a sigh of relief when she got one in return.

Steve forced his stoicism to take the place of his anger, that Eddie’s final resting place had been so violated. He wanted to scream, rage, start smashing tentacles, but he…couldn’t? His flashlight caught movement in the trees as they walked from the Creel house to the lab (apparently even Vecna wasn’t dumb enough to make his base of operations an easily accessed old house. All it had taken was the death of his everything), and he felt his throat close up, “Um, guys?”

“Shit, that’s a lot of ‘em.” Mike looked to Eleven for a brief moment before shifting his gaze back up to the dozens and dozens of demobats perched on branches, so keenly aware of them, “El? Think you can beat them?”

Eleven slowly nodded, though she hesitated, “They seem to be waiting for something.” She sounded uncertain.

“Vecna?” Nancy clutched her shotgun a little tighter, definitely on edge when both Eleven and Will shook their heads.

Steve couldn’t help letting out a choked cry when the sound of massive leather wings preceded a creature landing in front of them, letting loose with a screech that caused most of them to clutch their ears. Eddie was different, angry, more animal than man, but he couldn’t help breaking formation, running for him, ignoring the cries of ‘Steve!’ As much as he’d ignored his own misery for months, “Is that…Eds, is that you?” He whispered hopefully.

Eddie tilted his head, glowing eyes peering intently at Steve as if he couldn’t decide whether or not he was food. He solved that answer by lunging forward, throwing them both to the ground.

“Eds…c’mon, this isn’t you.” Steve winced at the claws digging into his throat, looking up at the other straddling him and making a sign for everyone else to stay back. This was his fight, dammit. He reached up with a shaking hand and tucked a greasy lock of hair behind an elongated ear, “V-Very metal-looking.” He hissed as fingers clawed deeper into flesh, his free hand moving to hold the mood ring just so gently.

Eddie caught sight of it, glittering by lightning flash, and he sat back as if he was confused. He shook his head, knocking his hair back into a curtain, and then he was gone, taking his bats with him.

Okay, Steve totally deserved the chewing out he got from pretty much everybody as his injuries were patched up but he honestly wasn’t even paying attention. Their mission was to kill Henry/Vecna/One but, as they resumed their march, he realized that he had a new mission. He was Sam, and he was sure as hell bringing his Frodo back from Mordor.

@steddie-week Follow along and read the other parts to this story here:

[deathbydarkelves]

So I'm semi-casually RPing in the current Helping Hands campaign (x-faction, open campaign where the overall goal is to help the kaldorei recover post-Fourth War and investigate some Fucked-Up Shit along the way). I'd seen other people write little excerpts of their characters processing rp events post-event, but never had the inspiration strike me to do that myself. I consider this Helping Hands "timeline" separate from my AU/"real" timeline anyway, which keeps it more casual and non-serious in my head.

BUT in the latest event we were tasked with bringing some supplies through the mountains between Felwood and Darkshore, and poor Tarinne got a glimpse of Teldrassil for the first time since Legion. It may be a little AU-y -- in the real timeline she's not gonna see Darkshore for a while I'm thinking -- but I wanted to explore how she'd maybe process that.

Oh also we got ambushed by furbolg shamans with arrows and lightning and had to retreat to Moonglade through a fucked-up Void portal.

Basically: I wanted to write a little scene where it's just Cathala and Tarinne talking, since in my current WIP they're accompanied by other characters most of the time and that changes the dynamic a little. It's pretty quick and loose compared to my other writing, but at the end of the day it was sort of just a dialogue exercise <3

Tarinne had rented a hippogryph out of Moonglade the moment the druids healed her, with hardly a goodbye to the other volunteers. That brief, distant glimpse of Teldrassil stuck in her head like putrefying flesh to bone. She rode the leagues to Mount Hyjal empty-minded, counting buildings in the scarce mountain villages below to keep it that way, and taking draughts from her mead flask when that failed. She was even grateful for the hot, stinging pain on her right shoulder blade where the druids had missed part of a lightning burn, despite how much it sucked ass.

And now that wound had begun to weep, and she was sitting on a stool in her and Cathala’s room at the Nordrassil Inn, staring out the only window at a crystalline curtain of rain. Earthy incense filled her lungs. Every now and then the rain-chilled air found its way through the window and prickled her skin. Behind her, Cathala had set her bag on the bed and was digging through it for vials of herbs.

“I should have come with you,” Cathala said. Glass clinked as she pulled something out.

“You would’ve gotten your ass beat, too.”

She laughed through her nose. “Don’t sound so sure.”

“The spellcasters barely got a hit off. All I could do was stand there like an idiot while they took potshots at us.” She glared at the rain-blurred silhouettes of trees and chewed her lip. “It was a waste of time. I don’t know why I bothered.”

“You’ll be prepared next time.” Cathala closed her bag and walked to her side. She held a jar of silvery-gray earthroot paste, and two rounded vials of dried leaves Tarinne didn’t recognize. “Where is it?”

Tarinne patted her right shoulder. Cathala tugged at her own collar, a signal.

“I don’t know if I want there to be a next time.” Tarinne pulled her shirt over her head and tossed it to the floor. The odor of stale sweat followed it. “I heard them talking about taking the Rift from the get-go, and you’d have to pay me my weight in gold before I did that shit again.”

“I saw a poster for an escaped prisoner outside town yesterday. One hundred gold reward.”

Tarinne laughed once. “Maybe if I was a gnome.”

Cathala smirked like she saw that coming, then stepped between her and the bed. She was silent for a few beats. “Hold these.” She handed the herbs over Tarinne’s shoulder and sat on the end of the bed. She passed her fingers over the skin surrounding the burn, feeling for something Tarinne didn’t know.

Tarinne watched smoke curl off the incense sticks in the bowl below the window, and waited.

Cathala held a hand out. “Adder’s tongue.”

She looked at the two vials in her hands.

“The green one.”

Tarinne passed it to her and proceeded to wait in anticipation as Cathala removed the cork and tapped a bundle of leaves into her hand.

“Relax,” Cathala said.

“I am,” Tarinne said, then realized her old mistake.

Cathala jabbed two knuckles into the middle of her back, one on either side of her spine. Like she had cut the strings commanding her muscles, tension Tarinne hadn’t even been aware of drained from her body, along with an involuntary sigh. Her shoulders sagged and she slouched forward.

“Now you are.”

She took a slow breath like she’d only just woken up. “Yeah, well… I can’t do that shit you do with your magic monk fing-“ She hissed in pain as Cathala pressed the adder’s tongue to her raw wound. The spongy stems and leaves stabbed at her flesh.

“Breathe.”

“I am,” Tarinne half-laughed.

After one long minute, Cathala tossed the adder’s tongue to the floor. Its fern-like leaves were appetizingly dark and sticky with lymph.

Cathala extended her hand again. “Earthroot.”

Tarinne gave her the jar. She sighed, and a few seconds later, the threads of incense smoke twisted and faded. “We’d almost made it outta the mountains, too.”

Cathala uncorked the jar and rubbed the cool, grainy paste into her wound. At first it stung, then slowly numbed as the poppy milk she always mixed in took effect.

Cathala’s voice became flat and impartial. “As a girl, I thought dragons lived in those mountains.”

Her words faded into the sound of the rain.

Tarinne nodded slowly. “No dragons this time.”

Outside, a breeze weaved between the trees and raindrops. The incense sticks burned low, smoke shaking whenever a wayward drop found its way inside. Tarinne watched the ash of one drop into the bowl.

When Cathala finally pulled her hand away, her shoulder was blessedly numb.

Tarinne held up the second vial. “What about this?”

“Briarthorn. Only necessary if it was blistering.”

She gave the vial an unpleasant look before setting all three on the floor. Words started to form in her mouth, then died once she opened it.

Cathala ran her palm over her shoulder. “Your trapezius is tense.”

“Probably because it got struck by lightning.”

“I can work it loose once the earthroot soaks in.”

“What, no pressure point trick?”

She could feel Cathala looking at the back of her head like she was an idiot. “That’s only temporary.”

Tarinne sighed again, though she’d known that. “Mm.”

The ember of a burned-out incense stick winked out.

The bed creaked as Cathala stood. She knelt in front of her, brow knit as her eyes met Tarinne’s. “Will you be alright?”

“Yes.” Her smile faded as her gaze wandered down the scar coiling up Cathala’s neck and cheek. She chewed her lip again. “You don’t have to come with me. We might go back to Da-“

“I know.” Cathala put her hand on hers and squeezed it. “But if- when…” She closed her eyes, sighed through her nose, then opened them. “I would want to be with you.”

Tarinne was silent for a while. She studied Cathala’s face, but so many different emotions were carving their lines into it she found it unreadable. Finally, she let out a long breath, and said: “Me too.”

[doyouknowbtsswag]

Temptation |Taehyun AU| (Part 3)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

I worked day and night making different things since I didn't have anyone to help me. My mom finally got better and returned to work but my father insisted on her sitting down from time to time. My mom looked much better and her skin looked smoother than it was before she was sick. My thoughts started to fully focus on the glowing butterfly. Every time I looked out my window there wasn't a speck of light that coming from the dark wood. I grabbed the curtains to close the window but there it was a speck of light. I could barely see it but it didn't move as if it was waiting for something or someone. It was too late at night to go into the woods I know nothing about.

"Maybe the morning if it's still there" I mumbled under my breath closing the curtains.

I walked over to my bed and got under the sheets. I turned the lamp off making the room pitch black. Once again my thoughts were keeping me up at night. I could be making this all up and it's just an illusion in my head that kept me going to get the plant. The only thing is that it appeared again. I know it's obviously a butterfly but what kind of butterfly glows up and acts like a guide to a place you need to go? It could be a coincidence or not. I'm going to go find out whether I want to or not because no matter what I'll go mad from not knowing. Once again when I finally fell asleep I barely got any sleep. I got up but this time I'm going early in the morning. I got ready except this time I was getting myself fully prepared. I walked downstairs and saw my mom get the fire started.

"Hey uhm, Mother?" I said nervously rocking on my heels.

"Hm?" She said focusing on making a fire under the oven.

"So hear me out," I said trying to sound confident. "It's light outside so I was thinking that I could go in the woods real quick and look for that plant just in case someone gets sick again since I know the general location of where they are at."

"No" She simply said.

"Why not? It's light out! I'll even bring a knife and those apples and-"

"I said no and that's final," She said sternly after walking away.

I sighed looking up thinking of what I could do. If I asked my dad he might have let me but he left to get water. I quickly and quietly gathered everything I needed to go to the woods. I need to know what the butterfly wanted or if it was just there. I might be a fool but I don't mind being called that. I made sure my mom wasn't near so I could quickly leave. Once I made sure she wasn't there I quietly ran out of the house and straight to the woods seeing blue light a little deeper in the woods.

"Sorry Mom," I said and walked into the woods.

I walked closer to the butterfly noticing it was the same one as before.

"What do you want?" I asked but it just started to fly forward. "I can't believe I'm doing this"

I looked around being mindful of my steps so I don't fall flat on my face. I saw all my previous marks on the trees till they were gone. I was still on edge considering I was following something completely random. The trees started to open up till I was met with the edge of a clearing.

"It's so pretty," I said out loud looking around and stepping in the flow field making me smile ear to ear.

"You like flowers?" I heard a voice say from behind me.

"Please don't kill me!" I said landing on the ground and covering my face along with shutting my eyes.

At that moment I thought about the stories people told. My mind raced so fast that I thought I was going to pass out.

"Why would I kill you?" The person said.

"so you aren't a monster that goes after people?" I said lowering my guard.

"Monster? Do I look scary?" He asked confused. Now thinking about it I never actually looked at the person in front of me.

I uncovered my eyes and opened them. I was faced with a man with a light blue hair. His smile was welcoming and warm. He was wearing a white shirt and dark green shorts. A hand was waved in front of me which snapped me back to reality.

"Sorry I didn't mean to stare," I said looking away out of embarrassment.

"It's fine," He said chuckling. "So do I look like a monster?"

"No not at all the complete opposite actually," I said.

"I'm Taehyun," He said sitting down.

"I'm Y/n" I replied sitting upright.

"I haven't seen you before"

"Same goes for you"

"So why'd you call me a monster at first?" He asked picking a flower.

"Since I was a kid people always told everyone to be careful because of this and that." I sighed. "Guess they were wrong in a way"

"I've never seen anything weird," He said shrugging his shoulders. I would've mentioned the butterfly but I decided not to. "They're just something to scare people from going places"

"Well that's good I won't have to worry anymore. I guess”

"Mhm" He smiled picking at flowers.

I looked up and saw it was about to start going dark. I frowned wanting to talk to Taehyun more but I would have to wait until tomorrow.

"I have to go back or my parents especially my mom will kill me," I said standing up.

"I understand," He said giving me a flower. "maybe we'll meet again?"

"Maybe" I smiled and started walking away. "Bye!"

"Bye," He said and watched me leave.

I made sure I walked out of Taehyun's sight before skipping back home. I was careful of the branches so I didn't trip and fall. I slowly stopped as I made it to the entrance leading to the village. It was still relatively time to make an excuse for where I was. I jogged back making sure nobody saw me. I successfully made it without anyone noticing where I came from. I walked around avoiding my own house so I can use the excuse that people saw me. I greeted people and smiled even making small talk.

"Hello Mrs. and Mr. Miller" I smiled at the older couple and the doctors of the village.

"Y/n! How are you?" Mrs. Miller asked. "I heard your mom was sick"

"She did but she's all better now and back to work," I said.

"I'm glad she's okay now, she's a tough one"

"That she is" I chuckled.

"It's late you should get home" She smiled.

"Well it was nice talking to you," I said.

We said our goodbye's and I walked back home. I held my breath as I opened the door. I saw my mom sweeping the floor cringing knowing she was the first person I'd be greeted with. She looked at me having her hand on her hip.

"Where were you?" She asked tapping her foot.

"Taking a stroll around the village," I said putting my hands behind my back hiding the flower hoping she didn't see.

"Oh really? Because I didn't see you anywhere"

"We'll you probably just missed where I was"

"So if I asked people if you talked or even waved at them they'd say yes?"

"Yup"

"I told you not to go in the woods yet it's clear you have considering you are holding a flower that you can't casually find," She said now crossing her arms. "You're not slick"

"Listen-"

"What's going on?" My dad asked walking in seeing my mom's stance.

"She decided to waltz right into the woods on her own when I told her not to”

"Is this true?" My dad looked at me way more calmly.

I sighed finding no point in lying. My dad always managed to get me to confess about anything I've done. He never yelled at me he was always wondering why I would do such things.

"Yes," I mumbled.

"Your mother said no so why did you go?" He asked leaning against the wall.

"I don't know I guess I wanted to see more since I couldn't focus last time"

"Did you find anything new?"

"No but I want to see more" I lied only wanting to go back and see Taehyun.

"So you want to be killed?" My mother chimed in. "With the so-called monsters that you're scared of?"

"They don't exist," I said firmly thinking about what Taehyun said. "I'm not scared anymore"

"Oh really? So you're going to go tomorrow then to because you're not scared anymore so you want to show off to everyone that you don’t believe in all of the stories told so you don't mind taking a walk through the woods?" My mom said in a mocking tone.

"I could care less about what people think about me going into the forest."

"How badly do you want to go?" My dad said.

"I would very much enjoy going," I said crossing my arms.

"Then before you go you have to make the dough so it's ready for the day and when you come back you have to clean everything." My dad said calmly.

"Deal," I said quickly before my mom could even protest the idea.

"If you slip up once it's over," My mom said finishing up.

I ran upstairs to my room and looked at the pink flower. I felt bad for lying to my dad about going to explore more when in reality I was meeting a guy. It's weird thinking about it now but I was fine with it. I looked outside and smiled thinking about him. He was like a pied piper.

[apocalypticavolition]

Let's (re)Read The Eye of the World! Chapter 46: Fal Dara

Another day, another spoiler warning. Do not read this reread if you don't want the entirety of Wheel of Time to be spoiled for you. The revelation that the seven seals are the fragments of Lews Therin's childhood sled Rosamund needs to be experienced within the text itself, not blabbed on some internet blog. Block the tags and move on!

This chapter has the tree at night icon, which is interesting since this chapter takes place in the day and the journey the heroes undergo isn't the main thrust of the chapter. Perhaps it reflects Fain? Or maybe Jordan couldn't think of a good fit for this chapter but didn't want to make up a whole new icon just for one single one.

Rand shook his head. Trees bursting? And that was during an ordinary winter. What must this winter have been like? Surely like nothing he could imagine.

As a young lad growing up in Alaska, I could only laugh at Rand's naivety. Really, there were almost no winter scenes that could impress me in fantasy worlds. Shit's cold, y'all.

“Curtains.” Perrin chuckled. He immediately wiped the smile off his face when the two women raised their eyebrows at him. “Oh, I agree with you. There wasn’t enough rust on that scythe for any more than a week in the open. You should have seen that, Mat. Even if you missed the curtains.”

Perrin, don't mock Egwene for having pretty decent Sherlock Holmes deductions. You can't even hide your supernatural powers from everyone else. Why is the people ta'veren so bad at subterfuge?

“So many?” Perrin said. “The stories say the Green Man is hard to find, and no one can find him twice.”

When I first read this bit, I was immediately put in mind of The Neverending Story's Childlike Empress, who (at least in the books) operates on similar rules. More on that in a moment.

If you boys . . . you men, can do what has to be done when you’d rather do almost anything else, why do you think I will do less? Or Egwene?

Isn't Nynaeve wonderful? She's got every reason to beat Rand over the head with a stick for this suggestion - and let's be real, that's absolutely her habit - but instead she sticks with complimenting Rand and insisting at staying by his side.

“I only danced with Aram, Rand,” she said softly, not looking at him. “You wouldn’t hold it against me, dancing with somebody I will never see again, would you?”

Was Egwene being super possessive about all of this because she thought Rand would behave the same way? Just trying to beat him to the punch because he's been so consistently shitty during this adventure? It seems like a better explanation for her behavior than anything else, and lets us move past this, right? We're never bringing this up again book, RIGHT????? PLEASE?

It's such an annoying subplot...

A number of others shouted, “Glory to the Builders!” and, “Kiserai ti Wansho!” Loial looked surprised, then a broad smile split his face and he waved to the guards.

Poor Loial, wasting all of his time in the south where people think everything interesting is all snarks and grumpkins instead of going to the North where the people know that all the myths are true. The Ogier stoneworking probably has done more to forestall the fall of the west than any specific person.

From one of the gate towers an armored man called down, “Welcome, Dai Shan.” Another shouted to the inside of the fortress, “The Golden Crane! The Golden Crane!”

This chapter is also our first taste of just how wildly popular Lan is in the Borderlands. It's probable that he gets the most love here in Shienar, since presumably most of the diaspora ended up here and the countries used to be neighbors, but he gets plenty of respect everywhere else too. It's a shame his relationship with his people and supporters is so tenuous at this point.

“Things are never as bad as they appear, Dai Shan. A little worse than usual this year, that is all. The raids continued through the winter, even in the hardest of it. But the raiding was no worse than anywhere else along the Border. They still come in the night, but what else can be expected in the spring, if this can be called spring. Scouts return from the Blight—those who do come back—with news of Trolloc camps. Always fresh news of more camps. But we will meet them at Tarwin’s Gap, Dai Shan, and turn them back as we always have.”

Good on Ingtar for being so optimistic. Shame it's all a damned lie and he genuinely thinks that it's only a matter of time before the Trollocs finally overwhelm humankind and drive them to extinction. It makes him a rather funny contrast to Lan, who as we've established is not remotely optimistic about anything but is completely faithful in his service to the Light.

“Ninte calichniye no domashita, Agelmar Dai Shan,” Moiraine replied formally, but with a note in her voice that said they were old friends.

The sheer amount of Old Tongue being thrown at us in this segment is a bit annoying because most of it is just nonsense at this point. (And really later on too.)

I am so sad that we'll never get to know how Moiraine and Agelmar became old friends. They must have crossed paths many times in her twenty year search for such a relationship, which makes me wonder: why? What Black Ajah schemes was Moiraine trying to thwart? It's still a damn shame we never got the other two prequel novels.

Agelmar hesitated, pulling a map from the tangle on the table. He stared unseeing at the map for a moment, then tossed it back. “When we ride to the Gap,” he said quietly, “the people will be sent south to Fal Moran. Perhaps the capital can hold. Peace, it must. Something must hold.”

I have to note though that Jordan's having the Borderlands in this kind of state so early on in the novels really hurt the overall momentum of the story. In just a few books - a year and a half of in-universe time - the Blight will be unnaturally quiet and the monarchs of the land utterly derelict in their duties. The later quiet does make a good deal of sense (the Shadow is holding everything it has back for the Last Battle), but the overall arc isn't strong as a result and the monarchs look incredibly stupid for having forgotten what just happened and being unable to connect the dots even as Maradon comes under siege.

When he raised his head his blue eyes burned with a fierce light, but his voice was calm again, and flat. “I am a Warder, Agelmar.” His sharp gaze slid across Rand and Mat and Perrin to Moiraine. “At first light I ride to the Blight.”

In a way, this moment must be something of Lan's last temptation. He's offered what he wants, a suicidal but honorable battle in the Blight. Further, from here on out, his path is set: Moiraine arranges for him to be handed him off to Myrelle next book so there's no way for him to truly leave, and then of course Nynaeve plays interception and keeps him alive until the end. For all the tragedy of Lan's upbringing, it is good he never gave way to this option and that he doesn't now; all he would have accomplished is the loss of too many good fighters in battles that didn't matter.

Rand abruptly realized the Lord of Fal Dara assumed it was Nynaeve and Egwene who with Moiraine would fight against the Dark One. It was natural. That sort of struggle meant using the One Power, and that meant women. That sort of struggle means using the Power. He tucked his thumbs behind his sword belt and gripped the buckle hard to keep his hands from shaking.

I like how subtle Jordan has been about Rand's firm denial about what's happening to him. Even here, it's not immediately apparent that he's forcing down the revelation about what Moiraine's quest means.

“You have seen the Green Man, Moiraine Sedai?” The Lord of Fal Dara sounded impressed, but in the next breath he frowned. “But if you have already met him once. . . .” “Need is the key,” Moiraine said softly, “and there can be no greater need than mine. Than ours. And I have something those other seekers have not.”

The exact mechanics of how Moiraine pulls this off are technically obscure - she's probably right about need, but surely there's more to it than that since the Green Man decides and apparently never helped anyone twice before but...

There was a reason I mentioned the Childlike Empress, whose "once per customer" logic had a single, strange loophole. Visitors from our world were able to see her as many times as they wished, because each time was the first time. I can't help but wonder if Rand's ta'veren made it so that to the Green Man and his magic, something like this was going on as the party approached.

“The Trolloc Wars left nothing but memories, Loial, son of Arent, and people to build on them. They could not duplicate the Builders’ work, any more than could I. Those intricate curves and patterns your people create are beyond human eyes and hands to make. Perhaps we wished to avoid a poor imitation that would only have been an ever-present reminder to us of what we had lost. There is a different beauty in simplicity, in a single line placed just so, a single flower among the rocks. The harshness of the stone makes the flower more precious. We try not to dwell too much on what is gone. The strongest heart will break under that strain.”

I hope that when the Last Battle is done and the Blight is gone, the Borderlanders can embrace intricate and soft beauty again. They're not wrong in their aesthetic, stark and simple can be truly great, but there is something tragic in their being forced into it by the Shadow when they're clearly a far more poetic people than circumstances permit.

“Your pardon, Aes Sedai, but I must see to this. Perhaps he is only a pitiful wretch with his mind blinded by the Light, but. . . . Two days gone, five of our own people were found in the night trying to saw through the hinges of a horse-gate. Small, but enough to let Trollocs in.” He grimaced. “Darkfriends, I suppose, though I hate to think it of any Shienaran. They were torn to pieces by the people before the guards could take them, so I’ll never know. If Shienarans can be Darkfriends, I must be especially careful of outlanders in these days. If you wish to withdraw, I will have you shown to your rooms.”

Again with that beautiful hypocrisy. You probably do know, Ingtar. You might very well have been the man who set them to it, thinking and hoping that a fast and painful battle yesterday might lead to a retreat today, with more men spared to fall back in the capital and forestall the end just a little while longer.

Or maybe not. Darkfriends do operate in cells and this one might have been entirely beyond Ingtar's reach.

“He made me his hound! His hound, to hunt and follow with never a bit of rest. Only his hound, even after he threw me away.”

And since Ingtar has proven false, I wonder a great deal about the other major Darkfriend in this chapter. Is he playing up the Smeagol act so that they'll underestimate him, maybe even try to set him on a path to redemption so that they can all be corrupted or killed faster? Did the merger he just experienced with Machin Shin leave him pretty traumatized in an immediate sense? Is he really experiencing spells that have him alternating between the Smeagol and the Gollum, possibly as a result of all the different forms of evil running through him? Will any of this matter after book seven or so?

“Great Lord, your might is unquestioned, but can it stand against the Dark One forever? Do you not often find yourself pressed to hold? Forgive my temerity, Great Lord; he will crush you in the end, as you are. I know; believe me, I do. But I can show you how to scour the Shadow from the land, Great Lord.”

This seems to be the Shadar Logoth surfacing but getting all mixed up with the Darkfriendliness along the way. I feel like calling anyone in the Borderlands "Great Lord" is a hell of a way to make enemies.

Stopping behind Mat’s chair, Moiraine put a hand on his shoulder and bent to whisper in his ear. Whatever she said, the tension went out of his face, and he took his hand from under his coat.

I suspect that when Mat loses a great deal of his memories, this particular moment is one of the ones that goes out. Again we do see that Moiraine can be a human, caring mentor figure, she's just not very good at it.

[lindsaystravelblogs2]

Days 13 & 14 - Tortel and the Pulluche Channel

(Having trouble posting photos and my one video at present due to poor bandwidth, so I will try to post some text and insert the photos later.)

Day 13 - Thursday, 16 March  Tortel

We slept with the curtains open because there was no moon due to the heavy cloud.  But as dawn broke, we found ourselves at anchor with a delightful little village just a hundred metres or so outside our window. It was the town of Tortel and it was simply wonderful.  We were ferried ashore in the lifeboats – they call them tenders! – to a dry landing (they have taken our boots and life jackets so I assume there will be no more wet landings).  The village has just over five hundred inhabitants and is obviously very isolated but they are set up very well to service the tourists.  Where we went ashore, there were a few open-sided pavilions (they reminded me a lot of Bali) and they gave us a brief history lesson and performed some local music and dancing for us.  They had samples of pisco for everyone – an alcoholic drink found extensively across Chile and many other parts of South America.  It is a bit like a very refreshing lemon drink, fairly sour, but I really enjoyed it.  They also had some empanadas for us to sample – not as hot as they could have been but very tasty.

The village was founded to exploit the cypress trees in the region and virtually everything was constructed of wood, much of it quite beautiful joinery with lovely grain.  We were told there are no roads (apparently, some sort of track or road was recently constructed on the far side of the village) but there is a timber walkway about three kilometres long skirting the fiord and running through the town.  It is a work of art and the whole village was quaint and delightful.  It was comprised of fairly run-down houses scattered throughout the dense foliage with stairs running up to many of them.  There are also quite a few very long staircases running high up the side of the hill.  They are all signposted as Tsunami Escape Paths so either they have either experienced them, or are on notice that they could have one, because a lot of work went into constructing all the escape routes.

We were told that there are no rich and poor people in the village: everyone is equal and if a new house or building (etc.) is required, everyone simply contributes cash or labour to get things done.  It sounds a very idyllic life, but there were signs that it really does work for them. We saw a whole bunch of men all working together to build a house in the town so maybe they have found the secret to contentment at a community level.  It sounds too good to be true, but who am I to play the cynic?

We walked a couple of kilometres along the walkway – all made of locally-milled cypress – but didn’t go right through the village.  It is a long narrow village with houses scattered randomly up the side of the fiord, many completely hidden in the thick vegetation.  I saw a few birds, not many, but the little hummingbirds (Green-backed Firecrowns) were relatively abundant.  We eventually strolled back to the landing point and took the next tender back to the ship.  It had been a lovely lazy morning and gave us a lot to think about – the philosophy of the natives and the way they live and thrive together in such an isolated and resource-poor environment was inspirational.

The afternoon lecture was about the geomorphology of southern South  America – pretty heavy stuff and presented with a heavy French accent, but for once, I was able to follow quite a bit of it.

Day 14 -Friday, 17 March The Pulluche Channel

I woke up with a burning sore throat and aching all over – not sure what it is, but it has come and gone a few times during the day.  With so many people around, it is no wonder that the occasional bug crosses from one individual to another. Notwithstanding, I am pretty confident that I will survive.

We are ‘at sea’ again all day today but the surrounding country is very different here.  We went through the Pulluche Channel this morning, almost without noticing it.  They promised that they would make an announcement when we were near it, but if they did, we never heard it.  Most announcements are only broadcast in the passageways and with the heavy doors, it is almost impossible to hear them – and if you were in the loo or the shower, there is no way you would know whatever critical bit of information they were passing on.

There is no snow in this area although I have seen a few snow-capped mountains in the far distance a couple of times today.  Instead, we have been sailing through some very wide channels, often liberally scattered with forested islands – from small rock cays to islands a kilometre or more long.  It was 4 degrees and foggy in the morning but the afternoon has been sunny and I guess up to about 20 degrees, despite the predicted maximum being only 12.  It is certainly cool in the wind, but out of it, I don’t need a jacket of any sort.

There have been several calls to look at whales, all humpbacks I think, but they are all at least a kilometre away.  I was on the back deck with a few other people when they were broadcasting whales on the portside – and I eventually saw a couple of blows about two kilometres behind us.  They eventually turned the ship around so people could get another look, but the whales were feeding in the depths and only surfaced momentarily to breathe before plunging back into the dark morass.

We deliberately missed the early morning lecture in favour of a latish start because I was ‘feeling poorly’ but the cruise director gave a brilliant lecture this afternoon about Falconry through the Ages, particularly focussing on his personal passion for owls and falcons of which he owns eight and trains them, and a select few apprentices.  It was absolutely fascinating and he is an inspiration, working with seriously ill kids in hospitals, in schools and as an itinerant, trying to dispel people’s fear of raptors and thus conserving them.  I was completely captivated by it all and we had quite a chat about Australian raptors and my adventure with falcons in Kazakhstan three years ago. Did you know that there are only two species of raptors that can’t be trained as hunters for falconry? – and one is the Aussie Wedge-tail.  It is too big and too strong and its talons would go straight through the gauntlets they use for other birds.  Some of his photos were simply spectacular and he showed a short video of a Peregrine with a miniature camera on its back clearing an industrial area where pigeons were creating a problem.  He had some great stories to tell – like the city with over a million pigeons that were costing the authorities a fortune cleaning up their mess and repairing their damage.  One falcon (I think it was his falcon) freed the city of every pigeon within a year, reducing the cost of cleaning and repairs to zero – but a nearby town now has an extra million pigeons to deal with and he thinks he might get a call to assist in moving them along too.  Who’d be a pigeon?

We have been avoiding people as much as possible today.  I have not been feeling well and neither of us feel very sociable at present, partly wanting to avoid the French people too I suspect.  Our plans to venture into Peru have taken a hit overnight due to the civil unrest closing airports and roads, but our fabulous travel agent seems to have booked us via an alternative route.  It is a fair bit more expensive, but I think a third insurance claim might be in the offing. After paying well over $50,000 for travel insurance in the past 3 years or so, maybe we are getting a small payback - but NIB might never insure us again!

[bramblewrites]

System Freeze

Prompt: Everything in headspace has frozen over. The ice machine is especially frozen over, locking everyone out onto the now cold outside layer of the innerworld. Now, a formerly frontstuck host must navigate the familiar yet unfamiliar space to save them all.

The wind blew wildly past their ears as they shivered and opened their eyes. Instead of finding themself in a comfortable bed of pillows and blankets, they instead woke up in a bed of snow.

Turning around, they saw the familiar juice machine. If they wanted to, they could have shrunk down and gotten in, but the entrance appeared to be iced over. “Why is it so damn cold? And snowing? It never snows!” They hissed under their breath, scratching at the machine for a little while before giving up.

“Okay, don’t panic. I’m not in front anymore! That’s supposed to be a good thing! ...But front’s inside that machine and I can’t see who is in front. And that’s not good. ...Hell, I can’t see anything in this blizzard.” Bramble said to themself, their words carried away by the ever blowing wind.

“Speckle will know what to do!” They started on the path towards the bear’s house, getting more worried as they walked and almost getting lost. “Speckle? Speckle!” They called out. The door was locked, no, frozen like the juice machine. 

“Shit, shit shit shit. Where’s Kani? Where’s Nara? Where’s everyone? No, no no no I can’t be alone out here! Or is it ‘in’ here? I don’t know! I don’t know anything anymore!” They collapsed on the ground, burying their face in their paws as they sobbed. The tears only froze and stuck to their fur. 

“No. I’m not gonna die out here in the cold. What would Kani do? …She’d find the others. I tried Speckle’s house, they weren’t there. I’ll look in the caves- surely that’s a good spot.” They stood on uncertain legs, trying to pick their way out of the constant storm in front of their face. “...That way.”

It was the wrong way. They immediately tripped and rolled down a hill, a hill that used to be covered in flowers. They saw trees lacking in green leaves all around them. “...What happened to this place?”

In the distance, they saw a shape. Someone moving up ahead, but the snow prevented detail from showing. Were they a friend or a foe? They stepped closer with a cautious “Hello?”

“Bramble!” It was Nara’s voice that rang back, they saw her hovering over an unconscious crab, who was gripping onto the cheetah’s fur for dear life. “It’s Kani, she’s not moving- I’m pretty sure she’s still breathing-” His words were strained, like the cold had taken his breath away.

“Here, load her onto my back. I can hold her.” Nara did as they told, carefully wrapping her up in Bramble’s wings. “Have you found anyone else?” They asked, only earning a head shake in response.

“I was looking for the caves, but I lost my way.” Bramble continued as they headed back the way they came. Nara followed them, silent for once. “How come this happened in the first place?”

“No idea.” The cheetah whispered, clearly not wanting to speak much more. The hill was a lot harder to get up than it was to get down, but they made it through. They bumped into the juice machine again, almost slipping over the frozen lake, before they made it to the cliff’s edge.

A giant wave towered above them, frozen in time. They reached out, it was close enough to touch, and felt ice. “What...?” The question died on their lips. “Come on.” They found the narrow path, traversing down it with Nara on their heels the entire time.

Someone had blocked the cold out with a curtain, and the second they brushed past it they were overwhelmed with heat. Susie was sitting guard, using Battleaxe as a makeshift heater. The duck was currently in flames, but she was perfectly fine.

“Where were you?” Susie asked. “I got lost.” Bramble set Kani near the fire, but not too close, and she slowly started to stir. “Is everyone else here?”

“Pretty much. You guys were just the last three. Some of us aren’t taking the cold too well, what the hell even happened?” Susie’s tail thumped against the ground in agitation as she spoke.

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out.” Nara mumbled as she flopped down by Battleaxe. Bramble took one last look at the other four before heading deeper into the cave.

Thankfully, Susie was right. Alphys, Croissant, and Speckle were all debating solutions and what could have caused this mess in one cave room. In another, Wasabi was in a similar situation as Battleaxe, being used to give warmth to others. Black Pearl had thankfully shrunk down to fit into the caves, but she had no water with her and was clearly pissed because of it.

They heard familiar music in one of the last rooms, peeking inside. Timekeeper was there, staring at a wall, not doing much. They turned around as soon as they heard Bramble walk in. “Hello.”

“Hi TK.” They replied, sitting next to them. “...You didn’t do this, right?” Timekeeper’s powers were much more limited here, but there was still no telling what they might be able to do.

“No, you didn’t either?” For once, they sounded confused. Concerned. This wasn’t in any future they could have seen. Bramble shook their head.

“...Shit.” They mumbled, remembering something else. “What? What is it?”

“...Who’s in front?”