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randomdragonfires · 1 month

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If The Sun Ever Rises | Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1 | To See You Again

SUMMARY | After narrowly escaping the Battle Above God’s Eye, Prince Aemond is now a hidden fugitive within the very kingdom he once ruled. Driven by vengeance, he plans to usurp Aegon III and avenge his family. His rage-blinded path to the throne begins with getting rid of Cregan Stark and the men who support his nephew’s rule. Having nothing to lose, he recklessly kidnaps the Northerner’s betrothed - his own niece - hoping to lure him and his men out to fight.

Soon, Aemond finds that memories of a first love are strong, and that he cannot steel his heart against the woman he has loved all his life.

WARNINGS | 18+; Smut; Canon Divergence - Aemond lives (but barely); Violence; Stockholm Syndrome; Mental and Physical Trauma; Angst; Canon Incest; Manipulation; No Happy Endings In This House YAY

WORD COUNT | 2k

Text Divider by @saradika

They had been running for three days now.

Slivers of moonlight pierced through the dense canopy above. The twisted and gnarled branches of trees, like skeletal fingers grasping for the Seven Heavens, cast their eerie shadows across the forest floor. The tangled roots snaked across the damp earth and moss clung to the ancient trunks like a dark shroud.

The air was heavy with the scent of damp soil and decaying leaves, mingling with the sweet aroma of wildflowers that dared to bloom amidst the darkness. Faint whispers seemed to echo through the tangled undergrowth, as if the very forest itself held secrets long forgotten.

As they ascended the hill, the terrain grew steeper, the path narrow and treacherous. Each step was a struggle against the relentless pull of gravity, the earth slick with dew beneath their feet. Aemond held onto her hand as tightly as she could - she hadn’t allowed him to touch her initially, having been in shock at being abducted from the arms of her betrothed - but there was only so much a defeated, tired princess could do on her own.

She panted from exertion. The blood on her face was dry now – he’d needed to hurt her to get her to comply. She looked at him with all the anger that he knew she was never capable of, and a forgotten corner of his mind yearned for an easier time when she’d held different feelings for him.

In an ideal world, there would have been no war. He could have married her, just as he’d promised in the protected darkness of the nights in hidden chambers and intimate correspondences. They could have been happy.

Though his thirst for vengeance was screaming at him, a small part of his mind wished for a quieter time; a time that would never come.

His family was dead, and he needed her to balance the scales. He owed Helaena that much. He owed Aegon that much. Mother, Daeron, Criston, sweet Jaehaerys, and Maelor - all his kith and kin. He had failed them all.

He would be damned to all Seven Hells before letting their deaths mean nothing.

At the hill's summit, the forest parted, revealing a precipice that loomed over the land below. The distant glimmer of moonlight danced upon the surface of a winding river, its waters black as night. He let go of her, and she fell to her knees, relishing the feeling of a flat surface and slower breaths as she bid her heart to slow down. He watched her ears perk up as she heard the crunch of his boots over the dry leaves, stalking towards her in that catlike stealth that he had taught himself to have.

He took her by surprise as he tightened his arm around her chest and grabbed her by the neck, making her body twitch in fear as she rose involuntarily. At the edge of the abyss, he turned her around to face him as he let the cold steel of his blade kiss her skin and travel over her frayed white dress from neck to navel.

How did we come to this?

She did not recognize the man in front of her.

He was the boy who had brought her books when her brothers teased her to the point of crying; who had kept her company in her grief of being a dragonless Targaryen; who had held her hand and promised that he would marry her; the one who had come rushing to her the night he claimed Vhagar, promising to take her on a ride.

He was the man who had taunted her and her brothers' parentage at a family supper; who had kissed her senseless in a lone passageway the very same night when he found out that Rhaenrya had no intention of letting him have her. He was the man who had killed sweet, mischievous Luke; the one whom she had left behind when she had been sent to the North; the one whom she had hoped would come and take her away, against all odds.

So many memories tied to him, inexplicably. And yet, she did not recognize the man in front of her.

As a boy, he had had such striking eyes - in color, but more so in the volatility of their regard. Always flitting about, looking for things to imbibe, to brand into his memory. His functional eye had grown different since she had last seen him - distant, devoid of the charming curiosity that would shine in his violet orb.

The eye of a war-worn murderer. He had probably brought her here because he wanted to kill her too.

“You’re supposed to be dead,” she whispered the words, almost uncertain. The coldness of his Valyrian steel dagger made goosebumps rise up on the planes of her skin, and yet, she surprisingly found that she was scared, not in the least.

He smirked and leaned in close to her, the leather strap of his eyepatch grazing her temple as she let the warmth of his breath bloom over her face. He raised the blade to her neck and teased her, being so bold as to let out a throaty, exhausted laugh that sounded more maniacal than anything else. She shut her eyes closed, hoping that if she could keep her world dark, she could pretend that this was all a nightmare.

She had often dreamt that he would take her away. She had hoped and hoped and hoped, and now that he was here, she couldn’t fathom how wrong she had been to wish for it.

Silly little fool.

“Sharp, sweet niece.”

His tone made her flinch. His voice was rough and predatory - so much so that she couldn’t tell if it was him or the situation itself that made her feel that way. “You’re supposed to be dead. Daemon….”

Her voice was lost in the air as he raised his eyebrow, a menacing smile in place as he pressed the blade into her skin - just enough to make a few blood red spots bloom. “I killed him. He thought he was better than me, the old fool. I stabbed him in his right eye, the very one that I lost. Vengeance, dear niece…” His thumb collected the first drop of blood that dripped from where he had made his mark, “... makes for the sweetest of spoils. And I intend to taste more of this victory…”

It happened on instinct, her reaching out to hold his wrist tight through his shirt. The irony of taking the hand of the man who wanted to hurt her and counting on him to not let her fall was not lost on her; but if she didn’t, she was sure she would faint.

“...With you.”

The last words confused her, having her mind scrabbling to piece the puzzle and figure out his intent. “Me?” She leaned her head back to breathe and put some space between her and his blade, but that only spurned him more as he pulled her to him by the back of her neck.

“Aegon, Helaena, Criston, Jaeherys, Maelor, mother…vengeance for them all. When he comes for you, to save you… I’ll kill him, and then I’ll kill the little boy that you call a King. Take what is rightfully mine and avenge them.”

The Aemond she had known was too calculated, too weary to tell anyone anything at all. But this, this wasn’t her Aemond. This was a different man - a mad killer, a stranger; one that intended to use her in his rage-filled path to regicide and revenge.

When he comes for you, to save you… I’ll kill him.

She could only think of one man who would come looking for her. Her betrothed, Cregan Stark - the same man who had shown her Northern hospitality and shared his home and hearth so she could be kept safe away from the bloodshed of the war.

And Aemond wanted to kill him. He wanted to kill them all and take the Iron Throne.

“Gods…”

She had always felt compelled to help during the war. She wasn’t a skilled warrior, nor was she a bold woman. Dainty little sweetheart, her mother used to call her. How can I manage to keep you safe and sound?

She had always wanted to help her mother - be a good daughter and play her part in helping her sit the Throne, as was her birthright. When she had been sent to the North as Cregan Stark’s betrothed, Rhaenyra Targaryen had told her that this was her duty, her contribution to the Blacks’ victory.

You will help me win by keeping my mind at ease about you, child, she had said. You will help me win by staying safe and bringing the Northerners’ allegiance to our cause.

That had been her contribution, but it hadn’t been enough. Daemon, Luke, Jace, Joffrey, Rhaenys… they’re all dead. She had done what she could, and it was not enough.

And now, Aemond wanted to kill sweet Aegon. Her beloved brother, the little one who held the weight of the world on his shoulders. He would make a fine king, she knew - but not if Aemond was going to lure Cregan out to fight and make him vulnerable to attacks.

She’d be damned to all Seven Hells if she let him win.

He had been observing her, it seemed. As she let her thoughts sweep her away, he had taken to watching her, reminding himself of every inch of her. She raised her hand to his warm dry cheek, bony from what could have only been a lack of proper food. How long has he been staying here, amidst the trees?

“You don’t have to do this, uncle. Let me go now, and it’ll be like it never happened. There’s been enough bloodshed.”

She thought she imagined it, but she knew it was true when she felt his grip on the blade falter for just a moment. She made good on his momentary lapse and kicked his knee to fold under him with all her might. He fell, and she took hurried steps away from him as he grunted in pain.

Her skirts swirled as she turned just slightly, sneaking a peek off the edge of the hill. If she jumped, she would fall into the waters that ran below - but would that be enough? She’d have to die. She had to. She would not let him use her; she would not let him kill them.

This was her contribution to the war. Her deceased mother’s victory lay in her daughter’s ability to keep the rightful king alive. This was her chance, and she was not going to fail her. He stood up with panting breaths, and she looked him in the eye as boldly as she could, knowing very well that she might as well be living her last and final moments.

She had always wanted to fly - and if she wasn’t going to do it now, then when would she?

She closed her eyes and threw herself over the edge, seeing the sky become a fading memory as she made the steep drop. Halfway through, she opened her eyes and saw him leaning over the edge, panicked, watching her free-falling figure from the hilltop as she flew, flew, flew.

She fell into the water, making contact with sharp tree branches and thorns on the way down in her descent. The blood on her face and body mixed with the water that surrounded her, and blood-red ripples muddled her vision as she closed her eyes.

Water filled her nostrils, and her vision went dark in a matter of mere moments.

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A/N: Got so inspired by the S2 poster, I managed to finish this damn thing hehe. This was a lot more fast paced than my usual writing style, and I'd love to hear what you guys think! I've been really out of touch with fic writing, and feedback is always welcome :)

SERIES MASTERLIST

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lizziespoem · 6 months

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damsel in distress | itadori ͏⸺ one shot

͏⸺ Among the trees, alive with woes and heartaches, tall enough to almost reach up to the sky and something magical in the cold air as the silent forest almost seem to be enchanted, the young boy with the pink hair imagined how many adventures and stories those tall trees must have seen. A heavy sigh escaped the mouth of Yuji as his white shoes sinked into the soft grassy hill, that made the boy's breathing difficult as the calm air blowed a gentle breeze through his light hair before he muttered in another voice than usual "we should split up"

"such a stupid idea…" Yuji commented with an annoyed look on his prominent face as he kicked against the little rock, causing it to roll a couple inches away from him as he puts his hands in the pockets of his pants "have they never seen a horror movie?"

Yuji wanted his life to be an adventure, traveling far and abroad, stretching his legs out over the seas, improving that he could be more than just a vessel for the king of curses, that he wanted to help the world to be a better place and yet it only felt like he was trying to escape what was meant to be his path, to be a vessel with the destiny to be destroyed, which soul was meant to die before it found it’s place to be and the reason why everything was meant to be.

"a stupid idea…" the pink hair boy mocked but before he could finish his sentence a oddly pathetic scream teared him out of his thoughts.

The boy didn’t even hesitated as he heared the frightened cry out of help, of chivalry and sheer noblesse, he runned through the mossy grass like windborne blossoms nearing himself to the echoing scream and Yuji didn’t even thought about which dangerous curses could lingered behind those tall trees, about which strange powers they could possess. Like a haunting symphony he followed the wildflowers into the depths of the forest, adrenaline floating through his veins as he knew he couldn’t return without knowing if everyone is safe, and even if his feet’s couldn’t hold his weight any longer he would crawl on his knees to keep anyone safe.

A exhausted moan rustled behind those thick green bushes, as Yuji's hand carefully pushed a couple of the branches to the side to peak through the little gap in the bush.

The delicate hem around your ankles soaked the muddy water into the material of your purple dress as you quickly rushed over the stones under the water of the creek, your hair bounced with every step you made and as soon as your pretty eyes dared to see back over your shoulder, your feet stepped onto one of the mossy stones, causing you to slip to your knees into the water.

"Running away from me, I see" a smoky laugh made the boy's ears perk up as he saw a gigantic blue hand grabbing you by your waist and pulling you up into the air.

Roughly you slammed you hand against the back of the gigantic blue hand, that was tightly wrapped around your waist as you tried to kick him with your feet’s when you scoffed unimpressed "you ruined by dress, Nessus"

The gigantic curses chuckled as he brought you closer to his face you could already smell the decay on his grey flaky tongue and see the plaguing hunger lingering behind his black eyes, when suddenly a boy with pink hair stepped in front of one of the blueberry bushes "excuse me, would you mind to release.."

"keep moving boy" you interrupted the boy as you rolled your eyes while you relaxed yourself under the grip of the curses, as Yuji studied you with a gap between his lips and his eyes twitched "but you’re a damsel in distress"

Recursing a damsel in distress, a shining knight becoming a glorious hero, fixing hearts that are broken as his sensei Gojo taught him.

"I can handle this" you replied with a sarcastic smile on your lips, when a grin hushed over the lips of the curse as he looked down at the young sorcerer, who cleared his throat and stepped a bit closer "uhh, i think it’s my duty to.."

Another exhausted moan escaped your mouth as you lean your head into your palm "move boy"

"hey, if you didn’t noticed I’m trying…"

A rough punch against his guts made him tumble a couple steps back, letting him fall onto his butt into the cold water of the creek as his wet hair fell into his face and some of the water dripping down the corners of his lips as he split out the dirty water out of his mouth.

The glit of grueling anger filling the eyes of Yuji as he crudely pushed up the sleeves of his uniform before he muttered quitely to himself "you can do this, itadori"

"Giving up already?" the curse mocked the young sorcerer as he swinged you in the air, but before his enormous eyes could fall onto the jujutsu sorcerer he was punched roughly into his bloated stomach, causing the curse to let go of you and falling a couple inches deeper into the creek, when Yuji gently wrapped his arm around your hips, so you didn’t fell into the water again. Carefully he guided you to a rock near the edge of the bay as he sends a apologizing smile to you "I’m back in a minute"

There wasn’t a way to hide the grin on your lips as you silently watched the young jujutsu sorcerer fighting against the curse with which you still have to pay off your debts, there was something exiting within the way Yuji moved, how his muscles flexed around his armes under the wet material of his uniform and how his pink hair fell down into his tired face, while his jaw was clenched. Even though you knew you could easily win against Nessus, you let Yuji have his little win, while you leaned over the edge of the little creek drenching out your soaked hair till he finished his business.

"so you’re alright?" the boy asked a bit flustered as he watched you lean over the edge of the water, rubbing over the back of his neck with the wet palm of his neck, trying to hide the exhaustion of fighting the curse.

A seductive smile crosses your plump lips as you gently straighten your back and moved a bit closer to him, till your soft fingertips could brush away those strains in his face "I’m y/n y/l"

"yuji" he stuttered a bit and tried to hide it with a panicky laugh "Yuji Itadori"

With a amused look on your face you moved a couple steps away from him, turning your back to him to drench the hem of your dress and as soon as you turned back around, yuji had already leans his body against one of the large trees and crossed his arms over his chest "so, how got you mixed up with this…"

"Well you know how men are. They think no means yes and get lost means take me I’m yours" you rolled your eyes as studied the boys face, letting your fingers brush under his chin holding it a bit up.

You couldn’t deny that he was gorgeous, even if you should feel this way.

"well thank you for everything, Itadori" you give him a little wink and saluted before you pulled your hand carefully back and walked over the soft grass, but his desperately voice holded you back “wait.. are you sure you wanna go alone?"

Again a satisfied smile crosses over your lips as you looked over your shoulder, noticing how one of the straps of your dress had slipped down before your eyes moved onto the boy behind you "I’m big and tough and I tie my own shoes, don’t worry about me”

"Am I going to see you again?" Yuji didn’t wanted to sound as desperate as now, but he could miss the chance of seeing you again.

Like dripped in honey a laugh escaped your mouth as you moved between the trees "if you find me"

Yuji swore he would find you again, but he didn’t knew you were on of the most dangerous curses he’ll ever met.

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yandere-wishes · 1 year

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𝟙:𝟘𝟘 𝕒𝕞 Dottore x reader

Synopsis: Dottore isn't the best at words, especially when it's past midnight and you both have an assignment due first thing in the morning. Yet as the clock tics onwards, he grows a bit bolder.

Notes: I'm trying a new writing style so please let me know what you think.

Editor: The wonderful @tealyjade-libran

💙🔹💙🔹 💙🔹 💙🔹 💙🔹 💙🔹 💙🔹 💙🔹 💙🔹 💙🔹 💙🔹 💙🔹

There's blood on his hands again. Just like yesterday and the day before that. Limp body drowning in a sea of half-done lab reports, and suicide notes, and love letters. Desperate words scribbled on warn notepads come to life to haunt him.

The dorm light overhead scorches his eyes. He thinks it's divine punishment on the utmost microscopic level. He feels so sick of playing mortal. So sick of the Akademiya that treats them like feeble rats.

and still, he calls it home,

Dottore's gaze lingers on your hunched figure. Matted hair and clouded eyes. Scrawling away at another assignment that's due upon first bell.

There's an unspeakable fatigue that lays heavily on your bones. Something that neither sleep nor furlough will fix.

You're tired

So is he.

1:30 am

There’s blood under his fingernails from clawing away at beakers and graduated cylinders. Desperate to have something to show, when morning comes. Something cohesive enough that his dreaded professors may finally see that his frantic hypotheses hold some bearings.

your wry eyes stare at him like he's an archon, a primordial deity. Like he's death frozen in a prison overrun with blooming life and wildflowers

The desk you two share is a mess. Border blurred between medical science and sociology. Where does the human body end and the mind begin? Where does logic decay and love take over?

What's the purpose of a heart anyway?

To sustain or to guide?

He wonders if you love him.

He doubts it.

2:15 am

There's blood slipping from between the cracks in his flesh.

You cradle his palm in your hand. Wrapping a cloth around the wound.

He wonders if you could do the same for the lacerations he hides behind sharp comments and blood-red eyes. When you touch him so tenderly he remembers he has a name, a body, a soul.

He remembers he's not just rogue fragments of past lives haunting a walking husk. He's Zandik, he's Dottore, he's everything you need him to be.

He tries to kiss you.

You turn away.

2:55 am

there's blood slithering down his lips, his chin, his throat.

You grasp at his heart, molding the darkness in your likeness. To him you are light. Not that he's seen the sun in days.

"You're beautiful" he mutters, hoping you hear him as you lay on the bathroom floor.

Ice-cold water sprinkles along his flesh as he tries to wash away the blood, the stress, the stubborn ache caught between his muscles.

This is intimacy, right? Not quite love, but a speck more than friendship.

You laugh at him from behind the blue shower curtain. A haunted, hollow noise. "Beauty doesn't matter much around here" you replied as you hand him his towel.

You switch places. Cold showers keep the sleep away. Or so you've heard.

"You're beautiful" you call after him.

Dottore thinks he hears you say something. Or maybe it's all the memorized data finally getting to him.

3:30 am

There's blood on his lips as he kisses you.

He wonders what you see him as.

A lover or a killer.

It's late and there are too many emotions to keep track of.

So you kiss, the final solution to an otherwise unsolvable query.

Deep and desperate. Teeth clashing and hearts melting as you both hopelessly search for the answer to all your woes.

Dottore leans down to kiss you again, he tastes of dying stars and burning metal.

somewhere a santoor plays a lone tune. Haunting the dormitory halls.

Dottore watches as you dance. Some botched replica of your eon-long traditions. He thinks it's funny how you're the prettiest girl in Teyvat. He thinks it's funny how he's the most monstrous thing to crawl out of the abyss.

You kiss again. This time with precise calculations and perfect time.

'I love you'

you both long to say.

4:00 am

There’s blood on his tongue, in his mouth, in his lungs. All he can think of is how much he needs you. How much he wants you.

There are so many pieces of you that he's been preserving inside himself.

Enjoying the sensation of glass entering skin as he impales himself with your shards.

Your fingers tangle in his hair. Tugging to try and make him feel your pain.

The Akadimiya is no place for love, you think as Dottore kisses the veins on your arm. Do you want him or do you need him?

There's still a lab report on the effect of neurological suppressants on vision wielders to complete.

There's still a four-page essay on the effect of broken cultural ties on Sumeru's populace to complete.

4:30 pm

there's blood on your dormitory floor. Pristine royal red and something more. Yasmin is the first to find it and you wonder if that makes all the difference in the world. You beg her to stay silent and she's too scared to decline. The pool of maroon evidence of some sort of love declared between two exhausted university students.

You like to think of it as a promise ring.

You can't deny Dottore of anything. Be it love or anything else, not in the mornings when you're semi-lucid and definitely not at night when you're too muddled to care about anything.

Dottore is destined for misery, not enlightenment. Knowing this you'll be sure to let him drag you down if he so desires.

He may as well fall into the abyss and you'll leap in after him.

You think the two of you confessed last night. Kissed until the breath in your lungs and fire in your loins had been exhausted. You're too exhausted from today's lectures to recall fully.

Still, you're heart races as he enters the room. Steps in the puddle and trudges towards you. Firm hands on your shoulders as you kiss again to the beat of the afternoon sun.

This is love you think as your eyelids grow heavier.

This is love he thinks as he spills his research into your veins.

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whereireid · 1 year

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𝐖𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃, 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 | masterlist

pairing: ellie williams x plus!sized fem!reader

Summary: When you get insecure, Ellie is there to help you out.

— warnings: mentions of weight insecurity. angst, fluff, smut nsfw content. body worship, fingering, oral sex, praise kink. nicknames. baby, angel, sweet girl, pretty

Daisies bloom by your feet, and wildflowers loiter the Earth. Herbs of mint are scattered aimlessly around, hidden by the thick blades of green grass. You’ve sunk into the soil, the scent of rain heavy in the wind. The sky is blue, but dark blotches of grey break through, creating a beautiful pattern of melancholy.

The ground is still slightly wet. The soil is soft beneath you, and your fingers trail mindlessly over the damp grass. You pluck thoughtlessly at the nature, breathing in the deep, Earthy scent. Your eyelids flutter shut as you girlfriends fingers gently move to tuck your hair behind your ear, the soft touch causing goosebumps to prickle up your skin.

There is no decay here. No signs of rotting or death. It’s almost silent, but the quiet sounds of birds chirping flood your ears. You try to ignore the tugging of your heartstrings when Ellie’s fingers graze your cheekbones, gentle in her motions as she touches you.

“Hey, pretty girl.” You open your eyes to look up at her, your head nestled in her lap. You fluster under her gaze, your eyes following the patterns of her freckles. “You okay?”

Her tone is soft. Her voice floats on the wind. Ellie smiles down at you, two strands of hair falling down the side of her sculptured face. She’s so effortlessly gorgeous, a raw picture of beauty.

“I’m fine, Ells.”

“Don’t lie to me, baby. You know better than that.” She pinches at your thigh as if to make a point, the breeze riding your skirt up a few inches as if to laugh at you.

You close your eyes again. You focus on the sounds of trickling water, the tweeting birds who sing proudly. You focus on her slow, even breathing, thankful for her patience. “It’s stupid,” you mumble, swallowing away the tight feeling in the back of your throat. “You’ll laugh at me.”

“I’ve never laughed at you before, angel,” Ellie says, and she’s right. She hasn’t laughed at you ever, not even when you’d fallen over rocks or tripped up stairs. “Why would I start now?”

The burn in your throat is beginning to grow. Your eyes sting slightly, and your face grows warm with embarrassment. You meet her eyes, flushing under her intense, pointed gaze. “I don’t like how I look, Ells.”

Her brows knit together, confusion plastering across her features. The confession lingers in the air, creating a barrier of silence between the two of you. You turn your face away from her, small specks of tears falling from your eyes, slipping down your face, and eventually they make a home on your lips.

“What?” She says, exasperation laced in her tone. “You — baby, what?”

“Please don’t make me repeat myself,” you mumble, your voice wavering slightly. Ellie’s fingers press against your jaw, tugging your face towards her, and you try to ignore how her expression makes you feel.

Your gut churns as you stare at her tight, ticked jaw and her furrowed brows. “Oh, angel.” Her thumb runs over your lip, brushing the salty tears away your mouth. “Why? You’re so pretty, baby, can’t you see that?”

“It’s not — it’s not that.” Your voice comes out a whisper, the breeze causing your skirt to ride upwards. Your fingers curl around the fabric, tugging it down slightly, the cold air causing goosebumps to prickle up your thighs. “I know I’m pretty. You tell me everyday.”

“So, what is it?” Ellie presses, pursing her lips together as she ponders over what you could possibly be insecure about.

In her eyes, you’re perfect. Heavenly. She’s no idea how you’re allowed on a place as evil as Earth. Ellie isn’t religious — she never has been, but she can’t think how such a sweet girl like you can exist without a higher power. You’re ethereal, an angel sent down from heaven that had been directed straight to her.

She can’t even begin fathom what the hell you’re insecure about.

“I don’t — I don’t like my thighs.”

Ellie’s eyes flicker over to your legs. You’re wearing a skirt she’d stolen on a supply run. It was ridiculously skimpy and lewd, and arousal had pooled in the bottom of her stomach when she thought about you in it. There was no way she was leaving that abandoned mall without it, especially not when she checked the tag and realised it was in your size.

“I like them,” she comments, but it comes out as a growl, her hands gently palming the soft plush your legs. “They’re so fuckin’ hot, especially when you’re in this skirt, baby.”

“It’s not just them.” As if to make a point, you brush her hands off of your thigh and her gaze is so intense, it feels as though her green eyes could burn a hole in your skin. “Ellie, can we just leave it?”

“What else don’t you like?”

“Please, Ellie.”

She shakes her head. Her hands move back onto your legs, and your breath hitches in your throat as she gently begins to move the skirt up, your skin exposed to the cool, forest breeze. “Tell me what you don’t like, angel. If you don’t tell me now, you’ll just have to tell me later.”

You huff as she moves away from you, your head now pressed against the thin picnic blanket she’d brought with her. “Ellie,” you whine, frustration lacing through you as she shuffles down towards your legs, her head nuzzling into your thighs. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You’re upset, baby.” She says softly, her fingers caressing your legs gently. “I don’t want my sweet girl being upset and keeping her feelings inside. It’s not healthy. Tell me what you don’t like. I’ll tell you why I do.”

You stare at her. She stares back. She’s made a comfortable bed in between your legs, and you feel warm and insatiable as you think back to the last time she was in this position. Her face had been all wet and she’d been groaning as you grinded against—

“—Head out of the gutter, angel. I can see that little brain ticking away.” Ellie grins up at you, her tongue darting out to wet her lips, and butterflies bloom in your stomach as she does so. Her voice drops a few octaves as she mutters out, “please, baby. I don’t like when you’re upset.”

“Okay. I don’t like my thighs,” you start again, from the beginning, your heart pitter-pattering in your chest as Ellie nods her head in acknowledgement.

“I think that your thighs are perfect,” she says, her lips brushing against the soft, plump skin of your thighs, leaving gentle bruises in their wake, “and nice and soft. I love how you wrap them around my head when I’m eating you out and squeeze them nice an’ tight when you’re close.”

You flush, shuffling under her heated gaze as she sucks small bruises onto the skin of your thighs. “What else don’t you like, baby? Keep talking,” she mumbles once she pulls away, her eyes starry and slightly awe-struck.

“I don’t like my belly,” you admit shyly, trying to ignore the embarrassment which floods through you as Ellie stops peppering kisses to your legs. “And I don’t like my hips. Or my boobs. Or—“

“Baby.” Her voice is calm and smooth as she calls out to you, and you instantly meet her eyes. You hadn’t even noticed that you’d started to cry until you looked down at her, her pretty face blurred by your glassy eyes. “I love all of those things, angel. Your stomach — holy fuck, your hips. You know how hot it is when you wear a tight little dress which shows off all of your curves? Which hugs your tits and your ass?”

“It’s not hot.”

“It is.” The affirmation in her voice makes your lip tremble slightly, and she coos up at you, her brows knitting together in concern as you stir in your upset. “Oh, angel, you’re so oblivious. Everyone wants you. Everyone. And if they don’t want you, they want this —“ she gestures to your body, trailing her hands from your hips up to your breasts “—which is why it shocks me so bad that you don’t realise how hot you are. You know how many men I’ve had to fuckin’ scare away when you’re dancing like nobody’s watching in this skirt?”

Ellie’s voice drops to a whisper, and your breath hitches in your throat as her hands shuffle back down to your thighs. Her fingers dart closer and closer to the place where you need her most — the place where you’ve grown wet with desire as a result of her praises. “I can’t believe you don’t realise how precious you are, angel.” Her voice is husky as she peppers kisses to your legs, every nerve inside of your body tingling and on fire as she speaks. “Let me show you.”

Ellie’s fingers curl around your panties. She coos as her fingers make contact with your slick, her green irises becoming sheathed by her black and blown pupils. “So wet for me, baby. You’re such a good girl. You just want me to love you like you deserve, don’t you, angel?”

“Yes,” you say breathlessly, your heart hammering so quickly inside of your chest that you feel like it’s going to explode. “I want you to show me how much you love me.”

Ellie groans from below you, running her fingers through your sticky folds, her other hand holding your panties to the side for better access. “So perfect, angel. Fuck, wrap those legs around my head. Want your thighs squeezin’ me when I eat this pretty little pussy.”

As Ellie’s lips make contact with your heat, a depraved whine is dragged from your throat. You do what she says, wrapping your legs around her head the best you can, squeezing her head hesitantly, unsure of whether or not she really wants it. When she groans in response, your stomach flips, and you tense your thighs again, this time a little harder.

“That’s it,” she says, pulling away from your heat slightly, her eyes darting over your cunt. It’s swollen and puffy, so slick that it looks like it’s crying for her touch. “I wanna drown in this pussy, angel.”

Your legs waver as her lips connect to your cunt again. Her tongue rides through your slits, gentle as her mouth connects with your clit, sucking and lapping at the sensitive bundle of nerves. You jolt beneath her touch, her fingers squeezing at the plump flesh of your thighs as she eats at you, eager and desperate.

The picnic blanket grows taut in your palm as your hands curl into the fabric desperately. You fist at it, your eyes drooping shut as her tongue swirls around your clit. “Ellie,” you whimper, your back arching from the ground as she licks a rough stripe over your cunt, the sensation sending hot flashes shooting to your core. “Feels so good.”

She groans in response, her hazel eyes cloudy and drunk as she laps at your heat. You taste delicious, so perfect, and she gives your thighs a final squeeze before her hands dart away from your plump flesh. Ellie pushes two fingers inside of your cunt, your walls sheathing her digits instantly, and you let out a strangled moan in response.

Her fingers curl inside of your cunt, and she smirks as you clench down around her. The sounds which echo through the forest are lewd — your whimpers and moans and your squelching cunt drown out any other sounds, and Ellie feels impossibly pussy-drunk as she laps at your core.

It feels like electricity is literally pulsing through each and every one of your nerves. Your thighs squeeze her head, and you hear her mumble a string of incoherent praises — “taste so good baby, so perfect, love these thighs and your stomach and you” — your mind growing hazy as her tongue circles gently around your clit.

“Ellie,” you whimper, your body weak as her fingers curl inside of your cunt. Her tongue circles around your clit, her lips suctioning around sensitive bundle of nerves gently, “‘m so close, please, Ellie?”

She doesn’t speak. She just keeps sucking and lapping at you, watching as you grow frantic and desperate. Ellie looks up at you through hooded lids, a grin painting her lips as you squeeze her face with your thighs, withering and gasping as you begin to come undone.

"Cum for me, pretty," she encourages incoherently as she nuzzles into your cunt, her fingers gliding in and out of your sweet, slick pussy.

You clench down around her fingers, your stomach growing tight as you begin to grind against her face. Ellie listens to each moan, each whimper, making sure to pay strict attention to your clit, the contact making your legs jolt as you begin to come undone.

It feels so good. Her fingers curl inside of you, the knot inside of you ripping apart, fraying, loosening. Electricity pulses through you, flames biting and licking at every nerve, and you gasp as you feel her face grow impossibly slick, your body growing weak as she eats you through your orgasm.

"Ellie," you mumble, your voice shaking when she finally pulls away from your heat, a lewd string of saliva following her. Her face is wet, and she grins, nestling into the soft skin of your thighs, peppering gentle, loving kisses against your skin. "That was so good. You were so good, Ellie."

"No, angel,” she says softly, her hand reaching up to yours, and you blush as she intertwines her fingers with your own, “you were so good. So good f'r me, my perfect girl."

Her fingers toy with the end of your skirt. The hem is frayed, and she hums lowly, her green eyes boring into yours. "'I love these skirts on you, angel." She comments, moving up to press a kiss against your lips, and you let out a breathy moan as you taste yourself on her tongue. "I love your thighs and your tits and your hips and your stomach. I love you, pretty girl."

You flush as Ellie brushes a strand of hair from your eyes. "Love you too, Ells," you murmur, finding solace in the comforting silence of the forest, nothing but the sounds of your girlfriend's steady breaths and her racing heart filling the quiet.

There’s something so peaceful and sincere about the wasteland that you lay in. There’s no sign of life but there’s no sign of death, either. A perfect balance. You sigh as Ellie pulls you into her chest, your head lulling against her, no longer feeling the urge to tug your skirt down when the breeze rides it up.

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honeysulani · 1 month

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𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ My Stardew Valley Modlist: 𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒

As requested, my current Mods I use for the new 1.6 Update!

Coii's All Hats Pack

Coii's Girls Sets Pack

Cuter Coops and Better Barns

Elle's Cuter Barn Animals

Elle's Cuter Coop Animals

Hat's Won't Mess Up Hair

Seasonal Mailboxes

Coii's Hair Sets Pack

Hairstyles by Kkunma

Wildflower Grass Field

More Grass

Fashion Sense

Ladder Locator

No Fence Decay

NPC Map Locations

Gift Taste Helper

Skull Cavern Elevator

Unique Children

Character Customization Anywhere

Cozy Scarves

Fae's Elf Ears

Dynamic Night Time

Earthy Recolour

Earthy Interface

Earthy Interiors

Shipping Chest

Medieval Buildings

#this list will be updated in the future!!#I'll just have to wait until more mods get updated #sdv #stardew valley #sdv mods #sdv modlist #stardew valley modlist

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tteabee · 5 months

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Sweet Azalea transforming from fairy to human :)

#illustration #digital art #character design #my art #digital illustration #fantasy #original character #decay and wildflowers #art #azalea plantae #animation #digital animation #character animation #fairy #fae

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xlycorisxradiatax2 · 7 months

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Cozy edits ✨

Modlists:

(AT) Geometric Rugs

(CP) Grace's Wood Lamps

(CP)(DGA) Retro Style Furniture

(DGA AT) HxW Fairy Garden Furniture

[AT] Grace's Beds

[JA] DAILY PANTS SET

[JA] DAILY SHIRTS SET

[JA] DL HATS SET

[JA] IYAHO All Shirts Pack

[JA] IYAHO Hats 58p

[JA] IYAHO Hats 58p Small

Alternative Textures

AntiSocialNPCs

Asta Cute Navy Outfit (FS)

AT opulence wallpapers

AT Opulence

Better Artisan Good Icons Fix

Better Artisan Good Icons

Cat Replacements

CJB Cheats Menu

CJB Item Spawner

CJB Show Item Sell Price

Content Patcher

Cottagecore Fences

Woomeewong Villagers Portrait (CP)

Crops Anytime Anywhere

Custom Music

Custom Wallpaper Framework

Customizable Baby and Children

Cuter Crops and Foraging

DaisyNiko's Earthy Recolour

DaisyNiko's Tilesheets

Dog Replacements

Dynamic Game Assets

Earthy Interiors

Expanded Preconditions Utility

Extra Map Layers

Farm Type Manager

Fashion Sense

Fishing Made Easy Suite

Forest Meadow Farm

FS - SH's Animal and Mythological Creatures Stuff

FS - SH's Gloves and Sleeves Pack

FS - SH's More Accessories and Stuff

FS Simple Farmer Dresses

FS The Coquette Collection

FS Wabi's Wardrobe

FS Clothespack1

FS Clothespack2

FS_Daily hairstyle

FS_HatsPack

Generic Mod Config Menu

GH's Peach Body type (female)

GH's Peach Tall Body type (male)

Gwen's Path

Hats Won't Mess Up Hair

Horse Replacements

IdaIda Wallpapers and Floors for CP

IdaIda's Furniture Recolour (for AT)

JA - Luo Li's top and skirt2

JA - Luo Li's top and skirt3

JA_Uniform Pack

Json Assets

Kitchen Replacements

Lnh's Cellar

Lnh's Farm

Lookup Anything

MailFrameworkMod

Miss Coriel's NPC Unique Courtship Response 5

MissCoriel's Unique Courtship Response CORE

More Grass

No Crows

No Fence Decay

NPC Map Locations

Old Cola Interface

PyTK - Platonymous Toolkit

Sabrine's Cottage (AT)

SafeLightningRedux

Script Font

Shop Tile Framework

Show Item Quality

Simple Foliage

Simple Resources

SkullCavernElevator

SpaceCore

Spanish Revival Buildings

StarAmy's Comprehensive Walls and Floors

StarAmy's Cozy Walls and Floors

StarAmy's Natural Patterned Wallpapers

StarAmy's Wild Greenhouse Furniture for DGA

Sweet Simple Greenhouse

Take a Break

TMXL Map Toolkit

Tractor Engine Sounds

Tractor Mod

Transmutation Time All

Way Back Pelican Town

West Elm Furniture (AT) by Atlas

Wildflower Grass Field

Winter Grass

Yandere Sebastian Dialogue Expansion

Yellog Flower Dialogue UI

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prettyundeadgirl · 7 months

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For All Eternity

Summary: Severus takes you on a date to a cemetery.

Pairing: Severus Snape x Female Reader

Word Count: 1.0k

Tags: Fluff

A/N: This may or may not have been inspired by Morticia and Gomez Addams

AO3 Link

Walking atop the flat cobblestone walls fenced around the cemetery, you held hands with your stoic lover, who stepped alongside you on the sidewalk.

The crisp air exuded an intense petrichor and the fragrance of resilient and unbidden wildflowers that had sprouted in the crevices of the masonry and grew among the freshly cut wands of grass dappled with dew. At your unforeseen approach, a startled squirrel dropped its acorn and latched onto the tree's fissured bark, scurrying up into the unfurled russet leaves. You observed the sacred grounds comprised of the deceased and the still trees that formed a cathedral-like canopy overhead and, in the past, witnessed a plethora of tears and interments.

Though an unconventional choice for a date and what most would find creepy or macabre, you deemed it hauntingly beautiful and… very Severus.

He glanced over at your figure, and nature faded into an insignificant blur as he traced the contours of your face in deep reverence. He struggled to fathom your arrant devotion to him and often pondered whether it was a trick or a long dream. But your undying love proved his moronic beliefs to be entirely false, and a small half-smile formed as his compelled gaze traveled over your physique and gradually made its way to your legs, watching your careful steps and savoring every detail of your exterior like a captivating painting one viewed in a museum.

If not for reaching the iron gate embellished with ornate patterns and remnants of patina from exposure, his eyes would have remained fixated on you, lost in complete admiration.

Severus, hands placed at either side of your waist, helped you down, and the dead leaves scattered asunder crinkled at your light contact. Smiling, you interlocked your arm with his, letting your fingertips brush against his coal-black sleeve.

You both furthered into the sepulchral realm, where between the rows of stone memories and desires reposed. You viewed the sun-blanched gravestones, some standing tall, adorned with intricate carvings and beautiful angelic sculptures—sullenness chiseled on their expressions forever, and marble cracked by the dejection burdened upon them. Other gravestones leaned precariously, their inscriptions weathered into obscurity by countless detrimental precipitations.

There was a strange sense of peace within the center of the cemetery—a place where the living and the dead coexisted and the delicate veil between worlds grew thin. Each crunch of gravel underfoot echoed and broke the palpable silence, along with the transient caws of ravens resting on jagged branches, some taking off to begin or continue their adventures. As the warm sunlight lifted the thin layer of fog hovering over the ground, the early autumn leaves broke off and fluttered gracefully to the ground, ready to rest and decay like the dead beneath.

You each took turns guessing the lives of each person and their ultimate tragic demise. Of course, his were far more detailed and structured with copious amounts of emotion, as if the stories had been his own experiences. You found yourself unable to resist the allure of his low, vibrating tones falling from his lips as he shared his conjectures. His voice was woven with threads of raw authenticity, seamlessly blending each word with passion, and you were in love with and drawn to it.

After some tales, trodding the endless path as graves whispered of love, loss, and sorrow throughout, you skimmed the engraved names and dates, some years being unfortunately close to one another. Suddenly, a particular headstone caught your eye. One grave. Two names. Lovers. Died on the same day. You imagined yourself and Severus with the same end: to never even let death do you part and lay tenderly beneath the dirt, side by side, rotting away together for all eternity. And even after all of the stages of decomposition, your love remained transcendent, as it did when life still coursed through your veins.

“There isn’t anything I’d want more.” He mused softly, his hand reaching to the small of your back. You smiled and scoffed playfully at his sudden use of legilimency. That was how he initially discovered you took a liking to him, and he found it somewhat amusing when you’d act calm and collected, destined to keep your feelings sealed away in the chambers of your love-filled heart. But the inside of your mind betrayed your guise, and it didn’t take long for you to confess.

Your face soon fell flat, and an unintentional seriousness enveloped your voice. “Do you swear it?” You awaited his answer, to which he replied with a slight raise of his brow.

“That you won’t ever leave my side?”

The question hung for nothing more than a moment between the two of you, and then he began with your name like a prayer beneath his breath.

“If you were to die,” his hands rose, cupping your face as his unwavering eyes stared deep into your glossy-coated ones. His touch, gentle and sure, allayed your foolish worries. “I would not spend another second on this miserable earth. The only reason I still tolerate it is because you make life worth living.”

Although you hadn’t replied, your look said it all, and for a moment, you both shared an intense gaze, exchanging sentiments that could not be expressed with words. The close contact never failed to send a swarm of butterflies inside you, and you reminisced on every moment that caused it.

His eyes soon broke contact to flicker elsewhere, and without hesitation, he connected his lips to yours. The earth felt as if it had paused, granting you a moment beyond the constraints of time. Shared desire drew both of you closer, and the space gradually disappeared. Your hands traveled to the nape of his neck, and he angled his head to deepen the kiss. This action alone ignited a spark within you, setting your heart ablaze at the intensity of his affection.

And when you pulled away, something neither of you truly wanted to do, your breaths mingled, leaving an imprint of your profound endearment on the land. As contradictory as it seemed, the graveyard teemed with life, and you spent the rest of your date conversing with one another, relishing in each other’s company.

The cemetery, once a symbol of endings, became a place of beginnings for the both of you, and it was an enchanted time that you would forever cherish and take with you to your grave.

#severus snape #severus snape x reader #severus snape one shot #snape #pro snape #pro severus snape #snape fandom #snape x reader #professor snape #snape fanfiction #snape headcanon

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thetomorrowshow · 26 days

Text

for a light

okay I PROMISE that comfort is coming I PROMISE

Scott stares Xornoth down from across the plateau, wind whipping the demon's hair and robes, black streaking out from him like some decaying flag.

They're alone, just the two of them, so far away (ndisu ndikitá'ána).

He's here.

It's time.

He sets the crown of antlers upon his head.

His fingers tighten on the thin grip of his sword.

Scott hisses as his finger bumps the pot, drops his hold and sticks the finger in his mouth. He was just trying to shift it to settle it better in the coals. Stupid cloth slipping.

Right. There's literally snow right there.

Scott removes his finger from his mouth, digs it into the snow beside him. The burn cools, eventually going numb.

That's one upside to living in a permanent winter. There's snow everywhere.

This little clearing in the woods that he took used to have a tent pitched in the center, grass and trees and wildflowers all around.

The tent is long gone, having collapsed under the weight of the snow and ice that collected upon it. Scott replaced it with an ice hut of sorts, which he thinks he created while asleep because he's not exactly sure how he did it. It's kind of ugly, but it has four walls and a roof and a little hole for a door, and it works.

The grass and plants aren't really visible anymore, the ground covered in a thick blanket of snow. Scott's not sure how, but someone had managed to get him a good pair of elven work boots, insulated and sturdy, so that he can tromp through the six or seven inches of snow without much issue. He's cold, this old, patched coat not quite enough to block out the chill, but the gloves keep his fingers from feeling too much like ice and the hand-knit hat prevents a majority of the headaches that his frozen ears cause. He's not too badly off, to be honest. There's just so much . . . cold.

And if he could get it to melt, that would be great.

He can make ice and snow appear just fine. There's plenty of snow, and he can point and ice spikes will shoot up out of the ground, and he can picture a cube of ice and watch as it forms in front of him, but that just means that now he has a little pile of ice cubes and a ludicrous amount of spikes the size of a tree. He can't get rid of anything.

And sure, he has a modicum of control. He can form ice cubes, and spikes, or whatever. But he can't turn off the way ice and snow just grows around him, or the freeze that blasts from him when he waves his arms.

He's been here for two weeks, figuring absolutely nothing out, and he doesn't have much hope for the future.

It feels like there's a wall in his head, a literal barrier keeping him from finding the way to draw back the ice. He's spent hours, days, even, pushing and shoving and just sitting against this wall, trying to force it to work.

It won't give. It's exhausting, day-in and day-out, to try again and again and again as the ice and snow just build up around him.

"Scott!"

Jimmy.

They haven't really . . . talked. Of course, Jimmy turns up every day without fail, bringing with him food and supplies. He always stands on the fringe of the clearing, shares news of the camp, of their latest excursion, of the fight they have planned.

Scott never really says much. He doesn't know how to respond, and Jimmy always leaves with his shoulders sagging the slightest bit.

What is he supposed to say?

I mourned you. I cried for you every day, because I knew I'd never see you again. I attended your funeral. I comforted your sister. I wore a depressing mimicry of what we once wore together, covering myself in the same darkness that took you. I lost you.

You didn't die, you survived, and I still lost you.

How is he supposed to tell Jimmy that what hurts more than anything about this situation is that he never tried to disabuse Scott of the notion that he was dead?

He thinks he still loves Jimmy. Their hearts were made for each other. They've been through too much together to just let go of everything they had.

But there were forty-two of the worst days of Scott's life, in which Scott believed his betrothed to be dead. He can't forget that. He can't pretend that Jimmy even attempted to contact him.

His mind always returns to that. Why didn't he? What reasons has he given, other than his ominous “it wasn't time yet”? Why?

And now they're here, in this horribly awkward phase where they haven't even discussed whether or not they're still an item (Scott's desperately in love with Jimmy but he isn't sure he can even stand to see him it hurts so much) or if that's even something they want to pursue right now (Scott wants so badly just to hold his hand but he can't let himself hurt Jimmy).

"Hey, Scott!"

Scott straightens (his wings shudder under the weight of the ice coating them, but none of it cracks), shakes the snow off his hands, and turns, stomach twisting.

Jimmy is standing there, a good ten feet away, leaning out from between the trees.

It's just Jimmy. Hair still too long, beard still obstinately there, an anxious smile on his pockmarked face.

Doesn't he have anything better to do, rather than visit Scott every day?

Jimmy holds up a bundle of cloth.

"I brought some bread and . . . venison, I think? I forgot to ask what it was. Does that sound good?"

Scott tugs his scarf up a bit higher on his cheeks. "Sounds fine," he calls back, voice muffled by the fabric.

Jimmy tosses it; Scott catches the bundle, grimaces when it frosts over the moment it touches his hands.

"What are you cooking?" Jimmy asks, stuffing his hands in his pockets. Scott glances back at his little pot on the dying coals.

"Just porridge," he says. That's all Jimmy gave him yesterday, after all. The grain for whatever chunky porridge it is that they eat at the camp all the time.

"That's . . . that's cool," says Jimmy. Dear Aeor, he looks so unbearably awkward. What does he want?

Thankfully, Jimmy gets straight to the point, no more hobbling around small talk.

"We're going on a mission," he says, the words coming out in puffs of frozen air. "There's a village about a day's walk from here, the largest we've gone for yet. They're going to be a huge asset to our rebellion."

Scott nods a couple of times. "Okay. How long until you're back?"

Jimmy chews on his lip—the way he always does when he's anxious, or isn't sure how to approach a problem. "That's . . . well, I wanted to see if you would come, actually."

It takes Scott a few seconds to process that, but when he does, he almost laughs out loud.

He's out of his mind if he thinks Scott will risk something like that. He can't control this! He's had to separate himself from the rest of the camp because there's a ten foot radius of winter wonderland that appears around him!

He has to be joking.

"You have to be joking," Scott says.

Jimmy shrugs. "I talked about it with the others that are coming on the mission, and they're all fine with it. If it makes you feel better—"

"No, I'm dangerous—"

"—we can walk apart from you, and—"

"—you don't understand, I hurt Gem, I'll—"

"—was just thinking that it can't be good for you to—"

"Jimmy, I said no!"

And childishly, to emphasize his point, Scott stamps his foot.

Ice crackles along the ground like a whip, shooting up in little spikes, a ten-inch wall down the middle of his little clearing.

It stops just short of Jimmy, the last little spike rising just inches from his boots, and Scott almost wants to go and shove him out of the way because Jimmy doesn't even move!

Doesn't he have any sense of self-preservation?

Jimmy doesn't seem scared when he looks up at Scott. He just seems sad.

"That's why I can't," Scott bites out, wrapping his arms around himself. His scarf is slipping, nose exposed to the cold. "I'm not safe. I don't want to hurt someone."

"Okay. Can I explain myself, though?"

Before Scott can give an answer, Jimmy takes a small step forward, boot crunching on snow.

Scott takes a step back.

"We know how to keep ourselves safe," he says. "Most of the people here escaped terrible conditions where one wrong move could kill them. They know how to recognize threats and keep a safe distance. It wouldn't even be an issue to travel with you."

Scott wants to argue, but Jimmy takes another step. Scott quickly steps back, swallowing down the fear that rises in his throat, burning like bile.

"We would travel kind of separately, and it wouldn't even be a long journey. Two days at most, I think. So the main group would stick together, and you would stay within sight off to the side. We usually move quietly, so you wouldn't miss out on conversation or anything."

Okay, that's probably what Scott would do if they were forced to travel. He's pretty sure that he can cause ice issues outside of the ten foot radius, if he tries, but it doesn't automatically happen. Travel plans like that might actually work.

Which doesn't mean they're good. They aren't. They just might work.

"This village has a lot of soldiers, from what we can tell. Way more than there ought to be. They're beginning to figure out our game. We usually wouldn't go for someplace so risky, but there's so many people there. If we freed them, we could easily add two hundred to our able fighters."

Is Jimmy stupid?

"It's a trap," Scott says, pointing out what seems obvious. "Why would they have so many Mythlanders there if not to wait for you?"

Jimmy scoffs. "We know it's a trap," he says. "That's why we want you. We want to avoid fights if possible—and if you were there, we would have a really decent chance of getting in and out without losing anyone."

"You're forgetting that I can't really control this," Scott says icily, and as if to match his tone, it spontaneously begins to snow. "I'm just as likely to hurt one of you."

"We just need you to make it as cold as possible. The Cod will survive—we're pretty good with cold temperatures. But humans are a bit more sensitive to that kind of thing. So we thought—if you could freeze over the village, then all the guards would go inside and we could sneak everyone out!"

That. . . .

That is a monumentally idiotic plan.

Scott blinks several times, just to make sure it really is Jimmy in front of him and not some hallucination induced by so much time alone.

"Or we could not do that," he says. "Just a suggestion."

Jimmy laughs a little. "I kind of figured you'd say that," he says. "But it's worth a shot, right? And if it doesn't work, we can go back to camp and figure out something else. No harm done, right?"

"Other than the possible harm that my very presence could cause," Scott says. "Do you really think that staying ten feet away while traveling would work? Just because that's my snowglobe radius doesn't mean anyone is safe outside of it."

He re-crosses his arms, waits for Jimmy to meet his eyes.

Jimmy's quiet for a long time, looking around at the unintentional ice spikes and piles of snow. Long enough that Scott turns away, tosses the sack from Jimmy into his ice hut.

That's that, then. He and Jimmy aren't going to talk about any of their real issues. Jimmy's so focused on this inconsequential rebellion of his that he won't even think about the fact that Xornoth may be controlling the world by now. Gem might be dead—literally any of them could be dead, Lizzie or Shubble or Joel all could have fallen—and Xornoth has control of half of the empires or all of them. And the only way to stop him didn't work.

Yet all Jimmy will even give thought to is his stupid little rebellion.

"I know it's hard," Jimmy says, voice awkwardly too-loud, rousing Scott from his thoughts. "It's really, really hard. I know that you don't trust yourself, and that you're hurting, and there's so much tangled up between us that I don't really understand but I know isn't making any of this easier for you. But I know you want to get better. I know you, Scott. And I know you will do everything in your power to keep those people safe."

Scott doesn't say anything, blinks back the sudden tears. He doesn't need this. He doesn't need Jimmy telling him what he feels.

Even if he's right.

He would do everything to keep the others safe.

He just can't guarantee that it would work.

"I trust you," Jimmy says firmly. "We trust you. I wouldn't have even brought it up if I hadn't cleared it with everyone else. And if it doesn't work, I'll never ask you to do it again. But please, Scott. If not for the people suffering, do it for me."

He doesn't owe Jimmy anything.

As a ruler, he pledged to defend his people, and he failed. What about when he fails again? Will he even be able to live with himself?

Will he be able to live with himself if he doesn't try?

In the grand scheme of things, a rebel attack to evacuate citizens of a small town in the Codlands is absolutely nothing. It will likely not contribute at all to the ending of the war.

But it's somewhere to start. Jimmy's always talking about how if they're still alive after everything, they ought to be doing something good with it. If he wants to eventually try to launch some sort of hopeless attack on Xornoth, he has to start somewhere. He has to figure this ice stuff out.

"Okay," he says eventually, reluctantly. "I don't . . . I don't want to. I don't think it will go well."

"If you can't trust yourself, you can trust me," offers Jimmy, and Scott grimaces at the hope in his voice.

He doesn't respond.

He wants to trust Jimmy. He wishes nothing had ever broken the trust that was there.

He isn't sure what did break it. He can't exactly blame Jimmy for not dying.

"I'll come get you tomorrow around midmorning, okay? We're hoping to arrive when it's dark the next day, then just have you freeze it overnight and get the Cod out before sunrise. Sound good?"

Scott shrugs. "It's your plan," he says. "Does it sound good to you?"

Jimmy doesn't respond, glancing over his shoulder. "I need to go finish prepping," he says when he turns back. "Take care. I . . . I'll see you tomorrow."

Scott doesn't move (frozen to the spot, he thinks idly), just watches Jimmy go, picking his way back between the trees.

What has he agreed to?

The journey goes exactly as Jimmy had laid out. Jimmy travels in a band of thirty-two people (Scott counts them during one of their fifteen minute rests), all able young Cod, some with cobbled-together armor or swords, others with nothing but the clothes on their back and improvised weapons. Scott sees two hand-made slings, one little hunting bow, and a couple of large branches shaped into clubs. All from afar, of course.

Scott walks a good thirty or forty feet away from the group, shying away whenever someone accidentally veers a little close. They always hurry back to the others, shivering and rubbing their arms.

Jimmy, of course, comes close on purpose. He keeps trailing along on the edges of the group, giving Scott terribly hopeful glances.

Scott just keeps his eyes on the snowy ground before him and wishes he could figure out how to talk to him.

Does he even want to talk to him?

Of course he does. Of course he wants to talk to his . . . to Jimmy.

He just can't. He can't risk hurting him. He can't risk getting hurt.

And soon enough, they've arrived at the town.

Scott has somehow managed to avoid hurting anyone, though one Cod only narrowly avoids getting stabbed by a flying ice spike when Scott gets startled by a bee.

He isn't sure how powerful he is, just that he's managed to tie it down and lash it to himself. But Scott, more often than not, feels like there's a thin door being battered and blown by a terrible snowstorm, ice seeping in through the cracks, and soon enough he'll have to try to open the door just a little bit. He can only imagine it blasting it open and sending bursts of unstoppable power out, forever unable to be closed.

Jimmy approaches him as Scott finishes up eating a cold supper, and even though it's dark Scott knows it's Jimmy because he knows Jimmy, he knows his habits and his tendencies and just weeks ago that had been painful, precious knowledge and now it means nothing significant.

"We're about ready," Jimmy says, not looking at Scott. He's looking out over the ridge that they're hidden behind, toward the town below. Scott wants to shake him, scream at him, drag him down to the ground. Doesn't he know he'll be seen? That his outline against the darkening sky will be obstinately visible?

"I'll take you down there in about a half hour. Then you just need to drop the temperatures to about freezing, all right? We'll do everything from there."

Scott doesn't answer. He doesn't have anything to say.

You left me you died to me I lost you and you were here. You were here this whole time and I've been hurting, and I'm still hurting and you just don't care. Why didn't you comfort me? Why aren't you helping me? Why won't you listen to everything I can't say?

Jimmy doesn't say anything, either, despite Scott's silent cries. He just stands there awkwardly, then gives Scott a nod and jogs back over to the main group.

Scott flexes his fingers in their gloves, blows on his hands, relishes the momentary warmth that brings him. He's always so cold these days. For good reason, of course—and despite all that, elves naturally run colder than humans, with the climate of their dwelling—, but he doesn't have to like it.

How is he meant to freeze an entire town without accidentally doing more damage than intended?

At this point, Scott has absolutely zero doubt that he'll be able to freeze the town. Piece of cake. The problem is drawing back the power after it's been extended.

It doesn't help that he doesn't know what he's doing. It doesn't help that all he's done for the past two weeks is try to not explode. He hasn't actually learned anything about control, or using the magic to his advantage.

And now he has to save a town. Use this untamable magic in moderation.

He's going to fail so badly.

And yet, when Jimmy returns not long later, Scott readjusts the little knapsack that hangs off his shoulder and sets off around the ridge, following Jimmy from a safe distance.

They skirt around their little camp on the side of the ridge, giving the refugees a wide berth so as to avoid getting any of them mixed up in Scott's personal snowstorm. That wouldn't help anything about this situation.

The ice hasn't been unfreezing behind him, either. That's been kind of concerning. He'd assumed, back in his little patch of the forest, that the ice hadn't gone away because he hadn't gone away. But now there's just a path of frost and snow through the long grasses of the outer Codlands, a trail leading directly to the rebel camp.

Scott really hopes it melts with time. It wouldn't be good to have one of fWhip's flying fish spies follow it and discover the camp.

He gets pulled from his thoughts by necessity as they approach the town, Jimmy making sure to keep them to the shadows, out of range of the torchlight from the perimeter guards. They crouch down behind some bushes (Jimmy beckons Scott closer, miming something about talking, and Scott reluctantly settles down close enough beside him—about five feet away, the closest to anyone he's been in weeks), peering between the brambles. Sure enough, there's more guards than a small border town ought to have—Scott counts at least four that patrol by the edge of town in the five minutes that they sit there and watch.

"We need to give my people a few more minutes, probably," Jimmy whispers, glancing up at the sky. The moon hasn't risen yet, so Scott's really not sure what he's checking. "But if you want to start the freeze, you can."

Right. Freezing an entire town.

Scott reaches inside himself for . . . for something. He isn't sure what. It's not like there's anything in there. Just his aching heart.

He legitimately feels fatigued from holding back the magic the best he can, but he doesn't know how to let go. He doesn't have any sort of point of reference for this. What is he supposed to do?

After several long minutes of indecision, of pulling at different parts of his mind to see if something just releases the switch, Scott gives up on figuring it out and just pushes.

He's not sure if the dam is broken, but a little flurry of snowflakes shoots out of his hands and he imagines the town, water in barrels and canals slowly freezing over, the temperatures dropping, the night air becoming frigid and biting.

Why does it have to be him?

"Nice," Jimmy whispers beside him. Scott blinks, looks up.

It's snowing. All across the town is snowing.

He didn't mean to make it snow. He only wanted to make it cold.

And it is cold. His fingers through their gloves are aching, the exposed skin on his face burns as a gust of freezing wind blows past.

"Was that too much?" he whispers, twisting his hands together. "I didn't mean for—"

Jimmy breathes out a near-silent laugh, gives him a grin. "I knew you could do it. I knew it!"

He made Jimmy happy.

Despite all the confusing hurt keeping them apart, that still makes Scott's heart squeeze in the best way possible.

The guards glance around at the fat flakes of snow, clearly confused. There's some shouting person to person, and within torchlight on the edge of town, a cluster of guards gather, rubbing their hands together and stamping their feet and pointing back to the center of town as they talk.

There's no way this will work. If his guards at Rivendell left their posts because it got a little cold, they would be in severe trouble with their captain.

But as Scott watches, one by one, the guards begin to trail away, heading toward what Scott assumes to be the inn.

There's no way. There's no way this is actually working. This can't be real.

Jimmy takes in a near-silent breath, lets it out in a low, loud, whoop/whistle. It sounds strikingly like the call of an owl that Scott has heard occasionally in these parts, late at night.

When did Jimmy learn bird calls?

It's a small thing. It's not even anything that matters. It's tiny and unimportant and Scott really shouldn't be close to tears right now.

It's like he doesn't even know Jimmy. He doesn't want to be upset, but he can't seem to stop it.

Jimmy still loves him and wants him; Jimmy wants them to be in love again.

How is it so hard?

Every guard has gone inside now, the town quiet.

The snow continues to fall, slow, drifting gently onto a peaceful street, becoming a picturesque winter scene.

Yet staring at it doesn't bring Scott peace. He only grows more and more anxious, eyes scanning from point to point, as though he might miss the operation entirely if he only watches the snow.

And after five or so minutes of waiting, Scott sees, past the falling snow, camouflaged people stealing through the streets, peering in windows, tapping lightly on doors.

The Cod residents are quick and quiet to answer, which is absolutely absurd.

It's actually working.

The other day, this was the most ridiculous plan Scott had ever heard. He never would have believed that any part of it would actually come to any sort of fruition.

And here they are.

He continues to watch as entire families sneak out of houses, glancing left and right before stepping out into the street, some bundled up in layers of clothing and others with nothing but a thin tunic protecting them from the weather.

The rebels move in phases, ushering out first this side street, then that one, making sure each sector of the town doesn't leave without instruction.

Scott watches, and something within him marvels.

This is the work. This had seemed so inconsequential to him just days ago—there are much larger things to worry about, after all—but now he can see how this had become Jimmy's whole world.

There's so many of them. They're moving house-by-house, sending one group before beckoning the next, but the streets are still close to packed.

There's a woman, hands covering her mouth as tears stream down her face, following a group into an alley. A shirtless man, carrying two children at once, his shirt draped over the both of them. A child—a tiny slip of a girl, surely not older than eight, clinging to her parent's leg, the torchlight from the abandoned guard posts illuminating her face just enough that Scott can see a hand-shaped bruise spanning her cheek.

The people are malnourished, injured, terrified. They’ve been desperately praying that someone will rescue them, someone will come along and deliver them from this darkness.

And here Jimmy is, a shining light, their once-dead king returned to save them specifically, as unimportant as they feel they are.

It makes sense. Jimmy's forces aren't strong enough to take on Xornoth, so why should he even focus on something so unattainable?

This, while not easy, is doable, and something that both strengthens his numbers and helps his people.

Scott gets it. It's about hope. It's about remembering the lost. It's about finding strength and life in this world of corruption.

"Scott," Jimmy whispers, pulling him from his realization.

Scott blinks, looks over at him. Jimmy's teeth are chattering, his nose pink, his lips pale of color. His arms are clutched around himself, doing nothing to hide the way his entire body trembles.

"You can reel it back in, a bit," Jimmy says, clearly going for humor, but the words fall flat when his lips can't even twitch up in some semblance of a smile.

Oh.

Scott looks back to the town, and now, he doesn't just see the wonder of it all. He sees how slowly everyone is moving, the way the rebels look up fearfully at the quickening snow, the way none of them are wearing any proper winter gear.

It's cold out. It's very, very cold out. It's definitely far below freezing, icicles already hanging from buildings, a thick layer of snow blanketing the ground.

It's too cold. He sees, all at once, three children collapse, and their caretakers pick them up but can barely keep going.

It's too much. It's too cold, so cold that a man stumbles and falls, and those around him are too cold to stop and help.

"Scott, make it stop," Jimmy whispers with increasing urgency. "It's too cold. Scott, stop."

He can't stop.

The door has been opened, and Scott doesn't know how to close it.

He can't make it warm up, he can't even stop it from getting colder. The night sky is growing steadily darker as more clouds roll in, the snow falling harder and faster—there's actual ice spreading, visibly spreading, crawling out from the bushes where he and Jimmy are crouched, heading toward the town and Scott can't stop it—

"Scott—"

"I can't stop it," breathes Scott, and it's nothing but the truth. He can't just turn it off, that isn't something he knows how to do—he doesn't know how to do anything, this is a curse and he hates it and nothing will ever be right again!

"I can't stop it," he says again, louder, voice shaking. "I can't—I can't do it, I told you I can't, I don't know how—"

"Just try," Jimmy says over him, hands held up. "I know you can do it, I trust you—"

"Just—just stop!" Scott bursts out, finally, all those terrible emotions rising to his tongue. "You keep saying—you keep—you were dead, you left me and you don't get to—you can't tell me what I can and can't do, I don't—"

"Scott," Jimmy says, something horribly placating in his voice, and it sounds just like the old Jimmy, just like the one who died—

Scott stumbles up, backing away from Jimmy. He can't—he doesn't want—this is all too much, too much, he's ruined everything and it's too much—

Jimmy stands as well, taking a couple of steps toward him. "Scott, I'm going to touch you, okay?"

"No!" Scott bites out. The wind is whistling in his ears, he can barely hear Jimmy over it—he can barely see Jimmy through the snow, there's so much of it, and Scott can't make it stop! He can't fix this! "Don't touch me, I don't—I don't even know you, I'll hurt you!"

"Scott—"

"Get—away—" Jimmy's just coming closer, one step at a time, and Scott doesn't want him, that's not his Jimmy, he doesn't want to hurt him—

The storm is rapidly getting worse, the snow beating down on his face with little pellets of ice, he had never meant to make it snow let alone storm, he's cursed, he's forever cursed, there's no way he can make things right, there's no way anything will ever be right again—!

And then there are arms around him.

Jimmy squeezes him tightly, good pressure and tightly enough that his brain is forced to settle into a more peaceful state, despite his surroundings.

His lover is warm against him, and Scott instinctively buries his face in the crook of Jimmy's shoulder where it belongs and perfectly fits.

Something inside doesn't really click into place. It doesn't quite work. It's close, but it's just not where it needs to be.

But it does slide together nicely, and Scott somehow finds a slippery grasp on the cold and tugs it back in.

He hadn't even been able to have this before. He hadn't even been able to feel a way to control it, let alone actually take hold.

But there's some kind of power positively radiating from Jimmy, something that Scott can feel and recognize in this entirely new world of magic that he never even knew existed.

It's got to be Jimmy's love.

Jimmy loves him so so much that it overpowers the curse.

And Scott, for the first time in weeks, feels warm.

He feels warm. Jimmy's here, his arms wrapped around Scott, and he feels warm.

A sob rises in his chest.

This is his Jimmy.

His Jimmy is holding him, and loves him, and is so very warm.

"There we go," Jimmy whispers into his hair, voice slightly muffled. "Not too much, now. We still need a little bit of snow coming down."

Right.

Scott doesn't think he has the emotional capacity to pay attention to anything but Jimmy, but he loosens his grip on the ice just a little, enough that the snow doesn't stop.

The sob bursts out of his mouth, and Scott clutches Jimmy as close to him as possible.

His Jimmy is here. He's actually here.

And Scott can feel his fingers again, warmth washing over every part of his body.

They don't move for a long time. Jimmy watches the exodus over his shoulder as Scott cries into his chest, letting all of the emotions that he's been feeling for the past two months pour out onto Jimmy's coat.

They stand there, and Scott sobs.

After too long, long enough that the tears on Scott's face become more sticky than wet (they aren't freezing on his cheeks, like they've been doing, and isn't that just a miracle), Jimmy pulls away.

Scott feels his tenuous control slip from his grasp—too cold again, too cold—and he launches himself back into Jimmy's arms.

"Don't go," he chokes out.

"Okay."

"Please . . . I can't—I can't do this without you."

"Okay."

Scott takes in a shuddering breath. He's stronger than this. He can do this.

"Do you think you can stop the snow?"

Scott nods, his nose wiping across Jimmy's coat. Then, with a mustering of what little strength he has, he shuts that imaginary door.

It almost doesn't shut. Scott strains against it in his mind, inch by inch, but eventually it clicks shut.

He can't lock it. But holding to Jimmy keeps it shut, and Scott doesn't plan on letting go.

Jimmy's right here.

Jimmy is real.

He's alive.

"You died," Scott sniffles, tears burning at the corners of his eyes. "You died!"

"I know," Jimmy murmurs, sounding absolutely heartbroken. "I know. I'm here."

"You weren't there, though. You—you left me! I was so—so alone!"

"I know," Jimmy says again. "I'm so sorry, Scott. I'm so sorry."

Jimmy's crying too, Scott realizes. They're in snow up to their knees, in full view of the town, and they're both just standing here crying.

Scott. . . .

Scott doesn't really care.

His heart, broken by the weight of the grief hanging so heavily on it, is finally beginning to heal.

That's more important than anything else around.

Scott doesn't let go of Jimmy's hand the entire trip back.

They walk back to the camp, bringing up the rear of a long crowd of refugees. Scott's trail of frost is barely-there, and he never feels like he's a danger to anyone while Jimmy is at his side.

They arrive back at the camp almost three days later, the group slower-moving with the addition of a good three hundred people. The camp is thrown into chaos, more than doubled in size, and Jimmy's pulled every which way by every person possible as they try to make arrangements and adjustments on such a large scale.

Scott stays with him through it all. He presses himself into Jimmy's side during a hurried meeting about leadership for splitting into several camps; he clings to him while Jimmy directs new refugees to food; he holds his hand through long hours of pointing people this way and that.

Jimmy doesn't end up being forced to bed until past midnight, a young Cod practically pushing him and Scott to his tent. Jimmy goes reluctantly, walk stumbling and eyes bloodshot. Scott can't imagine that he looks any better—he can feel how oily his hair is, limp after being literally frozen for so long, his wings unkempt and dragging. He can barely stay upright, and relief floods him when they finally reach Jimmy's tent.

Jimmy collapses onto his bedroll without even taking off his boots or unbuckling the enchanted sword on his back, and Scott is just able to manage loosening the laces of his own boots and kicking them off before he falls down beside him.

"There's still so much to do," mumbles Jimmy, and instinctively, they wrap around each other, knees slotting perfectly and arms weaving just right.

It's like nothing changed.

It's like everything is right again.

"I missed you," Scott whispers, though his throat threatens to choke on the words.

He lost Jimmy. Forty-two days of mourning, of the worst torture he's ever been subjected to.

He lost him, and it still hurts. Everything still feels so terribly hopeless, so dark, and Jimmy forsook him for so long.

But he's back. He's here, and alive, and through his thin tunic under the hilt of the sword Scott can feel a new scar just below the nape of his neck (Jimmy shudders as his fingers trace it, but doesn't pull away) but he's alive and in Scott's arms.

He died. Jimmy died, and it must have been terribly traumatic for him in ways that Scott hasn't even considered.

But by some miracle, he's here. He's okay.

He is, isn't he?

"Are you all right?" Scott asks quietly, seized by the need to know that his love is well. He doesn't know the specifics, not really—but Jimmy said he'd been stabbed several times, and that can't have been easy to recover from—and Scott had made it awfully cold earlier, and he knows that some of the refugees suffered because of it, and Jimmy only had that thin coat on.

Jimmy doesn't respond, though, breathing slow and even, and Scott eventually relaxes, assuming that he's asleep. He can get his answer tomorrow, after all. He can fuss over him all he wants.

Scott honestly can't believe that he let himself drift so far from Jimmy. He let his feelings of abandonment and despair and everything else get in the way of being here, holding his beloved, giving him comfort and receiving it in bucketloads.

He was so wrapped up in losing Jimmy the first time, he almost lost him again.

Then Jimmy shifts in his arms, sighs a little bit. "I'm okay," he finally replies. "That's what you asked, right?"

Scott nods against his shoulder, and Jimmy lets out a low chuckle. "My good ear is pressed to the pillow, sorry," he says by way of explanation. "Couldn't quite hear you. Are you okay?"

Is he okay?

He's not physically injured. And he's not quite so cold—with Jimmy's love warming him, he can keep a lid on the ice magic, stopping it from spreading beyond his fingertips.

Everything about this situation still hurts. Everything's still so terrible, and there's no way to overcome it.

But Jimmy's here now, and he loves Scott.

And Scott loves him.

"I'm all right," he says eventually, before burying his face deeper into Jimmy's shoulder.

And he thinks, for the moment, that it's true.

Scott dreams that night.

He dreams of a plateau, ice, wind whipping dark robes every which way.

He dreams of his hand tightening around a sword hilt.

He dreams of a crown upon his head.

Inka kuuna ndikitá'ána.

It's just barely past dawn, and a young girl with mousy brown hair and scales smattered across her face like freckles is wandering down to the river to collect water.

It's a bit of a long walk, but Lithi doesn't mind—it's preferable to the walk back, when the empty waterskin strapped to her back will be filled with water.

She's a girl forced to grow up too fast, barely in her teens, yet made to take up her mother's armor and flee into exile.

But she doesn't cry. Lithi never cries, and it's a point of pride for her. Her peers seem to be constantly crying, after all. She isn't going to let herself be perceived as a weak little girl. Not after everything her people have been through.

The ground beneath her bare feet becomes squishy, pockmarked with little puddles of water, and she veers right. Her course has taken her too near the slow, swampy portion of the river, and while she longs to go splash about in the swamp, she knows that the water there isn't clear enough to use back at camp. Not to mention, the Codfather wants them to avoid the swamps, for some reason.

She misses the marshes of home. They all do—Cod aren't made to spend all their lives on land.

She knows the swamp misses them, too.

And that reminds her of the folk song that her mother taught her, and her mother's parents taught her, and their parents taught them.

So, while the girl walks, she sings.

The sun is brighting,

Children, come home!

The grass is sighing,

Children, come home!

Where the water's dark and deep

There her children will find sleep

The marsh is calling,

Children, come home!

The frogs are croaking,

Children, come home!

The critters woken,

Children, come home!

Where the water's dark and deep

There her children will find sleep

The marsh is calling,

Children, come home!

The birds are singing,

Children, come home!

The trees are ringing

Children, come home!

Where the water's dark and deep

There her children will find sleep

The marsh is calling,

Children, come home!

The fries are playing,

Children, come home!

The wind is saying,

Children, come home!

Where the water's dark and deep

There her children will find sleep

The marsh is calling,

Children, come home!

The marsh is calling,

Children, come home!

The night is falling,

Children, come home!

Where the water's dark and deep

There her children will find sleep

The marsh is crying,

Children, come home!

She reaches the riverbank as the song comes to a close, singing the last line over and over again, in a myriad of styles and keys.

She shrugs the waterskin off her shoulders, clumsily dips it into the water. The riverbank is uncomfortably dry and sandy between her toes, which long for the mud of home.

Why can't they go to the swamp? Not that she would ever rebel against their Codfather, but she just wants to feel at peace again.

The waterskin isn't totally full, but she draws it up out of the water and ties it closed, arms shaking, straining to hold it up. And now she has to make the long walk back to camp with this heavy load, the leather straps cutting into her shoulder blades with every step.

So maybe she dawdles by the river. Maybe she dips her fingers into the water, swishes it around.

It's that distraction, perhaps, that changes everything.

Because had Lithi not lingered, she wouldn't have seen the glimpse of bright green caught under a rock in the water. She wouldn't have levied up the rock, pulled loose the thing. She wouldn't have held up the sodden leather bag, beautifully embroidered with a bright green cod and a sky blue stag.

And most importantly of all, she wouldn't have opened the bag to find a thin, Oceanic book, nor caught a glimpse of gold shimmering in the silty mud beneath where the bag had lain.

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koukaaa-descent · 1 month

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(UNEARTHLY SCREAMING ) nutcracker worn down and overtaken by nature. Decaying in a dead place, somewhere outside, where no other of its ilk wander anymore. devoured by time as the creature within the shell died For one reason or another. A rusted, softened corpse, exhumed before an empty moon. Within its chest cavity there are a mere handful of trinkets, kept faithfully throughout the years . A ring from a dying woman who had been the first to stain it with blood. A collection ofphotos from one of the workers who had carved its shell; a dozen images of the world before war, before smog devoured stars and before wildflowers were choked out by death. A single coin, etched with someone’s initials. A child’s first lost tooth

#this is your fault kaard #lethal company #lethal company nutcracker #i feel really normal about nutcrackers actually #kokadrafts

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gvfgal · 1 year

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1. Homeward Bound

Barbarian. Biker!Jake

18+ minors evaporate!!!

A/n: As promised, here’s chapter one! I’m doing things a little different this time, telling the story more from Jake’s point of view than the readers. It works well for this story, and I think you guys will enjoy the way it plays out. Also, no disrespect to Genoa, NV! Never been, I’m sure it’s a lovely place, but for the sake of my story, it’s a shithole.

Content Warnings: Drinking & Smoking (constant theme throughout), language, mentions of death, Jake and reader are a couple of sluts but we love them for it, explicit sexual content, unprotected sex (please don’t be like them), fingering (f rec.), dirty talk, Not really a warning, but I use the words tavern/ bar/ and or “Riley’s” interchangeably, they’re all the same place.

Word Count: 6.2k

Jake always loved the open road. It was the only time he truly felt like himself, the only time he felt truly invincible. The last time he traveled down Route 95, however, he was headed in the opposite direction, escaping the very life he was about to throw himself back into.

After Ace’s visit and a night of drinking, Jake finally settled on the decision to return home. He put most of his belonging into storage, only packing what would fit on the back of his bike. As far as his job, he wasn’t too worried. He had a sit down with Hank a couple days before he left and explained the situation. “You know you always have a job should you decide to come back,” Hank told him. Jake turned in his shop keys, and that was the end of that.

On the night before his departure, he tracked Kira down at some seedy motel and told her he’d be leaving town, to which she began to cry, begging him not to leave. In all honestly, it made him want to vacate even more.

The next morning, before the sun even had a chance to rise, Jake was on the road, homeward bound.

The desert stretched out before him, a vast expansion of rugged beauty underneath the unforgiving sun. The roar of his motorcycle engine echoed through the emptiness, punctuating the silence that came with the open road. As he ventured deeper into the heart of Nevada, the land seemed to hold it’s breath, anticipation simmering in the air. Dust clouds billowed in his wake as he leaned into the twists and turns, feeling as if he were becoming one with the machine.

Finally, after a couple more hours of riding, the small wooden sign came into view, signaling his arrival.

‘Welcome to Genoa. Nevada’s oldest town.’

The outskirts of the tiny dot on the map loomed into view, it’s familiar silhouette etched against the sky. He slowed his pace as he entered, taking in the scenery that was almost identical to the way it was when he left. His town, a decaying relic in the desert, clung stubbornly to it’s dilapidated existence. The streets stretched out before him like veins choked with neglect, lined with crumbling facades and and fading signs that once promised prosperity. Shuttered business stood as silent sentinels, bearing witness to the ebb and flow that was Genoa.

Nature, too, had woven it’s touch, with wildflowers defiantly blooming in forgotten corners. A gentle reminder to Jake that even in death, life finds a way. The sight filled him with a mixture of disgust and an odd kind of loyalty. Despite it’s decay it held the indelible marks of his roots, memories were etched deep within it’s neglected corners. No matter how much he tried to ignore it, Genoa was still home, a bitter reminder of the life he’d never be able to escape.

Using only his memory, Jake continued through town in search of Ace’s house. Just when he thought he was lost, the row of bikes lined up outside of an old rundown manufactured home proved his memory wasn’t so rusty after all. He parked near the end of the line before making his way up to the front door. He could already hear the rambunctious group of men far before he was on the porch, and he figured knocking would be no use. Besides, it was only Ace’s house, and Jake knew he was welcomed in as if he lived there himself, which he did, at one point.

When he swung the door open, the buzz of conversation came to an abrupt halt, and every head in the room turned to look at him, staring as if they’d seen a ghost.

Ace was the last to look at him, and when he did, a large grin spread across his face.

“Jake! You made it!”

The rest of the men erupted into cheers, glad to see their beloved Barbarian prince return.

“Jake, you remember Steeljaw right?” Ace bellowed as he gave him a shove forward into the crowd.

Jake smiled, “how could I forget? It’s good to see you man.”

Steeljaw was never very affectionate, and the life altering incident he encountered did little to change that, if anything, it had an opposite effect. But when it came to Jake, there was always a soft spot. He tolerated most people, but Jake, he actually liked. He could never figure out why, and in the end, he never tried to.

Jake expected a rough handshake or a punch in the shoulder, but was pleasantly caught off guard when Steeljaw scooped him up into a hug.

“It’s good to have you back.”

Ace went around reintroducing Jake to the guys, each of them in turn giving Jake hugs and handshakes and ‘welcome backs’. Hellhound. Snakebite. Madcap. Django. Renegade. And so many more. With each of these men, Jake carried a special memory. He loved each and every one of them, that was something he couldn’t deny. There were his family, other than his mom (another interesting story for another day), the Barbarians were all that Jake had. They all seemed to really miss him, and he missed all of them too.

Well, almost all of them.

“And of course, Nicky No Name.”

Ace pushed the tall slender guy forward, mouthing a ‘play nice’ to Jake behind his back. Jake’s disdain for Nicky went far beyond the fact that he was an overall awful person. For him, Nicky’s face was a reminder of the loss of the one person who’s presence he missed the most in that room, and it wasn’t Rex.

Jake gave Nicky a tight lipped smile, “Triple N, we meet again.” He knew how much he hated that nickname, which is why it felt that much better to say it.

Nicky narrowed his eyes at Jake with a scowl, before correcting it almost immediately. “Jake Kiszka. Prince of the Barbarians.”

Nicky also knew how much Jake hated that nickname.

Ace knew that was just about as polite as the two could get, so he quickly dismissed Nicky and returned his attention to Jake.

“I’m surprised you actually came.”

“You and me both.”

“How was the ride?”

Jake shrugged, “long.”

Ace chuckled, knowing good and well that anytime Jake was on the road, he had a blast. But he was never one to admit those kinds of things out loud, so he left it be.

“What do ya say we head over to your old man’s house? Get that out the way now?”

Dread crept into Jake’s veins, entwining with grief, as he realized that returning to his childhood home stirred a peculiar turmoil within him. Overshadowing even the weight of the impending funeral. He swallowed it down though, if only momentarily, to respond to Ace.

“Yeah, let’s do it.”

The men hopped on their bikes and began making the short ride down to the old trailer park that was once Jake’s kingdom. Cactus Creek Village, quite the kingdom to be sure. The chipped paint on the entry sign proof of just how much the place had to offer.

Images of the past flicked through his minds eye as he inched his way through. The laughter that once echoed through the trees, riding his bike with his friends, pretending they were motorcycles until the street lights came on. All the joys of his youthful innocence. But beneath the surface of those fond recollections lay layers of pain, unsealed wounds, and fractured connections. Those feeling were all the more solidified as the house came into view.

A house whose walls were etched with both solace and strife. As he put his bike in park out front, it felt like a collision of two worlds, grief and nostalgia intertwining in an intricate dance.

“Look the same?” Ace asked as he got off his bike and came to stand with Jake.

He squinted his eyes at the structure, noticing that most of the damage that he left behind was still there. “Too much.”

His eyes grazed the lackluster trailer park with a neutral expression. Scenes of his complicated childhood played like mirages on front of him, sublime memories that still haunted his dreams. He wondered for a moment if coming back there was a bad idea.

Several feet away, the door of a trailer swung open, hitting the wall so hard that the sound sent a stray cat scampering from underneath the disheveled porch. You stepped outside, an already burning cigarette hanging between your plump lips with disinterest. Those lips, so perfectly pink and inviting, stole the air from Jake’s lungs. His mind flashed briefly to the things that mouth could possibly do behind closed doors.

But he wasn’t able to focus on that for long before his eyes began to take in your attire (or the lack there of). A wife beater, clearly with no bra underneath. Your nipples stood erect against the thin fabric. Your breasts were in no way large, but just big enough for a handful, and that was good enough for him. Your bottom half was no more modest, a pair of gray cotton bikini underwear, nothing more. The curve of your hips was only slight, so slight, some may not have even counted it as a curve at all. But whatever the hell it was, Jake liked it, really liked it.

A pair of brown cowboy boots covered you from the mid calf, down. The scuffed leather on the toes led him to believe that you wore them often.

You were unaware of their presence at first, making your way down the stairs mindlessly before your eyes finally locked with Jake’s.

Yours were red and glossy, not from tears, that much was certain. Jake was sure that you’d realize your exposure and rush back inside to hide yourself like any normal girl would do. But he was quick to find out you were anything but normal.

You blinked once at him, expressionless in your affliction, and raised you fingers to your lips to remove the cigarette. Your nails were chipped midnight blue, hands appearing like fragile petals of a flower. You ashed the cigarette onto the ground, eyed never straying from his.

Admittedly, your stare was a bit intimidating, heavy and laden with something so intriguing it was as if you were hypnotizing him where he stood. You wedged the cigarette back into your mouth before tearing your eyes from him, returning to the task you set out to accomplish.

“Who’s that?” Jake asked, never removing his stare from where you were. He watched as you bent over to pick up a sun bleached watering can, surprised at the size of your ass. He hadn’t expected you to be carrying something like that behind you.

Ace shuffled up beside him and gave you a good once over, “that’s Riley’s girl. When he got sick, she came down here, kinda popped up out of nowhere, to take care of him till he passed. Never left after that.”

Jake turned and looked at him with a furrowed brow, “Riley’s dead?”

Ace laughed, “you really have been gone a long time, haven’t you? He’s been gone about two years now. Pancreatic cancer. He fought long and hard,” he nodded his head in your direction, “she took over the tavern too.”

Jake’s eyes found you again as you lazily poured water onto the foliage outside of the trailer. For it to be Nevada, you did a great job of keeping up your garden.

“She’s a bit quiet, doesn’t really talk to us much, but she’s a sweet girl.” He retrieved a key from his pocket and placed it in Jake’s hand, “I gotta get back to the guys before they burn my damn house down. Take all the time you need.” He hopped back on his bike and his engine roared to life, “we’re all hanging at the tavern later, if you wanna stop by.”

Jake nodded and watched as he backed out of the driveway and started down the road. Once he was out of sight, he turned back to watch you water your plants, his eyes tracking every dip and curve of your body.

When you noticed him staring again, you stood straight and faced him, raising your middle finger.

He smirked. Spitfire. Giving his dad’s house one more look, he decided that wasn’t a hill he was ready to conquer, not yet anyway. Instead, there was a wide open Nevada desert calling his name, and that was a call Jake could never stray away from. Tucking the key away in his jeans, Jake mounted his bike and cranked it to life. He pulled into the street until he was parallel with your trailer. You watched as a mischievous grin appeared on his face, his gloved hand raising to shoot you the finger right back. His bike screeched as he pulled off at a ridiculous speed, kicking up dirt behind him.

You couldn’t help but smile as you watched him drive away. Using context clues, you figured he was your neighbor Rex’s son. You’d heard stories about him from the gang hanging around the bar. The Barbarian Prince, they’d joke. You’d spent plenty of time with Rex, and although he was always pleasant with you, you knew any son of his had to be trouble.

But you were a magnet for trouble. It’s allure and consequences were woven into the very fabric of your existence. Trouble had been your steadfast companion, the architect of your tumultuous journey.

Trouble, is what landed you in Genoa in the first place.

But when it came to the mysterious beloved Barbarian, trouble never looked so good.

Most of the gang was already at Riley’s by the time Jake arrived. He’d spent his afternoon riding through the winding outskirts of Genoa, allowing himself some much needed alone time before the next few days ahead. Pulling his tasseled hair into a messy low bun, Jake nudged the door open with his boot and stood at the threshold to scan the bar.

He quickly spotted Ace’s large frame seated at one of the barstools, but just as quickly, he noticed you. Your hair tied in a messy bun on the top of your head as you hustled behind the bar, mixing up drinks for the waiting Barbarians scattered about the space. A group of them huddled around the pool table drank and talked loudly, demanding their voices to be heard over the loud rock music playing from the old fashioned jukebox positioned in the corner. Jake gave them a quick assessment before returning his attention back to you.

You were wearing a muscle tank, if he had to guess, the same one from earlier, only this time you decided to put a bra on. Good Girl. The hot pink straps peaked from underneath the tank ever so slightly, he liked that even more. With a smirk plastered on his face, Jake made his way through the dimly lit bar, perching himself on the stool beside Ace and patting him on the shoulder, his eyes staying trained on you. You hadn’t noticed him yet, too busy fulfilling another drink order for a waiting couple. There was a thin sheen of sweat covering your body that, mixed with the contrastingly bright lights of the neon signs behind the bar, made you appear like an angel on earth. Glowing like a beacon, a beacon calling directly to Jake.

Before even glancing at him, you were talking. “What can I get for you?”

Jake chuckled at your obliviousness as he leaned forward onto the bar.

“Whiskey. Neat, please.”

When you finally turned to look at him, realization setting in, your face dropped, but Jake’s never faltered. He was a lot more handsome up close, something you hadn’t expected, but still relished in.

“Well, if it isn’t my Peeping Tom neighbor,” you smirked, wiping your hands on the towel that hung at your hip.

Your voice was like like honey. Smooth, rich, and pleasing to Jake’s ears. The very sound of it melded with the music filling the room made the hairs on his arms stand upright. It was as if every word you spoke was uttered with the intention of seduction, and it was working.

Your right eyebrow peaked on your face as you waited for his reply, arms crossing over your chest.

“If I remember correctly, you’re the one that came out of the house half naked,” he teased, his eyes boring directly into yours.

“You didn’t have to stare,” you quipped right back.

Jake shrugged, “how could I not?”

His response stunned you into silence, but not in a negative way. Being the object of his gaze, as good looking as he was, was enticing.

You’d never let him know that, though. So instead, you rolled your eyes and turned to pluck at the screen behind you.

“You want your tab opened, or closed?”

Jake was staring daggers into your back, still wearing that sly grin. His eyes traveled down to your ass, being hugged tightly by the black denim shorts you wore. They traveled further, all the way down your exposed legs and back up.

“Open…”

Ace turned his attention to the two of you, patting Jake on the shoulder, “no need, first rounds on me, sunshine.”

You smiled sweetly at Ace before pulling a glass down to prepare Jake’s drink.

“So, you’re Rex’s kid?” you asked.

Jake nodded, “the one and only. I think.”

You chuckled at his statement, knowing that when it came to Barbarians, that was probably a real concern. “Sorry to hear about his passing.”

He gave off another shrug as he retrieved his usual duo, a cigarette and his lighter, “wish I could say the same.”

This comment may have been off putting to others, but to you it was more than relatable.

You finished pouring his drink and slid it across the counter on a thin coaster.

“Well, he’ll be missed around here, anyway,” you glanced around the bar before focusing on Jake’s face, “but it seems like everyone’s glad to have you back.”

Jake’s attention was focused on getting his cigarette lit, and once it was, he looked back at you, noticing the way you were drinking in his features,his lips curled up around it.

“Glad to be back.”

He took his glass and raised it towards you, a silent confirmation that you were the reason for his satisfaction. You held each other’s gaze for what felt like forever, both grinning, yet silently assessing the other.

“Why do I feel like you’re nothing but trouble?” you questioned Jake, a hint of teasing in your voice.

Jake freed his mouth and leaned into you, and you instinctively did the same, your faces now hovering inches away from each other. The smell of tobacco on his breath was so intoxicating you could’ve kissed him in that very moment.

“Why do I feel the same about you?”

For a brief moment, you though he actually was about to kiss you, your mouths so close, all it took was one small movement to initiate. But just before it got to that point, Jake pulled away, standing from his seat and crossing over the the jukebox.

You watched as he flipped through the catalog, taking a sip of his drink in the process. Finally, Lick it Up by Kiss began playing loudly as Jake increased the volume. Turning back to you with that same smirk from before. He began nodding his head in an animated fashion, causing a real laugh to bubble up from inside of you. Something that didn’t happen often.

“He really is Rex’s boy!” Ace shouted over the music, calling out to everyone in the bar.

He raised his glass as everyone cheered, following suit. And once again, Jake looked to you, raising both his eyebrows and his glass.

You shook your head with a smile, “trouble.”

It was well after two am by the time you got off. Most of the gang had stayed right until close, and with only you and your coworker Angela left by the end of the night, closing took a lot longer than usual. And to make matters worse, you were now stranded at the gas station. Your old clunker had only managed to make it two miles up the road before it sputtered out, and now, it refused to start.

The cold desert air chilled your bones as you did your best to inspect under the hood, but with little to no knowledge about cars, you weren’t hopeful.

“Raggedy piece of shit,” you cursed as you kicked at one of the tires. You pulled your windbreaker tighter around your body and leaned back against the car, debating on whether or not you could conquer the mile and a half walk back home.

But just as the idea started becoming the best option, the sound of a motorcycle could be heard coming up the road. You watched as the driver pulled into the gas station, knowing well that it had to be a Barbarian, they were the only gang in the area. But what you didn’t expect was for that Barbarian to be Jake, still smiling as he pulled up beside you.

“You don’t look too happy.”

You wanted to roll your eyes at him, but his smile was beginning to grow on you. So much so, that you could ignore his smart ass comment.

“My car won’t start.”

Jake turned off his bike and climbed off, not saying a word as he leaned down to look into the engine compartment.

You took in the way the muscles of his arms flexed as he gripped tightly on the sides of the car. The thought of him holding you that way sending a separate chill down your spine

After a few moments of inspection, he faced you again, just as you diverted your eyes to something else.

“Where do you want me to start?”

Your dropped your head into the palm of your hand, “fuck.”

Jake chuckled, “it’s alright. I might be able to fix it,” he sounded hopeful, though by just looking at it, he' knew it might be beyond saving, “have to get it towed first, though.”

You cursed again, you didn’t have the money for that.

“But for the time being, I can give you a ride. After all, we are neighbors.”

You glanced backup at his smirking face, wondering if he ever wore any other expression, “on your bike?”

He nodded, “what, you scared or something?”

Quite frankly, you couldn’t have been further from. Excited? A little turned on? Yes. Scared? Never.

“What’s your name?” you asked, deciding to ignore his statement. He took a step towards you and extended his hand, “I’m Jake. And you are?” You shook his hand softly and grinned mischievously, “wouldn’t you like to know?”

You removed your hand and climbed onto his bike, making sure to arch your back more than necessary.

That image of you on his bike that way was the first time Jake actually believed here might be a god. You were all too regal, even in your most natural state, he’d even dare to say perfect. And something so perfect had to be meticulously constructed by an all knowing power. He didn’t even care if he knew your name.

“I gotta run inside. Stay pretty.”

He left without another word, dissapearing into the store and leaving you out in the cold air. You waited patiently for him to return, and when he did, he climbed on in front of you. His already familiar scent filled your nostrils, and without though, you moved your body closer to his. Once he brought the bike to life you hesitantly wrapped your arms around his torso, bringing you a comfort that you hadn’t felt in a long time.

“Will you be alright without a helmet?” he asked, shouting over the roaring engine.

“It’s only a mile and a half. I’ll be fine.”

He put the bike in drive, patting your thigh twice, “well then, hang on.”

He pulled out into the street slowly and began making his way down the long stretch of road. Releasing your hair from its bun, you leaned into Jake’s ear, “you can’t make this thing go any faster?” You were aware that he was doing the gentlemanly thing and taking it easy, but feeling the rush of the wind and the vibration of the road traveling through your body had you craving more. The freeing feeling that speeding down the road on the back of a bike was enticing, but so was the danger of it. That feeling of gambling life itself for a few seconds of exhilaration, it turned you on, the tense energy radiating off of you and onto Jake.

You couldn’t see it, but he smirked, reving up the engine as he began picking up speed, causing your adrenaline to spike. Once the deteriorating buildings that lined the street started becoming a blur, you released you hold on Jake’s waist and spread you arms out wide, tilting your head back to greet the night sky. The wind whipped your hair across your face, blinding you every few seconds, but that didnt deter you one bit.

A genuine laugh escaped Jake’s lips, “you’re a wild one,” he exclaimed, his voice barely audible against the roaring wind.

Cactus Creek was still when you and Jake returned, the loud hum of his engine feeling out of place in the quiet night. Jake could’ve easily parked in his own driveway and let you make the 50 feet walk back to your place, but instead, he parked right outside your front door, a little too close to your flowers for your liking. After helping you off, the two of you stood face to face. The thrill of the ride had yet to wear off, and all those feelings you felt while in the back of his bike were still very much alive inside of you.

“You seemed to have enjoyed yourself,” Jake chuckled as he removed his own hair from its bun. Never in your life had you seen such tangled locks look so good, you wanted nothing more than to run your fingers through it, preferably with his head between your legs.

A small grin appeared on your face as you took a step closer to him, “what can I say? I love a good ride.” He pulled you close as soon as you were in arms reach, letting one of his hands snake around your hip, just shy of your ass. His opposite hand found your hair, pulling back on it gently until you were looking him in the eyes.

“Is that right?”

Your lips ghosted against his as you spoke, “who doesn’t?”

Jake liked that answer. If the twitching of his cock that was pressed against your leg didn’t give it away, the look on his face sure did. His mouth dropped to press firm kisses along your collarbone. Your eyes fell closed when his tongue appeared to lick a long strip up your neck. He continued until his mouth was hovering by your ear.

“Something’s telling me you’re no good for me,” he whispered, nipping at your earlobe to punctuate, “should probably stay away. But somehow that only makes me want you more.”

You pulled away to look him in the eye, shaking your head solemnly, “you don’t want me, Jake. I’m not the kind worth loving.”

He took a mental note of that statement, replaying it over and over in his head fo months to come. But for the time being, it remained tucked away. He smirked at you, “who said anything about falling in love?”

The look of lust in his eyes and the grip he still had on your waist was the nail in the coffin. With both hands, you took ahold of his fac and crashed your lips into his, nothing but primal desire behind it. He kissed you back immediately, his tongue delving into your mouth like it were seeking out shelter in the rain. You all but climbed him, tangling you legs around him as he made his way up the steps. You never locked your door, there was nothing in that place worth stealing, and your hand searched blindly behind you to open the door.

Once inside, Jake quickly cleared your entryway table— its contents clambering to the ground as you pushed the door shut. He sat you down roughly as his mouth returned to your neck, much less graceful than the first time. You pulled and tugged at his jacket until it slid off his body, leaving him in a plain black t shirt. Your finger clawed at it, pulling it up so that you could feel more of his skin against yours.

“Still not gonna tell me your name?” he huffed as his hands began groping your chest.

You sighed heavily, “nope.”

Jake chuckled, “that’s fine,” he squeezed your chest a little tighter, causing you to hiss, “I’ll jut have to come up with my own name for you then.

He licked into your open mouth slowly, making sure to really taste you as he did so. “Hmmm. How about Cherry?”

“Cherry?” you gulped, “why?”

Jake smiled at your moment of innocence, the way your eyes pleaded for an answer made both his cock and his heart ache.

“Cause you taste just as sweet as one.”

Before his compliment had a chance to make it’s way to your heart, you yanked him closer by the collar of his shirt, “are you gonna stand here and talk all night, or are you gonna fuck me?”

Jake’s smile fell, a carnal look taking over his face. His rough fingers began undoing the button on your shorts, not even taking a moment to pull them down before they were sliding into your wetness. An almost silent gasp left your mouth as your head fell back against the mirror, threatening to send it crashing down.

“Yeah, Cherry? Is that pretty little pussy ready to fuck?”

You nodded, once again clawing at his back as his fingers continued to skate about.

He removed his hand from your shorts and brought the digits up to his lips, slipping them into his mouth. Yeah, Cherry would do just fine.

“Let’s not keep her waiting then. I’m dying to meet her.” He hoisted you off the table and began walking towards the only door that could’ve lead to a bedroom. As soon as your feet hit the ground, you began making quick work of your clothes. Jake doing the same. He was undressed before you were, and your eyes immediately zeroed in on the myriad of scars that adorned his body.

Each of those scars held a story, some twisted, god awful story that probably came with a mental scar to match. You couldn’t help but wonder what kinds of things he had seen, lived. You had a moment of clarity then, of how similar the two of you were. Both marred by scars of the past, yet still somehow standing.

Something you’d noticed from the very beginning was how tired Jake’s eyes were. Though he smiled often, you could tell there was a heavy weight on his shoulders. And seeing him there, in all his raw naked glory, you wanted nothing more than to take some of that weight off, if only momentarily.

With enough time to recover from the putty like state he had you in earlier, you finished undressing yourself and pushed Jake down onto the bed with only a finger.

He grinned up at you, enjoying where this was headed. You slowly made your way up the bed, eyes locked on his as your fingers began grazing along his skin. You were so occupied with taking in the rest of him, you hadn’t even taken a moment to look at his cock. But just as you suspected, it was as perfect as the rest of him. Radiating a cherry shade of red from the tip, like it was made just for you.

Straddling his waist, you raked your fingers through your untamed hair, Jake’s hands came up to massage your ass, “you did say you loved a good ride, huh?”

One of your hands began stroking along him gently, collecting the pre cum from his tip to ease your movements. The goofy grin he was wearing faltered as he let out a shaky breath.

Raising your hips, you peered down your nose at him, “don't worry. I’ll hang on.”

You sank down on him in one fluid motion, both of you moaning loudly at the way you fit together like two pieces of a puzzle. Jake’s fingers dug into your skin, and you welcomed the pain, throwing your head back in ecstasy as he stirred inside of you. When he loosened his grip, you took that as an invitation to begin moving, and using his chest for leverage, you began grinding your hips against him. He allowed you to do so for awhile, laying his bed back out the pillow as he watched you move against him eagerly. His hands felt their way up your body, one of them snaking up into your hair while the other came up to your mouth. You welcomed his fingers, sucking them past your lips as you clawed at his exposed chest. When Jake noticed you tracing on of the scars on his abdomen he looked up at you, searching for disappointment in your eyes. But there was none, not even an inch.

“You’re beautiful,” you whispered to him as you raised you hips to slide off of him, just to the tip, before sinking back down with a gasp.

Jake was never one to take compliments well, but he could tell you meant it. He grabbed ahold of your hips again and began thrusting upwards into you, speeding up the tempo at which you were moving. It was obvious that this wasn’t something that was meant to go on all night long. Both of you were clearly in need of blowing off steam, and by the way both of your bodies were reacting, you knew the end was coming soon.

He sent a harsh slap to the side of your thigh, his teeth bared as he tried to maintain his composure. “You take dick so fucking good,” he complimented as he watched the way your tits bounced from the force of the movement.

Your head lulled forward to smile at him, “I know.”

Jake returned the gesture, a soft groan escaping his mouth, “I’m gonna cum, Cherry.”

“Me too, Jake,” you wined, “don’t stop.”

He sought out your clit, rubbing slow circles against it as he continued to pound up into you. “Yeah. I bet you make the prettiest faces when you cum. I can’t wait to see.”

Your hips began faltering, and Jake could feel you clenching around him, causing a deep growl to grumble up from inside of him.

“There it is. I feel it, Cherry.”

“Cumming,” you sighed, “I’m cumming.” With one final bounce on his cock, you were cumming hard and loud. You were never one to be ashamed of being loud during sex, it made it feel that much better. And Jake enjoyed it thurrougly. The way your brows were knitted together, head thrown back, nails carving angry marks into his chest beside his scars. And your moans, to Jake, they were the sweetest sounds to ever come out of Genoa.

He fucked you through to your end before wrenching you off of him and pumping along his shaft. You were laid out beneath him, both of you watching each other as he continued jerking himself.

Jake’s eyes grew dark, “you want it, don’t you? In that sweet little mouth?”

Your jaw fell open, inviting him to do exactly what it was you were both think. The sight of it sent Jake’s release crashing into him.

“Such a nasty thing, aren’t you Cherry? Oh fuck… fuckkkk.”

Hot spurts of his release began dripping down into your mouth, some of it landing on your breasts and cheeks, but you caught as much of it as you could.

His legs were shaking by the time he was empty, and he collapsed back down onto the bed beside you, fighting to catch his breath. His hand searched for his discarded t-shirt, bringing it to wipe away the remains of the mess he left on your skin. You smiled up at him as he did so, “thank you.”

He took a moment to look at you, really look at you. Your eyes held a certain softness that captured his attention, yet, there was something lurking behind that gentle facade, something that hinted at a hidden depth. It was as if there were an entire secret world behind your eyes, one that Jake coould’t decipher.

There was no denying the allure you possessed, your beauty and your aura were nothing short of captivating. But he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that behind that beauty lay a trail of buried skeletons.

Getting reacquainted with the Barbarians was trouble enough, a path filled with danger and uncertainty. And intertwining himself with you seemed to add another layer of complexity. Despite all of that, though, he couldn’t help but be drawn to you like a moth to a flame. There was a magnetic pull, a force that defied reason and lured him further into your orbit.

But he’d leave that alone for now. He had to burry his father tomorrow, and that was a burden of its own.

He lowered himself back onto the bed, pulling the sheet up over you body as you slowly began drifting off to sleep, hoping that he could do the same.

2. Our Old Friend, Death

Taglist: @myownparadise96 @writingcold @jordie-gvf

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