#so after self soothing i wanna see some men die | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

extremelyblackandwhite · 3 years

Text

tis the damn season

pairing: mob!bucky barnes x reader

warnings: none

a/n: this is the end and i’ll need therapy because dear god i hate it when any of my projects end. thank you so much for supporting it and reading. hope you enjoy xx

CHAMPAGNE PROBLEMS

There's an ache in you put there by the ache in me but if it's all the same to you it's the same to me ...

There was a sea of people, suitcases rolling everywhere, people hugging their loved ones and there she was, straight out of the airplane holding her worn out, beat up suitcase with her name tag on it. It was a cold day, one of those that reminded her of being by the window with her mother doodling on the fogged glass as the snow laid on the green grass of her childhood home yet there was no snow, just cold. She knew to walk through the doors that led to the arrivals but she stood back, almost as if the cold froze her to her spot. Returning to her hometown meant looking at the road not taken before, the road she couldn’t have taken. Nevertheless, in the midst of chaos of people coming back home for the holidays, she ended up being almost dragged into the arrivals hall.

Immediately she spotted Wanda and Pietro dressed in thick winter coats and hats who were holding a sign with her name. She put on her best photographic smile, walking over to the twins who rushed over to hug her tightly, something she missed dearly when she was away.

- Finally! - the brown haired girl hugged her best friend tightly. - You can never leave me again for this long.

- It’s only for a few weeks, Wan.

- Let me savour it. - she loosened up the hug, handing Y/N’s bags to Pietro who just shrugged off and started walking to the car. - I have so much to tell you. Remember Elizabeth, the girl I copied off for Maths? Well, she got married but she had a baby like 5 months later which doesn’t adds up.

- Shotgun wedding. - Pietro added. - It was so tacky, absolutely awful. I fell asleep for at least five hours.

- Very good gift bags though. I took an extra one for you.

The three walked onto the cold town she thought she’d never have the change to return to. The moment she woke up from what she thought was certain death, her father and the chief of police were already telling her they had set up a witness protection program for her, all the way in Massachusetts. It was nice, she liked the weather, the warm fall colours during October but she didn’t felt at home. She had a new name, new story, in this one she didn’t even have her father not that in reality she ever did. She sat in the passenger seat of Wanda’s car, listening to all the news she seemed to have kept locked inside her mind for when she returned. Her mind as going haywire about what she wanted to know about, she wanted to know about Bucky.

She knew he couldn’t be happy if he had discovered it which she guessed by now he had. Several times her father had told her he’d employed several men to try and find her and had even told her to stay away until Christmas. Of course the only reason he wanted her around was so she could drive him from the bar after he drank his weight in beer but she couldn’t help but do it, she promised her mum she would take care of her dad no matter what happened. Yet, she still wanted to know about Bucky. She wanted to know if he hated her, if he had put a hit on her head. It kept her awake at night, every night, bugging her like a bad memory.

- Are you sure you wanna stay at your dad’s? You can stay with me and Vision.

- Of course she doesn’t want to stay with you. What kind of name is Vision anyway? - Pietro rolled his eyes.

- HIS PARENTS WERE HIPPIES. We’ve had this discussion. - Wanda playfully threw a empty water bottle at his brother. - Don’t you want to spend Christmas with someone who will actually be in the house during Christmas?

- I promised my mother, Wan.

- C’mon. If it’s because me and Vision will be there, there’s no problem. Remember Michael? He still wants to go out with you.

- I don’t want to go out with him.

- Yeah, Wanda. Y/N liked James Barnes. - Pietro muffled in a laugh, receiving a death glare from his sister. - What? It’s true.

- Y/N does not like someone who wants her dead. Don’t you remember when one of his friends was on campus and he had a gun?

- What? It’s just like Mr and Mrs Smith and for one, it’s something I’m interested in. Good for her.

- What about you, Pietro? Where’s your girlfriend? - Y/N smirked, crossing her arms as Wanda parked in front of Y/N’s childhood home.

- Which one?

- You’re a lost cause. - she opened the passenger’s door, going around to retrieve her suitcase.

- Call me if you’re alone during Christmas or Christmas Eve. Vision and I will come and set up a dinner with you.

- It won’t be necessary.

- Just call me, okay?

- Okay, Wan. I’ll see you tomorrow.

The red head smiled before driving away. Y/N stood on the cobblestones of her sidewalk waving goodbye before it was time to go meet her father. Her relationship with him was at best strained. When they didn’t find the shipment they wanted, he subconsciously blamed her along with constantly talking about how Edward could’ve died but he was luckily alive with a limp. She wished he had more than a limp but saying anything against his ward was absurd and completely forbidden. She was almost sure he’d spend more time at the hospital with him than her. Nevertheless, she was here and as she stepped into her porch, there were no Christmas lights, no garlands.

Flashbacks invaded her mind of sitting on the wooden stairs as her mother wrapped every surface she could in garland, wrapping the lights around the columns while her dad worked overtime. The two would then sit on the stairs with cups of hot cocoa, Y/N always preferring white chocolate hot cocoa with pink marshmallows and watched the lights go up for the first time. Every year she expected there to be lights after her mum was gone but they never showed. One year she tried to put them up but she soon came to realise the lights that held whatever sweet memories an object could hold were lost and gone. Everything was gone. She didn’t know why she expect it to be here.

Her keys jiggled as she opened the door to her childhood home. It was always messy, dusty, her mother’s yellow coat still hanging on the coat hanger the day she returned from the hospital. The house was a snapshot of that day, never changing, her father didn’t allow her. She knew why, she always knew why, she just refused to say it, she refused to say whom her father believed was the cause of her mother’s death. She refused to say it because she knew who it was and it wasn’t who her father thought it was.

- Dad? - she left her suitcase against the entry wall, walking further into her house and into the kitchen, liquor bottles on the floor near the chair were her father was sitting, still in his uniform, shirt tightened over his beer belly. - Hey dad, how are you?

- Y/N, darling, can you get some some of the liquor from the cabinet?

- Sure, dad. - she turned around, reaching into the cabinet, right at the end of it where she kept a bottle with water which tricked him all the time. - How’s the precinct?

- I think you know.

- You shouldn’t make catching him your target. Your target should be to protect innocent civilians.

- What would you know about it? You failed us.

- I’m sorry. - she looked down at her shoes. - You know ... I smell snow.

- You can’t smell snow, Y/N. There’s no such thing.

- C’mon... - she held his hands in hers. - We can make some hot cocoa, like mum used to do.

- Your mother would’ve been ashamed of you. - she shook his hands away from her, pointing his finger at her. - You caused another officer to get shot, you have no integrity. I shouldn’t have put you in the case.

- I didn’t. - she took a step back. - I told you I didn’t and you don’t believe me. Barnes didn’t try to shot me and Edward stepped in, you saw the report, the bullets don’t match up. He tried to shot at Barnes.

- He’s the most experienced shot I know, if he wanted to have gotten Barnes, he would’ve.

- He would’ve if I hadn’t stepped in front of it.

She turned around, tears watering her eyes and making her vision blurry as she walked further an further away. She kept walking, away from her house, away from her street until she was the furthest from it she could. The wind blasted her hair in different direction, freezing through her thin, useless jackets. She could smell it was going to snow, she could always smell it, the smell of freshly fallen and there she was, having forgotten her jacket. It was late into the night, no establishment was open and all she could wear were her boots against the slight frozen layer upon the cobblestones. She should feel hurt but she found herself in a numbness of state, the image of waking up in a hospital room all by herself much clear in her mind. She continued to walk until a purple light lit up her face.

She looked upwards, the title of the old establishment she used to work in blasted into purple light. Now, she was a rational being, a true believer of think before you act but she was cold and seemingly no longer held fear of her own death. Life is ephemeral and if she was meant to die, if fate was a thing then let it be. She went through the bodyguards entering the club that despite being almost Christmas Eve was filled with people.

Meanwhile James was leaning against one of his club’s walls, cigarette hanging from his lips. Filthy habit he knew, but he did it when he stressed. It soothed him, yet it seemed like all self destroying things soothed him. His eyes lingered against the empire he had built which now seemed so stupid. All material things and a few kills to remember him by when he died. He wondered if they would even remember or if when he breathe his last breathe, he’d be erased as quickly as he came to be. No one remembers what came in between and James did not create the business, he just perfected it. Nothing surprised this old dog anymore until tonight. He thought his brain was playing tricks on him as he saw her pass through the doors, hair covered in a knitted hat yet as quickly as he saw her enter, the quicker he saw her leave.

- Steve, follow her. - he immediately told the blonde who was happily chatting with his newly wedded bride. - Tell me where she stops. You better not lose her out sight or you won’t have any children.

Y/N was fast out, the moment she felt the warmth of the club. She no longer knew what she was doing, much too lost in whatever pain mixed with unresolved feelings she had. Nevertheless, she was out, and immediately calling Wanda. She was out on a date but offered to stay at her house and that was enough. She needed to sleep, consider what she was doing here and then return to Massachusetts. She could get used to being Elizabeth, the orphan girl who went to Harvard. She could be Betty, she could be someone on paper. She just didn’t know how to be Y/N anymore. She had to go back.

Wanda’s new place wasn’t thankfully too far and per usual she hide the key behind her petunia vase. Inside it looked exactly like what she believed her best friend’s dream home looked like but she deserved it. She deserved Vision, she deserved all this happiness and she wished she could stay behind and watch it.

She stripped out of her frosted clothes, walking into the bathroom to take a warm shower. “It’s no use dwelling on the past, sweetheart. It’s already gone.” her mother used to tell her and she guessed she was right, what use was it for her to wonder what if? There was no what if. She was a dead woman if he knew, but Y/N was already dead even if she didn’t. The last name ended with her, the genetic tree of her ancestors ended with her and she guessed it fit, destroyer of trees and blood.

She felt the warm water drip down her body and onto the porcelain floor of the shower, the foam making the air smell like wild daisies on a summer afternoon. It felt warm, it felt nice, thoughtless, to be only the essence of life without the obligation of thought. Just seeing, living, greatly dissolving into the fabric of nature. Stepping out of the shower, thought evaded. She was expecting to see him, to look at him one last time before she was gone. Yet again, what use was to look into someone who’d she betrayed? It was no use.

She involved herself in the white fluffy towel, walking into the kitchen to rummage through whatever Wanda and Vision had. Wanda was always a fun of tropical fruit so she knew she probably kept something yummy for her.

- You’ve always toyed with probability, petal. - she turned around once she head that voice, heart clenched yet beating faster at the same time. - It is very dangerous for you and for you friend. Easy lock, windows open.

- If you’re going to do it, please do it outside where we won’t stain my friend’s apartment.

- Oh petal ... - he took the gun from the holster which was always close to his legs. She had been shot before, she didn’t feel it, it didn’t hurt. She closed her eyes, waiting for the sound but the only sound that came was his gun hitting the floor. She opened her sides, watching as he slide the gun over to her, it reaching her feet. - I thought we were done with you being afraid of me.

- James ...

- Bucky. - he corrected her, still standing on the opposite side of the room. She stood there motionless but he started walking up to her. - You think I want to kill you.

- The worse thing I have ever did was what I did to you. Besides, Wanda saw one of your friends on campus with a gun.

- We always carry guns, petal. The question is what have you done to me?

- I’ve betrayed you.

- Have you? Because I don’t remember my shipment being intercepted not that it would, I lied to you.

- You lied to me?

- I never doubted your ... your affections towards me but I did doubt your loyalty to your father. I was surprised.

- Were you?

- No, I lied. What I was surprised about what that you took a bullet meant for me. What the fuck were you thinking? You could’ve died.

- I don’t know.

- You ran away from me. I wanted ... I ...

- What did you want, Bucky? - she cocked her head to the side, examining him and whatever his thoughts were doing to him.

- I wanted you. I wanted to have been by your side when you took a bullet for me, I wanted you in my bed, not in my bar I hate watching other men ogle you. I wanted you to marry me and carry my child. I wanted to give you everything I have and some more, all of what I have and all of what I don’t have. I wanted you, the captain’s daughter. I adored you.

- You don’t know me.

- I know you. You’re a terrible liar, can’t lie to save your life. Your heart ... - he stepped closer and closer to her. - Is on your sleeve. You might not know who you are or you might forget it but when you do remember I control everything but you control me.

- Bucky ...

- I just wanted to see you’re alive and well. I’ll leave and promise you’ll never see me again if you want.

- You didn’t ask me what I wanted.

- What do you want, petal?

- I want you to kiss me.

- I know where that ends, petal. - he smirked, hand searching for hers. - Very tempting of you to do those things to me.

5 YEARS LATER

It was cold, the sort of cold Bucky had began to hate, the sort of cold he felt whenever she left early in the morning to go to work but it was the sort of cold which mixed with sweet memories. Nevertheless, there he was, at another meeting, hearing whatever bullshit excuses Rumlow had to give him. Steve had been the one to suggest taking his territory rather than just off him yet taking care of a damaged business with an even more damaged partner was doing his head in. He stood against the new furnished couches of the bar, drinking his scotch as he heard Rumlow ramble and ramble about how he had good ideas. He had ideas, just not good ones. An hour late he was leaving the godless establishment to return home. He walked home as he always did during winter, watching the newly put up Christmas lights in the streets. His apartment wasn’t too far, having sold his previous one once Y/N moved back to Massachuts to buy one near her and then selling it once she graduated to buy another one. It was close to the bar and she liked it that way, constantly begging him not to go during Christmas and stay with her but business was business. Entering his home, the electrical fireplace was on and his heavily pregnant wife was barefoot, walking side to side and jumping into her dress.

- Stop jumping, you’ll fall and hurt yourself. - Bucky smirked, walking over to her and wrapping his arms around her body. - And we all know you can’t get up when you fall.

- So funny. - she playfully slapped him on the chest. - It’s almost as if this wasn’t your fault.

- How’s our little boy?

- How do you know it’s not a girl? - she smirked. - Nice try, Bucky but you’ll only know when the baby is born.

- You’re killing me here.

- Come on, we have to go to the twin’s baby shower.

- Explain to me again why did your friend decided to do a baby shower after the babies were born?

- So that she would tell us what size clothes they are. - she gave him a soft kiss, leaning against him. - You won’t be your usual grumpy, scary self. You’ll be good to the other dads.

- What will I tell the other dads when they ask me what I do?

- You’re a business man. - she straightened his suit’s lapel. - Isn’t that somewhat true?

- You’re lucky I adore you.

- Come on.

Bucky found it hard mixing both of their lifestyles, but he did it for her. God, he had done so much for her and he only wanted to do more for her. If someone had told him he’d beg the police captain to go to his wedding just to make Y/N happy, he would’ve laughed, yet Y/N deserved it. His father had pretty much set her aside once it came to light she was hanging out with him and he couldn’t help but feel guilty about it. He didn’t have many friends and those he had had completely relationships to the friends Y/N had, nevertheless he tried. He wanted to be the best husband and the best father he could possibly be. Bucky would lay sleepless every single night wondering how he’d do it. How would he go to profession day and tell kids about his job? He couldn’t or he’d traumatise them. Nevertheless, he worried. Y/N was going to be a great mum, the best mum even but him? He wasn’t so sure.

They reached Wanda’s place which was decorated with all sorts of baby blue decorations. 2 boys in one go. If Bucky suddenly had two kids, he would’ve had a heart attack. He barely knew he could be a good dad for one, imagine two.

- Oh my god, you’re huge. - Wanda said as she opened the door. - How come it’s not out yet?

- The baby’s stubborn like his father.

- More like his mother. - Wanda added. - Come see the twins.

There were two bassinets on the living room where Vision was frantically rocking them side to side, Pietro sat in the couch on his phone while most of the guests were still to arrive. Y/N looked over the bassinets, the two babies laying there wide awake which probably explained why Vision looked so overwhelmed.

- Why are they so big? - Y/N whispered to Bucky. - I can’t push something that big out of me.

- Well, think positive, at least you’re only pushing one out of you and not two.

- So that’s Billy and that’s Tommy. I think. - Wanda cocked her head to the side. - Well, Billy replies to his name and Tommy doesn’t.

- Can I hold one?

- Sure. Bucky, do you wanna hold one? - Wanda asked and before he could reply, the redhead had already put a baby in his arms. James hadn’t held a baby, he didn’t know how to hold a baby yet there it was, a baby. - Aw, look at that Billy or Tommy likes you.

- We’re still working on what colour we should dress one another so we know which one is which. - Vision added. - Pietro is still upset we didn’t name one Pietro.

- Y/N you will name your baby Pietro if it’s a boy.

- Absolutely not. - she said as she cooed the baby in her arms. - They’re so beautiful. Congratulations.

- Yeah ... - Bucky handed back the baby to Wanda. - Do you think I can use your balcony?

- Sure.

Y/N furrowed her browns, putting the baby back in his crib before excusing herself. She gave Bucky some time before following him and there he was, leaned against the wall, cigarette hanging from the middle of his lips as his wild blue eyes observed the night sky.

- It’s a filthy habit. - she walked into the balcony. - What’s stressing you?

- Nothing’s stressing me, petal.

- You always smoke when you’re stressed so let it out. What’s wrong? Is it Rumlow?

- Rumlow wishes he could stress me.

- Bucky.

- You’re pregnant, petal. Like ... really, really pregnant.

- We’ve established that. - she looked at her own bump. - You thought it was a food baby?

- I don’t know, looking at Wanda’s kids ... we will have a baby in less than a month and I am going to be a father and I will screw it up. I’m not ready.

- You’re stressed about being a dad? - she wrapped her arms around his neck, soft kind eyes looking at him. - Buck, everyone’s stressed with their first baby. You’re going to be a great dad.

- I should get a new job.

- Not this again.

- Yes. I need to get a new job so the baby ...

- Bucky, you don’t need a new job. - she interrupted him. - Your job won’t put the baby in danger because I won’t let it happen. I don’t know if you remember but I’m very good at deflecting bullets.

- Deflecting? - he laughed. - You’re very good at catching them.

- Either way, you’re going to be a great dad. Steve’s a great dad and he went parachuting without a parachute like an idiot. You take a parachute, at least.

- I see your point.

- James Barnes, in exactly five months you’re gonna be as good as a father as you could be. - she leaned against him, taking her opportunity to take the cigarette away from his mouth and tossing it out the balcony. Her eyes followed up to his face, intently on something. - What?

- I smell snow.

taglist: @lookiamtrying @mariamermaid @sebastianstansqueen @unmagically @buckybarnes1982 @mela-noche @lowercasegenius @randomweirdooo @projectcampbell @sebbystanlover-vk @jevans2 @hollarious @itsallyscorner @tcc-gizmachine @saiyanprincessswanie @stuckysavedmylive @vicmc624 @sebstanfan123

#sebastian stan #bucky #sebastian stan/you #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan/reader #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan/y/n #sebastian stan x y/n #bucky imagine #sebastian stan imagine #bucky drabble #sebastian stan drabble #mob boss! sebastian stan #mob boss!bucky #mob bucky

214 notes · View notes

stiltonbasket · 4 years

Note

Post-canon wangxian arranged marriage au: I just wanna see one or the other of them sip a lil vinegar. Although it would be most satisfying if it were WWX, who makes a deliberate show of being Hanguang-Jun's husband and then maybe has a little bit of a 'wtf was I doing' moment later when the self-awareness sets in.

(brief author’s note: please reblog, since that’s how we get prompts for future ficlets!)

Wei Wuxian is not jealous.

Being jealous of the pretty, doe-eyed girl from Zhoushang Zhang flirting with Lan Zhan would make no sense, since as Lan Zhan’s best friend, Wei Wuxian ought to be delighted by the prospect of his zhiji falling in love with an eligible maiden.

The fact that the aforementioned zhiji is his husband does not matter at all.

They are friends first and foremost, and two men, besides; and Wei Wuxian has always known that an honorable marriage between cultivators was for lasting companionship and love, begetting and bearing children, and dual cultivation to improve the strength and stability of the couple’s spiritual energy. The marriage between him and Lan Zhan is nothing but a marriage of convenience, one doomed to remain barren forever, and Wei Wuxian can’t cultivate, either--so how could he be jealous, when every word Zhang-xiaojie says to Lan Zhan is a step closer to his husband’s eternal bliss?

Wei Wuxian can’t be jealous, of course. And he isn’t, not in the slightest, which was why he took Xiao-Yu and withdrew into the nearest corner when Zhang-zongzhu’s daughters trapped Lan Zhan in their midst and started flirting with him. Remaining close by would only make the lady guests believe that Lan Zhan is happily married: which he is, for the moment, but only because he doesn’t know any better.

I’m happily married, though, something small and hurt seems to whisper in the back of Wei Wuxian’s mind, as he and A-Yu make a hasty escape from the gaudy feasting hall and begin looking for somewhere quiet to sit. I’m happy, being married to Lan Zhan.

Happy in a marriage Lan Zhan was forced to accept for the crime of being your sworn zhiji? Just because he calls you “niang zi,” and kisses you whenever you try to resist him? You’re pathetic.

He wants to call me his niang zi, the voice echoes back, so wistfully that Wei Wuxian’s heart nearly breaks in half on the spot. Lan Zhan, my husband, I--

“A-Niang!” Xiao-Yu cries, jerking him out of his one-sided conversation as the two of them go crashing to the floor--because Wei Wuxian, distracted by the mere thought of Lan Zhan calling him his wife, missed the single step between the feasting hall and the adjoining resting chamber and fell over it with A-Yu in his arms.

“Ouch,” he hisses, after looking over Xiao-Yu’s fluffy head to make sure his son was unhurt. Xiao-Yu is still whimpering into his sleeve, clinging to Wei Wuxian like a baby monkey as Wei Wuxian reaches down to inspect his own black-clad ankle--an ankle that proves to be badly sprained, already red and hot to the touch by the time Wei Wuxian manages to yank his boots and stockings off.

Xiao-Yu takes one look at the ankle and cries harder than ever. “Hurt, A-Niang? Hurt?”

“No, sweetheart,” Wei Wuxian soothes him, unwrapping one of the lengths of black cloth around his wrist to serve as a makeshift bandage. “A-Niang is all right, Yu’er. Don’t cry!”

“A-Niang is hurt!” the baby wails, scrambling to his feet. “A-Yu will help!”

And then, before Wei Wuxian can even reach out to grab him, A-Yu toddles away to the feasting hall as fast as his two-year-old legs can carry him, vanishing from sight around the corner and--

“A-Die!” he hears Xiao-Yu wail, as the chatter in the next room fades into deathly silence instead. “A-Die, A-Niang is hurt!”

And then--

And then Wei Wuxian can see nothing but a cloud of white silk, and smell nothing but sandalwood, and feel nothing but his husband’s heart beating twice as fast as usual as he carries Wei Wuxian and Xiao-Yu away towards their guest quarters, summoning two servants to bring hot water and calling over his shoulder for a healer before Wei Wuxian has the time to comprehend what just happened.

“Ah, Lan Zhan, you...you should stay in the banquet hall,” he offers feebly, trying not to melt in his husband’s arms when Lan Zhan kicks the door to their bedroom open and lays him down on a lounging chair. “It’s only a sprain, and I can look after myself! Wen Qing taught me how to bandage sprains when we were at the Burial Mounds, so I’ll be fine.”

“You will tend nothing yourself,” Lan Zhan says sternly. “I am your husband. It is my--”

“--Lan Zhan, you do so much out of duty because we’re married, so save this one some face and--”

“Wei Ying. It is my privilege.”

The fight goes out of Wei Wuxian’s body in one long, astonished gasp, followed by a dying sort of moan as Lan Zhan bows his head and kisses the hurt ankle thrice in a row, pressing spiritual energy into the joint with his lips to lessen the pain a little. “Lan Zhan!”

“We are married,” his husband insists. “Wei Ying, does this displease you?”

“D-does what displease me?”

“This. My kisses, my touch. My presence in your bed at night. My affection for you.”

“No--no, Lan Zhan, how could you even think such a thing? Anyone would be lucky to have you spare them a glance, let alone--let alone all that you do for me, I--”

“I am your husband,” Lan Zhan says again. “It is right and proper and good for me to do all these things.”

“But...but, we’re not really...”

“Niang zi,” his husband interrupts, “my sweet Wei Ying, my zhiji--listen to this xiang-gong, and let him tend you.”

And really, what was Wei Wuxian supposed to do after that?

Refuse?

Never.

#wangxian #the untamed #mo dao zu shi #wangxian arranged marriage au #renouncement verse #my fic

286 notes · View notes

speirstookmysoul · 3 years

Text

Ronald Speirs - NSFW Alphabet

Hello beautiful! How are we doing today?

New HBO War blog coming at you, focusing on Band of Brothers. A moment of silence of the WIPS I have in other fandoms.

Let’s christen this new blog with some sin!

Content Warning: 18+ Content below the cut. Minors please do no interact.

All depictions are based on the actors' portrayals as shown in the 2001 HBO miniseries. No disrespect is meant to the real people who served during World War II that these portrayals are based upon.

These men (and women) are truly the greatest heroes ever known. I thank each and every one of them for their service and their bravery.

A = Aftercare (what are they like after sex?)

Ron likes to have a smoke after sex. After his breathing and heart rate regulates and his legs aren’t shaking anymore, he sits up in bed (or props himself up against a wall) and lights a cigarette while he pulls his partner into his side. He’s not much for talking; he enjoys the quiet after sex. He’ll listen if his partner likes to talk.

It takes him awhile to figure out what his partner needs after sex in regards to aftercare, especially if Ron was being rough, if he was pushing them both into overstimulation to the point that having an orgasm hurt. Sex with Ron is an intense affair.

Once Ron figures out what his partner needs, he’s on top of it.

Do they need a warm rag to clean up? He’s up with his cigarette hanging out of his mouth and coming back with several rags and a bowl of warm water. Need your feet/hands rubbed? He’s doing it. Like to relax in a hot bath? He’s running the water right now and will have his post-sex smoke in the bathroom with you. If you want him in the tub with you, let him finish his smoke and he’s all yours, he’ll massage your scalp.

You just wanna a cuddle and have him stroke your hair? Get over here.

B = Body part (what is their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner?)

Ron likes his partner’s hands, and more specifically, their knuckles. He likes how their hands fit against his and how their knuckles are like a good cradle, much like the one he finds between his partner’s legs, when they hold hands.

Ron likes his jawline, for no other reason than the shape is attractive to him.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum)

He always uses a condom unless he has permission to bareback it. He likes to see his cum ooze out of his partner, watching a self-satisfied smirk because he did that.

Seeing his cum in his partner’s mouth after a blowjob will get him going again.

D = Dirty Secret (a dirty secret of theirs)

Ron has many fantasies. Some he’ll never talk to his partner about because of how dangerous they are. Some he’ll happily share.

One he’s shared was that he’d love to give his partner an orgasm in public, somewhere like a pub. Where his partner would have to stay quiet to avoid letting everyone know just what Ron was doing to them.

Or they could scream for him, just let everyone know what was happening under the table.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Ron has some decent experience. He definitely knows what he’s doing, it just takes him a while to figure his partner’s cues on what they like and don’t like, similar to how it takes time for him to figure out what his partner needs after sex.

F = Favourite Position

Ron claims he doesn’t have a preferred position. And he really doesn’t. Any position that allows him to feel his partner is good enough for him.

If his partner wants to ride him, Ron keeps his hands on his partner’s hips. He’ll take over when their legs get too tired.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment or humorous?)

Ron is as serious as the dead during sex.

If you like a little (or a lot) of humor with your sex, a partner like Luz or Nixon is recommended.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes?)

Ron keeps his trimmed out of personal preference. He likes it if his partner does the same.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? are they romantic?)

Ron is not a romantic during sex. Outside of sex, he does have a bit of a romantic side; he just doesn’t flex that romantic side often.

With intimacy, as stated down in Pace, after a conversation is had, Ron becomes more intimate with his partner.

J = Jack Off (masturbation headcanon.)

Ron doesn’t like masturbating. It’s not as satisfying as the real thing, you know?

Much like quickies, however, desperate times call for desperate measures. Ron just makes sure that he’s very much alone. Ron is rough with himself, he wants to get it down and over with as quickly as possible.

Now, guided masturbation or mutual masturbation with his partner? Color him intrigued.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks.)

Ron is a dom and I think we can all agree on that. He doesn’t really care if his partner is submissive or not.

Is it fun when his partner is submissive during sex? Yes. Is it fun when his partner is also a dom and they (play) fight for dominance? Fuck Yes. It’s a good time either way.

He does have a bit of an authority kink in regards to his partner; calling him ‘Sir’ will get him to be rougher than he was before. A flippant ‘Yes Sir’ outside of sex will go to his cock, and he’s thinking about what he’s going to do when he gets his partner alone.

Ron is fond of restraining his partner. Securing their hands behind their back or to a headboard. He’s down to be restrained himself too.

With his partner’s permission, he’ll use a knife to cut away clothing. His partner can do the same to him if they want.

L = Location (where are their favourite places to do the do?)

He prefers a bed, that's why he and his partner are comfortable.

Ron is, however, down to fuck anywhere at least once.

M = Motivation (what turns them on and gets them going?)

There’s a little spot on Ron’s neck that if his partner touches or sucks on it just right, he’ll be carrying them off over his shoulder. Not literally, but you get the idea.

Adrenaline is a good motivation; when it’s still pumping through him and Ron wants nothing more than to pin his partner down and go to town on them.

N = NO (is there something they wouldn’t do? what are their turn-offs?)

Ron will never do anything that would put his partner in danger, no matter how much Ron would like to dabble in it. Anything that his partner isn’t comfortable with is also out the door with a firm boot to the ass and it’s bags getting thrown out with them.

Ron will never have a threesome where someone else was engaging in sex with his partner. Would he consider letting someone watch Ron and his partner? Yes, he’d consider that. But letting someone else fuck his partner? Let someone else give his partner pleasure? Hell no.

O = Oral (do they prefer giving or receiving? how skilled are they?)

Ron is equally fond of both receiving and giving.

When receiving, he likes to run his fingers through his partner’s hair, he likes when they make eye contact with him. Seeing his partner looking up at him with his cock in their mouth gets to him. If his sack gets squeezed, Ron is bucking hard into his partner’s mouth. His eyes will roll back if he gets deep-throated. If he could choose how he’d die, he’d happily choose to die like that.

When giving, Ron goes at it like a man possessed. He enjoys having his hair pulled when he's giving, and he likes pinning his partner’s hips. He’s enthusiastic, and somehow, doesn’t get sloppy? Call it a Speirs Effect. Tongue, sucking, teeth, fingers. He does it.

Ron has a habit of biting his partner’s thighs when giving oral. Just be careful with trying to pull him away before he's done down there. He’ll nip his partner’s fingers and shove their hands away. He’ll growl and double time his pace, just out of spite the first time. The second time, he keeps going, but will deny his partner the orgasm Ron’s been working them towards with a devilish smile on his face and feral look in his eye.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough or slow and sensual?)

Ron does both.

The first time Ron has sex with a new partner, he isn’t exactly rough, but he isn’t gentle either. He translates any words he hasn’t said prior into this encounter, working hard to show how much he loves and desires his partner with his actions, his touch, his kisses. Ron can’t get close enough to his partner during the first time they have sex, holding them so tightly there will be bruises from where his hands were.

Sex with Ron is an intense experience. It doesn’t matter if he’s being rough or not. Eye contact, pressing as close as possible; if Ron and his partner don’t come at least twice, he didn’t do his job correctly and Ron starts over.

An issue can arise with his partner, where they feel like Ron isn’t emotionally connected to them, where they feel like Ron is just using them as a stress relief from how rough he is at times. After that conversation is had, Ron switches things up a bit.

Is he still rough? Yes. But he also brings more sensuality into it. He’s more deliberate with his touches; easing his grip from the bruising strength, running his hand down his partner’s side and up their leg, their chest; soothing the sharp nips of his teeth with his tongue, pressing soft kisses to his partner’s face; all to contrast how rough he is being.

Q = Quickie (what is their opinion on quickies over proper sex? how often do they have quickies?)

Ron really doesn’t like quickies. He prefers proper sex. However, sometimes a quickie is all Ron has time for.

He has two MOs for quickies. The first is sticking his hand down his partner’s pants, and encouraging them to do the same to him, to get that pleasure that way. Alternatively, he’ll bend his partner of the nearest surface or push them up against a wall if he wants to have penetrative sex. It’s fast and brutal this way, and usually Ron is the only one who gets an orgasm. He more than makes up for it later, when he has more time.

R = Risk (are they willing to experiment? do they take risks?)

Ron is willing to experiment, up to a point. If it’s something dangerous, where he or his partner could be seriously hurt by one wrong move, he isn’t interested.

If Ron’s yearning is high enough and his partner agrees, he’ll have sex in a semi-public place, like an alleyway or a backroom.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Ron can go for three rounds, if he pushes himself. After three rounds, he’s shaking just as much as his partner is, he’s done, if he has another orgasm he’s going to pass out.

How long the rounds last vary. If Ron wants to draw it out, he eases back when he and his partner are getting close. If Ron wants to be quick about it, he goes crazy, working himself and his partner in a frenzy.

T = Toy (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Ron doesn’t have any toys. Little hard to have any toys when fighting a war.

He’ll use his scarf or his belt if he or his partner want to be restrained.

U = Unfair (how much do they like to tease?)

Ron is a goddamn tease and he fucking knows it.

Outside of sex, he teases his partner when he knows no one else is paying attention. He’ll catch a feel of his partner’s ass when they walk by. He’ll run his finger along the seam of their pants or up their skirt if they're sitting next to each other. He’ll whisper what he’ll do to them later just to watch them try to not squirm in front of other people. He’ll press up against their back, hands dangerously close to being improperly placed.

During sex, he likes to tease orgasms out of his partners during the foreplay. Barely there touches, backing off just as they are getting close to the edge. He does it all with a smile on his face.

Flip the tables on him; he didn’t realize he liked being teased until he was.

V = Volume (how loud are they? what sounds do they make?)

Ron’s a growler. He bites his lips to keep louder moans down, which leads to the growls.

W = Wild Card (a random nsfw headcanon.)

Ron writes love letters. More specifically, he writes steamy love letters. The kind that leaves his partner breathless and flushed, having to lay down for a little while reading and after reading.

It doesn’t matter if his partner is there with him or back at home, Ron will write steamy love letters.

Ron isn’t lewd due to the censors if he’s writing a partner back home, but the implications? Ooo boy. He doesn’t read his partner’s replies until he’s alone and there is no one else around to hear.

If his partner is there with him, when they are alone, Ron hands them the letter and watches their face with a smug expression. That often leads into steamy moments between them.

X = X-Ray (what’s going on in those pants?)

Length is just about average. He’s got some girth to him, just on the edge of there being a burn if his partner isn’t properly ready to take him. He has an upward curve with a large vein. He is usually varying shades of pink, the head being the darkest.

He knows how to use it.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

If Ron’s partner is in the war, Ron’s yearning is high, but manageable. He gives steamy looks when he sees his partner, maintaining eye contact and lingering touches longer than appropriate. When he can steal a moment with his partner to kiss them, he’s doing it. Kisses during those moments are often promises for when Ron and his partner can be alone together again.

If his partner is waiting for him back home, his yearning is through the roof. When he sees them again, Ron can’t keep his hands off of them. He gets impatient on the way to the bedroom, and once in the bedroom, he and his partner are in there for a while. If anyone wants to see Ron, they need to do it before he gets to his partner, or wait until Ron is satisfied.

Z = ZZZ (how quickly do they fall asleep afterward?)

It takes a while for Ron to fall asleep with or without sex. He’ll lay with his partner for a while, looking at them after they go to sleep, not really caring that his arm is going to numb from the weight of his partner.

Ron is usually the one holding his partner, with their head on his shoulder or on his chest. If Ron can be convinced to lay his head down on his partner’s chest or stomach and his partner is rubbing the back of his neck, running their nails against his scalp? He’s out like a light within the hour.

#ronald speirs #ron speirs #ronald speirs x reader #ron speirs x reader #hbo war #band of brothers #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers x reader

107 notes · View notes

theseshipsshallsail · 3 years

Link

There’s a new club in the Village - Infinity emblazoned in bright, neon letters - and naturally, the building is jam-packed with society’s outcasts on its opening weekend. Oliver grimaces, pressing his third beer to the side of his face, yet the condensation does nothing to soothe his overheated skin. It’s like a furnace of writhing bodies, and with every bead of sweat that bisects his neck to soak into his collar, he can’t help but wonder why he ever agreed to come in the first place.

“Drink up,” Vanessa says, brandishing a bright amber concoction as she slides into the booth opposite him. “You look like you need something a little stronger.”

Oliver raises an eyebrow as he returns the bottle to the table, then plucks the wedge of orange peel from the rim of the proffered glass. It’s been three years since he tasted a negroni, and the potent combination of gin, Campari, and vermouth sends his mind reeling in directions he usually fights tooth and nail to avoid.

“Remind me again why you brought me here?” he asks, trying not to wince at the bitter aftertaste. “This isn’t exactly my scene.”

Vanessa scoffs. “Well, if you ever left your study...”

“I’m up for promotion!”

“You’ll be up for an ulcer if you don’t slow down. Besides, you deserve to let loose after... you know.”

You know, meaning his divorce, and the eighteen month shit-storm that preceded it.

Vanessa has the office next to his, and in between general grousing about University politics they’ve become close friends. It helps, of course, that she understands his situation all too well, and even though her parents never tried to strong-arm her to the altar, she and her girlfriend still have to hide their relationship from the rest of their colleagues.

Oliver sighs as he takes a second sip of his drink. “It’ll take more than a one night stand to loosen me up,” he tells her, and the filthy smirk that curls Vanessa’s lips has him tempted to bang his forehead against the table.

“Whatever tickles your pickle, Professor.”

“Why do I put up with you?”

“Hell if I know.” Slurring somewhat, she taps their cocktails together, and Oliver laughs as she leans forward, poking him in the chest. “Listen, Ollie, you and Micol did a spectacular job of making yourselves miserable, but at least you stayed faithful ‘til the end. Why not enjoy yourself, yeah?”

“Why not indeed?”

He’s aiming for sarcastic, yet his tone falls somewhere short of exhausted. She’s right, he realises, but Oliver hasn’t had much interest in men or women for a while. He’s not so deep in denial to admit his heart still belongs to another, and being hopelessly in love with someone he can’t have has done a real number on his libido.

“Damn! This place is heaving!” Simone says, slumping in her seat when she returns from the bathroom. Slinging an arm around Vanessa’s shoulder she drops a quick kiss to her cheek, and Oliver averts his eyes, the casual intimacy leaving him yearning for the impossible. “A few too many student-types for my liking, though. Makes me feel like I’m back in the theatre department.”

“Makes me feel like I’m pushing thirty,” Oliver mutters, painfully aware of the significantly younger crowd as he tugs at the cheap material of his shirt. Too many curries and not enough exercise has made him self-conscious of the few extra pounds at his waistline, and depressingly, twenty-eight feels ancient in comparison.

“You wanna call it a night?” Vanessa asks, and Oliver nods absently as his gaze catches on a couple in the middle of the dancefloor.

Caught in a world of their own, they make a striking picture. The taller of the pair is bleached-blond and athletic, his arms wrapped tightly around the slim waist of the man in front of him in a surprisingly protective gesture. Oliver can’t see his partner clearly from this angle, but his skin is pale and shimmering as they move to the beat, dark curls falling in a tousled mess. Whether it’s by artful design or sweat-damp from dancing, he can’t quite tell, yet Oliver is hypnotized by the way they bounce as he loses himself to the music, obscuring his vision until the other man reaches forward, gently brushing them away.

The bass pounds in his rib cage, and Oliver’s throat feels constricted as he watches the brunette link his hands behind his lover's neck. Profile half in shadows, he raises up on tiptoes to whisper in the shell of his ear, and Oliver experiences a crisis of tenderness when he butts their temples together. Something squirms in his stomach. Something raw and envious. Memories flare, unfair and brutal, and he immediately blames the burning of his retinas on the relentless assault of the strobe lights surrounding them.

“Oliver? You okay?”

No.

Definitely not.

The jostling crowd causes the blond to alter their position, and Oliver’s head spins from more than just the alcohol as his blood runs cold in his veins.

“Elio…” he murmurs, vaguely aware of Vanessa’s stifled gasp when she tries to get a better look.

“Your Elio?”

He wants it not to be - wants his eyes to be deceiving him - yet there’s no denying the truth. All that he’s forgotten - all that he’s clung to - coalesces in a rush of unslaked longing, and between one blink and the next, Oliver remembers everything.

“Not anymore,” he whispers, but then, why would he be?

Elio was seventeen when they first met, and Oliver isn’t naive enough to think he hasn’t fallen in and out of love many times since then. He’s beautiful, intelligent, talented beyond measure. Was he really so arrogant to imagine he would still be single? Pining for him, maybe? Saving himself? And for what? A six week romance one too-hot Italian summer? Something his cowardice cut short with a long-distance phone call?

He was, wasn’t he?

Arrogant.

And so very stupid.

“Of all the gay bars in all the world…” Vanessa takes a swig of her piña colada as he continues to spiral. “I thought you said he lived in Italy?”

“He did,” Oliver replies, picking at his thumbnail. “He moved here for school.”

“And you didn't contact him?”

“To say what?” His ears ring from the shrillness of her tone. “Hey, Elio. Remember that time I broke both our hearts ‘cause I’m a gutless schmuck? How about I buy you a coffee to make up for it?”

“It would’ve been a start.”

“It would’ve been selfish,” he says, tearing his eyes away. “He has enough on his plate with Juilliard. I’d only get in the -”

“Juilliard?” Simone’s low whistle interrupts his self-reproach. “Impressive.”

“Son of a professor,” Oliver explains. “I always knew he was a genius.” He gathers himself with a quiet huff. “Though he’ll probably say he knows nothing.” The spark of nostalgia is crippling, and it takes everything he has not to break down on the spot. “I should go,” he says, draining the remains of his drink as he rises to his feet.

“Oliver -”

“Why don’t you come back to ours?” Vanessa offers, making to follow, but whatever expression is on his face causes Simone to catch her by the wrist.

“We’re here if you need us, alright?”

“I know,” he says, eternally grateful for their support as he pushes some cab money into her hand. “Get home safe. I’ll call you in the morning, okay?”

“You’d better,” Vanessa tells him, obstinate in her concern, yet all he can focus on right now is leaving.

The swirling thoughts inside his head are all-consuming, but Oliver is determined to reign in his emotions for a little while longer. Ignoring the way his shoes stick to the tacky vinyl flooring, he grits his teeth as he snakes his way through the crush of humanity. He needs space. Fresh air. Hell, a damn time machine wouldn’t go amiss. He has nobody to blame but himself, and he’s halfway to the exit sign when his pace grinds to a halt, his masochistic streak unable to resist one last glimpse.

A flash of irrational panic makes him breathe in deep - hold it for a count of three - and when he turns to scan the roiling bodies that fill up the dance floor, he finds them immediately. The shock doesn’t lessen, and if Oliver thought his heart had broken when they’d clung to one another on a train station platform, it’s naught compared to when Elio tips the other man’s chin up with the same fingers that used to play his body like a finely tuned instrument. White noise fills his ears as he ghosts a kiss to his lips - two chaste pecks at first - and then harder. Hungry. Mouths open. Tongues swirling. Deep and dirty.

Just the way he likes it.

Fool that he is, Oliver doesn’t turn away. But he’s not the only one. Their bawdy display has garnered a small audience of the jealous and horny, and when the cat-calls eventually die down he notices a clearly disappointed red-head stalk past them on route to her table of friends.

Time has not domesticated him, it seems, and Oliver feels like crying as the world returns frame by frame - the oscillating pulse of the dance track. The lightning burst of colour from the laser system above. An innate sense of powerlessness floods through him - the depths of which he hasn’t experienced since Elio sobbed against his chest in an attic bedroom - and a heavy weight settles in his belly as he recognises the cues and rituals that were once directed at him alone.

Elio has obviously flourished in his absence. His body language is looser, more relaxed, assured in a way his younger self could only dream of, and Oliver allows an almost-smile as the couple laugh for a moment before turning to walk away.

His fingers itch for a cigarette - a habit he’s struggling to waive - and the next thing he knows he’s taking a seat at the bar, a double shot of bourbon in his hand he doesn’t remember ordering, and a screaming admonishment from his better judgement to not do anything stupid.

All I had to do was find the courage to reach out and touch, Elio said once, rife with self-mockery, and Oliver’s advice was to try again later. Was this it? Their later? And if not now, when? Because whatever his feelings of bitterness - whatever his misguided envy - if he lets this opportunity pass him by, he will always wonder. Always look.

In truth, he already does.

Ever since Samuel mentioned Elio was moving to the States, he’s carried the idle fantasy of crossing paths in some random book store, eyes locking across a busy street, a name - his, theirs, both - shouted across a bustling coffee shop. Of all eventualities, though, he hasn’t prepared for an Elio who might not be happy to see him. Who might dismiss him. Cast him aside like some ill-fitting chapter in the editing process. The context is all wrong, and for it to happen like this is akin to being plunged into the icy waters of the berm.

“Accidenti!” an achingly familiar voice says from somewhere behind him. “Are all Americans incapable of taking a hint? Or is it just an East Coast thing?”

“It’s the accent, mio amico. Fries their brains.”

“Never mind their brains,” Elio replies in the same lazy drawl. “I think you’ve sprained my tonsils.”

There’s a snicker to his left, and like a moth to a flame, Oliver peers up into the mirror behind the bar, only to find his living nightmare mere meters away, sharing a cigarette. Elio’s still wearing the same bracelets he did that summer, and three years of sleepwalking collapses around him as Oliver hunches over, palms sweating.

“Seriously though,” the blond continues. “Look at this place! Wall-to-wall entreés, and you won’t so much as skim the menu. You’re spoiled for choice, compagno.”

Elio scoffs as he brings the filter to his lips. “Didn’t I tell you choice is an illusion?”

“As is time, according to Adams.” The man slings an arm over his shoulders. “And here you are, free as a bird, wasting the perfect opportunity.”

Elio flips him the middle finger. “Stronzo,” he says, leaving Oliver more confused than ever as he studies him over the rim of his glass. “It’s a curse.”

“Self-inflicted, maybe.”

“So what’s the answer? And don’t say forty-two.”

The guy chuckles. “Variety,” he says, signalling the harried bartender. “Things didn’t work out with the violinist - I get it. È la vita! You’re not in the mood for pushy red-heads? Fine. But don’t sell yourself short. Trust Fund Tina’s not the only one checking you out.”

“Perhaps.”

“What perhaps?” A knowing smirk shoots in Oliver’s direction. “See for yourself.”

It’s like experiencing the first tremor of an earthquake. Elio was always a force of nature, and bracing for disaster, Oliver feels the fault lines buckle beneath him. He thought he was done letting fear and shame dictate his life, yet even now, at peace with his true self, he can’t bear to witness the seismic shift between past and present. Instead, he falls back on avoidance, tearing strips off a frayed beer mat until the hair prickles at his nape.

He can feel it - the instant his fate is sealed - and taking a deep breath Oliver returns his eyes to the mirror, meeting Elio’s stunned features. Dark brows climb towards his hairline as the happiness on his face shifts into something else. Something measured. Unrecognisable. A blank slate, almost. For a moment, Oliver fears he’s going to ignore him completely, but then Elio straightens his spine, offers the half-smoked cigarette to his friend, and with a few whispered words strides forward with purpose.

His daring is a law unto himself, but the look he’s giving him now exudes superiority - omniscience, almost - as if he can read every thought that’s going on inside Oliver’s mind, and has already deemed them wanting. It shouldn’t be such a turn on, yet his heart skips a beat regardless. Then another. Every instinct in his body tells him to reach out, to hold Elio’s hand, tuck those wild curls behind his ear, but it’s no longer his place - if it ever really was to begin with - so Oliver takes a deliberate sip of his whiskey, scared and aroused simultaneously, before swivelling towards him.

“Oliver.” His name on Elio’s lips - three smooth syllables - and he feels reborn. “Long time no see.” Hesitating, he offers up a pack of Luckies. “Fumo?”

“I shouldn’t,” he says, dragging trembling fingers through his hair. “I told myself I’d quit. God knows it won't take much to -”

“Tempt you?”

Heat rises to Oliver’s cheeks. “Yes,” he admits, and Elio’s smile is a shallow, brittle thing.

“Well, you know yourself,” he says, returning the cigarette carton to his pocket. “Don’t let me ruin your good intentions.”

His flippancy is like a red rag to a bull, and Oliver’s hackles rise as he sets his drink on the counter, irritated enough by Elio’s calm exterior to try and provoke a reaction. “Is your boyfriend not the jealous type?”

All he receives is an eye roll. “Bruno’s not my boyfriend.”

“Could’ve fooled me. From what I saw earlier.”

“You saw nothing,” Elio replies, defensive. “We’re friends. Roommates.”

“Roommates?” Rising from his stool, Oliver takes a step towards him. “That kiss -”

“Is none of your business. Not anymore.”

It hits him like a punch to the gut. Oliver’s lips part, but no sound passes between them. He’s being irrational, he’ll accept, but old habits die hard, and through sheer force of will he quashes down his guilt, knowing better than to use it as a weapon.

“Of course,” he says, chastened. “You’re right.”

“I usually am.”

“Elio…” This isn’t how he wants the conversation to go. “I know it’s too much to expect your forgiveness, but please don’t be angry with me. We were friends, once. Before anything else.”

“I’m not angry.” A beat. “Not anymore.” Tipping his chin, Elio folds his arms in front of him. One more barrier despite the brush-off. “I’m processing.“

“Processing?”

“Yes, processing. Originates from the Old French proces. Related to the Latin processus, and from the verb procedere in Middle English.”

“Wise ass.”

“Sempre.” Elio shrugs, watching him openly. “What are you doing here, Oliver?”

“My friends saw the flyers,” he says, bypassing the here, specifically, when Elio’s attention drops a few inches lower, and he realises he’s staring at his ring finger.

At the white line that’s all but vanished since he signed his way to freedom.

“You’re…”

Oliver clears his throat. “Divorced,” he manages, shuffling his feet. “Almost three months now.”

“Divorced?” Elio’s mask slams back into place, the distress in his voice palpable. “Why?”

And there are so many things he could say to that - the stress of his job, money, differing expectations - but this is Elio. His first love. His forever love. He, above anyone, deserves the truth.

“I think you know why.”

“Do I?” That same phony indifference. “What the eyes see, and the ears hear, the mind believes.”

“The truth is never that simple.”

“Not for us, it seems. Not in this world.” Elio gives his head a small but firm shake, blowing out a frustrated breath. “You know, tonight was supposed to lower my stress levels, not raise them,” he says, granting them a temporary reprieve. “But then, you always were hazardous to my blood pressure.”

“Trust me. The feeling’s mutual,” Oliver tells him wryly. “Might I recommend some deep breaths?”

“Deep breaths?” Elio rocks back on his heels. “If I had any peaches I’d be using my right hand.”

It catches him unawares, and Oliver can't help it. He snorts. Overcome by relief. Then he laughs - a weak sound, and damn near helpless - but a laugh, nonetheless. Cupping a palm to his mouth. Moving it to his eyes. Feeling the tears he’s been fighting since this whole debacle began.

“My God you’re incorrigible,” he mutters, the sharp stab of regret cutting him to the core as he glances over his shoulder, and the blond - Bruno - shoots him a wink. “When you said I saw nothing...”

The hesitant curve of Elio’s smile lights a fire in his chest. “There was a girl on the dance floor who wouldn’t take no for an answer. Lucky for me, Bruno’s never been shy about putting on a convincing performance.”

Oliver winces. “Well, I bought it.”

“Mission accomplished, then.” Elio edges closer. “I could’ve said the same for you, once upon a time.” The air between them grows charged. “Do you ever miss it?” he asks. “Italy, I mean?”

“Every single day.” Oliver finds himself captivated by the smattering of stubble along Elio’s jawline. The touch of smudged kohl beneath his lashes that turns his gaze smouldering. “Do you?”

“In a way.”

“Just a way?” He’s not entirely certain they’re talking about the same thing, and Vanessa’s advice seems all the more pertinent. “Let me buy you a coffee?” Oliver asks, and Elio frowns.

“What? Now?”

“If you like.”

“It’s gone midnight!”

“Tomorrow, then. Whenever you’re available.” Suddenly desperate, he closes the gap between them. “I can’t excuse my actions, Elio - I know I can’t - but at the very least I owe you an explanation.”

“Oliver...” This time it’s Elio who reaches out, his usually steady hands uncertain as they entwine with his. “I was young, not stupid. What’s there to forgive? You left because you had to. You married because -”

“I was weak.”

“Cazatte!” The tension in Elio’s body snaps back like a coil. “My father would have carted me off to a correctional facility,” he murmurs, squeezing his fingers tightly. “I’ll never forget those words.”

“I’m sorry...”

“Don’t be!” Elio sounds furious on his behalf. “Weak, you say? No. Control over others is the true weakness. Coercion. Conformity. All it does is breed hatred. And that’s not you. Not my Oliver.”

“Am I still?” he asks, laying his cards out on the table. “Your Oliver?”

“I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

Oliver swallows thickly. “I guess we will,” he says, dropping his forehead to Elio’s crown.

He’s braver at twenty-one than Oliver could have dared imagine, and for the first time in years the dull ache beneath his ribs is replaced by a different sort of craving. The way they fit together so easily, like no time has passed, fans the banked passions within him - the desire to press his lips against Elio’s neck, to nip his way along countless freckles until he can fist those unruly curls and guide his mouth back to where it belongs.

Flush against his.

Devouring.

But not yet.

This isn’t leading to sex. Not tonight. This is about reconciliation. Reassurance. Redemption.

“There’s a late-night diner on the corner…”

It’s a whisper against his cheek - so quiet he barely hears it - and Oliver leans down, pressing his face to Elio’s collarbone, breathing him in. He knows this won’t be easy - knows there will be dark clouds before the dawn - yet here they are, older and wiser, and three years might as well be yesterday as the parting crowds provide a temporary island in which to weather the storm.

#cmbyn roll the dice challenge #fanfic #oliver pov #elio and oliver #cmbynrollthedicechallenge

15 notes · View notes

romeulusroy · 4 years

Text

Cerebral Cortex (Thomas Shelby Oneshot)

Character/s: Thomas

Word Count: 1,164

Tag List: @dontdowhatisayandnobodygetshurt @myriadimagines @lilyswritings @encounterthepast @death-of-a-mermaid @lotsoffandomimagines @woahitslucyylu @obsessedunicorn24 @thedarkqueenofavalon @fangirlsarah16 @theshelbyclan @captivatedbycillianmurphy

A/N: I don't have a lot to say about this. Just an idea I had reading a book about a neurosurgeon :) I know this could have been written better, but it already took so many hours, I don't think I'll be 100% happy with it, if that makes sense? Anyways, feedback is always appreciated 💜💖💜

Gif Credit: @nofckingfighting :)

FIC MASTERLIST PART ONE. / PART TWO.

WANNA BE ADDED TO THE TAG LIST?

You never quite knew what he was thinking, feeling, what played behind those sunken blue eyes. You wished there was a way, though. Something you could do to figure it out, pry it out of him when his voice left him, when words just weren't enough. Dreamed of cracking his skull apart in pieces, a puzzle of bone and brain matter. Pull back skin and muscle instead, something that wasn't so invasive, something that wouldn't leave any more scars that it needed to. You weren't sure what you'd find in there. Scattered letters written, hidden, never sent. Wet ink running, bloody, gory, all the things he kept to himself over the years. All the words left unsaid, all the terrible feelings he harbored to himself. Pictures, images, of all the ghosts he carried with him. Family, friends, strangers he felt a kin to, now resting in their graves. Hums of lullabies he slept to as a baby, echoes of screams and cries men he fought side by side with, all the worst things anyone anyone ever said to him. Whatever you found, whatever nestled in the wrinkles of his mind, scared of the light of day, it would be worth it.

Attention. A man of focus, of devotion, to all the wrong things. One track mind. A gun with a single bullet. Hunched over his desk, elbows on the table, lit by a dim light, the bustle of the outside world quieting, the world growing tired, settling into a warm home and welcomed arms. Stars sparkling, shining, leading the way down the cobblestone cracks to the promise of loose collars, of full pints and bedtime stories, of sleepy goodnight kisses and a hope of seeing the sun rise again. He didn't have that, he didn't get that. Instead, he rubbed his eyes, triple checked numbers, rotted away second by second in a chair that set his back on fire. The car rides home were eerie, unsettling, the sky black, swallowing the galaxy. There were no kisses, there was no welcome, only a dark home of empty rooms where the leaves rustled and branches tapped on the windows, and the mice squeaked in the walls. He'd find you fast asleep in a bed made for two, tucked under the blankets, in his place, clutched against you, a pillow. Again and again, choosing work over you. Regret stuck to his skin no matter how much he scrubbed.

Perception. Biased. Stubborn. Angry. A pessimist, an idealist, a god, among men. There was no changing his mind once it was made up. Unbreakable. Unforgiving. His ideals, his thought process, sharp as razor blades. Slicing through self doubt, through criticism and indifference. He only ever listened to himself. A force to be reckon with. Angry fists, white knuckled, broken and split by the walls of his work, by shattered bottles at the bar, by the cheekbones of any man who dare second guess him. His vision red, pooling, draining, an open wound. You were sent to save him. Talk to him, to hush his cries, hold his face and make him look at you. Not the blood on his desk, not the glass in a puddle of whiskey, nothing else but you. Speak to him softly, quietly, picking your words carefully, thoughtfully. Change his mind. It wasn't a gift, but a curse. To speak the language of the old gods to a man as old as time. You were losing your mother tongue though, letting it slip away, bobbing down the river faster and faster. That was the only dialect he ever spoke.

Thought. Careless. Reckless. Suicidal. Pressing the gun to his head, the knife to his neck. Begging for the tunnels to collapse, for the landmines to explode, for the bullet to hit him instead. Finally. A tragic ending to an unforgettable life. Let the curtains close, the audience applause and cry, mourn the loss of a great man with despicable power. Or, a despicable man with great power. Who's to say? Befriending death, trusting her with his life, his love, his bloodline. The only one who truly understood him these days. Holding him close, arms wrapped around him, there to soothe him in his fits, his anger, replacing you all together. Stepping into the danger with his head held high, his shoulders back, leading with his chest, with a heart that refused to stop no matter how much he prayed. A heavy silence when the boys came treading back. Counting heads, fingers, toes, eyes. Begging an immovable force that he would walk through that door, that he would come back at all. Some didn't, and that was a reality you had to face, one you feared. A nightmare you knew would become reality one of these days.

Memory. Lost. Repressed. Forgotten. Scratched out of every picture. Pushed away, rustling the bones of the skeletons in his closet. Screaming, banging on the door, wanting to claw their way out. Manifesting in his dreams, in his every day life. A sound, a smell, a shadow that followed him, that would follow him until his final days. Others reminisced. Nostalgic of war, missing the chaos, not yet finding their place yet as a civilian. He never spoke a word. Moving too fast, leaving the past to starve, to cry, to die. Never digging too deep into his own actions, looking for reasons, for causes, for his temper, his rage, for his impulsion. Too many times, he'd slip away, pacing the floors, escaping his own tomb, refusing to let his eyes close a second time. Finding him in the morning, a shell of himself, worried sick, searching through the house, the yard, calling his name. He could have been anywhere, doing anything, hurting himself because he could, because that pain was easier to deal with than that of the past.

The Cerebral Cortex. Responsible for all of this, and more. Sometimes you wondered if his was broken. Could someone even have a broken brain? Cracked and glued back together. Patchwork, messy, novice, sewed together to close holes, to mend wear and tear. Smashed the same way glasses were thrown out of rage, bursting into thousands of tiny, dangerous shards ready to kill. Burned just like his bridges, turned to ash, crackling, dancing, hungry for more. This wasn't the relationship you expected to have. It wasn't what it used to be. The years, they changed him, turned him into something, someone, unrecognizable. A rabbit to be chased, a love forgotten, unrecoverable. You were an after thought. Someone placed on the shelf amongst past partners, lovers, strangers that caught his eye. All of you the same. All of you losing him. Slowly, never noticing until it's too late. Too much blood loss. You used to be able to look at him and know exactly what he was feeling, seeing, thinking. That seemed like yesterday. Now, you would do anything to have that back, to have him back.

Do anything to understand him again.

65 notes · View notes

kelseyfitzherbert · 4 years

Text

so like any self respecting new dream fan, i wondered how eugene would react to rapunzel nearly being poisoned and murdered by cassandra in the last episode when she finally told him what happened. so here’s my little take on it, because i needed this after all that.

under a read more because its long & i dont wanna clog up dashes

It was dark by the time she got back to the castle that night. Exhaustion was nearly overcoming her, and it was moments like this she missed the healing aspect of her hair. There were many times she nearly laid down for a moments rest, but she powered through, anxious to be back to the relative safety of her castle.

But with the anger she saw in Cassandra, was she going to ever really safe anywhere anymore?

Instead of her own room, she found her feet taking her in a different direction, deeper into the darker hallways of the guest rooms where she knew he'd be. She could go back upstairs, take a bath and get beneath her own sheets for the sleep she so desperately desired, but right now, she needed her Eugene more.

She knocked on his door gently, hoping he was in there because she really didn't have the energy to keep wandering the castle to find him.

The door opened and there he was, pajamas on and ready for bed. She nearly fell into his arms as soon as he had the door open enough.

"Blondie!" He held her close, surprised by her sudden fall, holding her tight. "I wondered where you were. We missed you at dinner."

He held her at arm's length, worry filling his features as he looked her over. "You look like hell."

"It's been a long day," she looked up at him with sad, tired eyes. "I need you."

She wasn't normally like this. Usually he was there by her side, ready for whatever she asked for or needed. But normally she was strong. She rarely asked for help or told him she needed him in more serious ways. But there was something about her voice now that tugged at his heart.

"Of course," he didn't ask anymore questions. He pulled her in and shut the door behind her, locking it for good measure. They didn't need any interruptions.

Eugene pulled out a nightgown of hers he kept hidden under his mattress for emergency purposes (they didn't need anyone finding that) and helped her into something clean. He asked if she wanted a bath, but she shook her head sleepily. Chewing at his bottom lip, he could see she was covered in dust and dirt from fates knew what so he at least wanted to get that layer off. Not that it bothered his sheets, he just knew she'd be more comfortable.

He took a damp rag to her arms and legs, rubbing softly, trying not to fret too much because she needed him to be strong for some reason and he was going to do it. But he worried. What had happened?!

"There," he said, finishing her hand and kissing her palm before putting the damp rag away. "Feel a little better?"

She nodded softly and he helped her beneath his sheets. He blew out his lantern and crawled in next to her, pulling her close.

"I don't know what's going on," he said quietly a few moments later, running a soothing hand up and down her back. "But I'm right here. I got you."

Something about that hit a chord with her and she clutched at him, floodgates opening and body shaking with sobs.

Now he was seriously worried. What had-

"I saw Cassandra today."

It was hard to make out what she said between sobs but he heard it, and it made his blood run cold. Still, he kept his voice soft. "What did she do?"

She pulled back a bit, wiping her eyes and nose with the back of her hand, trying to compose herself enough to talk. And she told him the story, from Seth telling her about Gothel's supposed ghost to Cassandra leaving her to die.

He tried to keep his calm. He really did. He knew how much she was hurting and that his anger wouldn't make it any better but he couldn't help it. How lucky they were that she was here?! She could've been in a cave somewhere dead and that thought was too much to bear.

He held her tight, trying to stop his arms from shaking with anger but it was hard. She sensed this, too. "Eugene, it's okay-"

"It's not!" His voice quivered. "Rapunzel, she nearly killed you!"

Just saying the sentence made him nauseous.

She didn’t answer him because she knew he was right. And it hadn’t just been this time. No, this wasn’t the first time Cassandra had tried to kill her. She kept trying. Every single time. No matter how much she hung on; no matter how much progress she thought she made. She could never get through to her.

She promised she’d never give up on her, but Cassandra was making it harder and harder to do that.

He could sense a storm in her mind by her lack of speaking, and he tried to change the subject because he knew she wasn’t going to change her mind. He took a deep breath, pressing a lingering kiss against her forehead, soaking in her warmth and remembering she was alive.

“Remind me to thank the frog, okay?” He said quietly. “Pascal’s got more brave in him then most men I know. He’s pretty special.”

She sniffed, smiling up at Eugene, grateful for something lighter. “He is. He’s my best friend. I hope you understand that.”

“I’ll tolerate it, I guess,” he teased, giving her a soft smile. She started to giggle, but it turned into a deep cough. It took her awhile to catch her breath and he watched with a worried look. “You ok?”

She nodded, taking a deep breath once it seemed to have passed for now. He didn’t even want to know what she had inhaled, but it was obviously affecting her.

“We should call the doctor,” he suggested quietly. She shook her head and cuddled into him.

“In the morning,” her voice was a mumbled. “I just need you right now. I’m ok. I promise.”

He didn’t like it, but he wasn’t going to push. He could keep an eye on her tonight and if it seemed to get worse, he would make the call.

But for now he held her tight, reminding her that even though the world seemed to feel like it was against her, he was still on her side. And he would be. No matter what happened.

Rapunzel may be able to forgive Cassandra no matter what, but he couldn’t. Not anymore. She’d crossed a line this time.

She fell asleep in his arms, but he stayed up, holding her tighter, protecting her against all the threats outside his little room, promising he would protect her no matter what.

No matter what.

#tangled the series #rapunzels tangled adventure #rta spoilers #tts spoilers #my writing

198 notes · View notes

heartofsnark · 3 years

Text

This is Love (Chapter Eight): Whispers of Wolves

Notes: Heyo, since A) I took a break and B) it’s friday the thirteenth, as it was when I posted the first chapter of this is love back in January, I decided to go ahead and post chapter 8 today. Chapter 9 is already done and I’ll be beginning work on chapter 10 soon, as this is my current hyper fixation. I hope you all enjoy.

Word Count: 8671

Chapter Warnings: Oh boy we got some shit today my dudes! Stories/Reference of Past Child Abuse, Animal Death In the Context of Hunting, Homphobic Slurs/Homphobia towards lesbians, and referenced past anti-Semitism. Less important but there’s a pov change and like three different quotes in this chapter, from the Book of Joseph, and two different songs, which is probably a lot but I ain’t editing this shit anymore

For chapter one and the warnings about this fic’s overarching themes, please click here!

For the previous chapter; click here

Pain cracks through Joseph’s skull late that night, shooting across from each temple, seeming to split his head apart. He sits on the edge of his small bed, a modest bedroom in the back of his church. He knows what it means, he’s grown accustomed to the sharp ringing pain, visions always come with it. They’ve started to come more frequently since The Lamb arrived.

He grabs at his head, as if he could press hard enough to keep his skull together as pain racks him, an instinctual reaction. Pain strikes through and breaks the reality of the world around him, closed eyes starting to see visions of what could be, images of what may await him.

A world anew surrounds him; one changed by the Collapse and washed of sins. Lush and natural, even more beautiful than the world that came before it. Vibrant pink flowers decorate the earth, thick green moss covering trees. A soft pink flowered apple tree stands at the center of the compound, white buildings replaced with hand made little houses.

Men and women are all around, working around New Eden. Parents playing with their children, carrying their babies; loyal followers allowed to pass through the gates and grow their family. Some members bring back hunted animals to be prepared for meals and others tending to gardens.

And then he sees his brothers and sister.

A fact that changes time and time again as his visions come to him in waves. He’s seen New Eden with and without them. He’s seen each of his siblings die time and time again, old and young, premonitions of what will be or what could be.

In this version, this vision, he’s been allowed his siblings. Faith, Jacob, and John talk at a distance where Joseph can’t quite hear the words, only taken in the moment. Jacob and John’s ages showing more clearly in the gray just starting to pepper their hair.

A voice rises above all others, cutting through the mumbled conversation through the compound, and Joseph knows it’s calling towards him. The soft voice calls him a name similar in meaning to his title, but it cuts to his heart so differently.

“Papa!”

Through the eyes of his older self, he can only watch and take in what happens, no control as he turns to see the source. A young boy of about five comes running towards Joseph, bright blue eyes and an even brighter smile. Joseph’s body moves of it’s own volition reaching out to hug his son, his son, but before he can feel the embrace of his child the world cracks apart again.

Pain splinters through the world and rips him from the moment, when he opens his eyes again he’s back in his room. And his hands itch to hold his son who’s yet to exist, instead he rubs at his temples, fingers knotting in his own hair as he attempts to soothe the agony within his own head. The only respite being what he hopes is a new promise from his creator. A chance for his family to not only walk with him to New Eden, but the chance to expand it.

He’ll have a son. The very idea soothes his pain and is like a salve to frayed nerves. Becoming an internal mantra as he eases himself back to sleep that night.

Sweat coats Dahlia’s skin as she does another push up, her muscles aching at the workout. She shifts to lay on her back on the living room floor, t-shirt riding up her sweaty stomach. Her second day of no work has turned into an impromptu work out, push up and using doorways for chin-ups. She uses her shirt to wipe sweat off her forehead before grabbing her phone to check the time. Dahlia must have gotten her way through the day, it has to be late by now.

“Fucking hell.”

It’s noon, it’s only fucking noon.

“Ahhhhhhhhhh!” She screams into a pillow, how the fuck is it only noon? Dahlia looks at the mess of her coffee table, trying to consider what to do just to eat at her time, she could draw again. But her hand is still cramping. She read somewhere you’re suppose to do warm up for drawing, she’ll have to start doing that.

Then she sees the Book of Joseph, her drawing still sticking out of it. She’s burned through her backlog of manga on her phone and fuck, it’s something to do. Joseph seemed like a genuinely sweet man, maybe he has something interesting to say. Music still blasting, because everything in her life requires a soundtrack, she opens the book.

“Bless the name of those who have dealt you blows.

Be grateful to those who have caused you harm.

For it is these sufferings that have led you to me.”

The first sermon in the book, she chews her lip, it’s not that much different from things Joseph told her yesterday, that he’s thankful her past led her to him. But, something rubs her wrong about the idea of being grateful for her abuse. Not for her, she plans on dying mad about it. She reads onward, an illustration of a flaming capital building surrounded by waves with someone drowning in the foreground. That’s…dramatic.

“If a person had been walking down the poorly maintained road out front of the Seed’s house on that afternoon in June and felt the strange urge to glance over, they would have witnessed a bizarre sight.

They would have seen a man dress in black pants and a white undershirt, frothing with anger, brandishing a comic book in one hand and a bible in the other at his son, a child of about ten. But no one had been down this in the poor suburb of Rome, Georgia, in a long time. Not ice cream trucks, not social service cars, not even police patrols.”

Dahlia stops almost three pages in as Joseph begins to write about a dying widow who once gave him and Jacob cakes before she grew sick. The picture he’s painted is far too clear and hits too close to home for her to continue, at least for the moment. A belligerent bible thumping drunk of a father who derided Joseph for loving Spiderman comics and beat Jacob’s back for the younger brother’s supposed misgivings.

Father Monroe, her stepfather, wasn’t quite the ruddy faced sloppy drunk that Old Man Seed was. But when Joseph describes Jacob offering his back up for a beating, she nearly feels the bite of leather against her own. Stripes for the backs of fools, is all she hears.

She wants to talk to Joseph, she realizes, thinking of both the beginning sermon passage and how their own pasts match up. Does he really bless the man who hurt him? Is he grateful for Old Man Seed? Maybe that kind of forgiveness and peace with it comes with age or is it just him? Ruth has a similar story as well, a little older than Dahlia, and she holds on to the same anger Dahlia does. Has Joseph managed to let it go? Does he still like Spiderman? Did his father beat the passion for comic books out of him or does he still enjoy them? Its hard to imagine, the intense Joseph Seed casually reading a comic book.

Less than three pages is a pathetic excuse for reading and didn’t pass much time, but it’s intense for her. So, she’d rather just…stare at the wall for a bit until she’s ready to tackle it again.

It’s Saturday night, Pratt and Hudson won’t be going to The Spread Eagle tonight, because no work. Meaning a rather mundane day with no interruptions. Other than a short walk, Dahlia spends the rest of it fucking around on her phone and watching shitty tv; passing out after downing an unevenly heated microwave meal.

Sunday morning rolls around, spent much like the last, Dahlia using her down time and excess energy to work out. It’s important to stay on top of exercising and staying in shape, given her profession, she makes a mental note to order some weights online. There’s not really a proper gym in the county and she doesn’t want to lose muscle.

She’s in the middle of another round of pushups when there’s a knock at her door; she jumps up from her position, skin still slick with sweat as she rushes towards the door. Finally, something to disrupt the monotony.

It’s Pratt standing on her porch, hazel eyes looking her over. She’s expecting a shitty comment on her appearance, dressed in shorts and a baggy shirt, hair mussed with sweat.

“You need something?” She asks him, slightly out of breath. Dahlia lifts the bottom of her shirt, using it to wipe sweat from her face, breeze skimming the bare skin of her stomach.

“What the hell has you sweating, Rook?” The older deputy chews his lip, avoiding eye contact for a moment.

“I was working out.”

“With a head injury? Seriously?”

“The fuck else am I suppose to do?”

“Figured you’d be bored out of your mind, reason I’m here,” he grins, “throw some clothes on and we can head out.”

“You mind if I shower first?” She asks, while she’s not sure where he plans on dragging her but she’d rather not stink like sweat while she’s there.

“Uh, yeah, sure that’s fine.”

“You wanna wait in here?”

He nods and Dahlia steps aside to let Pratt into her trailer, it’s not the most tidy of place because, well, she’s not the most tidy of people. She can feel the judgement starting to build up as Pratt looks around her messy living room. A pillow and blanket haphazardly on the couch; her duffle bag on the ground with clothes falling out of it. Her table has her sketchbook, thankfully closed, and the Book of Joseph is tucked under it. It’s a messy little nest, but it’s hers.

“Are you sleeping on your couch?”

“Uh, yeah, it’s just, I prefer it,” she explains with a shrug, not really sure how to elaborate on her weird feeling about sleeping in a bed.

“You have a bed, right?”

“Yes, I have a bed, I just, shut up. I don’t barge into your house and start judging how you live,” she pinches the bridge of her nose, “just sit down, I’ll be back in a minute.”

Dahlia grabs a change of clothes, hearing the couch springs creak as Pratt sits down. It’s weird seeing someone in her trailer. The closest she’s had to visitors have stayed on her porch. Pratt is the first person to be in her actual trailer, he looks immensely out of place and judging by his eyes glancing around, he seems to feel that way too. She tries not to think too hard about it, making a beeline to her bathroom.

She tries to keep her shower short, not wanting to make Pratt wait too long and not wanting him to snoop while he’s left alone. That doesn’t stop her from playing music as she showers, just limiting herself to two songs before she jumps out. A quick dry off and she tugs on her clothes, towel still on her damp hair as she walks back out to her living room.

Pratt, sure enough, has found something to snoop through. Dahlia grimaces at the sight of him picking through her little jewelry box of photos. Was he rifling through her dufflebag? She clears her throat, smirking when he jumps up.

“I was just-”

“Snooping,” she cuts him off, ruffling the towel over her hair.

“It fell out of your bag.”

“No it didn’t.”

“It did...after I kicked it a little, but it did fall out.”

“You’re ridiculous,” she snatches the little wooden box off the table, Lloyd and Caroline’s photo booklet was on top, so at least she probably avoided him seeing baby photos.

“You, uh, don’t look much like your parents. You adopted or something?”

She can’t help but chuckle as she puts it away; she can’t blame him for thinking Lloyd and Caroline must be her parents. The pair are both about Whitehorse’s age and why else would she have so many photos with a couple that age. But, the couple absolutely look nothing like her. Both fairer skinned and blue eyed; Lloyd with dark strawberry blonde hair and Caroline with light honey blonde locks. Short of some shenanigans the chance of them producing an olive skinned, brown eyed brunette is slim. And while the couple have their share of adopted children; Dahlia isn’t one of them.

“No.”

“Oh, uh…” She can nearly see the gears turning in Pratt’s head, her usual one word style of answering has put Caroline’s devotion in question and Dahlia won’t have that.

“They’re not my parents; legally or biologically.”

“Oh, you just hang out with old couples?”

“Maybe, maybe not, ain’t really any of your business,” she shrugs, “more importantly, where the hell are we supposed to be going?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“I don’t trust your surprises.”

“Would you rather sit here and twiddle your thumbs all day?”

“Fuck no.”

“That’s what I thought, you ready to go then?”

“Yeah, yeah,” she throws the damp towel onto her laundry chair before shoving her feet into her boots, “lets get going.”

She locks up behind Pratt then follows him out to his car. Compared to the last time she was in his car, this is infinitely more relaxing. She hums along to the radio, resisting the urge to sing along. He probably already heard her yelling along to her music in the shower, she doesn’t need to blast his eardrums at close range. After one song ends and another shittier one begins she starts to fiddle with the radio setting.

“The driver is supposed to pick the music,” Pratt tells her as she flips through stations, trying to find a station playing something other than country.

“The driver needs to worry about the road, while I find something worth listening to.”

“Yeah, ‘cause your taste in music is so good.”

“I have excellent taste in music,” she turns to one station and it sounds like a choir.

Help me, Faith

Shield me from sorrow

From fear of tomorrow

“Turn that crap off, right now.”

“The hell is that?” It’s not a bad song like technically speaking, but it’s definitely a bit much.

“Peggie station, it's all crap, Eden’s Gate runs it. It’s all their choir music and sermons.”

“Gross, but the song ain’t that bad.”

“You might wanna have your head checked again.”

“Piss off.”

She finds something better, even if she doesn’t necessarily mind Eden’s Gate music, she’d rather listen to something without fear of a sermon coming up after. At the very least, Pratt doesn’t complain about her choice, a few more songs playing before they cross into Holland Valley.

“How’s your impromptu vacation been going?”

“Boring.”

“That’s what I thought,” he laughs, “figured you’d be going stir crazy by now.”

“So, you decided to come end my boredom?”

“No need to sound so excited,” Pratt rolls his eyes, not appreciating her lackluster response.

“Sorry, I, uh, do appreciate it,” she admits, looking out the windows, cheeks warming at it. It’s embarrassing to say that she is genuinely thankful. Hell she nearly jumped up and ran to the door like a dog when he knocked. Boredom is hell.

“Oh, it’s fine, I was bored too.”

They pull into the police station parking lot and she raises an eyebrow at him as he parks. He’s taken her to work? What on earth is he planning?

“Don’t look at me like that, you’re gonna enjoy this, c’mon.”

She follows him out and around the building to the helipad she noticed before, a black police grade helicopter on it. He doesn’t hesitate to climb into the pilot's seat, telling her to get in. She listens, climbing into the seat next to him. It looks like a mess of buttons and controls to her, none of them making sense. But Pratt confidently starts turning switches, lights coming to life in front of her. They’re going for a helicopter ride, holy shit.

“Pffft,” Pratt huffs out a laugh, “we’re not even in the air yet and you’re already grinning.”

“This is okay, right? Like, no one will mind.”

“I’m the only person at the station who can fly, so if they needed it, they’d be calling me anyway. Don’t worry.”

“I’m fine, I just wanted to know I can enjoy this guilt free.”

“And lift off,” Pratt says as he brings the chopper up off of the ground. The station grows smaller and smaller as they ascend up into the air.

“Wow…” Is all as can seem to say at first as the chopper kisses the sky.

They’re surrounded by a bright blue sky and puffy white clouds as Pratt flies across the county. Lush green forests and farms beneath them, mountains along the edges of the county. A top down view of animals running through, specks in their vision. She oohs and awes, unable to help acting like an excited child over the view. They fly along the county, Pratt is kind enough to answer her stupid questions about flying, what buttons and switches mean. She’s certain to a seasoned pilot her naïve question must be frustrating, but he grins with every answer. Before she knows it the sky around them has shifted to an awash of pinks and purples, the sun setting, before a midnight sky takes it place. Brilliant stars twinkling around them, feeling so close, like she could reach out and touch Andromeda.

Once it gets too late, Pratt lands back at the station, her cheeks ache from all the time smiling. He drives her back to the trailer park, the pair in comfortable silence as she hums along to the radio. Her thoughts drifting off as they are so quick to do. Pratt and her butted heads a bit when they first met, but he’s quickly become her closest friend in the county. Their light-hearted bickering and shenanigans have become her favorite part of her days in Hope County.

He walks with her to her trailer, shoulders brushing occasionally as they move. She turns to look at him when they reach her door. Dahlia clenches and unclenches her hands searching for what she wants to say.

“Thanks, a lot, really.”

“You like flying that much?”

“Not just for that, not to be all mushy and crap, but coming out here, keeping me from going nuts, being my friend. It, uh, means a lot, seriously.”

“Eh,” he scratches at the back of his neck, avoiding her eyes, “just watching out for you, probie.”

“Well, I appreciate it, I, uh, know I’m not the easiest person to get along with.”

“No one in this county is.”

“Good to know I fit in, I guess.”

“Uhh, you’re getting there, once you start stinking like beer all day and have a house full of deer heads, we’ll call it good.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she grins, “night.”

“Night.” She waves Pratt off before going back to her trailer to settle in for the night.

Monday is spent showing up to the station just to play with Petunia behind the building; just laying on the ground while the fluffy opossum crawls on her. She scratches along the marsupial’s back as they nuzzle into her neck.

“Aren’t you supposed to be home relaxing or something?” Beau asks and Dahlia shifts her head back to look at him.

“I am relaxing, what are you doing?”

“Well, everyone asked me to go see what that weirdo deputy was doing, so here I am.”

“Oh no, you hear that Petunia,” she looks at her opossum friend, “people think I’m weird.”

“Yeah, talk to the ‘possum, that’ll really show ‘em.”

She sticks her tongue out at him and he just rolls his eyes, leaving her alone for the moment. Pratt and Hudson invite her out to The Spread Eagle once the sun starts to set, but a steady throbbing ache has built in her head, she skipped pain meds. And the idea of the jukebox booming in her skull makes her turn it down for the night, once she’s back to work she’ll treat them to a meal there, she decides on the quiet ride home.

Dahlia wakes up the next day and decides to finally take that hike, wanting to explore some of the mountains and woods that surround the county. The brunt of the trails seem to be within the Whitetail Mountain area up north, the mountains in the Henbane are mostly around that statue and as much as she likes Joseph more than before; the statue is still creepy.

She tucks her sketchpad, pencils, water, and her pain meds in the storage under her motorcycle seat before she drives up to the mountains; the north section of the county is colder, a chill from the air as she rides up. She stops in at an Old Sun Outfitters, buying a little black backpack to carry her stuff in when she hikes.

The woods around her get thicker and thicker as rides further into the mountains, land growing steeper with every minute, civilization sparser and sparser; buildings harder to find, just peeks of wood or cement through trees. The trees clear on her right as a turn of the road leads her to a large parking lot with little hutch and a sign that says, ‘rest area’. The hutch says Valley View Overlook. It’s built at the top of a plateaued piece of land, not as towering as the mountains in the distance, but higher than the meager hills of the valley or river. She parks her motorcycle and packs the bag before taking in the view.

A small navel high fence, she imagines waist high for others, keep animals or children from just running off the side of the mountain. It’s a beautiful sight; she can see why the lot is named after it. She takes a deep breath of fresh mountain air looking out at the soft blue sky that meets the mountains in the horizon; the deep green forests further down. Air so clean and refreshing, but for some reason she finds herself pulling out a cigarette, to fill her lungs with smoke. Too much good needs a bad, she supposes. She watches the white clouds and birds flying through, as she lets smoke settle heavy in her lungs, only parting from the sight when her cigarette threatens to burn her fingers.

She follows along a little beaten trail through the woods, kicking up rocks and crushing grass underfoot as she lets the trees surround her. Grass rustles around where animals sneak through; deer running through, other hikers crossing her path, and hunters packing bucks back home with dogs sniffing along after them.

It doesn’t take long for her to go off the path, just walking in any direction that catches her interest. Deeper and deeper into the woods, following divots and drop offs, walking along the occasional stream of water that passes through the area. Her feet and head start to ache as hours pass, the cool air no longer able to chill her body as exertion coats her skin in sweat.

A hunting stand, one of many, is within the woods. Gray metal built around a tree with a ladder leading up. It’s empty, but if a hunter really needs it, she’ll move along. She climbs up curling her legs under her on the stand as she pulls off her back pack and red flannel, the sleeves now sweaty after her walk. Dahlia ties it around her waist, feeling the cool air on her skin as she takes a deep breath.

She takes a deep swig of water and one of the pain killers. There’s a crush of grass and she looks up to see a group of deer a short distance from the stand. A fawn and what may be younger deer, with a buck among them. The buck’s fur grayer in color than the richer warmer brown of the others. Dahlia gets out her sketchpad and pencils, balancing them on her knee as she takes the drawing the creatures. A calm energy and flow falls over her as she draws, the only sound the animals rustling within the woods. She’s better at drawing people than animals, she realizes, when she can’t quite get the right slope of the buck’s muzzle, but she doesn’t stress herself over it. No one will ever see her wonky deer. She looks up; the buck has gotten much closer, shuffling near the stand.

Dahlia puts her sketchbook aside, half finished wonky deer abandoned, as she moves to lay on her belly over the edge of the hunter’s stand. She stretches her hand out, his antlers high enough for her fingers to just brush the velvety texture. But that’s not what she’s after, wanting to pet the stags head. Dahlia shifts to a knee and a foot, she forces the fingers of one hand into the grating to keep a solid grip on the stand. She leverages herself to lean further and further out, stretching a hand out and nearly hanging completely off the stand. Her fingers just centimeters away from touching the stag’s head.

The fuzz of fur brushes across her fingers and the soft brown eyes looking up at her go blank; blood spraying from the side of the buck’s head as it’s body goes limp to the ground. She can’t help but jump back and fall on her ass; gasping at the now dead deer in front of the stand, the rest of them have scattered at the sight.

Maybe she should have expected it, being in hunter territory, but the closeness of it still startles her. There’s a heavy thud of boots, steady consistent footfalls crushing branches and grass beneath them. Ginger hair with shaved down sides and an army jacket; Jacob Seed.

This is likely the only time she’ll ever be taller than him, watching him from the stand as he shifts a bright red rifle from his hands to on his back. It seems so vivid and ostentatious compared to his utilitarian style of dress. There’s a childish urge to jump on his back and scare him. But, they don’t know each other well and he’s a veteran, so she can’t know how he’d react to the sort of thing. Maybe a boo would be okay, just something small?

“You enjoying the show, honey?”

Dahlia jolts, taken aback by the sudden acknowledgment. She tucks a strand of hair back behind her ear and chews her lip watching as he starts to gather up the slain deer; then he looks up at her, blue eyes sharp and harsh. All the masculine Seeds have blue eyes and intense stares; but Jacob’s gaze is colder than Joseph’s and more steady than John’s. Something almost predatory to it.

“I was drawing him,” she says after a moment, looking down at the stag.

“And I was hunting him.”

“Still would have appreciated another minute or two,” she says as she grabs her bag, throwing the sketchbook back inside before she jumps off the stand.

“So, you could flail around and try to pet him for another five minutes.”

“Hey,” she pouts, she was caught hanging from a hunting stand like the child she is, but, “wait, you saw me?”

He gives a vague grumble of agreeance, more preoccupied with tying up the hooves of his latest hunt to make it easier to carry.

“And you still shot? You could have shot my hand off.” Has this man never taken a gun safety course, she catches a glimpse of the scope on his rifle, there’s no way he didn’t see how close his shot was to her hand. He chuckles, dry and deep, mocking her.

“Relax, if I wanted to shoot you, you’d be dead by now.”

“Wow, that’s not comforting.”

“Wasn’t trying to be,” he says, standing up and packing the giant deer over his shoulder, like it’s nothing.

Dahlia reaches out to touch it, fingers brushing through soft fur, no warmth beneath it. She might as well be petting a rug. Jacob starts to walk off and she doesn’t know why, but she follows him. Hands clasped behind her back and walking heel to toe after him. Maybe it’s just because she’s curious about him. He’s the only one of the Seeds not to take a strange interest in her for whatever reason.

He doesn’t say anything at first, allowing her to follow along after him. Leaves and grass crush under foot as she follows along behind him, curious as to where he’s going or doing. She’s not sure what she expects, but it’s something to do if nothing else.

“You got somewhere to be?”

“Not really, no.” She tries to crane her head around, trying to get a better look at his face to gauge his reaction, but their height difference is too big to truly do so. The man has to be around a foot and a half taller than her; he seems even taller than the sheriff.

“Well, I do, so get out of here.” Her smirk drops, she was hoping to see him get more agitated like the youngest Seed brother, but his voice doesn’t rise. Staying the same steady deep timbre.

“Where are you going?”

“Nowhere you need to be, sweetheart.”

“The nicknames aren’t really necessary.” She can’t help but say, wrinkling her nose in annoyance, the condescending way he calls her sweetheart and honey make her nauseous.

“Neither is following me like a lost puppy dog; but here you are.”

“I’m bored.”

“Not my problem.”

“You killed my only entertainment, so it is now.”

He comes to a sudden stop and Dahlia has to stop herself from running into his back; she doesn’t particularly want deer corpse on her face. He turns to face her; expression still the same stern look he usually carries, and she misses his grin when he was talking to kids at the barbecue.

“Look here, deputy, sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong and irritating me isn’t a habit you want to form. Get out of here.”

“Oh no,” she rolls her eyes, “I’m really scared.”

“Keep pushing, sweetheart, won’t get you anywhere.”

“God, you’re no fun.”

“Wasn’t trying to be.”

“Jacob is something wrong,” a voice cuts through their conversation, rough and masculine. And Dahlia see the long-haired man and short haired girl from the barbecue; the ones who shot her dirty looks when she talked back to Jacob.

“Nothing you need to concern yourselves with.”

“What are you doing here?” The woman asks Dahlia directly.

“Standing.”

“Fallon,” Jacob says the woman’s name, stern tone making her posture snap straighter, “I said it’s none of your concern. Let’s go.”

The three of them start to leave down a path; Fallon and the long-haired man have heavy bucks they pack as well. A hunting trip for Jacob and his…friends? Are they friends? That didn’t seem like friendship, but Dahlia is far from an expert on the matter. She offers a goodbye wave; but Fallon just rolls her eyes. Their steady footfalls leaving the deputy behind.

Well, it staved off the boredom for a while she supposes.

Dahlia lets out a huffy sigh, blowing loose strands of hair from her face as she begins back down the path she came. The sun is setting by the time she’s back to the parking lot and climbing on top of her bike.

Her stomach is growling by the time she’s driving down a main road, she sees the sign for The Grill Steak as she reaches the intersection. Dahlia pulls in, letting her stomach guide her actions, as she’s one to do.

It’s a small restaurant packed with groups of people from friends to families; she can feel the heat of the grill radiating through, the smell of her making her stomach growl. She settles into a booth by herself, when she reads through it the menu is full of gamey meat burgers and steaks. No signs of beef or pork; it’s all bison and deer. She wonders if the cook hunts everything himself, it wouldn’t surprise her, given what she’s seen of the county. He can hear the cook yelling something she can’t understand from the kitchen. Dahlia settles on ordering a cola and a deer burger; thinking about the hunted stag she saw Jacob kill.

As she waits on her food, the chatter of a group catches her ear. They’re not from Hope County; the different cadences of how they speak mingled with fancy latin technical terms tells her as much. Trying to be discreet; she glances at them over her shoulder. A group of four; two women and two men all around the same age. Dahlia’s not the brightest bulb in the pack by her own admission, but when she hears the words corvids and lupine, she realizes they’re talking about animals. It doesn’t shock her, given the abundance of wildlife in the county, certainly people would come to research them.

The door to the restaurant swings open and a man comes walking in, shoulders back and footfalls confident. It reminds her clearly of Jacob, the walk of a soldier, though this man isn’t quite as intimidating a figure. Older than Dahlia, though most people are, with a full dark beard and long scraggly dark hair. He doesn’t bother to take a seat at a booth or look at a menu, only giving a single wave to the cook in the back as he makes a beeline to the group. Dahlia shifts a little further down into her booth, not that anyone could truly tell she’s eavesdropping, but it gives a little more secrecy to it.

“You the conservationists?”

“Yeah, we’re studying the wildlife here… And you are?”

“Eli, not here to ‘cause trouble or anything like that, just wanted to give some friendly advice.”

“Friendly advice?”

“You need to watch yourselves out in those woods.”

“Pffft.”

“We’re well aware of how dangerous the wildlife out here can be. You-”

“No, you aren’t. There’s wolves-”

“And bears and mountain lions, oh my,” one of them jokes, “look, we know what we’re doing.”

“You’re not listening, they’re not regular wolves. They’ve been trained to kill and hunt people down on sight. Even if you avoid ‘em, you get on the cult’s bad side and they’ll send ‘em after you. You gotta be careful out here.”

“Okay, sure,” the eyeroll is nearly audible, “we’ll keep an eye out for killer cult wolves, don’t worry.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you, alright.”

The man, Eli walks away, and Dahlia considers stopping him. Admitting her nosiness and ask him some of the million questions going through her mind. Surely by cult, he means Eden’s Gate, right? Dahlia can’t imagine who else he could mean. They’re small and close knit, but they’re not a cult, right? Cults imply something more out there or intense; they’re just a little Christian church. Joseph may have his own book, but they still follow Christian ideas of sins and scripture.

And wolves? How could they possibly be training wolves? It’s all so ridiculous and asinine, making gears spin and churn in her head until they overheat, but it was said with such conviction. By the time she brings herself to make a noise, Eli has already left, and it’s probably for the best. It’s too crazy to be true. Maybe he’s a tinfoil hat wearing type of guy, a conspiracy theorist like the Zip guy who leaves a newsletter in every damn corner of the county, screaming about chemtrails and baby farms.

She fills her stomach, deciding to leave that as it is, finally returning to her trailer late that night. A restless night of sleep with images of wolves and deer creeping around through her brain, nothing concrete enough to latch onto, but enough to unsettle.

A boring morning leads into a boring afternoon, time blurring before the sun has set and Dahlia’s finding herself pulling up to The Spread Eagle to catch her coworkers after their shift. She’s popped enough pain killers that the throb of music and noise is welcomed instead of irritating. A smile already gracing her lips when she catches Pratt and Hudson shooting the shit in the bar’s lowlight. As she sneaks up closer to them, their conversation starts to be audible over the tunes playing through the bar.

“I bet you break before then,” Hudson says, a teasing grin directed at Pratt.

“Hey, it’s only six months.”

“Please, you’re weak and you know it.”

“How much you wanna bet?”

Dahlia strikes, throwing her arms over Pratt’s shoulders, effectively hugging him from behind and leaning her weight into him. He’s warm and Dahlia can’t fight the impulse to squeeze him a little tighter. She breathes in the faint smell of coffee and cologne that still cling to him; comforting after so much time spent around him.

“Jesus fuck, when’d you get here?” Pratt blusters and at this close of a range Dahlia can see his cheeks pinkening under the scruff of his beard. Does this bother him?

“Right now.”

“You decided to come hang out again?” Hudson asks, grinning at the flustered Pratt.

“Mmhmm,” Dahlia hums into Pratt’s shoulder, pressing her face into him, “bored.”

“Get off me,” he grumbles and reaches back to swat at her hip.

“Ugh, buzzkill,” she bitches as she detaches from Pratt and climbs onto a bar stool, “so what the hell are you guys making bets about?”

Pratt coughs, trying to dislodge something from his throat, and Hudson laughs, “yeah, Pratt why don’t you tell her about our bet?”

“Don’t worry about it, Rook.”

“We still need to set an amount.”

“Fifty,” Pratt suggests and Dahlia wants to know even more what the hell they’re making bets about.

“Mmm, hundred.”

“Fine, if you’re comfortable losing that much.”

“Anyone gonna tell me what’s going on?”

“Nope.”

“Well, that’s gonna drive me crazy now, thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

She sticks her tongue out at him and orders food, stuffing her face as she listens to her coworkers fill her in on anything of interest she’s missed during her off time. It’s not much, as usual, the workload in Hope County is pretty low stakes. Hunting violations, speeding tickets, and the like. Seems like her assault is about the most interesting case in a while. Dahlia’s tempted to ask if they know anything about wolf attacks but bites her tongue before she does. Hope County is filled with wildlife, wolf attacks have no doubt occurred to some degree and if she mentions the idea of trained cult wolves, they might start to think she’s buying into the conspiracy shit.

“Stop,” Pratt says suddenly, putting hand on Dahlia’s knee, “you’re shaking the whole damn bar.”

Her leg she realizes has been bouncing the whole time, the hike helped, workouts help, but she’s still breaming with pent up energy. There’s a rustle of movement and Dahlia is drawn to the open floor near the jukebox, she’s seen a few people dance here and there, a couple now and again swaying to softer tunes while she’s been here. But, it’s more crowded tonight, people laughing and dancing together.

“People are dancing,” she states the obvious.

“It’s ladies’ night, women drink free, so everyone’s extra, uh, energetic tonight,” Hudson tells her.

An upbeat song starts and Dahlia’s up in the next breath, she needs to move, burn off excess energy. And while her favorite club in Lake Charles isn’t exactly available to her anymore, she’ll jump at the chance to lose herself in a song.

You should be wilder, you're no fun at all.

Dahlia’s singing along as she sways and shifts through the crowd, body moving instinctually to the beat. There’s a woman about Dahlia’s age, long blonde hair and brown eyes, dancing as well and the deputy finds herself gravitating towards her.

Yeah, thanks for the input.

Thanks for the call.

She asks low into the woman’s ear, so she can be heard over the music, if she can dance with her. The response is a smile, lighting up the girl’s face, a nod of her head and then she’s pulling Dahlia in by the hips.

With dull knives and white hands

The blood of a stone

Cold to the touch, right

Right down to the bone

And then she loses herself in it. In the music that fills the bar, the feeling of a stranger touching her, the slide of her feet as she moves, the way hips knock together, the scratch in her throat as she sings lyrics in the woman’s ear, their grins as they laugh and bump noses together. It’s fun and it’s silly, a reason to move and forget life for a moment.

Cause you give me the electric twist and it kicks and it kicks like a pony.

And true, you might run away with it, it's a risk it's a risk yeah.

Because it kicks yeah.

It really kicks yeah.

Dahlia spins the woman with a laugh, before pulling the woman close against her again, wide smiles and bright eyes as their foreheads touch. There’s sweat sticking to their skin as the song winds down. Panted breaths ghosting over each other’s faces as they come down from exertion.

And the touch of your lips it's a shock not a kiss

It's electric twist, it's electric twist

“How much I gotta pay to see you kiss?!” A loud voice booms out, making Dahlia and her dance partner of the night separate. There’s a man, couldn’t be older than his mid twenties, sitting at the bar with his legs sprawled open drinking a beer at the table between the bar and the dance area. His eyes linger and look over both women’s bodies

“Can I help you?” Dahlia asks and furrows her brows, glowering at the man as she draws closer.

“Oh just enjoying the show, sweetheart.”

“Not your sweetheart and I’m not a damn show.”

“Pfff, don’t get your panties in a twist,” he turns back to his table and rolls his eyes, as if Dahlia’s the problem, “fucking dykes.”

The junior deputy grits her teeth and she sees from her peripheral the woman rubbing the back of her neck, letting her bangs fall into her face looking like she’d rather disappear.

“The fuck did you call us?” She can’t stop herself from speaking, barely managing to reign her anger in enough not do something worse.

“You heard me.”

“Fuck you!”

“Hey, hey, hey!” Pratt’s voice cuts through as the man starts to turn to retort, the warmth of her coworker’s hand wraps around the clenched fist she didn’t realize she had raised.

“Is something wrong?” Mary May calls out, starting to walk out from behind the bar.

“Everything’s fine,” Pratt responds before Dahlia can say anything and when she starts to speak, he looks at her to whisper, “you’re barely three weeks into your job, you really wanna be getting into bar fights?”

“He ca-”

“I heard what he said, Rook, but it ain’t worth your job.”

“You’re right,” she gnaws on her lip and looks down on the ground, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, I get it, I just don’t want you doing anything stupid.”

“I need some fresh air.”

Dahlia leaves The Spread Eagle, noticing the woman she danced with has already vanished, unwilling to deal with the bullshit. A cool breezes ghosts over her sweaty skin as she sits down on the porch steps at the front of the bar; running her hands through her hair as she fights to ease her nerves. She digs a pack of cigarettes out of her jacket pocket

There’s a crush of footsteps as she lights one, bringing it to her lips, shiny black leather boots entering her vision.

“Dep-yoo-tee.”

“You Seeds can just smell when I’m sad, can’t you?” She teases looking up to see John, the neon bar sign setting his face aglow in the night as he chuckles at her.

“Not my intention, but if you’re in need of a talk, I’d be happy to oblige.”

“You weren’t coming out here to harass Mary May again, were you?”

“Deputy,” he puts his hand to his chest cartoonishly dramatic in his hurt, “h-harassment? That’s ridiculous. am I not allowed to visit with Ms. Fairgrave and just discuss our difference of opinions.”

His voice is ramping up in pitch as he defends himself and Dahlia can’t help but smile, appreciating the distraction from her own troubles.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure Mary May would have a different of opinion about that one. We still gotta talk about members stealing booze.”

“Our members would do no such thing; and I assure you, if there’s any harassment here, we’re the victims. We’ve been insulted, had our sermons interrupted, our practices mocked, Mary May herself once showed up our church simply to cause trouble.”

“Okay, okay, it’s a two-way street, I get it. Sit, we can chat for a bit,” she pats the section of porch step beside her and reluctantly after a beat of silence, he sits down, “so, Mary May caused trouble for you guys?”

“Yes, yes, she has and she’s not the only one; the people of this county have persecuted me and my family since we’ve been here.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, no one should mistreat you that way,” she looks him in the eye as she speaks, “and if it ever happens again, I want you to call down to the station, ask for me, and I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

“Well, it’s certainly nice to know you’re on our side.”

“Ah, ah, I’m on everyone’s side. Mary May is owed the same respect as you and your family; and if you cause issues for her, I won’t hesitate to intervene for her sake as well. I’m here to keep everyone safe. Got to treat everyone like you wanna be treated, the whole spiel.”

“I know you’re not preaching biblical principles to me, dep-yoo-tee.”

“Not biblical, just a little maturity.”

“Are you implying I’m immature.“

“You’re a grown man spatting with a woman ten or more years younger than you; throwing a tantrum and pointing fingers when you’re told to behave.”

“First of all, I’m not that old,” Dahlia raises an eyebrow at him, “don’t look at me like that, I’m 32. Secondly, I am not a child. Mary May has-“

“And if she does something again, now that I’m here, let me know and I will help. But her actions don’t justify yours.”

“Fine, I’ll be sure to hold you to that promise, then.”

“I mean it’s less a promise and more so doing my job, but alright.”

She breathes out a plume of smoke, making sure to aim away from John’s face, his blue eyes track the movement and the nicotine fumes that escape into the air. An ex-smoker, she deems as she watches him staring at her lips and the cigarette between her fingers.

“You want a smoke?” She asks, offering her pack of cigarettes.

“Smoking is forbidden in Eden’s Gate.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Tattooed fingers pick out a cigarette and she lights it for him with a grin, watching him take a deep inhale and blowing out the smoke that fills his lungs. The soft rise of his chest and the gray clouds that billow out from parted lips. She notices for the first time the freckles on his neck and chest, shirt unbuttoned low enough to expose them. There’s thin fresh scratches along his hands and forearms, too superficial and fresh to match the deeper worn in scars, they look like cat scratches. And yeah, he seems like a cat guy.

“So, now that you’ve berated and tempted me, deputy,” he speaks after an exhale of smoke, “why were you out here pouting?”

“BREH!” She plops her back down on the porch with a vague animal long groan and throws her arms over her eyes, cigarette still between two fingers, must he remind of her own issues.

“Well that certainly wasn’t immature or dramatic.”

And she laughs, because he’s right, she can preach maturity all she wants to him. But, she’s still a brat herself. She’d justify herself with their massive age difference, because no way he’s thirty-two, but that feels flimsy at best. They’re both just two temper tantrum throwing children, hell they’re even both fibbing about their ages. Though, she suspects his own much more severe than the few months she adds to her own.

“Don’t wanna talk about it.”

“You know,” he lays back on the porch, matching her position, “I take the confessions for our church, if there’s anything you need to get off your chest, I’m the man to talk to.”

“Not much to say; guy called me a slur, I nearly throttled him.”

“Someone else’s actions don’t justify your own,” he parrots her words back to her.

“Yeah, someday I’ll follow my own advice.”

“Has that happened before?”

The gears in her brain churn, she’s been called many a thing, but her sexuality has been one of the less insulted facets of who she is.

Her stepfather, as religious as he was, was adamant on his hatred of gay people. But her own disinterest in exploring her sexuality or romance saved her from his scorn in that area, his focus more on the other various things he found deplorable about her.

Her mother’s side is Ashkenazi Jewish, and Dahlia remembers the few people of her stepfather’s church who despite her mother converting were disgusted their preacher would marry a Jewish woman. A handful leaving the church, a few sticking by just to call Dahlia and her mother slurs when their backs were turned.

The nightclub she favored in Louisiana was considered a gay bar, though not exclusive to LGBT folks. Women dancing with women, men dancing with men, men and women dancing; and a healthy amount of people who didn’t quite fit either label. Only one-night sticks out, a car speeding past the line outside the bar just to scream a slur out the window.

Maybe what bothered her most was the boldness. This wasn’t someone whispering when they thought Dahlia couldn’t hear, and this wasn’t a man just screaming out at the public as he speeds away. Just a man emboldened and willing to hurt her in front of a bar filled with people.

“We’re blocking the door.”Everything else died on her lips; unable to spill her guts.

“And we weren’t while you were lecturing me?”

Her phone buzzes in her jacket as she brings her cigarette back into her mouth, unwilling to justify her evasiveness to a man she barely knows, she answers a number she doesn’t know at all.

“Hello?” She says around her smoke.

“H-hello, is this a deputy?” A soft broken voice, she remembers from the diner, asks her and Dahlia sits up, tension pricking at the back of her neck.

“That’s me, Cassie?”

“You remember me…”

“What’s going on, are you okay?”

“Yeah, uh, I…” a beat of silence and a choked sob comes next, “no, I’m sorry, I’m, I’m not okay, I-“

“Where are you?” Dahlia’s on her feet, heartbeat in her throat as she waves off John’s furrowed brows and concern, running to her bike.

“I’m at the diner. I didn’t know where else to go…”

“I’m headed your way now, Cassie, are you safe?”

“I…I don’t know…I…”

Her voice breaks out into sobs again as Dahlia starts her engine, slams on her helmet, and switches her phone to the speaker in her helmet. The girl’s cries echoing around her as her wheels kick gravel across the parking lot, speeding out of Falls End.

#far cry 5 #fc5 #john seed #jacob seed #this is love #dahlia hale #joseph seed #if you ever think im like smart or competent i want you to know that everytime i post a chapter i doubt my ability to count #like i know last chapter was chapter 7 but am I reeeeallly on chapter 8 is that reaaaaalllly how numbers work

12 notes · View notes

landprince · 4 years

Text

I thrive off validation so here’s the soriku WIP so far I’ve got more left to write and this will likely be changed another dozen times before I’m satisfied

straight up I wanna know if I made it too spicy because my partner has now worried me about that

Fear held him tightly in its icy grasp. It was a chain that wrapped around his torso and kept him tethered to the kitchen floor, it kept him from running even if he currently had the ability to realize that he should really be running.

His heart, such a frantic thing now, fluttered about inside his chest worse than a bird with a broken wing. It battered itself against his ribcage, bruising and wounding with each pump of blood that coursed through him.

Is this what it feels like before people die? He thought as the looming figure in front of him dipped it’s head closer.

A sharp inhale. The scent of sweat and copper.

Sora shut his eyes as cool lips pressed against the tight column of his bowed neck. A shudder wracking down his spine at how careful and genuine the kiss was. It was almost as if he wasn’t about to be devoured by a monster and instead was receiving a lover’s kiss.

His fingers dug into the fabric of a shirt, tugging closer the cold body that was hard and unyielding against him. His head lolled even more to the side, abundantly baring pliant flesh to the creature that pinned him against the rickety fridge in his apartment. He could feel the heat of the blush blazing across his skin, and when the blood bloomed underneath the tissue he could feel how Riku became more excited and pressed him harder against the front of the fridge.

If he wasn’t seeing stars before he surely was now.

Magnetic letters clattered to the floor as the appliance creaked in protest the weight of two men against it. He wondered if it might be best to move somewhere else, but before he could continue that train of thought something cold and wet dragged along the juncture where the neck meets the shoulder.

“I promise to be as gentle as I can…” Cool breath blew over saliva slicked skin and this time his knees nearly gave out. The gentle graze of teeth followed Sora whimpered out a pathetic noise caught between a whine and a moan.

His eyes squeezed tight as he gave a sharp bob of his head once in acknowledgement, desperately trying to will his heart to pause it’s marathon long enough that he could suck in some air without his chest aching. He looked up into pupils blown wide while surrounded in a sea of blue-green.

“I know. I trust you, Riku.”

Hands were on his face, tilting it upwards enough that he could connect with the lips that were on his skin mere seconds ago. His racing pulse finally settled and for a moment he thought it stopped altogether as two mouths melded perfectly together.

It was heaven.

It was torture.

Distantly he was aware of the affectionate gesture of his hip being stroked by Riku’s free hand, but he didn’t have long to ponder on the notion before the tang of copper filled his mouth.

He was bleeding and a sudden panic flared to life inside his chest. The broken bird of his heart once more clashing against the bars that were his ribs as the vampire pulled back, eyes no longer holding any trace of that lovely shade of seafoam he adored and now a deep inky black.

“Sora--” Riku’s voice was strained, the blood on his lips honestly probably too much for him at the moment. His gaze was darting back and forth between Sora’s eyes and mouth. “Are you really sure?”

Warmth now spilled down his chin while the vampire stared at him with a starved expression.

A low rumble sounded from deep within Riku’s chest and seemed to reverberate into his own. The scrape of metal made him wince momentarily as Riku dug his nails into the seemingly fragile door of his fridge.

The vampire had his teeth bared somewhat, fangs poking out past his lips. He was hungry, and Sora knew that if he said no Riku would be okay and stop immediately. He truly did care for him and didn’t want to hurt the fragile human.

He’d never really seen Riku’s fangs before now. Sure, he caught a glimpse a few rare times, but up close they looked so much bigger. Sharper. And, oh gods, they were going to sink into his neck and the thought excited him if anything.

What could be more intimate than sharing your life with someone you deeply cared for?

“I told you: I trust you,” he mumbled, sounding even to himself just a tad unsure. His tongue darted out to lick up some of the blood on his mouth, suddenly self conscious of the potential rudeness of bleeding openly like that.

He knew it was unfair to Riku to just bleed like that in front of him. But Riku had him pinned so all he had to work with was his own tongue and the back of his wrist to wipe away the last sluggish flow of crimson.

Digging up some more resolve he let it saturate his next few words. He wanted this, he really did, and he wanted Riku to know he wanted to be bitten. “What kind of a friend would I be if I didn’t help you get food? And I know you would stop before I-- well, before I would die.”

His body once sang with tension, but now every muscle felt leaden as the adrenaline crashed and he slumped against Riku’s chest, knowing his weight meant nothing to the vampire, and allowed Riku to just hold him upright for a while. Talking about death, about dying, was terrifying, but he truly did trust Riku with his life.

“I promise to always treasure this, Sora. This gift, this moment, all if it will become a very dear memory for me,” Riku vowed as he resumed his gentle stroking of the sensitive skin right above his hip.

The urgency of the need to feed seemed to have settled down into a stable simmer once more. The rumbling in Riku’s chest no longer something loud (and scary!) but a soft rumbling that resembled a content cat’s purr. If they were on his bed Sora could fall asleep to the soothing sound.

“That’s so sappy.” Sora scoffed out a little snort as he shoved his face into Riku’s shoulder. As embarrassed as he was, he couldn’t let Riku see the silly grin that was now plastered onto his face. “You’ve been reading terrible poetry again.”

Cool breath washed over his ear when Riku laughed, causing Sora to let out a soft hiss as gooseflesh broke out across his skin. “Wrong. Those penny dreadfuls you hate so much.”

“Ugh, those are awful. You would think after living so long you would have taste.” The words dripped sarcasm, but both men knew there was an inkling of truth within it all as well.

“I chose you,” Riku drawled out as he nudged Sora’s face out of the crook of his neck.

“You made one good choice and that’s it.” Sora looked up at Riku with a half lidded expression.

Sucking in another breath to steady his nerves he pushed the jelly from his legs and managed to hold himself upright once more. His arms laced around broad shoulders and his fingers gently tugged at long strands of silver hair. “Please, eat before my heart tries to fall out of my chest again.”

Another laugh spilled from Riku.

Riku kissed him again, tongue pressing into one of the no-longer-bleeding divots in his lip and coaxing back some semblance of blood flow. The twang of metal once more splashed against his own tongue as the kiss turned into something macabre, but Sora couldn’t care as the vampire pressed hard kisses against him that ran down his jaw, his neck and a few stray ones peppered across the top of his chest.

The scrape of something solid against his jugular made him jolt momentarily before he felt fingers gently scratching his scalp in an attempt at alleviating the sudden nervousness that flooded his system. Riku could no doubt hear the sudden upkick in his heart rate and was trying to keep Sora calm in order to keep himself in check.

His own teeth dug deep into his lower lip, close to breaking skin but never quite managing to get through. He breathed in through his nose, fingers digging into the strong muscles of his friend’s back as he steadied himself.

Sora barely managed to muffle the cry that escaped him when Riku bit into him.

One Year Earlier

He wasn’t a regular, not really, but Sora had seen his face enough to be able to pick it out in the small crowd that always seemed to appear inside the bookstore he worked at.

#ark.txt #ark.WIP

5 notes · View notes

madlori · 5 years

Text

Unveiled - Chapter 4

Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4 || Chapter 5 || Chapter 6 || Chapter 7 || Chapter 8 || Chapter 9 || Chapter 10 || Chapter 11 || Chapter 12 || Chapter 13 || Epilogue

by MadLori Word Count: 2800 Fandom: Men’s Hockey RPF Pairing: Sidney Crosby/Evgeni Malkin Rating: NC-17 (like, heed this, please) Tags: Arranged Marriage, Modern Royalty AU, Mpreg, Not Omegaverse, No Consent Issues, Veiled Sex, Weird Traditions, Don’t Think Too Hard, Handwavey Biology

Definitely sex in this one.

Zhenya gets to know Sidney a little more, and enjoys some more intimate time with his consort.

Read it on AO3

The next day’s 3:00 p.m. appointment was just as satisfying as their first. Zhenya entered the bedchamber to find his consort waiting for him, veiled as before, except instead of sitting primly, he was already stretched out on his side, looking relaxed and even...eager. He’d reached up to help Zhenya off with his dressing gown and pulled him down to the bed. Zhenya had lain between his legs to enter him this time, pushing his thighs back against his chest to spread him wide. The consort had wrapped those thick legs around Zhenya’s waist, pulling him closer and placing his hands on Zhenya’s chest, and Zhenya had come so hard he feared the top of his head had blown off. Afterwards, he’d slid down and taken his husband’s cock in his mouth to bring him to orgasm, his hands in Zhenya’s hair, tightening into fists when he came.

Over the next few days, life began to settle into normalcy. Matters of state demanded Zhenya’s attention, but he would not hear of missing their appointments -- it certainly made an excellent excuse for getting out of boring meetings. Several times he saw his husband walking on the grounds or inside the palace, always heavily draped and always accompanied by his guards. On two occasions, those guards included his midnight snack friend Sidney, looking sharp and handsome in his uniform -- he also had a spectacular ass, Zhenya couldn’t help but notice. What was in the water over there in New Scotland that it produced so many handsome and well-proportioned men? All of his husband’s male guards were excessively pleasing to look at -- the female guards were, as well, but Zhenya took less notice of them, as they were not to his taste. The second in command of the guard, Lieutenant Letang, looked like an Instagram model.

It only whetted Zhenya’s appetite further to know what his husband looked like beneath his drapings and veils. He hoped fervently for him to conceive, so that the countdown to their embargo’s end could begin and they could anticipate his unveiling together.

---------

On the fifth day after his marriage, Zhenya went to the stables after breakfast, for no real reason other than to visit his horses and perhaps brush them, an activity he found soothing. When he arrived, he found Sidney there, standing at a stall and feeding apple slices to Lady Esther, a sweet-natured gray mare, cooing to her softly and stroking her neck. She looked quite besotted, which Zhenya could understand. Sidney looked up when Zhenya entered but did not snap to attention, merely smiled in greeting. “Good morning, Your Royal Highness,” he said.

“Good morning,” he said, mildly confused to find him there.

“I hope you don’t mind my visiting your stables,” he said. “I love horses and miss the ones I had to leave behind in New Scotland.”

“I don’t mind.” Zhenya said, picking up a brush. “I’m sure they will appreciate the extra attention.” He went into Admiral’s stall and began brushing him. “You grew up with horses?”

Sidney hesitated for a moment. “I started out working as a groom on the Duke and Duchess’s estate, that’s how I met His Highness. I was a good rider in my youth and nearly became competitive, but...it didn’t work out.”

Zhenya didn’t press the matter. “You’re welcome to ride here.”

Sidney looked up at him. “Really?”

“Of course. Except for Admiral, he is mine. All the other horses are for the use of the palace residents and staff. The grooms can advise you on which horse might suit you.” He smiled. “Lady Esther might be a little tame for your taste.”

Sidney stroked her nose. “She’s a sweetheart. That’s my taste.”

Zhenya made a quick decision. “Care to go for a ride now?”

“Could we?” Sidney said, wide-eyed.

“Sure. I have a little free time, if you have.”

“I’m not back on duty until after lunch.”

“Then let me show you my favorite trail.”

The grooms saddled Admiral and Lady Esther -- Sidney could not be dissuaded -- and they rode out towards the lake.

“It’s beautiful here,” Sidney said, after a few minutes’ silence.

“It is. I’m so used to it, it’s useful to be reminded.” He glanced over at his companion’s strong profile. “What does New Scotland look like?”

“It’s on the water, quite rocky. It has its own beauty, but here it feels...wider.”

“You miss it.”

“In a way. It’s where I was born and raised. But there comes a time when you want something new.”

Zhenya sighed. “I wouldn’t know. I am bound to this land, by blood and law. I may visit other places, but here is where I was born and where I shall die.”

They were quiet for a moment. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Yes.”

“Why isn’t your brother the crown prince? He’s older, is he not?”

“Yes, he is. My brother was unwilling to go through the embargo. He abdicated his claim to the throne many years ago.”

“He was...unwilling?”

“He has taken a calling to orders, which disqualifies him from being King.”

“I see. And you felt no such calling?” Sidney’s voice was cautious.

“My faith is what you might call...performative.”

Sidney grinned. “A heathen King?”

Zhenya laughed. “Don’t spread that around. I respect that it’s important to many of my citizens, although I know there are many who wouldn’t care. Sometimes I feel dishonest, to go through the motions for their benefit, but I must weigh my conscience against the health of my reign.”

“But you believe in the embargo.”

“The embargo may have the trappings of a matter of devotion, but in reality it’s a practical consideration, not a religious one. It began as a sacred rite, but now it’s more a cultural practice.”

Sidney nodded. “That’s well-put.”

“My husband is more...devoted, is he not?”

He glanced at Zhenya. “What makes you think so?”

“His strict observance of the embargo.”

“As you say, the embargo is more cultural than religious.”

“So he is not? Religious?”

“You’d have to ask him, once you’re allowed. But I would say...casually? Observing the holidays, and such.”

“Ah. In that we are similar.” They rode in silence for a few minutes. “A question of my own, if I may?”

“Of course.”

“You seem very...comfortable with me. Informal, even. I don’t mind -- in fact, it’s refreshing -- but it’s not an attitude I often encounter.”

Sidney shifted in his saddle and looked away, seeming a bit uncertain how to answer. “I apologize if I presume too much on such a short acquaintance.”

“I said I didn’t object. You are not one of my subjects, after all. You report to the consort.”

“Perhaps it’s my long acquaintance with him that’s to blame. I’ve grown accustomed to a casual manner with those far above my station. He encourages such familiarity from those around him.”

“It’s been my observation that those who insist on strict etiquette and become angry when the trappings of rank aren’t observed to the letter are those who are insecure in their station, and need people to bow and scrape to them to bolster their self-image.”

Sidney laughed. “That’s your observation, eh?”

“Do you disagree?”

“Not at all, I’m just surprised to hear a Crown Prince say so. But it wouldn’t be the first time you’ve surprised me, Your Royal Highness.” His eyes twinkled as he spoke the title, and Zhenya felt a guilty flutter in his stomach. Sidney beamed a wide smile, and the flutter became a full on gut-twisting wrench -- the man had the most beautiful smile Zhenya had ever seen.

-------

The next morning, Sasha was lurking around Zhenya’s quarters, polishing shoes, while Zhenya sat reading his morning dispatches and having his tea. “You went riding with that guard yesterday,” Sasha said.

“What of it?”

He shrugged. “Nothing. Just...you know how tongues wag around here.”

“What is there to wag about?”

Sasha gave him an are you serious look. “He is exceedingly good-looking.”

“Is he? I hadn’t noticed.” He stared at Sasha and silently dared him to call him a liar.

Sasha just shrugged. “If you wanna fuck him, then fuck him. That guy’s a four-course meal, nobody will judge you.”

“Oh, they won’t?”

“Zhenya, you’re in an arranged marriage. Nobody in an arranged marriage is expected to give up pleasurable dalliances, or even love affairs, if any come along. Once your husband’s given you an heir, he could get his own bit on the side if he wants to.”

“A week ago, I’d have agreed with you.”

Sasha put down his shoe polish and walked over to refill Zhenya’s tea, his eyes flicking to Zhenya’s face. “This consort of yours has you rattled, doesn’t he?”

Zhenya sighed. “He’s…” He hesitated. “You know Seryhoza has been giving him all the daily dispatches and reports?”

“Yes.”

“Every afternoon I find them on my desk, covered in notes. Ideas, suggestions, even corrections. And you know what? He’s always right. I’m starting to think he should be running the country, not me.”

“What’s your point?”

“My point is that...well, obviously I don’t know him. But his associates are devoted to him. I’ve yet to hear a bad word spoken of him. The way he’s been with me, even in what limited contact we’re allowed…” He trailed off. “I think he must be extraordinary.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I think I could love him. Perhaps we could love each other. It could be more than an arranged marriage. He’s fulfilled everything I could have asked for from an embargoed consort and more. I can’t justify throwing away that chance after less than a week because one of his guards has a brilliant smile and a spectacular ass.”

“Your consort’s ass is nothing to shake a stick at, you know.”

Zhenya smiled. “I’m saying there’s no harm in waiting until the embargo is lifted and I can get to know him properly before everyone writes off our marriage as a loveless arrangement and we get carte blanche to fuck other people.” He shrugged. “Maybe he’ll have a horrible shrill voice and it’ll be so off-putting the whole enterprise will be doomed.”

“Oh, no. He’s got a very nice voice, not shrill at all.”

Zhenya sat straight up. “You’ve heard his voice?” he exclaimed.

Sasha just looked at him like he’d grown another head. “Zhenya, you do know that the whole no-talking rule is only for you, right? He can talk to whoever else he likes, as long as you can’t hear him.”

The rub was, Zhenya did know that, but in his momentary flash of jealousy that Sasha had heard his husband’s voice, he’d forgotten himself. “Of course. I’m...yes.” He frowned. “You haven’t seen him, have you?”

“Oh, God, no. That rule’s for everybody.” He stood up and took Zhenya’s breakfast tray. “I’ll be back to dress you in a bit.” He left with the tray, shutting the door behind him.

He hadn’t been gone more than ten seconds before there was a knock at the door -- not the bedroom door, but the door that led into the royal bedchamber. It could be nobody but his consort. Zhenya started to call for him to come in, then remembered himself. He got up and went to the door and opened it.

His consort was standing back a little in the usual garb he wore in this chamber -- nothing at all save his veils, the ones Zhenya was beginning to think of as his sex veils. Zhenya’s eyes slid down his toned stomach to his cock, which was semi-hard. He was a little surprised that his husband would come to him outside their scheduled appointments -- confirmed every day via messengered card just as they had been the first time -- but it was a pleasant surprise.

The consort reached out and took Zhenya’s hand, pulling him into the chamber and shutting the door after him. He began removing Zhenya’s nightclothes and leading him back to the bed. Once he’d gotten him naked and laid out on his back, he knelt next to him -- it was hard to tell behind the veils, but he seemed to be looking down at Zhenya’s face. Zhenya just waited -- clearly there was a plan here, and he’d be damned if he’d interfere with it. The consort reached out and placed his fingers over Zhenya’s eyes, gently urging him to close them. When he did, the man’s fingers pressed down a little, a clear message to keep them closed.

Zhenya lay there with his eyes shut, feeling his consort moving down the bed, the rustle of his veils moving against Zhenya’s skin, and then suddenly his warm mouth was around Zhenya’s cock. He gasped, keeping his eyes shut only with effort, and clutched at the sheets to keep from grabbing at him.

The consort tapped his hip twice; Zhenya hoped that was a sign that he could open his eyes now. He did, and saw that his husband had spread his veils over Zhenya’s hips so that he could suck him without violating the embargo. The sight was unexpectedly erotic; he could not see his partner’s mouth on him, or even see himself. All he saw was the vague shape of his head and shoulders moving beneath the veils and his hands on Zhenya’s hips. The sensations were overwhelming. He was rock hard within seconds, biting at his lips to keep quiet. The consort was tonguing at the head of his cock in between long, luxurious strokes of his mouth down his shaft. It was exquisitely torturous.

Just when Zhenya was pondering how he’d communicate to him that he’d better stop or it would be too late, the consort pulled off and knelt up over him, his veils coming with him, keeping him concealed. He shifted to straddle Zhenya’s hips and sank down on his cock, his pussy wet and grasping. Zhenya’s hands flew to his husband’s waist and pulled him down tight; the consort covered Zhenya’s hands with his own and began to move, rolling his hips in tight arcs, his stomach clenching and his own hard cock straining away from his groin. Zhenya moved one hand to stroke him and his grinding movements sped up. The consort’s breathing sped up, he arched his back, his head tipping backwards; Zhenya could only imagine what his bared throat looked like, his flushed face…

Zhenya’s eyes widened as his brain brought up an image of Sidney’s face. What would Sidney look like, in the throes of arousal, riding him like this with his head thrown back and his cock swollen and insistent in Zhenya’s hand?

He grit his teeth and refocused on the actual man fucking him right now. Not Sidney. It didn’t need to be Sidney; his consort was all he needed, all he wanted. How could he want anyone else, when he had this impossibly sexy husband who was driving him to such ecstasies?

Zhenya was determined to get him off first. He licked his palm and stroked the consort’s cock from root to tip, giving the head a little twisting flourish that he knew was very effective when he used it on himself. The consort jerked and whined, deep in his throat, and Zhenya knew he was finding it equally effective. It only took a few more strokes before he was coming all over Zhenya’s stomach. His consort’s body pulsing around Zhenya’s cock pulled his own orgasm from him and he came, straining upwards to fill him as deeply as he could. The consort sucked in a deep breath, grasped Zhenya’s hand and placed it flat and low on his belly, covering it with both of his own and pressing it firmly to him as they shuddered together.

Wetness gathered in Zhenya’s eyes as he shared the wish that his husband was expressing, their hands clasped over his belly, the hope that even now their child might have been created inside him and was already growing.

Zhenya relaxed into the bed and the consort sagged into the cradle of his hips, Zhenya’s cock still snugged tight inside him. Zhenya laced their fingers together and squeezed, hoping he got the message. The consort rested there for a moment, breathing hard, before rolling away and tucking his legs to his chest as he always did, that old wives’ tale position to help the seed reach his womb.

Zhenya rose and put his robe and pajamas back on. He put his hand over his heart and bowed slightly to his consort; he was still curled on his back on the bed, but his face was turned toward him and he answered the bow with a nod. Zhenya just wished he could see if he was smiling.

Next Chapter

#unveiled #hockey rpf #sidgeno #sidgeno fic #my writing #unveiled chapters

51 notes · View notes

babyboy-cody · 5 years

Note

AYO YOU GOT A FOURSOME REQUEST HEHE okey soOOO HOW DO YOU THINK DUNCAN AND JIM WOULD REACT TO YOU TRYING TO MAKE THEM JEALOUS FOR SOMETHING DICKISH THEY DID like maybe they flirted with ur guys waitress or sumtin as a joke so you just launch ur self onto michael and you guys just have some grand alone time that night and you both just make them utterly angry and you ignore their attempts to try and kiss you and stuff and it goes on for like a few days until they snap🍓 ILY

(YESSS more angsty angst with the iconic foursome😩😩)

Everything has been great so far. The evening was filled with loving touches and soft gazes. The small diner was filled with happy families, old couples, and young teens. Saturday’s were always popular. You’re so happy that you got to show the guys your childhood diner. Michael sits in the booth beside you with an arm sling around your shoulders as Duncan and Jim sit across from you. You’re happily coloring in a children’s menu with a blue crayon as Michael colors with a red crayon. You laugh at the stupid stick figure and nudge him.

A young waitress comes by with a tray that contained your drinks. When she sets it down, you eagerly drink down your strawberry lemonade. She looks at you with distaste and looks at Duncan and Jim with a bright smile. You look over at Michael with a confused look and he squeezes your shoulder to comfort you, letting you know he saw what happened.

“Are you Duncan Shepherd by any chance?” She asks in a bubbly tone as she blushes.

“Yes,” he nods and offers her a small smile.

“I am such a big fan of your products. I’m actually going to college to create my own apps, and hopefully they sell out enough to help me,” She cheerfully tells him.

“Really? That’s really impressive. A pretty girl like you would do amazing in no time,” he offers her a knee weakening grin.

Your heart drops as she giggles. Duncan doesn’t seem to notice your expression drop. Jim perks up when the waitress turns her attention over to him. He blushes and laughs when she brushes her hand across his shoulder, complimenting his toned arms.

“I surf a lot,” Jim comments with a grin.

You clench your hands into fists under the table. Michael strokes his thumb over the tingling spot on your neck to calm you down. The waitress gasps dramatically and bats her eyelashes.

“Surfing? Wow! No wonder you’re so fit,” she giggles and cocks her hip as she leans against the table. “You should teach me some time.”

Jim clears his throat and smiles bashfully.

“Can we get our food?” Michael snaps, his voice low and containing authority.

The waitress drops the act and looks over at the blonde with wide eyes. She fumbles with her words and nods quickly as she hurried away to the kitchen. Everyone’s quiet now. You color with one hand resting on your cheek as you keep your eyes away from Duncan and Jim. You’re hurt with how they acted with the waitress. Michael has never done that before. He’s always cold and rarely speaks when someone gives him the time of day.

“I like this place. It’s really nice and smile compared to the giant restaurants in the city,” Jim laughs and takes a sip of his Sprite.

“Yeah,” you mumble.

Michael’s thumb continues to stroke the spot on your neck when the food arrives. Duncan and Jim make casual conversation with Michael commenting from time to time. He notices your quiet presence and whispers sweetly in your ear and kisses your cheek, causing you to blush and giggle quietly each time.

When you guys got home that night, you’re tucked away in Michael’s side with his arm wrapped around your shoulders. Duncan and Jim trail behind, both men smiling when they hear your quiet giggles.

“We’re gonna go to the bedroom for a little bit,” Michael tells them as he takes your hand and pulls you into the direction of Michael’s bedroom.

Duncan and Jim are eager to follow as you walk inside and place yourself on the bed. You begin to slowly undress as you look at the men. Duncan goes to enter, but he’s stopped by Michael’s arm blocking the doorway.

“What’re you doing?” Duncan questions.

“Y/N requested us to have alone time,” Michael states, looking between both confused men. “Don’t be so jealous, boys.”

The smile on his lips is teasing, and that only adds to Jim’s frustration. They look behind Michael’s shoulder to see you fully nude resting on your stomach with beautifully messy hair, legs swaying in the air as you wait. Michael winks at them and shuts the door, making sure to lock it so there’s no interruptions. Duncan and Jim can hear your happy giggles with Michael’s baritone voice in the mix.

“Don’t worry,” Duncan pats Jim’s shoulder. “We’ll get her tomorrow.”

Except tomorrow never came with them because you wanted Michael again. The day after that, it was Michael. Then Michael again. Michael. Michael. Michael. The entire week, Duncan and Jim had to watch as you lovingly kiss, stroke, and sweet talk the blonde. They felt a burning pit of jealousy form in their chests as they see the happy glint in your eyes every time Michael walked into the room. They don’t remember when you looked at them like that.

The following days, you were petty. Whenever Jim wrapped his arms around you from behind, you’d subtly move away from him and go to the table. When Duncan would lean in close to kiss you, you’d yawn and make up an excuse just to get away. It was like a dance – a cruel dance to fix your heart. You knew it was starting to frustrate him, but you wanted them to understand how hurt you were and that you’re not letting them off easily.

You’re currently on the couch resting on Michael’s lap with your face tucked away in his neck. He’s rubbing up and down your back in a soothing manner. You had trouble sleeping the past few days because of your troubled thoughts. Michael’s been the only one you allow to sleep with you. He’s helped you keep away from the negativity going around. You raise your head from its spot on his shoulder and look into his eyes with your sleepy ones.

“You okay, little dove?” He quietly asks as he gently pushes your hair away.

“Yeah,” you whisper and pucker your lips for a kiss.

Michael laughs and cups your cheek in a ringed hand. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and mold your lips together. The television is set to low volume, but you’re so focused on each other that you don’t hear two pairs of footsteps entering the large living room.

“That’s enough!” Duncan bellows, eyes wide and filled with rage. “No more little games that you’re playing, Y/N.”

You and Michael stare at him with furrowed brows. You remove yourself from his arms and stand with your arms crossed.

“Is there a problem?” You lowly asked and looked between Duncan and Jim with an unfazed expression. “Michael and I were in the middle of something.”

“You’re always in the middle of something. It’s always ‘Michael this’ and ‘Michael that’. What about us?!” Jim angrily shouts.

“I don’t understand,” you shrug.

“Cut the bullshit, Y/N,” Duncan snaps, taking a few steps closer to you with Jim quickly following.

Michael’s quick to stand by your side, but you lightly grab his arm to pull him away. You stare into Duncan’s blazing eyes and then into Jim’s confused angry ones. Your cheeks filled with heat as you tried to keep your tears at bay.

“Do you wanna know what my problem is?” You asked in a wavering voice, completely catching all three men off guard. “Do you understand how embarrassing it was to give that waitress compliments and smiles and winks? You only do that for me! I’ve never witnessed Michael do anything of that matter, and maybe that’s why I’m closer to him than both of you. When I heard you, Duncan, call her a p–pretty girl…” you trailed off as a long tear rolls down your cheek. “I think I died a little inside.”

Duncan sighs quietly and goes to touch your hip, but you shake your head and move away from his reach. He brings his arm back and can’t help the pang in his heart at the rejection.

“And you, Jim,” you look over at the brunette. “You allowed her to touch you and compliment your body. What hurts even more is that you were so close to agreeing with her options if it wasn’t for Michael swooping in at the right time!”

They’re both quiet and looking down at the ground. Michael has a hand on your neck, stroking that one spot to ease your mind. You sniffle and wipe your tears.

“I wanted you to feel what I felt that day. I wanted you to know what it’s like to be forgotten. I wanted you to know what it’s like to not have your lover’s attention and have to witness it being thrown at someone else,” you say quietly. “It doesn’t feel good now, does it?”

“No, no it doesn’t,” Duncan responds just as quietly.

“We’re sorry, Y/N,” Jim tells you, and you see the genuineness in his eyes. “We–We didn’t mean to make you feel like that. It’s in our charm, I guess.”

“Michael’s just as charming, but you don’t see him calling every living thing pretty or allowing them to touch him in front of their lover,” you state, and that gets them to be quiet.

“What can we do?” Duncan whispers as he looks into your eyes, hands itching to grab you and hold you tightly. “How can we make this better?”

“We’ll do anything,” Jim promises, his voice gentle and holding sadness.

You sigh quietly and wrap your arms around yourself. You look up at Michael, and he offers you a nod and a small smile. You bite your bottom lip and shrug.

“There’s nothing more to do,” you respond. “I just want to know where you lie in this relationship.”

Duncan takes a final step forward and cups your cheeks gently in his warm hands. His thumbs wipe the tear streaks away.

“From the bottom of my heart, I will love you to the day I die. There will be no other person besides you, Michael, and Jimmy. I mean that with every bone in my body,” Duncan whispers and presses a soft kiss to your lips that always has you blushing pink.

When you pull away, Jim immediately wraps his arms around you tightly. Your hands rest on his tense back as he buries his face in your neck.

“I need you in my life,” his voice breaks. “You’re the reason why I’m alive. I need you all in my life. Please don’t leave me.”

“I’m not leaving you,” you softly say in his ear, one hand curling through his hair. “You just act stupid sometimes. Even Michael.”

They all laugh quietly as Jim pulls away and wipes his tears. He kisses your lips and cheeks gently, never wanting you to be in pain again because of his actions. Michael and Duncan make eye contact and share a nod of approval. There’s always a solution to every problem in your relationship. And you’ll be forever happy that you have these three men in your life.

#more angsty foursome #my heart hurts #but i’m also soft #unngghh i’m so slesp deprived #but this ask makes me better 🥺🥺#happy ending towards the end #🍓 anon #michael x duncan x jim x reader

81 notes · View notes

ladyboltontoyou · 5 years

Text

Arthur Morgan x Reader: Lessons in Oral

Ask: Can you please please please do an imagine that the gang finds out your a bit innocent and inexperienced, you’ve been with people but you just have little experience, they tease you for it and you get upset and take off, Arthur follows you to comfort you and you ask him if he can teach you how to please a man 😍💦

Warning: Cursing, blowjobs, reader gets teased.

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Reader

A/N: I know the title is cheesy as fuck but what else could I name this LMFAO, hope you enjoy this though! Sorry if anyone is OOC, like Lenny, Sean, or Javier, I’m not too familiar with them.

One minute you were having a good time around the campfire with everyone, then the next they somehow (with the help of a lot of alcohol) found out you weren’t very experienced when it came to sexual relations. For some reason Sean found that hilarious, he couldn't stop laughing. Lenny didn’t believe it at all, his words exactly were ‘There’s no way a woman as beautiful as you hasn’t had millions of men’.

“That’s the thing.” Javier argued as you tried not to die from embarrassment. “She’s gorgeous, who would be able to impress her? You think she’d slum around with anyone around here?”

“Have you really only been with two men?” Karen tried to whisper but it came out much louder than she thought, causing a few other people to look at you again.

You scoffed, your cheeks hot with anxiety. “It’s none of your business, none of you.” You didn’t mean to make a scene but it sure shut everyone up.

“Come on lass, it’s not that big of a deal.” Sean said with his face still red from laughter.

You shook your head and stood up, stalking off into the woods. You could hear Lenny calling after you but you ignored him. It was bad enough they made fun of you for something so stupid, but when you stormed off it made it a lot worse. You let them know they got to you.

Footsteps sounded from behind you and you forced the lump out of your throat so you could talk. “Leave me alone Lenny, I want to be alone.”

“It’s not Lenny.”

You looked over your shoulder and saw Arthur catching up to you. “Oh, it's you.” You sniffed and looked back in front of you, continuing to walk through the woods.

“Where you off to?” He asked and slowed down once he was walking beside you.

“I don’t know.” You admitted and ran your fingers through your hair in an attempt to self-soothe. “I, I know they didn’t mean no harm. But it’s not fun being the center of attention, especially when everyone's debating your sex life.”

Arthur nodded and took his hat off to fix his hair. “I should’ve stopped ‘em, I don’t know why I didn’t say anything back there.”

You looked at him as he put his hat back on and sighed. “It’s alright. Maybe I overreacted.”

“You reacted the same as anyone would. I wouldn’t like my personal business being discussed around a fire with a bunch of drunk people. Especially Sean. Too bad Micah wasn’t there, maybe he would’ve opened his mouth and given me a reason to kill him.”

You stopped walking and turned around, crossing your arms. The camp was out of sight now, you couldn’t even hear them anymore. You glanced to Arthur and then back to the woods. “You don’t need a reason to kill him.” You muttered, causing Arthur to chuckle.

“Well, as much as I agree-”

“How many women have you been with?” You asked suddenly.

Arthur raised his brows and scratched his chin awkwardly, he was totally caught off guard by your question. “I uh… not many more than you…”

Really? You were under the impression he had more notches on his belt than hairs on your head. “You’re not saying that to make me feel better, are you?”

He shook his head and leaned against a tree, crossing his legs at the ankles. “Now, you know I don’t lie to you.”

You smiled and laughed nervously, scratching the back of your neck. “Yeah. Well.” You took a deep breath and forced yourself to look at him. “Would you say you’re experienced?”

“Jesus, girl. You sure you want to talk about that with me?”

“As long as you won't think of me any different.”

He laughed then, as if the idea was absurd. “(Y/N), there’s probably nothing you could do that would make me think of you differently.” He said and you smiled even wider at that. There was no one else that could give you butterflies like Arthur could. “Well, if you really want to know, then sure. I would say so.”

You nodded and chewed on your bottom lip, glancing everywhere but at him. “Okay.” The next question you had was almost impossible to say. “Okay. Promise you won’t think of me different.” He nodded, urging you to continue. “Okay… Well… don’t feel obligated to say yes. Okay?” You were saying that word a lot, it must have been your nerves. “Would you… teach me… could you teach me how to please a man?”

Arthur thought there was nothing you could say that would surprise him. But there he was, his heart suddenly racing at 100mph. “Are you serious?”

You felt like an idiot. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked that. What was I thinking?” You muttered, mostly to yourself.

“No, listen. Are you sure this is something you want to do? Because, (Y/N), once we cross that line there’s no going back. No going back to being how we are now.”

“In a bad way?” You asked, a bit worried by his words. “As in, you won't be my friend anymore?”

He almost pitied you then. “Of course not- (Y/N),” He sighed and shook his head, rubbing his face. “I just don’t want you to regret this. I don’t want you doin’ nothin’ that you don’t really want to do.”

“I want to, trust me. You have no idea.”

He rubbed his mouth as he thought the whole thing over. “Alright. Well, what do you want to know?”

The sudden realization of how serious the whole thing was almost knocked you on your ass. “Uhm… what do men like?”

He chuckled and crossed his arms, leaning back against the tree. “What do men like? Well, we like lots of things.” He struggled to find the words without sounding too vulgar. But it was hard to describe a blowjob without being filthy. “I guess the most popular way a woman can please a man is with her mouth and her hands.” After he spoke he mentally punched himself, was he really talking like this with you?

You nodded and fiddled with your fingers, trying to gather up the courage to ask him if you could try.

“And that, that’s a little hard to teach someone without actually doing it.”

That made it easier for you to ask your question. “Could we do it?”

He was stunned by you, once again. “You can’t be serious. Why in the world would you wanna do that?”

“Could we? Please? Unless you don’t want to. And don’t try to convince me that I’m not in my right mind. I know what I’m asking. I’m not even drunk anymore.”

“Alright, alright. I reckon there’s no harm…” Before he could finish you had stepped towards him, causing both of your hearts to speed up. He watched you carefully as you looked him over, thinking of what to do first. “Are you s-”

“Shut up, I’m sure.” You cut him off and reached for his belt. When your hands touched the leather you could feel his body heat and it made you even more nervous. You had touched Arthur plenty of times before but this felt so different. You were seeing and feeling him in an entirely new way.

You unbuckled his belt and then did the same to his pants, noticing how his breathing had changed from completely silent to softly audible. Should you slow down? You looked up to his face to see he still had his eyes on you but they looked different. His whole face had changed, he was hardly recognizable. So that’s what he looked like when he was horny.

Glancing back down you took a deep breath and sank down to your knees.

“Wait, here.” Arthur took his coat off and set it down on the forest floor in front of him. Your heart swelled at the kind gesture, every single day he proved he was the kindest man in the world.

Smiling in thanks, you tugged his pants down to his thighs. You had to try not to have a panic attack, you had never pleased a man with your mouth before so the concept was entirely foreign.

When you looked up to Arthur for guidance he almost fainted. You looked so beautiful like that, looking up at him with curious eyes with his cock in your face. He almost asked you once again if you were sure, but he bit his tongue. “Try not to use teeth, and go slow. There’s no right way to do-”

He choked when you took him into your mouth, tossing his head back to thump against the tree trunk. “Jesus, girl.” He whispered and ran his fingers through your hair. “You really never done this before?”

You didn’t respond, you were too occupied with his cock in your mouth. He was so warm, and he tasted different than you thought. He was salty, but it wasn’t unpleasant, thankfully. He did have a lot of pubic hair though so that was hard not to have all over your face.

Taking him further into your mouth you swirled your tongue around his length, experimenting with movements. He seemed to like that.

“Shit.” He breathed and fought to keep his eyes open so he could watch you. “Just like that. What you cant fit, use your hands. Move your head a little, just like you’d move your hips.” Oh, those words were sin.

You wrapped one hand around the base of his cock and massaged while you continued licking him, occasionally bobbing your head up and down. Hollowing out your cheeks was something you discovered on your own, you thought the pressure might feel nice. Also, it was hard to suck when there was air in your mouth.

There was no way he could last long, not when it was his first time with you. Even when he shamefully touched himself to the thought of you he never lasted more than a few minutes. So when he came within only two minutes he wasn’t surprised.

“Stop,” He panted and tried to take his cock out of your mouth in an effort to spare you tasting cum. He didn’t go over that part with you, and many people hated the taste of it. “You won’t want to, (Y/N)-”

You shook your head and sped up your movements. You knew he was about to cum, you’d seen a man orgasm before. The taste of cum was a mystery to you so you wanted to try it, and Arthur was the only man you’d feel comfortable tasting. Anyone else would feel too disgusting.

When he came he accidentally thrust into your mouth. If he could speak he would have apologized but his orgasm was so strong he was incapable. He huffed as he came, his eyes clenched shut and his fists in your hair.

You watched his face as he came, enjoying the state you had put him in. For your first blowjob, you did amazing, something neither of you expected. And the taste was pretty bad but after you swallowed it had numbed your mouth and throat, sort of like cocaine gum.

After you were sure he was done you stood back up, quickly becoming aware of how turned on you had gotten. “Was that good?” You asked and wiped the spit from your mouth.

Arthur nodded, his breath still labored and shaky. “It was,” He struggled to speak, swallowing hard. “You were great.” He pulled his pants back up and buckled his belt, all with shaky hands. “If you had told me after you’d never done that, I wouldn’t have believed you.”

“I guess it’s just another one of my weird natural talents.” You laughed awkwardly and shifted your feet in an attempt to get friction between your legs.

Arthur chuckled and tipped his head in agreement. “You wanna get back to camp now? Don’t want them thinking anything suspicious.”

You nodded and picked up his jacket, giving it a good shake before you handed it back to him. “Hey, when we get back, maybe I can teach you to please a woman.” You were mostly joking since you were sure he knew damn well how to do so. But when you looked at him you saw he was more than happy to oblige.

He had a twinkle in his eyes and one of the most wicked grins on his lips. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan imagines #arthur morgan x reader smut #Red Dead Redemption #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption imagine #red dead redemption 2 imagine #red dead x reader #red dead redemption x reader smut #red dead redemption x reader #request #myfanfic

915 notes · View notes

the--sad--hatter · 5 years

Text

Name Calling (42)

FANDOM - MARVEL MCU, DEADPOOL & X-MEN

PAIRING - BUCKY X READER (female reader, no physical descriptions)

WARNINGS - ALL OF THEM, SMUT, VIOLENCE ANGST

DESCRIPTION -

Vernichtung - Destruction, Annhialation.

It was what you were named and what you were supposed to be but the only thing you wanted to destroy was Bucky Barnes.

The ongoing and bloody war of words between you and Bucky turns in your favor when a disgruntled one night stand of his lets slip a secret when you run into her in the elevator… Now you have all the ammunition you need to destroy your enemy but you don’t plan on killing him quickly. Oh no, Bucky Barnes was going to suffer and you were going to enjoy every second. You just didn’t count on enjoying it quite so much.

But when your past catches up to you in the form of the mad scientist who made you, Bucky might be one of the only things that can save you from yourself. You can’t run from what you are but with his help, you can fight back.

Current Word Count - 118,143

MASTERLIST or Read on Ao3

Moodboard by @talesofakindredspirit

Chapter Forty-Two - The Truth Hurts

“You got truth cookies from the God of lies?”Clint whined.

“It’s called poetic irony.” You sniggered.

“I am terrified right now but I’m also kind of proud and impressed.” Sam admitted.

“Here are the rules of the game, you tell me something you don’t wanna tell me and you get the andtidote.” You informed them.

Clint, Natasha, Bucky, Steve, Sam, Thor, Wanda and Vision all looked very very nervous as you watched them through the screen and it was incredibly satisfying.

“So, anyone want to tell me anything?” You asked sinisterly.

Wanda slapped her hands over her mouth and you laughed.

“I’m afraid that will not save you.” Loki informed her.

“How about you Sam? How about you tell me how you really feel about me dating Bucky?” You probed.

“I think you’re good for each other and I like that Barnes knows how I feel now that he has to compete with me for your time the way I do with him for Steve’s. I know I’m your best friend you’ll always have time for me but I like teasing him and I know he’ll always look after you because he’s a good man.” Sam blurted.

“Awwwww” You cooed.

“I’m furious that I just admitted that.” Sam bemoaned.

“Ok, Sam passed.” You smirked.

“I am not afraid, I have nothing to hide. I am grateful to have Loki back in my life and grateful you all have given him a second chance.” Thor said with a happy grin.

“Sentimental oaf.” Loki muttered but you did notice the slight pink tinge on his cheeks.

“I would like to point out that as I am a synthetic being I do not believe this potion has had any effect on me.” Vision informed everybody.

“Try telling a lie.” Wanda suggested.

“I am bright pink right now.” He said and everybody sulked at his successful lie.

“Whatever, Vision wouldn’t have had anything juicy to admit anyway.” You said with a small pout.

“Vision and I both know who your biological father is.” Wand said and covered her mouth again in horror.

You gulped nervously.

“I’m incredibly annoyed that you know that and I don’t.” Natasha snapped.

“Wanda’s out. Someone else go!” You said quickly.

“I’m very disappointed in you.” Steve said.

“Well nobody needed to give you truth serum to figure that out.” Sam snapped.

“I’m not disappointed, I’m mad but her devious side is really hot.” Bucky said.

“Not at all a shocking announcement Barnes.” Natasha quipped.

“Yeah this is coming from the guy who fucked her on the gym mats after she headbutted him.” Clint snorted.

“What?!” Sam shrieked.

“Wait, I don’t think I thought this through.” You admitted to Loki, covering the mic.

“What a surprise. Don’t worry, this will hurt them more than it hurts you.” Loki assured you with a very unreassuring smirk.

“Oh please, she drugged him and he practically wanted to propose.” Steve added.

“Getting off track here folks.” You told them.

“Oh are we Kotoynok? Because I think there are a few truths you don’t want to be spoken. Like how you ran into Barnes one night stand in the elevator and found out he’d said your name instead of hers and decided to use it against him.” Natasha said with a savage grin.

“You what?” Bucky huffed, looking hurt.

“Barnes did what now?” Sam asked looking amused as hell.

“Is that why you suddenly started flirting with me, dating Steve and wearing all that tight clothing?” Bucky asked.

“No sweetie, of course not.” You soothed him.

“OK good because I still wonder if you really love me or if deep down you know I’m not good enough for you but I’m too in love with you to let it stop me. I know this is too good to be true and I’m going to get my heart broken but I’d rather have my heart broken by you than turn away from you.” He said.

His confession was met with silence. His face was burning in embarrassment as he waited for you to say something but you didn’t.

“Doll?”

Nothing. You didn’t answer and his stomach twisted.

The doors opened and you stepped through them. You refused to meet his eye or anyone else’s as you walked past them all and picked up a cookie and steeled yourself. Biting the bullet, or the cookie in this case you shoved it into your mouth and swallowed it before you turned back to them.

“James Buchanan Barnes I love you more than I have ever loved anyone and sometimes I think that if I could go back and change the awful things that happened to me I wouldn’t risk it in case it meant I never got to meet you. I’m awful and I don’t deserve you but I want you so much it actually hurts and being with you is more important than anything else. I would rather die than break your heart.”

All the sadness and apprehension in Bucky’s face was wiped away in a single instant and it was like he was lit up from within as he strode across the room towards you.

“I’ve been lying to you to all of you though and I don’t deserve your love. I don’t deserve any of you.” You blurted out before he could reach you and he faltered.

“Kotoynok there’s nothing you could do I wouldn’t forgive.” Natasha said immediately.

“You’re overly dramatic so whatever it is I don’t think it’s going to be that bad.” Steve said.

“I’m with Steve, you’re a damn Drama Queen and an adorable idiot but you couldn’t hurt anybody here with anything you have to say.” Clint agreed.

“You’re my best friend and I would do anything for my friends, plus I trust that you’re a good person.” Sam added.

“I have forgiven for Loki for so much, I am inclined to forgive those I care about for terrible transgressions.” Thor announced.

“I didn’t want to make you feel bad by telling you I knew but I figured it out when you did and I never thought any less of you.” Wanda admitted.

You tried to stop yourself but as soon as you’d bit into the cookie you’d given up control of your mouth and the words poured out of you.

“Vernichtung isn’t a malevolent force trying to take over me, I created it because deep down I want to give into the darkness and do what I was born to do. I want to destroy the world and I hated myself for that so much that I buried it and created a second personality, a shadow self to absolve myself of the guilt.”

You hung your head in shame but you didn’t have to look to see the shift in the room. You felt Bucky take a step back from you. You peered up at him and saw the shock on his face.

“I was afraid you’d reject me but I desperately hoped you wouldn’t.” You chocked out through a sob and covered your mouth, fleeing from the room without looking back.

You ran all the way to Tony’s lab and burst in. He looked up in alarm that didn’t fade when he took in your state. You flung yourself at him and he caught you, wrapping his arms around you.

“What’s wrong?” He asked frantically.

“I told everyone the truth about Vernichtung and Bucky rejected me.” You sobbed.

You felt him stiffen under you and he wrenched you off of him.

“Where is he?” Tony asked.

“Don’t hurt him, I love him so much and if you do it’ll destroy me.” You told him.

Tony clenched his jaw and forced himself to calm down, pulling you into his embrace again.

“I love you but I lied when I told you I didn’t want to know who my father was. I want to know but I’m so scared of what I might find when you tell me.” You said through your tears.

“Kit Kat it doesn’t matter, you don’t have to do anything.” He soothed.

“I want to know, I want to you just tell me but I’m afraid to ask out loud.”

Tony sighed heavily and crushed you in his hug before he told you what the truth serum had forced you to admit you wanted to know.

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

“Where is she?” Bucky asked frantically as he burst into the lab.

“Gone.” Tony told him flatly.

“I didn’t mean to reject her, I was just shocked. I don’t care that it’s her. I don’t care about any of it. I know who she is and I love her.”

“Too little too late.” Tony snarled.

“She and Loki doused us all with a truth potion and it backfired so she took it as well. I was taken aback by what she said Stark because I know I’m a mess and I was scared I would be the worst thing for her. But I love her and I would do anything for her.” Bucky pleaded.

“Fuck. A fucking truth potion?” Tony said, shooting to his feet.

“Yes.”

“Oh shit.”

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

“Logan I believe you should go outside. Miss Stark is currently driving up the driveway.” The Professor said with urgency.

Logan hurried to the front door in time to see you pull up, screeching to a halt and practically falling out of the car.

Your eyes were bloodshot and wet and your looked frantic as you rushed towards him, stopping a few feet away.

“How could you?” You demanded.

“So you know then.”

“You knew all along! Why the hell didn’t you tell me? How could you not?” You practically screamed.

“Wasn’t my place princess.” He said gruffly.

“No, no you don’t get to put that on Tony you fucking coward!”

“He’s your father, I’m just some guy who knew your mother a long time ago.” He reasoned.

“She died in my arms and I didn’t even have a name for her grave you bastard.” You shouted through the tears.

“I didn’t know I was your father then I just knew I didn’t want to be the one to tell you that your mother was the daughter of the man who killed her.” He snarled.

You reeled back as if he’d struck you.

“The daughter of... Docherty is...” You started to hyperventilate.

“You didn’t know that?” He frowned.

“Shit.” He added as you sunk to your knees.

The tears were pouring now as you tried to breathe. Your stomach twisted as it sunk in and you heaved.

Docherty was your Grandfather.

He kept his own daughter locked up for so long she’d lost her mind.

He killed her just to send you a message.

He kept you in a cage your whole life and tortured you.

And he was your Grandfather.

“It’s alright kid, it’s gonna be alright.” Logan tried to say soothingly as he approached you.

You screamed in horror as the rage and disgust consumed you and Logan was blasted back by the power surging out of you.

You could feel Vernichtung at the edge of your consciousness, you could feel her rage and it was even more intense than your own.

“Let me out, I’ll make it all go away.” She whispered to you.

“DON’T” Xaviers voice screamed at you inside your mind.

You tried to push her back down but you couldn’t. Your careful control had been shattered because truthfully you didn’t want to lock her back up. You wanted to retreat and hide away from this and let her do her worst.

The world didn’t make sense anymore and as black veins rippled across your arms you tried to tell yourself that this was a school, there were innocents here but it wasn’t enough.

The knowledge of who you were had broken you.

Somebody wrapped their arm around you and forced you to look at them.

“Ma petite you are stronger than this.” Remy promised you.

“You can’t be here. Run.” You urged him.

“I ran once and left you behind. Not today. Remy will not leave you.”

You shuddered as you battled inside your mind with your darker side.

“This is who you are, who you truly are. The only way to make this pain you feel stop is with blood.” Vernichtung whispered.

“I can’t fight anymore.” You whispered weakly and closed your eyes, surrendering to the inevitable.

You were a monster, descended from a monster. This was who you were and you couldn’t deny it any longer. Vernichtung could have your body and you would take the cage because you couldn’t do anything else.

“You just need a reason to fight.” Remy whispered.

And then he kissed you. And in desperation, in need of something to cling to, you kissed him back.

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

Please don’t hurt me. Please.

@nerdandproud-86 @harrison-shot-first@thejourneyneverendsx @thelostallycat @inquisitor-selvala@the-corruptor @iovher @kendrawr-kitkat @phoenix-whiskey-tears @the–real-wombat @buckitybarnes @fairislesheets@angieptt @meganjonezzzz @dugan365 @fluffeh-kitty@memanda17 @krystallynx @theonelittleone @piscesbarnes@free-as-fishes @tarastudiesalot @captainamericasbeard@dropthepizza346 @jaynnanadrews @likes-to-smell-books@drdorkus @life-wanderer @metalarmlover @animegirlgeeky@jsmith509

#hattersmarvelverse #bucky x reader

239 notes · View notes

everlarkficexchange · 5 years

Text

Incubus

Written by: @alliswell21

Prompt 49: He has spent centuries coming at night and sleeping with as many humans as possible, many dying from childbirth with no child to bear, or because his lust overpowered them. He needs to find a women that can live through his lust and birth an healthy offspring and after centuries, he thinks he found the one, the sixteen year old Katniss Everdeen. Dark incubus!peeta Angst Old times. [submitted by @animekpopxx]

RATED: EXPLICIT for disturbing themes, imagery and adult situations.

WARNINGS: Dark!Peeta; Creepy!Peeta; Stalker!Peeta. Demon!Peeta; Dark!Toastbabies; minor character’s death, Canon compliant violence, Non-con/Rape. Stockholm Syndrome-ish.

TAGS: Supernatural AU; Under 16K words; Smut (Underage!Everlark, non-everlark)

Acknowledgements: Thanks to @animekpopxx for the great prompts, you never cease to inspire with your ideas for stories… sorry if I didn’t completely adhere to all the specifications listed on the prompt.

Many thanks to my amazing beta @wingletblackbird, who’s insights made this story 10 million times better.

@xerxia31 and @javistg for their dedication to Everlark Fanfiction, you keep the creative juices pumping with this events, and I thank you both for that… and thank you for reading my One Shot. Hopefully is to your liking!

KPKPKPKPKPKPKPKP

I’m thrusting vigorously into the wet, hot and loose pussy of a married woman who summoned me by name to get back at her cheating husband— who apparently has sired no less than 4 bastards, each from a different woman— by fucking a demon.

She’s also awake, which is fairly unusual for my encounters, but I couldn’t refuse an invitation such as this when the woman is so willing and eager, and the call comes laced with the delicious odor of arousal.

The problem is, she talks too much!

I’ve done my best to tune out her asinine remarks on how big and intimidating my cock is compared to human penises, how much watching my member excites her, and makes her greedy pussy flutter in anticipation; I’ve heard stupid comments like those for millennia from women with the same wicked gleam in their eyes. They think that calling me to fuck them is some kind of thrilling game, as if the stories of how most of my partners don’t survive their first encounter with me, how their bodies can’t take the stress I put on them when I’m really overcome with lust, are mere jokes passed down from generations. But this woman really is testing my patience.

Everything was alright until she asked a question that enraged me above anything she’s said so far.

“My lord, is it true you impregnate every one of your victims?” There is that psychotic glint in her beady eyes again.

I grunt and push away onto my haunches.

The woman tries to sit up quickly, chasing my retreating form desperately with a pleading apology taking shape in her mouth. She doesn’t get to voice whatever idiotic excuse she was about to spew.

With a flick of my hand, five silk ropes spring up from the floor and wrap around both her wrists and both ankles; the last one gags her mouth. She whimpers and the sadistic gleam in her eyes finally gets replaced with fear when the ropes pull back her legs bringing her knees level with her ears and her thighs spread wide open to me.

Without stopping to look at her, I ram into her ass with so much force the legs of the bed groan and break under the punishing pace I’m keeping.

The woman cries out in terror or pain, maybe both, I don’t care. I don’t stop driving into her until my release is imminent. When it’s time, I pull my cock out of the woman’s rectum swiftly, and spill all my cum on her face, chest, and part of her stomach. I take great care not to let even a drop of my precious seed fall into her reproductive organs.

I sigh in relief once I’m done.

The woman strains against her restraints, and moans pitifully. I look down at her tearful face with spite.

Pathetic.

Finally, I answer her question, “No. I don’t impregnate every one of my partners. Some aren’t worthy of carrying my offspring.” I stand from the broken bed and give her a disdainful glance, “You should count yourself lucky you don’t rate as a good partner, otherwise I would’ve taken your life, as well as your pleasure.”

I dissolve into dark mist leaving her in that shameful position, tied up like a hog and covered in mess, to be found by her husband.

——

It is not my custom to glide aimlessly through a human town after I’ve fed my lust, yet tonight’s encounter left a bitter taste in my mouth I just can’t shake off.

I’ve been cursed into existence with the sole purpose of mating with as many women as there are sand grains by the ocean until one of them births me an heir to… to replace me, I guess, until he too has successfully produced a replacement of his own. Regretfully, I’m still here, after thousands of years, fucking my way through humanity. Not one woman has been strong enough to carry my spawn to term, so the careless curiosity of a self indulgent idiot got to me a little too hard.

There have been a handful of promising cases, but at the end they just amount to female corpses too weak to bear my child. Every single woman I’ve copulated with either dies in the throes of passion, unable to whistand my consuming lust, or has complications with the pregnancy, either because the creature simply sucks the life force out of the host, or because labor pains put too much stress on their mortal bodies and they just give out with internal organ failures.

On this depressing thought, I come to the center of town where I would never be if there was any sun in the sky right now. I’m about to turn myself into a small smoke tornado that will project me back to my den for a while, before my night starts anew on the other side of the globe, but a small, hopeless sob attracts my full attention.

I’m a creature of darkness; therefore I’m drawn to and strengthened by human pain and calamity. The whimpering continues guiding me to an alleyway, behind a lane of brick buildings, housing an amalgamation of shops.

I notice three things upon arrival. First, the soft sobbing is coming from a little girl, much too young to be outside alone at this time. Second, it is dark, very, very dark; a moonless night, that should frighten a hardened man, a night in which specters like me come out to play eagerly with unsuspecting humans too dumb to stay safely in their beds. And lastly, this is the loneliest, creepiest alley I’ve ever been to. It’s cold, muddy, echo-y and reeks of death.

My kind of place, I realize.

Not at all where a tiny child such as this one should be.

At first glance I determine the child is frail and almost to the doors of death. A female of around 10 or 11 years old, judging by her skeletal frame. It looks like she hasn’t known the taste of food in quite a few days, and she’s giving up her life in this cursed place.

It is not in my nature to care whether she expires sitting on the hard ground, against the scraggly apple tree she leans on, or not, but for some reason, I speak to her. Soft and soothing.

“What are you doing here, girl? It’s dark, late, and scary.”

Deadened, sunken eyes stare at me suspiciously, “I could ask you the same. But I’m not nosy!” She replies turning her pert nose up at me.

I chuckle and lower myself to the ground. The little brat is a piece of work! “I’m nosy and I don’t care if that’s rude.”

The girl cocks her head sideways, slightly curious, not the least bit afraid.

“I ran out of coin.” She finally says, “I can’t to go back home to my little sister, Prim, without food. She’s so tiny, and her lips keep crackin’ and bleedin’ every time she cries, asking if there’s anything to eat.”

Normally, humans never see my true form if they happen to get a glimpse of me. They would die of terror on the spot, so their minds only see what they can handle. For women, they see every feature they find attractive in a male, making me irresistible for them, in the very, very seldom instance that they see me while awake. Men, on the other hand, tend to see someone non-threatening, a friend who would never hurt them. I’m not sure what this child sees me as, but clearly she sees someone worth opening her heavy little heart to, because the floodgates of her troubled life seem to have opened up, and she sobs telling me the rest of her story.

“I can’t remember the last time I ate something that I had to chew with my teeth. My tummy started to ache a few days ago, but I didn’t want Prim to ache too, so I’ve been giving her all the little food we had left. Yesterday, all I found in the cupboards were a few dry mint leaves, I boiled them in water and told her it was soup. I came to the market to sell Prim’s baby clothes, but nobody wanted my ragged wares. I got so dizzy after walking all day trying to sell them, and my arms were so tired, I accidentally dropped the clothes on the mud somewhere yonder; I’m not sure where. I couldn’t pick them up, even if I’d wanted to. I knew that if I leaned down, I’d just kilter over and wouldn’t be able to get up again.”

She takes a ragged breath and paws the soaked tendrils of black hair sticking to her forehead away.

“I didn’t wanna die like that in the middle of the street where anyone could see. They would’ve known mother hasn’t been taking care of us. They would take Prim to the Community Home. Children in the Community Home get crushed by sadness and red marks on their faces from angry hands… I couldn’t do that to poor, delicate Prim. But this place here…” her eyes take a glassy quality, and her lips curl into a slight smile as if daydreaming of better days. “It used to be the bakery, before the owners moved away and abandoned it. The smell of freshly baked bread still lingers here, and if I inhale hard enough, I swear I can feel the smells fill my tummy.”

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, as if truly she could get her empty stomach filled with the long gone fragrance of yeast and flour that used to permeate this alley before.

“My belly doesn’t hurt no more,” she sighs, opening her eyes and fixing them on me, “in case you were wondering.”

My head cocks to the side, staring at her curiously.

“I stopped feeling the hunger aches without noticing. Mamma’s a healer, I once heard her tell a woman, whose children had stopped crying out for food, that those are actually dangerous times, when the body needs food, when it’s so far gone, it starts eating itself out. But I’m not scared about that… dying here, where bread used to be baked… won’t be so bad, would it?”

Something tugs at me in the back of my mind. Without thinking about it, and barely feeling anything at all, I conjure up two steaming loaves of hearty bread out of thin air. At first, my instinct compels me to take a bite out of the bread, taunt her, mock her, chop off pieces and lug them over the falling link fence of an old pen, where the odor of some kind of animal still persists, and watch her climb over the muck to devour the soiled bread. But then, my hands move of their own volition, offering the loaves to the girl.

Her eyes follow my every move, stuck on the delectable food she’s been deprived off for so long, just staring at my gift.

Suddenly, I’m aware of how cold and wet everything around me is.

“It’s pouring.” I muse flatly.

The girl’s eyes tell me she clearly thinks I’m stupid, but my clothes cling to my body uncomfortably, and now I’m aware my body feels oddly smaller than usual. I look down at my arms, realizing I have the arms of a child myself.

I guess the girl is projecting her age and features on me, like humans do.

“Take the bread before it’s too soggy to eat.” I grunt in aggravation.

“I—Are you sure? I couldn’t… I don’t have anything to pay or trade—“

I shove the two loaves into her lap, and kick off from the ground where I had come to sit, next to her. “Go home.” I command. “Get out of this darkness and this cold rain.”

The girl looks at the food on her arms with disbelief and awe, then she looks up at me, as if I had given her the moon, the clouds, and her very own star. She murmurs. “Thank you…”

In a second, she’s running away as fast as her scrawny little legs can take her, while I stand here stunned and confused. There was a strange reaction I got when the little girl’s gray eyes met mine and I could see the most appetizing fire within. I knew the little girl would not only survive, but thrive.

I won’t ever see the little human again, so what do I care what’s in her future? I melt back into the shadows, already putting the incident behind me.

——————

I’m particularly fond of nubile virgins, which probably accounts for how poorly their bodies perform when I impregnate them, but I digress… teenage girls have the softest skin. Their budding breasts, still unaware of the effects of gravity, retain an innocent perkiness I could kill for. But, while all this is true on my normal hunts, one prepubescent human has become a most incomprehensible obsession of mine ever since the night I gave her the bread.

My girl with the braid and gray eyes is now 14. She had to mature in extreme circumstances, before her time, making her exquisite in resilience and a strength her peers lack. I find myself attracted to her dormant… sturdiness.

But at 14– in human years— her reproductive system is not mature enough even for a monster like me. She has not the means, nor the skills, to sustain the demands of mating with me, let alone carrying my spawn, so I admire her from afar and more often than I should.

Tonight for example, I watch her sleep for a short moment, then I let myself slip through the same crack in the window I slithered inside, and go on my merry way to find a more fitting host.

The girl will sleep untouched tonight, meanwhile I still need to bury myself into a warm, available body.

—————

“My name is Katniss Everdeen. What’s yours?” She asks the night a come across her, when she’s stuck on the other side of an electrified fence, in a dark, dark forest.

“Peeta.” I say emotionless. It’s my given name, although her kind has given me a different, more sinister name I’m not terribly fond of. “Why are you out here?” I ask.

“I shouldn’t be telling you this, but my papa taught me how to hunt. That’s what I’ve been doing every day for the last two years to feed my family. I come everyday before school, and most days I return even after.”

“Why come twice in a day?” My voice is flat, but she doesn’t seem to mind it.

“Well…” She scowls looking at the ground, as her answer comes together in her mind. “My family has to eat, but we also need other things, like paraffin, thread and needles, matches… things for school, soap for the washing. People in town will pay coin for fresh meat, or trade with other goods. It’s a good system.” She states proudly. But then, she looks nervously around, and stutters as if remembering herself. “But you can’t tell anyone about any of that. I could get punished if word got out that I hunt illegally.” Her nose wrinkles in disgust. “Promise you won’t say anything, Peeta.”

I want to roll my eyes at her, but she’s staring at me with those eyes full of stars and warmth. I have to admit, it felt amazing to hear her use my name. Very few beings even know it, humans can’t even imagine I have an actual name, which suits me, since they fear the one they gave me. It almost rivals the strange pleased sensation I got when her gray eyes widened in pleasant recognition when she saw me approach her tonight. Still, I know not why she’s out here on her lonesome, and I much rather have her go home, to bed, where I have control.

“I don’t have anyone to tell. And even if I did, I wouldn’t tattle. But why are you here so late?”

She frowns. “The part of me getting stuck out here is actually unintentional, and happens very seldom.”

I arch an eyebrow— I had no idea I could use the muscles in my forehead in such manner— and wait for her to elaborate.

“The fence is a pre-war inconvenience, supposed to act as a deterrent for wild beasts, but is almost never on. Animals know to stay away from town, and people like me get to climb under it to gather apples and berries that grow in the wild. Only a few of us hunt, because it’s still illegal to poach. Today I slipped under the wires at dusk to collect some herbs for mother— she’s got to make half of her poultices and unguents with herbs only found in the woods, mind you— anywho, when I came back, the fence was live.” She shivers, crossing her arms over her chest. “I just have to wait it out. It’ll eventually shut off and I’ll be able to cross back into the district. Prim’s already come by to check on me and knows I’m safe. I’ll climb a tree or something while I wait.”

I grunt my understanding and shake my head in aggravation. I wave my hand carelessly, and the electric buzz dies instantly. “I think you can come back in again now.” I tell her needlessly. “Hurry up. You never know how long this will last.”

The girl, Katniss, narrows her eyes suspiciously at me momentarily, but finally shrugs, “As you say.” Then sticks her arm through the links of the fence, holding up her game bag to me. “Hold this for me.” She crawls under the fence and then stands in front of me.

We are the same height I realize. But then, I grow an extra inch or two above her. The corner of her lips curls up, and I’m certain she’s figured something out about me, I just don’t know if it’ll help or hinder my advances.

“I’ll see you around, Peeta. Thank you for keeping me company while I was out there. It’s the first time I got caught out at night. It was nice seeing a friendly face.”

“Mmm. Be more careful next time.” I grunt, and walk away from her.

—————-

I come back to Katniss’ bedroom for reasons I can’t readily comprehend.

She’s not very big or particularly pretty; she’s not even ready to copulate! But there’s a certain vulnerability in her subconscious self that calls me to her.

During the day, she sports the scowl of a thirty year old single mother of two working with only the skills of poaching, handed down to her from her dead father, in order to sustain her family while putting herself and her younger child through school. Of course, she is not really a mother, but everything else is true; so the rest might as well be true also, since she’s had to care and provide for her mother and younger sister for the last two years, taking the mantle of breadwinner all on her slim, little shoulders. Her determination is her own type of brawn in my book.

I hover above her sleeping form, just studying her face; so sweet and tender, free of the premature worry lines and that perpetual scowl that plagues her features in wakefulness, but then again, it is that intimidating scowl of hers that grants her the respect of any adult she does business with.

In sleep, Katniss looks more her age. Innocent and soft, like the velvety petals of a rose bud.

I breathe in the clean smell of her recently bathed body, and wonder if I could just slip my palm up her thigh, just to feel her soft skin under my fingers? But her mother stirs and sighs in the other bed, shutting the thought to Hell.

My eyes cut to the woman right away, but she’s asleep, just rearranging her position in the sagging mattress next to the one I’m floating over.

Mrs. Everdeen suffers melancholy. Her emotional illness almost killed her and her daughters; I’m not sure how I feel about her. She’s better now, but the months of starvation and near death have permanently damaged Katniss, emotionally and psychologically, more than she lets on.

The Everdeens never had wealth or means to afford but the barest of necessities, so when Mr. Everdeen passed, he left nothing behind but a small house with a tiny living area, kitchen, bathroom, and a single bedroom for his surviving family to live in. Another reason I don’t act on my urges to fuck sweet Katniss; the poor thing shares a room with her mother, and more often than not, shares a bed with her little sister.

Tonight is a rare occasion, in which the sister hopped in bed with the mother, leaving the object of my fascination to battle her recurrent nightmares alone. This only exacerbates the troublesome dreams for Katniss, which aggravates me, since her sleep patterns turn irregular and shallow, making it hard for me to infiltrate her subconscious. She’s more prone to wake up when her mind is occupied relieving the bad days. But I don’t complain much, seeing that while she’s is bed alone, I can leisurely hover directly above her sleeping form, instead of by the side of the mattress like I’m usually confined to.

I go back to gaze at my sleeping beauty, and decide that this won’t do.

I have to figure out a way to give Katniss her own room.

I want privacy when the time comes I can do all things I yearn to do. But there’s still time! Katniss has a couple of years ahead of her to grow and mature. I’ll just bide my time until that glorious future.

Before leaving her side for the night, I kiss her forehead. I plant a thought there as my lips touch her skin: ‘Don’t pull the covers up too high. Loosen the sheets around your shoulders. Relax your breathing… rest.’

Then I’m gone.

—————————-

I’m inside sweet, beautiful Lavinia, pounding away in glorious ecstasy.

She’s an absolute delight with a soft, pliable body, with swells and dips in all the right places and shapely legs that go on forever.

She moans sensually every time I enter her. She clenches her pussy muscles around my cock deliciously, and I lick the perspiration off her pale, luscious flesh to give my tongue something to do.

For the first time in months, my mind doesn’t drift to fantasies of an older version of Katniss while moving into the designated warm body of the day. I’m thoroughly satisfied, and at the end of the tryst, just when I’m about to pull out of Lavinia’s tight crevice, she seizes, shakes, arches off the bed with her mouth forming an agonizing O, dipping her head back so her auburn hair brushes the mattress beneath and her torso finally collapses on the bed heavily.

My chest feels the familiar little stir of excitement.

Every woman I’ve successfully implanted with an embryo has had a similar physical reaction. Some are more violent than others, but it’s always the same and I’m cautiously content this time was so mild on the host… mother… whatever she is to my heir.

I stay maybe another hour, just staring at Lavinia’s stomach, wishing I could see beyond the skin and muscle, deep into the womb, take a peek at the creature starting to take shape in her tissue. But alas, that’s not one of my many abilities and powers.

At the first crow of the rooster in the predawn, while it’s still inky dark out there, do I finally see it happening.

It starts as a small, dark red stain growing on the white linen sheets covering the still sleeping redhead. She doesn’t move an inch, but I know from experience the pregnancy failed. Despite the fact that the girl is still breathing, I can’t help thinking she’s already dead.

Lavinia’s hemorrhaging fast; the mess covering her clothes and bedding is now reaching her shoulders; her eyes flutter behind her closed lids, and I regret ever putting my hands on her, because now she’s another girl I’ve sent for death.

I don’t linger to see her last breath.

None of my partners survive a pregnancy. But the night just began in the other side of world, and my loins call for another lover to replace the child I just lost.

—————————

Katniss is 15.

Her dark hair reaches her waist even braided. She hides her budding breasts and the slight curve of her ass, under her father’s old shirts and leather jacket, which are at least 3 sizes too big for her. She’s also taken to wearing trousers instead of skirts and dresses, but even I’ve grown used to her clothing dwarfing her slight frame.

The fact her developing womanly figure stays camouflaged serves two purposes; one, is purely practical, people seem to forget she’s a child— female at that— and take her seriously for trades and bartering; the second one benefits both of us, by keeping unwanted male attention from bothering her.

But there’s no escaping nature, and there’s no stopping puberty. Katniss’ body is maturing nicely, and with that comes torturous growing pains.

Today was hard for her, I can tell.

She’s squirming in her sleep, doubled over at her tiny waist with her nimble arms wrapped around her middle. The downy hair at her temple is damped with perspiration, and her sweet lips are pale and dry.

I kiss the dewy skin of her forehead, murmuring an incantation to numb away her aches. After a few minutes of me trying to soothe her with small caresses, the awful grimace falls off her face, and a relaxed sigh leaves her chapped lips. Her arms loosen, allowing her hands to curl softly beneath her chin.

Her menses started a few months ago, and they have been rough on her. The cycle wipes out most of her strength, leaving her in cold sweats, dizzy, and unstable on her feet. The reaction really worries me. I don’t want there to be a problem I have not foreseen.

I lean my cheek against her soft abdomen and whisper an enchantment. Given my nature, I’m not capable of healing ailments, or granting blessings, nor am I allowed to praying to the ones who could help, but I’m allowed to cast spells and conjure old magic, and lastly, I’m allowed to bear certain illnesses in a human’s stead, so I try to take her pain upon myself. I need my girl to be strong and healthy if she’s to carry my offspring in the future.

I nuzzle her navel for a moment before taking a step back.

A sharp pain wreaks through me, becoming acute near my groin. I claw at the air as the searing pain pierces through me, and then is gone as fast as it came.

That’s that.

I’ve never felt pain before, and I truly hope I never have to suffer it again, but Katniss is resting now, free of deliberating aches, sleeping soundly and peaceful. The unsavory sensations were worth it, just to watch my girl fall into blessed oblivion.

That should do it.

I leave her to rest, wiping off tonight’s nightmares from her subconscious as well.

—————-

I used to worry that with Katniss’ struggle with starvation and malnutrition, her body would become useless as a vessel. Then the day her first bloods stained her undergarments arrived to my everlasting relief, and that to the added improvement of her hunting skills that fetched her better game, and her gathering double portions of wild vegetables and herbs in the woods, where doing wonders to her health.

I was delighted to see her filling in her scrawny bones with meat and muscle, and her cheeks get rosier. It’s the best indication that at last, her womb is ready for procreation!

There’s still the pesky issue of her shared lodgings, so I decided to bide my time until her healer mother gets called to tend an overnight patient, and eager to learn, little Primrose would tag along her mother to help, leaving the house all to myself. Unfortunately, something else happened that I didn’t see coming.

To my everlasting fury, I discovered her trips to the woods aren’t as solitary as I had believed. It so happens that sweet, capable Katniss, does have a hunting partner, and for some reason I ignored this fact completely until today.

The fence is electrified again, but this time Katniss has made camp in the branches of a tall, sturdy tree. In a branch below hers, a lanky, older boy made his bed under the canopy, tying a rope around his waist to anchor him to the tree limb, same as her.

“Hey Catnip, you get some shut eye for now. I have first watch. I’ll wake up when I get tired.”

“Unless you see something worth shooting!” She tells the boy scowling. “Wake me up right away, Gale. Not like last time you saw a deer and tried to down it by yourself.”

The boy lifts his hands in surrender. “Alright, Catnip. Whatever you say.” He sounds almost playful. Almost, but then he finishes with a firmer command, “Now go to sleep. I’ll call if I see anything interesting.”

I feel anger, jealousy, and righteous indignation boiling all over me. I feel my true form emerging, ready to show myself in all my glorious horror, but then I remember Katniss is a mere two feet up above the boy’s branch, and instead of attacking the mortal, I simply explode back to my dwelling, deep in the dark recesses of the Earth.

Meanwhile, in the human world:

“Did you smell sulfur?” Asks Gale sitting up straighter on his branch.

“No. But smelling sulfur out of the blue isn’t a very good omen, Gale. I think we should call it a night, and head back home as soon as the fence is dead.”

“Yeah. You may be right. We don’t wanna be near any toxic gas leaks, and we know next to nothing about the minerals in the mines yonder.” He points into the dark, in the direction of the old abandoned coal mines that used to be the only source of income to people like Katniss’ family.

The teenagers descend the tree quickly, with loaded bows aloft, heading in the direction of town, praying the fence is no longer active.

Oblivious to the angry roar resonating in the empty spaces of earth. Full of vengeance and jealousy.

—————

Gale Hawthorne gets visited by my female counterpart, the one humans have named Succubus, courtesy of yours truly.

She does not take his life unfortunately.

She makes him sick enough he’s bedridden for a week, but he recovers.

When I confront my demoness comrade, she simply says “The boy is 17, and he’s the sole provider for his family of 5. He’s mother is living enough hell as it is, so I just gave tall, dark and handsome a good ride and a touch at nirvana.”

I don’t think that was the truth behind her reprieve at all; I’ve seen her take the lives of teens younger than that, who indulge in self molestation a little too much. I believe she let him keep his life as petty revenge on me, for disrupting her other encounters that night.

The only consolation I have for now is that Gale Hawthorne will have an unexplainable aversion to sex for a few months, which means he won’t pursue my girl in the interim.

But Katniss is starting to look more like a woman and less like a tomboy. It’s only a matter of time before she gets noticed by other boys. I don’t exactly need my partners to be virgins, but the thought of someone else taking Katniss’ purity drives me into a murderous state I really can’t afford.

So, tonight, when I slip into the crack of the window to visit her, I dip my hand under her covers, into her threadbare camisole, to caress her supple, soft breasts. I pinch her nipples to erection and watch her react to the sensations.

I plant suggestive thoughts in her subconscious. She blushes in her sleep and I murmur into her ear reassurances about her beauty and worth, and incredibly, I’m truthful about those.

I close my eyes to savor the moment. It’s the first time I put my hands on her erogenous zones, and she does not disappoint. Katniss’ breast fits perfectly in my palm.

“Sleep well my dear.” I whisper in her ear, “Dream of Incubus babies suckling at your tits. That will become your future at some point.”

———————-

I’ve been stalking Katniss for the better part of five years, and still I fail to make her mine.

She will be 16 in a few days time, and I’ve had plenty of opportunities to lay claim to her body, yet I keep finding excuses to prevent me from going any further than a few caresses on safe places. On nights she spends in the woods alone, I fabricate reasons why I shouldn’t touch her: ‘She’s fully clothed’, ‘A coyote is three miles away and could attack her in her heavy sleep’, ‘She looks uncomfortable on this tree branch; I want her first time to be somewhere she’s comfortable.’

That last one became obsolete the moment Katniss hiked to a cement shack far into the woods, a place she excitedly canvassed for days, then fitted with a makeshift bed of dry grasses and hay to sleep in. Apparently the place had actually been discovered by her father in his youth, and he shared the place with his elder daughter, a secret location all to their own. Being the sentimental human she is, Katniss only recently found the courage to return without her father, and face the fact that her once happy childhood is gone.

I blame my lack of progress on a disturbing thought: fucking Katniss in her sleep and leaving her to incubate my offspring after without any explanation, amounts to rape, and although it isn’t in my nature to operate under the moralistic customs of humans, I find the notion troublesome and appalling. I would never cause Katniss such pain and humiliation.

So I’ve been stalling. Buying time, trying to find a way to make this union less… morbid. More consensual.

I tell myself this is all for Katniss’ benefit, but the truth is, I think it would be rather nice to be able to look at her beautiful gray eyes while spilling my semen into her womb.

To my chagrin, I’ve realized that while trying to consort with this girl, her humanity has bled into my very essence. I’m just afraid I cannot conform to mortal morals too long. My sole reason to exist is to procreate and satisfy my ever growing lust. My nature will win at the end, and I fear I will lose her when it happens.

———————

It’s raining a monsoon outside, yet Katniss is sitting on the porch crying quietly into her hands. It’s past her bedtime too, so I’m sure this is something she’s trying to hide from her family.

I sit next to her on the creaky step before even realizing my physical body has materialized out of thin air of its own volition.

“Gale, my best friend and hunting partner, kissed me today.” She says without even looking up at me. “I pushed him away and told him I didn’t want to be with him that way. That I never wanna get married and have children. He walked off angry, and now I don’t know what to do.”

“I’m… sorry?” And I am, I just don’t quite know what it is I’m sorry about, yet.

“I just don’t understand why he had to go and ruin a good thing!” Her gray, tear-filled eyes find me, and I’m surprised at the fire, anger, and betrayal in her gaze. I’m mesmerized. “Why did he have to go and complicate things that way? Isn’t he happy we are friends? Isn’t it enough we go out into the woods and feed our families together like partners? Why mess it all up?”

“Because you’re beautiful. Because you’re worth the try. Because he’d be an idiot if he let it pass and never confessed his feelings for you. You are extraordinary, Katniss. You have no idea the effect you can have…”

“What does that even mean, Peeta?” She demands angrily.

“It means, men look at you and see someone worthy. Someone valuable. Someone they can’t help but admire and want to pledge their loyalties and affections to.”

She snorts, pawing the tears off her cheeks. “You’re just saying that because you are my guardian spirit.” She says dismissively.

“Your what?” I ask in disbelief, astonishment and an edge of offense.

Katniss rolls her eyes, letting me know she thinks I’m being unnecessarily obtuse. “Come on, Peeta. You only show up on moonless nights when I’m in trouble, to help me with whatever supernatural powers you possess. I’ve known who you are since my friend Madge let me read her father’s old books from before the first rebellion of Panem. People back then believed in spirits and those kind of things. I just found one that fitted your description, and it came up as ‘Guardian Angel’ which mostly protect humans… you don’t have to deny or confirm it, but I’m pretty confident I got you identified!”

She smiles through her tears. There’s a glimmer of satisfaction and playfulness deep in her eyes.

I’ve never been confused with a Being of Light before, and to be honest I’m doing everything in my power to hide the disgust I feel at that. At this point, I find it counterproductive to correct her preposterous assumptions, so I bite my tongue for the time being.

“Katniss,” I sigh, “Many boys are going to like you. You are an incredible young woman. That said, you don’t have to choose any of them, especially if you’re not comfortable. If Gale Hawthorne knows what’s good for him, he’ll come back and apologize for imposing himself on you. Otherwise, you did nothing wrong and you don’t owe him anything. Be sure you are happy and safe. Even… even when I’m around. You have such an incredible power to you. Don’t be sad about any of this. Chin up and be a great example for little Prim.”

“Thank you, Peeta. You always know what to say to make me feel better.” She reaches for my hand taking me by surprise, and squeezes.

My eyes fall to our entwined hands, and I marvel at the sight; there’s a fluttering of emotions in my chest. I’ve never felt this way before. I’ve never been touched by a human willingly, in friendship or otherwise. It’s extraordinary to say the least.

I clear my throat. “You should go inside.”

I watch her duck into her house, and for the first time since the inception of Earth, I remain frozen in one place for the night without seeking a mate to pollinate.

—————

Two weeks after Gale kissed Katniss, and they still aren’t on speaking terms. They avoid each other and start hunting separate parts of the woods in different schedules.

Gale is 18 and can opt for a job at the medicine factory that opened up after the rise of the New Panem some ten years ago. He can also apply for a farming license and get a lot with fertile soil to work. Katniss is still too young to apply for any of that, but she’s old enough to marry.

I will never understand the arbitrariness of human’s law regarding age of consent. A girl of marrying age, should be a girl of independent working age. But what do I know? I’m just a Being of Darkness; such conundrums are beneath me.

Yet, I’m standing here in the other side of world, pondering on it!

She doesn’t own me! If I’m going to obsess over a human, I still want to be me. I don’t want her to turn me into some angel I’m not.

I don’t want to be a piece in this girl’s involuntary game.

So, on my sweet, beautiful Katniss trudges to the woods teeming with game and wild herbs, waiting for her clever hands to pluck, either the string of her bow, or the greens off the forest floor; it matters not. Her family will eat better than her many neighbors, who sadly still live in poverty despite the new era of freedom.

Ugh… curse that resilience and strength of hers! She’s irresistible!

—————-

It’s late in the evening, the last remaining rays of sun just disappeared in the distance, not quite moonless, but dark enough to make anyone uneasy.

A greasy, disgusting man spots Katniss slinking away from the dead electric fence, and lunges at her like a fiend. He takes her by surprise, and gets a hold of her game bag, which is quickly discarded carelessly on the ground. Katniss tries to fight the man back, gritting her teeth and growling like a rabid animal, but it’s no use.

Despite how heavy set the man is, he’s quick on his feet, and has restrained Katniss by the wrists.

The man reeks of white liquor. His balding head has a few long hairs combed to the side, which does nothing to hide the shine of his scalp. The disgusting creature is talking filth into Katniss’ face when I finally step out of the shadows and stalk his way. He doesn’t see me, too distracted on Katniss… MY Katniss.

She’s doing everything in her power not to show how terrified, how trapped she is, but her eyes are filling with tears and this miserable maggot is feeding off it.

The man presses his disgusting body into hers, and she tries to kick him off, snarling a threat that doesn’t reach him. The brute shoves her against a tree; she chokes a small sob back and begs him to stop, while shaking like a leaf. The man laughs, then sticks his nauseating tongue out of his mouth, and licks her face, from her chin to her temple … That’s the last thing I remember cohesively.

I blink, and the next thing I see, there are blood, guts and gray matter splatter everywhere.

The ground, the trees, my hands and clothes, everything is covered in gore. The man’s corpse lays shattered on the ground in two pieces ripped straight down the middle, from his head downward.

I gasp her name, scanning the scene frantically until I see her, huddled up behind a tree with her head buried into her arms that rest on her knees.

I call her name again, but she doesn’t respond to my voice. She mutters something I don’t catch, so I try to touch her. She yelps as soon as my fingers brush her shoulder, and scoots away from me like a crab running from a seagull.

“No!” She yells batting my hand away.

“Katniss—“

“What are you? You’re no angel at all are you?” She stumbles to her feet shakily. I try to follow but she stomps her feet like a toddler in mid-tantrum. “Stay away from me! Monster. Mutt. Whatever you are!” She takes off running home, snatching up her game bag as she goes.

The only evidence linking her with this horror sight is gone, so it’s time to cover my own tracks.

I extend my arms straight, at my sides, I close my eyes summoning nature to me. When the hair covering my arms stand with static and my fingers tingle with tiny shocks of electricity, I clap my hands way above my head bringing down a mighty flash of lighting that scorches the ground and singes the bark of the nearest trees.

Looking at my handiwork with satisfaction, I leave Panem behind. It’s the last time I stalk Katniss Everdeen, awake or asleep. Anonymity is my gift to her.

Sure enough, when morning comes, the death of that awful man, gets attributed to lightning.

——————

Plump, bodacious Delly Cartwright is as opposite in looks and personality to Katniss as humanly possible. I chose her painstakingly for that very reason. Her hair is a mess of yellowish curls that remind me of the majestic mane of a lion. Pretty enough face, with fair skin dotted with freckles, thin pink lips framed by laughing marks and wide set blue eyes full of trust and kindness.

Delly’s had a sheltered, pampered life, and is very free with her affection. She is engaged to be married come Spring, but she’s by no means a pure, innocent virgin. I go at her like a dog with a bone.

I’m in the process of covering her eyes with my special heavy sleep scales, to ensure she won’t wake in the middle of our tryst, but I feel the tug overpowering my whole body before I hear Katniss’ voice calling me by my proper, given name.

Delly stirs in her sleep, while I try to hold on to the bedposts, refusing to answer the summon, but Katniss says my name again. It’s too powerful a pull. My fingers slip off the polished wood and my body pops out of existence in this room, and snaps back into being outside the familiar tiny shack the Everdeen women call home.

The air crackles around me with electric pulses and a cloud of fog surrounds my body.

Once the fog clears, I can see the single oil lamp sitting on the porch railing, illuminating the slim figure of the girl I’m trying to avoid with all my might.

She��s beautiful though. I take her in hungrily.

She’s standing barefoot on the old doormat that’s seen better days, wearing a white, threadbare nightgown I’ve never seen her in before. An equally threadbare shawl that can’t be providing any warmth in this chill wraps around her shoulders. Her hair falls loose down her back, but she keeps fiddling with the end of a lock she’s twisted around her fingers.

Her pink lips tremble slightly from cold every time she exhales a foggy puff of breath from her mouth.

Without really stopping to think of what I’m doing, I glide up the porch steps until I’m in front of her and tighten the shawl over her chest with both of my hands.

“You’re shivering. You shouldn’t be outside in this cold with so little clothes on.” I try to sound stern, but my voice is too soft and caring.

Her lips twitch up at the corners. Her gray eyes shine in amusement. “I wouldn’t have gotten so cold if you hadn’t taken so long to show up. I called you over 120 seconds ago!” She admonishes in a tone dripping with sarcasm.

I narrow my eyes at her, trying to figure her out, but I give it up when her teeth start clattering together. She speaks before I can comment further.

“Come inside with me?” It’s not really a request, since she’s holding my hand like a vise and dragging me towards the door.

“Is that wise?” I ask her arching an eyebrow. “I’m not the Being of Light you previously thought I was.”

She scowls at that, “No, you ain’t. But you’ve still saved my life more times than I care to remember. I owe you, and I’m not very comfortable having a debt so steep hanging over my head.”

“Consider the balance void, Katniss. It’s safer that way.”

She purses her lips and tightens her hold on her shawl. “We’ll see.” She pushes the door open and in we go, without hesitation.

“I spoke to Greasy Sae,” she tells me, as we cross the living room and kitchen area, into the bedroom with the two beds, both empty tonight. “She’s the oldest person in the District, you know.” She states as if that explains anything.

“There’s a wealth of wisdom in the elderly’s counsel,” I comment looking at her profile curiously. “What did this Sae have to say?”

Katniss pulls a chair from a writing desk and motions me to sit. I obey without questioning it.

Katniss shrugs, “I asked many things, really. Sae talks a lot, and she knows everyone, so people come to her for advice.” She sits on her bed opposite me, yet her eyes shy away from mine.

“What advice did you ask for?”

“No advice. Just information.” Her eyes flick to me quickly, then go back to a point over my shoulder. “You know, what you did to Cray… well, it wasn’t subtle at all.” She finally pierces me with a glare, but that only lasts a second. “I mean, you tore his body in half with your bare hands and left his carcass to rot in the meadow. Who does that?!” Another glance, this one I can’t tell if she’s disgusted or terrified. She should be both.

“I made it appear as if had been a lighting strike.” I protest.

“It wasn’t storming that night, Peeta. We had beautiful, clear skies the whole, entire week. People knew something supernatural was behind that monster’s death.”

“He was about to do terrible things to you, Katniss. Have you thought of how scared and devastated your sister would’ve been if something awful had happened to you?”

“Of course I have!” She interrupts me. “It would’ve destroyed her. Don’t get me wrong, people are happy to see the bastard gone, because he’s always had a history with harassing girls, but everyone is scared now of something they don’t understand and can’t start to explain! The whole district is so shocked they close their shutters earlier, hide their youngsters fiercely, walk in large groups when going places like school or the market. Even at school teachers step out of their classrooms to make sure the students milling around the halls are safe. It’s horrible and traumatic…”

“Then you know why I had to take care of that predator.” I spit venomously.

Her shoulders sag, “I know.” The pinched look falls off her face.

She stands up and walks towards me.

In a surprising move, she lowers herself sideways on my lap. My arms go around her waist immediately, in case she changes her mind, but Katniss leans her head onto my shoulder and sighs deeply.

In all the centuries I’ve fucked my way through humanity, I’ve never been this close to a girl before. I do not mean merely physically, but intimately. I’m not sure how to respond and reciprocate the affectionate gesture, so I settle for resting my cheek on the crown of her head.

“Where’s your family?” I ask.

“Tending to a birth. Twins. There’s some kind of complication, so mother took Prim to help her. They will be out all night.”

I accept her explanation with a sound at the back of my throat. After a minute of easy silence, I ask, “Were you satisfied with the information you yielded from Mrs. Sae?”

“No.”

She doesn’t elaborate for a few minutes.

“How did you know Cray was attacking me?” She finally asks shuddering in my arms.

I scowl. “That kind of evil. It comes from me.” I tell her. “I recognize the ones who maim the soul and hurt the spirit, because that’s my job. That perversion originates from the same darkness I come from, and responds to the same urges I do.”

Katniss tries to appear unperturbed about my words, but she can’t hide her trembling.

“Sae said she didn’t recognize any spirits by my descriptions. I tried to remain vague and distant, as if asking on someone else’s behalf, but she was troubled by my questions, and I think she knew I’d witnessed Cray’s disembowelment. I had to stop my inquiry.”

“I’m right here, Katniss. You can ask me anything you want to know. Isn’t that why you called me here tonight?”

She shakes her head in denial. “Sae said it sounded like a dark one was protecting his mate, or maybe grooming a prospective mate. But of course, she’d never heard of something quite like you. She didn’t know who or what you were. She couldn’t tell me how to proceed.” Katniss straightens up, and stares into my eyes apprehensively. “I have an idea of how you may like me to pay off my debt to you.” She says blushing violently, averting her eyes and fiddling with her shawls fringe.

She breathes in deeply, and lets the shawl fall from her shoulders. She takes my hand and brings it to her clavicle; her fingers interlace with mine, to venture under the neckline of her nightgown. Before I can make sense of what’s happening, I brush the soft skin of her full breast with the pad of my digits.

Katniss presses my fingers to her delicate nipple, and I surrender my will to a human, for the first time in the memory of creation.

I trace her areola gently, with practiced ease, until the nipple puckers up in response. Her own hand falls away, leaving me to my own devices.

Katniss shudders a little, clenching her eyes closed. “You’ve done this before, haven’t you?” She asks me, not quite in accusation, but unsure and fearful

“Yes.” I tell her. No sense in denying the truth. I lean into her ear to whisper, “Katniss, you should have left that debt alone when you had the chance, Sweetheart.” She shivers in my arms, but presses her torso against my body.

“This is the price isn’t it?” Her voice wavers.

“Partially. The price I’m charging is something you already told me you were unwilling do. Now we will have to come to some agreement.”

“How long have you been touching me like this?” She’s holding back tears, but not stopping the pinches and kneading of my fingers on her flesh.

“I’ve only done this twice to be honest. I palmed your behind once. Somehow, touching you without your knowledge feels… wrong.” She nods, a stray tear trails down her cheek. I nuzzle the sensitive spot behind her ear. “I’m sorry, Katniss. I’m not a one mate being. I go around the world, taking women such as yourself during their sleep, oftentimes impregnating them with my spawn. It’s not my custom to groom my partners, but everything about you has been different from the beginning.”

“Aren’t I the lucky gal?” She spits bitterly, yet her breathing is getting shallower and a pretty blush is starting to color her skin from her face to her chest. She’s actually enjoying my ministrations on her breasts. “What makes me so special?” She asks.

“You’re strong minded. One of my powers is to whisper things into a human’s ear, and plant ideas, orders, images… you’re too stubborn to listen to any of that. I’ve command you to cut all of your ties to that Hawthorne boy at least thrice, but you’ve refused to forsake his friendship and companionship each time.

“I’ve tried to get you to wear dresses and shifts to bed, but you keep wearing your father’s clothing even to sleep.

“Every time I try to induce a sexual dream into your mind, you clam up, and never stay asleep long enough to get too far into the dream for it to affect you the way I’d want it to. But, things seem to be changing right now.” I pull my hand out of the neckline of her gown and place it on her knee.

Once I make to hike my hand up her thigh, Katniss clenches her legs together, whether she’s doing it to deny me access, or because she can’t handle the arousal, I am not sure. I drop my hand off her knee all the same.

“I can’t take you without your consent, Katniss. That much is clear after my failed attempts at wooing you while unconscious.” I whisper into her temple, dropping a sweet, barely-there kiss. “This ‘grooming’ debacle has happened both ways.” I state. “Katniss Everdeen, you’ve tamed the feared and despised Incubus.” She gasps. I suppose, Incubus she’s heard off before.

“I’m still a demon.” I say solemnly, “A sex fiend. My nature hasn’t changed, despite your domesticating me. You could reject me right this second, and I’d go away without ever touching you. But, once out of your snaring presence, I’d have to prowl around in search of other women to satisfy my needs.”

“You’re saying that other women and girls well-being rest upon my shoulders?” She asks looking a little green in the face. “You couldn’t possibly do anything to them without their express permission, would you?” She sounds hopeful, and her eyes are pleading.

“You’re the only one with power over me, Katniss. I only care for your wants and dislikes. I am yours to command, anyone else is disposable.”

“How am I supposed to agree to these terms, Peeta? You… you’re- you molest women in their sleep! You get them pregnant against their will and nearly every one of them dies as a result of your encounters with them.” Her eyes fill with tears, but she doesn’t look away from my own. “I never want to have children. But that’s what you want from me, isn’t it?” She murmurs shakily, her body sagging into my chest. “I don’t want to die either. My sister needs me.”

“Katniss, I’m obsessed with you, because you’re the sturdiest girl I’ve met. You’re a survivor. You don’t give up when you know the difference between death and survival is you. I’ve been investing my own powers on perfecting your body and preparing your internal organs so you’re in top condition for mating, sustaining a pregnancy and delivering a live half human, half demon child.”

This stuns her a second. “You really were grooming me for years.” She sounds devastated. “I told you I didn’t want marriage, loving a man that could die and take away my will to live to his grave with him. It happened to my parents. I can’t abandon my children to their fate the same way my mother did to me and Prim. You knew all this. I told you all about it before… you still want me to… to—” she chokes back a sob and clams up.

I’m aggravated with her. I had walked away from her, left her alone, freed her from my presence, yet she summoned me back here because she can’t let some fabricated debt go. I growl lowly, trying to keep my temper under control. She really won’t be able to survive my wrath, and I don’t want to harm her in an angry rush.

“Since you insisted on calling me here, then I must inform you, you will become pregnant if we mate. That’s a guarantee. But I’m no man. I can’t die. I will never grow sick and time will never age me. My children won’t suffer human needs either. They’ll be strong and capable of hunting their own meals, much like you do now. If you can’t mother them properly, I will take them away and raise them myself. We have little room for negotiations at this point. Mating and childbearing are inescapable if you pursue the debt route.”

“Kill me now then!” She snaps, trying to push away from me, but I keep her in place with my hands.

“I will not kill you.” I say it like it is a command.

“If I refuse to m-mate?”

“Will you?” I counter. “Mating will happen on your terms. On your time.” My voice sounds gentler now, like it was before. “Then I’ll leave you alone for good if that’s what you want.”

“You… you would?” She’s shaking all over.

“My word is my bond.”

“What should I call you? Master? Sir? Lord?”

“Peeta. Just Peeta. That is my given name.” I tell her simply.

“Why me? Why now?”

“I don’t quite know. I just know you’re the one strong enough to stand the physical toil of carrying my offspring which has caused all the previous hosts’ demise.”

She nods absentmindedly. I’m surprised when Katniss starts undoing the tiny buttons at the neckline of her gown, and slowly slips off my lap, to stand between my legs. I lose no time pulling the soft material covering her body down her arms, to pool at her feet. I stare at her naked torso and then at the apex of her thighs, drinking in her beauty with relish.

“I’ve never seen you nude before.” I tell her in awe, rubbing my hands up and down her arms.

“Let’s do this now. No sense delaying it. It would happen eventually anyway.” She says, shyly.

She most see the greed and lust in my eyes, because she tries to cover her chest and the curly, black hair covering her sex. I remain seated on my chair, until she starts squirming under my heated gaze.

“Do as you must, Peeta. Do it quickly.” She says after forcing her eyes back to mine.

“You need to be more specific, Katniss. Otherwise I’ll stay planted here until dawn slashes me away.” I tell her arching a brow. I burn with desire for her, but I cannot move without her permission.

She grunts and taps a foot impatiently. I smile at that. She’s still so strong willed even now, and so pure deep down; it’s endearing.

“Take me, Peeta. Now. Mmm… sexually.” She punctuates.

I can’t help smirking deviously. I stalk up to her and reach my hand to rest on the curve of her waist, gently pulling her forward.

“I am going to kiss you now.” I purr into her ear.

Kissing my partners is unusual for me, but this is Katniss. I take her lips with mine in a searing kiss that burns down my body. I lay her on the bed blindly, caressing her velvety skin tenderly.

I’ve master the art of masturbating my conquests to assure lubrication, but other than that, I’ve never given thought to foreplay for the sake of pleasing my partners. I’m doing things here, I’ve never done before. Human lovers may be more adept at romancing, but I’m doing my best to pleasure Katniss with my hands, lips, tongue and words.

I taste, kiss and nip at her skin. I tweak, pinch, knead and caress her flesh; I suck on her nipples and nuzzle the cleft between her thighs. She tenses, melts, and chokes back sounds on intervals every so often, not quite sure if she should resist me or enjoy the sensations I’m evoking in her.

“Relax, Katniss. Clear your mind. Enjoy the moment.”

She lifts her head in time to watch me take a long swipe of my tongue along her labia. Her head falls on the flat pillow and a soft moan escapes her sweet mouth.

“You smell and taste divine.” I tell her while inserting my middle finger inside her warm, wet pussy.

Finally, Katniss cries out my name, and I swear it’s the most intoxicating thing I’ve ever experienced.

A second and then a third finger find their way inside her making her bow off the bed. She’s moaning loudly now. My thumb makes contact with a small kernel of flesh I haven’t really paid much attention to while with other women.

Katniss shouts with the first few passes of my thumb, she begs me not to stop, to “please, please, please, keep doing that!” And I can’t resist lapping at the copious arousal bathing my hand and Katniss’ thighs.

I’ve made women orgasm before, unintentionally of course. They cum just by the sheer size of my shaft, but it’s never been as extreme as this. My sweet, little Katniss arches off the bed, her shout dies in her throat, and then she falls on her back, convulsing and twitching.

At some point her fingers tangled in my hair. She pulls on it every time she shudders her release, until she lays still.

I sit up and catch my reflection on the oval mirror propped on Mrs. Everdeen’s night table, next to the blade her late husband used to shave his face. Both items remain in the same spot they were left at 6 years ago. Young Primrose polishes the reflecting surface everyday, readying it for a father that will never use it again.

As I take a minute to inspect my appearance, I’m surprised I don’t have Gale Hawthorne features. I’m taken aback at how young and kind my face is. I guess I must be 16 or 17 in her mind’s eye. Blond, wavy hair. Warm blue eyes. Chiseled jaw, defined upper lip and a strong straight nose. I rip off the simple white button down shirt covering my upper body to find lean, defined muscles over a wide set of shoulders that look strong and used to manual labor. My skin is fair with a smattering of freckles and light blonde hair cover my arms. I realize this is what Katniss finds appealing. Whatever she’s attracted to.

I look down at my trousers, and see flecks of flour on dark brown sturdy material. I find it amusing that she’s dreamt me off to be a baker of all things, but I guess in her mind, it makes sense. I did give her bread in the backyard of an abandoned bakery the first time we met.

I will the rest of my clothes gone, and it disappears on the spot. I kiss her navel sweetly, and hook my elbows under her knees. When I sit up, I pull her hips towards mine.

“My turn.” My voice is raspy and needy. Katniss nods, widening the opening between her thighs for me.

“Will you… fit?” Her voice wavers, her gray eyes watch the turgid appendage between my legs nervously.

My cock twitches. “I will fit, Sweetheart. Don’t you worry about it.” I assure her sweetly, caressing her outer thigh.

She nods. “Okay.” She breathes out softly. “I’m ready.”

Katniss gasps when I run the head of my dick through her wet, swollen folds, and without much ado sink my full, long girth into her in one swoop motion. She releases a breathless, long, drawn out moan once I’m seated all the way in. She’s so tight and warm, I wish I could freeze this moment, here, right now, and live in it forever. Alas, time is not something I have control over, so I give into my need and start moving.

Katniss keens breathlessly every time I rock into her. She’s digging her blunt nails into the skin of my shoulder blades, after having hooked her slim arms under mine. Her face is practically buried into the hollow of my neck, letting me feel the brush of her lips and her hot breath against my pectoral with every thrust. Having her awake for this was the best decision ever!

I kiss her sweaty forehead, and bury my nose in her hair. She always smells so good, like lavender and fresh rain. I kiss her temple, and then her cheek; lastly I kiss her lips and she sighs into it.

“Does it feel good?” I ask her, genuinely interested in her answer.

She nods faintly. “It feels… wonderful. Different. Strange. I feel so full, like I’m stuffed to the brim, yet I need more of you, of your… hmmm…”

“Cock,” I supply. “Call it a cock.”

“Alright.” She breathes out. “I- I think I like the feel of your… cock, in me.” She says rubbing her cheek against mine.

“Good. Let me know when you get tired, and I’ll finish.”

She gives me a frowning look. “You can do that at will?” She asks.

I shrug. “Usually. Sometimes, when I’m to keyed in, I just explode after a few pumps. It’s not very often. But it’s happened.”

“Well, I don’t want to rush you, but, my legs are starting to cramp up, so…” she winces.

I chuckled and kiss her mouth again. “Alright, Sweetheart, your wish is my command. I’ll fill you up with my thick cum right away.”

She’s trying to smile at my jesting words, but I pick up my pace before she can respond, and soon I’m driving into her like a possessed madman. It only takes a few pumps, but it takes almost a full 2 minutes to finish spilling my load into her. My hands aren’t idle during my release though.

My thumb presses tight, fast circles against her clit, and my sweet, beautiful Katniss starts clenching and shaking with her own orgasm. I nearly mistake her body obviously reacting to my semen because she’s riding her release at the same time as her organs start knitting the embryo of my heir deep in her womb.

Her body tenses, and breaks out into a high fever. She shivers and her lips turn pale and dry, her skin is ashen and papery, and her eyes are closed. She’s convulsing in my arms, but not in blissful orgasm anymore. Since I’m still inside her, I can feel every one of her muscles contract on my cock, and it is too much for me to bear, I pull out of her quickly and spill a second load just shy of her pussy. I gather her into my arms, and mumbled an incantation into her hair, holding tightly to her.

I’m not allowed to pray, but that doesn’t stop me from pleading for her life over and over as I sit on the bed with her limp body cradled to my chest. “Please, don’t let her die. Please, don’t let her die. Please, don’t let her die…”

Fuck! I don’t care if the child lives as long as she does… and I keep rocking her until morning surprises me, and Mrs. Everdeen walks in on me holding her almost dead daughter.

——————

Katniss gives birth to a beautiful, healthy baby girl.

The child looks completely human with a mop of dark hair on her head and the bluest eyes a child can have at that age. Still, rumors break out of the origin of the child, and people start attacking both Katniss and the babe when things start getting too weird for them.

Mrs. Everdeen reluctantly accepts her daughter has mated with a demon, and has a very hard time looking her in the eye. I’m sure the fact that she sees me as an exact replica of her dead husband, has to have caused some psychological disturbance for the healer. It must have been unpleasant to walk in on her obviously freshly fucked daughter, limp and unresponsive in the arms of a man that looks just like the father of said daughter.

Primrose is not allowed to stay in the same room with her sister and niece without Mrs. Everdeen present, and Katniss is livid about it.

“I’ve practically raised Prim on my own at the age of 11, when you were too sick to care for anyone, least of all yourself! We are all alive thanks to Peeta!” She yells at her mother one day while bitter tears slide down her cheeks.

Mrs. Everdeen asked Katniss to leave the house, after catching my reflection on the window glass while the baby nursed. The healer can’t stand my presence, let alone the appearance my body takes in her mind’s eye, particularly when I can’t hide my lust for Katniss regardless of the face I’m wearing.

On top of the obvious, understandable reasons why Mrs. Everdeen wants nothing to do with her oldest daughter, she claims to be afraid I’ll go after Primrose as well, as if I could have the faintest interest in the young girl, when I only have eyes for the mother of my child.

“Please don’t say that cursed name in this house, Katniss. That monster will be drawn to it.”

“I can call his name whenever I want, because he’s the father of my child, your grandchild!” Katniss argues. “He has never done anything to harm us. He’s saved my life numerous times, and he’s fed us, and kept our health when he didn’t have to. You’re being unreasonable!”

“She really is not.” I say in my most gentlemanly voice, as I shimmer into existence in the middle of their room. “Your Mother has reason to distrust me, but to displace her own daughter and brand new grandchild is cruel.” I say turning eyes full of fire to the woman cowering away from me.

I go back to Katniss and smile, showing her only placid blue when she looks into my eyes. “Do not worry, Katniss. You’re mine to care for, and that I will do. As for your family…” When I shift my gaze to Mrs. Everdeen, my pupils have taken over the blue of my irises, leaving only a pool of empty darkness. “We will figure something out.”

————————-

The babe nurses with vigor, and my favorite time of day is when I sit and watch the evening feedings. My fascination with the baby is offset by my ever growing lust, sparked by Katniss’ exposes breasts.

When the child is asleep and safely tucked in her crib, I take Katniss to the living room of the grand house I built for her in the middle of the woods. I strip my lover of her clothing, piece by piece and drag her to her own bedroom, where the softest, most comfortable bed waits for us.

She doesn’t want to be pregnant again so soon, so she bends over and lets me take her in the rear. By the sounds she makes, I dare say she enjoys it greatly. Her pussy doesn’t stay neglected though; my fingers keep my sweet, beautiful mate satisfied and relaxed.

I seldom need another body to satisfy me anymore, but until I have a mature offspring to take my place devouring the sleeping women of the world, I’m bound to keep prowling the Earth seeking to douse a dying lust for other cunts; my conquests all fall flat and insipid compared to the vivacious woman I have waiting on me back home.

I’m not sure when Katniss’ place became Home for me, but it is the place I always return to.

————————

Katniss starts hunting again six months after the baby is born.

On the second day, the child sits in her pen while Katniss skins the game. The baby cries and cries until her mother picks her up and sits her on her lap as she works. Katniss shrieks when the child’s chubby hand plunges into the bucket of entrails next to the stool they sit on, and tries to bring the gore to her open mouth. The little girl throws a mighty tantrum, until she’s fed meat from a squirrel Katniss cooked. After that, the baby only wants to feed on game, not on vegetables and milk like normal babies.

Katniss thinks it’s unnatural to feed a child so young meat, but she wasn’t truly frightened until a few days after the child’s first birthday.

Primrose visits with her pet cat, Buttercup. Our baby grabs the feline by the tail and tries to strangle it with a choke hold worthy of a professional wrestler. Primrose nervously laughs it off as childlike curiosity and lack of force control, but Katniss knows better. Our child tried to kill and eat Buttercup.

I knew it was time to take charge of the toddler.

Katniss cries with guilt, because she now understands her own mother’s fears, but still hands the little girl over to me, to take to my realm. They get to see each other every day, and our daughter loves her mommy to death. They just don’t understand each other’s natures, and know it’s better to remain separate.

Our daughter’s growth has accelerated in my realm, so she’s now at the level of a 5 year old child.

“Will she kill humans?” Katniss asks me tearfully one night after my seed is drying between her thighs.

I lean down and kiss her temple. “She might. She may become a Succubus. She may become something totally different. She’s still half human, darling. Only time will tell.”

That’s poor comfort for Katniss, so she cries in my arms until fatigue takes over her. I can’t help myself. I fuck her again while she’s asleep, and this time I don’t pull out when my release is imminent. That’s when it happens again. Only this time the reaction is different. Obviously supernatural.

Her breathing picks up, her mouth falls open, her skin starts to glow. I place my hands on her abdomen, where the glow is more intense. I push my erection inside her pussy, because I want to feel it happening from the inside, and the heat leaching from her walls is almost unbearable. Her forehead breaks into fat beads of sweat, her skin is burning up, and she shivers uncontrollably under my weight. I’m involuntarily cumming again. My hips can’t stay still, so I give in and piston into her at a frantic pace, digging her slim frame deeper into the mattress.

Poor, exhausted, Katniss, passes out before I can pull out of her. Much like the first time, my mate is in a short coma for the next week.

I make her mother tend to her like I did the first time as well. This time, Katniss delivers twin baby boys.

There’s absolutely no doubt at all the infants are my spawn and hold the powers of the incubus. When Katniss holds them, they look exactly the way she sees me: soft blonde curls that fall on their forehead in waves, pleasant blue eyes like summer sky, long eyelashes that brush chubby, rosy cheeks. The boys look cherubic, and she can’t stop kissing them and showering them with attention.

They’ve won over their grandmother completely as well. When Mrs. Everdeen takes them, the boys look just like Katniss: straight dark hair, gray eyes, olive skin. They have Mr. Everdeen’s chin. But if Prim is the one to hold them, they look completely different.

The twins breastfeed exclusively, refusing any other nourishment well into two years of age. The boys are cunning, not showing any demonic tendencies, or habits that’ll scare Katniss away. Mommy— as they call her affectionately— is way too fond of them, and barely leaves their side. She’s lost weight and her skin and hair turned brittle, but her children come first all the time.

They can’t fool me though. I catch them whispering thoughts into their mother’s head, planting ideas and fears she’s never had before, and I know it’s time to take them away when they don’t even try to hide their wrong doing from me, just staring boldly into my face, sporting identical smirks as they sing into Katniss’ ear they’re the only ones that love her in this world; they need her to care for them.

Katniss fights me over them, until I show her how manipulative the little fuckers are: I’m fucking her in our bedroom while the boys are supposed to be soundly asleep in their own warm beds, instead, they sneak into our room and watch in fascination as I take her hard and fast. They snicker when my hand makes contact with their mother’s romp and I make the curtain fall, revealing their presence after casting a protective block on her mind against the boys’ trickery.

Katniss scrambles to cover up her nakedness, but the boys ask excitedly when will they be able to do the same?

I sit them both on my lap— that my mate has hastily covered with our sheets— and lovingly explain to my sons they will have their chance once they reach puberty. And the best part is, I’ll be able to retire!

Katniss leaves the bed to wrap herself with a robe and watches my exchange with the boys disgusted from a corner of the room. Her limbs are tied into a tight ball, and her distress is palpable enough for the boys to pick up.

“Not you mommy,” one of the twins clarifies.

“Mommy belongs to you, father.” Adds the other one helpfully.

“And she’s too sweet to break.” Explains the other.

Katniss does not oppose me taking the boys after that.

—————

The third pregnancy nearly kills my Katniss.

The baby’s aura is just too evil for her body to sustain. I conjure up my most powerful sleeping magic and cover her eyes with scales so heavy she stays asleep for three days.

I take the child from her womb before she can wake up, but the little demoness survives.

Katniss never gets to see her new daughter, and the child hates her mother so much I have no choice but to send her to the one place that can hold a being as dark as her. Deep into Hell.

I tell Katniss the baby was stillborn and she never asks questions about it.

——————

Katniss is 25 the day she becomes pregnant for the last time. She delivers a second set of perfectly healthy twins; a boy and a girl this time. Both completely human. Both looking exceptionally normal and nothing like me, except for their bright blue eyes. That trait could’ve come from Mrs. Everdeen and Primrose for all I know.

I’m so out of my mind with rage, I terrorize poor Katniss by pretty much destroying everything in the house. I accuse her of sleeping with human men while I was away, Gale Hawthorne perhaps, since the babes have that Seam look to them.

She denies it vehemently, bawling and pleading, so scared for her life, but shielding the newborns with her battered body after labor.

I push her aside and stride to the crib, ready to smite the infants with a blow of my hand. She falls on her knees begging me to believe her, screaming her innocence, crying out my name pitifully. “Peeta, please, you have to believe me!”

“Why should I?” I yell in her face.

“Because… because… I love you, Peeta!” She cries out loudly, hanging from my wrist, my hand lifts her body off the floor wrapped around her delicate neck, squeezing it tightly.

I see the petechiae forming in the white of her eyes. The oxygen in her brain will soon be too scarce to function.

But she’s stunned me into silence.

“No you don’t.” I slam her down to the floor gracelessly.

Katniss’ tear stricken face looks up. She crawls closer to me ignoring her sore throat and neck. She tugs on my pant legs, pitifully. “I do, Peeta. It’s the truth.” She rasps painfully. “I’ve loved you since I was a little girl. I could never let any other man or being lay a hand on me. I’m in love with you.”

“Well…” I struggle for something to say. I’m choked up, words won’t come to my aid. “You shouldn’t, Katniss. Nobody loves me. I’m a demon.”

“And my body is your temple.” She pleads.

But the imprint of my fingers marring her neck, are a reminder, not even living a thousand lifetimes atoning, would be enough to deserve her. “And look how well I look after my temple!” I speak mainly to myself, my voice dripping sarcasm and regret.

“I am yours for eternity.” She vows placing my hand on her chest, where her heart is frantically pounding. “I give you my soul. Please, Peeta. No one has ever touched me, but you. I swear on all of our children. The infant twins included.”

“Katniss! No!” I lament deeply, falling heavily on a chair the farthest away from the crib.

“No what?” She murmurs, coming to caress my shins, then she massages my knees, and her nimble hands creep up my thighs, making a beeline for the fastenings of my trousers.

My cock becomes hard as steel in a second. Katniss Everdeen has been the first and only human to perform oral sex on me. The way she falls on her knees to worship my cock with her mouth, and when it is evident my length will go down her throat only so far, her hands join the cult to my phallus and I loose all my faculties, along with my will to lord over her; I become her slave when her sweet mouth is around me, even when she’s the one in the servitude position. It’s one of the many reasons I know for a fact I could never leave her, is one of the reasons I know she’s my one true mate.

But I ignore my erection and the all consuming need to be in her mouth. She’ll convince me to anything if I let her suck me off, then where will we be? There are more pressing matters than the gratification of my lust to consider.

“Katniss, you shouldn’t have pledged your soul to me. That was foolish! Reckless. A gigantic mistake!” I tell her pulling at the roots of my hair, soft and silky, the way she likes it. “Now you truly belong to me, for eternity.” I tell her, and finally cup her cheek in my palm, tangling her dark tresses in my fingers.

“Peeta, I live in the woods. Everyone has shunned me because I’m the Incubus’ whore. No one talks to me, but everybody fears me. I’m an outcast in this place. My mother barely stands to see me, let alone talk to me. My sweet sister is the only person who loves me and my children. In her eyes the kids are just her nieces and nephews despite their dark inclination, but Prim’s reputation suffers every time people remember we’re related, so I’ve been trying to keep my distance from her.”

Katniss shakes her head sadly, and sits back on her haunches. “I chose you a lifetime ago. I knew the price of being your lover would be steep. I still choose you. Do you still not know this?”

“Nobody has loved me before.” I mutter sadly.

“Well, I do. And I will until you take me from this earth.”

I nod, my mind resolved on what needs to be done.

“The day the twins are completely independent, living their own lives, happily according to their own expectations, I’ll come for you, my beautiful mate.” I tell her. “Since these babies are human, they belong to you, and you will care for them until they reach maturity.

“To makes things easier on you and them, no living human will remember anything about me. The children’s father will just be a foggy memory no one can quite recall. You will be safe, and I’ll be gone until time brings me back to you.”

“And what of me? Do I sit here pretending I don’t miss you? Feeding our children lies about their father?“ She argues scowling at me angrily.

“Sweetheart, I’m afraid you won’t remember much about me either.” I tell her firmly.

“Peeta, you can’t! Peeta—“ She tries to catch my arm, her voice is full of anger and betrayal, but my enchantment is already done.

“Until then… my love.”

—————-

The girl with dark hair and blue eyes dances on tip toes in the meadow. The boy with blonde curls and gray eyes tries to twirl like his sister, but his chubby legs can’t keep up.

Katniss laughs merrily from her spot on the picnic blanket. I’ve never been good at staying away from her, but I’ve made an art of longing from afar without touching her, our the children. This time I can’t resist the temptation, and reach my index finger to brush away the lock of gray hair that has escape her loose braid.

She shivers at my touch, and gathers her coat around her.

“Children,” she calls, standing up and already folding the blanket, “it’s time to go home for the evening.”

“Do we have to, Grandma?” Whines the little girl.

“Yeah! Woo ve haf too?” Pipes up the toddler.

“Remember, we promised mommy and daddy we’d come home early enough to take baths.” Says Katniss with a sweet smile.

The little girl groans and kicks a pebble. Her brother tries to imitate the behavior, but can’t quite get the sass. Katniss rushes at them both, and takes them in her arms for hugs and kisses. The children laugh until they forget to grumble about cutting short their playtime.

I gave my family new memories. Then I gave the whole district a similar version to complement.

Katniss lives with our son and his family above the bakery we met at when she was a child. The walls leading up the apartment are covered with family pictures, full of love and happiness. There’s one single portrait of Katniss’ late husband among the pictures: a wide shouldered baker, with a riot of blonde waves on his head, summer sky blue eyes that match his twins’ perfectly, and a sweet lopsided smile that makes his widow’s heart swoon even now.

“Tell us a story, Grandma!” Begs our grand daughter after her mother and father tuck her in bed.

“Stowry!” Shouts the boy from his side.

“Tell us about Grandpa and his watercolors!”

Katniss laughs, and sits down on the children’s bed. She tells a beautiful story of how her husband used to paint beautiful pictures of flowers and plants for her, how her husband was a painter, and a baker, how he never put sugar in his tea, slept with his windows open, and always double knotted his shoelaces. I stare at my beautiful mate from the shadows, recounting a romance of great bravery, that defeated odds and trials, just to emerge victorious and true.

I wish her memories were as real as the sweet smile they bring to her face.

Rumor has it the baker died attacked by tracker jackers. A horrific and tragic death. Nobody wants to think about it, so they don’t. All anyone knows is that the Mellark’s are a respectable, loving family of bakers that had to survive without their beloved husband and father.

Katniss learned her husband’s trade and passed it down to their twin children. Both very creative and skilled bakers in their own right. The boy married first at the age of 20. His wife is sweet and devoted and had her first baby the following year. The twin sister, decided to stay single and travel the world, learning culinary secrets from other places to improve the business back home. She returned recently with a dog in tow and has been trying to adopt an orphan girl she befriended in one of her travels.

Katniss is almost 50 years old now. Tonight I’ve come for her. She’s lived a full, happy life reflected in the laugh lines around her lips and eyes. Her hair has streaks of gray all over; wrinkles and soft skin have appear on her face and arms, but she’s as beautiful as the day I left her.

She’s asleep, and content. I almost regret waking her… but she’s mine, and I’ve missed her. The world is such a lonely place without her waiting for me everyday. Sure, I have my demonic clan to keep me company in the dark realm, but they’re all wreaking havoc on their own now, and fuck it, no other pussy compares to my mate, despite her human age. I haven’t taken another woman since I released the boys onto the world, they’re even more devious and manipulative than I ever was.

The girls are the truly scary ones to be honest; they can kill any man with precision and never get a speck of gore on their pristine outfits. Deep down I believe it’s because of their mother’s hunting skills and stubbornness.

I smile fondly at her, while hovering over her bed. I kiss her forehead, whispering the command into her mind. “Wake up, Sweetheart. It’s time to go home.”

Slowly, her eyes open, and I see the bright gray hue I’ve missed so much all this years. A sweet, soft smile curls her lips slowly.

“Hi, handsome. I’ve been waiting for you.” She says and accepts my kiss on her lips.

“The adoption was approved.” I tell her quietly, of our daughter’s last pending matter. “The twins are already independent and have everything they’ve ever wanted. You did a beautiful job raising them. I’m here to collect you, darling.”

“You look so handsome.” Katniss says “That silver hair suits you, and your wrinkles match my own. I always knew you’d look devilishly beautiful in your mature age. I’ve forgotten how striking you truly are, though.” She says caressing my cheek and smiling. “The children would loved to meet you.”

“The children know their father loved them enough to give them a good life. They’re happy and have filling lives, It won’t do them any good to know me.” I tell her without self pity. “Now come, It’s time.” I take her hand, and help her up.

“Oh!” She exclaims when her soul separates from her body. The wrinkles in her hands smooth out, her hair turns black as night and elongates to her waist that shrinks and tightens. She could be 16 again.

She looks down at her old body lying peacefully in her bed, now an empty shell. Her eyes widen. “Am I dead?” She asks.

I nod. “You pledged your soul to me, Katniss. It’s the only way we can be together for eternity,”

“Will I get to see our children again?” She asks.

“Any time you want.” I promise. “You’ll see and talk with the ones that live with me every day, but the ones we leave here, in the human world… They will feel your presence, but they will never see you again.”

She looks sad about the news.

“It’s the way of mortals, my love.” I tell her caressing her face tenderly.

“It is.” She acquiesces, leaning into my touch, and then kissing the palm of my hand.

“You gave them a good life and sweet memories to remember you by.” It’s not much, but it’s enough to get her to move on.

“That I did.” She looks up at me, gifting me with a bittersweet smile. “Take me away, Peeta. I have so many hugs in store from the grand babies to give you.”

“Then let’s not delay.”

“You will really be content with me for eternity?”

“Always.”

#Springtime Edition 2019 #aliswell 21 #animekpopxx #prompt 49 #submission

136 notes · View notes