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Bucky Barnes:
Care to dance? - Reader X 40s!Bucky Barnes. Reader is a volunteer for the USO in the 1940s… Bucky and the reader meet at a USO dance, and the rest is history.
Peter Steele:
Dread - Reader X Peter Steele. Horror, angst, a TINY bit of fluff/comfort. You are having some weird feelings of dread and it develops into an issue…
I do battle for you - Reader X Peter Steele. Viking-esque AU, angst, some comfort. Peter coming back from a long, grueling war, to you, who have been alone for a long while at home. But no matter how much you miss Peter and he misses you, it is undeniable that war changes a person.
Dwelling in Night - Reader X Peter Steele (in 1st person). Not really angst but not quite comfort either, a bit existential. Main character cannot sleep, and so she calls Peter, who is bound to be awake as well. They end up in a park.
Cursed - From Peter Steele’s point of view… he goes for a walk in the quiet autumnal forest and is lured off the beaten path by a strange woman.
September Sun:
Peter Thomas Ratajczyk (Steele) X my OC Donna Marie Eisele. Beginning in September 1984, the main character Donna is starting her second year of college, majoring in archaeology (aged 19) in New York City. Peter is therefore 22 years old, in his band Carnivore when the story begins! Peter and Donna meet in a cafe…
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
A Castle of Thorns:
My retelling of Beauty and the Beast, "A Castle of Thorns." This is a reader X Peter Steele fic, not meant to offend anyone, just a creative expression of my ideas!! Obviously, Peter will be featuring as the Beast. (This is currently not really in progress...just boring to me atm I suppose!)
Setup - Reader X 40s!Bucky Barnes. Reader is a volunteer for the USO in the 1940s… Bucky and the reader meet at a USO dance, and the rest is history.
History - Women volunteered as “hostesses” with the USO (United Service Organizations) during WW2, attending dances for soldiers who were to be deployed soon. It was sort of a home away from home thing and a way to lighten their spirits. There are true stories of people meeting their soulmates at these events! See this link for a true sweet story… (it also inspired me a bit) https://www.uso.org/stories/604-the-uso-dance-that-changed-his-life
Author’s Note - This is my first time writing for Bucky… I love him so much and I hope this is up to the standards of the Bucky fanfic community!
1.2k words
May 1943
Lively swing music drifted through the USO center, countless young men in their crisp brown uniforms meandering around the room, mingling with young women in neat dresses.
I smiled at every soldier I saw, most with boyish excitement and confidence sparking in their eyes. It reminded me of my older brother, who had deployed only months ago. Soon after, along with my sisters, I decided to volunteer with the United Service Organizations as a “hostess,” participating in Saturday night dances for the young men soon to be sent overseas to fight Nazis.
Currently, I could not see a soldier in my immediate vicinity who needed a dance partner, so I sidled over to where the refreshments were, downing a cup of water to remedy my dry throat. I let my gaze drift over the crowd, catching sight of a young man making his way towards me. I set my glass down, smiling warmly at him as I took steps in his direction.
Of course, part of the job was that I constantly saw fit, handsome young men. However, some stood out to me— this particular man being one of them. As he drew closer, I noted his striking steely blue eyes, toned jawline, and thick, soft dark hair.
With a dashing and surprisingly warm grin, he introduced himself, “Good evening, I’m Bucky.”
As he took a step closer, I felt my heart flutter. I would have thought by then I’d have been immune to the charms of the young military men, but it appeared not. “I’m Y/n. How are you?”
“Even better now that I’ve found a beautiful woman to dance with tonight.” He held a hand out, asking me, “May I?”
I grinned, nodding and taking his warm hand, feeling some callouses. “Of course, Bucky.”
He pulled us onto the dance floor, effortlessly slipping into a dance as the trumpet, drums, upright bass, and other instruments blended into a rhythmic tune, flowing over my ears, and staring at Bucky’s face, I almost forgot where I was. He lifted my left hand, twirling me in time with the music and I giggled, cheeks warm as our gazes locked once more.
He was genuinely smiling, crinkles at the corners of his eyes, face flushed with excitement from the dance.
After a few songs, he pulled us to the side again, wandering to the refreshments, not letting go of my hand, making conversation and focusing almost exclusively on my face.
“So, what is your life like? I know you’re just a volunteer here,” he asked, studying my face as he sipped a Coca-cola. Alcohol was, of course, strictly prohibited at USO events, so as to keep them respectable.
“Well, I have two younger sisters who also volunteer at these dances… and an older brother who was deployed a few months ago.” I made an effort to remain cheerful. Although I was very proud of my brother, I worried a lot about him. But those matters were not for the soldiers at these dances!
Bucky nodded, a bit more serious. “I have a younger sister too, her name is Rebecca.”
The unspoken between us was the question of when he would be deployed, but he was not going to say and I most certainly was not going to ask.
***
Mid-June 1943
“Y/n!” Bucky’s bright voice reached my ears over the sound of the music, bringing an instant smile to my face.
It was Bucky’s and my third encounter at a USO dance and I had come to look forward even more to each one, hoping to see him.
I turned to see him, in uniform, looking prouder than usual. “Bucky! How are you?”
“In your vicinity, as wonderful as possible.” He smirked, playful but not ingenuine, blue eyes sparkling. “Care to dance?”
“Of course,” I replied, taking his hand.
After the dance, he guided me over to the side, leaning a bit against the wall, arm up, not breaking eye contact with me.
I feel myself blushing, gazing up into his eyes. It felt romantic despite the crappy indoor nighttime lighting of the USO center. Honestly, probably anything with Bucky would have felt romantic.
He took a breath, seeming almost… nervous? Then he spoke. “Please, tell me how I can spend time with you outside of these dances. Don’t get me wrong, I greatly enjoy dancing with you, but I want time with just you. Please.” He stared into my eyes, his gaze intense.
“Well, technically, I am not allowed to tell you my address or phone number…” I began, trying to think. If word got out I broke the rules for a USO volunteer at one of these events, I might get into trouble. However, for him I would make an exception.
But he spoke before I could say that. “Just tell me what time you are done tonight. I will stay until the dance is over. Until everything is cleaned up, even. Whatever you need. I swear. This is worth it to me. You are worth it.” His eyes were wide, imploring, maybe a little bit desperate.
“Of course,” I whispered, nodding.
Later that night, after the dance, Bucky walked with me out to the waterfront park a few blocks away, moon and stars shining bright and quiet.
“I have to tell you something,” he spoke quietly.
Swallowing roughly, I could guess what he might say next.
“They’re shipping me out in three days. On Tuesday.”
Even though I expected it, it still hit me like a truck. And it was sooner than I had anticipated. I had envisioned spending more time with him, exploring whatever this is between us. I think back to the day my brother left. How empty the house has felt, how empty life has felt, since then.
I nodded slightly, looking down without even realizing.
Bucky’s hand was suddenly under my chin, lifting my gaze up to him once more. “Please, though, be with me, make this time before I leave special. I really like you, Y/n.”
Slightly shocked, I stared into his eyes, dark in the night, taking in the somber sincerity in his expression. Gone was the lighthearted young soldier I’d danced with over the past month, and I could see his worry, anxiety, and fear for the future.
“Yes. I want to spend time with you. I really like you too, Bucky.”
He didn’t waste any time after that, leaning down to press his lips gently to mine. His lips were soft and warm, not taking but instead giving. His hands dropped to my waist, pulling me close to his warmth.
I kissed him back, hands reaching up to the dark waves of hair at the nape of his neck, finally doing what I’d wanted to do since the moment I first met him.
Bucky pulled back a bit, panting softly, and chuckled. “I can’t believe I waited that long to do that.” He tenderly cupped my face in his hands, fingers tracing my cheek as if I were something sacred. To him, I probably was.
And what we did not acknowledge that night was the inevitable loneliness that was to follow just days later when he left for war. At that moment in time, it did not matter.
Beginning in September 1984, the main character Donna is starting her second year of college, majoring in archaeology (aged 19) in New York City. Peter is therefore 22 years old, in his band Carnivore when the story begins! Peter and Donna meet in a cafe…
Link to my masterlist. (Be sure to read these in order!!)
Note: Fun fact, since it’s 1984, the only Carnivore thing technically released already is their Demo “Nuclear Warriors” (and I don’t know WHEN in 1984, can’t find that info). It has maybe 3 ish songs on it. Find it at this YouTube link if you’re interested: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_2ku6FHjRl4. Another fun fact— yes, Donna is 19, and she drinks a beer in this, but in 1984, 19 was the legal drinking age in New York!
Also, some of the parts of the show in this chapter are inspired by this 1985 Carnivore show available on YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tj9WY0ljNpo. I HIGHLY RECOMMEND!!
DISCLAIMER: for the purposes of this fic, I will take some liberties with which songs the band plays…I just imagine that (at least in this storyline), they played some of these songs before they were officially put together and released as a purchasable album to the public.
ANOTHER DISCLAIMER: I do not know what L’Amour was like, and since they closed in 2004 (according to some quick research), there is no way I could go do my research in person (plus I’m quite a long ways away from Brooklyn!), so please forgive the fact that I have no real idea how the inside of the place would actually be. Some artistic liberties are definitely being taken here!
Also, the picture is not mine. I got it from Pinterest. It is one of my favorites of Peter though. I think his hair is pretty in this one (hair envy much??), plus the outfit’s cool.
2.8k words
When I wake up on Friday, it’s pouring, the sky out the window a monotonous grey. I sit up in bed, cracking my neck and looking blearily over at Susie. She is still asleep, her striped pajamas mussed, and she is breathing softly. I quietly slip out of bed, wondering what I’m supposed to wear to a show of my almost-boyfriend’s band. That’s another thing: I’m not completely sure where we stand in our relationship. I mean, we’ve been going out for about a month, but it’s been kind of casual and I don’t know where he stands on what we consider ourselves to be. I suppose I’ll have to address that at some point.
Now in front of my closet, the clothing stares blankly back at me as I stand, almost frozen, trying to figure out an outfit. I finally retreat, shutting the closet doors and giving up for the time being. Peter isn’t picking me up until 4:30 anyway.
Later on when I return to my closet, I finally decide on a leather skirt and long-sleeved maroon shirt, pulling out my raincoat because it seems that the rain has turned to a steady drizzle that will likely last all day. I sense Susie’s judging stare, so I turn around, exasperated, to see her, lo and behold, sitting in her bed, still in pajamas, and I confront her: “What?”
She shrugs. “Well, if you quit sassing me, I was gonna offer to lend you my fishnets.”
“Oh.” I feel a bit ashamed that I assumed she had something annoying to say. I grin sheepishly, thankfully, at her. “Thanks.”
And so, that afternoon I find myself around 3:45, sitting before a mirror at my desk, doing my makeup and wearing Susie’s fishnets as well as my shirt and skirt. After putting on mascara, eyeliner, and some burgundy eyeshadow to match my shirt, I finally deem myself ready, and all I have left to do is wait until Peter arrives to pick me up. I anxiously fidget with my handheld purse, butterflies swarming my stomach.
With 4:30 approaching, I decide to head downstairs and wait just indoors, seeing as the rain is still an ever-present factor of the day. Before I know it, Peter is pulling up in that funny little green car of his, hopping out and quickly making his way up to the dorm entryway, hunkered down under his rain jacket. Which was a rather humorous sight, considering his tall stature. I can’t help the smile that forces its way onto my face and the flicker of excitement in my abdomen.
I duck out into the rain, hood of my jacket pulled up, meeting him about halfway. He grins down at me when we get close, speaking above the steady rain. “Hey Donna.”
“Hi!” I reply, smiling back. I can’t help but stare up into his intense eyes, once again caught off guard by how much taller than me he actually is. It feels like I really have to look up to make conversation.
“Shall we? Don’t want you standing out here in the rain!” He takes my hand in his large, warm one, much to my nervous delight, and leads me to the car, opening the passenger door. I hop in, glad to be out of the rain, as my curls certainly would misbehave if they were to get wet.
As soon as he hops in on the other side, we sit there for a moment.
In a desperate attempt to make acceptable conversation, I comment, “Really is raining.”
“No shit,” he replies, and we both chuckle at the obvious nature of my words. “You look really nice, by the way,” he adds, shyly glancing down at the fishnets underneath my skirt and then back up to my face and light makeup.
I thank him as I feel my face heating a bit and I hope I don’t look too ridiculous with the blush taking over. He starts the car, hand on the gear stick, pulling out from where he’s parked by my dorm.
“So, I think we’ve got a good set tonight,” Peter begins. “I’ll hafta introduce you to the guys. Keith plays guitar and Louie, the drums.”
“And you do bass…” I recall from some previous conversations we’ve had. I’m pretty sure he’s mentioned his bandmates’ names before, but I of course don’t comment, instead letting him speak. The band is his passion, and Peter always seems to get so excited when he speaks of it.
As we pull up to the venue, I gather that it’s called “L’Amour: Rock Capital of B'klyn” due to the signage out front. Peter parks around the back and gets out, zipping up his raincoat, as it is still raining. I pull on my raincoat’s hood and step out of the car, shutting its door behind me, and Peter comes over to my side, ushering me through the drizzling rain, a light hand on my lower back. The contact, despite being through a couple layers of clothing, thrills me, but I try to keep my chill.
We enter through a side door, finally pulling off our hoods as we enter the building. We are in a short hallway with dark walls, one end leading to the bar (evident due to the light chatter), some bathrooms towards that end, and the other part of the hallway with a few doors, one of them ajar.
Peter leads us through that door, entering a room with some different instruments and speaker system parts. It’s a bit cramped, some old leather seats and a couch crammed into the somewhat small space, but it’s not bad.
“So this is where we usually get ready,” Peter explains as he takes off his raincoat, placing it on a hook on the wall and then looking back at me. “Keith and Louie aren’t here yet… It's a bit early. I figured I’d bring you extra early so you can get used to the place.”
I smile at his consideration, looking over at a spare drum kit. “Do you guys play here often?”
He nods as he takes a few steps to the couch and sits down, sprawling his long limbs across the deep brown leather. “We’re here pretty often. It’s probably the place I’ve performed the most.”
I stand there awkwardly for a moment, just looking around, then pull off my raincoat, hanging it beside his. I turn back to him— to find him already gazing at me, a certain intensity in his blue-grey eyes. He tilts his head, speaking, “You can sit down, if you want.”
And so I sit by him on the couch, sinking into the cushioned leather, soft and creased with time. I swivel my head to take in the sight of him. He seems so large on the couch, legs stretching out as he’s slumped a bit, lazily comfortable, one arm slung over the armrest and the other on the back of the couch, behind my head. His face is somewhat close to mine, and I realize his lips are looking very kissable, so I do the natural thing and lean in a bit.
Peter must get the hint, because next thing I know he sits up, also leaning in, bringing a warm hand to my hip. I catch a whiff of some sort of cedar-scented cologne as he presses his lips to mine, his lips soft but a slight stubble on his cheeks brushing against my face. All thoughts are just gone from my head as his other hand comes up to cup my jawline, pleasant shivers running through my neck and back.
As I part my lips a bit, I get the feeling that he’s trying to consume me, tongue in my mouth, pulling me a bit closer to the heat of his body.
Suddenly, we are interrupted by the raucous bustle of two men around Peter’s age entering the room. I jerk away from him, his hand still on my waist, keeping me close, and I look up to see them— one with short hair, and one with longer hair and bangs. They’re carrying all sorts of things, including what looks like some sort of fur garment.
The guy with longer hair seems to then realize me and Peter, dropping his armful of stuff with a large thump and grinning. “Hey, I’m Keith. You Peter’s girl?”
I nod, pushing myself off of Peter’s lap and standing to face Keith. “Yeah, I’m Donna. Nice to meet you.” I frown, looking at the stuff he dropped on the floor. “What is all this stuff??”
The other guy, I’m assuming Louie, drops the stuff he’s carrying as well. “It’s our battle armor!” He laughs, baring his teeth a bit.
I nod, pretending like I understand, and take a closer look. “It’s…” I squint, trying to decipher what I’m seeing.
Peter suddenly appears at my side, leaning a bit over my shoulder, voice in my ear. “Mutilated hockey gear.”
“What?” Somehow the words don’t compute in my mind.
“Hockey gear. We put nails in it. And we’ve got some belts and stuff…” Peter moves to the pile, picking up a belt with some bullets. “We wear it during some of our shows. We’re gonna wear it today.”
Later, closer to when the show starts, I walk out to the actual bar, choosing a seat where I can see the stage. I order a beer and drink it while I observe the interior of L’Amour. The atmosphere of the place is cool; definitely not a big place but not super tiny either. It’s a place I could see myself returning to for other shows.
I finish up my beer as they begin letting people in for the show and I migrate closer to the stage so I can get a good spot and see well. As the club begins to fill up, I do my best to stand my ground, wanting to keep my good view of the stage. Butterflies fill my stomach as the energy builds and the show’s start time approaches.
Eventually, the lights dim, focusing on the stage— and Keith walks out, decked out in their homemade props, and Louie follows, taking his place in a seat behind the drum kit. And last but not least, Peter. His face is shadowed under the lighting and he seems larger than life, the fur hanging off his back and modified hockey shoulder pads making his shoulders appear even wider. He stalks out to his bass, picking it up and adjusting how the strap falls across his chest—is that a fucking chain for a strap, yes it is—and he then tilts the mic to his face.
I’m so entranced that I don’t even notice how rowdy and loud the crowd has gotten. I plant my feet firmly and return to ogling this man who somehow is even cooler than I originally thought.
Flipping his wavy hair out of his face, Peter speaks to the crowd, “Welcome, Brooklyn. Louie on drums, Keith on guitar. And I’m Petrus.” He bares his teeth at the audience, then his eyes find mine and he grins a bit more tamely. “You ready?” The crowd cheers and I’m pretty sure I hear someone to my right cussing the band out.
They get immediately into their first song, which starts with an ominous beating of the drums, and then Keith joins in on guitar, and finally Peter with the bass. I don’t even know where to look—well, nevermind, that’s a lie, because the obvious choice is Peter. His head is bowed, wavy hair looks very majestic as his fingers dexterously pluck the strings of the bass. When the vocals start, it’s all you could really want with thrash metal: primal, aggressive, fast.
They finally get to the chorus, Peter wailing the lyrics— “Armageddon!! Armageddon!” as Keith and Louie echo him.
As the song enters a slower section, the bassline shines through, dripping slow and satisfying like honey to the ears, sweet and thick and full of character. Peter is amazing on the bass, and the fact that he can sing and play at the same time is impressive to me.
When the song comes to an end, Keith grabs his mic. I can’t see his face in the shadows the stage lighting creates, but he growls his words into the mic— “This song goes out to all the women in the audience. It’s called… Male Supremacy.”
My eyes widen. I have faith in Peter, but I really hope he’s not some sort of misogynistic guy. I highly doubt it, cause he’s been so sweet the whole time I’ve known him… so I just stop worrying about it and enjoy the song.
It begins fast-paced and full of energy, giving me the urge to headbang. I look up at Peter, where he’s headbanging, his hair flung back and forth, and his fingers are moving with lightning speed over the strings of the bass, and my thoughts butt in: what else could those fingers do?! I feel slightly feral and very in awe of both Peter and his music. It’s genuinely good thrash metal.
He moves to the mic, beginning to sing out the lyrics, hair in his face and biceps flexing as he plays his instrument. It’s beautiful and I barely even realize that he is singing “male supremacy” over and over. I mean, whatever you say, gorgeous man. I really couldn’t care less. I catch myself absolutely fangirling and feel slightly silly, but I mean, what girl wouldn’t? Especially because I’ve been with him for a while now and I know that in person he is the absolute sweetest guy ever.
The song begins to slow down, the guitar curling deliciously into my mind. As the song truly slows down, with just Keith playing gentle notes on the guitar, a few people in the crowd begin to whistle. I guess this is the good part of the song.
Peter begins to sing again, voice deep and slow, not like his growls earlier in the song. The lyrics tell a story of a man coming home from war, and I picture Peter coming home to me— a concept I find quite appealing, if I’m being honest with myself. Peter’s voice is easy on the ears, and the underlying bass beneath the guitar is mesmerizing and suddenly he’s looking directly at me, crooning into the microphone with his deep voice, “Woman it’s true, I do battle for you…”
I feel my cheeks heat, a smile forcing its way onto my face. Peter looks back to his bass as the song begins to pick up again, but I’m left feeling insanely giggly and delighted. Is this what it feels like to have a boyfriend in a rock band? Cause I could totally get used to this.
The rest of the show is wonderful and I greatly enjoy the music, cheering very loud when it’s finally over. I slip down the hallway and backstage as people begin to disperse, somehow successfully finding where I’m supposed to go.
I enter the open door of the room where Louie, Keith, and Peter are sitting, drinking beers. Peter looks up to see me, and gets up, coming over to grab my hand. “Donna!”
I smile at him, feeling my face heat again when I think back to him singing those lyrics to me earlier. “I loved your show.” I look around to make eye contact with Keith and Louie too, telling them, “You guys were all great.”
Peter grins, sitting down on the couch and pulling me down onto his lap. “Not too excruciatingly painful to the ears?”
I roll my eyes, gently swatting at his upper arm. “Stop it Peter, it was great.”
He takes a swig of his beer, then questioningly offers it to me. I nod, moving to grab it from his hand, but instead he lifts it to my lips and tilts it. I blush a bit. He seems a lot more confident now than other times I’ve been with him— perhaps it’s the lingering adrenaline from the show and the alcohol in his system.
Peter reclines into the couch, sighing. “We should get outta here,” he suggests.
Keith nods. “Let’s go to a bar—”
I swallow nervously. I don’t generally go out to bars, but I know Peter would watch over me if we were to go to one.
Peter shakes his head, though. “Not me.” He then focuses on me, staring up at me to where I am on his lap, eyes soft and intense at the same time. “You wanna come back to my place?”
This is a first. But…I feel like saying yes. And I know Sally would kill me if she heard I turned Peter down. In her opinion, I don’t get out enough or have enough fun or do enough for myself. So, I smile, excited. “Yes, why not?”
Peter lets out a sigh of air, as if relieved that I ended up saying yes. He gets up, helping me to my feet, tips back the rest of his beer, and leads me out the door and out of L’Amour.
A little Carnivore inspired collage!! A bit about the band... Peter (Ratajczyk) Steele as bassist, Louie Beato on drums, and Keith Alexander as the original guitarist. They released their self titled album Carnivore in 1985, and their second album Retaliation in 1987.
Also, I'm currently working on chapter 4 of my fic September Sun- it's been a long time coming but I promise it's worth it! (There will be a Carnivore show in the chapter!)
Credits - Inspired somewhat by Lord Huron’s song “Cursed” and also the aesthetic in the music video for Type O Negative’s “Love You To Death.” Image from the opening scene of the music video for "Love You To Death."
Note - I haven't posted a fic in FOREVER... life's been busy, I guess. And I'm struggling with writer's block. I have a few WIPs that I'm trying to get out, but inspiration for this struck me today and I managed to get it done!
Summary- From Peter Steele’s point of view… he goes for a walk in the quiet autumnal forest and is lured off the beaten path by a strange woman.
Warnings - Nothing really.
1k words
It was autumn in the forest. Peter had wanted to get out of the city, find some peace and quiet in the chaos of his life. And so here he was, walking at a leisurely pace on a trail between rough-barked trees. Their golden and scarlet leaves littered the ground beneath his feet. How fitting, he thought, that in their death they would be the most beautiful.
The crisp late afternoon breeze danced among the long black strands of his hair, tied back beneath an army style cap for practicality. The ground was soft beneath his feet; Peter could feel the earth as it gave a bit under his heel with each step. Every so often, he crushed an especially dry leaf with his boot, resulting in a satisfying crunch. He liked that, it felt much more complete than a leaf that crushed without a sound.
Peter walked for a while, reveling in the fresh air, before watching a crow as it stood on the fallen leaves and dirt further along the path. It cocked its head, picking at something on the ground before it. Peter found himself tilting his head a bit in an echo of the crow’s action. He wondered how much the crow thought, the extent of its feelings or intelligence. Did it feel lonely? Or seek the company of another? Perhaps not, as it seemed perfectly content here, on its own. Or maybe, its companion was not too far away.
Suddenly, the crow was flying off into the trees and Peter was jerked out of his reverie, head snapping up to follow the crows movements— and then he caught a glimpse of someone. He took a few steps, standing at the edge of the trail and peering through the grey tree trunks, trying to get a better view.
A woman. Wrapped in a dark brown cloak, hair red as the fallen leaves. She turned to him, pausing a moment, and Peter could’ve sworn his heart stopped for a second. And then she was gone, whirling around and taking off through the trees.
A strange urge filled Peter: follow her. So he did. Peter left the trail, not a thought to where he was going, and weaved through the trees, barely keeping the woman and her dark cloak in his sight. Peter ducked under a branch, swerved around a fallen tree, avoided a dip in the ground. He felt himself start to get out of breath as he sprinted, heart pounding.
Eventually, he felt like he was gaining on the woman. “Hey!! Wait!” he called out to her, stumbling over a log. She seemed to slow a bit, but didn’t look back.
Finally, she burst into a clearing, Peter behind her, and he stopped, seeing her standing in the center of the clearing, her back to him. He was struck once again by the beauty of her hair’s red waves, vibrant against the dull cloak. Dead leaves seemed to avoid where she stood, forming a circle of bare dirt around her feet.
Peter stood there, catching his breath, staring intently at her figure. He took a step closer. He needed to see her face. Something deep within his chest seemed to pull him to the woman. It was an odd feeling, unlike he had ever felt before.
As Peter stepped closer, his foot landed within the bare circle of earth surrounding the woman. She turned, revealing intense emerald eyes and lips the color of cranberries. Peter was transfixed, frozen, unable to turn away as she gazed into his eyes, not yet saying anything. Within her eyes, he could almost envision the forest green with summer, and then in her hair it once again turned to autumn, a dancing contrast of seasons within her features.
“Peter…” she whispered.
He stopped breathing when she spoke, her voice a needed melody to his ears. “Yes?”
“I’ve been waiting for you.”
“How—?” Even caught in her allure, Peter did not quite understand the logic of it.
“Wine?” she murmured, a glass of the burgundy drink in her outstretched hand. Where did that come from?
Peter nodded, gaze dropping to the glass, taking it from her hand. As his hand brushed hers, it was literal electricity, some sort of static shock jolting up his arm. He brought the glass to his lips, the somewhat bitter taste of it flooding across his tongue. Even after he swallowed, the flavor sat warm and full and satisfying in his mouth. Peter then looked back up at the woman, asked her name.
She just chuckled gently, her smile setting his heart ablaze. “There is time, Peter. Time. Sit, why don’t you?”
There seemed to be a conveniently located rock, so Peter sat on it, sipping his wine again. The woman stepped up to him, eyes glittering in the waning daylight. She ended up standing between his legs, pushing his wine glass aside with one hand and dragging her nail along his jawline with the other.
“The forest is beautiful in autumn, is it not?” she murmured.
Peter nodded wordlessly, transfixed by her lightly freckled cheeks, feathery lashes, and soft lips. Oh, those lips. How he would love to kiss them.
As if on cue, the woman tipped his chin up with her hand, leaning down to bridge the gap between them, her lips pressing to his. Peter could almost taste autumn on her lips: cinnamon and smoke and pine. So much better than the wine.
When she pulled away, Peter leaned forward a bit, as if trying to chase her, but she backed away, eyes still pinning him in place. He remembered the wine in his hand and brought the glass back to his lips, taking a bigger drink of it than before.
Peter felt his eyes drooping. He was very tired, he realized, and the sun was beginning to set. He needed to get home… but for now, he just shifted, sitting on the ground and leaning against the rock instead of sitting on the rock. Here would not be a bad place to rest. Not bad at all. And so, Peter closed his eyes and rested.
