#I feel like I might ditch the whole anime I can't go through the pain | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

enigma-im · 3 years

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Fifth Day of Christmas...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Shut up," I pant.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That I did not," I answer.

"Why," he demands.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes," I bark.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Piss off," I grumble.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No, you-," he interrupts me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"We can bundle up more," I offer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"you're so warm," he smiles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Varoth," I call out.

Nothing.

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

Guess it's over now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I think everything is going to be a-okay.

#12 days of christmas #12 tropes for christmas #Enigma-IM #exophilia #monster boyfriend #goliath boyfriend #snowed in

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seriousshit88 · 6 years

Note

Stiles falls into a patch of poison ivy in the Preserve (in his defense, it's not supposed to BE in California at all.) Cue Scott scrubbing him down with detergent and exfoliant, and then careful, tender application of calamine lotion. Just buddies being dudes, right? Except Stiles can't get the memory of Scott's hands on him out of his head.

Loz. This fic turned out to be over 3 times longer than it was supposed to be. I’m still not sure I did your prompt justice, but thank you for being patient with me.

“This is torture,” Stiles groused.

“Scratching is just going to make it worse, dude,” Scott said as they made it back safely to their tiny, two-bedroom apartment. He scrolled through his phone looking for info on poison ivy. And based on Stiles’s description, it was definitely poison ivy and not the far-more-likely poison oak. Because Stiles had the kind of luck that allowed him to find the lone patch of poison ivy in all of California.

“That’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one whose skin feels like there are thousands of fire ants crawling all over. Oh, my God! This is the worst!” He flung both of his shirts to the living room floor and stalked to the bathroom, where he could finally get a good look at his splotchy chest in the mirror. He cringed at the sight. “The. Worst.”

Hours ago, he and Scott were out in the Preserve following up on a very credible report of a Bigfoot sighting. Being a freshly-minted FBI Agent meant Stiles had to investigate stuff like this in the event there were real X-Files somewhere (he was pretty sure they existed, even though his more senior colleagues gave him weird looks whenever he asked). Unfortunately, they never found Bigfoot. But somewhere along the trail, Stiles tripped and fell onto what he thought was a normal bush. The itching didn’t start until the ride back home. It only got worse from there.

Maybe the mere presence of poison ivy in California was the real X-File all along. It’s something that certainly required investigation. By someone who wasn’t him.

Scott followed Stiles into the bathroom, tutting in sympathy once he saw Stiles’s bare chest. But then he cocked his head a little to the side in confusion. “Okay, how the hell did you get rashes under two shirts? It looks like you just stuffed a bunch of poison ivy under them.”

“I don’t know,” Stiles whined. The bathroom was too small for the both of them to comfortably be in there. They weren’t smushed, but it was close. It made Stiles feel funny in ways that had nothing to do with itchy plants.

Stiles made an absent-minded attempt to scratch his chest, but Scott swatted his hand away.

“Ow!”

“Turn around. Let me see your back.”

Stiles did as he was told. His hips knocked into Scott’s on the way around. The funny feeling only intensified.

Scott let out a soft gasp. “Oh, man.”

“What? Is it bad?”

Stiles felt Scott brush his fingers gently across a spot on his back. The incessant itch briefly gave way to an involuntary shiver.

“Um. Well. Let’s just say I’ve seen pepperoni pizzas with clearer complexions.”

“I know you’re used to your patients having four legs, fur, and barking to communicate, but your bedside manner for humans sucks ba-aahhhhhh…” The itching all over Stiles’s body ceased almost immediately.

“How’s my bedside manner, now?” Scott asked a little too smugly.

The sound Stiles made was somewhere between a moan and a sob. “The absolute best. I love you.” Thanks to the pain drain (itch ditch?) Scott so graciously administered, Stiles no longer felt like separating himself from his own skin.

Scott directed Stiles to sit on the edge of the tub, and proceeded to rummage through their medicine cabinet for supplies to clean and disinfect the rashes all over Stiles’s back. This involved touching. Lots of touching. And with the distraction of the horrendous itch reduced, Stiles couldn’t block out the feeling of Scott’s fingers on his bare skin. They felt good roaming all over his exposed back. They also felt good good, and Stiles really didn’t want to have to explain the confused boner he knew was just waiting to pop up at the worst moment. With how his luck was going, that was a distinct possibility.

“Are you okay? Your heart rate is through the roof right now,” Scott said.

Knowing Scott could easily hear the lie he wanted to tell, Stiles decided to go with something a little closer to the truth. “I’ve been better, dude.”

Scott patted his arm. “I’ll get the calamine and finish up back here, then you can do your front. We’ll be through in no time. If the itching flares up again, I can help you out with it, if you want.”

Though grateful for the itch relief, Stiles hated when Scott put that kind of strain on himself. They hadn’t discussed it, but Stiles knew Scott was doing it for the animals at work who needed it. Sometimes that was a lot.

“Thanks, but the calamine should be enough, right? I’ll manage.”

“You sure?” Scott asked as he trailed his fingers along Stiles’s side in a spot he very well knew was incredibly ticklish. “It’s really not a problem for me.”

“Scott, I swear to God, don’t you dare do what I think you’re about to do,” Stiles warned.

“What?” No one did fake innocent like Scott McCall did fake innocent. Stiles loved it.

“Just get the calamine, and no tickling, you dweeb,” Stiles said with no real heat. He couldn’t see Scott, but he knew Scott was smiling to himself.

The lotion was shockingly cold, and Stiles flinched a bit when it made first contact with his raw skin. Between Scott’s hand and Stiles’s back, though, it warmed pretty quickly and started feeling more like a massage than basic first aid. After the shit-tastic day he’d had, Stiles found it was way too easy to just…drift…

“…probably going to blister later, so try your best to keep it clean. You might have to sleep sitting up. If it gets worse, we’ll head straight to the ER. I’ll fill mom in, too. Oh, and you need to wash the clothes you’re wearing. Don’t forget the shirts in the living room. And I’ll wash mine too, just in case.”

Stiles’s brain barely processed any of what Scott said, but it sounded important. “Thanks, Dr. McCall,” he replied.

Scott handed him the lotion and hurried out of the bathroom, presumably to get started on the stuff he had to do.

With Scott gone, Stiles felt like he could finally breathe normally. He made quick work of his torso, and now that he felt significantly better, Stiles very gingerly went to help Scott.

***

Sleep was impossible. Stiles couldn’t find a sitting position comfortable enough without getting calamine lotion everywhere. He couldn’t put a shirt on or a blanket over himself, so add “cold” to the list of reasons why he couldn’t sleep. But that wasn’t the worst part. Every time Stiles closed his eyes, his thoughts went back to Scott’s hands on him, fingers roaming with the lightest pressure, just enough to make Stiles wonder what it would be like if Scott touched him for real. He could always claim curiosity, but who was he kidding? This wasn’t the first time he’d pictured Scott’s fingers brushing a nipple or slipping beneath his boxers’ waistband. A more mature person would deal with the situation head-on. Stiles, however, was not that person.

Sometime around 2am, the calamine wore off. There was no way Stiles would be able to reach his back to reapply the soothing lotion. With the itch rising in intensity with each passing second, and the impulse to scratch becoming harder and harder to fight, Stiles realized he had a very difficult decision to make.

***

Scott’s door was cracked. Stiles peeked in and saw Scott curled up beneath his covers and sleeping like a baby. He really hated having to do this.

“Scott?” he whispered into the dark bedroom.

No response.

He tried again, this time stepping into the room. “Scott? I kinda need you right now, buddy.”

Scott stirred. “Stiles?” he asked sleepily.

“Yeah, it’s me. I’m sorry to wake you, but the itch came back, and-”

He couldn’t get the whole sentence out before Scott threw back a corner of his covers and scooted over to make room for Stiles in the bed.

“Are you sure? I mean, I’m sticky with this calamine crap, and I don’t want to ruin your sheets.”

“I can wash them later. C’mon, get in here.” Scott patted the empty spot next to him. He wasn’t fully awake and hadn’t sat up, yet, but he still wanted to help. A tiny part of Stiles wondered if he wasn’t taking advantage of Scott’s generosity.

The miserable urge to scratch kept gnawing at him, though.

“Okay.” Scott’s sheets were pleasantly sleep-warm under Stiles’s butt, and his headboard? Surprisingly comfortable. If he had to sleep sitting up, this was definitely the best way to do it.

Scott’s hand found his in the darkness. The itch was gone a few moments later.

“Thanks, man,” Stiles sighed. Relief flooded through his veins and radiated across his skin. For the first time that night, Stiles felt like he could relax and get some sleep.

“Stiles?” Scott asked, giving his hand a little squeeze.

“Hmm?”

“No more Bigfoot tips, okay?”

Of all Scott’s touches so far, this one had to be Stiles’s favorite, and if it meant not getting to fall asleep with the soft weight of Scott’s hand in his, Stiles wasn’t so sure he could agree to that.

“Sure thing,” Stiles said knowing full well he didn’t mean it.

Scott burrowed a little deeper into his covers, never letting go of Stiles’s hand. “Finally got you in my bed, though,” he slurred into his pillow before letting out a soft snore.

Yawning, Stiles felt his eyelids droop. Blissful sleep was just around the cor-

Stiles’s head whipped around. Wait, what did Scott just say…?

#foreversciles #sciles #scott mccall #stiles stilinski #mobile users there's a cut #my fic #thank you bigfoot #lozenger8

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corvid-knight · 6 years

Text

Demon Eyes - chapter 5

https://archiveofourown.org/works/13740258/chapters/31715238

tw for description of a car accident, blood, and death

You don't panic the next morning.

To be fair, that may be mostly because Karkat's not cuddled up to you when you wake up. He was there all night, though, and you're pretty sure he hasn't been gone long—even though the air mattress sheds heat faster than a normal bed would, the space where he was is still warm when you roll over into it.

Which is...good. Really good. You relax and pull the sleeping bag over your head to block out the morning light, realizing as you breathe in that Karkat must smell like honeysuckle and...okay, this is the absolute worst thought, but puppies.That's a pretty big component of the scent he's left on the blanket; that smell that anybody who's spent time around dogs too young to get bathed knows, warm and neither pleasant nor unpleasant, at least not to you. And with the sweeter and almost floral scent layered on top of it, you kind of wish the result wasn't so damn faint.

"Jesus fuck, Dave, do you ever think about anything normal?" Karkat sounds somewhere between confused and exasperated, and you uncover your face just in time to have a clean shirt and a fresh pair of jeans fall on it, blinding you again. "I didn't need to know I smell like a fucking puppy, okay?"

Oh, god, he heard all of that. Kill me now. "Why the hell did you have to listen?"

"It's not my fault all your mental blocks go down when you're half asleep!"

"A gentleman would stop listening when he realized it counted as spying, asshole." You huff, yanking the sleeping bag back over your head so you can start the slightly-complicated process of getting dressed without either getting up or having skin show. It probably looks weird as fuck to anyone watching.

Sure enough, Karkat's laughing as you struggle into your shirt, little half-muffled snorts that make your heart reconsider the proper cadence of your pulse. You can't even see him right now, and you're still smiling like a lovestruck idiot.

Lovestruck. Your smile fades as you get your pants on. Love. Do I—no. Fuck, no. I can't. I can't, he'll—

"Hey." The blanket over your head is pulled back, and you blink up at Karkat, who's leaning over you with a concerned expression that's rapidly becoming very familiar. "There's no 'he.' He's gone. It's okay."

"Who—fuck." Get that damn tremor out of your voice and try again. "Who said I wasn't okay?"

It's a little bit difficult not to flinch when his hand comes down toward you—you're in such a vulnerable position, flat on your back and tangled up in blankets and the clothes you just changed out of. This is very nearly a textbook example of what to never do around a demon, around anyone or anything dangerous...

All he does is smooth your hair back from your face.

"You're still not all the way awake." When Karkat takes his hand away, you realize you were leaning into his touch. "Which means you don't have to say shit for me to know it. I think I could've told you weren't okay anyway, though—it was pretty fucking obvious."

"I—" What? What, exactly? What the fuck are you going to say to him?

He saves you from having to figure that out by shrugging and interrupting you. "There's more granola bars on the driver's seat, plus a thing of crackers. It's a shitty breakfast, but we can stop somewhere and get you more later."

"Eh, I can run on what we got."

"Like fuck you can. Eat what there is while I pack this shit up, and we're stopping to get you more food later." He crosses his arms and scowls, and you make the decision to not start another argument right now.

Instead, you grab your clothes and hop down off the tailgate, going around to sit in the driver's seat and examine what Karkat's left there for you. It's kind of funny, actually—you kind of remember hiding these. It was a good six months ago, but Bro was going through one of his periodic phases where he pretty much left you to fend for yourself and sabotaged you every way he could. Acquiring and stashing nonperishable food items was the only thing you could do about it, and you guess there were some left that you never had to eat.

Pretty fucking impressive that Karkat managed to find them when Bro couldn't, though...

"Thanks. Remember that I'm more perceptive than that asshole, though." The demon opens the door to toss the neatly-rolled-up sleeping bags and air mattress in the back seat, then slams it again and comes up to your open window, grinning at you. "Do you want me to drive, or are you good?"

"I'm good." You shove the empty wrappers in your pocket. It's a shitty reason to want to be the one to drive, but that puts me in control of something. Feels better.

"Hey, I wouldn't call that shitty."

"Look, just 'cause you can hear me thinking doesn't mean you gotta respond to it."

"No, but sometimes you think things that come across as fucking stupid, and I have to clue you in that they are fucking stupid." Karkat snorts and steps away from the window; you retrieve the keys as he walks around to the passenger side. As soon as he's in you start the truck, and he nods. "We've got two more days of driving. Or one, if you want me to pull an all-nighter, or three, if you want to take it slow. Your choice."

"It's too early to make choices, man."

Another snort, this one suspiciously close to being a laugh as he picks up the phone. "Fair enough. But I'm still going to make you choose somewhere to stop for breakfast."

"Oh, fuck you." But you grin and shove back at him when he shoves at your shoulder.

You still refuse to actually choose, just to annoy him. Karkat talks you into stopping at the second McDonald's you pass, though, and he orders for you again. This time you eat before you let yourself zone out.

Three hours later, Karkat stops playing with the radio and goes perfectly still in his seat, and you drag your attention off the road and back to him. His face is perfectly blank, giving you absolutely no clue what's going on, but you can see too-sharp teeth in his half-open mouth, and unless you're imagining shit his skin's gone whiter and his hair darker. Closer to how he looked when he killed Bro; closer to fully, obviously demon.

"Karkat, what—"

His attention snaps onto you as soon as you speak, and you can't help but flinch and look back at the road. He's so fucking intense right now that having him look at you is like catching on fire.

"Pull over," he growls. And it really is a growl; deep, rough, and terrifying in a way that cuts through the logical part of your brain to the base programming, the leftover instincts from when humans were prey animals. It's a reminder that to his kind you might as well still be prey.

"But—"

"Fucking pull over! Now, Dave, fuck, pull the fuck over!" When he slams his hand against the glove compartment, you almost drive straight into the ditch. "Stop the car, stop the fucking car, stop—"

"I am, I swear, ju—just give me—give me a sec, I swear—" Shit. You can't finish talking. Karkat stops shouting, though, unclipping his seatbelt and continuing to growl as you manage to pull over onto the shoulder.

Before you can even get the gearshift into park, he's got the door open and he's gone, dashing across the road without even bothering to check for oncoming traffic. By the time you manage to get out of the truck, he's vaulted the median barrier.

"Karkat!" The demon might not even hear you. He sure as hell doesn't turn around. Shit. You pop open the glovebox, grab the first gun your hand touches, and shove it into the back of your waistband as you follow him.

You're climbing over the median when you actually figure out where he's heading, and you very nearly faceplant on the asphalt. It's a double dose of shit you're terrified of: a cop car with lights flashing but the siren silent, pulled over on the shoulder because some poor asshole's gone off the road and flipped their car. This one's as bad as any accident you've seen, too—the whole side of the car's crumpled, and the cop's kneeling on the ground next to a person so bloodied that you can't make any judgements on their gender or age.

Oh fuck no. I'm not fucking going over there. I don't want to see it, I can't see it, I can't—

That's what you're thinking, but you're still moving towards the wrecked car instead of away. Because that's where Karkat is.

By the time you get close enough to hear what's going on, the cop's on his feet with his hand uncomfortably close to his gun. Since he's got Karkat a few feet away from him, snarling like an animal, you don't totally blame him. Karkat, what the fuck are you doing—

He looks at you and whines, red eyes so wide they seem to take up half his face again, and you get a blast of anxiety and empathetic pain from him that makes you stagger back almost into the road. There's no words in the thought you catch from him, but you get what he needs anyway.

"Sir, I'm going to need you to step back—" The cop's talking to Karkat, but his eyes flick over to you. Good. You want his attention, although depending on how fast he can move that might mean you're about to get shot.

"Nah." You reach back and pull your gun, leveling it at him. Never mind that your mind's listing all the reasons this is a fucking horrible idea. "Hands up, buddy. Take a step back."

Don't shoot him, Dave.

The fucking safety's still on, man—nobody's getting shot here. Well, unless you fuck up. Then you're probably going to get shot. "Get your gun. Slow, 'cause if you point that fucker at me you're definitely going to the hospital." Bluff. The cop still does as you tell him, though, keeping his hand on the outside of the trigger guard and his eyes locked on yours. "Check the safety and throw it across the highway."

Once he's done that, you risk looking over at Karkat. If the cop jumps you now, you can probably take him. "Karkat?"

He's crouching next to the car, yanking at the door. Even from here you can tell that it's jammed, but you're not going to bet against his ability to get it open. Metal's already bending and warping further; the tradeoff is that he's even more obviously demon than he was before. Fuck.

"Go sit by your car," you tell the cop, lowering your gun. "Hell, sit in it for all I care. Call for backup if you want, just leave us alone for a couple fucking minutes."

"There's two kids in there," he says, and you barely manage to cover up the fact that that bit of information makes you want to freeze up and not listen to anything else.

"He'll get them out." And you jerk your head at Karkat, who's just jerked the car door not just open but completely off, dropping it on the floor and leaning into the interior.

"There's an ambulance on his way, you should wait for people who know what they're doing—"

"You know what? Fuck off. Have a little fucking faith and cooperate. Or don't. I don't give a shit." And you shove the gun back into the waistband of your jeans and turn to Karkat. What the fuck are you doing, man?

Fixing shit. Be quiet, Dave, I need to concentrate. The demon's kneeling next to the first person you saw; it's a woman, you see as you get closer, a young-ish woman with the side of her face so lacerated you can't bear to look at it. Try and calm those kids down?

"I can't talk to kids, man, c'mon," you mumble. But you still step over to the two toddlers who're sitting right where Karkat set them, the smaller one bawling and the bigger one just staring at his mom.

The bigger kid—he's maybe five years old—is the one you scoop up in your arms first. He doesn't struggle as you lift him up enough to get a look at his eyes, which is good, because you don't know enough about holding kids to be sure of not dropping him if he did. There's blood running out of his nose like the tears that his younger sibling is currently covered in, but his pupils look okay, and there's no other marks on him.

Not that that means he's okay. Even if he's not hurt, the poor guy's got to be at least a little fucked in the head right now.

You settle him on your hip and gently push his head to where he isn't looking at his mom, wincing as he decides to bury his bloody face in your chest. There goes another shirt.

The cop's still standing right where you left him; you look over at him and point at the crying kid. Thankfully, he gets the point without you having to say anything.

You make sure to stay between the cop and Karkat, though. Once the former has his hands full with wailing toddler, you look down at the latter. "How bad is she?"

"Worse than you were." His voice is still a growl, and he looks more demon than ever. You're very careful to not look at how his hands are slowly stroking across the woman's bloody throat. "Not as bad as the guy in the car."

"There's another one?"

"Yeah. Leave him. You can't help him, I can't help him, he's gone." Let the humans deal with their dead. If I don't talk her blood into staying where it belongs, there'll be two corpses when they get here instead of one. He raises one hand to shove dark red curls back from his face.

The blood shows up dark against his white skin and blends seamlessly into his hair. Your stomach lurches.

I'm going to throw up. I'm going to pass out. I'll wake up and I'll be in jail, for some fucking reason, I know there's a reason they could arrest me—

Except you can't pass out, because you're still holding a five-year-old with a bloody nose, who just saw his mom almost die. Dropping him wouldn't be fair.

Closing your eyes doesn't really help, but you do it anyway. Hugging the kid closer to your chest helps a little bit, even if it gets you started thinking about how the wet patch soaking into your shirt is blood. A kid's blood.

Jesus fuck.

"I'll be done in a minute, I swear," Karkat murmurs absently, still not looking up at you.

"You keep her alive, I'll wait as long as I gotta." If you get any dizzier, you're going to have to hand the kid off to the cop.

Thank you, he says in your head, and you feel him push at your mind just a little. For a second it hurts. Then the sick sensation fades away a bit, leaving a calm that you can tell isn't natural.

Natural or not, it lets you stand there and wait and shush the kid you're holding when he does actually start to cry. You don't think about anything.

After some length of time that you can't measure at all, Karkat sits back on his heels and wipes his hands on his already-filthy shirt. You hand off the kid to the cop and offer the demon a hand up.

Surprisingly, he takes it, and lets you pull him to his feet. You have to steady him as he staggers. "Hey. You okay?"

"We need to go." That isn't a fucking answer, but the way he leans on you might as well be. "I can't pass for human right now, we need to be gone before anyone gets here..."

"Yeah. I know, man, I know." Thank god that there's not much traffic, because you're taking most of his weight as you head back toward your truck. God, how am I going to get him over the barrier?

"I'll make it over," he mumbles, and immediately stumbles over something, almost falling despite your support. You're in the middle of the road, struggling to get him on his feet again, and you can't stop thinking about what'll happen if another car comes along.

A car door slams. A second after that the cop's on Karkat's other side, taking his arm and hauling him upright.

Karkat glances up at him for a second, then just lets his head fall forward. "Make sure she gets a transfusion."

"Can do."

That's all he says, all any of you say. The cop helps you haul Karkat over the median barrier, gets him into the truck when you can't do the lifting yourself, and shuts the door. He doesn't even look at you as you get the truck started and pull out onto the road again.

You're grateful for that.

There's absolutely no chance of you being able to zone out, though. You're too fucking worried about Karkat, who isn't moving at all. He's conscious, you think; if you glance over at him you can see a sliver of dark red under his eyelids.

When you've passed a dozen or so mile markers, you take one hand off the steering wheel and lean over to touch his shoulder. "Karkat?"

"I'm here." He only sounds half-awake, though, and although he jerks his head in your direction he doesn't raise it. "...for a little bit longer. Shit kicks my fucking ass, Dave..."

Fuck. If he's dying—

"Calm down. Gonna sleep, okay?" The demon's hand moves up and finds yours, patting you gently. "Stop somewhere 'n get food. When I wake up, I'll need it."

"Food. Okay. Anything else?"

Karkat doesn't answer for a moment. When his hand slips off yours, you look back over at him and see that his eyes are all the way shut now, his head rolled to one side.

He's out.

Despite the pure fear that shivers through you at seeing him still, with blood on his face, you don't try to wake him.

Half an hour later you pull over on the side of the road and change into a shirt that doesn't have a bloodstain on it. Your clothes don't fit Karkat, you're too fucking skinny for that, so you wrestle him out of his bloody shirt and into one of Bro's. It doesn't fit either, but on the too-large side rather than the too-small. A clean corner of your shirt and half a bottle of water takes care of the blood on his face and hands.

He stays limp through all of that, even the cold water on his face. Your fear is getting worse, even though you tell yourself that it's baseless right now.

Two more hours, and you finally admit that you're not safe to be on the road. Every car that passes you, you jerk and barely catch yourself before you pull the wheel too far over. Either you stop soon, or you're going to get both yourself and Karkat killed.

You pull into the first fast food place you see—Taco Bell—and tell the person who asks for your order that you want five of everything on the dollar menu. She makes you repeat that twice, either because your voice is so fucking shaky she can't understand it, or because she can't believe you didn't misspeak.

The why doesn't matter. By the time she tells you to go ahead and pull forward, you're a shaking, almost sobbing mess.

Thankfully, an order that large takes them a couple minutes to get together. You spend that time with your forehead pressed against the steering wheel, gripping Karkat's hand tighter than you'd dare to if he was awake and taking deep, forcedly even breaths.

The phone rings while you're waiting.

You can't bring yourself to even look at it. After a while, it stops.

Almost as soon as it does, a guy with a slightly confused expression is handing you a series of food-heavy paper bags. When you hand him the money he very visibly relaxes; you guess that he wasn't a hundred percent sure this wasn't some kind of prank.

He turns to get your change, and you're out of the parking lot before he turns around again. Fuck the change, you think.

You wince when Karkat doesn't react to that at all. It's amazingly easy to get used to the intimacy of telepathy, isn't it?

It's twenty-something more miles before you hit a rest area. Further than you really wanted to drive, but there's no way you can handle checking into one of the hotels you pass. They'd call the cops on you as soon as you walked in; shaky, obviously upset teens who can't even look someone in the eyes are at the top of the fucking list of people who trip suspicion switches. You know that, and you fucking hate yourself for not being able to turn off your physical signs of stress and anxiety.

At least you manage to keep the truck on the road and in your lane. Even when the phone rings again.

You still don't answer it, although this time you rationalise that decision with the thought that it'd be outright dangerous to talk and drive right now. Plus, it'd totally get you pulled over if you had the bad luck to have a cop pass you. This is the right decision. This isn't you being a coward.

Fuck but I'm so bad at lying to myself.

There's a very badly placed trash can at the rest area, and you come pretty damn close to hitting it. Thank god that you don't. Once you get pulled off to the side, you turn the ignition off, drop the keys in the cupholder, and lean over to put a hand on Karkat's shoulder.

"Hey, man. Karkat. Hey." Come on. Wake up. You're very careful to be gentle as you shake him. Don't hurt him. Don't fucking do that. Fuck, Karkat, please..."Karkat?"

There's absolutely no response. Yeah, he moves, but only because you move him, and the way his head rolls to first one side and then the other as you shake him makes you stop doing that.

Karkat looks dead.

You lay your hand on his chest and feel it rising and falling with his breath. He isn't dead. Don't be a dumbass.

"If he was awake he'd ask me why I just called myself a dumbass." Your voice sounds weird even at the almost-nonexistent volume you're keeping it at. Okay. No more talking to myself. When he wakes up I can talk.

He might be out for a while, though. Need to get shit set up to spend the night.

Okay. That, you can handle.

There's no way you're going to be able to lift Karkat into the back of the pickup. Getting him out of the truck at all is going to be tough, really, but you'll cross that fucking bridge when you come to it. A couple minutes of hunting through the backseat turns up exactly what you need: one stupid lil' tent that you're fairly sure hasn't even been out of its bag. Thankfully, that means that the instructions on how to set it up are in there with it, because without those you'd have a much longer and more frustrating setup ahead of you.

Even with the instructions it takes you twenty minutes, and you're almost sobbing again by the time you finish. You unroll the sleeping bags, spread them out in the tent, and go back to get Karkat.

He's heavy. He's very fucking heavy, or at least it seems to you like he is. Some of the difficulty might be due to the fact that he's not exactly helping, but still. This shit makes you feel useless as fuck. But hey, at least those feelings of inadequacy have the added effect of forcing you to grit your teeth and do what you need to do.

God, my back's gonna hurt tomorrow, you think almost ruefully as you carry the demon's limp form to the tent and lay him down in the nest of blankets.

You want to lie down next to him, curl up and stop thinking so you can stop worrying. Instead, you go back to shut the truck's door—and grab the phone, since you do need to see who the fuck keeps trying to call you. In a minute. I'll do that in a minute. Once I'm down there with him.

(Again, you're shit at lying to yourself. You're not going to check the damn phone tonight, and you know it.)

Of course, the fucking thing rings again while you're trying to figure out how to settle next to Karkat, so you don't have a choice. You wrap one arm around him, grab the phone with your other hand, and swipe to answer the incoming call. "Yo."

"Dave?" Well, its not Dirk. You recognize this voice, you really do, but all your mind's coughing up right now are simple observations instead of a name: it's feminine, she's at least concerned and maybe downright worried, she knows who you are. "Are you all right? I called Jake for a reading after you didn't answer the second time; what he came up with was worrying to say the least—

Okay, you do know exactly who this is. She stood in front of Bro when she was ten years old, arms crossed and face set in stern disapproval, and said those exact words. That his methods of hunting were worrying to say the least. (And you tried not to flinch when she said it and wondered if you'd have to step in between him and her.)

"... Rose?"

"Hmm. I'm happy you remember me, since I seem to have forgotten to introduce myself." You can imagine the quick, self-deprecating smile that flashes across her face. "Apologies. To repeat my question, are you all right?"

That's a very fucking hard question. "I'm okay. I'm fine. I'm okay." You really wish you didn't sound like you were trying to convince yourself.

"Dave, Jake told me the cards he drew for you and your companion. His interpretation was lighter than mine, but we both agreed that 'death,' 'danger,' and 'distress' were present in the spread."

Explain this shit to her. Come on. Do it.

You pull Karkat half onto your lap and switch sides with the phone, running your fingers through his hair. Smoothing out the tangles is doing you more good than it is him, probably. "There. There was an accident."

"A car accident?"

"Y-yeah."

"Gods, Dave, are you all right? How bad—"

"No, fuck, not like that. We weren't—I wasn't in the accident." You're going to freeze up, thinking about it. The fucking blood.

"I don't quite understand."

You take a deep breath and look down at Karkat, focusing on how his face looks peaceful instead of how he's not moving. He's asleep, you tell yourself. You have to do the fucking talking, you're the one who has to explain to Rose. You can have a meltdown after you do that.

"Dave?"

"I'm still here, yeah. We, uh." Breathe. Tell her. Don't tell her he's a demon, but explain what happened. "The guy with me, he saw—there was a car crash. We st—we stopped, okay, he's g-got some magic, healing shit—"

"I didn't know demons had that."

Your stomach ties itself in a terrified knot, and you open and close your mouth a couple times before you manage to say anything. "He's not a demon—"

"Karkat?"

"Yeah, but he's not—"

"Dave, it's alright. He told Dirk he was. We already know that." Rose's tone is reassuring, but all you feel is sick fear.

I'm taking him to be killed. I'm leading him straight to more hunters, hunters that aren't whatever the fuck I am, and his cover's already blown.

You can't breathe.

"Dave? Dave, are you still there?"

"No." Damn your instinctive responses.

"You said Karkat had healing magic. Did he use it? Is that what's wrong? I mean, I can't imagine why that'd make you so upset—"

"He used it, and he's fu-fucking asleep, and nothing I can do wakes him up." But then again, you're a hunter, like I should be. You'd want him to die, wouldn't you?

"Ah." There's a muffled sound that you recognise as Rose covering the mic on her phone with her hand, and maybe half a minute of even more muffled speaking. Two voices, hers and someone else's. Then, "All right. Is he breathing?"

Your arm's across his chest; you don't have to move to check the answer. "Yeah."

"That's good. Has his body cooled noticeably?"

He's still warmer than you are, so... "Not that I can t-tell." Damn your fucking stutter.

"Kanaya said you'd be able to tell, if his temperature started to drop. Unless he's clammy, that's all right." She sighs, an almost staticky noise through the speaker you have pressed against your ear. "He'll wake up, Dave. He'll be hungry when he does—"

"He told me that."

"Good; I assume that means you planned accordingly. Give him a while. Healing of any kind is an enormous expenditure of energy; it can take time to recover from, even for a demon."

Goddamnit. The reminder that she knows about Karkat's nature is like a kick to the ribs. "He's not a f-fucking demon." If only the tremor in your voice didn't point out your blatant lie.

"It'd be a pity if he really wasn't; John's quite excited to meet him."

Shit. "If he hurts Karkat I'll—" What? You'll what? Kill a hunter, kill the guy who was your best friend back when Bro let you have friends? Would you do that? Could you do that?

"Dave, please." That almost-pitying note of reassurance is back in her voice, and you have to bite down on your lip to keep back a sob. You don't deserve that shit from her. "No one wants to hurt Karkat, I promise you. If I thought there was a chance Dirk or John or Jake would be a danger to him or you, I'd fly down there and intercept you before you reached them."

"He's a demon." Fuck. That's the exact opposite of the point I should be proving."They'll kill him if they know that, Rose, they—"

"That isn't how things are, Dave." Gentle. So gentle. Like she's explaining something to a little kid, and now you are definitely and inescapably crying, even if you can almost keep it quiet. "Not for us. We don't kill demons and cryptids for no reason. If he's killed someone, perhaps—"

You can't fucking help it. You close your eyes and give up on stifling the painful, full-out sobs, because he did kill someone. You know he did. You watched him. And you can't fucking lie, you know you can't lie—if any of the hunters ask, they'll know the truth more or less immediately.

I'm going to get him killed. You shake your head and tighten your grip on him. If he doesn't die here, he will later, and it'll be my fault...

"Dave, please, talk to me, tell me what's wrong—"

Oh. Yeah. Rose is still on the line, getting further into worry by the sound of it. You switch ears with the phone again, swallow back a sob, and start talking without letting yourself think about what you're saying.

(Which is, admittedly, a stupid fucking move.)

"See, he's fu-fucking dead, then, and 'm dead too 'cause I ca—I can't let him go down without a fight."

"What?"

"He did kill someone." Your voice steadies again, maybe because you've slid down so you're lying on your back with Karkat pulled half on top of you and your arm slung across his shoulders. "Saw him do it."

There's a noticeable pause before Rose responds. When she does she sounds surprisingly calm, although there's a good chance that's deceptive. "Who, and why?"

"Bro." Deep breath. Tell her. "And because I asked him to."

Silence. You can hear your pulse beating in your ears and nothing else. Before she speaks again you count fifty heartbeats, enough that you wonder if she hung up on you.

"...I can't say I'm surprised." She still sounds calm. How the hell is she doing that? "Would you like to know something, Dave?"

"I—what?"

"The first thing I intend to do when I see your Karkat—and I do plan to see him; you're going to have to stay with Dirk long enough for me to make a trip down there—the first thing I plan to say to him is thank you. That seems horrible if you look at it without context, doesn't it? This demon killed one of my blood relatives, and I'm going to thank him for it.

"It isn't horrible, though. Or if it is, it's decidedly less horrible than the man himself was. I knew him, Dave, and so did Dirk. I'm going to guess that we didn't know the worst version of him—you may have, but he tailored his behavior to seem somewhat presentable for us—but what I knew of him was bad enough that I won't grieve him, and I will thank Karkat for killing him.

"Dave, are you still there?"

You barely manage to choke out a "Yes." That's how hard you're crying.

"The moment Karkat chose to protect and care for you, he became family, demon or no. You should know that."

"I—I d-do now." You sniffle and realize that she had to hear you do it. Fuck. "R-rose? Rose."

"Yes?"

"Thank y-you."

"I just wish Dirk had thought to clarify this matter. You shouldn't have had to be afraid for Karkat."

"Not—it's not his fault."

"I suppose that's true." She sighs again, and you know she's shaking her head with a small smile. "I'll still be scolding him as soon as this call's over."

"Be nice."

"Don't worry, I won't be too harsh. Just a reminder that most people can't read minds, is all." That sentence tenses you up for just a second, but then you remind yourself that there's no way she could know about the weird shit you and Karkat have. "Would you like to talk for a while longer, or would you prefer to be alone with Karkat?"

"Uh. I can't talk, Rose, not right now, I'm sorry—"

"Dave, it's all right. I'll call sometime tomorrow. Love you."

"Love you too." You say it without hesitation this time.

A moment later the phone beeps, and she's gone.

You set the phone down out of harms way and wrap your arms around Karkat, pulling him closer. He's still limp and unresponsive—and you really hate that—but Rose said he'd be okay. She said he'd wake up.

This'll be okay.

You curl up close to him and close your eyes.

Even as worried as you are, it's easy to fall asleep this time.

#demon eyes

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