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ryverbind · 11 months

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Faceless Fixation {Sal Fisher}: Careful [12]

Honestly, Dark Autumn Complex is doing it right. They aren't in a giant hotel/casino mashup where all of the big guys perform, they're in a little bar down the strip. Still enough room for tons of people, but it isn't crawling with bodies like bugs under my fucking skin.

And it's a really nice bar, by the way. Mostly an indoor venue, but they have a little patio right in front of New York, New York-- and also some really tasty looking chicken wings.

My only complaint is the copious and nauseating amount of liquid covering the floor. Yea, people are living it up in here, but I think they're living a little too hard. This is definitely a toxic mixture of vomit, alcohol, and urine-- but I'm not the one who's going to actually confirm that.

Todd, on the other hand...

"For fuck's sake," the man hisses, taking knee-to-chest steps through the nasty flood on the floor. "I shouldn't have come. It'll take me weeks to get this stench off of my shoes."

"Oh, come on Toddler. It's not that bad," Larry harumphs, elbowing an unamused Todd in the ribs.

I snort, shaking my foot out after passing through a particularly goopy substance. Is this even real? It has to be a fever dream. "Actually, it is that bad, Lar. Even The Hangover wasn't this over the top."

Larry rolls his eyes next to me. "You're just a bunch of weaklings. Right, Sal?"

My head drops down at the sound of his name. I'll only add to the mess on the floor if I so much as look at him. He really hurt my feelings, and it's embarrassing to admit that.

The man doesn't say a word, but then again, none of us should have expected him to. He's a little... no. I shouldn't be angry, I should be upset. He hurt my damn feelings. More importantly, I should be focused on why his words hurt so damn bad. It's not like I expect something better from him.

Why do I have expectations at all in regards to him?

Not to mention, there's the daunting fact that he's finally texted Lexi. I don't know what to do-- I don't even think I want to reply. But unfortunately, there's a part of me that would feel horrible for making Lexi ghost him when he clearly cares about her to some degree.

Too many questions, not enough answers, and way too many worries. I'll file this all away in my cabinet titled Later.

Our group continues to push through the crowd. We're about an hour early, as per request on behalf of Ash who's hoping to find hot girls. Can't hate on the game, I just hope I have a bed to sleep in tonight.

I watch my every move, all three boys trailing behind me as I walk along the sopping ground. The LED's flash across feet and skin, and more importantly, the slick floor makes the light reflections seem even brighter. That means I'm blinded the entire way with only a few moments of relief and clarity.

There's one step I take in which my foot catches against something, so I desperately grab onto Ash's forearm to keep myself steady. She doesn't even look back, just lets me hold onto her-- I guess she's used to having me around already. That's cute. So, I balance myself then let go, traipsing through this toxic quarry of sorts.

Something I've never learned, no matter how many times it's made itself known to me, is to never trust myself. Or my feet, for that matter. If there's an open opportunity for me to be clumsy, my body will absolutely break in two to ruin my day and everyone else's.

Our prime example tonight is when I slip on a meticulous placed slice of banana bread that has had a wonderful time soaking up all the liquids on the floor.

The entire ordeal mimics the classic banana peel take-down. I mean-- really. My hands fly up, my legs about damn near follow me as I start flying toward the ground, unable to catch myself with Ash's arm this time.

I'm bracing for impact and a nasty swim in the thick contents below when hands slide under my arms, catching me right before I can hit the ground.

There's an awkward beat of silence where I'm hanging from hands with my ass hovering over the ground. I take a breath and glance up. Another beat of silence when I see that it's Sally who caught me.

He's leaned over me, watching me with agitated, narrowed eyes and his fluffy hair falling around his face. His fingers are digging into the flesh of my arms, his rings cold against my skin. The way heat envelops me in a millisecond both pisses me off and has me fighting for a way to get out of this situation.

I huff out a frustrated breath, blowing my hair away from my mouth and slapping a glare onto my face that I know he'll be able to see in my gaze. And then those infuriatingly pretty eyes of his roll before he puts some weight onto my arms, helping me back into a standing position.

I bite the inside of my cheek when he pulls his hands away from me quickly. I hate how much I enjoy his touch, but I blame the accent. I blame the style. I blame the allure. I blame it all. Even the asshole personality.

And I sure as hell am not about to thank him after what he said to me earlier. So I dust off my skirt, making sure it didn't manage to touch the... secretions... on the floor. But as I'm double-checking myself, he grumbles out, "Careful."

My head snaps to the side to look at him so aggressively that I'm worried I've snapped my neck for a moment. Did he really just say that? Have the gates of hell opened up on earth? Is this the end of times? Because there's no fucking way he just told me to be careful.

"Damn, Vi," Larry breaks my stare-off with Sal for a moment as he walks around us. He claps a hand on my shoulder, a gorgeous grin plastered on his lips that distracts me for just a second, only a second. "Falling for me already?"

"If that was me falling for you, then this has to be a Stockholm Syndrome thing because there's no way I wasn't going to slip on this floor," I reply, cocking an eyebrow when his smile falls into a pout.

"Awe, c'mon. You wouldn't be complaining so much if you actually fell," he notes, tilting his head inquisitively. "In fact, you'd be doing a backstroke right about now had you hit the floor."

No wonder he and Sal are best friends.

Todd walks past Larry, cackling the entire way as he passes us up. And Larry knows he's won, so he raises his eyebrows, a sly smirk pulling his lips as he turns away to catch up with Ash.

And then it's just me and Sal again.

I watch him closely, waiting for him to say something since he's looking at me like he has words just on the tip of his tongue. And then I hear a syllable leave his undoubtedly pretty mouth and immediately cut him off with, "If you're going to be a cunt, you might as well shut the fuck up right now because I'm absolutely in the mood to punch you in the middle of all these people."

He looks confused, shocked for a moment. I can even see his eyebrows because they're scrunched together, but then he seems to understand my words and proceeds to roll his eyes so hard that it literally looks painful.

"Larry gave you enough hell," he says shortly, adjusting his stance as he regards me with those forever irritated blue eyes. "I was going to say, do you remember what I said to you? That shitty stuff?"

Is this some kind of trick question? Because who could possibly forget the shit he said to me? But then again-- he just acknowledged that it was shitty... what kind of Sal Fisher am I witnessing right now?

I watch him with wary eyes, too afraid to look into the angry facade of his because just beneath that facade is an actual drop of vulnerability. And I don't think I like seeing him this open and fucking... fucking understanding.

"I guess that's a stupid question," he mumbles to himself, never breaking our eye contact. But then he sighs and speaks yet again. "I saved you. That's all the apology you're going to get."

A weight so heavy lifts from my soul and I feel like I'll start floating any second now. The barbed wire around my heart loosens, the boulders bouncing around my brain shrink. And I'm left with feelings I don't want to have, but feelings that are welcomed either way. I feel like, for the first time, Sal and I are on even ground. We both know something was wrong, and he even apologized, even if that apology was saving me from social suicide and reminding me to be careful. He wanted to make up for the way he broke me earlier. And he did.

And I also want to say that finding common ground with Sal is fucking weird.

"This is weird," I voice, suddenly tensing up over the awkwardness floating around us.

Sally's eyes close with relief and he seems to relax just a bit. "It is fucking weird. So can we forget about today and just continue the way we have been?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake. That's even weirder," I sputter out, taking a quick step away from him as my heart flutters over his words. I can't believe his willingness to let bygones be bygones is so fucking hot to me. Maybe it's because this is something I didn't think I'd ever get from him. I'm not sure. "Yes, fuck, anything to stop you from being sentimental. Please."

"Cool. Glad we agree," he grumbles, looking up and past me. Then he actually starts walking, intent on passing me.

But my eyes bug out of my head. "No, not cool! I don't fucking want us to agree-- just shut up. Stop fucking talking," I grit out as he passes me, turning to walk behind him.

Sal's head turns, eyes acknowledging me with disbelief. His voice is higher-pitched and filled with aggravation as he says, "How are you going to tell me to shut up when you fucking never do it yourself? Hypocrisy isn't cute."

"Oh, yea?" I retort, folding my arms against my chest as heat wells in my chest. He really is always fighting me, and he should be thanking me right now. I was just trying to end whatever weird shit was just happening. "Don't talk about hypocrisy Mr. I-Want-To-Fuck-You-But-I-Don't. Go try that one on for size."

"Didn't I just tell you to forget that?" he says exasperatedly. "Do you deliberately ignore every bit of sound advice you get?"

"If it's coming from you-- hell yea, I ignore it," I snort, stopping my walking when we finally catch up with Ash, Larry, and Todd who are standing in front of the stage.

Sal turns to me with fury burning in his eyes and I relish in it. This is normal. This is back to what we were doing just earlier today. No apologies, no forgiveness-- just going back to what we know.

"Wow, yea." He says, showing off dramatic jazz hands. "That sounds about right. Dumb bitch can't do anything but tear herself apart."

"Boo hoo," I answer, placing my hands on my hips. This is a good one. No one can hear us so we can just wail away on each other-- keeps me busy. It's pretty fun too. Exercises my funny bone. "Sounds like something the selfish prick would say. Assume that everyone's falling apart while he's so put-together, right?"

"You--" Sal starts, voice piercing straight through me with its sheer ferocity, but he cuts himself off with a frustrated groan, eyeing me with a sickening glare the entire time. "What fucking ever. Just shut up."

"Happy to know I won," I chirp, smiling sweetly at him.

I'm sure he's about to burst and reign hell on me, but a security guard approaches us. A flash of fear slams into me and I shrink in on myself when I realize this guy has probably been watching Sally and I yell back and forth at each other for a few minutes.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Sally dip his head down too, a sign of nerves and shame. Hm. Serves him right.

The security guard, a huge and burly man that somehow stands a bit taller than Larry stops in front of Sally and I. He has an impenetrable glare in his eyes and a face so emotionless that it sickens me just thinking about how strong he must be.

And worse, he isn't looking at me. His grey eyes are dead set on Sally beside me.

I gulp, a chill running down my spine as the guard crosses his arms over his chest. Sal looks like he's about to literally start shaking and, hell, I don't blame him. I'm not far off from doing the same.

Sally's the type to put up a fight, clearly, but sometimes you have to know when fighting is no use. When fighting means you'll get thrown into a hospital. This is that time and I've never viewed this asshole as intellectual before, but I think he's making a good call by holding off right now.

Eyes still set on the bluenette, the security guard finally speaks in a deep, booming, authoritative voice. "I need you to come with me," he says to Sally and I feel like I'm going to shit myself.

Holy crap, I do not want to end my night on this type of scenario. With the fact that I got the notorious Sally Face arrested. I do not want that sitting on my conscience because the second this motherfucker gets out of jail, he's coming for me. Aw, fuck.

I watch the security guard with a gaping mouth, noting the way Sally's eyes widen. They're so big right now that I'm a tad worried they'll roll right out of his face, but I focus on getting out of dodge first.

"Um," I mumble shakily, shrinking back a bit more. I'm so going to throw up once this is done. "Is everything okay, sir? Are we in trouble?"

My main goal is to not die right now. And if the man who hates me most gets arrested or something tonight, I won't have a head in a few days. There's no doubt.

Okay, sure, I'm probably really overreacting but anyone would be in this situation. I mean this guy is huge and so, so intimidating.

The security guard looks down at me with aggravation and confusion flashing across his face. He raises a blonde eyebrow that could cut air and suddenly I think that vomit sesh I was saving for later is going to happen now.

"Who the hell are you?" He asks, looking down at me and squinting his eyes. "I'm here to grab the blue-haired kid in the mask and the really tall, super emo, questionably buff guy."

I blanch for a moment, staring up at the behemoth security guard that I just embarrassed myself in front of. What did Sal and Larry do? Are they both about to get arrested?

I glance over at Sally and he matches my gaze, shrugging subtly. His blue eyes are filled with wariness and concern as he turns his eyes back to the man.

And then the security guard looks like he's about to drop kick both of us, if his horrifyingly intimidating glare is a hint at anything, that is.

"Come on," he growls out, making me flinch in fear. "North wants you," he points to Sal, "and the really massive emo guy with the Dave Grohl hair. Can you hurry the fuck up?"

My eyes widen. Oh, for fuck's sake. Dark Autumn Complex's lead singer asked for Larry and Sal, which, hold on, how do they know that the boys are here? Is that even possible?

My eyes narrow as quickly as they previously widened. Something's weird about this.

I watch Sally from the corner of my eye, noting the relief that swamps his pretty azure irises. He puts a hand to his chest and breathes deep, throwing his head over his shoulder to call for Larry who turns to us with a raised eyebrow.

Larry sees the giant security guard and stiffens up like a Tom and Jerry character come to life. It's comical up until the guy gets into position to bolt out of dodge.

He crouches down and sets his right foot forward, ready to race through the crowd to escape the security guard. But right now, when North is asking for him, and with this freaky guy retrieving him-- that doesn't need to happen.

Sally groans and motions Larry over, shaking his head at the taller guy. "It's just North," Sal reassures. "He wants us for something. I don't know what."

Larry doesn't look convinced, but he walks over to our small group. "So he fucking sent the 'roid mall cop after us? Does he not know me and my history with the justice system?" He scoffs and glances over at the security guard who looks like he's barely holding back some unyielding rage. "I'm with Vi on this one man, I'm totally an anarchist."

"Larry," I hiss, heat enveloping my cheeks as a very real and very concerning tsunami of genuine fear for my life slams into me. Why would he say that in front of the justice system he supposedly has a bad relationship with? And why the hell did he have to rope me into it? "Shut the fuck up. Just go with the 'roid--" I cough, eyes close to flying out of my head because of my mistake. It's not my fault that the nickname stuck, but it's definitely damning. Fucking hell, Larry. "Just go with this nice security guard." I smile, wide and fake as fuck as I look over at said security guard who's hands are fisted at his sides. I grimace and glance back at Sal and Larry who look like deer caught in headlights. "Now," I grit out.

Both boys are clambering after the security guard in seconds. Larry may be a heathen and Sal may be clueless, but at least they were smart enough to read that play.

I heave a sigh of relief as both boys disappear into the crowd. I've never had trouble with police before in my life and I'd really like to keep it that way.

But as I walk forward to meet Ash and Todd, I think of a couple things.

My friends are standing right behind the barrier that separates us from the stage. We're as close as we can possibly get, and even that is way too close for me. Meeting my idols is something I sincerely don't want to do because I'll probably pass out. The thought of embarrassing myself in front of someone so amazing feels like a death sentence, so I'd like to avoid making eye contact with North, South, and/or East.

Maybe I haven't mentioned it before, but all three members of Dark Autumn Complex choose to go by one of the four main cardinal directions on a compass. The only member, or direction, they're missing is West. Whether they're looking for someone to fill the spot or just didn't want a member to be compared to Jade West, I'll never know. But why wouldn't someone want to be compared to Jade West?

To each their own, I suppose.

The point is that I don't know the reasoning behind their names, but the way it goes is: North is the singer and guitarist, East is the bassist, and South is the drummer. That's how it's always been.

I step up next to Ash, wrapping my fingers around the cool, metal barricade. Multiple neon colors flash around us as the crowd grows thicker. And as a result, the little swimming pool at our feet grows thicker too. You know, maybe I wouldn't let Ash buy me new clothes... but I think I'll let her buy me some new shoes after this fiasco. This is quite unique.

Our concert grows closer with each passing second. Ash and Todd meet some fans in the crowd while I hide away, trying to pretend I'm some random woman in a mask. Sally and Larry never return. I'm assuming they'll stay backstage... but then again, I still have some questions I'd like to have answered. And there are quite a few...

Do North, Larry, and Sally know each other? I mean, for the guys to be called backstage, they must be acquainted somehow. But since they are, why hadn't they mentioned that they knew Dark Autumn Complex personally?

Larry said that he could get me backstage, but I thought that was a farce. I still fucking think it's a farce. My spidey senses are tingling and there's something that just doesn't add up.

For example, again, no one mentioned that anyone was friends with Dark Autumn Complex. Another eyebrow raising detail is that Ash and Todd didn't get asked backstage. Why? Do Ash and Todd know about the connection too? Maybe they don't if they haven't brought up the friendship either...

I tap on Ash's shoulder once I notice a group of girls walk away from her. My gorgeous, jade-eyed and strawberry-lipped friend turns to me with a stunning smile gracing her angelic face. She looks down at me, tilting her head in question as she waits patiently for me to say something.

But I narrow my eyes. Everyone's a suspect in my non-murder mystery right now.

"Are Sal, Larry, and DAC friends or something?" I ask, pressing my lips into a thin line.

Ash's brows furrow and that's my first red flag. Why the hell is she doing that?

But then she says, "Didn't they tell you about that? We're all friends with Dark Autumn Complex." Her voice is just as sweet and tender as always. In fact, she seems a little shocked at the fact that I'm new to this information.

"Yea, no. I just thought you were all fans," I chew on my bottom lip, contemplating the friendship confirmation. "Well, why didn't North invite you and Todd backstage?"

Ash shrugs, not too worried about that apparently. "North and Sal are buddies because they both play guitar. North's been waiting for, like, ages to see what talent Sal has. And Larry has some history in music. That's why Sal brings him along for practice-- Lar has really good ears and can tune a guitar to fucking perfection. With all of those similar interests, North, Sal, and Larry naturally got closer than Todd or I were able to." A smile pulls at her lips again. "I'm good friends with East, but I have time to meet him later."

I raise my eyebrows at that last bit of information. After all, Ash answered all my questions so I feel much better. All the gaps are filled in and there are no more red flags.

"Oh?" I say suggestively. "And how close are you, exactly, to East?" My lips stretch into a little smirk when Ash rolls her eyes at my teasing. She's just so easy to offend.

"Not like that, you little slut," she jokes, winking at me.

"Oooouuu," I hum, leaning closer to her with a little grin. "Call me that again."

Poor Ash groans, rolling her eyes yet again as she throws an arm around my shoulders. "Shut up. I can't believe you're so into degradation." Her voice falls into a mumble as I look up at her with a smile, but her next words nearly make me choke. "Sal would love you." She shakes her head and looks down at me. I struggle to slap a stoic expression onto my face after hearing that. I have way too much information. I was hoping my new knowledge would stop after finding out that DAC and The Faces are buddies.

But, then again, my entire body warms at her words. While it's shocking information, it's also very interesting information.

"Anyway," Ash cuts off my thoughts. "It really isn't like that. I am so not into guys. Sometimes I find that one in a million, but, fuck, it's hard. I much prefer women."

I shrug, still reeling over whatever it was she let slip about Sally. I might as well just throw "Sally Face (Sal Fisher) has a degrading kink" into a file cabinet to save for later when I'll actually have the time and desire to mull over that.

"I don't blame you," I decide to tell Ash. "Men really suck sometimes."

Ash scoffs like she's just had an epiphany. "They really fucking do!" she exclaims, throwing her free arm up into the air.

I'm about to yap about the topic a bit more to distract myself when the neon lights over the crowd suddenly shut off. They're all pointing to the stage in front of us now.

When the hell did Dark Autumn Complex walk out here?

All three characters are set up on their respective sides of the stage and I suddenly feel like I'm going to throw up again. They all look so immaculate, so pretty, so mysterious.

My stomach turns with a mix of nervousness and excitement. A group I genuinely look up to is standing less than six feet away from me, doing some last minute checks on their equipment. My head feels fuzzy and I almost keel over with the way my heart repeatedly slams into my ribcage. I've never had this opportunity before in my life. I can't help but imagine if this is how I would have felt meeting The Faces for the first time if we were never friends.

I'm about to take in and observe their dark clothing when a screen lights up behind the band with HELLO written in big bold letters. This is interesting.

All I'm able to see before turning my attention to the screen is the striking, electric blue of North's guitar as the light catches it. Holy hell, that's a nice instrument.

North turns their body to the side, holding out a hand that gestures up to the screen. They glance at the crowd over their shoulder, then look back to the screen.

A booming voice is heard over a speaker and I almost shit myself for a second, the sound so loud that I have to cover my ears. But then, Ash, Todd, and I are all cackling. No fucking way.

"Hello Dark Autumn Complex bitches and cunts! My name is Larry Johnson. You may know me from the online streaming group called The Faces," Larry's stupid ass voice is full of confidence and pride as he snarkily opens up for the band. Wow. I don't even blame DAC for having him do this. If anyone could engage a crowd, it's definitely Larry. "If you'll all kindly turn your attention to the screen, I'm going to walk you through some rules that Dark Autumn Complex has set up for this little concert of theirs." Suddenly, Larry groans. "Ugh. Rules. Fucking boring, right?"

North drops their hand and shakes their head as the crowd starts to giggle. Like I said, Larry is perfect for this kind of job.

The screen changes from HELLO to some other stuff that Larry very sweetly explains with his adorably snarky gamer voice.

"So, first up, if you couldn't tell, no one from the band is going to talk. They want to keep their identity completely concealed, so as a precaution, you will only be hearing their instruments and singing." Larry's a bit more serious. I find myself admiring the way he knows when to be more tactful regarding sensitive or important information. It comes off as very genuine and so sweet. He cares. "They also want to say that they're extremely appreciative of your attendance tonight."

The crowd cheers and I do too. All of the screaming and clapping is infectious, even more so when North bows to the crowd, followed by East who waves at everyone, and finally South who puts a drum stick in the air.

"Next and finally," Larry begins again. "As you can see, there is a microphone in front of North who also, obviously has a mask on." The high self-esteem is reflected in Larry's voice again, an amused lilt in his tone. "The microphone is a fucking prop, you haters. Let that man pretend he's singing into it and not the little tiny microphone taped to his face under the mask, okay? He's a sensitive little guy and absolutely needed to have the prop or else it was going to, in his words, feel weird."

Okay, so North is a guy. Good to know.

North visibly cringes, throwing his arms up in exasperation as he turns back to the screen. I just know he's cursing Larry in his mind. No doubt about it.

Larry cackles a bit scarily before ending his opening segment. "But without further ado, I present to you, Dark Autumn Complex in all their might and glory."

The packed crowd around us cheers. Ash throws an arm around my shoulder and screams at the top of her lungs, so I join her. My eyes never stray from the stage filled with exceptionally hot looking musicians who are looking between each other as the audience quiets down.

They're all in black-- no other colors. Straight black clothing, which makes them all the more appealing. From what I can tell, based on where I am, East, the bassist, is exceptionally tall. But North and South are about average height. Other than that, there's nothing else of note other than their insanely elaborate masks.

It's clear that they have some other kind mask on to hide their hair-- probably black ski masks-- and then another mask on top of that. I can't see them all that well, but even from here the colors are gorgeous and it just feels like they must have been expensive.

North's mask is red, gold, and black. I can see some kind of drawing on part of it, but can't tell what it is exactly. The same goes for the other members-- East who's wearing a primarily black mask with white and gold, and finally South who's sporting dark blue with white and gold. Other than their colors, all three masks match.

We love hot people.

I feel like I'm going to happy vomit everywhere when East starts up a song with this sick riff on his bass. Even better, it's my favorite song by them. The same song, in fact, that made me so upset the other day. Wherein Christine Daaé Became Her Own Phantom.

I sing the lyrics as the rest of the band kicks up the song. It's crazy to see them live and realize they sound just as good in real life as they do in a recording. That's such a flex, considering so many people sound much different when they get out on stage. For their very first concert, they don't seem nervous about it at all and that helps the crowd become more immersed, makes the music so much better.

DAC goes through a few of their songs, some older and some newer, like the song they released about a month ago. I'm all jitters and a fluttering heart during the entire set, finding that my eyes never stray from the amazing band rocking about on the small stage.

They've gone through most of their songs after about forty-five minutes and at this point, I'm assuming that our concert is over. I'm already expecting the worst case of post-concert depression to hit me in a few seconds here, especially when the screen pops on behind all three band members again. And, naturally, this is followed by Larry's voice.

"Alrighty, sluts and whores," he starts happily. I roll my eyes but let a smile envelop my face anyway. "You're in luck tonight. While DAC may be ending this amazing fucking concert soon, they've decided to play a brand new song for you. From what I've heard, they've been working very hard on it. So be grateful, for fuck's sake!"

A new song? Really? Here, out in the middle of Vegas?

"The name of this new song, which also happens to be my favorite so far, is 'Actually Carrie Underwood Doesn't Like Me," Larry giggles a bit over the name. "Another insane title. I'm fucking pumped."

I look over at Ash who looks like she's about to have a brain orgasm. Then I look at Todd who probably couldn't care less, but he has a little light in his dark gaze that says he might be really excited about this.

I glance back up to the stage as my feet go numb. It might be excitement, or it might be from having to slosh around in liquid for nearly two hours. Maybe it could be both. But the point is that a shiver runs through my entire body, electrifying me in a way that's so addicting that I wish there were a way for me to make this concert last forever. It's going to hurt so bad to walk out of here and go back to the hotel later.

My attention and gaze are solely focused on North as he starts the song with a serene little melody on that gorgeous, electric blue guitar.

And almost immediately, before I can even take a moment to appreciate the short guitar solo, everything turns metal as fuck. And I'd go as far as to say that this is the hardest song the band has ever made. Yea, they're a rock band and they put out some really good and heavy hitting stuff, but this is different. This is angry.

"Look at what I've become-- My mother's careful knitting is undone. Sixty stitches and a price never paid, Might as well have sliced me with a blade.

All gaping wounds and pity, Disgust has never looked so pretty. My own disgust or theirs; Or is it just hospital rooms and wheelchairs?"

I officially think I'm with Ash on the mind-jizz bit. This is good. It's deep, it's angry, it's got that hidden meaning that no one will ever understand. It's something that only the writer will only be able to fully comprehend. Even if they would tell someone else what it was about, it'll never compare to everything that goes on inside their head when they think of this song.

"Self-inflicted cuts and scars, Just like the first which left me marred. So sick of the metallic taste Of the way I'm two-faced.

Bursting with hopes and regrets Falling through like fingers in fishnets. Regard myself as something to dispose of-- You think me a disgrace, don't you, my love?"

Leave it to DAC to fuck with my head again. As always.

I nearly crumble to the floor again-- this time with no one to catch me. The second North screams out the word 'fishnets' and grabs onto that prop microphone of his to get into the moment, I feel my heart skip a beat. My head is suddenly filled with memories of Sally weaving his fingers through my own fishnets just yesterday night. It feels silly to immediately remember that scene because of a song, but how couldn't I? The lyrics are literally the same as what happened to me.

And in the long run, that's the entire reason music exists. So it can resonate within those who find their own meaning in the lyrics. So others can create something from a pre-determined scenario. Make it their own.

But hell, I really don't want to think about that asshole while I'm trying to enjoy this new, really amazing song that one of my favorite bands just dropped. Live and in person.

"There's a monster in your bed, In your head, It's me-- Too bad I'm not dead.

Shove my face in a pillow case And curse the human race. Why'd I have to suffer? Why the character development to make me tougher?"

Ash is gripping onto my wrist so tightly that my arm is starting to tingle. She's excited and so am I. What's there not to like about dark lyrics and angry riffs?

We all listen closely, literally everyone on the floor. East is standing in front of South and they watch each other, playing wonderfully and completely invested in the music they're making. Meanwhile, North walks languidly across the stage, ditching the prop microphone and singing into the one that actually works instead. It's a win-win-- he can still sing, but he can focus on playing his guitar rather than fucking around with something that doesn't even work.

I can't help but watch him, my gaze never falling away from North's every movement. His hands expertly playing his flashy guitar, his head tilted down to watch his finger movement, and his black dress shoes taking calculated steps. I've never seen a musician wear dress shoes in the middle of a concert before in my life, but I'm certainly not complaining.

Regardless, it's very interesting.

"Years of therapy couldn't fix me-- No llores por mi. Such a futile attempt at a kill, Was it really worth the thrill?"

No way did this suddenly hot individual just spit out Spanish in the middle of a song. Is he single? If so, I think I'd like to change that. Anyway--

"All I am is rage and revenge-- Every little bit of me is unhinged. I'd say there's nothing to fear, But I'm no Shakespeare.

There's a monster in your bed, In your head, Blood red, Filled with dread. It's me, And you'll wish I was dead."

No. Nope. Absolutely not. I don't have some stupid celebrity crush on a person I've never met because they're openly not shallow and just as torn apart as I am. Not at all. Not a chance.

But the way North shuts his eyes and tilts his head to the ceiling as he sing into the microphone again does something to me. Makes a little corner of my brain light up. Sends shivers through my body. And I really don't like any of it, but what can I do? The heart wants what it wants. It's all shallow feelings anyway. For all I know, North could be the complete opposite of what I want in a person. Not to mention, he's already way out of my league.

"Some things cease, others never end, But my broken brain and diced up heart won't mend. You needn't expect much-- I'll never get too close to touch.

It's over now; Fatal words for your vow. So sick, I don't know how... Never anything more than thou."

I stare up at the stage with stars in my eyes, nearly jumping out of my skin when North makes eye contact with me for just a split second-- then he moves on and most likely makes eye contact with a ton of other fans too. It's nothing special. He's doing what all musicians do and looking out at his fans. Sudden eye contact is nothing rare. Just subtle.

The music calms down, just an eerily slow and melancholic mixture of notes that North and East meld together on their instruments. And then, the next lyrics are whispered. So soft, so terrifying, so angry-- but calm.

"There's a monster in my bed, In my head, Held together by a thread, A fucked path I tread, Memory of where I once bled. It's me. You better fucking hope I'm dead, Before I slaughter the monster I once fled."

I nearly yelp when the LEDs suddenly shut off, leaving everyone in a pitch black room where only the bartenders have lights. And with the sea of people around me, those distant lights are just a speck of dust in this abyss.

But then, music starts playing on the speakers again-- The Misfits, I think-- and the LEDs snap back on. But the entire band is off-stage. They're gone. Disappeared without a fucking trace.

I blink at the empty stage, noting the perturbed sounds of confusion flitting about me from other fans. It sucks that they left so quickly, but at the same time, this adds to the mysterious air that the band carries. I want so badly to find them hiding in the crowd. I want to sneak backstage and get into their room. I want to run off to the bathroom and hope that, by some ridiculous chance, I bump into one of the members.

And more than anything, I'd love to see North again.

I turn to talk to Ash, finding her pretty glossed lips set in a frown. Bet she'd be shocked if I kissed that frown off her right now.

"What's with the disappearing act?" I ask her, watching as she turns to me, that frown of hers morphing into a quizzical look.

"I actually don't know," she murmurs, looking over her shoulder to see Todd talking to someone, probably another fan. "But something about that giant hunk of man heading this way tells me that we might be able to find out," she continues, voice dropping to a seductive little whisper. I look over her shoulder with her, noting that the same intimidating security guard that scooped up Sal and Larry earlier is headed this way.

I grimace. Okay, so yea, I wanted to disappear and find Dark Autumn Complex two seconds ago but if this guy brings us backstage to actually meet them, I'm going to spontaneously combust. I can't meet a famous person. I can't meet someone I look up to like this. I'm going to make a damn fool of myself.

The security guard reaches Ash, Todd, and I. And he sighs. Fucking sighs upon making eye contact with me.

"Do I have to explain why I'm here again?" he asks, nodding over at me with a blonde eyebrow cocked. It's definitely a warning. If I want to test him right now, he's just going to fuck off and maybe throw me out of the function too.

"Nope," I tell him, my voice quiet and reserved. Very close to shaking. Fuck, someone's going to have to drag me back there because I won't be able to willingly walk backstage on my own.

My heart is pumping a thousand miles a second. At least, that's what it feels like when Ash grabs my hand with a beaming smile on her face.

Todd points behind him, saying something I can't hear to the security guard. He sends Ash and I a little wave then literally melts into the crowd.

No. No, did Todd actually just ditch us? Oh my gosh I'd much rather take a swim in this disgusting ocean at my feet.

I don't really have time to contemplate on the situation anymore as Ash gives my arm a yank, dragging me into the sea of people around us.

She and I are led through a bustling crowd, bodies crowding our every shift and turn. Lights flash all around us, Ash's hand grips tightly on mine, and it hurts too much to watch the floor crawl beneath me. It feels like I'm walking on quicksand and the solid, shadowy strangers slamming into every inch of me-- even into parts of me I didn't know I fucking had-- is making me panic.

I tilt my head up, staring at the wooden, planked ceiling above the crowd and the balcony that's left empty for people who pay for VIP seats. Must be nice.

The lights suddenly change color-- going from a normal white to red and, thus, adding an eerie touch to the already terrifying atmosphere.

Finally, Ash yanks me through a doorway, said door slamming closed me with a loud thud-- courtesy of the guard who led us back here.

"Damn," Ash breathes, so I turn to her, noting her flushed cheeks and euphoric expression. "Doesn't that just give you a rush?" she asks, looking down to me with a grin as she momentarily squints her jade irises.

I stare at her blankly. "No," I reply bluntly. "Actually, that freaks me the fuck out," I continue, squeezing my eyes shut. I want to scream. "I want to scream."

"Then do it. Not like anyone out there's gonna hear you," Ash's nonchalant response resonates in my brain and I open my eyes again, looking at her with a flabbergasted expression.

"Are you serious?" I murmur, "I can't do that here, That's social suicide."

"Just do it, Vi!" Ash happily exclaims, trying to convince me with her stare alone. "It's just us right now. Us and these guards and I fucking promise you they've seen worse than two women screaming at absolutely nothing."

I just look at her, waiting for her to say she was only kidding. But she only looks back at me, that ever-present smile on her lips and ecstatic emotions flashing through her viridian eyes.

Fuck it. It's a good way to get rid of nerves and it's just us.

"Okay," I whisper, tilting my head down a bit. "Anxiety scream on three?"

Bold of me to assume that Ash could reach peak excitement.

Ash's smile widens into a grin and I watch her eyes fill with so much excitement that I'm afraid she'll go crazy for a moment. "Anxiety scream on three."

I nod, confirming yet again as I say, "One."

"Two."

I gulp. "Three."

Ash and I both let out the most banshee-like, horror movie-worthy, tortured person screams we can possibly muster up. Not a single person flinches around us, no doubt having expected this based on our conversation. But that makes it ten times better because then it's like there's no one else there in the first place. Just me and Ash.

At some point, I need to breathe and I'm shocked Ash is still going by the time I keel over and cough up half a lung.

It's a mix of laughs and gagging over our sore and dry throats once Ash finally stops her scream. My hands are on my knees, tears in my eyes as I fight for my life to actually take a good, deep breath.

Ash has her face angled toward the ceiling as she coughs out bellowing laughs-- they're cackles, really.

I stand after a moment, pushing a hand under my mask to wipe at my wet cheeks. But then I look past Ash and notice the three people in all black standing off in a corner of the room-- all of them with three matching masks.

I sober up immediately, clearing my throat and straightening my posture. Fuck, when did they walk in?

Shit, I don't know how to react. I feel so embarrassed to have been caught recovering from a vulnerable moment. And hell, maybe they walked in while we were screaming. Fuck, that's even worse. But at the same time, I'm elated to almost nearly be face-to-face with one of my favorite bands. They don't beat Breaking Benjamin, but damn, they're so close.

It feels like falling in love. Especially when North and I's gazes connect.

Butterflies erupt from the depths of my stomach like a volcano overdue for an explosion. My cheeks heat up as I wonder if I look good enough. My hands grow clammy and my fingers begin to shake, and a very specific type of fuzziness in my head accompanies my racing heart.

I don't know what to say. I suddenly would rather walk out of the room and brave thousands of bodies than actually accept this chance to meet one of my favorite bands. I mean, they aren't going to talk to me anyway. They'll probably just watch me as I babble. Yea, it's better to just leave. I'm five feet away from them-- that's close enough to meeting to me. Time to go.

As I take a single step back, all three band members eyes on me, Ash grabs my hand and keeps me rooted in place. I look up to her, fear holding me still before I can ask her to let me go. But she doesn't let me get a chance to speak either.

"Hi, boys!" Ash chirps, waving a hand at the group. "Nice to finally meet you!"

All three are men?

My gaze travels back over to the group. The singer and guitarist, North, dressed in black slacks, black dress shoes, a black turtleneck, and black leather gloves. His mask is red with gold and black accents, the top portion a sheet of music. Very fascinating.

Then there's East, wearing a black mask with white, silver, and gold accents. He's in black jeans, a black Deftones shirt, black converse, and a leather jacket to top off the look. He also has the black leather gloves to match his outfit.

Finally, South has a blue mask with gold and white accents. He's wearing a black sweater, a white collar peaking out of the top. Black jeans, very fancy black boots, and, of course, black leather gloves.

Damn, they are so fucking cool. I really need to know what the gloves are about though. Everyone saw their hands earlier, what's the point?

"Vi," Ash says, forcing me back to the real world and away from ogling. "Say hi."

"Hi," tumbles from my lips like involuntary and unplanned vomit after a night of multiple screwdrivers that were mainly vodka (yep, that explanation is coming from an experience that will never leave my soul).

It's awkward, and even South rears his head back like he smelled three day old sardines. North simply tilts his head a bit. East is stock still. Worse, they're all still looking at me.

I cough, clearing my throat a bit. Okay, so I can't avoid this. Great. We love it here.

My feet move forward as I bite down my anxiety and bashfulness. I walk until I'm just a foot away from the three men and raise a hand in a pathetically awkward wave. "Hi," I murmur. "My name's VioletViolence. If you can't tell, I may or may not be, like, a big fan." I try to add some humor to the situation, but it's weak and it shows. I can hear Ash hiss awkwardly behind me. "Sorry," I decide to tack on, wincing lightly. "I don't know how to do this."

They all continue to stare at me. I'm considering just saying thanks for the eye contact before walking out.

But then North decides to take pity on me and sticks a hand out, his black glove on full display for me. He's so close that I can see the small bit of pale skin that shows-- the bit of skin where his shirt sleeve and glove don't quite meet. I try not to pay too much mind since the entire band prefers to be anonymous and faceless.

I hesitantly grab onto his hand, my heart pounding at a speed that should probably pronounce me as dead by this point.

His hand is warm and envelops mine fully, his fingers gently wrapping around the back of my hand. I can hardly even feel the cool, smooth leather of the glove because his hand is just that warm underneath. It's calming, intoxicating even.

I pull away before he can, offering a hand to both East and South who shake my hand immediately.

Once I shake hands with the three, I stand directly before North again-- the head of the small pack. He watches my every move, but I can't even make out the color of his eyes due to how incredibly concealed he is. It's almost frustrating. I want to know what he looks like.

I don't ponder. It's not my place to wonder who they are. After all, why should I be a hypocrite? I'd shit if anyone figured me out.

"You guys did so awesome," I say, grinning as Ash walks up beside me and envelops East in a big hug, droning on about how she's so excited to finally meet her favorite bassist after talking to him online for so long. Her voice is so insanely obnoxious that I start wondering what her motive is.

I look back to North who nods at me in thanks. But then it goes quiet. What the hell is supposed to happen here? Maybe Ash is good at rambling, but I'm not and I don't want to ramble. Especially when I won't even get a response back.

North glances over my shoulder, then looks over his own shoulder before turning back to me. Is he looking for something?

He pats his pocket, but his hand pauses mid air before he can pull anything out, and he motions over to one of the guards instead, pointing at something on a table full of snacks. The guard walks over and picks up a clipboard for North to see, and the masked man nods in response, using his hand to mimic writing.

Next thing I know, North has a clipboard and a pen in his hands. He looks at the contents of the clipboard-- a back stage guest list with all The Faces names written on it, as well as mine. But he rips the paper off the board and flips it over to the blank back and starts writing.

I listen to the quiet scribbles, trying not to sweat in anticipation and anxiousness.

Finally, after what feels like minutes but was probably only a few seconds, North hands me the clipboard and the pen.

I flip it around to look, my insides twisting about as I nervously glance at the scrawled handwriting. All caps, but small.

'ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ᴀʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅꜱ?'

A little smile quirks my lips. How funny. Me and the lead singer of an amazing band having to communicate through a pen and paper. It just feels silly.

"Sal and Larry?" I ask, glancing up at North who nods, then holds a hand up with his pointer finger as a symbol of the number one. I think about that-- one? What does that mean? Hm... "Oh," I voice, thinking I know what he's trying to say. "Another one? Todd?"

North nods again.

I shrug, holding the clipboard between my arm and side as I flip the pen around my fingers. "Honestly, I'm not sure about Sal and Larry. I figured you guys would know. They've been back here since before the show." I frown a bit. Where could they be? "As for Todd," I continue, "he dipped into the crowd. I don't know if he'll be showing up."

North lifts his head in kind of an 'ah' way, like he understands now that I've explained. Then he motions for the clipboard again, so I hand it back along with the pen.

He scribbles again before handing everything back to me. I look down, scrunching my eyebrows at the message.

'ɪ'ᴠᴇ ꜱᴇᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴠɪᴅᴇᴏꜱ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴀʟʟʏ ꜰᴀᴄᴇ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ᴄʀᴀᴢʏ ᴄʜᴇᴍɪꜱᴛʀʏ'

Holy fuck, what part of this do I address first? I ask myself this, but the first reaction I have is a raging blush on my cheeks. "You watch my videos?" I squeak out embarrassingly. I haven't even made another video yet and it's been nearly three days now...

North hesitates for a moment before nodding, so I continue. Albeit, I continue with a racing heart and the clammiest hands on this planet. "And you think Sal and I have chemistry?" I can't help but giggle at that. North just shrugs in response.

I smile at him, feeling a bit calmer with this topic as a distraction. "I'd beg to differ, but if that's what it looks like online, I won't complain. I'd rather everyone think we were just... that we just have a weird friendship. I don't want them to know that things are actually just as tough as we make it seem."

Why am I blabbing so much? Imagine if Sal walked in and heard this. He'd peel my scalp from my fucking skull.

North motions for the clipboard yet again so I struggle to get it back to him as quickly as I can. More awkward scribbling, then he holds the clipboard up to me instead of handing it back. I guess he anticipates having to write more.

I lean a bit closer, squinting my eyes to read what's written-- curse my shitty vision and contact prices.

'ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴜꜱᴛ ɴᴏᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇ ʜɪᴍ ᴛʜᴇɴ, ɪ ꜱᴜᴘᴘᴏꜱᴇ.'

I suck in a breath. "Well, he's definitely hard to be around. But he hasn't done all that much to make me say I dislike him." I think about it. I mean he's rude to me, but it's nothing I haven't dealt with before. And either way, I don't have to mention that I borderline hate the guy... "He's aggravating and rude, but I'm starting to get used to that. Maybe that's just how he is." I trail off toward the end because I've seen Sally in other social settings. He really isn't like this with anyone else. It's just me. It's always me.

But then something more important resonates in my mind. I'm literally telling Sal Fisher's friend about how awful of a person he is.

My eyes widen and I look up, noting North's stoic eyes that hide any and all emotion he could be feeling. I start to panic, waving my hands at my sides as my mouth works silently, trying to find words to say. My stomach churns and I struggle to hold down all the fear that wants to break through my skin.

"Ah, fuck. I'm sorry," I say shakily, bringing my hands in front of me to crack my knuckles. "I don't mean to bad mouth your friend. He really isn't all that bad, I just..." I trail off and shake my head. "I'm just making this so much worse."

I hear what sounds like a muffled snort come from North. The sound makes my insides go still while I wait for his response that's currently being written.

He holds the clipboard up to me, settling into a very nonchalant stance.

"ɪᴛ'ꜱ ᴏᴋᴀʏ. ʜᴇ ɪꜱ ᴀ ᴅɪᴄᴋ."

My mouth gapes, but then I look into his slightly squinted eyes and can't help but grin. Well, at least we agree somewhere and he isn't angry with me. That helps a lot.

Suddenly, the little connection between us is interrupted. A woman walks into the room and she motions over to Dark Autumn Complex with the most outlandish expression I've seen all day.

"What the hell are you three doing?" she asks, voice falling off into a scoff. "I told you we have shit to cover. You can come hang out with everyone later. Can't any of you listen?"

My eyes widen as I watch the band members all glance to each other. That's one scary manager-- if she is their manager.

North looks back to me, gives me a quick wave, then walks off with the other two members. And they disappear as quickly as they came. I almost feel like the interaction never even happened.

Ash and I shrug at each other, then have a fuck it moment and pick through the snack table.

For a full two uninterrupted minutes, I sit there, snack on chocolate-covered strawberries, and ponder whatever the hell just happened. I think about my own feelings as well.

North was ridiculously nice, especially compared to some of the people I've met before (*cough* Sal Fisher *cough*). He was easy to talk to, even with our speech barrier. We still found a way to communicate, and I'm glad we did. I enjoyed getting to converse with him, however short the moment may have been. Do I have more of a viable reason to crush on him? Yea, absolutely. maybe he isn't as out of my league as I thought. He knows who I am. He watches my videos. And he's nice? That's, like, twenty extra points in my book.

I won't get too ahead of myself though, not when there's this stupid thing going on with Sally. I really need to figure that out first.

And like I specifically said-- I had just two minutes of silence. And after those two minutes are up, the giant metal door that Ash and I walked through a few minutes ago swings open and bounces off of the cement wall beside it.

Lo and behold, in walks Larry and Sal. They're both out of breath, carrying at least four bags in both their hands. Larry's face is red, though he still has that signature grin. Sal's neck is covered in a thin sheen of sweat.

And suddenly, a thread of an idea begins to weave itself through my mind. The thread quickly turns into a full, fleshed out, and calculatingly mapped theory that I'm almost 75% sure about.

And it scares me. Deeply.

Fishnets. Masks. Height. No talking. The sudden disappearance. Sal and Larry's perfectly timed arrival.

I watch the boys with terror in my eyes. I track every step they take toward the snack table. My gaze follows each little treat that they lay out. My ears zone in on their mumbled story about missing the new DAC song to pick up some of their favorite snacks.

But I don't believe any of it. Not a word.

Because I wholeheartedly think that Sally Face and Larry Johnson are two of three members of Dark Autumn Complex.

There are too many coincidences. Honestly the timing of Sal and Larry walking in and the lyrics about fishnets are what set me off the most. There's no way someone can nail an event so closely without having experienced it. And there's just no way Sal and Larry can walk in here like it's nothing after having enough time to quickly change their clothes and grab some random bags of snacks on their run back over here.

It's genius, but it fills me up with dread all the same. No fucking way. I keep getting shocked, but each time, the discovery is so much worse.

Larry randomly boasts about in front of me, wiggling his eyebrows as he skips up to me with that sexy smirk. It has no affect on me right now though. I'm contemplating, I'm theorizing, and I'm genuinely horrified.

He grabs my hands and brings me a little closer to him. I swallow thickly, watching him and waiting. Ideas are running through my head, driving me up the fucking wall. I don't know what to do. I feel like I'm right on the cusp of confirming this unfortunate discovery.

I refuse to have a crush on Sal Fisher.

"Quiero comerte viva," Larry suddenly drawls, pulling my attention away from my desperation for a second. I don't know what he said, but it was random enough to confuse me. But, I at least know the language.

"You speak Spanish?" I decide to ask him, clearing my oddly hoarse voice.

He chuckles, winking at me. "No, but I am an intellectual in the art of romance. I know how to woo the ladies."

I pinch my lips together and give him a pitiful look. "It's not a very good wooing if no one even knows what you're saying."

Larry frowns at me, seemingly thinking about that. But before he or I can say anything more, Sally walks past us and toward Ash. And he says, "It means, 'I want to eat you alive.'"

I choke on air, struggling to take a breath in. Sal just said that to my face and it was hot as fuck. Not to mention, Larry said that to me in another language. That's really hot too.

My head snaps to Larry who looks impressed. "Oh," he says thoughtfully, tilting his head. "So that's what it means."

And now I have to think about how ridiculous Larry is. About why and how Sally just happened to know what that Spanish phrase translated to. And on top of that-- their hidden identities as member of DAC.

But the doors that I believe they disappeared into just a couple minutes ago reopens, and a fresh wave of utter confusion and shock rocks my body all over again.

North, East, and South walk back out, facing us. But they also come face-to-face with Larry and Sal, which means... I was wrong. And I don't know if I'm disappointed or extremely fucking relieved.

Sal, Larry, and Ash talk animatedly to Dark Autumn Complex who simply listens to them without answering. All the while, I stand behind, watching.

Maybe I assumed that Sal and Larry were part of the band because I was desperate to find someone like me. Searching for someone, anyone who was hiding behind another identity. Hoping I wasn't the only selfish person with more than one name. Because I feel guilty about it.

I know I feel guilty-- deep down, I genuinely feel bad for lying to Larry and Todd. Even Sal. He may be a dick, but he and Lexi seemed to really connect. And I didn't have the guts to even tell him who I really am. I still don't.

And so I thought I discovered something in this fucked up situation that I created. Discovered something that never existed in the first place.

_____

A/N::::: hi babies :3 sorry it's been so long, but if it helps any, i have a lot planned! as always though, of course.

I present to you another ryver original *screams* but i've been super excited about this chapter. i'm even more excited about the next though!!! eeeekkkk!

i have chapter thirteen completely written up and fleshed out, i just have to go in and fix a few things and give it a proof read. 'cause i mean, 10,000 words worth of smut is a bit of an overkill right? ;)

For now, here's Dark Autumn Complex's masks.

North's mask ^^^ (fyi, his outfit is inspired by Noah Sebastian. Look him up and see him in a turtle neck. it'll change your life😫)

East's mask ^^^^

South's mask ^^^^

i'll be posting the next chapter in a couple days so i can give myself some time to catch up with you guys. until then, happy days and sweet nights. i love you all endlessly <333

#sal fisher #sally face #larry johnson #ash campbell #todd morrison #travis phelps #enemies to lovers #sally face fandom #sally face fanfiction #fanfic

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twinge-of-cosmicangst · 2 years

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Personal ranking of Evermore

I have insomnia so imma rank every Evermore song, this is probably not the best platform for this sort of thing but idk how to use reddit.

17. Gold rush Starting off pretty controversial, but I do like this song. Even though Evermore is not my favourite TS album (Folklore just clinches it) it is the only TS album where I actually like my least favourite song from the album, Evermore is undoubtably a consistently brilliant album.

16. It's time to go This song has some brilliant lyrics "When the words of a sister come back in whispers. That prove she was not in fact what she seemed. Not a twin from your dreams. She's a crook who was caught" astounding as always, yet I think this song having a different subject every verse weakens it a bit, and yet the song probably wouldn't work any other way so it's strength is it's weakness.

15. Closure This is a song I have mixed feelings about as I feel it had a lot of potential but it is messy. Of course I know it is meant to be messy and it in fact it makes thematical sense for it to be messy but that doesn't mean that I like the way it sounds.

14. Evermore Not a lot to say about this one it is good without being brilliant, its melancholy vibes with a slice of regret, certainly fit the theme of the album in its entirety, making it an appropriate title track.

13. Long story short This song has grown on me a lot since first listening, it certainly encapsulates Swift's career in some ways, it just doesn't captivate me like some of the other songs on this album.

12. Tis the damn season Objectively a very good song and its good to see Swift's story telling skills in action but it doesn't quite capture my imagination as much as the folklore trilogy.

11. No body, no crime This song is amazing when hearing it for the first time, and almost a unique listening experience. The verses and chorus flow together in a great way to tell a story. Its just doesn't quite hold up on the re-listens.

10. Tolerate it Although a completely different type of song to, no body, no crime, for me, tolerate it, suffers from the same problem, it is just not as amazing after a few times listening. Although it beats it on the list for its undoubtedly raw and heart breaking lyrics.

9. Coney island It's weird, because if I was trying to be completely objective, I would say that a lot of the songs above are better then Coney Island, but seen as I'm not being objective and this is just my opinion, Coney island ends up in my top 10 because I love it, I love how it sounds, I love how it makes me feel nostalgic for Coney island, despite never setting foot there, and how it makes me feel nostalgic for the mall before the internet, despite coming from a country where they are rather less romantically referred to as shopping centres and that I can barely remember a time before the internet as I was born in 98.

8. Dorothea It doesn't take a genius to work out that this is the male love interest perspective of, Tis the damn season, and although as I said before they suffer in comparison to the folklore trilogy, I do still appreciate this particular brand of storytelling in an album. Although I must admit sometimes I ignore the connection to, Tis the damn season, and instead like to imagine it is a song about female friendship, which is nice as there are not enough songs about that.

7. Happiness A beautiful, mature and reflective song, the fact that this isn't in my top 5, illustrates what an amazing album this is. Happiness, reminds me of the Fearless vault song, We were happy, another track which I am fond of.

6. Willow When I first heard this song, I of course liked it, but it was hardly one of the highlights of the album. But the more I listen to it the more I Iike it, and it has worked it's way up to number 6. It is subtle, yet brilliant, perfect for an opening track.

5. Ivy Pure poetry, nuff said, like seriously give this gal a man booker prize or some shit.

4. Cowboy like me at this point it is getting difficult to express my love for these songs so I'll let Gaga do this one for me.

3. Right where you left me Miss Havisham move out the way the girl from, Right where you left me, is the now the most iconic spurned woman who can't move on. Seriously what is Swift's obsession with making absolute bangers bonus tracks (No wonder the vault tracks are so amazing) Is it just me or is Taytay slightly leaning into her old country voice in this one, for no justifiable or thematical reason (not that I'm complaining, I love it!)

2. Marjorie It was so hard not to put this one at the top spot, one of Swift's most underrated songs of all time imo, and also just one of the best songs about grieving I've ever heard "Should've kept every grocery store receipt, because every scrap of you would be taken from me" like a punch in the face every time but beautiful.

1 Champagne problems Absolutely iconic, easily in my top 10 Taylor Swift songs of all time, it's hard to put into words why I love this song, because it really speaks for itself.

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casspurrjoybell-26 · 9 months

Text

The Contract - Chapter 1

*Warning Adult Content*

"BECKETT."

The bangs grew louder.

"Open up. I know you're in there."

They're not going to give up unless they break my door down or I answer it and that's never going to happen, either way, they won't be satisfied...

Not until they beat the hell out of me or I give them their money, either way, I don't have their money and I never will, not when I'm like this and can't get a decent-paying job.

Money.

It's the root of all evil and my main problem right now.

The men at the door go quiet, so maybe I have some good luck, after all, now I just need to find another place to crash.

A brown envelope appears from under my door and is shoved into my room, I quietly stop forward and grab it.

"We'll be back next week and if you don't have our money by then Beckett, I'm breaking every bone in your body."

I take the paper from the envelope with shaking hands and read what's on it.

"See you next week."

The man says as the sound of his footsteps grows distant.

My stomach drops.

"THREE MILLION DOLLARS?"

There's no way I can pay that back.

I only had a loan of 10k, how the hell did it rise to 3 million?

I know loaning from anyone other than the bank was a risk but I didn't know just how much... until now.

Fuck... fuck.

I don't have enough to buy a God-damn slice of bread, there's no way I can pay this back and the rest I borrowed from different places and people.

I'm really going to die, like this... because of money.

I head into my bedroom and grab my phone from the bed and start phoning the only person I trust.

"Hello? Evan?"

I sigh in relief once I hear his voice.

"Robbie, they now say I owe them three million. What am I going to do?" I grip the piece of paper in my hands. "One of the guys I loaned money from was just here and if I don't get 3 million by next week... I'm dead, they're going to kick the door down next time and kill me, this time I know they will..."

"Woah Evan, slow down, three million?" he loudly asked. Tears fall from my eyes and I let them. "You need to go to the police, it's gotten way out of hand Evan, you need to tell them you're being scammed and now threatened."

Tears fall from my eyes and I let them.

"I already did, they won't help me.'

I rub my eyes.

"Banks have blacklisted me and now work is drying up... I've screwed up Robbie, I never should've borrowed in the first place but I was desperate."

Really...

The more I think about it, maybe it's about time I just let them inside and beat the shit out of me, beg them for my life, maybe they'll even let me live if I work for them?

There's nothing I can offer them but my life, to work off my debt.

"I have an idea... but it's a long shot."

"What? I'm desperate, at this point I'll do anything," I sigh. "A long as it's not anything sketchy."

"It's not anything like that," Robbie insists. "I knew a guy who knew this singer who was in a situation, she went to this guy and he gave her money, all she had to do was one simple thing, whatever he asked, and she did it."

"That girl was Carmen Deed the lead singer in Girls 101, she took the deal and in return, she got her dream, stardom and the money to pay off her debts"

Carmen... I've heard of her, I thought it was crazy how one day nobody heard of her, then the next she's top of the charts and in makeup adverts.

"What did she do?" I tap my foot nervously. "To get all that, it can't be that simple, nothing is."

"Don't know, the guy didn't say, something about an NDA."

Robbie's voice gets happier.

"Evan, you need this, just think, you could be getting movie parts, you could pay off your debts, you need this Evan."

"What left have you got to lose?"

He's right, I know he is, I have nothing left but a bed and an empty fridge with ketchup inside and the clothes on my back.

But something about this seems too good to be true, no one in their right mind would give you money for a single ask in return.

"Okay." I breathe out, shaking. "Who... what was the person's name?"

Let's just get those over with, there's no harm in going and asking.

My pride is already on the floor, I have no other options left anymore.

"Donovan Steele," he says.

I try to think but I've never heard of them.

"Is it legit? Would they see me for an appointment?"

Robbie leaves me in a long silent pause.

"I mean... there's no harm in trying right?" he says sheepishly. "I'll text you the number and address, it's a shot in the dark, after all, they say this guy is the devil but he gets shit done."

"Thanks, Robbie, shit I don't know what I would do without you, seriously, you're my guardian angel."

"Just stay out of trouble until then, I'm not burying my best friend because of this, you got that Evan?" he says, before hanging up.

Robbie sent me the address and number, my stomach churns for some reason with anxiety once I read the man's name again.

Going onto Google on my phone, I type in the guy's name and wait.

'Donovan Steele' pops up so I then click on the first link, his Wikipedia page.

The first thing that attracts me, is his face, I was expecting some old grey fat guy who liked younger women but Donovan was anything but what I had expected.

Donovan was handsome and young, with a net worth more than anything I would ever see or touch in my entire life and for someone so young, he had risen to the top all by himself, in such a short time.

It said he was one of America's wealthiest and youngest bachelors and I believe it.

In the first photo I see, he was standing in front of his desk with a view of New York in the background from his large glass window, he was leaning against his desk with his arms crossed, with a passive expression.

The whole image of this guy screamed 'money'.

I scroll down and I see his net worth and what he owns and my eyes almost pop out of my head upon realizing just who he is.

He's a billionaire who owns Steele, a business company and it also says he's the CEO of Desire... one of the best talent agencies in America and in my option, the world, anyone who is part of Desire has automatically reached the peak of their career in my line of work.

It would be a dream to have an agent from Desire, only the top actors and models with deep pockets ever get the chance to step foot inside the building, never mind actually getting signed on as a talent with them.

If I became a talent here, I could be in TV shows and movies... fuck I'd no longer be scraping by with commercials that only aired when everyone else was sleeping, adverts not even I would blink twice at.

Fuck it, I'm calling them, I'm at a crossroads with dead ends, there's no other option left for me, it's this or I run back home like a loser, without accomplishing anything.

I'm not ready to leave my dream behind... I still have one last move, and that is Donovan Steele.

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mojojojoke · 2 years

Text

A Semi-AI Generated story.

Messed around with https://app.inferkit.com/demo for a bit in an attempt to generate my generations ‘Ulysses’. With some occasional prodding along, the AI produced this masterpiece that could rival Garfield or Karma Sutra in quality.

Enjoy this nonsense! _________________ Once upon a time there lived a fella named Charlie.

He was an average guy, tall and skinny, like the kind of guy who can stand on the side of a mountain without wanting to pitch forward and vomit.

He had kind of a jaundiced, unhealthy complexion, the kind of looks you would get after consuming live hornets after ingesting 2.31Kw of meth.

Charlie was about 5 '11 ", mostly bald, with some flop - horns and a goatee that he kept trimmed short with a pair of kitchen scissors.

Charlie worked at the liquor store on Main Street in downtown Noo Yawkh, which was the cooler New York. One day, Bubsy the Bobcat entered the store while Charlie was on shift and said "I'd like some maple syrup please." Charlie replied, "Aww, Bubsy, I ain't gonna give you none of my money. You ate up the last batch of syrup I had last week, and that's the last time you're ever gonna insult my livelihood you white son of a bitch!" Charlie pulled out his shotgun from behind the bar and loaded it. "Bubsy, it's gonna cost you two dollars for the maple syrup. Get out of here!"

Bubsy threw a bag of groceries at Charlie and said "Give me the damn syrup or I'll start eating your water bottle collection!"

"Fine," said Charlie, and walked out the door with Bubsy in pursuit.

Charlie climbed to the top of a tall building, and Bubsy ran up after him. They were both yelling obscenities at each other when suddenly Dan Aykroyd appeared from out of nowhere between the two warring brothers. "Stay right there," said Dan, "I am going to whip your ass!"

Dan pulled out his chainsaw and pulled it down through Charlie's body, then continued on. Dan stood up and said "Okay, okay, you're both grounded!"

Bubsy picked up the empty Maple syrup can from the floor and threw it at Dan's head.

Dan caught it, tossed it in the air, caught it again, then threw it right at Bubsy's head. Bubsy leaped back and fell off the Bempire State Building with his tail between his legs. Dan continued on, leaving Bubsy's lumbering corpse behind.

Dan looked at the blazing star coming toward him and said "Haha, Dan Aykroyd. That son of a bitch just proved you can't beat me with a Dan Aykroyd". Dan Aykroyd then turned into glitter, his particles blown away by the wind, never to be seen again.

Charlie collapsed and died at the foot of the building, his body mutilated by the chainsaw and his skin sliced open from head to toe.

The end.

#ai story #shitpost #bubsy #bubsy the bobcat #dan aykroyd #inferkit #have fun guessing which parts were written by me and which were written by the AI

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elisela · 2 years

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I wish you would write a fic where Derek is not so subtle about his pining for stiles and Stiles is so oblivious about it that someone has to basically spell it out for him before he notices 😉

sunny my love ANYTHING for you (this got long lol)

Stiles should probably admit defeat after he flips up the lid of the second to last pizza box, but he holds out hope for as long as it takes to move his hand a foot to the right and push his fingers up under the little tab. “Aww, come on,” he complains, staring at the barbecue chicken in disgust, “I was on the phone with my dad for ten seconds! Ten! Everyone in this room knows what my favorite pizza is, did you really have to eat it all?”

He makes a face at the offending pizza box as he moves to the left, back to where he had left the hawaiian and veggie slices in the dust on his hunt for something more enjoyable. He only has time to tip his head back and heave an exasperated, heavy sigh (with a strangled groan at the end when he sees the veggie pizza is loaded down with mushrooms, which definitely do not belong on anything as delicious as pizza) when someone takes the flimsy paper plate out of his hand and replaces it with another.

“Dude,” he says, blinking down at three mouth-watering slices of pepperoni and sausage stacked on top of each other, the cheese at the end curling from the telltale stretch of it being pulled away. Derek’s gone before he can say anything else, disappeared back to wherever he was lurking before—probably finding the bottle of carpet stain remover if the last two game nights were any indication.

“Oh hey, there was some left,” Scott says when he sits down, beaming at him.

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Yeah, thanks to Derek, the only one who loves me,” he grumbles, and if possible, Scott looks even more excited.

“He finally told you?”

Stiles has always scoffed at movies that show reaction shots in slow-motion, but the second the words leave Scott’s mouth he swears that’s what happens. Everyone in the living room—hell, possibly everyone in the house considering 63% of them have super-hearing—turn and look at them slowly, mouths open. He stops with the pizza an inch from his lips; so close he can almost taste it, the smell of the fancy pepperoni that crisps up into cups and Italian seasoning flooding his senses. “Bwah?”

In the few moments that it takes Stiles to realize the implication of what Scott said the air fills back up with chatter, the strained, forced kind that makes it immediately apparent that everyone except his best friend is slightly uncomfortable. Because Scott, bless his heart, looks at Stiles with something akin to pity. “Dude,” Scott says, “he took that pizza off of Cora’s plate.”

“Probably because you assholes order it for me and then eat it all before I get a chance to get any,” Stiles says, finally shoving the slice in his mouth, manners be damned. “He feels sorry for me. Like I’m a weak, defenseless animal. You know he’s got a savior complex.”

Scott gives him a pained look. “He built an entire deck for your dad.”

Stiles waves his hand around, cheese sliding dangerously off the pizza as he does. “Please, he was paid for that. In barbecue, sure, which my dad was definitely not supposed to be eating, but I can generously let it go. Once.”

“Stiles, he paid your tuition when you talked about having to get a part time job!”

“Uh, I’m pack?” Stiles says, because seriously, he’d also paid for—well. He doesn’t actually know, but he’s sure Derek did, he’s got more money than he knows what to do with. He’s always blowing it on whatever Stiles tells him he should buy.

“So are we and he doesn’t do that for the rest of us, you dumb fuck,” Jackson says from across the room, confirming Stiles’ suspicion that they were all listening in. “He’s wooing you, Stilinski. And now he knows you know it, so either get into the kitchen where he’s cowering like a bitch or freak out and leave.”

Stiles stares at him for a moment and whips back around to Scott, mouth open and mind racing; when Scott nods encouragingly he sets his plate down on the couch and vaults over the back, staggering for two steps before gaining his footing and skidding as he rounds the corner into the kitchen where Derek is standing facing away from him, shoulders tense as he stares down at the counter.

“Hey,” he says, clearing his throat, but Derek doesn’t turn around. “It’d probably be pretty difficult to get all of them out of here, but we could, ah, get out of here? Go somewhere?”

Derek’s body shifts, relaxes, and he turns around looking not angry or upset, but cocky as ever. “Yeah?” he says, expression not giving anything away.

Stiles resists the urge to roll his eyes and meets his gaze instead. “Yeah,” he says, grinning. The smile Derek gives him in return isn’t blinding but small and soft, one just for him, and it’s perfect.

#sterek #stiles stilinski #derek hale #GOOD FRIEND SCOTT MCCALL #because i after all am a stan lmao #sterek fic #softboiidiaz #eli writes

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bitsandbobsandstuff · 3 years

Text

The Midnight Coconuts

Summary: Bucky and his girl take a trip to the grocery store. Several things are involved, including coconuts, a 25cent gum-ball machine, Avengers branded Jell-O, chocolate milk straight from the jug, and tampons. Characters: Bucky x Reader Words: 3k Warnings: Some swearing. Insane levels of fluff. Dangerously adorable Bucky. One (1) random reference to Not Another Teen Movie.

A/N: Listen, I will never be over silly domestic Bucky! I originally started this story before TFATWS came out and when I imagined Sam had a niece, so just go with it. Part of me wrote this, because I needed to convince myself that I love grocery shopping (one can only eat takeaway and Trader Joe’s Orange Chicken for so long) and the other part wrote this because I firmly believe domestic routines can be the most romantic adventures out there.

When the doors to the grocery store whoosh open with a gust of stale manufactured air, Bucky skids to an abrupt and dramatic stop.

“WAIT!”

Behind him, you stumble in panic, fumbling with an armful of reusable grocery bags. Instantly you’re imagining spilled blood and stab wounds and clean ups on aisle three and god dammit, how can there be a problem? This is a grocery store at midnight on a Wednesday. Shouldn’t the forces of evil be sleeping? Why is it so impossible to get a day off work? Don’t they know you need rest? And peanut butter? And that you’re dangerously low on toilet paper?

The forces of evil are the worst.

Raising weary fists, you huff.

“What? Where is it?”

Bucky sidesteps toward a row of small red and green machines beside the entrance, falling to his knees and smushing his nose eagerly against the glass. Reaching a hand behind him, there are several impatient grabby motions, before he glances back.

“Babe, can you give me a quarter? I need a gum-ball.”

Planting a sneaker clad foot on his ass, you shove. Hard.

“Bucky, we talked about this. Remember how you agreed to lower the drama and keep things in perspective? I thought we were under attack.”

“If I don’t get a green gum-ball,” he declares dramatically, “there will be an attack.”

Throwing the cloth bags at his face, you stomp off to retrieve a shopping cart, plunking your purse in the front and hunching over the handlebars.

“I thought you said you were a millionaire now. Buy your own gum-ball.”

Bucky rolls his eyes.

“Like I carry loose change,” he scoffs. “C’mon, just one quarter. Please?”

This time, he gives you the Look. That patented Bucky Barnes stare, with the wide eyes and full pouty lips and faux innocent expression, and if this man wasn’t the love of your life you’d quite happily stab him in the heart.

Instead, you open your purse and fish out a quarter, flinging it at his frustratingly pretty face. It bounces off his forehead and he scoops it up with a grin.

“So just to clarify. You came to the grocery store covered in knives, but you forgot to bring money?”

Giving you an indulgent smile, he jams the quarter into the slot. With a twist and shake, a gum-ball rattles free, and Bucky crows with delight when he sees the green candy. He pops it in his mouth.

“I didn’t forget. I made a conscious decision to remove the temptation. If I bring cash, I’ll spend it. You know I ain’t great with that whole self control thing.”

“How encouraging to hear, from the man with knives pouring out his ass.”

Jumping to his feet, he throws an arm around your shoulders.

“Ass knives sound painful.”

“Depends on how sharp they are,” you mumble, pulling a carefully folded sheet of paper from your jacket.

“Excuse you? My knives are always perfectly sharpened, thank you very much. What kind of expert assassin runs around with dull knives? Damn baby, it’s like you don’t even know me.”

Ignoring him, you flatten out the paper and smooth the edges, sighing happily at the block letters and structured diagrams drawn in deep blue ink.

Here it is, your masterpiece. A monument to productivity. The gold standard by which all optimization models should be benchmarked. This isn’t just any list, this is The List.

Everything is grouped, first by aisle, then by product location within the aisle, and then from top to bottom shelf order, to maximize efficiency. This is the dream list. The kind that inspires jealousy. The kind people hold up at TED talks when they talk about time management techniques. Marie Kondo wishes she had this list.

Bucky snorts when he sees the carefully printed boxes.

“God, you’re such a square,” he says adoringly. He plants a sugary wet kiss on your temple and you grind an elbow into his ribs.

“We discussed this, Bucky. Don’t mock my lists.”

“Sorry babe, I ain’t mocking. Your lists are beautiful, they always get me all hot and bothered,” he agrees, dipping lower to lick behind your ear. “And I really love that list you keep with all those dirty, filthy, sex things you wanna do to me.”

“I don’t have a list like that.”

“Yeah, I know,” Bucky sighs, “and I don’t know how many more hints I can drop here.”

Reaching under his shirt, you rub his belly consolingly. “Okay then. This weekend I’ll sit down and make you a special list. One so disgusting and dirty and depraved, it would make Wade Wilson cry.”

Bucky laughs and squeezes you tighter.

“About damn time honey. I’m equally parts terrified and horny. So where’re we headed first?”

“Produce,” you answer promptly, plowing forward, Bucky still chuckling beside you.

The whole scenario was ironic, actually. There was no need to grocery shop - automatic ordering mechanisms across the Avengers tower rendered the task meaningless - but sometimes it was a welcome relief to partake in such an ordinary thing. Unable to sleep after one particularly terrible mission, you found yourself wandering the aisles of your 24-hour supermarket, dressed in pineapple adorned pajama pants and one of Bucky’s rattier sweatshirts, searching for ice cream. The unexpected symmetry of products arranged along the shelves, the rainbow hued produce, the hint of baking bread wafting from the ovens, all those everyday trappings of normality, they washed over like a soothing balm. Soon enough, the boiling bad thoughts simmered to nothing more than a cache of blurry memories.

When you got home, sleep came fast, deep and dreamless.

One month later, the idea struck again.

After 36 hours of Bucky tossing and turning, dark shadows bruising beneath weary blue eyes, you took his hand and led him down the dark street for a midnight adventure. He was skeptical, disbelieving that something so simple could chase away the insomnia. But he dutifully followed you, strolling aimlessly through the aisles, throwing odds and ends into the cart.

The tension gradually eased, he began to relax, and suddenly?

He was hooked.

An hour later, after arguing the health benefits of frosted Cheerios over oatmeal, poking each hunk of cheese in the display, and loading the cart with every single flavor of spaghetti sauce on the shelf, the heavy weight of remembering began to ease. When he collapsed into bed, he slept for eight hours straight.

I don’t know what that was, he swore the next morning, munching through his third bowl of frosted Cheerios, but it was magic.

And with that, a midnight ritual was born. Sometimes you make the trek alone, sometimes Bucky does the same, but whenever life permits you go together. This small slice of domesticity brings a warm comfort to this strange life.

There is no doubt, this is your favorite area of the entire store.

Barrels filled with tart oranges and smooth red apples. Tables piled high with bananas, some just shy of yellow, others sunshine perfect, and a few with speckles of black (which are the best). Shelves lining the walls, overflowing with bundles of herbs and lettuce, all coated in a fine layer of mist.

Bliss.

Heading straight for the apples, you plunge into the Gala pile, rummaging until you come up with ten perfect ones. Peaches follow, fingers rubbing along the delicate pinky-orange fuzz. Squeeze, smell, squeeze, smell. Five are chosen for a pie (Sam pleaded shamelessly until you agreed to make him one), and in the cart they go. Heading toward the wall of herbs, you’re reaching for the basil when a metallic bang makes you jump. Spinning around, you find Bucky lobbing coconuts into the cart.

“We need these.”

“We really don’t, Buck. I hate coconut, it tastes like suntan lotion.”

“They’re not for eating,” he grabs an apple, wipes it on his shirt, and takes a juicy bite. “They’re for security.”

Sticky juice drips from his lip, catching in his beard. When you reach over to swipe it away, he nips your finger with a grin.

“Explain please.”

“See it’s like this. We’re just here shopping, doin’ our thang -”

“Don’t say thang.”

“- when someone attacks. What happens? BAM. One of these furry beauties breaks their face. Problem solved.”

Giving him a slow perusal, you raise an eyebrow.

“Were the 47 knives you’re carrying not enough to deflect this attack?”

Finishing off the apple in three sloppy bites, he carefully tucks the price sticker in his pocket so he can scan it before leaving and sets the mangled core beside your purse.

“Babe, these are my back-up plan. A good soldier always has a back-up plan.”

While you grab a bottle of extra-pulpy orange juice, Bucky picks two jugs of chocolate milk, snaps one open and takes a swing. Ever the thrifty shopper, he pulls a familiar bag from his back pocket, fishes out a crumpled piece of newspaper, and dangles it before you.

“Found a coupon for this,” he says gleefully. “Buy one, get one free. It’s called a BOGO. A BOGO. Hilarious, right? Fuck me, I love the future.”

Still laughing, he takes another long drink of chocolate milk and smacks his lips.

It was a lazy Sunday morning when you discovered this particular habit. Walking into the living room, you found Bucky buried in a sea of Sunday newspaper, tongue between his teeth and scissors in hand while he clipped coupons. He wasn’t picky, if it was remotely interesting, it went into the YES pile. It was one of those random things that brought him inordinate levels of joy, so of course you encouraged it. On his last birthday, you gifted him with a green zippered bag decorated with angry looking owls and official looking letters stitched across the front:

Bucky’s Coupon Bag Thriftn’ Machine Since 1917

He laughed for five straight minutes and then stuffed it full. The bag accompanies you on every trip and the sight of Bucky excitedly rifling through his wad of coupons still makes your heart swell.

Setting aside his BOGO, Bucky continues down the aisle, leaving you to pause in front of the yogurt. While you contemplate the merits of blackberry vs strawberry, Bucky slides over holding three cans of Reddi-Whip.

“Are you actually planning to eat that? I thought you said whipped air is for, and I quote, ‘spineless, tasteless trash heathens’?”

Bucky shakes the can of spray whipped cream and wiggles his eyebrows, leveling you with a sultry stare.

“Hell no I’m not eating it. This is for the bedroom. Last week I watched this god-awful movie where some blond guy - who looked exactly like Steve, by the way - made himself a whipped cream bikini for his girl. Decided I’m gonna do that for you. You’re welcome.”

“That sounds gross and unsanitary.”

“If by gross and unsanitary you mean spicy and sexy, then yes. Yes it does.”

Whistling what sounds like the theme music from a bad porn, he adds two tubs of honey swirled Greek yogurt, pats your butt, and strolls ahead, throwing a roughish wink over his shoulder. Imagining the melted whipped cream soaking into your bedsheets, you mentally add more laundry detergent to the list.

“Hang on, turn here.”

Tugging the cart behind him, Bucky stalks toward the feminine hygiene display. It takes him a minute to scan the products before squatting down to the bottom shelf. Grabbing two jumbo boxes of tampons, oddly enough the brand you prefer, he pops back to his feet.

“Dare I ask why you need these?”

A faint pink flush crawls up his neck.

“Well, you know, two reasons. They’re really great for stopping bloody noses, you know? Just poke ‘em up there and they soak it all up.”

He mimes the execution and adds a thumbs up.

“And the second reason?”

Squinting at his boots, he shuffles his feet a bit. The pink flush deepens.

“Um, you know - I know you’re out, since I stuck the last one up Steve’s nose last week, and yeah. Anyway. It’s about that time. Of the month. For you.”

Clearing his throat, he reaches for his chocolate milk, but you grab his wrist.

“You know when my period’s going to start?”

He shrugs self-consciously and fiddles with a loose thread on his shirt.

“Well yeah. You think it’s just a coincidence when all your favorite candy shows up every month?” Looking up, he shoots you a crooked smile and leans over the cart to kiss your forehead. Grabbing a fistful of his shirt, you haul him in for a real kiss instead and his startled laughter tickles your lips. When you break away, those bright blue eyes are shining.

“Thank you, Bucky,” you murmur.

“Anytime, sweetheart,” he whispers.

This is the aisle where the cart officially explodes.

Lasagna noodles.

Egg noodles.

Spaghetti noodles.

Penne.

Linguine.

Fettuccine.

Literally one of every noodle is selected, because Bucky Barnes is a self-proclaimed noodle slut.

As you organize the boxes and search for orzo, you see him furtively add an extra bag of elbow macaroni. A quiet cough hides your laughter.

The last time Sam’s four-year-old niece came to the tower, she and Bucky spent hours making glittery elbow macaroni necklaces, which they ceremoniously gifted to everyone. When Sam casually mentioned her enthusiastically telling everyone at pre-school about her friend Bucky and how much fun she had visiting him, Bucky ran to a craft store and bulk bought supplies of glue, string, paint, and glitter, just in case she comes over again.

Months later and the entire team are still finding puddles of glitter all over the tower, but the delight on Bucky’s face anytime someone mentions that arts and crafts afternoon?

It’s worth the mess.

Gathering up brown sugar, instant oats, and chocolate chips, you turn to drop them in the cart when Bucky makes a strangled noise. Glancing over, you find him bouncing on his toes, vibrating with excitement.

“Babe. Babe. Are you making monster cookies?”

Adding a can of raisins, you search for the good vanilla. The kind that actually tastes like vanilla, not a cheap car wash air freshener.

“I promised I would,” you remind him. Bucky plasters himself against your back, wrapping you in an enthusiastic hug and nuzzling his face against your neck.

“I love those fucking cookies,” he declares. “They’re my favorite thing ever. Next to you I mean.”

Finding the vanilla, you spin in his arms and return the squeeze.

“I know you do. But you have to share them this time, okay? You can’t just eat them all yourself like the last two times. Agree?”

“Agree…to disagree. They’re wasted on other people, no one else loves as much. It’s for the best when I eat them all, it’s proof how much I love you. I’m doing it for you. I’m supporting you. Because I love you.”

“You’re completely full of shit,” you reply.

“I swear I’m not! Just listen!”

The excuses grow longer and wilder as Bucky outlines his rationale against sharing, walking backward and dragging the cart with him as he pleads his case. He’s diving into the science of super soldier metabolism levels and caloric requirements and the fact that his sister never shared anything with him, when he bumps into a tall display.

He pulls up short, eyes narrowing. Plunking his fists on his hips, he growls a disgruntled sigh and glares at the rows of packaging.

“You’ve gotta be shitting me.”

Lined up in neat rows, you see boxes of Jell-O organized by color and flavor. On the cover of each are an assortment of familiar images.

“Are these Avengers themed Jell-O?” you ask, picking up a box with Sam’s image and the words Wild Berry Wilson. The rows extend further, filled with Lime Green Hulk and Blue Raspberry Rogers and Black Cherry Widow and Strawberry Lemon Stark. Exasperated, Bucky grabs the Sparkling Orange Spider flavor.

“Is this for real? The kid gets one and I didn’t? Someone in PR is getting fired.”

“Well there’re only so many flavors, Buck,” you point out practically, but Bucky’s not in the mood for logic. Instead, he swipes an entire shelf of Jell-O flavors into the cart.

“I swear to god, I have to do everything around here. Fine then. I’ll make my own flavor, Blackberry Kiwi Soldier or Winter Watermelon Rainbow, or something.” He pauses thoughtfully. “Anyway, I’ll work on the name. But I’m bringing it to dinner tomorrow night and everyone is gonna eat it.”

He dumps in a bag of mini-marshmallows and grabs sprinkles for topping, before marching down the aisle. Cringing at the volume of sugar in the cart, you make another mental note to schedule a dentist appointment.

“Go do your manly duty and find the meat. We need two 5lb rump roasts.”

“I like your rump roast,” he instantly responds and reaches over to smack your butt again. Anticipating the move, you catch his arm and twist it behind his back. He barks out a breathless laugh and you slap his ass in return.

“Your innuendos are tragic.”

Releasing him with a gentle shove, Bucky snatches up his three coconuts and ambles away, laughing while he juggles them. When he returns, he has the requested rump roasts, several packages of bacon, and a bundle of cocktail shrimp.

“If my innuendos get better, then can I touch your butt?”

“Maybe. But they better be real good.”

An added benefit to shopping at midnight? Not a soul in line.

Loading everything onto the conveyer belt, you automatically organize for bagging. Boxes together, produce together, meat together. Bucky adds a pack of batteries, a tin of mints, and some trashy magazines.

The last three items in the cart are his coconuts. They rattle around until you toss them at him, motioning back to the produce department.

“We made it out alive. Go put them back.”

Still chomping his tasteless green gum-ball, he shakes his head and plops them down.

“Nah, I have another idea for them. Got all those craft supplies at home, I’m gonna make you something.”

“Should I even ask?”

Bucky blows a huge, wet bubble and looks you up and down.

“Have you every worn one of those coconut bras? Like on TV, with the ladies in grass skirts? I’m gonna make you one. I already have string and glue. And glitter.”

“I think you may be overestimating your crafting abilities.” Digging out your credit card, you wait for the final tally.

“Well, if it’s terrible then you’ll just be naked. Either way, I win.”

Shaking out your grocery sacks, he packs everything with Tetris-like efficiency and slides all of them up the vibranium arm.

“How about I make you a deal. I’ll wear a coconut bra, if you’ll make yourself something to wear as well.”

Bucky blows another sugary bubble, pondering the idea.

“Like a coconut man thong?”

“Exactly like a coconut man thong.”

“Deal. Add it to that special dirty list you’re making me honey. We got loads to do.”

Outside, the night air smells sweet and cool, the barest hint of a spring rain and fresh grass lingering on the breeze. Already, your eyes are feeling heavy, tonight’s quiet adventure ushering in that sought after peace.

In your right hand, the three coconuts swing gently in their plastic sack. Humming under his breath, Bucky yawns, reaching for your other hand. His warm, calloused palm squeezes tight, his thumb stroking lightly over your skin.

He turns to you with a sleepy, lopsided smile.

Midnight and coconuts.

It always does the trick.

***

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky fic #bucky imagine #bucky barnes imagine

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oxmelsa · 3 years

Text

insomnis

(a/n): Mobius has made the list into top fav characters. Owen Wilson is just *chefs kiss*. enjoy this little ficlet... to be continued...? :-)

It’s hard to get a read on Loki’s boundaries.

Mobius is a friendly guy, what can he say-- little pokes and pats here and there tend to loosen people up, get them open, get them talking. He’s no chatty Kathy, that’s for sure, but it’s nice to be able to maneuver socializations with some semblance of grace, and even nicer to smooth it over with a good ol’ pat to the back. But Loki isn’t exactly open to the idea of touch, which honestly isn’t that surprising to literally anyone, and that can often lead to little awkward moments here and there where Mobius has to remind himself to take a step back and take it one conversation at a time.

...But. It’s just. Loki has this killer sense of humor, right, and he’s charming and intelligent and conversation comes so easy that it’s incredibly difficult to remember to keep himself reined in. To take it one conversation at a time. It’s dizzying to be the only one in the entire department who can elicit positive responses from Loki, God of Mischief (and yeah, okay, sue him if he has a little bit of a massive, interruptive crush). Ravonna had told him going into this case, after all that he had a soft spot for broken things, but Mobius likes to think of it as more than that. Mobius just likes to think that he can give good things to people. That he can do something as simple as touch, and that it wouldn’t be the end of the world.

Everyone’s already gone to bed, now, but he’s perched in the library, restless and twitching for something to do. To contribute to. The stacks of files mock him from his cubicle, even from so far away, but hell if he wants to touch that thing with a ten foot pole. The sight of another manila folder right now might actually be the thing to drive him over the edge and prune himself, for Pete’s sake.

“Insomniatic, are we?” comes a familiar voice.

“Hm,” Mobius sighs. He doesn’t turn to face him yet. “Pot meet kettle.”

“I haven’t the foggiest what that means.”

Mobius glances over, then, and can’t help but smile a little. “Hey there, Loki.”

“Evening,” Loki says, curtly. His hands are clasped behind his back. “Or, morning, more like.”

“Time doesn’t really work like that--”

“--down in the TVA, I know.” Loki sits down with an impatient huff; one that Mobius knows well, now. “I’m beginning to suspect the ‘T’ in ‘TVA’ might stand for ‘tedious’.”

Mobius chuckles, takes the bait. “And the ‘V’?”

“‘Vendetta,’ obviously.”

“‘Obviously’,” Mobius repeats, mimicking Loki’s posh accent. It’s a terrible impression, but it gets a smile/grimace out of Loki, so it counts for something. He adds, “Vendettas sound more like your area, pal.”

Loki rolls his eyes. “Vendettas are for children.”

“F’course they are,” he murmurs, feeling the affection within him swell to proportions that threaten to burst. Loki glances over at him, looking wary, and Mobius holds his gaze, smiling, warm and fuzzy and everything all nice. “What’re you doing up, anyway? Looking for something to corrupt?”

Loki leans forwards to rest his forearms on his knees, staring straight ahead. “Looks like I found my target.”

Mobius barks a genuine laugh, one that seems to startle the other. “You couldn’t corrupt me if you tried.”

Loki turns to smile thinly. “You underestimate me,” he says.

“Nah.” He has a glint in his eye, now, he just knows it. “I think you underestimate me, though.”

“I don’t plan on making it a habit,” Loki admits, breaking their gaze. Mobius grins, reaches out to prod him in the ribs--

Quick as lightning, Loki’s hand snaps up to intercept the contact, gripping Mobius’ index finger with the kind of furious strength that frankly isn’t needed. Show off.

Interestingly enough, beneath all that anger and fanfare, Loki looks caught out, like he’s just played his cards at the wrong time.

...Oh.

Oh.

A ticklish show off.

“Touch me again without warning and I will tear you limb from limb,” he hisses, all sharp teeth and dark eyes. The effect is undermined when he begins to try to scoot away on the library bench, hand still clamped around Mobius’ offending finger.

“Ho-ly shit,” Mobius gapes, and he knows his genuine delight in the face of Loki’s fury is thick in his voice when he continues, incredulous, “You’re ticklish?”

“What?” Loki squints. His grip around Mobius’ finger tightens, and he looks like he knows he’s fucked. Oh, this is good. “No.”

“Yes!” Mobius laughs, bouncing his legs up and down in pure, uncontained glee. This is the best damn thing to have happened since sliced bread, honestly, might even top the invention of motorized vehicles. “Yes, you totally are!”

The beginnings of a flush of shame are beginning to creep up Loki’s neck, curling him inwards and away from Mobius’ obvious, blatant delight in such a humiliating discovery. But hell, if that ain't just the darndest thing-- Loki, God of Mischief, friend of fuckin’ Mobius, ticklish.

“This is just-- oh, this is gold. You know I can’t just let this one slide, right?” he grins. Loki eyes his trapped finger with mounting dread. “You know I have to investigate, as an analyst.”

Loki sputters, fighting for purchase. “Mobius-- no-- if you even think about touching me I will--”

“You’re fighting a losing battle here, friend,” Mobius chuckles, and even quicker than lightning, strikes with his free hand.

Everything on Loki is lean and pale and very accessible through the polyester and denim TVA prisoner uniform-- Mobius’ hand finds home in the shape of a claw at Loki’s ribs, and Loki, holy hell, Loki.

He bucks.

“Oh, shit--” Mobius grunts, nerves alight with glee as he tries to chase the wriggling fish of a man with his hand--

“LET GO OF ME,” Loki bellows, wiggling like one of those pretty hula ornaments. “YOU COMPLETE AND UTTER IMBECILIC CHILD, LET GO--”

“Keep your voice down, Hollering Hank, you’ll wake the whole unit up,” Mobius chides, grinning like a little boy on Christmas. He jabs quickly at Loki’s sides as he says it, and Loki’s legs spasm upwards with it.

“Mobius--”

“I’m barely even trying to fight you, here!” Mobius laughs, trying in vain to free his other hand from Loki’s grip as he chases more spasmic reactions, maybe even laughter if he could get in there for long en--

“Oof,” he says instead, upon receiving the gift of Loki’s fist to the sternum.

He immediately flies backwards, sliding with emphasis to the other side of the bench; Loki is standing up in a flash, crimson as the dawn. Now ain’t that something, he thinks, coughing around the empty space in his lungs.

“You are pathetic,” he spits, dusting off his clothing. “A child.”

“You just punched me!” Mobius protests, laughing breathlessly.

“It was self-defense!” he cries. “A warranted attack!”

“You’re a... warranted attack,” Mobius retorts cleverly, preoccupied with staring at the flush set high on Loki’s cheekbones, visible in the darkness of the library. “...You’re also blushing like a bride.”

“Oh, fuck off, will you,” Loki groans, turning on his heel (drama queen that he is).

“C’mon, now, Loki,” Mobius calls after him with a laugh as he marches away, head held high. “It’s just a little tickling!” Loki offers no retort, but Mobius likes to imagine that he can see the tips of his ears go pink, then, too.

S’not the end of the world, after all.

#mine #fic #tickles #lokius #ticklish!loki #loki series #mcu

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lrissa · 3 years

Text

Part 2 Of ‘I Promise To Marry You’

requested by @seltoir and @melonva so i did best of both worlds.

summary: levi had forgotten his dear promise to you, costing your life against the female titan

warnings: violence, swearing

first part here

✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩

The breeze tickled your silky exposed skin and made your tiny hairs stand on end. Your hands went to your arms and held tightly onto them like a hug, the night breeze whisking it’s way under your skin. Exiting the door to the stables you gazed up at the bright stars reflected by the shining moonlight, lighting up the greeny surroundings.

Walking along the gravel path as your steps made faint sounds amongst the silence of the night. Finding the patch of grass you had always found comfort in when it was the night before an expedition. You sat quietly, staring up the stars with soft eyes

From beside you you felt the presence of someone sit down in the grass, their hand finding a place on yours in a gentle manner, tangling your hands together.

“Levi.”

“I missed you, brat.” He spoke blandly, his gaze finding themselves in the sky above him. You let out a light sigh. Turning to look at the man who was seated by you, squeezing his hand.

“I missed you too.”

It had been a few days since you two had seen eachother. Levi was caught up in his paperwork that flooded his desk as you worked extra hours to train the cadets for the next expedition that was tomorrow.

You rubbed his tough hand with your thumb gingerly. Up until now the two of you still remained close friends, although you two had considered dating but Levi was afraid of the distraction. As if you weren’t one already. There had been little exchanges of kisses between the two of you, especially after the death of your two other best friends, Isabel and Farlan. You and Levi seeked companionship in eachother deeply after their casualties.

Gradually you set your head on his shoulder, he had stiffened a bit from the gesture but let it be. His eyes peered down at you carefully, a faint gentleness glossing his eyes.

A memory struck your mind as you thought back to the underground.

“I’ll even wear a pretty dress.” You concluded and gazed at your fingers, extending them out infront of you, “And a pretty ring!”

“Shut up, marriage isn’t even close.” He stated as you pouted, kicking his leg with your foot. “Well.. since it’s far away,” You took your head off his shoulder and turned to face him.

The memories whizzed by until a certain one came.

“Fine. I promise to marry you.”

A soft gasp left your lips as you snapped your head off Levi’s shoulder, your mouth agape in shock. The raven head turned to watch you, arching his brow in confusion.

“Levi,” You turned to him, reaching your hand out as they went for his collar. Tugging away the accessories whilst he stared at you with an annoyed expression. Your fingers caught metal as you slowly pulled, revealing the dirty, faded jewelry you had given him that day. Your letter still attached to the chain.

A delicate smile creased your lips as you held it, fingers barely trembling. Pulling your own out you held them, finally looking up into Levi’s eyes. His face had a little scowl, you invaded his personal bubble but he’d let it slide because it was you.

“Do you remember these?”

“Of course, idiot.”

Slowly you lowered his, whilst Levi’s eyes gazed at your necklace. The faint remembrance of that wishful day, you two were so stupid and young at that time. The corner of his lips hardly turning up as he reached his hand out, setting it over the one holding yours.

“I remember how pissed off you made me.” He retorted, you laughed.

Clutching his hand tightly in yours you held in a breath, before asking,

“Do you remember what you promised?”

Levi paused for a moment, his brain racking the fading memories but to no avail he answered with,

“No.”

Your grip loosened on his and you gave a gentle frown, turning your head away and looking up at the sky. Tears stung in the back of your eyes, your heart beating wilding against your chest. Why would he need to remember such a promise, why were you so upset?

“Was it important.” He asked while he watched your faltering smile.

Biting back tears you bit the inside of your cheek, heart pinging in your chest like hundreds of needles stabbing you again and again. Softly, you lifted your finger and rubbed the escaping tear away. Looking back at Levi with a pained smile, squeezing his hand weakly.

“No.”

──────────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹──────────

“Hey, don’t spoil him, Petra.” Spoke Oluo from as he caught your attention back onto the conversation, “What did he do anyway? He was pathetic. He just kept whining. Well, coming back alive on your first excursion is pretty good. But it doesn’t count until the missions over.” You just rolled your eyes, ever since Eren has joined the Scouts everyone has been giving him nothing but shit.

“Jeez, I know that!” Eren spoke with a shaky voice as he stared up at Oluo towering over him before grappling away.

“Just ignore that runt.” You commented and followed after Oluo, with the rest trailing behind shortly. The squad grappled through the trees as Eld turned to look back, “Oluo, Petra! You guys pissed your pants and cried on your first mission. You’re all grown up now!” Petra looked horrified before she screamed, shaking her head as you let out a snort, “Dont say that!” The girl shouted, “What if he stops respecting me!?”

“It’s true?” Eren asked

“It sure is. And I didn’t, by the way, Eren.” Eld spoke with a cocky grin, confidence oozing off his words.

“Idiot!” Yelled Oluo, you shook your head and toned out the conversation. Eyes scanning through the trees as you narrowed your eyelids, something felt wrong within the deep rooted forest. Suddenly green smoke cut through the leaves into the breezy air.

“That might be Captain Levi, everyone stayed alarmed! Something is wrong with this forest.” You commanded as they all went silent, honing in the towering trees.

Gunther landed on a branch, raising the smoke gun above his head while his other plugged his ear before shooting it off into the sky and joining the squad again.

Moments passed before you heard ODM to the far left of you, head turning behind your shoulder as you stared at the emerging cadet. Was it Levi? It couldnt have been, he doesn’t move like that.

“Who are you!” Gunther yelled, your eyes widening as you shot farther. Letting off gas to reach him, “Gunther no—“ You shouted until the attacked unsheathed their blades sliced right through the poor young man.

His body toppled over as he hung from his last grapple, hanging in the air by his ODM gear, “Gunther!” Eren shouted and looked to check on him, his eyes widening in fear as he surveyed Gunther was very much dead.

“Keep moving! Don’t let them get you!” You screamed and continued your pursuit further, head snapping to look behind you as the striker fell back. Gasping you realized, was this the female titan? Were they going to transform?

“Shit! She’s transforming, everyone—“ Your words were cut short as a massive lightning strike shook the ground fiercely, wind richoeting against the trees as it blew your hair away from your face.

“The Female Titan!” Eld screamed, the squads eyes widening in sheer panic before turning around. Flying forwards with their ODM gear.

“Damn you. This time, I will defeat it!” Eren shouted, Eld’s eyes snapping to the boy, “No, dont! The four of us will kill the Female Titan. You will continue to head straight for HQ at top speed!” You looked back at the titan, it was sprinting straight towards you, “I’ll fight too!” Eren argued, “No! This is the best move.. Your power is too risky!”

Eren blinked in fear, you turned your eyes to him. “Do you doubt us, Eren?” Your unusually calm voice even under these circumstances, maybe you had known Levi too long. “Do you find it hard to trust us?” Eren shot his gaze to you, scowling before spinning and taking off infront of him.

“I believe my squad will be victorious!” Eren shouted, “Goodluck!”

You smirked, releasing your grapple and spinning around, grappling at the Female Titan as your squad followed in pursuit. Eld went to strike her, her hand reaching out to grab him before Petra and Oluo came forwards and grappled her eyes, slicing through them to make her blind. You came from behind, aiming at her nape before her hand made it first, hardening just as quickly as you sliced.

Metal snapping broke through your ears as your eyes gradually widened, fear had finally creeped up to you then. Jumping off her hand you grappled to a tree whilst getting new blades. The Female Titan had backed into her tree, her underarms exposed as she used her hands to protect her nape.

Petra and Oluo swung around before slicing through above her armpits and fleeting, the squad continuing this tactic till her arms would fall so you could strike her nape. Eventually her arms fell limp beside her sides but her neck was still pressed against the tree.

“Now strike her neck!” Eld shouted as he began to plummet at her, the titan suddenly opening its one eye and turning its head, mouth slamming down on Eld’s as his lower half hung from her lips. You gasped in terror, eyes turning hazy for a moment as you watched her chomp down, his body falling through the air and onto the lovely ground beneath.

“Eldo!” Petra screamed from beside you, her falling figure barely catching itself before she grappled. Staring wide eyed as the Female Titan sprinted towards her, towering over her in an instant. You reacted and grappled her nape, screaming as you went to slice down. Her nape had hardened, your new blades cracked and snapped in half again as you slowly slid off her icy nape. Falling, watching as she raised her foot and stomped Petra into a tree. Tears pricked your eyes, shutting them furiously before opening them again with a new found rage.

You shot the ODM around her, watching from the corner of your eye as you saw Oluo attempt to slice at her nape, the same fate happening to him before she whipped her arm back. Sending Oluo plummeting into a tree, blood splattering everywhere.

“No!” You screamed in pain, tears freely falling from your eyes as you rounded around to face her. Grasping new blades as you stared at her head on. “I’m going to fucking kill you!” You shouted and shot to a nearby branch, she had anticipated this and swung a hand out. Your face turned to see your welcoming doom. Of course she had foreseen this.

Pain exploded through your abdomen as you flew backwards, swinging around the branch a few times as your grapple sticked to it. Blood oozed from your stomach, a large gash in your side with two broken legs. Limply you fell backwards, your legs in the air with your head facing the ground. Your vision went blurry quickly, everything felt painful and all you could think about was sleep, sleeping eternally sounded better than this hell.

The last thing you saw was blazing yellow lightning and your cape whipping violently in the wind as you found peace.

From afar Levi was soaring through the trees, he had heard two titans transformed and assumed the worst. A shiny object on the ground caught his attention, releasing the grapple he gradually fell the ground and walked towards it, picking it off from the grass.

Time stopped as his eyes stretched open in fright. His heart squeezing into nothing as his fingers lightly wiped the blood from it. What he was clutching onto dearly was your necklace, it had fallen off during your chase and was coated in thick layers of blood and dirt.

Tears stung at the back of his head, his chest throbbed in heartache. Finally be shot the ODM forwards, finding blood droplets on the trees. As he neared the death zone he was met with Eld’s half eaten corpse, Oluo’s mutilated body, and lastly Petra’s body slammed into a tree as blood streeked down the bark.

Fear was coursing through his veins, where the fuck were you? Until finally he pushed forwards and saw the body hanging from the tree, faltering he frowned. Grappling to the body.

He hung beside the body from the branch as he gradually moved the cape from the face, meeting your shut eyes. Levi flinched back violently, his heart dropping down to his stomach.

“No..” He whimpered softly to himself, grabbing your front half he flipped you over right, rubbing the dirt and blood away from your face. A cough sputtered from your lips weakly, blood landing on his cheek as he froze. His hand still wiping away the grime away.

Levi felt tears prick his eyes, gently, he’d speak

“Y/N... Brat, speak to me.” Levi commands, his fingers trembling against your cheek. Slowly you’d open your eyes to see his relief flood face. A tear streamed down his cheek and he let out a shaky breath, caressing your scratched cheeks.

“Please.. You can’t go yet.” He whispered, gripping onto you tighter as you smiled weakly. Feverishly, you stretched a hand out infront of you, your middle and pointer finger absent. He tightly gripped your hand, new tears flowing without his command.

“I remember.... We were going to get married.” He’d say weakly, his grip tightening on you. Tears found themselves in your eyes before streaming down your already dirty cheeks.

“I’m sorry..” You croaked delicately, coughing up a new round of blood as it stained his Survey Corps coat. “Levi..”

“No goddamnit, brat. You stay alive! I command you to.” He grabbed your collar, his fist clumping your blood stained shirt. “I..” He lost his words, a lump forming in his throat. Never had he experienced such heartbreak before in his life, it was tearing him to shreds and leaving no crumbs.

“We will... get married, above..” You smiled at crumbling man in front of you, his world slipping away in his fingertips. Never until now had he wished nothing more than to still be living the underground by your side. You pointed to the clouds, using your last ounce of strength before it fell limply to your side.

Levi brought his hand to yours, picking it up he held it upright. Slowly with trembling fingers he’d wrap his pinky around yours once last time, kissing the intertwined fingers softly.

“I promise Y/N, I will marry you.” He’d sob out finally. A fragile smile on your lips before your eyes shut and the world fell silent.

sorry for any spelling mistakes i posted it right away

mentionables: @pizzarollsfordayz, @fluffyleviackerman

#aot fanfiction #aot imagines #aot x reader #levi ackerman #levi aot #levi heichou #levi x reader #levi x y/n #snk #snk anime #levi angst #ansgt #im cryinf #captain levi #levi ackerman x reader #aot #levi attack on titan

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gyuluster · 3 years

Text

the prince and the jackal | {f}

collab oneshot | fantasy! au | 11.8k words

“Because the prince of the earth can make you fall not only for nature, but the boy who rules over it.”

s u m m a r y : in the Kingdom of Terrae, you, a metalbender, believe in the deforestation to modernise the land. As a member of the Lumberjackals, you thrive on cutting down trees and stealing resources until you get caught by the Crown Prince, Choi Beomgyu, a lover and embodiment of the nature you wish to destroy. However, instead of imprisoning you for your crimes, Beomgyu decides to show you the beauty and wonders of nature, leaving you to doubt your beliefs, your identity, and your very feelings for the certain boy determined to change you for the better.

w a r n i n g s : prince! beomgyu, woodcutter! metalbender! reader, reader hates wildlife and all things nature, beomgyu is sunshine and flowers and everything good, shit ton of wildlife and fantasy stuff, bts kim line are part of the lumberjackals so are evil in this story i am so sorry y’all, beomgyu has a pet squirrel called jisung yes han jisung, kind of enemies to lovers not really but im pretending it is

p l a y l i s t : fairy of shampoo by txt | colours of the wind by judy kuhn | willow by taylor swift

a u t h o r ‘ s n o t e : yes i am back from the dead to bring this fic hello!! this is a collab with @soobmint @juunnies @bffsoobin @honeyju pls do read their parts too they’re so sexc <3 do lemme know what you all think and thank you for reading!!

back to collab masterlist

back to my masterlist

“And this prayer I make, Knowing that Nature never did betray The heart that loved her.” — William Wordsworth, Tintern Abbey, 1798.

“ONE MORE BLOODY TREE, AND I’LL SCREAM THIS FOREST DOWN!”

You ignored the complaints of your comrades, trekking deeper into the forest.

The sun was nearly drowned out by the towering shade of the surrounding trees, and there remained a constant buzz of the animals, either scurrying away or chirping in the skies. The cut up logs strapped on your back was a huge burden, and slowed your steps as you trudged onto the muddied pathways, staining your boots.

“_____, how much longer until we go to the markets?” one of the men asked, exhaustion clear in his voice.

“Just a few more logs, Tae,” one of the woodcutters, Seokjin, answered, casting a side-ways glance at you.

“But we’ve already got so many!” the former whined, pointing to the goods over their shoulders. “We can make decent money today!”

Unsheathing your sword, you cut away at the vines in your path, masking your sight ahead. It must be here somewhere, you thought, eyes darting sharply to every flower and bush. It has to be.

“Haven’t you fools understood already?” a snarl resonated from the group. Your horse trotted past you as Namjoon, sat on top, brought out his machete, brutally slicing the branches of the towering trees. “The wood we’ve got won’t last us all year!”

His eyes blazed with a certain greed as he looked over you all. “We must find the Tree of Life,” he declared, strolling past you, cutting down the path. “One strip of its bark could bring us a fortune.”

You listened to his statements with raised brows, following in his steps. In truth, none of you had ever seen the Tree of Life. No one in the kingdom had for centuries — it had become something of a myth, a legend passed down from every earthbender to child of its origins, and its significance. You didn’t know the great specifics, but the whole group knew that if they were to obtain even a twig from the great tree, it could grant them millions worth of gold.

And that was something the Lumberjackals desired more than the wellbeing of an omnipotent tree.

Soon, the search progressed, your group cutting down a few Ebonies for its useful properties, but there was no heavenly legend welcoming you in all its finery. The sun was descending on the horizon, and although Spring was present, you were situated in the part of the forest where the gusts of the Ice Kingdom blew consistently in your direction. The cold was about to descend, and you were far from your home in the Metallum villages.

Taehyung, the youngest of the Kim brothers, held onto a nearby oak, all strength leaving him. “I don’t know about you, but I am not travelling any further.” He glared daggers at Namjoon, who showed no signs of stopping. “I’m setting camp here, and you can do nothing to stop me.”

Seokjin joined his youngest sibling, collapsing on the patch of grass beside the gathering of flowers as he shrugged off his work of the logs. “I vote a little rest, even if Joon does not understand its meaning.”

The said-man let out a scoff at those words. “You both are just bloody lazy!” He turned to you, eyes pinning you where you stood. “You’ll keep searching with me, right?”

You agreed, but when you saw the fatigue in your leader’s gaze you grabbed the reins from his horse, stepping beside him. “You need sleep, Joon,” you said, concern in your eyes. “I’ll do another search. You three stay here.”

Namjoon held your stare for a moment before swiping his leg over the back of the horse, jumping off. He handed you the reins fully. “Come back after dawn. Us three will take over from you.”

You had a right mind to challenge the amount of time he was making you explore, but you kept your mouth shut, heaving onto the animal. Dumping your logs of wood upon the ground, you dipped your head in farewell to the Kim brothers. “I will see you in the morning, boys.”

Taehyung waving excitedly as he set up camp, Seokjin going straight to bed upon his blankets, and Namjoon’s stare cold yet understanding, you cracked the reins as the horse began to gallop away from the oaklands, and deeper into the forest.

The moon barely lit the way as you delved deeper into the trees, the sounds of nature turning sinister as the owls began to hauntingly hoot, and the wildcats began to purr. You kept your sword close, in your hand as the other steadied your horse.

You let out a hard sigh as you commenced your searching. Sometimes, only when you were alone, you wished that Namjoon would snap out of his delusions. There was no Tree of Life, no invaluable source of fortune which would challenge the earthbenders and start their industrialisation. In truth, you only wished for a life more than just cutting down wood, but your leader’s promises could be much too enticing.

Perhaps he was right. Maybe with the metalisation of Regna Terrae the metalbenders would be able to progress. It was not like the Kingdom cared for the likes of you, nor the nature which brought you to existence.

Stupid, damned forest. What good had it ever done you?

Suddenly, you heard the harsh snapping of the twigs which wasn’t from your horse. In an instant you halted, pulling the reins as your eyes darted to every corner of the dark forest.

Silence.

You furrowed your brows.

The forest cannot be trusted. Even its silences were sinister and misleading.

Slowly, you got off your horse, tying the reins to a nearby tree. “Keep still, Aurum,” you whispered. “I’ll be right back.”

Patting the mane, you turned and followed in the direction of where the sound was heard, every step quiet and cautious. There was little light, you having to rely on your ears alone, and the hands which touched trunk from trunk. In moments like these, you wished you possessed a more useful power than mere metal manipulation — firebending would have been nice, but you supposed that luck had never been in your favour.

Seething, you held onto your sword tighter, sending a little rush of power from your fingers as it sharpened the steel. No one tailing you would survive in your hands.

You then heard a little sigh, and whipped your head to the direction. Gritting your teeth, you rushed to the place of the origins, anger rising. Swiping away the branches in your path, your boots were the only sound among the quiet hush of the forest, along with the slicing of your weapon. Whoever was toying with you will not leave your wrath.

Swiping away the plants, you finally found an opening of grass among the trees. Squinting, your anger surged to find a distant figure standing before you, all masked in shadows from the lack of light within your surroundings. It stood statue-still, matching your deathly quietness.

But the figure did not seem like it offered death. Nor anything so dangerous as you promised.

“Come out!” you shouted, taking a step forward. “I know you were following me!”

No response.

“Scared, are you?!” Another hesitant step. “As you should be!”

Still, only silence answered, and the soft crunch of the leaves underneath your boots. You took a deep breath, shining your sword from the moonlight. A scoff emitted from you, nerves disappearing. This should be easy.

With an aggravated roar, swinging your weapon, you thundered towards the figure.

You rushed into the moonlight pooling onto the grass, eyes intent with damage as you willed iron-like power from your veins, and into your hands, swirling around the fuller of your sword until it reached its tip, ready to burst onto the figure.

It was then the shadows moved.

A flick of his hand. A soft glow within the darkness.

And all of nature followed suit.

You were taken aback as the thousands of vines circulating the surrounding trees unwrapped themselves from their trunks, and snapped towards you in thundering speed. You had no time to take in their stems swirling around your feet, cutting off your run towards this certain figure. A gasp escaping, you were pulled back by the impact, and let out a further scream as you began to fall flat on your face. Then, even more shock reverberated through you as your feet were pulled upwards, shooting your body up until you were suspended from a tree branch, your one foot wrapped tightly in the vines.

Your world all upside down, you shook your head vigorously, feeling the strain of your one leg under complete control of the tree. The thrum of powerful magic of nature resonated through your body, ceasing you from moving your free leg and kicking any potential passerbys.

Craning your head backwards, you saw with horror that your sword was clattered upon the ground, too far away to reach from the air. Straining your hand towards the grass, you willed your magnetic force, trying to lure your weapon into your hand.

The sword would have ended up in your grasp if another surge of the same natural magic did not break its path, sending it back on the earth.

Enraged, you looked out to the dark, sight distorted. “Gods, just come out already!” you screamed, swinging slightly by your sheer force. “Stop hiding in the damned shadows!”

There was a flutter of little animals coming out from the shadows. “Ha!” you spat, reaching for the dark. “Only sending a few creatures to scare me? You’re going to have to work harder than that!”

When there was another round of silence, you laughed harshly to yourself. “That’s what I thought.”

This time, however, you were not greeted by their usual, quiet answer.

More vines slithered down your frame, pushing your hands together. You gritted your teeth as the gnarly weeds tightened around your wrists, stopping yourself from using your hands.

Glaring daggers at the darkness ahead, you spat at the ground. “Show yourself!” you roared.

Your threats were answered.

Responded in an unimaginable way as the figure stepped into the moonlight.

You could not suppress your reaction.

The most enchanting boy you had ever seen revealed himself from the shadows. You could clearly see him from the light, the soft, child-like features amplified by his undoubted beauty — his mahogany locks curled around his face, cascading over his forehead. His gentle eyes promised great amusement, more so when they landed upon you, a ghost of a smile lingering on his lips. He was adorned in a fine green gown, few assortments strapped on his belt as leather boots, etched in ink, covered his feet. A crown of flowers and leaves settled in his curls, emitting its own, fantastical glow among the darkness.

The smile curved wider at your widened eyes. “Why so speechless now, my lady?”

By all the gods. Even his voice sounded like the sweetest honey in all the hives.

“I have come before you, now,” he continued, deeply amused by your bewilderment. “I have stopped hiding in those damned shadows, as you said.

“Where is your anger?”

Well, that seemed to bring your rage all back.

“It’s still here, you bastard!” you hissed, struggling in the rope-like vines as you tried to swipe your hand across his face. He merely took a step back, completely out of your range.

“Even without a weapon you are a force to be reckoned with,” the mysterious boy voiced out, raising his fingers as magic sparked from the tips. Instantly the vines encircled your arms, pinning them to your sides as the weeds wrapped around you completely. You were like a human-sized caterpillar, cocooned in vines except you would not turn into a butterfly and rush away into the forest.

This nuisance before you would make sure of that.

A satisfied hum escaped him. “There we go,” he said. “Now you won’t be of any danger.”

“Who even are you?” you demanded, glaring daggers at the sight before you. Terrible shame that the sight was something you wouldn’t mind witnessing for the rest of your life. Even if it was upside down.

A hint of surprise exposed upon his features. “Oh, this is amusing, indeed.”

He took a step towards you, you catching the faint scent of...flowers and trees and fruit and honey. You couldn’t really figure out a perfect essence — if nature had a scent, then this boy embodied it. “I am surprised you know not of me when you wish to destroy what I own.”

You raised a brow, at eye level with him, despite the loopy image.

Then, the gears in your head turned, and you were struck hard with the realisation.

When you wish to destroy what I own.

“Oh gods,” you slipped out.

The boy smiled.

No, not just the boy.

The Prince of Regna Terrae — the heir to the Earth Kingdom.

Choi Beomgyu.

Maybe this explained his otherworldly beauty. Crown princes of the earth kingdoms were known to be blessed by nature, so adorned the finest features known to man. Standing before you now, you cursed yourself for not seeing it before.

And cursed yourself again for cursing at him. Multiple times.

Beomgyu saw your eyes moving a mile a second and spluttered out a soft laugh, raising a finger so you focused on him. “I am glad you have figured out my identity. Now we both know what we are.”

His next words did not possess much hilarity. “I, a prince, and you, a Lumberjackal.”

The declaration had you gulping. There’s no escaping this.

He was not wrong in the slightest — you were a part of the Lumberjackals — a group dedicated to industrialising the Earth Kingdom, and giving it a head start from the other kingdoms who did not possess the natural resources that this land contained. You prided on deforestation, the cutting of wood and, even to a certain extent, the consumption of animals. Although you never participated in the last activity out of pure shame, you knew the Kim brothers certainly did, and enjoyed it to great extent.

“Do you deny it?”

You tried to look away, but his gaze was a little too intense. Even if it was reversed. “I do not.”

“And what do you have to say for yourself?” he got out, and you could hear the pain in his voice. Could you even blame him? You destroyed what he held so dear.

Still. You were a metalbender. The desire for modernisation is in your very blood.

“I do what I must do, your Highness,” you grit out, struggling in your weedy cocoon. “It is the only way we survive.

“And I will not stop.”

The boy’s eyes widened a fraction, in pure disbelief. He could not comprehend this — how could one be so against the idea of nature? How could anyone be so resolute in the decimation of what they survived on?

Prince Beomgyu cocked his head, pursing his lips.

How could one hate a deity he considered so beautiful?

He said so himself.

“How?”

You blinked.

The boy continued. “How can you hate nature?”

His question took you by surprise — you did not really know the answer yourself.

It was not like you despised the earth in all its natural form. Sure, it brought you the air you breathed, the food you ate, and the water you drank. But what else had nature given you?

You soured upon seeing the Prince’s face. You did not possess the powers other Terrae citizens were gifted with. Your branch of magic was hard, unforgiving. Simply a practicality, only useful for finding resources and making weapons.

Where were your subservient vines? Where was your natural greatness?

With this in mind, you mustered up the most brutal expression you could offer to the boy before you.

“Because nature was not kind to the likes of me. So I shall not be kind to it either.”

This time, the Prince’s eyes widened even further, afraid they would pop right out of their sockets.

Once again, his mind was in a twist — how had his dearest accomplice, his most cherished friend, been unforgiving to his subjects? He would never consider himself sheltered, but this was something quite unheard of in his kingdom.

“I know you do not believe me, but this is the only explanation I can offer.” You paused, accepting your fate. “Untie me already so you can send me to prison.”

You felt something swirl beneath the boy’s brown eyes, irises sparkling with wonderment. His voice was soft, if not lost within his own thoughts.

“I believe you, jackal,” he said. With a final step towards you, he left little distance between the two of you, eyes at level with yours as you hung from the tree. “But I cannot be satisfied with it.”

Another blink, taken aback by his declaration. “Well...well, what am I supposed to do about it?”

Shocking you further, he curled a little smile upon his lips. “Well,” he started, and as the smile began to widen further, he knew just what to do.

No, he was certainly not satisfied with her accepted hatred.

“We can start by changing that.”

It was your turn for your pupils to dilate. Gods above. This boy seems one chop away from a stump.

“What do you mean?” you demanded, but the boy was already turning on his heel, looking to the surroundings. He fell to his knees, feeling the ground beneath him with his hands. “Your Highness, what are you doing?!”

He did not deem to answer your question, only counter it with his own. “Do you have a horse nearby?”

You looked at him, surprised he figured it out by merely touching the grass. “Yes, but…”

It seemed that he did not need to hear any more, as he brought a hand out, fingers stretching. A tendril of green power burst from his palm, snaking through the dark air beyond your peripheral vision. The Prince was focused on his conjury, and you wondered what in Terrae he was trying to do.

Then, you heard a distant neighing, and found Aurum following the green trail of his magic, eyes glowing slightly.

You tried to escape the tight cage of the vines. “Gods, what are you doing with my horse?!” you exclaimed. “She hates strangers!”

The magic disappeared, along with the glow in her eyes. You could tell she was confused at her surroundings, about to raise her hind legs at the boy who spelled her. “She’ll kill you!” you warned, bracing yourself to witness the death of a prince.

It was then Beomgyu stepped towards the horse, gaze sparkling with kindness.

His hand touched Aurum’s face.

With no small amount of shock, you watched as the boy whispered to your horse, stroking her muzzle. You had never seen her be so friendly to any human she’s made contact with — by Terrae, she even deigned to show attitude to you, who had fed and groomed her since she was a mere pony. How was she sweetening up to someone she had just seen?

Maybe she’s still under a spell, you thought with malice, but then a more honest thought came to mind, and it only made you angrier.

Or perhaps animals can be just as enchanted with him as humans can.

“What are you talking to her for?” you interrupted them, letting out an aggravated groan as the cocoon engulfed you tighter. “You’re sharing words with her as if she’d spread them!”

Beomgyu slid his eyes upward to you. “I was just asking Aurum if she’d like to have an apple.”

“No, I’ll give her one myself—” you tried to say, but then stopped short. “Wait. How do you know her name?”

He looked at you as if you had asked the most ridiculous question. “Because she just told me.”

You stopped struggling in the cocoon. “What did you just say? Aurum told you?”

Hands never ceasing his comforting upon the horse, he raised a quizzical brow. “Pardon me, jackal, but do you mean to tell me that you...you cannot talk to animals?”

Maybe you were not wrong to think the heir of the Earth Kingdom absolutely crazy.

He gestured to the world around you both. “Can you not sense each and every creature nearby? Can you not hear their heartbeats, in sync to their purrs and murmurs?

“Can you not hear the very trees breathe around you?”

You did not know what to say. Perhaps you did not understand his words, what he really meant by a tree breathing. Was that even possible? You thought it unimaginable.

So you offered him the only thing that remained in your mind.

“I have never felt these things.”

The hand upon Aurum’s nuzzle paused, unable to accept the statement which you offered him.

His suspicions were confirmed. Your hatred of nature and all the beings which it birthed had rid you of your powers.

He had seen this before — lost souls who had done grave wrongdoings to the earth, and as a consequence, their very instincts were snatched, right down to the basics. There was no shortage of Lumberjackals in the palace dungeons, and upon closer inspection, he saw that these woodcutters felt no connection to their surroundings. It broke his heart seeing the lack of attachment, the lack of desire for exploration and yearning for their powers, but he knew it could not be helped.

Whoever crosses nature would not be forgiven.

Still, when he inspected the confused, tired gaze of yours, searching him for any suspected lunacy, he just knew that he could not toss you in another old cell. This plan he had in mind could not occur through rotting in one place for the rest of your life.

“Worry not then, jackal.” He raised his hand, magic blooming from his palm. “I am going to change that.”

Whispering to your horse, he listened for a soft neigh before heaving atop her back, hissing at the reins and other controls tying her down. You watched with slight fear. “W-wait a minute,” you started, trying to squeeze out of the vines, but with no luck. “You’re not going to just leave me here, are you?”

Patting Aurum’s mane, he voiced out calmly, “I wish with my whole heart, but then my plan will not work.”

You pursed your lips, watching his eyes sparkle with mischief. “If you were not a prince, I would have cursed you.”

With a flick of his hand, a rush of magic travelled to your cocoon; you felt yourself turning on your front, hovering you upright as the power gravitated you back on the ground, loosening the vines.

“Not like that has stopped you before,” he merely countered as he observed you shrug off weeds in slight humiliation. “Now get on. We have somewhere to be.”

He waited a moment, sighing when you would not oblige. “Is something the matter?”

You wanted to say yes — gods, you wanted to scream at him to get off Aurum, leave you alone and let you cut trees in peace, but of course, that would be an impossible route to take. You still had no inkling of why the Prince of your kingdom was having mercy on you, and you would be quite the fool to exploit it foolishly.

With gritted teeth, you kept your complaints behind your tongue as you brought your foot on the stirrup, heaving upwards as you brought your leg to the other side, settling upon the horse. “Now,” Beomgyu began, looking over his shoulder. “There is no need to be shy. You may put your hands around me as the horse goes fast—”

“I shall be completely fine, thank you,” you interrupted him, brows furrowed. What was this prince even doing? You wondered whether he was a fraud. With that power you witnessed, though, you highly doubted it.

And his features. There is no way a commoner could possess such enchanting beauty.

Flustered, you soured even further.

“Are you ready, jackal?”

You grunted out a yes, which was enough for the boy to command Aurum to start.

The horse, against your expectation, began galloping much faster, and with a yelp you were nearly sent flying out of the seat. Your hands, on instinct, wrapped around Beomgyu’s waist, and when you realised what you had done you cursed yourself for obliging him.

You could almost hear his grin. “I told you!” he exclaimed over the noise of hooves clattering against the rocky mud.

If only you could slap the heirs of kingdoms. “Just take me where you have in mind!” you barked back. “I need to be back to Metallum at dawn.”

“That will be just enough!”

The horse swept past more trees, animals scurrying from your path as the moon lit the dim forest path. You held onto the prince for dear life, refusing to acknowledge the hard surface beneath his silk, his ethereal warmth radiating onto you.

“Hey, jackal?”

A sigh. “Yes?”

“Your horse’s name.” A pause. “Aurum.”

You looked to the trees whooshing past your vision. “What of it?”

Beomgyu whispered for the animal to slow down, scanning his surroundings for his destination. “’Gold’. A very ingenious name.”

He glanced at your irritated face, and smiled. “My mare is called Argenti.”

Your mouth parted at the little revelation.

Argenti. Silver.

Before you could say more on the matter, the boy stopped the horse, cooing at her and praising her for helping him. Swinging his leg over, he jumped off the horse gracefully. He fixed his flower crown before turning to face you, falling rather awkwardly on the grass.

A small laugh escaping him, you daggered him with your gaze as you stepped beside him, a hand on Aurum. Your stare lingered as he took a circle turn of the surroundings, moon almost winking at him as it journeyed in the blanket of night. After a while, Beomgyu pointed to the tree nearby you, stepping past you to palm its trunk. “Here we go.”

Fingers stretching, magic spluttered as it swirled into the thick expanse of the leaves, nearly covering the sky with their excess. The matter squeezed through, and brought out the hidden vines, tumbling down till they reached the roots. Grabbing onto the plants, the prince turned his head towards you, an offer in his eyes.

You hated how you understood exactly what he meant. “I am not going up with you,” you retorted.

“It’s my arms or the dungeon.”

Gulping, you swallowed down your irritation for him. Taking a step towards him, you maintained a safe distance as you made sure he was aware of your distaste. “Just get us up already.” Damn the gods for making him so aggravatingly beautiful, you thought shamelessly as you looked at him. “Your Highness.”

Perhaps he knew, for the little smile was back, wrapping his arm around your waist, and pulling you close. “That’s more like it,” he murmured out before willing his magic into motion.

Your breathing hitched as you were pulled rapidly upward by the vines, breaking through the surface of the leaves. You closed your eyes, feeling the scraping of the branches against your clothes until you felt yourself still, listening only to the deep breaths of the prince beside you. His hand was still snaked at your side.

“Open your eyes, jackal.”

Somehow, on instinct, you obliged.

And widened them further.

You were in another world entirely — the branches expanded beyond your vision, intertwining with the others from different trees, so intricately interlinked beneath your feet that they created a floor. Upon this branching surface there was a little room, decorated with every unusual object that one could identify. Beside the bed, interwoven by these branches, you saw an abundance of flowers and leaves, an lamp of glowing fireflies resting in the corner, and a thousand other items which needed further explanation.

Judging by the awe on your face, the boy answered you, heading to the small cabinet where everything was placed. “A collection of gadgets,” he began, using his magic to separate every object. “That I’ve bought or been gifted since my princedom.” He took out a few unrecognisable things and strolled to the wardrobe, made from the same intertwining branches, and opened the doors, rummaging through.

“What are you even looking for?” you asked, but were dutifully ignored as he kept searching. You admired the intricate scenery, the plush excess of leaves beneath your shoes, shielding you and the prince nearby.

You heard him let out a satisfied ah! as he closed the doors shut. He walked over to you, showing you the rather odd object — it was an unusually large ice cube, miniscule snowflakes etched onto its every side as it orbited slowly in Beomgyu’s hand.

Your curious gaze upon the gadget had him into explanation. “A present from the Ice Prince,” he said, admiring the cold gift in his palms. “It provides an infinite water supply, so is incredibly useful for long journeys.”

“Taehyun, is he not called?” You shivered at the thought. “I am shocked to think he is capable of such small kindnesses.”

Beomgyu slid his eyes to yours. “Taehyun is not the man that his subjects have painted him to be.” His irises swirled in an indecipherable emotion. “Sometimes, one cannot judge the character of another simply based on rumour alone. Only with having conversation can one truly have an honest opinion.”

A small part of you wondered if he truly meant that for Taehyun, or to you, another villain in the Earth Kingdom’s millennia-old tale. Whatever it may be, you looked away, wondering when you’d be able to leave the prince’s presence.

“Right,” you heard him say, pocketing the other unknown object in his breast pocket of his gown. “Let us go on ground once more.”

The boy was about to tug on the vines again when he was interrupted by a most unusual sound.

Well, not unusual, considering you were situated in a tree house, but the noise was so shrill you instantly looked down to its origin.

Before you was a little squirrel, cheeks puffed as its little hands perched on its sides. Its soft tail moved rapidly behind its body, indicating irritation.

Its small, black eyes were fixated upon the boy beside you. Letting out yet another squeak, you saw Beomgyu sigh out in exasperation, as if he had just remembered an important matter.

“Oh gods, I do apologise!” He exclaimed, falling to his knees as he held his free hand out, the other holding the hovering ice cube still. “I’m afraid I cannot feed you now, but would you be able to wait?”

The squirrel let out another squeak, and this time the prince flinched. You gawked at the scene — so not only can he command the trees, but he could talk to animals?

What can this boy not do?

“Ji, I am sorry!” Fishing out an acorn from his breast pocket, he offered it before him. “I have one, if it helps! I promise to feed you properly after I am done with a certain task.”

Even so, the animal seemed much unimpressed. It then turned its little head to you, and you could have sworn that its eyes judged your very soul.

It squeaked some more, and this time Beomgyu widened his eyes, cheeks flushing. “By Mother Nature, no!” He bellowed out, panicked eyes fleeting towards you. “No, I just met her today.”

“Are you talking about me?” You asked, raising a brow. The squirrel then made another sound, one you could not decipher but, judging from the boy’s reaction, could definitely take a wild guess. “By gods, is this creature mocking me?”

You were rewarded with further squeaking, but was instantly silenced by Beomgyu. “Ji, no! I cannot have you being sarcastic tonight. Save your grievances for tomorrow morning!”

And as the prince scooped the squirrel in his hand, he walked over to the bed, settling it on the sheets. “Stay here. I will be back.”

There was sure to be complaints, but the boy kept sending looks of apology as he stepped back to the edge of the exit, tugging on the vines. “Deeply sorry for Jisung’s behaviour,” he said, swirling the cube slowly. “He is grumpier tonight as I have not fed him this evening.”

“A pet squirrel, huh?” You interrogated, looking down to the grass below. “And one you can talk to? Is that how you could communicate with Aurum?”

Nodding, the prince held his arm out. “Are we ready?”

You hurrying my shook your head. “Not again!” You crossed your arms. “I’ll slide down myself. Without your help.”

Shrugging, the boy held on tighter to the vine. “Your wish, jackal,” he said, and jumped down. Perking up, you squatted down to see him descend smoothly down the tree, landing perfectly on the grass.

Grabbing onto the plant, you looked back to the grumpy pet, stuffing the acorn in his mouth.

He then stuck his tongue out, and you gasped at the audacity. “Rude!” You shouted, but we’re only answered with shrill squeaking. Ignoring the creature, you took the vine by both hands, and followed suit.

Your descent was much less graceful, landing instead on your backside. You were met with the huffed laughter of the prince, and you forced down the urge to beat him with his stupid flower crown. Or perhaps tie these vines around his neck and strangle him.

No, that would only result in him using his silly magic. Awful, attractive bastard.

“What are we doing now, Highness?” You wondered out loud, rubbing your sore backside. “Do tell me there is some use of your rather odd ice cube.”

Beomgyu, after strolling further into the woods, slowed himself for you to catch up. “There is some use, unfortunately for you.” He waved you over, stepping past the wild bushes in his path. “Follow me, jackal!” he called out to you.

Grudgingly, you did as he asked, hugging yourself from the cold breeze of the midnight, wondering where in Terrae he was trying to take you. The trees towered over you like intimidating strangers — if the prince spoke true, then you wouldtuly be unwelcome.

You were surrounded by this coercion until the forest opened up to an open grassland, encircled by the nature which looked down at you. Beomgyu turned to you, bringing out a few seeds from his trouser pockets and standing right in the middle of the circle.

“There you are,” he said as you stepped beside him. He glanced at the moon, measuring the amount of time he had left.

“What are you going to do?” you asked him, still clueless regarding the whole situation. Why has he not sent you to the dungeons already?

His eyes travelled to your face. With a half-soft scoff, he held out his hand, the seeds now in perfect view. “It is not what I’m going to do,” he began. “It is what you are going to do.”

The confusion grew within you. “What do you mean?” you tried to clarify. “What am I to do with these seeds?”

Beomgyu’s eyes promised answers. “Bring out your hand, jackal.”

You did as you were told, holding out your hand as he put the seeds in your palm, fingers barely brushing against your skin. He then descended, knees upon the grass as he patted to the space beside you. “Come, sit.”

Pursing your lips in thought, you knelt before the grass, seeds in your enclosed fist as your gaze never strayed from the boy. “Your Highness—”

Magic oozing from his fingers interrupted your demand, slipping into the earth. Slowly, but surely, a small hole was separated by the green matter, dirt being shovelled to create a dip in the grassland.

Once he ceased his conjuring, he jerked his head towards the new opening. “Place the seeds in the hole,” he instructed. “Gently now! Treat them with the utmost care.”

Grumbling in response, you leaned forward as you gingerly put each seed at the corners of the muddy dip, noticing a small spark with each placement of the grain. It was a bizarre feeling, but assumed it normal in the ways of gardening as you inserted the dirt over them, covering them fully.

You peered at the prince then, who brought out the large ice cube. Turning it rapidly, treacle of water dripped down to the ground, moistening the earth and feeding the seeds of its necessities. Putting the gadget back in his storage belt, he then returned his hand upon the damp mound, closing his eyes in a fixated peace. More magic swirled from his hands, but this time it encircled not only the place where you had placed the seeds, but you, all of you, engulfing you in its otherworldly warmth.

“Your Highness?” You whispered out, but he was murmuring, murmuring words you could not comprehend, words which felt like you were not meant to hear. His curls were being lifted slightly with the tendrils of his power, but he stayed rooted to his spot, carrying on with what you feared was a grotesque ritual.

You, too, became still when you felt fingers curl around your hand.

On instinct you looked at him, eyes widening — you should have expected his hand to radiate some form of heat, considering this boy had such an unusual glow about him, but this…

Despite the soft chaos around the two of you, the touch was oddly comforting.

His hand, dragging you out of your thoughts, led yours to the place you sowed the little grains of life, and spread apart your fingers till they covered nearly the entire, dug up earth. More matter escaped from his fingers, shooting further warmth upon the back of your hand, and travelling up to your heart.

“Close your eyes, jackal,” you heard him chant from his cocoon of magic. “I need you to see from within.”

“See what?!” You beseeched, but his fingers held onto you a little tighter, and, as if he commanded your very body, had your eyelids descend shut, cornering you into the chambers of your mind.

See from within.

What could you see?

Darkness. Eternal darkness, and rusted iron, spilled mercury, and all the grim faces of the people who wanted to decimate the very place you knelt in.

I cannot see! You screamed in your mind, because in the whirlwind of his power you felt alone, trapped in your own mind, trying to join in on a ritual which would cursed the likes of you.

But in reality, you were not alone.

No, not when you felt something foreign in your body.

You swore you stopped breathing.

Your fingers felt squeezed by another, but was ignored because you could see a whole other heartbeat which was not your own.

A familiar voice entered your mind.

“Do you see it?”

The prince’s voice; the soft, almost desperate inquiry, which you could not help but answer.

“Yes...yes, by Terrae, I do see it.”

And perhaps he said some more, but you were not listening to his words. His speech seemed a little insignificant to the little heartbeat — it was as faint as the scent of departure, delicate as a snowflake, and as real as yourself, the prince, and the neverending forest.

When you tried to lift your hand, Beomgyu’s fingers halted you still. You could not believe that you did not mind it. “Whose...whose is it, your Highness?”

You were positive that he did not hear you with the lack of volume you let slide from your tongue. However, he answered your question, almost feeling the joy radiating from his response.

“The seeds.”

Shocked, you opened your eyes, and found the Prince of Earth staring at you with an elevated joy. He gestured to observe your creation, and when your eyes fell upon the sliver of a stem which broke through the earth, between the spaces of your fingers, you wondered whether this was all a dream.

You could not help the curse which escaped you. The boy beside you spluttered into laughter, and you turned to see his face radiating with elation. The heartbeat, the one which you thought was under your control, proved you wrong as it skipped its beat along to his laughs.

“Wh-what are you laughing at?” You demanded, but you were unable to execute it with the anger you wish you held for him. He offered you a honeypot of smiles.

“You’ve brought life to the forest, sweet jackal.”

The little plant shivered in response, along with your own hairs at the back of your neck, which stood at his announcement. Its faint heartbeat grew louder, as well as your own in your ears.

“Do you feel it now?” he whispered, leaning ever so close as he looked to the forest around you. “Do you feel the trees breathing in your presence?”

Unfortunately, although you could sense your plant’s essence, the heartbeats of every tree in the forest were still unheard. You shook your head no, but that did not wipe the grin off his face.

“We have time,” he reassured you. “Just know that Mother Nature has hope for you still.”

He took your hand, putting another upon the back as he brought you a different kind of warmth. “I have hope for you.”

You parted your mouth, unaccustomed to the contact, the kindness...to all that he represented.

His eyes locked with yours, and although he had spared you the wrath of his palace dungeons, you feared whether you could escape the imprisonment of his gaze.

There was no doubt in your mind as you let yourself be arrested into his stare — the Prince of the Earth was not going to haunt just a single night.

FRATERNISING WITH THE HEIR OF REGNA TERRAE WOULD BE THE DEATH OF YOU.

Of course, that was not the last time you saw him — you had become something of a personal project to him, a sin which must be reversed. Almost every night after the fateful encounter, you snuck out from the fences of the Metallum villages, barely evading the suspicious eyes of the Kim brothers, and met with him under his treehouse.

You did not know why you endeavoured so ardently in seeing him. It was not like he had become any less irritable with his amused grins and unmatched power, but there was something about him which you could not fend off.

In a way, he made you believe you were worth more than simple woodcutting, selling oaks in the market, the empty promises of revenge against the Natural Kingdom.

Somehow, he made you realise that, maybe, you truly were deserving of a more memorable path.

These very thoughts accompanied you as the sun began to set, pulling your hood over your head as you swept past the familiar trees, reining in the urge to greet every woodland creature which scurried past you. The past few weeks, after many misunderstood arguments with the Prince’s pet squirrel, you learned the slight quirks which the animal possessed, his every movement and what it would signify. You had Beomgyu to thank once again, but each time you wished to do so, he would say the same, hair-rising reassurance.

“Fret not, sweet jackal. It is a pleasure to show you the wonders of nature.”

Sweet jackal. The endearment made you so flustered, and that aggravated you to the greatest extent. You had already shared your name with the boy, but he insisted on calling you this name, as if the two of you had already established an intimacy from decades before.

The very thought had your actual heartbeat racing.

You made sure to completely dismiss this foolery as you found the special opening of the grassland in sight, the glowing figure waving you over. A small smile involuntarily curled at your lips, hurrying closer till you fully saw Prince Beomgyu’s face clearly in the setting sun.

“You have arrived much earlier this evening,” he said in a way of greeting, fixing his flower crown as his squirrel played with the petals. “I would not say I’m displeased.”

On your part, you certainly were not either — he bore more finery than usual, his normal green gown threaded with gold swirls at the hems, small vines tied around his ears as natural jewellery. His hair was sprinkled with petals, a trait Jisung adored as he settled in the nest of his locks. His hands, too, were intertwined with dark vines, swirls wrapped around his fingers like extended rings.

By the gods, he truly was an exquisite being.

He noticed your silence, raising a groomed brow. “Is something the matter?” he asked, but when he saw your eyes dart to anywhere but his own, he immediately understood. You just managed to catch a satisfied quirk of his lips before he turned his attention to your plant.

Following his trail, you brightened up to see your creation in full bloom — bright red poppies, stark against the pool of grass, stood as they swayed to the evening breeze. You knelt down to observe them closer, and felt a peculiar sense of pride at sensing their clear heartbeat harmonising with yours.

“They’re my favourite flower,” the boy said behind you. “I have always adored how they stand out amongst all the others.”

Watching the poppies almost dance in the cool air, you stood upwards once again. “Then why do you not wear them?” you asked out of curiosity.

“Because my parents do not like me wearing them.” He gestured to the flower crown, at risk of being torn up by Jisung. “They say the colour is too harsh.”

He clicked his tongue in irritation. “At least they could have spared me on my birthday.”

You were about to comment on his parents when those words escaped his mouth. Your own mouth parted in surprise. “Your birthday is today?”

The prince mocked being stabbed in the chest, nearly sending the squirrel to the trees. Taking Jisung from his hair, he propped him on his shoulder. “You have truly wounded me, ____!” he whined. “All this time together, and you had no inkling?”

Although he was only jesting, it only embarrassed you further. “I truly am sorry, your Highness!” you apologised, clasping your hands together. “If I had known, I would have made you a present.”

“Oh?” He took a step towards you. His eyes danced in mirth. “And what would you have made me?”

That seemed to rob you of your speech. “Well, um…” you trailed off, searching your now useless mind of any decent idea for a gift, but he waved off your fluster, chuckling.

“It is no problem, dear jackal,” he said, looking at the red flowers once more. “Seeing your poppies in full growth is a gift to me anyway.”

You wished he had not said that; glancing at them now, you could only hear his fascination within the petals.

There he was again — staining your every entity of his remnants. How much more till he stains your very soul?

Jisung’s irritated squeak brought you back to the forest. You tried not to murder the damned creature as you muttered out, “Thank you, Your Highness.”

Beomgyu groaned out. “I shan’t have you calling me that hideous title all the time.” He put a hand to his chest. “Have we not reached first name basis?”

Despite your surprise, you offered him a scoff. “Jackal is not my first name,” you jeered. “And please. You’re the prince of our land. Anyone who catches me being informal with you will surely have my head.”

“I would never let them,” he merely said. “Not before I show you one last part of the forest.”

You quirked a quizzical brow. “I think you’ve shown me half your kingdom by now.”

“But this is...quite different.”

The boy stepped closer to you, reaching out his hand. You found yourself warming up as he enveloped it with yours, a gesture so small yet so triggering to your nerves.

“Follow me, ____.”

With the tug of his fingers, you were led out of the grasslands and back into the jungles of Regna Terrae, catching familiar sights of ancient mahoganies and birches, different variations of trees all grouped together.

As the moon began to ascend, your anxiety increased. His hand worked wonders for your skin, but at the back of your mind, you could not shake off the image of the Kim brothers wondering where you had gone so long.

Especially Namjoon. Seokjin and Taehyung may have been much simpler in the brain, but the leader of the trio bore his suspicions of your whereabouts. He always knew you were never enthusiastic of your occupation as a Lumberjackal, so your sudden interest to roam the woodlands for hours into the night certainly had his ears perking. Of course, you always made sure to know that you were going without being followed, but in the end, the three brothers were quite unpredictable.

You just hoped that whatever the prince had to show you, it would be seen quick enough to leave.

The density of the forest began to increase, and you soon began to doubt whether you had been to this part of the Kingdom before. It was then Beomgyu’s hands flowed with magic, and completely changed the scenery. The ancient trees, trunks as wide and thick as horses began to move apart to make way for him and you, the squirrel holding onto his shoulder tightly as it too squeaked in surprise. Your own eyes widened as each element of nature bent to his will, creating an easier path for his boots to step onto.

It was clearly a sight for admiration. These few weeks you had begun to realise the power of the earth, and how rich and true its roots lay. You felt the faint hum of their essences as you rushed past them, hand still clasped with his, and you dipped your head in thanks to the trees, hoping that one day you would hear them sing welcomes to you.

Slowing down, the group was barred by the curtain of thick vines, hiding you from the world behind. “I have never seen this before,” you wondered out loud, but when Beomgyu let go of your hand, and stepped forward, hands stretched out, your curiosity reigned further.

Jisung quickly scurried from his shoulder, ending up on the muddied path as he watched with black eyes of the phenomenon about to occur. You made to make fun of the squirrel when the prince let out an aggravated moan, hurling your head to his direction.

His heavenly voice chanted in a millennia old language, huge power emitting from his finger tips and swirling to the tumbling vines of the entrance. You could see the sweat beading down his forehead at the sheer effort it took, but he stayed rooted, sending surges of green matter to the cold nature.

Slowly, the curtain began to withdraw. Blinding light cut through, and when the boy let out a roar, pushing the whole family of vines apart you hid your head from the white bursting through.

There was a deathly silence for a singular moment.

You heard his ragged breathing, lasting for ten seconds before it turned into relieved, panted chuckling.

Bringing your hand away from your face, you looked to see beyond the curtain.

Your very breath was snatched from your lungs.

Before you was the most enchanting deity of nature you had ever seen in your existence — it was a glowing white tree, trunk as wide as the two of you twice over, etched with milky-coloured wrinkles that contained sparkles of ancient magic. The leaves, much like finely cut diamonds, protruded from every branch which stretched towards every corner the eye could see. The diamonds were infinite, shining from the gentle light of the moon.

Even though you had never seen it before, you knew exactly what it was.

“The Tree of Life.”

Your gaze dared to break away to see the prince for a second, whose own breathing seemed to have halted. Sensing your stare, he looked back at you, his face half glowing from the deity’s light.

“I...I thought it did not—” you tried to say, but of course you could not when it was right there before you, as if it had been waiting to be found all its life.

“Exist?” He took a step forward. “Every myth is borne from truth after all.”

Indeed it was — you had learned of the Tree of Life when you were a mere girl, listening to fairy tales before being told to sleep. This Tree could not be seen by the common man, and legend foretold that there lived an otherworldly creature inside its trunk. Evidently, no one could prove this theory, but its mystery had what inspired so many people, metal and earthbenders alike, to find it, for opposing reasons.

You knew why Namjoon wanted to find it — for the amount of gold a singular leaf could bring him. Now, having accused him of believing in fantasies, you almost felt ashamed for having ridiculed his searches.

“Come.”

You perked up at the Prince’s voice.

“You must get a closer look.”

Picking up the pace of your feet, you fell into step beside him as the two of you started towards the legend come to life. The closer you approached the more enchanting it looked — the leaves glistened further, as if greeting you with their shine.

Jisung scurried between you both, his little head never straying from the Tree. It let out an awed squeak, and Beomgyu hummed in agreement.

“Have you ever seen anything like it?”

You shook your head, transfixed. “Never,” you responded, feeling the very earth shift beneath your feet.

If nothing else convinced you of the power of nature, then the existence of this deity certainly did.

You stepped past the boy, the grass hushed beneath your feet as you stretched out your hand. When your fingers touched the milky bark your breath shuddered out of you. It was simply unreal. The touch was surprisingly soft, so unlike the normal trees, and with each crack of the bark there was ancient writing inscripted within. With further shock you felt a very distant heartbeat as the fingers ran along the words, faint yet powerful.

By the gods.

“Where have you been hiding all this time?” you whispered to the Tree, tracing the aged trunk. “Your Highness, is everything about the legend true?”

There was no response — you figured he was still star-struck, and you continued to admire the most beautiful force you had ever seen.

It was not until you heard Jisung’s shrill squeak that you turned around.

You felt your soul leave your body.

Because there he was, the one man you dreaded to see. The one man who held Beomgyu’s unconscious body in his hands as he dropped him upon the grass. You noticed the little dart on the side of his neck, and all the blood in your body was drained.

Kim Namjoon.

His answering smirk was more a flash of teeth. “Do you believe me now, ____?”

You backed up against the Tree, eyes darting to the prince. “What did you do to him?” you asked instead, voice void of any emotion.

“That does not matter,” he dismissed. “But of course, it would matter to you now that you’ve attached yourself to him.”

He took a step forward, his ebony machete glinting in the light of the phenomenon behind you. “Stand aside, girl. It is time to make our fortunes.”

On instinct, you stretched a hand out. “I cannot.”

The man was taken aback by your hesitance. “Whatever the gods do you mean?”

Gulping, you tried to steel your will, inhaling slowly. “I cannot let you do it, Namjoon.” Your eyes glanced at the still prince before glaring at the perpetrator. “You won’t get a single branch of the Tree.”

A harsh laugh escaped him, taking a step forward. “Oh, and you’re going to stop me?”

You brought out your own sword — the one which you promised to use on Beomgyu — and raised it toward him. “Do not come any further,” you warned.

It seemed the man was not not going to compromise.

Not when he swung his machete, well on his way to hack you to pieces.

You quickly brought your weapon upon you to deflect his aim, sending him forward, and away from the Tree.

He can try and hurt the Tree of Life.

Easily gaining step, Namjoon mustered his power, ebony sharpening from his fingers as he clashed against you, lightening-fast strikes of his machete having you strained. You never doubted the bastard’s swordsmanship — he was skilled enough to be a general in the King’s royal army.

A shame he chose his fighting for a darker purpose.

You tried to slice the free space of his abdomen, but the man was sharp, quickly dodging as he swerved to the side, another clash of weapons ringing around the forest.

“You cannot beat me, ____!” He roared, one hit after the other, sending you further back.

Taking every hit, you stumbled, gaining your step yet staggering once again with his sword. After all, you could not outsmart the master; he was the man who taught you to fight.

Even so, you refused to give up. “I can die trying!” You seethed as he brought his strength down. His weapon, screeching against your own, slowly descended, closer and closer to your neck.

A harsh groan escaping, you mustered all your strength into sending his machete aside, barely a spare second in your name before you whirled to your left, missing the power blow.

“All this for a bloody tree!” He screeched, thundering towards you. “We would have been rich, you fool!”

Another mighty hit, and you were sent back, averting his strikes with your sword. Because you were so exhausted, your magic would not burst from your hands, adding more power to your weapon. It was your melee strength, nearly all gone, and your nimble feet.

“What is all this for?!” He demanded, slicing at your cloak, cutting through the fabric of your trousers. The clash of weapons continued, faster and faster. “What is worth more than all the riches of the Kingdom?!”

Amidst the brawl, your eyes slipped to the figure before you. Distant, yet instantly recognisable with his eyes closed, and mouth parted, flower crown scattered around his head. Jisung, too, laid injured beside him, watching your fight with fear in his little eyes.

What is all this for?

You only had one person in mind.

But that was not enough.

No, not when that sliver of a second gave Namjoon enough time to strike you, sending his machete straight into your stomach.

A shuddered gasp escaped you as the machete entered through — a burst of pain shot through your entire body, echoing the fatality of your situation. Tears stung your eyes as you dropped your sword, looking at your opponent in the eyes.

The Leader of the Lumberjackals showed no mercy as he yanked out his weapon.

A moan rushed past your lips as you fell to your knees, gripping your blood-gushing stomach. Namjoon gazed down at you with no remorse at all. “Perhaps he was not enough,” he said, cold as metal.

He stepped past you, focusing on the glistening Tree of Life, its white treasures still exalted in the moonlight. Your body, completely spent, could not hold you upright, falling straight into the grass. Straining, you cried out as you stretched your hand out in vain efforts to stop him, but it was simply no use.

You had been defeated.

And now, after witnessing the most perfect element of nature you had ever seen, you were to watch it be decimated.

This is how it ended. You, fumbling for your last breath, your prince nearby and probably dead.

Namjoon raked his eyes over the Tree, grinning wildly. “Oh, you are going to make me the richest man in the Kingdom,” he declared, raising his machete till it hovered just before the bottom of the trunk.

He elevated his voice so you could hear. “Enjoy watching me destroy what you sacrificed yourself for!”

Closing your eyes, you were about to let oblivion take over.

You awaited the sound of his weapon against the bark.

What you heard was something completely different.

An explosion filled your ears as white light, even more blinding than the one before, had you squeezing your eyes further shut. You made out the screams of your once leader as it was drowned out by the eruption, and you tried to see what had so suddenly occurred, only to be greeted with more brazen lights.

What...what was going on?

When the deafening noise quietened, you picked up on the soft crunch of grass, edging closer and closer to you. A compelling force was felt against your dying soul, and you wondered if the Reaper had finally come to take you.

When you felt air-light hands on your abdomen, you did not expect death to be so warm.

Slowly, dragging open your eyes, you prepared yourself to be taken to the afterlife.

What you saw instead was something else entirely.

Something which made even the Tree of Life as a mediocre enchantment.

Looking over you was not human — not with the glowing, shimmering skin, sparkles and shine radiating off its golden, liquid body. Her eyes were white with the same light you had seen twice this evening, fluid locks of hair flowing all around her. Her lips offered a radiant smile, already bringing some life back into you, and her whole body, although similar to yours, was free of attire, exuding the light of a star.

Perhaps you truly were dead.

The being, however, proved you wrong with her words.

“Brave human,” she began, and her velvet voice had you clutching your stomach. “I saw what you did to defend me.”

You tried to open your mouth to tell her that you defended the Tree, but then your eyes dilated at the revelation.

The legend foretold that there lived an otherworldly creature inside its trunk.

But this...this god-like creature was not just a mere girl.

“You sacrificed yourself for my Tree,” she stated, voice echoing across the woodlands. “For my forest, my every creation, despite being an enemy of mine in the past.

“You deserve a token of my gratitude.”

Her voice nearly put you to sleep with the way it lulled in the midnight air. You wondered in your tired mind what she could offer you now that you were breathing your last breath.

Then, you felt her hands upon your stomach.

A loud groan escaped your lips as the torn flesh began to stitch on its own accord, courtesy of the magic which poured from the sublime being. Your whole body worked to heal you, reversing the damage done by your once leader, whose whereabouts you had no inkling of.

The pain, which once tore at every nerve within you, began to fade away, and you opened your eyes further after gaining the strength, fully taking in the earthly spirit which had restored you.

You parted your mouth, voice parched as you rasped out, “I...Beomgyu…”

A heavenly smile curled at her lips. “The prince is fine, soldier. It would take more than a dart to eliminate the heir of the Earth.”

A relieved breath left your lips. You then looked to the being, putting your hands above hers. “I am not who I was,” you whispered.

Mother Nature smiled down at you, and you knew then and there that perhaps the world is not so cruel after all.

“I know, brave human.”

The luminous creature ascended to her feet, letting go of your hands. She dipped her head in acknowledgment, and turned on her heel. Struggling to your side, you watched as the otherworldly figure stepped up to the Tree of Life, looking at you one last time.

Raising a hand to her chin, she blew some magic towards your way, bathing you in sparkles. With a final beam, she slipped into the tree, enlivening the whole structure till it stood straight once again.

You truly could not believe what you saw.

Feeling the glimmer dancing on your skin, however, you knew this was not a figment of your imagination.

Mother Nature saved you from death.

Truly, utterly, ethereal.

Your thoughts were interrupted when you heard soft coughing nearby, and you heaved upward at the sound, your strength all present.

Beomgyu.

Upon your feet, you rushed to where he lay, stumbling from the hurrying as you fell to your knees, hands clinging onto his face. Jisung, his injuries healed from the celestial visit, scurried upon his owner’s chest, waiting for him to awaken.

“Beomgyu?” You murmured out, fingers stroking the soft planes of his cheeks. “Beomgyu, damn you, open your eyes!”

Tilting his face till it faced you, you watched as the prince’s eyes fluttered open, tired and wide and absolutely beautiful.

A trembling breath gasped out of you. “What…” he grated out, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles. “What just...happened?”

You willed the tears in as you caressed his face. “The legend was true.”

His confused gaze had you continuing. “Beomgyu, I saw the celestial creature when I was dying, and she saved me. It was true, Beomgyu, she healed me with her hands and—”

Your rambling ceased when the boy brought his fingers to your face. Warmth flooded your cheeks, and not because of how hot his hands were.

His smile could have easily beaten Mother Nature’s.

“You called me Beomgyu.”

He did not let you respond as he brought your face down to his, tilting it slightly as he pressed his lips against yours, enveloping you in a sweet kiss.

His mouth was warm, just like him, soft and plush, rendering you helpless over him. Your shock was quite prevalent, but you let the affection take over as you kissed him back, hands carding in his curls. He moved against your lips as his fingers stroked down to your jaw, savouring every feathered touch.

When he broke away, his breathing was ragged, cheeks flushed. He saw your own dishevelled gaze and chuckled to himself.

“I think this might be the best birthday present I have ever received.”

The Prince of Regna Terrae laughed some more when you refused to meet his eyes.

You were about to counter him when you heard another, completely new voice.

“You both could have done that without me being here.”

Your stare dove to his chest, to the direction of the sound.

Jisung the squirrel glared at you with the entire irritation of the Kingdom. “Oh what? So now you can hear me?!”

A yelp resounded from you. “How are you talking?!” You screeched. “You’re a bloody animal!”

“Oh, thank you so very much for stating the blatantly obvious!” He drawled, and you could not comprehend the sarcasm that just came from a bloody woodland creature.

You peered at Beomgyu, who was just as surprised as you were, despite his entertained features. “____,” he started, sitting up straighter. “Does this mean—”

Getting to your feet, you looked around the forest, the Tree of Life standing proudly.

It was then you sensed the heartbeat.

Not just your own, or the poppies — but of the entirety of the Kingdom.

Faraway, yet still present, it thumped against your chest like an echo of your own heart, a harmonisation of all the trees, bushes, flowers and animals. It was almost enchanting how it slowly thudded within you, and with such welcome.

Like greeting a friend you had not seen for a long time.

When you caught the Prince’s gaze, his entire face lit up.

Before you could say anymore, you were swept into the boy’s arms, engulfing you with a hug of eternal warmth. His voice rang along your soul as he declared to the whole word.

“Nature has accepted you, ____!”

You heard the clicked tongue of Jisung beneath you, and Beomgyu brought you at arm’s length before sticking out his tongue at his pet.

He looked to you once more, and saw the very emotions you dared not let yourself believe in.

“I knew you were capable of change, sweet jackal.”

The tears, this time, refused to be held back any longer.

The boy melted as he swept away each tumbling drop with his fingers, clutching your face.

As you leaned in this time, kissing him breathlessly, you tasted the smile which flourished upon his lips, drinking in your every essence.

You wondered, thinking away as your heart beat faster, whether this was still a dream, a vision which would end the moment you woke up, back in the cold village you once called your home.

When you felt the presence of the celestial being again, looking down from the branches of the Tree of Life, you knew that this was no delusion.

Pulling away, you turned Beomgyu to the glistening, living structure, both of you catching sight of her.

Mother Nature smiled at her heirs.

The both of you knew it in your hearts, simultaneously beating.

The heirs of Regna Terrae would not let her down.

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hrina · 3 years

Text

The Thrill of the Chase, Pt. I

PAIRING: Harry x Reader RATING: M WORD COUNT: 3.6k REQUESTED: no

hi! it’s been a while since i’ve posted something on here lol, i wonder if anyone still remembers me 🤕

this is PART 1 of the hunter!AU that i’ve been writing. while the story is a patreon-exclusive, my patrons gave me permission to post the first chapter here on tumblr for anyone who’s curious about the kind of content i offer on patreon.

if you want to read the rest of this series and unlock access to my other exclusive work, you can sign up for my patreon here. and as always, please reblog the fics you like and leave feedback for the authors, because we pour a lot of time and effort into our stories. happy reading 💌

~*~

Harry’s life is simple.

He performs only the essentials—wakes up and eats an apple for breakfast. Drizzles some lemon juice into his flask of water to keep his teeth healthy and clean. Shrugs on a few heavy furs. Lets Magnus outside to keep him from howling and pawing at the door. Sharpens his arrows. Knocks on the threshold of the cabin once for good luck. Goes hunting.

Upon returning, he crouches next to the firepit, laying out his kills and skinning them. He cooks one for himself—something small, like a squirrel, or a rabbit. Others, he saves for the market—fox, deer, coyote, boar. The pelts, tusks, and antlers are extremely sought-after (particularly by nobles), and often earn enough coin to carry him through the rest of the week.

He doesn’t entertain visitors, because who in their right mind would trek up the side of a mountain just to seek out one lonely hunter? Despite that, he’s come to appreciate his solitude. The silence is familiar—comfortable. Besides, Magnus proves both excellent and useful company, if the sheer volume of their kills offers any indication.

A simple life for a simple man.

Harry doesn’t need anyone else.

“Ready to go, mutt?”

He scratches behind Magnus’ droopy ears. One of the hound’s hindlegs thumps frantically in response. Harry chuckles, slinging his bow over his right shoulder and pulling open the cabin door.

“Come on, then.”

The sky is a dark, cloudy grey, and the smell of oncoming rain is unmistakable. Still, the two of them persevere, ducking past the trees at the edge of the clearing.

It’s a bad day to hunt.

With the threat of a storm looming just above the canopy, the animals have forgone their typical foraging patterns in favour of taking shelter. Harry only manages to kill a rabbit, and even then, it’s a messy shot. He usually gets them right through the eye—a quick, neat splice that results in minimal suffering. This time, however, his foot slips on a damp stone; he fumbles, and the arrow buries itself into the creature’s stomach.

“Fuck.”

The rabbit is still alive when he reaches it, its furry body heaving with shaky, uneven breaths. Harry kneels down, apologising quietly. His hand finds the scabbard strapped to his waist, and he draws a silver dagger from its depths.

He slits the poor hare’s throat just as rain begins to fall.

It’s easy work, after that. He pins the animal’s fluffy forelimbs together, tying them in place with thick, coarse rope. Magnus whimpers as Harry slides the creature’s limp body over his shoulder. He shoots the hound a tired look and shakes his head. Damp brown curls stick to his temples.

“Think that’s enough for today.”

The two of them have nearly made it back home—Harry’s boots squelch as he jumps over the small creek that flows close to the clearing—when Magnus perks up, lifting his snout and sniffing the air.

“What is it, mutt?” Harry asks.

Magnus releases a loud bark and takes off in the direction of the cabin. Harry sprints after him, one hand clutching his game while the other wraps around the leather grip of his bow.

“Magnus!” he yells.

The dog skids to a stop next to the wide trunk of a tree. He barks again and wags his tail feverishly.

Harry releases his bow, approaching with slow, cautious steps.

“What’s got you so—shit.”

You’re slumped in the mud, unconscious. Harry’s gaze rakes over your form, from your tattered blue gown to the leaves and twigs tangled in your hair. There are a few cuts littered across your face, arms, and chest. Rivulets of blood trickle down your wrist, spiderwebbing across your skin.

Magnus sticks his tongue out and pants.

“Good boy,” Harry mutters, bestowing a rugged caress atop the hound’s head.

He gathers you into his arms, paying no mind to the extra weight of your sodden dress. Your neck lolls over his bicep, sternum rising and falling with shallow, barely-there breaths. Harry carries you out of the forest and into the clearing. When he kicks open the cabin door, your eyelids flutter.

“Bear?” you mumble, lifting your head slightly. Your voice is grating, hoarse.

He looks at you. Your face contorts for only a moment before you slouch back into oblivion.

He sets you down onto the thick, woven rug splayed out in front of the hearth. He works quickly, shrugging off his furs and his game and discarding all of it without a second thought. Rain thrums against the roof, but the sound is lost amidst his heavy footsteps.

He hurries into his bedroom and pulls open the top drawer of his wooden dresser, fumbling for a glass jar and a spool of bandages. When his fingers finally make contact with the desired supplies, he darts back into the other room and kneels beside your motionless body.

He draws his dagger again, gripping the intricate material of your gown and slicing through it. Your corset proves far more challenging, practically embedded into your skin. He sets his knife aside, not willing to risk it. Instead, he hooks his fingers beneath the top of the girdle, rough knuckles brushing against your soft bosom. With a mighty tug, the structured fabric splits under his palms.

He screws open the lid on the jar and dips his thumb inside. The salve is sticky, viscous, and smells faintly of lavender. He smears it across your scrapes before inspecting your wrist.

The flesh is slashed and bloodied—how did you acquire such an injury? Canines? Claws? Harry uses the frayed edges of your dress to clean the mess. He then unwinds a few bindings from their roll, expertly bandaging your wound.

Once he’s finished, he sits back on his haunches, expelling a stale breath. His work is far from over—he needs to wash you, to scrub off all the dirt and grime staining your skin. He’ll go down to the creek with a cloth, he thinks, and saturate it with cool water. He’ll pick the leaves and branches out of your hair, and cover you in spare furs to keep you warm. He’ll prepare a hot meal so that you may eat when you wake. You’ll be ravenous, certainly.

These thoughts whirl around in his head, along with the realisation that you might expire here, lying on an old rug in the middle of a stranger’s secluded home. Still, he watches your chest rise, swelling with proof of your vitality. The sight puts him at ease.

Harry aims a cursory glance over his shoulder. Magnus is stationed at the door, wet snout resting on the ground. The dog gazes at your limp body with big, solemn eyes, as though he somehow understands the severity of the situation.

“Don’t worry, mutt,” Harry tells him, knees shuffling against the floor. “I won’t let her die.”

~*~

Three days pass.

Harry curtails the duration of his hunts. He kills only the essentials: a hare or a squirrel, something small enough to cook over the fire. He has enough coin saved up from his previous trades to last him another few trips to the market.

Every morning, he prepares a simple, homely meal for you should you wake. When you do not, he eats the food in your place—he’ll be damned if it goes to waste.

On the fourth day, he carries a bowl of soup into his room. He’s expecting to see you tucked into his bed, still unconscious. Instead, you’re alert, sitting upright and studying your surroundings. The furs that previously covered your body now pool around your waist, exposing your naked chest. When you catch sight of Harry lingering in the doorway, you gasp, fumbling for the pelts and clutching them to your sternum.

“You’re up,” he says gruffly, stepping through the threshold.

You scramble back, eyes widening in fear. He pauses.

You’re afraid, he realises, tilting his head to the side. This may be more difficult than he initially thought.

“Soup,” he says slowly, holding out the small clay bowl in his hands. “You need to eat.”

“Who are you?” you ask. Your voice is patchy and frail. “Where am I?”

He sets the dish down onto his dresser before shooting you a stern, expectant look.

“Eat.”

Upon exiting the room, he strains his ears and listens carefully. The creak of a loose floorboard—you’ve climbed out of bed. The sound of nimble footsteps pattering across the ground—you’re moving toward the door. And finally, the quiet scrape of clay against wood, indicating that your hunger has prevailed.

He nods to himself.

You’re not dead. That’s a start.

~*~

That evening, Harry is perched next to the firepit outside the cabin. The orange sun crawls down the horizon, kissing the tops of the trees. He basks in the warmth, knowing that it will soon be eradicated by the cool chill of nightfall.

He fiddles with the spit poised above the flames. He caught another rabbit, today. The creature’s fur is laid out across the grass, scrubbed clean of blood. The rest of it cooks over the fire, darkening with each passing minute.

A faint creak reaches Harry’s ears. He perks up, glancing at the door.

You hover just beyond the threshold, leaning nervously against the strong wooden beams. Harry relaxes and turns back around. He uses a long stick to poke at the charred logs; the kindling pops, and a few embers float into the air.

“What are you doing?” Your inquiry is soft, shaky.

His reply is curt: “Dinner.”

You approach warily, bare feet treading through the grass. When you spot the hunk of meat roasting over the flames, a feeble gasp tumbles from your lips.

“That’s barbaric.”

Harry rubs his palms against his thighs. “That’s sustenance.”

He stands, and you retreat. His attention then falls to your torso. You’ve covered yourself with the furs from his room; they hang just past the swell of your bottom, rendering you exceptionally vulnerable. Goosebumps crop up on your bare thighs, visible in the golden light of the sunset.

He hums. “You need clothes.”

You look down at the ground.

“That would be nice,” you whisper at last.

He merely grunts in response.

You follow him back inside, albeit from a distance. He strolls into his bedroom, pausing in front of a large trunk shoved against the far wall. Twin latches click open, and he begins rifling through its contents. After a few moments of silence, he produces a pale linen shirt and a pair of dark leather trousers.

“Here,” he says.

He dumps the fabric into your arms. You huff in surprise, instinctively relinquishing your hold on the pelts covering your body. They fall to the floor in a heap, exposing every inch of your skin.

An embarrassed squeak echoes in the back of your throat. Harry averts his eyes, staring pointedly up at the ceiling.

“Put those on,” he murmurs.

You nod quickly, sidestepping his broad frame. Now that you’re no longer in his line of sight, he lowers his gaze. Part of him wonders if he should say something else, but he decides against it. His legs carry him forward, and he disappears through the door.

~*~

You emerge from the bedroom a short while later, smoothing your hands over your hair in an attempt to look a bit more presentable. Harry resists the urge to tell you that here, in the mountains, appearances are hardly significant. He doesn’t own a mirror—such luxuries can only be afforded by the rich.

His clothes are too big on you, but that was to be expected. You’ve rolled up the sleeves of his linen shirt and cuffed the brown leather trousers so that they cinch at your ankles. You’re anxious, incisors gnawing on your bottom lip and eyes darting around the clearing, like you’re waiting for a monster to burst forth from the bushes.

“Here.”

Harry cuts a sliver of meat from the cooked rabbit carcass resting on the spit. You sit down on a wide, round tree stump as he holds the food out in your direction.

At first, he thinks that you may vomit. Fortunately, though, he finds himself mistaken. After a long moment of deliberation, you accept the protein, bringing it up to your nose and sniffing it warily.

“It’s good,” he rasps, slicing off another strip for himself. “Rabbit—all white meat.”

He pops the piece into his mouth and chews. Slowly, you copy him, sighing happily as newfound flavour erupts over your tongue. You waste no time, then, impatiently shoving the rest of the meat into your mouth.

Harry’s lips twitch.

“Thank you,” you say after swallowing.

He simply nods. The two of you continue to eat in silence, grinding the remnants of supper between your teeth.

Eventually, your curiosity overwhelms you.

“What’s you name?” you ask, timid.

Harry sits back, wiping his dagger with the hem of his cotton shirt.

“Harry.”

“And how did you find me, Harry?”

A low chuckle resonates in the back of his throat.

“Wasn’t exactly hard. You were lying in a puddle of mud not far from here.”

Your lips part. “How long have I been asleep?”

“Three days.”

“Three days?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t remember any of it,” you say softly, playing with your fingers. You hesitate before elaborating: “But I—I remember seeing your face. I thought you were a bear.”

He recalls that day, how you lifted your head weakly and uttered the word before sinking back into unconsciousness. It led him to believe that you’d been attacked. Your side of the story, however, proves much more entertaining.

“Well,” he says, exhaling brusquely, “I’m not.”

You examine him with big, tender eyes. He shifts awkwardly under the intensity of your gaze.

“No,” you finally agree. “You’re not.”

He swallows and flips the conversation around.

“Who are you?”

You stiffen, caught off-guard.

“That is…hardly relevant.”

“Perhaps,” Harry says. “But it is fair.”

When you don’t reply, he continues.

“You’re a lady, aren’t you?” he guesses. “A duchess. Your gown was too pretty to have belonged to a commoner.”

“My gown?” You perk up at the mention of the dress. “Where is it?”

“Gone. I tore through it.”

You gasp. “Why on earth would you do that?”

“It was the only way to keep you alive,” he says simply. “Your corset was impeding your ability to breathe.”

“My corset…” you mutter, mostly to yourself. You grimace after registering the implications of his words, thoroughly scandalized. “So, you—you—?”

“Yes. I had to.”

“God,” you choke out, covering your mouth. “How dare you? You should have just—!”

“Let you die?”

His query successfully squashes your disapproval; your lips flatten into a thin line, and you say nothing else. Harry watches the creases in your forehead dwindle as you realise that he’s right. You fiddle with the collar of your shirt, turning to the side and regaining your composure.

“Thank you,” you finally murmur, trying to hide your face from his piercing stare, “for not letting me die.”

He grunts. “You’re welcome.”

Brief silence ensues. A light breeze blows through the clearing, tousling the curls atop Harry’s head. The gust is enough to extinguish the last few flames frolicking over the kindle, until glowing embers are all that remain.

“I am a lady,” you suddenly add, though you refuse to meet his eyes. “But not a duchess.”

Harry leans forward, prodding at the residual ash in the firepit.

“What were you doing in the woods?”

You tinker with the bandages wrapped around your injured wrist.

“I was to be wed,” you confess, peeking up at him. “But I—I could not bear to go through with it. One should not marry for duty, but rather—”

“For love?”

You pause at his intrusion, lips parted in surprise.

“Yes,” you breathe. “For love.”

Your gazes lock. He clears his throat, breaking the contact quickly.

“You ran away, then.”

It’s not a question. You nod, and he hums.

“What is it?” you ask, brows knitting together.

“Nothing. It’s just…I may find good fortune in this situation.”

“How so?”

He shrugs. “Any man with sense would carry you down this peak, deliver you back to your family, and collect a hefty reward.”

Though he’s not looking at you, he can tell that you’ve recoiled.

“Please don’t,” you whisper.

He examines your face in the periphery of his vision. Your eyes glisten with unshed tears.

Just then, Magnus races out of the cabin, his tail wagging eagerly behind him. He trots over to you, sniffing your shoulder and releasing a high-pitched whine. You use one hand to swipe hastily at your cheeks; the other migrates to his head, tickling his floppy ears.

Harry watches the interaction unfold, completely stunned.

“He—he likes you.”

You glance over at him, still wary of his previous threat.

“I suppose he does,” you say quietly.

Magnus paws at your thighs. You direct your attention back to the keen bloodhound, pressing a feathery kiss to the tip of his wet nose.

Harry blinks a few times, trying to pinpoint the reason for his mutt’s newfound behaviour. At first, he wonders if his eyes are simply playing tricks on his brain. Yet with each flutter of his lids, the sight before him only seems to solidify.

“He doesn’t usually take well to strangers,” he mumbles.

When you don’t respond, he clenches his jaw tightly. Countless thoughts zoom through his head, spinning like wheels, tangling like thread.

Any man with sense would carry you down this peak, deliver you back to your family, and collect a hefty reward.

Harry is not a sensible man.

~*~

The three of you retreat indoors when the last shards of sunlight fade from the sky. Magnus circles the large woven rug poised in front of the hearth. Eventually, he collapses onto the mat, his snout drooping over his front paws. You stretch your arms into the air and yawn gently.

Harry is the last one to enter the cabin; he shuts the door behind him.

“Thank you again for dinner,” you say lightly.

You spin around and nearly crash into the hard barrier of his chest. Reflexively, his hands fly up to grasp your biceps, steadying you. He peers down at your face in the darkness, his thoughtful gaze tracing the contours of your cheeks. Your eyes are wide, lips split apart as you suck in air.

“Sorry,” you say, frozen in place.

He only grunts, releasing your arms and stepping away.

Your attention lingers on him as he approaches a wide pile of furs stacked into the corner of the room. He’s been sleeping on the makeshift cot for the past three nights, and though his back is always sore the next morning, he has yet to find a better alternative.

“What are you…?” You hesitate, rethinking your question. “What is that?”

“My bed.”

“Do you…always sleep there?”

“No,” he rasps, lowering himself onto the thick pelts. “I prefer to sleep in my room.”

He shoots you a pointed look, and you frown when the realisation sinks in.

“We—we can switch,” you say, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. “I don’t want to impose.”

“No.”

“I insist.” You try again.

“As do I.”

You clamp your mouth shut, unsure of how to respond. Magnus has already dozed off—his soft snores filter through the heavy silence hanging over your heads.

“He’s lovely,” you suddenly say, referring to the quiescent hound. “Well-trained, too.”

“I won’t take credit for that,” Harry grumbles, rubbing his palms against his thighs. “He was a palace dog.”

You blink. “W-what?”

“A palace dog,” he repeats. “I found him alone in the woods after a hunt. His leg was broken—the guards left him there to die.”

“That’s awful.”

He hums in agreement.

“You took him in, then,” you say. When he nods, you add, “It seems that you have a knack for nursing others back to health.”

He doesn’t reply.

“The hunts—” you start, chewing nervously on your bottom lip. “Do they…occur frequently?”

“Why do you ask?” Harry says. His shoulders wobble with a hollow chuckle. “Are you afraid of being caught?”

You inhale sharply, and he realises that yes, you are.

“No,” he says, shaking his head. Subconsciously, his voice drops an octave, taking on a soothing quality. “They don’t come around often. And even if they did, I doubt that a single runaway lady would be of much concern.”

You blow out a relieved sigh, though the uneasy expression on your face never wanes.

“You’re probably right.”

A few hushed seconds draw out, during which neither of you speak. Your bare feet shuffle clumsily against the cold floor. You appear to be waiting for some sort of cue—a sound, a gesture, anything.

“Er—” Harry breaks the peace, cocking one eyebrow. “I sleep naked.”

“Oh.”

The exclamation is unbelievably breathless. Your throat bobs amidst a difficult swallow, and you totter back.

“Of course,” you stammer. “I’ll just—”

With a trembling hand, you motion toward the entrance of his bedroom.

He nods wordlessly.

“Right,” you mumble, retreating. “Goodnight, then…Bear.”

At that, he pauses. Your cheeks twitch with a feeble smile, but you don’t comment on the sweetness of the simple endearment.

Harry remains completely still as you scurry into his room. He sits there for a prolonged moment after the door shuts, trying to make sense of his thoughts. Your features have been stamped onto the backs of his eyelids, practically seared into the skin.

At last, warm air spills past his lips, and he allows himself to utter the low, relentless reply pulling at his tongue.

“Goodnight.”

#harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #uhhhh yeah so here u go. if this flops it never happened i guess #hunterry #harry writing

284 notes · View notes

spiltscribbles · 3 years

Note

57. “Wait a second.. are you jealous?” + Poorly Timed Confession + modern au 😍 pretty please!!!

~Notes: OMFG angel!!! Thank you SO SO much for the prompt<3 You are a complete babe! I hope you like :S It’s cheese, but like also what else would I do? LMFAO XD

Smash Prompt Game | Send Me A Prompt💜 | A Reblog Is Like An I Love You!!

“Hmmm… All right, would you rather, mmm… Smell Borris Johnson’s sweaty gym socks, or snog Professor Slughorn full on the mouth for a straight minute— oh erm, not so straight I reckon on second thought.”

Remus wrinkles his nose at him from across the bed, and clucks his tongue at the awful pun. “You’re unruly.”

“And you’re dodging,”

“Am not arse, I’m just recovering from that very terrifying scenario you’ve spewed out like the sadistic satanist you are.”

“Which scenario are you recovering from though?” Sirius leers, wiggling his eyebrows and jostling Remus’s textbook with his foot.

“I hate that you’re enjoying this so much,” Remus intones in a deadpan.

“Mary John, I’m waiting,” Sirius says with far too much glee.

Sometimes Remus is sure that he hates him. “Fine, the answer is I hate you.”

“Filthy and slanderous lies, Lupin.”

“You’re demented.”

“Five. Four. Three—“

“I won’t choose.”

“See, all I hear is that you wanna get it on with our chemistry professor, you saucy minx, you.”

Remus sniffs. “Better than touching that prick with even a ten foot pole.”

“Mmmm, have I ever told you how hot and heavy I get hearing you talk politics at me?”

Remus throws him the bird, which makes Sirius laugh. Remus can objectively say that Sirius has the most beautiful variations of laughter in the world, and he’d know considering he’s catalogued each one. This version is definitely top three. His care free, effortless laugh when Remus takes him off guard with a snide remark or lowly muttered retort that’s not appropriate for most company— It’s really more of a experience, truly. His breaths stutter out in a lovely staccato, and his eyes glimmer like the sea, and sometimes it feels like the world’s been suspended and it’s only the two of them in that slice of eternity.

Erm, Ah, but yeah…. That only happens occasionally, and it’s only because Sirius is Remus’s greatest friend— has been since the final year of primary school after Remus had moved to the London outskirts from his small, coastal town in Wales, and on first sight, Sirius swung a snowball straight to Remus’s face, which he of course responded to by throwing two more his way, and well… The pair of them were soaking and breathless by the end of it, but their fate was sealed, they were the greatest of friends, and nothing would ever alter that unquestionable staple.

So what if sometimes Remus’s chest thuds painfully when Sirius dimples his way, or Remus only ever wants to talk to him over anyone else— even Lily or his Mam— if he’s had a bad day, or good one, or if something remarkable had happened, or , or… Or whenever really. And there’s absolutely no significance that Remus can’t help the totally delighted grin that splits his face in half whenever he gets a text or snap from Sirius.

None of that is at all relevant.

Sirius is Remus’s greatest friend, and he’d never risk ruining that by allowing some pesky little crush swallow him whole and clammer out his mouth— vulnerable and throbbing in the open space between them. It doesn’t matter if Marlene always makes kissy faces their way, or how James only ever refers to them as a couple, and so what if Peter’s got a pole running that Remus knows basically the whole school is betting on.

They’re all wrong, Sirius would never, ever feel the same sort of way that Remus does him, that’s downright preposterous and ridiculous and just simply impossible. And Remus’s perfectly content with that very real truth… He is.

Remus is fine with it God help him. So everyone else just needs to but the fuck out of their business.

Besides, this, this right now— Him and Sirius splayed out on opposite ends of Remus’s bed, with Sirius’s feet nudging at Remus’s elbow whenever he’s got a question about there homework, with the window cracked open just so, letting in some of the chilly winter air because Sirius absolutely can not focus if he’s not cold— the fucking furnace— Where Remus can still hear the going ons of his family playing out on the floor below them… This is the most perfect place in Remus’s eyes, and he won’t ever change that, especially not to live out some boyhood fantasy that would never come into fruition in his wildest of dreams.

Remus’s content… He is… He has to be or else he’d lose one of the most vital people in his world.

“You’ve got footie practice after school, right?”

“Mmhmm, you coming to watch?”

“Only if you admit i’m your good luck charm,” Remus sardonically bats his lashes at Sirius as if he was in a mascara advert, and the taller boy blows a raspberry right back at him.

“Nice, real nice. You’re extraordinarily mature, you know that, Black?”

“And sexy, don’t forget that, oh so important descriptor Lupin.”

Remus leans against the locker besides Sirius’s, watches as he trades his current binders for the lot he’ll need for the afternoon, and tries really hard not to stare too longingly at how Sirius’s arm muscles ripple beneath their school’s maroon, uniform jackets in the most delicious of ways. (He hates the fact he’s been dissolved into a starry eyed mess lusting over the star striker, but thus is his fate.)

“I’d never commit such a faux pas, and I’m insulted that you’d ever think as much.”

Sirius sneers at him with a slight shake to his head. “So you coming or not?”

“I’m still contemplating my options,” he preens, but before Sirius could retort, Marlene, megawatt smile and dangerously sharp smirk— swaggers over towards them.

“Good morning my two beautiful chums!”

“What do you want?” Sirius asks before even glancing her way, to which Marlene blinks up at him, faux owlish. “S, I just wanted to greet a couple of my closest companions this lovely December morning,” she defends herself.

“Marls, you’re never this agreeable before noon,” Remus points out hesitantly.

“ And you rarely are even afterwards,” Sirius tacks on.

“Rude,” she pouts.

“Accurate,” Remus pipes in with an apologetic grimace.

Marlene stares them both down for a solid minute before finally relaxing her shoulders, and thrusting out the legal pad in her grasp. “The student council and spirit society are selling corsages for the snowflake formal, and Dorcas has deployed me to get some orders.”

“Whipped,” Sirius teases through a counter-fit cough.

Marlene doesn’t hesitate before smashing the legal pad on his head. “And you traipsing around getting people to buy the tickets for the theatre department last semester even though Re was only playing Mercutio wasn’t you being wrapped around his littlest finger?”

Remus flushes, feeling an unnerving amount of bees stinging around his stomach, and is thankful when the conversation pauses after Sirius casts her a very heated V. “Sod off.”

“So are you guys gonna buy or not?” Marlene huffs, weight slung to her left hip, and arms crossed against her chest.

“I’m a gay bloke, Marls, did you forget that?” Remus pins her with a one eyed squint, and she just scrunches her face up at him, exasperated.

“I’m sure there’s matching boutonnieres.”

“Fine, I just don’t have any school spirit then.”

This time she glares. “Lily and James are Head Boy and Head Girl, isn’t there like an oath between you lot, one for all and all for one, or some rot?”

“That’s the three musketeers,” he says.

“isn’t that basically who you guys are?” She reasons.

Before their wage of words could continue, Sirius just grabs the order form out of Marlene’s hands and fills out a sheet with the flurry of his pen. “Happy?”

“Positively delighted,” she leers, pecking them both on the cheek before strutting off, reminding them of their group study session at Alice’s tonight in her wake.

Sirius shakes his head, reluctantly amused with a grin gathering on the corners of his mouth, but for Remus everything feels like it’s frozen. “You didn’t have to do that you know? ’S not like James is much of a Head Boy anyhow, and Lily wouldn’t have really cared.”

Sirius shrugs, commences their walk to the opposite wing of the school for their shared history class. “Emmy likes that sort of romantical shite.”

Remus sees red, feels his heart lodging in his damn esophagus. “Oh, so— Erm, you’re taking her then,” Remus wonders if his tone sounds as detached as he feels.

“Yeah,” Sirius eyes him, questioning. “She wants that title of snow queen real bad, made me promise I’d campaign with her and the whole shtick.”

“Oh,” it’s like Remus could feel it when he closes off completely, can feel his hopes squashed down and his heart contract and his every organ collapsing in on themselves, leaving him feeling hollowed out completely.

Sirius slows down marginally, eyeing him with a slight frown. “Is that all right? I know you two don’t exactly get along and we were planning to go as a group, bu—“

“It’s fine,” Remus hates how screechy his voice gets, how he feels like he’s about to scream. “You two are a shoe in, no doubt.”

Sirius tries to mirror Remus’s faux excitement with a tepid grin of his own, but Remus doesn’t let him, instead commandeering their typical table on the back row and tries focussing on the thousandth war with France while his world tilts off kilter.

Emmy is beautiful, and popular and her smile alone dazzles the whole room. She’s everything that Sirius should look for in a partner, someone to match his whip lash wit, and his taste for all things exuberant that skirt on flashy, and someone who’s got just as many friends and admirers as him.

They’re perfect and Remus should just get over his petty ass hatred of her, even if he still thinks she can be down right cruel and selective and selfish. Qualities Sirius surely isn’t… But maybe it’s all in his head how she sneers at people who she finds plane, or how she literally guffaws over the misfortune of others. Maybe his perception of how she wields people in like moths to a flame just to get what she wants is all a misunderstanding, or in his head or something.

Maybe all that’s possible, even if Remus seriously doubts it.

But at the end of the day, Sirius loves her— has been basically infatuated by Emmeline Vance since she first transferred at the start of their Freshman year. Sirius loves her, and who ever Sirius loves is merely an extension of him… Right?

Remus just needs to get over it and somehow rid himself of this crush he’s been fostering for so long it’s basically a part of him at this point. Though, he thinks it’d be a lot easier if he didn’t see their faces plastered on posters everywhere the week and a half leading up to the dance— looking like actual royals that would put Will and cate to shame.

“Yo cheekbones!”

Remus starts, swivels around from where he was scratching his pen to paper, finding Sirius— as glimmering and beautiful as always— swaggering up to him, insanely electric smile painted over his face.

“Would you rather eat a jumbo jar of jalapeños without a break, or eat the toenails from someone with athlete’s foot next to your dinner every night of the rest of your life?”

“I thought you were having lunch with Emmy to keep up your royalty status before this weekend?” Remus asks, tacitly side stepping from the horrific images swimming to the forefront of his mind because of his cruel question.

“Now that doesn’t sound like an answer to my ultimatum,” Sirius says in a singsong sort of voice.

“You answer me first,” Remus says airily.

“But I asked first,” Sirius argues haughtily.

“Well both your options would kill me, so I wouldn’t do either,” Remus retorts.

“That’s not how the game works!”

“You’re the one who always says that rules were made to be broken,” Remus says, lofty as all get out,, and dissolves into laughter at the completely cross look Sirius’s giving him.

“You were born to be contrary, weren’t you?”

“So lunch?”

“Got bored,” he shrugs, hopping onto the corner of the desk Remus’s working on. “What you up to instead of eating?”

“My position paper for Model UN.” Sirius smiles down at him, and Remus can’t help the flush that spreads across his cheeks in return. “Not as glamorous as running as Snow King, I know.”

“It’s precious,” Sirius contends, his soft timbre sounding like syrup and his long fingers fluttering against Remus’s skin, pushing back a lock of his ever disheveled, tawny curls in a far to gentle way, and Remus gulps before averting his gaze to break the sudden tautness that’s built between them.

They’ve had so many of these almost moments, ones that Remus’s always treasured but he knows doesn’t mean much of anything at all to Sirius— Sirius who is effortlessly hilarious, and brims with genius and who is so beautiful that sometimes it hurts looking at him for too long. Sirius who has a new suitor at his beck and call on a near weekly basis. But whenever they transpire now, it just hurts all the more because Remus knows in his heart of hearts that they will never lead anywhere, and Sirius is in love with Emmy and Remus can’t let himself float around in this daydream for any longer.

“Ahem,” he clears his throat, shuffles in his seat only slightly. “I’m Algeria so my Mam’s pretty excited about it. She’s been telling me all the stuff Wikipedia’s got wrong and everything.”

Sirius laughs, but it doesn’t touch his eyes. “Your mother is kinda everything, you know that?”

Remus twists his mouth up, reluctant. “Don’t tell her as much, or else she’ll go on and on how she won Miss Teen Great Britain when she was only sixteen.”

“Hmm, I was wondering where you got that pretty face.”

“You, Sirius Black, can go lick an unwashed arse.”

“You’ll never catch a suitor with that cheek of yours though. I’d work on that, Lupin.”

“I don’t think I could ever win Miss Congeniality, alas.” Remus doesn’t quite catch Sirius’s reply, to busy responding too the text his phone just chirped with instead.

“Mary John, are you listening?”

“Uh-huh.”

Sirius’s brows hike up, flabbergasted smile stretched across his face. “So totally rude! And I came all the way here— to the place where dreamers die— just to spend time with you.”

“Sorry,” Remus gives him an abashed little half grin before setting the phone back down. “’s just Fabian.”

Sirius’s expression drops, goes inquisitive instead of his typical ebullience. “Fabian? Why’s Fabian Prewett texting you, and why is he,” Sirius crooks his head so he’s able to read the new message that popped up on Remus’s phone’s screen. “Asking about color coordination?”

Remus blushes for an entirely new reason now, one he likes much less. “Ah, he’s the sort to like it when our suits like match, but not in an abrasive fashion, you know?”

Sirius’s face goes scarily blank.

“Your suits? Suits for what?”

“The dance…” Remus says slowly, he’s confused what Sirius’s confused about.

“The dance… Right… I thought you were still going with everyone else?”

“Pff, no way,” Remus scoffs. “Lily’s only pretending to be single, you know how red in the face she gets whenever around James. They’ll end up dancing the whole night away. And with Dorcas running the whole event and Benjy thinking any social function is a plague on society, that’d leave me stuck with Peter and Mary, . And honestly I’ve seen enough of her tongue shoved down his throat for a lifetime.” Remus is only slightly surprised that doesn’t even elicit a chuckle from Sirius, who’s now looking a bit stormy— and he thinks he’ll never be accustomed to his mercurial moods that can change as quickly as the snap of the finger.

“Right… So you’re going with Fabian Prewett… as your date?”

“Yes… Why is that so hard to believe?”

“it’s, it’s not,” Sirius scrambles, suddenly standing up.

“Then why are you being so weird about this,” Remus argues, getting up to meet him at his level.

“Am not!”

“You’re going with Emmy,” Remus reminds him, this edge of desperate.

“I know I am, okay. But you— you—“ Sirius tappers off, eyes glassy and lips parted with words he can’t get out, and Jesus fucking Christ is it weird how for the first time ever their roles have reversed. Sirius can’t put any sentences together, and everything Remus’s been beating down— everything thrashing inside of him— are now burning his throat and warring over who can spill out first.

“What? I’m suppose to stay behind like the pathetic, nobody friend. The guy who’s just there to moon after you while you have an actual life. The Judie garland to your Mickie Roomie!”

“What are you even talking about right now!” Sirius shouts, sounding as torn apart as Remus feels.

“As if you don’t know!” He snarls, collecting his books into his backpack— Suddenly this room feels to stifling. He can’t breathe and it’s too hot and his chest is pounding.

He’s imploding and Remus has no idea how to rectify it.

“Just stop! Remus Stop!”

“leave me the fuck alone Sirius!”

“Why are you being such a prick about this!”

And that, that makes Remus angry, angrier than he’s ever been.

Before he could even think about it for a moment longer, Remus is rounding on him, dashing so close to Sirius that he can taste his breath with how close their faces are skirting against each other.

“I’m in love with you! I’ve been in love with you for forever, and I know that you don’t feel the same way, and I know that you’re in love with Emmy and, and I just know okay.”

“Wha—“ Sirius sputters, looking like a gaping fish. “Wait a second, are you jealous? Of sodding Emmy Vance?”

“Don’t!” Remus practically growls out. "Don’t disrespect me, okay? Don’t pretend that you never knew, or that I was such a good actor. I’ve been in love with you for years and you always knew and Fine, I get it. You never felt the same way, that’s fine. But just don’t pretend as if you never had the choice, don’t make me out as the bad guy for actually, finally saying yes to a bloke who’s actually into me. I need to fucking give up on the premise of us, I need to get over you. So I’m going out with fucking Fabian Prewett and you’re going out with Emmy Vance and that’s that!”

His breaths are labored, jagged and painful, as they race out of him, but Remus can’t move. He’s staring straight into Sirius’s beautiful, gray eyes, and he sees everything he’s always seen there, and hates that this is probably the last time he’ll get to be this close to him.

Not after this.

“I didn’t,” is the first thing Sirius croaks out, broken and helpless. “i didn’t know, Remus you have to believe me— I didn’t—”

“How! How could you not know!” He shouts back, but Remus doesn’t get his answer in so many words, instead he feels it.

He feels it when Sirius clamps his hands on either end of his waste-line, feels it when Sirius smashes their lips together in a cacophony of lips, and teeth and spit. He feels it when Sirius moans in side of him, when his hand moves down, spreads across the width of the small of his back, pushing their torsos even closer. Remus feels it when everything goes into focus, when he takes Sirius into his arms, greedy and excited and disbelieving.

And Remus thinks to all the other times he’s kissed another boy— To this prior weekend swapping snogs with a beaming Fabian in the back of a theatre. He thinks of how there was never anything worth anything when he kissed any of them Because it was all Sirius, always Sirius. And he could try to love Fabian, or some other cute boy, and he tried, and he tried, and he tried, and he gave all he had…but it was never enough, could it ever be enough?

Remus knows it in his bones that it’s enough when it’s with Sirius.

When they finally pull apart it’s difficult to breathe and Remus feels lightheaded and it’s wonderful in the most marvelous of ways.

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” Sirius says in a whisper.

“Maybe next time give a guy some warning?” Remus can’t help the shit eating smirk that swipes across his mouth and is elated at the adorably cross scowl Sirius answers him with.

“Fine jackass, how’s this for a warning, I’m gonna kiss you now.”

“That’ll be sufficient, I suppose,” Remus goads, laughing against Sirius’s lips when he does just that.

~*~

Sirius ends up winning snow king, but rejects the dance with Emmy, opts to ask Remus to join him instead, as if they were in the middle of some John Hughes movie from the fucking 80s.

It’s utterly ridiculous and overdone and simply way too much— but everyone applauded and cheered and when Sirius kissed him in the middle of it, Remus felt as if his whole body sung with joy.

~My Wolfstar FIC Masterlist

#WOLFSTAR #REMUS LUPIN #SIRIUS BLACK #SIRIUSXREMUS #REMUSXSIRIUS #WOLFSTAR FLUFF #MARAUDERS #HARRY POTTER SERIES #SPILT INK #PROMPTS #I love you endlessly #!!!!

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mypoisonedvine · 3 years

Text

Home for the Holidays | Robert Pronge (aka Mr. Freezy) x reader

summary: robert is tired of pretending to be normal, he’s tired of the shitty holiday known as christmas and he’s really fucking tired of watching his adorable, innocent next door neighbor without getting a real taste. luckily, he has a plan to solve all three of these things.

word count: a bit over 5k

warnings: smut (noncon, vaginal and anal), gunplay, bondage, stalking, kidnapping, slight-to-medium breeding kink, innocent!reader, lots of degradation, blood mention, pain kink, spitting, implied age gap (??? kinda), cringy and disturbing dirty talk, maaaaybe the darkest thing I’ve ever written… proceed with extreme caution

Robert hated the holidays. The fact that it was too cold to sell ice cream was a factor, sure, but he didn’t like anything else about them either— the cheesy music, the stupid advertisements on TV, the gaudy decorations everywhere… he wasn’t sure if there was anything he liked about this time of year. Getting gifts would be nice if he actually had any friends or family to do that with. Giving gifts sounded like too much fucking work anyway. He was sick and tired of this stupid holiday and the way it started sooner every year, too.

This year, when he heard Jingle Bell Rock on the radio for the first time of the season, something snapped. He wasn’t going to just sit idly by and let the holidays come and go. He wasn’t going to avoid and half-tolerate all the dreaded ‘cheer’ and ‘spirit’ like he had for the past few years. No no, this year was going to be different.

This year, he was going to get a Christmas present for himself: you.

He’d been watching you for a long time, since the day you moved in next door. It wasn’t often that a young woman lived alone around here, and for good reason. Still, you had this air of blissful ignorance about you— you never caught him spying on you, for one, and when he was spying you were always off in your own little world, listening to your records, daydreaming about god-knows-what. He wished he could know, because he figured it was something innocent and wholesome.

You weren’t all innocent and wholesome, though. He’d seen you doing the things you did when you were totally alone (or at least, you thought you were), late at night, cuddled up under the covers…

He wanted to see more, though. He wanted to see everything. And he was tired of waiting.

He was on his porch when you came home, and he waved; you waved back, your hands obscured by big fuzzy mittens. Damn did he miss the summers, when you would wear tank tops and short shorts and wash your car in the sunlight. Now you were all bundled up in coats and scarves, and even though you looked sort of adorable like this, he missed that perfect body he knew you were hiding under there.

You were bringing groceries in from the car, and he could see you had a few bags in the backseat. “That’s a lot to carry, lemme help you,” he offered as he jumped up from his seat and walked towards you.

“Oh, it’s fine, I’ve got it,” you dismissed, but you started to stumble and he had to catch you so you wouldn’t fall and drop your stuff. “Thanks,” you mumbled awkwardly as you caught your footing— you felt so good in his arms he could barely stand it.

“What is all this?” he asked as he glanced into the bags.

“Oh, uh, just Christmas stuff,” you explained. He furrowed his brow as he saw you had bought enough food to feed a whole family.

“Your folks comin’ into town or something?” he pressed, pulling one of the paper bags open to see inside. “Or are you hosting a party I didn’t get invited to?”

“Uh, neither,” you laughed, “my family doesn’t… no, they’re not coming. And there’s no party. I just love cooking Christmas food and I thought, why not? I mean, I’ll freeze whatever I can’t finish and have meals for the next month…”

“So you’re gonna make this whole ham just for yourself?” he clarified, admiring your ambition.

“Yep!” you grinned. “I know it’s stupid, but I just love Christmas and I don’t think I need to justify celebrating it to a grinch like you.”

“A grinch? Says who?”

“Freezy, you’re the only house on the block that hasn’t put up lights yet,” you smirked. “It’s sort of obvious you don’t like this time of year.”

“Are you kidding? I love Christmas! I’m just subtle about it, that’s all,” he decided sternly.

“Really? Are you going to see anyone for the holidays then?” you pressed.

“Uh, no, I’m sort of an… orphan, I guess you could say. No parents or siblings or anything like that.”

“No girlfriend?” you grinned, elbowing him playfully.

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” he laughed, “I just know a few women who would be really mad if they heard me say that.”

“You’re such a dog,” you rolled your eyes. “Will you help me carry these in or not?”

He sighed as he picked up two bags and carried them up to your porch, pushing the door open with his back to set them on your counters. He’d been inside your place a few times— mostly with you there, a few times when you weren’t— and he noticed how much you’d changed in the spirit of the season: an enormous, real pine covered in lights and ribbons; decorative ceramic figures all over the place including Santa, elves, reindeer, and even a nativity on the dining table; stockings on the mantle, god knows who those were even for.

You had literally decked your halls with boughs of holly.

“Damn, woman, you went all out!” he observed with wide eyes.

“Well, I thought it would be nice,” you smiled, although it was a somber smile, “you know, Christmas like it used to be…” you trailed off as your gaze became distant. You snapped back to reality with a little sigh, shaking it off and heading back to the car for another load of bags. He understood that emptiness he saw in your eyes, it was all he felt anymore. Maybe you could change that for him; maybe he could change that for you.

Aw, who was he kidding? He didn’t care about that. He just wanted to figure out what you were hiding underneath those puffy winter clothes. If the smell of your stolen panties was anything to go by, it was going to be worth the wait.

Christmas Eve was just as boring and cold as any other day, except that it was filled with a riveting anticipation. That was probably true for most people, but for Robert it was for something much more exciting than presents under the tree.

Nightfall came early, it being winter and all, so it was already pitch dark outside when it was just about time for him to go over for dinner. He considered smashing a window to get in, but then you might call the cops before he had time to explain, so he decided the easier method was just to knock on the front door. He didn’t really care who saw at this point— besides, who’d be staring out their window to spy on their neighbors the night before Christmas? Aside from Robert, that is.

“Oh!” you gasped when you answered the door. The dark red turtleneck looked even better on you up close, like you’d jumped right out of a Norman Rockwell postcard— or a festive pin-up. He didn’t wait for your approval before stepping in and shutting the door behind him, relishing the adorable look you wore as you stared up at him with the perfect mix of confusion and concern.

“I know you didn’t invite me,” he smirked, “but I figure two people alone on Christmas ought to be together, don’t you think?”

“Robert, I—”

He pulled his gun out from his belt, watching you freeze as he pointed it at you.

“I think you should start making dinner, sweetheart,” he instructed darkly. You nodded quickly, walking to the kitchen as he followed you closely. “What are you making?”

“H-ham,” you stuttered nervously as you turned on the stove before slipping on a cute little apron with white lace around the edges. “With green bean casserole, and some gingerbread for dessert.”

“Sounds delicious,” he grinned, taking a seat at the bar and keeping his gun pointed towards you.

Your hands were shaking as you tried to chop the ingredients, and he tutted a little in sympathy. “Don’t be scared, honey, ‘m not gonna hurt ya. It’s gonna be a great Christmas— just like the way it used to be, huh?”

“Y-yeah,” you shivered, lip quivering, “I… I wish you just would’ve asked if you could have some dinner, Robert, I would’ve happily had you.”

“Oh, you’re gonna have me either way. Up to you if you wanna be happy about it.”

He laughed as he watched your eyes start to water, a meek little sniffle

“Aw, don’t cry, pretty baby,” he cooed, “it’ll make me wanna skip right to the good stuff. But, let’s just have dinner first.”

You stayed quiet after that, cooking in silence as he unabashedly undressed you with his eyes. You looked like a perfect little housewife in that apron; he wanted to see you wearing just that, so he could bend you over the counter and—

Damn, he was already hard, just like that. You’d always had such an effect on him.

He went ahead and took a seat at the table once you were nearly done with the meal, leaning back to let you drape the fancy napkin over his lap (and smirking when you gasped a bit, obviously noticing the bulge in his jeans).

“I hope you like it,” you offered weakly as you set his plate in front of him.

“I’m sure you do,” he grinned, picking up his fork. “You won’t like what’s gonna happen if I don’t.”

You just stood beside him for a moment as he took the first bite, smiling weakly when he hummed in content at the taste. “Aren’t ya gonna eat?” he asked, looking you up and down.

“I’m not hungry,” you explained quickly.

“Suit yourself,” he shrugged, “it’s good. You’re quite the little chef, aren’t ya?”

“Um, I suppose…” you deflected awkwardly.

“Learn to take a compliment,” he hissed, “say ‘thank you.’”

“Thank you,” you replied dutifully.

“That’s better,” he announced firmly, shovelling the last bite of casserole into his mouth before working on the slices of ham. Your ability to follow instructions was a good sign for how tonight was going to go— apparently for all your naivete, you still had a self-preservation instinct. He couldn’t wait to exploit it.

He continued his meal in silence, delighting in the way your eyes watered and your lip quivered. “Alright, sweetie, dinner’s over,” he announced when he was finished. “Time for dessert.”

You shivered slightly as he stood up and approached you. “You want gingerbread?” you asked innocently. He frowned and shook his head, watching you start to cry again as he roughly grabbed your arm and pulled you closer.

“I had something even sweeter in mind,” he informed you with a low growl, taking a big whiff of your scent— that same shampoo smell he was used to by now, mixed in with the new perfume you’d gotten a few weeks ago along with the warm, spicy smells of Christmas. “Been waitin’ so long for this,” he groaned lowly as he leaned down to stare right into your fear-widened eyes.

“N-no, please,” you whimpered, weakly attempting to twist out of his grip, “you wouldn’t—”

“I would,” he disagreed as he turned his gun backwards, whipping you across the head with the handle. He caught you before you collapsed, and hoped you wouldn’t be hurting too much when you woke up. But he would deal with that then. Right now, he had a present to wrap.

There was a radiating ache in your skull. You felt that first as you groggily opened your eyes. The next thing you noticed was that you weren’t in your bed. Looking around, you couldn’t see well because the only light was from your Christmas tree, but you could see that you were naked and bound with ropes. Oddly enough, on top of the ropes was thick red ribbon, gathered in a big bow right at your chest.

What the fuck is going on? you were about to ask yourself, but then it all became clear.

The shadows shifted, and your neighbor emerged from them. You struggled against the ropes as you remembered everything, realizing what was happening. Of course you had always thought he was a bit creepy (who didn’t?) but you were nice to him and he was nice to you. How could you have known he was this disturbed?

“That’s my favorite part,” he purred as he stooped down to be eye-level with you. “The moment when they realize what’s going to happen. You were so peaceful just a moment ago, knocked out and without a care in the world, and now you’re fighting for your life.”

You whimpered into the gag as he smiled at you, running his hands over your skin.

“I mean, not fighting very well, but fighting.”

You tried to kick him as he stepped closer but the ropes made it impossible.

“I think it’s time to open my present, hm?” he grinned. You shook your head but he ignored you, slowly pushing your legs apart and growling a little when he saw your exposed pussy, ripe for the taking. “Look at that, you’re wet,” he laughed. You wrenched your eyes shut, refusing to believe this was happening. “Don’t be embarrassed, that happens a lot. Although I’ll admit, I don’t think any of them were ever this wet before…”

You jumped when his thumb started to rub your clit, the pressure much too intense and unexpected. He laughed at your struggle, and you could feel your walls throbbing in response to the stimulation.

“I know I didn’t need to do all this to get you in bed,” he continued his taunting rant. “I know you wanted me already— don’t think I didn’t notice you makin’ googly eyes at me like a dumb little schoolgirl. If I’d’ve asked you out, I could’ve had you under me after a few drinks… but it’s better this way. You probably would’ve made me wear a condom, would’ve made me be all gentle with ya, some wholesome missionary shit,” he laughed. “I don’t have time for that crap. It’s so much better with your body at my disposal, and you cryin’ those pretty tears.”

The shocks that shot up your spine from the way he was touching you made you feel like your body was betraying you. How could this actually feel good? How was it that the fear burning in your gut was actually adding to your pleasure and not nullifying it?

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he groaned as if he were reading your mind. “I know you love it, little girl, don’t act so innocent. I know you’re not the good girl everybody thinks you are. You’ve been naughty this year, haven’t you?”

Even though logic told you not to play into his twisted game, you felt compelled to shake your head ‘no.’

“Don’t lie,” he warned, “I’ve seen you. I’ve watched you play with this pretty pussy every fucking night.”

You couldn’t watch this any more, you couldn’t look at him while he did this to you. Forcing your eyes shut, you tried to find a place in your mind to run away to. Instead, he slapped you right on your clit and your eyes shot open as you whined.

“Keep looking,” he instructed. “I want you to see it. I want you to know that it’s me. I want you to see what I’m about to put in you.”

He stepped back and hastily discarded his shirt, making quick work of his boots and trousers, too. Then it was just his boxers, and you could see the outline of his erection already. You hoped it wasn’t as big as it looked, but then he grinned as he pulled the fabric down and yep, it was— you tried to squirm away, uselessly.

“Aw, don’t be scared, baby,” he pouted, “I know it’s big, but with how wet you are I bet it’ll fit like a glove. A really, really tight glove…”

He leaned down and pressed his lips right against your ear, rubbing his swollen head through your slick folds as you whined.

“Gloves can tear,” he chuckled. “Gloves can rip.”

Tears stained the ribbon of your gag as you tried to beg him not to, but it was too late— he was pushing forward and spearing you onto him.

“Fuck!” he groaned as he pushed all the way to the hilt, and your eyes rolled back as the stinging, burning pain shot up your spine. “So fuckin’ tight, fuck, can’t believe I waited this long to get my hands on you.”

He pulled the gag down, smiling at you tenderly when you coughed out a cry of pain. “Please,” you sobbed, “please stop…”

“No no, babygirl, I’m not gonna stop. I wanna fill this slutty little cunt with my come.”

Renewed sobs shook your chest as your nails dug into your own palms, each thrust somehow going even deeper than the last, somehow hurting even more.

“Want my come, pretty girl?” he pressed, refusing to let you ignore him. “Want me to shoot my load into this sweet pussy a’yours?”

“No,” you sobbed weakly, shaking your head, “no, no…” you trailed off, chanting it like a mantra as you felt like you might pass out.

“Aw, you’re not on the pill, are you?” he realized with a toothy grin. “Never saw any empty packs in your trash. Are you worried I’ll knock you up?”

“Please, please don’t,” you shivered. There was nothing quite as demeaning as having no recourse but to beg even when you knew it would do nothing. The only thing that came close was the knowledge that your orgasm wasn’t so far off— his cock was slamming right into your spot with every movement, his hips rubbing your swollen clit, and it was impossible to avoid the pleasure that was making your walls tighten around him.

“How could I not?” he countered. “Fuck, you feel so good, how could I not breed this dripping, desperate cunt, hm? There’s no way I’m pulling out now when you’re squeezin’ my dick so good like this.”

“Please,” you repeated, so quiet you couldn’t be sure he heard it at all. You could hardly breathe with his weight on your chest, black static dancing at the edges of your peripheral vision.

“I’ll be honest— I hate kids,” he growled, “never wanted ‘em, but it does sound like a lot of fun to get you pregnant. Would you like that, pretty baby? Bein’ full of my kid? I’d be so nice to watch you get big and know it was all my fault. Think of it like a Christmas gift, from one neighbor to another.”

“Robert, please!” you cried, although it sounded a lot like you were begging him for more as opposed to begging him for mercy. You weren’t sure how that happened, except that you could feel the coil in your gut tightening and tightening and tightening until it finally fucking snapped and you choked on nothing, your walls fluttering as a gush of wetness seeped out between your bodies.

“That’s it,” he groaned, “fuck, what a nasty little skank you are, Jesus… coming so hard from being tied up and abused by your neighbor, who knew you were a total freak?”

You couldn’t say anything, you couldn’t even think as hazy pleasure flooded your brain and you went limp in his oppressive grasp. Exhaustedly, you slumped down and let him use you— all you could do now was hope he would finish soon.

“I mean, I knew,” he laughed, “but damn… you’re somethin’ else.”

He said it with pride in his voice, as your entire body burned with shame. How had you already given in so quickly, accepted your fate and come harder than you ever had before? It sort of made sense that this would be more intense than what you got from getting yourself off at night (and the thought that he’d been watching you made your stomach churn), but why was this so much better than the sweet, loving sex you’d had with your boyfriend way back when, before he’d run out on you? Why was Robert, as disturbed as he was, the best you’d ever had?

“God, you’re so wet, I can fucking smell you,” he grunted through his teeth. “You made such a pretty mess on my cock, babygirl.”

You could hear that he was right, you could feel the wetness that had dripped down to cover both of you— the wet slapping of his balls against your ass was disgusting, yet arousing, and you hated yourself for it.

“Shit, I’m close,” he moaned, “fuck yeah, just like that.”

You weren’t sure what he was referring to until you realized you were arching your back, forcing his cock to hit your overstimulated spot directly. It made jolts of electricity course through your veins, pleasure sizzling just beneath your skin.

“Kiss me,” he instructed, and you were too far gone to disobey as you turned and captured his lips in a kiss, instantly accepting his tongue into your mouth. It was sloppy and forceful and kinda gross and he tasted like Christmas dinner and cigarettes, but it made your walls tighten around him again anyways. Something about his beard against your face made you moan a little, the sound lost into his mouth but unfortunately not unnoticed. “Fuck, I know you love my cock so much,” he purred, pulling back only as much as he needed to to speak— he was so close that his lips brushed yours with every word, those dark eyes staring right into yours until you felt entirely helpless to his gaze.

“Please,” you whimpered, not even sure what you were asking for.

“Best pussy I’ve ever had, you know that?” he praised, grinning as you bit down on your lip. “Yeah, you love being my good girl, you love pleasin’ me, don’tcha?”

“I— I don’t—”

“Just nod your head, dumb baby,” he grunted coldly. After a moment of hesitation, you nodded ever so slightly and he moaned above you.

“Fuck— gonna come,” he informed you breathlessly, “gonna fill up your wet fuckin’ hole, ‘m so close, ah fuck—”

The first pump of his cock painted your insides and you cringed as you tried not to moan at the feeling. His come was hot and thick as it filled you, the faltering thrusts of his hips making your swollen walls flutter weakly. It felt like it would go on forever— his weak groans in your ear, his thick cock pulsing inside you, your breathing quick and fast until it felt like you weren’t getting any air in your lungs at all. It stopped, finally, as he sighed and relaxed a little bit.

“Goddamn,” he breathed as he pulled out of you, making you both wince. Already you felt soreness radiating from your opening, and your face burned as he looked down between your legs. “Look at that, what a perfect little pussy I just ruined. It’s all stretched out and red and covered in my come,” he announced proudly. “There’s a little blood, too, but you’ll be better in no time,” he assured with a smirk. “Red and white— it’s sort of festive, don’t you think?”

You swallowed down the acid threatening to come up your throat— of course he was disturbed, but did he have to be so disgusting?

Again, it was like he read your mind as he grabbed your jaw and forced you to open your mouth, spitting onto your tongue before commanding you to swallow it. Just when you thought you’d reached the limits of his depravity, he found some new way to up the ante. What worried you most, though, was the fact that he’d already come and hadn’t left yet. Deep down, you knew it wasn’t over yet, but you hadn’t accepted it consciously.

“Such a good slut for me,” he praised through his teeth, “I bet I can go again, fuck, you turn me on so much.” Pulling back a bit and gripping his cock at the base, you squirmed a little as you looked at it. “You see this? I’m still hard. You make me feel like a fuckin’ teenager again, I swear.”

“I can’t…” you sighed weakly, your voice sounding all cracked and whiny as it moved through your sore throat. “I can’t take it again…”

“Don’t worry,” he soothed, “I’m gonna give your poor cunt a break… so I can rape this cute little ass.”

“No!” you yelped. “Please! Not there!”

He slapped you quickly before maneuvering two fingers to your other hole, teasing it as he laughed at your pre-emptive wince.

“It’s not gonna be so bad, baby, I’m gonna get you ready for it first, see? I bet you’ll love it, nasty little thing like you.”

The first finger slipped in with a little pop as the tight ring of muscle shifted to accommodate him. You’d never had anything go up that way before, and it was nothing like you could’ve imagined. Hissing in a breath through your teeth, you whimpered as he added a second finger already.

“Just relax,” he instructed. “Not that I don’t love you gripping my fingers with your tight little hole, but it’ll hurt less if you just let it happen.”

You willed your muscles not to tighten even as he twisted his fingers inside you, moving slowly until he was buried all the way to the knuckle and then finally pulling back. The third was a bit more of a challenge as he opened you wider, your fists clenching at the sting of pain. He let his come drip down from your pussy to use as lube, which was undoubtedly the filthiest thing you’d ever experienced. You tried to keep quiet and relax as he told you to, but your fight was renewed slightly as he pulled his fingers out and lined up his cock with your hole.

“Please,” you shivered, “don’t do this…”

“When are you gonna stop fucking fighting it, huh? How stupid are you? You’re tied up on the floor, I already made this pussy mine and you fucking loved it, how much more obvious could it be that I’m gonna do this? You’re fucked. It’s over. Just accept it and I’ll make it good for you.”

“This can’t be good for me,” you hissed through your teeth.

“Well, in that case,” he groaned, interrupting himself as he roughly shoved his cock into your ass. The air was punched from your lungs as pain burned white-hot through your body— it didn’t feel like his fingers had done much to prepare you at all, with the way this hurt. As soon as you had the oxygen needed to do so, you were crying again, loud sobs echoing around your dark, empty living room. “I was gonna be gentle,” he taunted you darkly, “but you had to run that mouth of yours.”

You tried to choke out an apology, but it was useless as he shoved his fingers into your mouth.

“Suck on ‘em, show me what your mouth is good for,” he demanded as you closed your lips and swirled your tongue around his fingers. “Fuck, that’s better. See how good it is when you know your place?”

You couldn’t really process his words, though, as you spent all your energy on trying not to think about how his cock felt in your ass. It was like being full in a completely different way than before, like being opened wider than you knew was possible. He pulled his fingers from your mouth and you hated the moan that spilled out after them.

“Your cunt is getting wet,” he sing-songed mockingly as he leaned back and looked down at it. “You love it up the ass, huh? Dirty bitch.”

You shook your head in denial (even though you could feel that he was right, at least about the first part), but he grabbed your jaw and forced you to look at him.

“Say it,” he grunted. “Admit it, slut. Admit you love getting fucked up the ass.”

“I…” you whimpered, barely able to get the words out even though you knew you needed to if you wanted to prevent him from hurting you worse. “I love… getting fucked—” you stopped to swallow the lump in your throat— “up the ass.”

He backhanded you, hard, right across the face. You cried and gasped all at once, choking on air from the force of the hit. “WHORE!” he yelled right in your face.

You sobbed uncontrollably as he fucked you with more brutality than you’d known was possible. “Please,” you tried to beg, even if you knew it was useless, but it was totally incomprehensible as you shook with the force of your cries, hissing in breaths through your teeth to try to cope with the pain.

“Thought it would take me a while to come again, but your ass feels so goddamn good— fuck, I’m close already. Want me to fill up that tight little ass?”

You shook your head as you sobbed, shaking violently against the confines of the ropes. Distantly, you heard the chimes of your clock in the other room.

“You hear that?” he whispered. “That means it’s midnight— it’s Christmas.”

He leaned in until his hot breath tickled your ear and neck, making you wish you could turn your head away more than just a few centimeters.

“Merry fucking Christmas,” he purred, just as you felt his cock swell and pulse inside you. Your eyes rolled back as you wondered if you’d ever been so full before.

It was a haze after that as he gently untied you, getting his gun out again and keeping it trained on you as he followed you to the bathroom and forced you to shower. Force was a bit of an overstatement, though, considering your desire to clean him off of you as much as possible. “I’m not gonna tell anyone, Robert,” you tried to calm him down as you shivered under the stream of water that hadn’t quite warmed up yet.

“Yeah, well, just in case,” he insisted as he waved the gun pointed in your direction. “Wash between your legs real good, push my come out.”

“Not gonna matter if you knocked me up like you said,” you reminded him. “A paternity test will be evidence enough.”

“Shut up,” he grimaced. “Can’t prove you didn’t want it, anyway. We both know you did.”

You didn’t respond to that, opting to shower silently instead and wincing every time you tried to clean between your legs. You were going to be sore for days, if not weeks.

“We both know I’m gonna be back for more real soon,” he added darkly. “Too good for just one night.”

#robert pronge x reader #mr. freezy x reader #robert pronge noncon #robert pronge smut #mr freezy smut #mr freezy noncon

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