#bear writes

Victor Gideon was a big man.

No, scratch that.

He was a huge man.

That huge man that was palming your tits with just one hand. You trembled, feeling each individual ring pressing against your yielding flesh, cold fingertips brushing the underside of your breast and with a micro-movement slipping under your shirt to find a peak of your nipple, squeezing it.

“Getting restless, aren’t we?” his voice cooed somewhere behind you. You were sitting on his lap and behind you, you could feel the cold flesh of his chest and stomach pressing against your back. His massive thighs were spreading your legs apart, your trousers lost somewhere on a floor and the cotton of your panties soaked through as you struggled to keep your voice down; not to alert anyone that doctor Victor Gideon was in session… with his favorite patient; you.

“Can’t have that. You are such a good girl after all. Sitting on my lap, squirming, living, breathing – all because I allow you to do that. All because you are desperate for my attention. For my special treatment that only the best of my… patients get.”

His hand moved from your breast to your throat, applying just enough pressure so your breath catches, your eyes going glossy with that potent mix of pleasure and fear. Your neck tilted back and you saw his thin lips separating and the fork of his tongue peaking from the gold of his teeth.

“Your life is in my hands, sweetheart. Your pleasure, too. I can – oho, I can choke you with one hand; and you would probably cum. Might try it… the other night. And then I’ll resurrect you - “

You moaned. You actually moaned – a chocked, needy sound, a pool of saliva gathering at the corner of your mouth, but Victor didn’t seem to notice that, enjoying the sound of his voice as he continued to describe what he would do to you.

“… CPR. Mouth to mouth. Fueling you with my breath. Bringing you back to life so I can destroy you again.”

He released your throat and you gasped for air, but Victor was far from done with you because he descended, covering your mouth with his. His tongue pushed inside, coating your entire mouth in the gross parody of a kiss and when you were whimpering from yet another lack of air he let you go, licking his lips, tasting your arousal and despair on his tongue.

“Like so.”

His hand traveled over your stomach, down, down and down, cupping your groin, two fingers pushing the fabric of your panties inside your weeping cunt, just enough so you can feel the friction.

“Dirty thing. No matter how depraved you are – I find myself, mm- - unable to resist you. You are so young, after all. So trusting in me. So- s-s-soft…”

He hooked the waistband of your panties, ripping them off with a sound loud enough to bounce off the walls. With one hand on your back, he pushed you forward to lay down on a table, your hands gripping the end, trying to hold on--

“I wonder if you will scream when I break you. Or you moan, sweetheart, mm?»

His palm landed flat across your ass, the sting making you cry out in pain. He followed the spank with another one, even harder.

“Gonna be a good little slut for doctor Gideon?”

“Y-yes!.. P-please, it h-hurts—”

“Oh, I know. It will hurt even more if you won’t stop with your fuckin’ squirming, brat.”

After a few more spanks that cause tears to run freely to run all over your cheeks, you finally heard his belt unlocking and the sound of

"Look at you," he murmured, almost wonderingly.

"Spread out on my table like an offering. Wet. Willing. Waiting."

He rolled his hips experimentally, just enough to make you gasp, not enough to give you what you craved.

"Tell me, little one - do you pray? When you're alone in the dark, with nothing but your own filthy thoughts for company - do you pray to be found? To be taken?"

His lips brushed the shell of your ear, and you could feel him smiling – that terrible, condescending smile he was showing for all things that were beneath him.

"Because I heard you. Oh yes, I did. Every desperate little whisper. Every night you touched yourself and thought of your doctor."

The pressure increased - just a fraction, just enough to make your toes curl.

"And I thought... mm, what a waste. All that need, all that hunger, going to waste on empty air."

He pulled back slightly, and you whimpered at the loss.

"So I asked for you to come to my office. To collect."

And then he pushed. Not gently. Not slowly. He took you - one brutal, perfect thrust that buried his inhuman girth to the hilt and stole the air from your lungs in a silent scream.

The table scraped against the floor with the sheer force of it and your vision went white at the edges. Victor's groan was animalistic, raw, nothing like the controlled cruelty of moments before.

"F-fuck—"

The curse seemed torn from him against his will. His hips pressed flush against you, and you felt him trembling - the great, terrible Victor Gideon, shaking with the effort of not immediately devouring you whole.

"So... tight... so fucking…"

His hand left your back, fisting in your hair instead, pulling your head back at an angle that made your spine arch and your ass press more firmly against him.

"Look at me," he demanded, snarling.

"When I ruin you, you look at me."

His hips drew back, then slammed forward again.

And again.

Each pushing thrust a punctuation mark in the treatment he was delivering.

"This—"

thrust

"—is what you wanted—"

thrust

"—isn't it? Ha… ha...To be filled—"

thrust

"—by something that should destroy you—"

thrust

"—but instead…"

He paused, buried deep; your walls were struggling around his thick cock, but you held, you accepted, you had no choice but to be his toy for tonight.

"… oh, how I worship you. With every filthy inch."

His hand left your hair, sliding around to press flat against your lower stomach - right where you could feel him moving inside you.

"There we go," he murmured, wonder creeping back into his voice.

"Through your skin. Right here. I'm in you. Part of you."

He pressed harder, and you could feel it - the faint, obscene bulge of his presence, visible through your own chubby flesh.

"Beautiful," he breathed.

"Absolutely beautiful."

And then he began to move again - slower this time, deeper, each stroke a deliberate, devastating claim.

"D-Doctor—!"

"Shh," he soothed, though his voice was rough with his own restraint.

His palm stayed flat against that spot, feeling himself move within you, feeling the faint bump of his presence through the soft curve of your stomach. When you finally shattered around him - triggered by a particularly deep stroke that made your belly jump visibly - he followed immediately, spilling into you with a groan that seemed to come from somewhere primal and ancient, and he continued to come, his hips jerking slowly until you felt your stomach swell with the amount of hot fluid he filled you in. Victor kept his hand there, feeling the warmth of his release settling inside you, mixing with your own heat, rubbing slow, lazy circles like you were something precious.

"Stay like this," he whispered, his cock going flaccid inside your spend cunt.

"Just for a moment. And then we can begin again."

And you did.

You scrubbed your hands over your face and sighed. “One day,” you grumbled. “I just want one fucking day where some weird shit doesn’t happen.” There was no reason to stay here and you had places to be. “Let’s get this fuckin’ show on the road already.”

Turning the key in the ignition, your car proceeded to make the worst noise you’d ever heard and you all but launched yourself out onto the blacktop. You stumbled backwards, staring at your car and breathing heavily.

“Car trouble, darlin’?” came a voice from behind you.

You yelped and leapt a foot in the air. When you whipped around, an older man was looking at you with his hands in the air.

“Wh—“

“Amos, what’d I tell you about scarin’ strangers like that?” A woman who looked to be the same age as the man before you was walking across the pavement towards you. “Do I gotta remind you what happened last time you snuck up on someone like that?”

Amos scowled and rolled his shoulder. “How was I s’posed to know he’d yank my shoulder out?”

The woman snorted. “You came up behind him while he was taking a piss! You can’t be doing that to a man.”

“He was pissing on our tree line!” Amos exclaimed indignantly. “We have a perfectly good bathroom inside!”

She raised an eyebrow. “I never said it was right, just that you should’ve know better than to sneak up on a man when he’s got his Johnson in his hand.” She shook her head. “Well, seeing as your car was making that yowlin’ cat sound, I’d imagine you do need some help.” This was directed at you.

The sparse knowledge you had of engines decidedly did not cover whatever the hell that noise had been, and Amos’s, judging by his grease-stained coveralls and callused hands, probably did.

“Lord knows I wouldn’t be able to figure it out myself,” you told her.

She clicked her tongue. “Well here, why don’t you come inside and I’ll get you some sweet tea while Amos takes a look under the hood. What’s your name, sugar?”

You gave it to her and she smiled. “I’m Esther, pleased to meet you. Hell of a place to break down, all the way out here. What brings you this way?”

“I’m running an errand for someone,” you murmured as you followed her into the little store. It was nice inside, the space doubling as a cafe with sparkling linoleum and gleaming Formica. The pleasant aroma of blueberry pie filled the place, and the walls were lined with trinkets and knickknacks. You picked up a small white bone and examined it curiously.

“Is this a—“

“Raccoon penis bone, dear,” Esther finished for you.

You raised an eyebrow. “Big raccoon penis bone market around here?”

She shrugged. “We get all types out here.”

Something itched at the back of your mind. Who were these people? They weren’t anyone that you worked with, that you could tell, but they weren’t in the dark, either.

You looked more closely at the curios around the store. Coyote claws, rabbits’ feet, a jawbone here and there, and a whole mess of dried herbs. Esther moved to the counter and grabbed a pitcher of sweet tea. You watched her reach up to tap the iron horseshoe above the doorway, and then it clicked.

“You’re a witch,” you said.

She hummed. “What gave it away?”

That itch at the back of your mind again. Abruptly, you realized why you were here.

“How are things out here?” you asked. Your next words needed to be chosen with great care.

Esther sighed. “It’s not been great, I can’t lie to you,” she said, handing you a glass. The ice clinked, and your eyes tracked a drop of condensation as it slid down the side. “Amos’ll say I’m being dramatic, but this place is dying.”

“What do you mean?”

She sat on one of the stools at the counter and gestured for you to sit beside her.

“Well, since the strip mining started, it’s been getting worse. People have left, sure, but people have been leaving for a while.” She took a dainty sip from her own glass of sweet tea. “But the land is dying,” she continued. “The runoff from the mines is poisoning everything. Used to be you could go down to the creek and fill your cup and catch some fish for the table. Now, though? It’s a great way to wind up in the hospital, that’s certain. We lived off this land. We took care of it, and it took care of us, but now there’s hardly anything left.” There was a sadness in her voice that made your heart ache.

“So why stay?” you asked. “If everything’s poisoned and dying, what’s left?”

Esther traced a crack in the countertop, her eyes unfocused. “We can’t leave. Even with everything, we just haven’t been able to bring ourselves to leave. There’s Green here, however little, and it has to be tended.”

“It’s your home,” you said softly.

She nodded.

You were silent for a moment, thinking.

“You said there’s Green here? What does that mean?”

She gestured around her. “My mama used to say it’s what keeps us and protects us, but really it’s just…life. It’s the blood of these hills, but it’s getting weaker every day. I can see it in the animals, in the trees. Our water is undrinkable and it’s a bitch getting crops to grow, if you’ll pardon my French.”

There was no way. It couldn’t be this easy, dumped in your lap like that.

You anxiously picked at the calloused skin of your palm. “I might know a way to help,” you said quietly, “but I’m not sure how you’ll feel about it.”

She remained silent and you took that as your cue to continue. Christ, you were going to sound like an evangelical. Have you heard the good word?

“The kudzu.” You didn’t have anything to say beyond that, but there was no way to pitch an old and dying god of a fiercely invasive species to an old woman who was trying to protect her home.

Sure enough, her face soured. “How on God’s green Earth would that work? That stuff…it suffocates everything it touches. It consumes and it suffocates. I’ll not invite that into my home.”

You took a deep breath. “I know. I know it’s invasive, I know that it will take over everything if we let it. But we can use it, you can use it.” You could tell your words were not helping and you spoke faster before she could say anything. “The kudzu can help. It can filter and purify. I know the kudzu devours, but it can bring life. It could help restore this place, restore the Green to what it was.”

The look on Esther’s face was enough to make you reconsider your promise to Baku.

“You are out of your mind. You want me to use a virulent invasive species to save a dying land? I’m trying to save my home, not kill it faster.” The old woman was incredulous and you winced. Since the words had left your mouth, you’d known that keeping your promise was going to be a challenge, but facing down this woman you realized it was going to be much harder than you’d anticipated.

“I know it sounds insane, but—“

“You’re damn right it sounds insane. You’re telling me we can use the kudzu to purify these hills, but it would consume them entirely first. Absolutely not.”

On the shelf above her was a jar containing a powdered substance labelled “Kudzu,” and you pointed at it. “Look, you already use it medicinally, right? So it’s edible. You said you’re having a hard time getting things to grow, but this shit will grow anywhere, and it’ll leave the soil more productive.” You were grasping for anything you could think of. “It can protect you from the mining.”

This got Esther’s attention and she looked at you intently. “Now just how in the hell would it do that? Is it gonna crush the diggers? It’s a plant.”

A demonstration, then, you decided. Your shoes squeaked against the linoleum as you hopped down from your stool. “Come outside.”

She looked at you suspiciously, but followed you out the door into the field behind the gas station. You could see Amos’s feet sticking out from under your car, and he had propped open the hood.

This was going to make you look like a moron if it didn’t work.

You cleared your throat. “Um, Baku?”

Esther looked like she wanted to hit you with a wooden spoon.

“Lord Baku,” you tried again, “I have someone with me who could use your help.” This would have worked better if you’d had an offering, you thought. You should have brought the pitcher out with you.

As you turned to apologize to Esther for wasting her time, the dry grass under your feet crackled and shifted as something wound its way through the dirt to you. Even knowing what it was, you found the movement of it hard to watch.

The vines in the grass began to amalgamate, quickly becoming a familiar, shambling silhouette that towered between you and Esther, casting you both in its shadow.

“Hello again, little witch.” Like before, you felt, more than heard his voice.

“Jesus Mary!” Esther shrilled. “What on earth—“

“Esther,” you cut her off, “this is Baku, Lord of the Kudzu.”

The configuration leaned down to peer at Esther. Or would have, you assumed, if it had eyes.

“Speak.”

Esther turned her saucer-wide eyes to you, and you nodded. She looked back at the tangle.

“You…our home is being poisoned,” she said. “This one,” she gestured to you, “thinks you can help.”

Baku was silent for a moment. “This land is sick,” the resonant voice acknowledged. “I can help your soil heal, and I can purify your water.”

“That’s all well and good, Lord knows we need it,” Esther conceded. “But the mining camps will poison it all again as soon as you’re done, you watch.”

Baku hummed. “Then they must be stopped.”

You grinned. Finally, you were getting somewhere.

Esther wasn’t convinced. “You’re going to tear down their whole operation? If you could do that, why haven’t you?”

The vines twisted restlessly. “I do not have that strength. But your home, that I can protect. The camp nearby, that can easily be remedied.”

“In exchange for what?” Esther asked coolly.

“What any god wants.”

The old woman contemplated the entity before her. “I will think about it,” she said finally.

The green shadow bowed its head. “You know where to find me,” it said, and then dissolved into the earth.

Esther’s face was unreadable as she looked at you.

“You’re an interesting one, I’ll give you that.”

You shrugged.

The two of you went back to the gas station. Amos was out from under your car and was staring at the engine like he could will it to speak to him. When he saw you coming, he let the hood slam shut and wiped his hands on the legs of his overalls.

“Hell of a ride you’ve got here.”

You tensed. “Gets me places in one piece,” you said warily.

He favored you with a sly smile. “I’d imagine she does. Nothing wrong with her engine, though. She’s in remarkable shape, you take good care of her.”

“There’s nothing that could’ve made that noise?”

He scratched his nose. “Well, usually I’d say it’s probably your serpentine belt or some such, but like I said, she’s shipshape. Couldn’t tell you what happened.”

He tossed you the keys and you climbed behind the wheel to turn the ignition. True to form, the engine turned over with no problem at all. You leaned out the window and smiled at the couple. “This was a wonderful stop, thank you for your help.”

Amos shrugged. “Dunno how much help we were, but either way, you’re welcome.”

You nodded. “And thank you for the sweet tea, Ms. Esther. Best I’ve had in a long while.”

She leaned down and patted your cheek. “You come back anytime, darlin’. I think we’ve got a lot to talk about.”

You leaned into her touch. “I’ll be back,” you told them. “I promise you that.”

The rest of the drive to D.C. was relatively uneventful, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. You saw flashes of movement from something big and terrible out of the corner of your eye every so often, but when you turned to look, there was nothing but trees and heavy, grey sky speeding past. You knew something was there, and it was following you. You shuddered and didn’t let the needle of your car’s speedometer dip below eighty until you were well within the city limits of Washington, D.C., and you didn’t stop until you were parked in front of a red brick walk-up apartment.

The building was beautiful. It almost reminded you of Circe’s home, but this was much less grandiose and instead possessed more of a quiet dignity. The bay windows that shaded the bush of deep purple and crimson hydrangeas were trimmed in a dark wood that gleamed in the sun, and elegantly carved brick arches beckoned you inside. A delicate Chaste tree was carved into the keystone, mirroring the full-sized one that stood sentinel near the front of the garden, its purple blossoms gently waving in a nonexistent breeze.

As you passed, you let your fingers skim the soft petals of the hydrangeas. Their color seemed impossible, and you wondered what pH the soil would have to be to get them to such bloody shades of red and purple. Nothing natural, surely.

Walking up the steps, you existed somewhere else, somewhere outside of your body. The snap as the sole of your shoe met concrete stairs, the smooth, cool surface of the mother of pearl doorbell, the muffled melody that sang beyond the door, it all existed at a distance.

You were so tired.

“Just a moment!” rang a voice. Footsteps sounded and the door opened on a plump woman with wide bright eyes and thick gray hair that had been corralled into a bun, held by a hair tie that looked as though it would snap at any second. Like her home, she had an understated beauty that put you at ease.

The woman looked at you in vague surprise. “I didn’t think I’d be seeing you again.” Her pearl drop earrings swayed as she spoke.

You bowed your head. “Hester.”

Hester looked you up and down and her soft face softened even further. She stepped back to welcome you. “Well, come in then.”

The instant you stepped over the threshold, your body relaxed and warmth flooded you. You sighed in relief.

“Sit, sit,” Hester pushed you in the direction of a sofa, the color of which could only be described as “squashlike.” “I’ll put the kettle on.” She disappeared into the kitchen and you could hear her bustling around with the kettle and mugs. You let yourself drop onto the unconscionably plush velvet pumpkin and buried your face in an earthen brown and gold brocade throw pillow.

She came back into the room with a tea tray set with delicate willow-patterned teacups and a teapot to match. Beside the china was a plate of almond cookies and another of cucumber sandwiches. As soon as she set the tray down, you snatched several of the tiny sandwiches and crammed them into your mouth, realizing you were absolutely ravenous.

Hester studied you with vague distaste, and when you looked up at her, she narrowed her eyes.

“You stink of sex.”

You shrugged and swallowed your mouthful of sandwich. “I’m an adult,” you said primly.

Her aquiline nose wrinkled delicately. “You could’ve had the decency to shower before stinking up my home.”

Now it was your turn to pull a face, and she scowled.

“Why are you here?”

“Shit to do up north, needed somewhere as a stopping point. Here seemed safest.”

She raised a thick, sculpted eyebrow. “You weren’t concerned, after our last meeting?”

You chewed on your lower lip, ripping away dry flakes of skin with your teeth. “I was hoping to appeal to your better nature?”

She cocked her head and fixed you with a scrutinizing gaze. “Have you been sleeping at all?” she asked.

You blinked. “Sure.”

She stood and bent over you, taking your chin in a manicured hand and turning your face this way and that as she inspected your features. “You look dreadful.”

You grimaced and jerked your face from her grasp. “Thanks.”

Hester pushed another cookie at you. “Deflect as much as you’d like, but whatever it is that you’re running from will only have to wait a few days before you run yourself into the ground. You need rest.”

You laughed mirthlessly. “I’ll get right on that.”

She shook her head. “You’re not understanding me. You need to rest, or your body will do it for you, and I can’t say it’ll be pleasant.”

You knew your hostess was right. There was nothing that you could have said or done that would hide the bruise-like circles under your eyes.

You rose, not bothering to hide your irritation, but stopped when you caught sight of your reflection in the large mirror above the couch. Your hair was lank and greasy, the sight of it made you itch; your cheeks were sallow and your lips were chapped.

But it was your eyes. The bags that looked like you’d been boxed square on the nose aside, your eyes were hollow and unfocused. You looked worse than you’d realized.

You slumped back onto the couch, eyes brimming with tears, and looked up at Hester. “I don’t have time,” you said weakly. “I have to find—“

“That ginger brute. I figured.” She waved you off. “I was wondering where he was. Since he hasn’t broken my door down by now, I’m sure he’ll be fine if he has to wait a little longer.” She cradled your cheek with a warm hand bedecked in rings with numerous stones. “You’re no good to him dead, beloved.”

Your head fell forward. “Fuck.”

Hester squinted. “What happened? Why isn’t he with you?”

“Why did something have to happen?”

“Because you’re usually joined at the hip.”

Your face flushed. “We are not.”

She looked at you knowingly, and you became very interested in the rug under your feet.

“What happened?” she repeated.

You told her everything that had happened since you’d encountered Baku, and the look on her face made you feel like a misbehaved child.

“Well,” she sighed, “I can’t say you shouldn’t have dumped him on the side of the road, but that wasn’t exactly the smartest move on your end, was it?”

You glared at her. “Can you help me find him?”

“No.” Her tone brooked no argument.

“Why n—?” “Don’t you have your own magic?” she asked sharply. “I’ve yet to see any proof of that. Do you always wait for other people to solve their problems?”

The sound of your molars grinding against each other rattled your skull and your cheeks grew hot. “Fucking excuse me?”

“You’re excused.”

You bit back the ugly retort that danced on the tip of your tongue. “My magic isn’t—“

She took a step closer. “Yes, it is.”

“How would you know?” you hissed.

Hester spread her arms wide. “Word travels fast.”

Your stomach felt like it was in free fall. “What the fuck does that mean?”

Hester eyeballed you, her expression complicated. “I know you have something.”

You were quiet, watching her and trying to decide what to do next. “I only have the one locator spell,” you said begrudgingly, “but I don’t think it’ll work, it’s tied to the wards on my car.”

“Do you have a connection with it?”

“With the car, or…?”

Her hand darted out and smacked you upside the head.

“Hey!” you exclaimed, indignant.

“Oh, shut up. Do you have a connection with your car?” she asked.

“Well, yeah.”

“That’s all you need,” she said. “I’d guess the locator wards act as a focal point, but you don’t necessarily need them. You just need the connection.”

You were beyond exhausted with all of it. It was all one cycle that never ended, Orobouros eating its tail, and you didn’t know how much more you could take. “So what am I supposed to focus on?”

That look again.

“Do you need everything spelled out for you? For fuck’s sake, your connection with him.” She shook her head and clucked her tongue. “Come on now, you’re smarter than this.”

You worked your jaw and clenched your fists so hard your knuckles cracked, but Hester didn’t flinch. Instead, she tossed an enormous wine red pillow on the floor and pointed. “Sit.”

“I’m not a fucking dog,” you muttered, but you did as she said, folding your legs and placing your hands palms up on your knees, and looked up at her. “I’ve only ever done this one other time, and that was for something that had the wards. What if it doesn’t work?”

Hester shrugged. “Then it doesn’t work and you try something else.”

“But if I’m missing half the spell, how am I supposed to—“

“Stop making excuses,” she snapped. “You’re powerful, as much as you don’t want to admit it. If you want to find out what it is that everyone seems to know about you, you need to use the tools at your disposal.”

Once again, she was right, but the fear of what you would find if you kept pushing had rooted you to the spot.

Hester knelt in front of you and took your hands in hers, soft and dry, and you could see small burn scars peppering her hands.

“Listen to me,” she said gently. “You have to stop running.”

“Running?” you snapped. “Fuck you.” Her face was the picture of calm, and you felt like smashing the heinous yellow vase that sat on the end table. “I’m not running from anything.”

Her mouth formed a thin line, but she refused to rise to your bait. “You’re afraid of yourself.”

You shot to your feet. You could feel your pulse thrumming in your scalp. “You don’t know fuck all. Think about the bullshit I’ve been through in the last three days alone, do you think I would put myself through all of this trying to find answers if I didn’t want them?”

She shrugged and you wanted to backhand her. “Whatever answers you might find won’t mean jack shit if you’re too afraid to do anything with them. Take ownership of what you are, or bastards like Wednesday and his ilk will never stop using you to get what they want.”

You sank to your knees and leaned your forehead against her legs. “How am I meant to do that when I barely know what it is that I’m supposed to be owning?” Your voice was so small and the pressure of tears was building behind your eyes, and you bit your tongue to keep them from falling. Crying couldn’t be your response to everything.

“Focus on who you are now, not who you were. You can’t know what you don’t know, so focus on what you do.” She sat back and gazed at you. “Now, find your leprechaun.”

You stared at her for a moment, her words worming into your mind. It made sense. You wanted answers, and you had a right to them, but even without that knowledge, you were still you, and that had to count for something.

You closed your eyes and let yourself slip into that space between awake and dreaming. In your mind, you held the image of Mad Sweeney as he held your face when he had stitched you up. The impossible green of his eyes and the place on his cheeks where the coarse hair of his beard transitioned into the velvety soft hair on his temples. You focused on the feeling of that coarseness and softness beneath your fingers. He’d always whined when you scrubbed your hands over his shaved head, knowing it would piss him off, but he never stopped you. You ran your fingers over his chapped lips and watched his pupils dilate. Pretending you hated him was useless. You weren’t fooling anyone.

You let all of the things he’d made you feel flood your chest and fill your lungs. The irritation and frustration, the odd sense of camaraderie and knowing there was someone who understood, but more than anything, there was safety. The safety of his broad form and his rough, low voice and the warmth of his presence. There was no point in pretending you didn’t need him. You were inextricable and inseparable.

Clove smoke and whiskey filled your nose and you were rewarded with a flash of an image of the inside of a dingy motel room. You pushed harder, sharpening your focus, the need to find him constricting your lungs. You couldn’t do this without him, any of it.

Massive warm hands landed on your shoulders and you leaned into him.

You needed him. The jackass.

More images came. A neon sign that read "Riverwood Motel" and a road sign that read “Eagle Point, Indiana” in bold white letters. “Pop. 3,085” was spelled out in smaller letters beneath.

You knew where he was.

Your eyes flew open. “I found him. May I use your phone?”

Hester pointed to the landline, and you leapt for it, stabbing the buttons with such force that it was a wonder the plastic didn’t shatter in your hands.

“Thank you for calling, etcetera, etcetera,” answered a bored voice.

“I’m calling to speak with one of your guests, but I forgot his room number. Could you put me through?”

“Name?”

You sighed. He was almost certainly using an alias, and you knew which one it was. You pinched the bridge of your nose and nearly choked on your next words, furious that he would make you say it to this poor motel employee.

“He should be checked in under Dixon B. Tweenerlegs?”

The person on the other end guffawed. “I know the guy. Hold, please.”

There was a click, a brief silence, and then another click.

“Hullo.”

You squeezed the phone as your heart rate picked up. “Where the hell and fuck are you?” you demanded. “You were supposed to meet me in D.C., why aren’t you here?”

“Didn’t seem like you wanted me to.” His voice was unsteady and a sense of shame hit you like a freight train. You staggered under the weight of it.

You swallowed the shame that wasn’t yours. “Answer me.”

“On an errand.” His words were slurred and you could smell the whiskey on his breath. “How’d you know where I was?”

“Mind your business,” you said. “Can you meet me in Cairo tomorrow?”

“I s’pose.”

“Okay then.”

The line fell silent.

“Are you okay?” you asked softly.

“Mhm,” he hummed. “Peachy.”

You chewed the inside of your cheek. “Don’t bullshit me. You’re shame drinking.” It wasn’t a question. “What happened?”

“Mind your business.”

You didn’t push it. Something was wrong, but trying to pull it from him would be like trying to pull a stick out of tar. “All right. I’ll see you soon.” You hung up and promptly vomited into the potted plant beside you. When you lifted your head, wiping vomit from your mouth with the cuff of your sweatshirt, you saw Hester watching you.

“I have-I have to leave. Now.” Even a deaf man would’ve heard the tremor in your voice.

Hester shot to her feet and snatched the phone from you. “Absolutely not. Not until you’ve had a hot meal and a proper night of sleep.” Her nose wrinkled. “And a shower.” She reached out and plucked at the ratty T-shirt you wore. “While we’re at it, let’s do some laundry, too.”

The urge to go, go, go slowly subsided, and you reluctantly submitted to her ministrations.

“Hop in the shower, leave your clothes on the floor, and use whatever’s in there,” she instructed.

You grumbled, but did as she said, and turned the shower on as hot as you could stand it.

The bathroom, like the rest of the house, was restrained and lovely. A clawfoot tub occupied one side of the room while a rain shower took up the other. Bottles and bottles of various oils and lotions, gels and creams, and god knew what else filled the glass-door cupboards. Skimming your fingers over the bottles, you realized that you had no earthly idea what most of it was for. You finally grabbed a bottle of shampoo, conditioner, and a bar of soap. No need to get any fancier than that.

With the water sufficiently heated, you peeled off your shirt and jeans and left them in a puddle on the floor before stepping under the steaming water.

The instant the hot water hit your skin, you nearly cried in relief. The water pressure was perfect and the heat of the water served as a baptism, in a way, washing off the grime and stress and anxiety of the last few weeks. You took your time washing your hair and your body, savoring the feeling of being truly clean, not just motel shower clean.

When you finally stepped out, you saw that your clothes were gone, and in their place was a bathrobe and a towel made of the same plush white terrycloth. You dried off and wrapped yourself in the obscenely luxuriant robe before you padded back downstairs to the kitchen, feeling newly made. You had to admit, a hot shower and clean clothes really did make a world of difference.

In the kitchen, Hester was standing over a pot that was bubbling away on the stove. When she saw you, she wordlessly spooned whatever was in the pot into a bowl and handed it to you.

“There’s bread on the table,” she pointed, “and wine, if you want it.”

You sat and looked down at your bowl. The creamy broth and shredded chicken sang to you and the smell of lemon and dill drifted with the steam from its surface. You took a mouthful and groaned.

“Holy shit, Hester.”

She beamed. “Avgolemono,” she told you. “You needed some soup.”

You continued to eat, and Hester watched you carefully.

“So what happened?” she asked eventually.

You swallowed your mouthful and tapped your spoon against the side of your bowl. “What do you mean?”

She made an exasperated sound. “Why isn’t your leprechaun with you?”

“Had a fight,” you answered around a mouthful of bread.

“Care to specify?”

You didn’t look up from your food. “No.”

An annoyed cluck. “Where were the two of you heading?”

The crust of the bread snapped and crackled as you tore off another hunk and dunked it in your soup. “We were heading to Maine.”

She slapped you upside the head.

“Hey!”

“I am not in the mood to sit here and pull answers from you all night. Tell me what happened,” she said crisply.

You rolled your eyes. “I’ve had some…memory stuff going on, and Sweeney thinks that his cousins can help. We tried Circe first, but she told us the same thing.” The wine was making your head feel heavy. “But I guess I’m going to see the Egyptians first.”

Hester didn’t say anything, merely tapped an elegant index finger on her chin.

“What?” you pressed.

“Nothing,” she hummed. “I’m just not sure how helpful those girls in Maine will be. From what you’ve told me, I think you need someone who specializes in memory.”

You groaned and thunked your head onto the table. Chasing after a kite in a storm would have been easier than whatever the hell it was you were trying to do.

The end of your spoon fit neatly between the leaves of the table. “Any suggestions?” you asked sourly.

“Don’t scratch my table,” she responded. “And no, unfortunately, but I’d imagine your friends in Cairo might have a few.”

The chair you were sitting in crashed to the floor as you slammed your spoon down and leapt up. “All I’ve been getting are false leads and maybes!” you wailed. “Everyone wants me dead and anyone that doesn’t wants to use me!” The tears were back with a vengeance and you swiped angrily at your eyes. “Maybe I should save everyone the trouble and just fucking kill myself and get it over with.”

In a flash, Hester was across the table and holding your face in her hands. “Enough.” Her voice was so intense that it shocked you out of your spiral. “You and I have had our problems, but I don’t ever want to hear that out of your mouth again.” Her eyes were flaming, boring into you.

“Why not?” you asked miserably. “Everywhere I go, it’s the same shit.” All of the fight went out of you, and you sagged in her grasp. “I’m fucking exhausted, Hester,” you whispered. “I can’t keep doing this.”

Her gaze softened and she pulled you into a hug. Almost immediately, you collapsed against her, crying so hard you could barely breathe.

The woman of the hearth guided you to her unforgivably orange couch and sat with your head in her lap. As you cried, she gently ran her nails across your scalp and began to sing a soft lullaby.

Eventually, you fell asleep.

When you woke, it took you a moment to remember where you were. The couch you had fallen asleep on was now a queen-sized bed laden with down pillows and a heavy quilt that was embroidered with an enormous Chaste tree that left you wondering who could have possibly possessed the dexterity that the delicate blossoms and entwined branches required.

Swinging your legs over the side of the bed, you let yourself have a brief moment to bask in the astounding softness of the sheepskin rug and the warmth and cleanliness of the room. It had been forever since you’d slept somewhere that wasn’t the seat of a car or a motel room that left you genuinely wondering if you needed to get checked for fleas. It would be a while until you would get to sleep somewhere like this again.

As you stretched out the stiffness of sleep, you were amazed to notice that, for once, you actually felt well-rested.

Downstairs, you found no sign of Hester, but there was a plate of fresh biscuits on the counter next to a note and a burbling coffee maker. You poured yourself a cup and sipped at it as you read over the note:

I’m sorry I couldn’t be here to see you off, but help yourself to pastries and coffee. There’s a little something for you on the console in the entryway, I hope it helps!

Safe travels, H

Curiosity piqued, you lunged for the table by the front door and the bundle of crimson silk that lay on it. When you snatched it up and tore away the fabric, a cool weight tumbled into your hand and upon further inspection, you saw it was a dagger. The sheath was rather plain, save for the gold chape, but the leather was rich and buttery, stitched together firmly. When you pulled the blade from its home, your breath caught in your throat. The handle was exquisitely carved from what seemed to be olive wood, and it fit in your palm as though it had been made for you. The pommel and the hilt were wrought in the same gold as the chape of the sheath, gold that also ran up the center of the triangular blade. The blade itself was a masterfully crafted and honed to a razor’s edge. You gave it a few experimental swings and it responded as though it was part of your arm. You knew the motions, you knew the dance of it all, easy as breathing.

You stared at your reflection in the gleaming metal. Finally, a weapon proper.

As you turned the blade to examine it more closely, you noticed an odd series of crossed lines etched into the fuller.

You knew what it said. How did you know what it said?

You ran your fingers over the inscription, and the same tingling feeling that you had experienced when you accidentally cast tore through you, amplified tenfold.

You tried to say it aloud, but your mouth couldn’t form the word.

And yet, you knew. Somehow, you knew what it said.

Your next steps weren’t clear. You didn’t know where you needed to go and you didn’t know who you needed to find, but you finally had something real to chase.

Whatever Caorthann meant, you would be god damned if you weren’t going to find out.

"Guys, it's just one night. I won't die if I miss one." You told them with a shaky laugh, the cough in your lungs threatening to bark its way out your throat with every huff of your breath.

"y/n," Yuuji started as he walked over to your weak body on your bed, patting your shoulder gently. He had the most serious, determined look on his face. "I'll win this for you."

You smiled at how adorable he was and decided to play along. "Thank you, Yuuji. You're my hero."

The evening stretched on, and as you stayed on your bed, your friends yelled over each other in triumph and defeat, followed by loud laughs that would jerk you awake. Your head pounded at the loud sounds coming from the living room. Despite the closed door, you could still clearly make out their voices and their stomping across the wooden floor.

It only made your head hurt more.

But you didn't have the heart to get out of bed and ask them to be a little quieter. It's been a long week for everyone, not only for you. Megumi and Yuuji completed a mission before you, and Nobara was sent to accompany Toge after your expedition. It was a busy week for all of you, and game night was a way of easing everyone from their exhaustion.

"Megumi you prick!" Nobara shrieked, and your head pounded at the high-pitched tone. "I'm going to fucking kill you on the next round!"

You sighed to yourself, massaging your temples while your other hand struggled to pull your blanket closer to your chest. It was freezing. Your socks and the thick covers didn't help your case at all.

"That's how a game works, you loser!" Megumi shot back just as loudly. Then thuds. You could picture the two of them on the floor strangling each other.

Oh how you love them so much.

"Shut up, you brats!"

Your heart stopped. Silence followed after the sudden and unexpected outburst.

Despite your current state, it didn't take long for you to recognize Sukuna's voice coming from Yuuji's body. He seemed to have taken over while the other two were arguing.

Considering the abrupt silence, Megumi and Nobara must have also been shocked. The only sound that could be heard was the background music that still played on the screen.

"Not even an ounce of consideration for your poor comrade. Even an old man and a newborn baby would startle awake by your gaudiness!"

Your heart hammered against your chest when you realized that Sukuna was talking about you. Then, footsteps padded across the floor before your door was opened, and you froze in your place, closing your eyes and hoping that your breathing didn't sound too erratic.

"Just cut the act. I know you're awake." Sukuna mumbled next to you and you slightly flinched, surprised that he was immediately by your side. He turned your night lamp on, illuminating the darkness of the room.

You realized there was no point in even pretending. You sighed, opening your eyes and coming face to face with the King of Curses himself, his red eyes staring down at you and his lips curled in a slight smirk. 

"What do you want." You croaked out. Your throat was already dry.

"Here to help you," He replied nonchalantly as if it was the most normal thing to do. "It was about time that brat brought me out. Couldn't even think about helping or at least leaving you a glass of water."

As if on cue, he places a tall glass of water on your bedside table before gesturing for you to sit up. "Have a drink. I brought some painkillers."

You slowly sat up, leaned your back against the headboard and took a pill before popping it in your mouth. Sukuna then handed you the glass, and you were quick to gulp everything down in seconds. The liquid felt satisfying running down your dry throat.

"Thanks." You sighed. You then nodded at the door. "You can let Yuuji out now. I'm sure he wants to play more. You've done enough."

You didn't mean to sound like a jerk. Technically, you were still confused about where you stood with your—friendship? Relationship?—with Sukuna, after Yuuji has been teasing you that Sukuna wouldn't stop talking about you in his head when you first encountered him. He would find ways to take over Yuuji's body, even resorting to bribery and negotiation just to get himself out. He wouldn't admit it himself, but he's been so taken by you that he always craved your presence.

"The brat and I made a deal. He won't let me out for a week starting tomorrow if I could have an evening with you."

Your stomach fluttered. You tried to shrug it off as the occasional nausea that you felt, but deep down, you knew that you had a soft spot for the King of Curses as well.

"I—" You tried to say something after a moment's silence, but Sukuna was already up and going over to the other side of the bed. You could only stare up at him, dumbfounded.

"Move over a little, yeah?" He muttered quietly, and you found yourself obliging. You could only watch as he made himself comfortable next to you, the black markings on his face and shoulders more prominent underneath the light of your lamp. The tight black shirt that Yuuji wore emphasized the muscles on his arms and chest and you could feel the heat slowly creeping up to your neck. You were subconsciously imagining what it would be like if Sukuna had a body of his own.

It would be chaos for everyone.

For you.

"Come on now, don't be shy." Sukuna teased with an amused smile as he stretched one arm over your head, urging you to get closer to him. But you could only stare at him, still processing everything, asking yourself whether or not you had fallen asleep and were already dreaming.

He sighed in defeat before letting his arm wrap around your shoulder and pulling you closer to his body. He then took your arm and let it rest across his stomach, guiding your head to rest on his chest.

"Better?" He whispered. In fact, it was better. The warmth radiating off his body helped alleviate the coldness you felt, and he also took the liberty of pulling the covers above the two of you.

You felt rigid against him and you knew that he thought it as well.

"Come on, you little brat," He sighed, but he sounded fond and soft, unlike his usual, annoyed tone. "Relax yourself. I'm not going to bite you. Unless you want me to, of course..."

He received a weak slap across his stomach and laughed lightly, taking advantage of hugging you closer to him. He let his longer legs intertwine with yours, exuding warmth down your feet and ankles. His hand then reached up to run his fingers through your hair, softly massaging your scalp while his other hand held onto your arm and kept you from pulling away from him.

You've never felt so relaxed tonight. Everything felt so much better, warmer, cozier...

You were finally dozing off, happy that your body found the comfort and peace it sought hours ago. You couldn't even bring yourself to feel so reserved around Sukuna anymore, and you found yourself nuzzling closer to him, rubbing your cheek against his chest.

"Thank you," You mumbled sleepily, your hand sliding underneath his shirt and feeling the warmth of his stomach on your trembling palm. He just exudes so. Much. Warmth.

You felt his lips on your forehead, keeping it there for a long time. His hand rested above yours, just outside the cloth of his shirt.

"Sleep, my darling." He whispered against your skin. "Recover. I'll keep a look out for you tonight."

I can only be James in this moment, for it is James who is filled with this weakness -this need- for a mind that sails in consort with his own. Captain Flint has inured himself to the misconstruance of his every action, or is that but another lie I have blinded myself with? Have the mask and the man long since merged into a single, malformed creature, possessing the shortcomings of both? 

Silver waits in a silence worn thin by my ponderances. There is doubt in his face that he would have soothed, yet what succour is mine to give is unripe and sour. It cannot be swallowed in easy drams.  

Thomas understood.

Clever, combative Thomas, who bandied with Molesworth and Milton as if the words they left could proffer debate in return. Unrelenting Thomas, who could wrest with even the great Leviathan. Beloved Thomas, my phantom limb who makes me more a cripple than this man before me.

Have you given this any thought at all?

When have I not thought of it? Floating here amidst the wreckage of my life, surrounded by the flotsam of ruined ambitions, there is nought to do but -think-. 

But it is not the accusation that I am a mad tyrant gormlessly driving us to the brink, which robs me of the strength to stand. It is the task Silver has set before me, to distill a lifetime of study into a gill of truth, that proves I am no Atlas.

My body finds something firm to lean against, while my mind sees again the tattered costume of Thomas, and how ill-fitting it was for John Silver. In the warp and weft of the dissemblance is the assumption of things shared beginning with a common history. How is it that this master of men, blessed with the guile of a Florentine, is so ill-formed and crude a philosopher?