#I can whip out a horse in 2 minutes

[amerasdreams]

😡 I cant draw this scene in my head that juat appeared about an offscreen scene in my story

Why did I almost exclusively draw horses as a child and teen 😞

[dancingtotuyo]

15. holding my breath for you

Woman | Joel Miller X Female Reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Tags: Joel Miller X Female Reader. Age Gap (13/14 years). HBO Characters. Mostly cannon compliant for show & game. Timeline is changed. Spoilerish for TLOU 2

Chapter Warnings: fluff, angst, hurt /comfort, gore, violence, TLOU II SPOILERS, Major Character Death

Notes: I would say sorry... but I'm not sure I am. I LOVE YOU ALL DEARLY THOUGH!

If you haven’t seen this beautiful commission of Joel and Reader yet, you should.

Words: 6125

Series Masterlist | Author Masterlist | Playlist

Dawn is just forming when you roll over to find Joel’s side of the bed cold. A pout forms on your lips before you can open your eyes. He’s due to set out on patrol this morning and didn’t wake you up. He’s supposed to wake you up before he leaves. It’s the rule. 

You check on the kids to make sure they’re still asleep before trekking down to the stables. You pull the worn robe tightly around you as the wind whips at your hair and fresh snowfall threatens above you. You should’ve changed out of your pajamas, pulled on your boots and coat, but you fully intend to climb back into bed after this. They should still be there. Their patrol isn’t scheduled to leave for another 10 minutes. You find Joel in the stall at the end, diligently inspecting the saddle.

“You didn’t wake me up.” You cross your arms.

His head snaps up, a small smirk forming on his lips as he takes in your disheveled look. “You looked too cute this morning.”

“It’s the rule, Miller. We have rules for a reason. You always wake me up.” You put on a pout, but Joel sees through the teasing mannerisms, the stress that always creases your brow before patrols, especially overnight and snowy ones. 

“I’m sorry.” His hands grab your waist, pulling you against his sturdy frame as he kisses your forehead. “Will you forgive me?”

“Maybe.” 

He kisses your cheek. You don’t give in. He kisses your other cheek, then your neck, behind your ear until you're laughing like you’re a teenager and not almost 50 years old. He chuckles. It’s the kind that could and has kept you warm through the most brutal of winters. 

“Okay, Okay.” You throw your hands up in surrender. They settle on his shoulders. “I forgive you.”

“Good.” He presses a firm kiss to your lips. “They’re closer than we thought. We’ll probably be out there a few days, back in time for Willa’s dance recital. I promise.” 

“You better.” You push down the anxiety that rises. This is your least favorite kind of patrol. “She’s been practicing nonstop.”

“I know.” Joel sees it in your eyes, hears it in your voice. His arms wrap around you, burying his head into your neck. “She’s gonna be the prettiest damn butterfly up there.”

You lean into his warmth. You don’t sleep well alone. The kids get grumpy without him around. His breath is hot in your ear. “I’ll be back before you know it, Sweetheart.” 

You squeeze him tight and then his lips are on yours, soft and sweet. 

Tommy clears his throat. “You ready to go? You don’t have time to take her back to bed, Joel.” 

You flip him off. Joel gives you another sturdy kiss for good measure. Tommy rolls his eyes. 

You walk with them to the front of the stables, Joel’s free hand in yours. “Be safe.” 

“Always.” He squeezes your hand. 

He’s about to mount his horse, but quickly changes paths. Handing Tommy his mare’s reins, he kisses you again until you’re both breathless. Tommy shakes his head, teasing grin on his lips from on top of his horse. Joel smiles at you like you hold his whole world because you do. “I love you.”

“Stay safe out there,” you say as Joel takes the reins back, mounting the horse. “I love you.”

“Always, Darlin.” He winks at you.

You look at Tommy. “Don’t let him do anything stupid.”

Tommy chuckles. “As if I could start now.”

Joel rolls his eyes. “We’re losing daylight, little brother.” 

You step back. Joel winks at you. “Love you,” and then they’re off. 

Fuck, Fuck, Fuck. The words echo in Joel’s mind. There are too many of them. How did they all get here? Jackson is supposed to be too far out for this many infected. His mind races, desperately scanning for an out, while also trying to keep himself and Tommy alive.

Then the girl shows up, like a light in the darkness offering up a plan of escape. He takes it. Who wouldn’t? He wants to see his family again. He doesn’t ask or wonder what the girl is doing here with a group of friends. There’s no time for caution. It’s a way to get out- a way back. The only thing on his mind is getting back to you in one piece. 

Once they’re safely behind the gate, inside the house- he knows this place. It’s yours- well your grandparents. It starts to sink in. He counts at least 8. He sees the looks between them when he introduces himself. Something's not right. 

“Say, what brings y’all out here?”

The room is quiet. They’re staring at him like he should know them, but they’re too young to have known him before. He exchanges a look with Tommy. Then there’s a shotgun in his face. Before he can comprehend that this is the end, it goes off at his knee. Joel yells out in pain. He can see his femur. His arms are pinned. A tourniquet is placed around his thigh to keep him from bleeding out. Two of the other guys hold Tommy back. 

The girl, Abby, holds a golf club. Of all the ways Joel imagined dying, this was not it. He can hardly hear her through the pain and the thoughts swirling in his mind. There’s no getting out of this. There’s no help on the way. This is the end. It hits him like a blow to the chest. There’s no seeing Willa’s dance retail on Wednesday. No more playing catch with Carter. No chance for Ellie to forgive him. No more holding you. 

The words hurt as they come out. It feels like giving up because it is. “Just get it over with.” 

His words seem to anger Abby. He doesn’t know who she is, doesn’t know who her friends are, but he knows he’s about to die. He knows the look in their eyes. He’s all too acquainted with revenge. 

Then another thought pops into his head as his eyes move from Abby’s. It’s the dark stain in front of the fireplace. It could pass off as dirt and grime now. You spent years trying to get it out, but he knows it’s blood. Carter’s blood. He can’t let this happen here. He can’t give you another reason to hate this place. Another bad memory to tarnish the good ones. 

“This won’t be fast.” The golf club collides with his ribs. 

He coughs, sputtering as his lungs struggle to recover from the blow. Abby paces in front of him stalking like a predator does to its prey. Taunting him. 

“Please,” he wheezes. “Not here. Somewhere…” he inhales deeply. “Somewhere else.”

Abby seems taken aback by the request. 

“Anywhere but here.” It hurts to draw breath, but it’s getting easier. “Outside-“

“So you can freeze before I’m done? I don’t think so.” 

Abby’s foot collides with his face. There’s the unmistakable crunch of a broken nose. Blood flows from it. 

“Please. Not here.” He meets her eyes. The golf club strikes his lungs again. 

Joel sees it. She won’t give in. He’s going to die here. His blood will mingle with your brother’s. He’s failed you. 

He lets his brain take him away from what’s happening, but each blow brings him back to reality. He’s thinking about you, the last thing he said. Did he tell you he loved you? The next hit knocks the air out of him. He left the house without waking you up. He almost left without seeing you this morning. He’s pretty sure the next one hits a kidney. He thanks whatever god is there you woke up. That he got to see you one last time, feel your lips against his. 

One of his ribs cracks. 

He waited too goddamn long to tell you he loves you. He didn’t say it nearly enough in the short time he had. 

Two more ribs shatter. 

Maria comes over to the clinic after watching the blizzard roll over the mountains. It’s hitting Jackson now, but you're worried about the people sent out there today, the ones who sit at your family table in particular. Ellie, Dina, and Jesse left a few hours after Joel and Tommy 

You’re organizing shelves to keep yourself busy, sure at least one person will wander in with frostbite shortly. It’s a good distraction from the other worries at hand. 

“Willa ready for her dance recital?”

“I can barely get her out of the wings to go to bed.” A smile flutters over your lips.

Maria laughs. “I was talking to Rachel last night. She’s running around like crazy trying to make sure they have everything ready.”

“I bet… I’m glad they’re doing this though. It’s been an especially cold winter.”

You’d lost more patrols to the cold than to Infected this year. That hadn’t happened before. 

“They’ll be okay,” Maria says. “Always are.”

The radio crackles to life before you can respond. Your stomach drops. Only two outposts have radios. You only use them in emergencies, preferring to stay off the radios whenever possible. 

“Outpost 2 to base.” Dina’s voice filters through the static affected by the ensuing storm. 

Your stomach drops. Maria picks up the receiver. “Base to Outpost 2- Dina is that you?”

“Maria?” 

“Dina, is everyone okay?”

Your heart feels like it might beat out of your chest. It’s a stupid question. You don’t use the radios when everything is okay. Outpost 2 is a 4-hour ride from here. In the blizzard, it’s probably longer. You start putting your kit together. 

“I don’t know- Jesse said Joel and Tommy missed their check-in.” The supplies in your hands clatter to the floor. You make eye contact with Maria. “We split up to look for them. I’m going to head toward the Baldwin Mansion to find Ellie. No trace of them this way.” 

You freeze, heart stopping. Not there. Anywhere but there. You lock eyes with Maria. “You shouldn’t-” But her words set your resolve.

“I’m going.” 

“It’s not safe-”

“It’s Joel and Tommy!” 

You don’t want to. You swore you’d never go back there, but this is Joel. If you aren’t there to help him, you’ll never forgive yourself. 

“Maria?” Dina comes through fuzzy as the blizzard interferes with the frequency. 

You can probably make it there about the same time Dina will. It won’t be easy, but you can do it. You have to. You stuff a few more things into your backpack.

“We’ll meet you there.”

“Be careful, there’s definitely a colony coming in.”

“You too.”

Maria drops the receiver, looking at you. “I’ll go have them saddle up a couple of horses, check out a few firearms.” 

You nod, focused on what to bring. You don’t have time to spare tears. Tears will freeze as soon as you’re outside and dehydrate you. 

You meet Maria by the stables. She hands you a rifle and a pistol. It’s been a long time since you rode out like this. You both know the implications if you don’t come back, but you don’t hesitate when the gate opens. 

Infected, burnt to a crisp, are pushed to the side and the gate is wide open when you arrive. It’s an eerie sight. Someone was here. 

A horse whinnies in the distance. The snow has slowed down but still creates a cover. You pull the pistol from the holster at your thigh, adrenaline pumping. Two figures come into view. 

“It’s us!” Dina calls out. Jesse rides beside her. You relax some, but your anxiety still rides high. 

You find Joel and Tommy’s horses in the garage. It’s all wrong. They wouldn’t have left the gate open, not with all those infected out there even burnt up. You keep your guard up as you clear the house room by room. Jesse and Dina don’t ask how you seem to know this place like the back of your hand. You avoid the den, leaving it for last. You hope to hear their playful banter drifting from room to room, but the house is silent. 

When you come to the den, you let the others take the lead. You’re struggling to keep your hands steady, and before you can enter the room, you hear their curses. You smell the blood before you see it. It’s splattered on everything around. Then you see him. Joel, your Joel, laying in his own blood. Your ears ring, pressure building between them. Your vision turns red. It’s so familiar and Carter’s limp body flashes before your eyes. A sob gets stuck in your throat. Maria’s arms are around you, keeping you upright before you realize your legs have given out. You stare at him. You wish you could stop looking at it, but you can’t as the sight sears itself into your memory. 

For the first time, your prayer changes. Please, let him be dead. You shudder. Because if he’s not dead, he’s suffering, and there’s nothing you can do about it. 

Dina rouses Ellie on the other side of the room. Jesse helps Tommy into a sitting position. They seem okay, physically, but your brain barely comprehends it all. You look at him, battered and bruised. The bone of his right knee is exposed. It’s the work of a shotgun at close range. There’s a tourniquet around his thigh. Your stomach drops. This wasn’t some random hit. They wanted him alive as long as possible. 

Your eyes drift around the room. A bloodied golf club lays in front of the fireplace. Joel’s fresh red blood drips over the fading remnants of your brother’s causing bile to burn in your throat. 

“You have to do something.” Ellie looks at you. Tears streak her face. Anger and rage fit for a grown man rattle her small frame. “You’re the only one who can help him!”

You shake your head. The tears fall freely now. You try to get the words out, but it's like someone has shoved cotton down your throat. Your tongue flops uselessly in your mouth. “Ellie- I can’t-” Your words are scattered and disjointed. Maria cradles your head against her chest, “There’s-” 

Joel groans. Your heart stops. The world goes silent. He does it again. This time, one of his fingers twitches.

“Oh my God…” Maria breaths. 

Tommy curses under his breath. You feel it heavy in your chest. Fuck. 

None of it’s from relief. It’s pure horror. Because you all know, he’s not coming back from this. 

Ellie rushes forward. She touches Joel’s hand. You see the hope radiating as she locks eyes with you. “You can still save him.”

It’s a stab to your chest. “No, I can’t.”

You watch the light flicker from her eyes. “You have to! You fucking have to!” The tears flood her eyes. “C’mon, Joel. You have to get up! Fucking get up!” 

She presses on his shoulder in an attempt to get him to his back. He groans out in pain. The knife in your chest twists. 

She stops, choking on her tears. “Joel… please get up.” Her voice is weaker now. Her pants soak with dark red. 

He grunts out something that sounds something like “Ellie.” 

“You motherfucker.” She cries, but it’s an endearment. You catch the slight uptick of Joel's colorless lips. Ellie can’t stop crying. Trying to wipe the tears away, she leaves streaks of blood on her cheeks. Joel tries, but he can’t get anything else out. 

You lean further into Maria’s grasp but she can’t squeeze you tight enough, only Joel could ever do that. 

Something in Ellie snaps. The tears stop, and her breathing settles. It’s like watching a person go from human to robot, except she looks more like the girl you met 7 years ago, and less the angry young woman you’ve come to know. There’s a telepathy going on between them. You’ve seen it so many times before. Her hand rests on top of his. Her head nods like she knows what he’s trying to say. 

“I forgive you.” 

It knocks the air from your lungs. Tommy’s too. You know what it’s about. You know how big this moment is. The weight on your chest lightens a little bit. 

Ellie looks up at you, and motions you toward them. “He wants you.” 

She moves from Joel’s side, making space for you. You lay down next to him, not caring about the blood-soaked carpet around and the way it bleeds into your clothes. Gently, you run your fingers through his blood-matted hair. “Hey, Baby.” You’re careful not to cause more pain with your touch.  

His eyes meet yours. You see the sparkle of tears in them. He attempts to talk again in a long slow slur. You can barely make it out. “I’m sorry” 

The knife is pulled from your chest cavity, the pain so physical you shudder. His index finger moves over your left knuckle and your chest shakes again. You force a smile. You just want him to be at peace, “It’s okay, Joel.” 

His head shakes briefly, barely noticeable, but you’re tuned in to his every movement, his every breath, his every heavy heartbeat. “It’s okay.” You kiss his hand, then his forehead. It’s sweaty and the tang of blood hits your senses. “We’ll be okay. You can let go.” You whisper it in his ear. A tear rolls down his cheek. You want him to let go so fucking badly. You don’t want to do what’s required. What you wouldn’t do for Carter. 

His lips move but nothing comes out. It seems to frustrate him. Tears roll down your cheeks. He’s trapped in a body that doesn’t work but refuses to let him go. “Shhhh, I know, Joel. I know.” It’s the same voice you used to soothe your infants. “I love you.”

His hand squeezes yours gently. You give him a nod. He lets his eyes flutter closed. You lay there for longer than you should. It’s selfish, but you don’t think you’ll be able to do it if you don’t take your time. Finally, you sit up. Tommy comes over to say his goodbyes. You’re not paying attention, too focused on what you have to do. 

His hunting knife is still strapped to his ankle like it always is. You look it over even though you’ve seen it a million times. It’s big enough. It’ll work. You just pray you can go through with it. Maria joins Tommy at Joel’s side.

“Jesse?” you say. “Will you get a blanket to cover him. There should be a big comforter in the hallway closet.”

You catch the confusion in his eyes. How would you know that? But he nods, following your instructions without questions. You lay the knife on the floor and catch Ellie staring at it. You see it in her eyes. She knows what’s about to happen. You hope she doesn’t blame you. 

You can’t meet her eyes as you whisper it out. “It’s what-”

“I know.” She says quickly, her voice still wavering. “I know.”

“Tommy, help me get him on his back. I don’t-“ you choke up. You let the tears flow freely, but you will your medical training to take over. Except, this isn’t fucking medical care. It’s not even fucking palliative care. It’s cruel mercy. You aren’t trained in that. “I don’t think I can do it properly with him on his stomach.” 

You, Tommy, and Maria work together to get him on his back as gently as possible. He cries out with each movement. It’s torturous. Each noise comes from a deeper part of his body. You swallow back bile each time. You have to get this right the first time. If you don’t, you’re not sure you can do it a second. 

Jesse drops the comforter beside you. It’s the one with little pink rose buds, the one you always used to sleep under the stars, big enough to curl around you like a cocoon even as a grown adult, the one you and Joel picnicked on when you visited last. Your fingers run over it with the memories- so many nights spent under the stars dreaming of the future. It provides you with little comfort now. It's purely practical, thick enough to absorb whatever blood Joel has left in him. More memories washed in blood.  

Ellie is huddled in the corner, back turned to it all. Dina is at her side. Maria never takes her eyes off you. Finally, he’s on his back. You unbutton his flannel, use the knife to cut open his under shirt. Deep, dark bruises mare his skin. You can see where they targeted the most. Places to inflict maximum pain and prolong suffering. You focus at the place between his left ribs. His breathing is labored. You hear it with each breath, see it in the rise and fall of his chest. The spot on his chest taunts you, dares you to do it. 

You turn to Maria. “As soon as it’s out… cover him with the blanket.” You don’t want to see the wound.

You look at his face. You think he’s unconscious now. You pray he doesn’t feel it, hope his brain has taken him away from reality. Pressing your forehead to his, you tell him you love him again. There’s no response and no indication he hears you. 

You steady your breathing. “Ellie?” You look to her for permission. 

She barely meets your eyes but nods. 

You look back to Joel. You mentally clear the blood from his features. He looks peaceful now. You memorize his face as you know it, not how it appears. You look down at his ribs again. You touch the space and count with shaking hands.

You glance at the 17 year old stain reminding you of the way you failed Carter. You won’t fail Joel. You can almost feel your brother’s ghost at your side, assuring you this is the only option, assuring you there’s truly no chance to save the man you love, and it comforts you. This place homes your best memories and your worst nightmares. You wonder if Joel’s ghost will stay here, pacing the halls with Carter’s or follow you home. 

Then you recount the ribs, making sure you get it right through the blur of your vision. You feel his heart beating under your hand, the very heart you’re about to stop. You can do this…

There’s a hand on your shoulder, another on your wrist. Tommy crouches behind you. He takes the knife without a word. His eyes say it all. He’ll do it. You don’t have to bear the weight of it. You should tell him that he doesn’t have to bear it either, but you don’t because the truth is you’re just relieved you don’t have to. 

You lay a finger on Joel’s chest. Tommy’s replaces it. “Make sure-”

“I know.” Tommy’s eyes meet yours. You’ve never really contemplated how much they look like Joel’s until now. It’s reassuring. There’s a piece of Joel in him. “Just be with him.” 

You nod silently, Joel’s words echoing in your mind. “If it’s something else that gets me… where I’m not putting you in danger… I want the last thing I hear to be your voice. Not a gunshot. That’s all.” 

You scoot up so you’re only able to see his face. His hand feels cold under yours. You push his hair back again. Ellie joins you on the floor. You can tell she’s barely holding it together. 

You feel Tommy prepare himself behind you. You know when he goes for it, sliding Joel’s hunting knife in with the precision of an expert. You hear it slice through skin and muscle. It’s piercing, playing on repeat in your head. Joel grunts with it, moans once it’s withdrawn. 

Tommy drops the knife like it's on fire. Maria settles the blanket over Joel’s body.

Your eyes never move from his face. He gasps, air wheezing from him like a punctured balloon. It’s awful. It makes your stomach curl and twist and your chest rattle. You want to curl up and die with him at the mere sound of it. It feels like it will never stop, but you talk him through it. You hold Ellie close to you in one arm and cup his face in the other as you repeat the words from earlier. 

It’s okay. 

You can let go. 

We’ll be okay. 

I love you. 

You make sure your voice is the last thing he hears… and then finally, mercifully, he stops breathing. As much as your heart throbs, you feel like you can finally breathe again because he’s no longer trapped in a body that won’t work, no longer in pain. He’s free. 

You lean down to kiss his cheek. You whisper in his ear. “Say hello to Sarah for me.” 

You give it time. Watching his face, finger tips tracing his features. Denial brushes through your mind, expecting him to open his eyes, to smile, to laugh. It doesn’t happen. It won’t happen ever again. 

When you stand, it hits you like a freight train. Your breath hitches. You remember this from last time.This can’t happen, not here. You bolt from the room, putting as many walls between you and the others as possible. You don’t care how cold the furthest bedroom- your bedroom- might be, your skin feels like it’s boiling, melting from your bones. 

You’re barely across the threshold when the sob leaves your body. It sounds otherworldly, but you’ve heard it before, too many times. You’re all too familiar with it all. When will it end? When everyone you love is dead? Taken from you in different horrific ways each time? 

Maria’s arms wrap around you and the two of you sink to the ground. You don’t quiet your mourning for her as it rattles the walls. It’s still not far enough. Your muted cries haunt the rest of the group until your voice gives out. 

You stay the night at the mansion. It’s too dark to try and make it back to Jackson. Tommy and Jesse move Joel’s body to the garage where it’s colder. Maria builds a fire in the room that’s not soaked in his blood. 

You ignore the curious looks when you navigate the house with familiarity and manage to rummage up new clothes to replace blood-soaked ones. Ellie wears your Fleetwood Mac t-shirt from high school. You used to wear it all the time until you lost it, stuffed into the bin of clothes you never opened following outbreak day. It would be too small for you now, but it layers over the clean long sleeve shirt she found. It’s one of Grandpa’s old flannels for you. You’re thankful you never dug into this bin when you lived here. 

Before you leave, you stop under the old oak tree where the small bounder marks Carter’s shallow grave. You promise him you mean it this time when you say you’re never coming back. You’re tempted to burn the place to the ground, but it’s too good of a resting spot for patrol when they get stuck, protected by the gate. 

When you get home, you care for Joel’s body. There’s no embalming process. Usually you bury your dead the day after, but the ground is frozen solid. You’ll likely have to wait a few weeks to bury him. He stays in the small enclosed room off the back of the clinic where it’s cold enough to keep him. 

It’s after dinner time Monday night when you finally drag yourself up the front steps. You’ve been avoiding it. You don’t want to go home without him. 

Carter and Willa play Jenga with Morgan. You’re not sure you can tell them, so you watch your children through the front window. You memorize their smiles and the light in their eyes before this cruel world marks them with its claws. Willa knocks the tower over. She seems to enjoy it. His sweet little Wildflower. 2 months shy of her 4th birthday, will she remember him? Or will he be like a dream? Another ghost that haunts the footnotes of her life? Tears stream down your neck. 

“They don’t know yet?”

You spin around to find Ellie. She has dark bags under her eyes, shoulders slumping. “No, I just got home. I’ve been at the clinic all day.”

Ellie nods, peering into the window beside you. The two of you watch as they rebuild the tower and the game starts all over again. “I forget how much she looks like him.”

You manage a smile. “I’m not convinced she has a drop of my DNA in her.”

“Not with that fucker’s genes.”

A laugh interrupts your tears. It sounds so normal coming from Ellie. She wears a dutiful interpretation of her signature smirk. You could hug her, but you don’t. She’s not the most touchy feel y person and you imagine she’s had her full share the past 24 hours. Has he really been gone that long now? Yes. Somehow, it feels like it’s been years, yet you still expect him to walk toward you at any minute. 

You go inside without another word. Ellie follows, and you’re thankful for it. It feels right to have her there. 

“Mommy!” Willa gasps as soon as you open the door. She runs for you, still dressed in her butterfly costume. 

You pull her into your arms, squeezing her tightly. “Hey sweet girl.” You kiss her cheek. You hadn’t realized how badly your arms ached to hold your babies. 

“Where’s Dad?” Carter asks.

The question stops your heart. You can hear it in his voice. He knows. He’s barely 10, but he’s seen this in other people so many times before, and he’s put the pieces together. Death isn’t a foreign concept to him. He probably knew the moment he saw Tommy come home with Joel nowhere in sight. Carter keeps space between you. “Where is he?” 

Willa squirms in your arms like she's looking for Joel now too. You let her slide to the ground. 

“Carter…” You move closer. 

He steps backwards. You see the tears sparkle in his eyes bringing out your own. Both your children favor their biological fathers more than yourself. It slices deeper tonight. You manage to steady your voice. 

“Dad had a really bad accident while he was on patrol-“

“You’re lying! He has to come back! He always comes back!”

Maybe one day you’ll tell him all of it. Someone did this on purpose, but you don’t know who or why. He’s too young. You won’t have him overrun with the idea of revenge. Tommy is already plotting after the group that did this. 

You shake your head, tears falling again. You don’t know if they’ll ever stop. You go to your son, desperate to hold him, but he dashes upstairs, bedroom door slamming behind him. Do you go after him? 

Willa’s arms wrap around your leg. You fall to the stairs, placing her in your lap. Your body is exhausted. Ellie sits down next to you. “Where did daddy go?” 

You’ve been wracking your brain all day on how this will all make sense in her young mind. “You know how Daddy talks about Sarah?” 

She nods. You push back her soft brown curls. The texture has started to change in the past six months. It feels less silky and fine, and more like his. “He said she died, but she watches over us now.”

“Yeah… that’s right-“ you bite your lip. “Daddy went to be with Sarah.”

“When is he coming back?”

Ellie cringes in your periphery. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy. “Willa… Daddy died. He can’t come back.”

“Not even for my recital?”

“No.”

You’re still not sure she gets it, but you see the tears well up in her eyes. Joel promised her he would be there. He always kept his promises. You want her to know that her Daddy didn’t abandon her, but it’s difficult to get that across. To her, Sarah is an abstract. Joel is concrete. The thought sends a pang through your chest.

“You know how your heart beats?” You put her hand over your heart. She nods. “That means you’re alive, and me, and Ellie, and Carter. We all have beating hearts.”

“I listen to Daddy’s when he rocks me.” 

You smile. The vision of Willa and Joel passed out in the rocking chair is one of your favorites. “Daddy’s heart got really hurt.” The slice of the knife echoes in the caverns of your mind. “It stopped beating.” 

His wheezing plays in your ears.  

“He stopped being alive?”

Joel’s final strangled breath carves into your brain.

 You nod carefully. “Yes, once that happens, it can’t be fixed.”

She sits with it for a minute. You see the wheels in her head turning. 

“He didn’t have a choice.” You wrap one of her curls around your finger.  “He would choose to be alive with us if he could.” 

“I miss him.” 

She lays her head on your shoulder. You kiss her head. 

“Me too, Wildflower.”

On Wednesday night, the seat beside you remains empty, like everyone is purposefully keeping it that way. You’re not sure if you like it. Is it a sign of respect toward Joel? Or are they afraid to be near you? Death comes in threes. It must be contagious. 

Carter sits between Ellie and Dina. They were sitting next to each other when you arrived. Carter still doesn’t want to talk to you, but he will talk to Ellie. 

The lights dim for the recital. It’s more of a silent movie of sorts. Rachel plays the piano. The music changes throughout the scenes. You spent all last night trying to get a grass stain out of Willa’s butterfly costume. You’re not sure if it was the soap or the tears that removed the last of it. 

You reach over on instinct, expecting your fingers to meet a denim clad thigh, but your hand falls to the wooden chair instead. Your eyes drift out the window. You can see the clinic at the end of the street. You know exactly where he lays, even from the outside. Everything around you blurs. You feel pieces of yourself slowly drift into the atmosphere bit by bit. 

Maria drops into the chair next to you. She grabs your hand squeezing it between both of hers. “Hey, I’ve got you” The pieces come back, snapping together like a jigsaw puzzle. “Look,” She points. “Willa’s almost up. You don’t want to miss it.”

You’re back, but Maria doesn’t let go. She anchors you. She knows exactly what to say to do it. She’s an expert in it by now. You don’t see the worry in her eyes, the guilt etched in the lines of her forehead. She doesn’t say it, never expresses the guilt she carries over what happened. If only she had asked someone else to take the shift. It’s the second time she’s failed you. 

Willa flits and flutters across the stage. In the context of the play, you’re pretty sure she’s actually supposed to be a fairy, but you know that Willa was only interested in being a butterfly. The costume is the same either way. 

She breaks character for a moment, loudly telling one of the other kids they are not where they are supposed to be, and then continues on as if nothing happened. There’s the rumble of laughter and Willa wears a smug smile. 

You feel a hand on your shoulder, but when you turn to look, no one is there. You can still feel the pressure on your shoulder. Then you hear it just behind your ear, That’s our Wildflower right there. It brings tears to your eyes again. 

With one last exuberant twirl the magical fairy, or in this case butterfly, heals the land. 

You squeeze Maria’s hand as people stand to applaud. You manage to get to your feet in time to watch your daughter take a bow and then another and another. She’s soaking in the attention. It tugs a smile to your face. 

When Willa bounces off the stage, you pull her in tight. “You were so good. I’m so proud of you,  Wildflower.” 

She smiles brightly. It's a relief in one of the worst times of your life. She gets close to your ear, like she’s telling you a secret. “I think Daddy saw it. I think him and Sarah watched it together.”

You smile back at her. You know they did. “Me too.”

Tag List: @pedrotonin @amyispxnk @joeldjarin @ilovepedro @justagalwhowrites

@missladym1981 @jessthebaker @annieispunk @ashleyfilm @moel-jiller

@eloquentdreamer @lizzie-cakes @hiroikegawa

[archangeldyke-all]

Did someone say cowboy Sevika?

Absolutely delicious, I have thoughts.

Theres the classic off limits farmer’s daughter dynamic, which is to die for every time, but I thought what about a farmer’s widow? All lonesome on her big empty property, she hires Sevika for some extra help and then the tension is off the charts!! I think it would be ideal for a long, slow burn style fic. Draw it out, make them drool over each other for a bit til they can’t take it anymore

For a blurb idea what about Cowboy Sevika teaching the reader to ride a horse? It could be cute and flirty or it could get nasty lol whatever you’re in the mood to write!

Also let’s take a moment to imagine her tying those fancy cowboy knots. Rope steady in her big rough hands. She’s stripped down to her used to be white tank top, you can see her muscles flexing while she pulls it taught. She’d be all sweaty and you innocently walk over to her, pluck her bandanna out of her pocket, and dab away the droplets on her forehead. You tuck it gently back into the front pocket of her tight, dirt stained jeans and saunter away so sweetly. She’d want to chase you down like a wild animal in heat after that

the last paragraph here made me dizzy. thank u.

ur the second person to request a 'teaching reader how to ride horseback', mars, @sexysapphicshopowner , being the first! so lets do that ;)

part 1 of cowboy sev here, part 2 here!

men and minors dni

you're now the only one in your little mis-matched family who doesn't know how to ride horseback.

sevika's been riding since before she could even properly walk. powder took to it like a fish to water. violet was a little more hesitant, but figured it out in time. and now all three of them are trying to convince you to learn.

you've never needed it. you were born and raised in this town, everything you need is within a mile's walking distance. but, they're insistent.

you've ridden horseback before, clinging onto sevika as she controls shimmer's pace, but you've never been in control of the reigns. it seems scary, being that high up, going that fast, the only person keeping you from going flying off shimmer's back being yourself.

and now, sevika's got you in the stable, grinning at you as you hesitantly look at shimmer. powder and violet have been asleep for hours, exhausted after working in the garden all day with you.

"can we just go for a quick trot with you in front?" you ask, pouting at your wife. she laughs. "just so i can see you do it!" you insist. she rolls her eyes, then lifts you up by the waist, helping you straddle shimmer's back, before hopping up in front of you.

you press your grin against her shoulder, quickly wrapping your arms around her waist. she laughs in front of you, giving shimmer a little tap with her spur, the mare slowly trotting out onto the main street.

"you're such a baby." sevika teases. you pinch her side, watching her wiggle.

"i'm just lucky. got a wife who knows how to ride so i never had to learn." you say. you can't see her smile, but you can tell she's grinning in front of you.

sevika slowly walks shimmer down the main street, picking her pace up to a cantor when you get out of town.

the three of you ride out into the desert, and you tilt your head up to soak in the sight of the stars above, sighing as the wind whips past you.

"you're not even lookin' at what i'm doing." sevika laughs ahead of you. you giggle.

"stars 're so pretty sev. look." you say.

sevika brings shimmer to a stop, tilting her head up to look at the stars with you.

"hm." she says. you squeeze her waist.

"what?" you ask, enjoying the heat of her back pressed against your front.

"they're pretty, i guess. nowhere near 's pretty as you." she says. you grin.

"sap." you say.

it's summer, but this late at night, the desert is chilly. you sneak your cold fingers up under sevika's shirt, watching her jump, then giggling when she elbows you. you don't move your hands. she doesn't ask you to.

for a few minutes, the two of you just stare at the sky, the vast expanse of stars and planets before your eyes.

it's a new moon, and without her shine, all the stars in the galaxy are visible.

shimmer shifts beneath you, and sevika laughs.

"she hates waitin' around." she says. you smile.

"just like you." you say. sevika laughs, nudging shimmer's side, letting her trot around the empty expanse of the desert.

you hook your chin over her shoulder, watching how her hands hold the reins, how she uses them to gently guide shimmer to and fro.

beneath your fingers, you can feel her belly rise and fall with each breath she takes. a smile ticks up at the corner of your mouth, and you turn your head to press a kiss to sevika's neck.

she goes stiff in your arms.

"what're you doin'?" she asks. you smile against her throat.

"'m watchin' you." you say. "learnin' how to ride."

"you don't need any help learning how to ride." sevika says. you laugh at her horrible joke, pinching her waist. she chuckles.

"speaking of..." you start. sevika snorts in front of you.

"yeah, darlin'?" she asks. you nip her neck.

as much as you both love powder and violet, their abrupt entrance into your lives has left your sex life in shambles.

it's not like you're not having sex. it's just that you can't have it like you used to.

when you used to spend any spare moment the two of you had sprawled out in bed, naked and sweaty and kissing, now you gotta keep your romps quick, lest the girls get in trouble while they're unsupervised.

plus, with the nightmares that violet's been having, paired with powder's separation anxiety toward her sister, a majority of your nights as of late have ended with the four of you piled up in your-- used to be-- marital bed.

you've just had to get a little more creative. you and sevika have been doing a whole lot of 'chores' in the stable, trying to avoid shimmer's judgmental eyes as you fuck against the haybales.

and now... out in the desert, with sevika pressed against you and nobody out here beside you, your wife, and the stars... now seems like the perfect opportunity to get creative.

slowly, you inch your hands down sevika's abdomen, taking a moment to admire the firmness of her rippling abs shifting with each step shimmer takes. she chuckles huskily in front of you, and you begin sucking a hickey against her neck.

"insatiable." she says. "'y had me this morning while we were 'pinning the laundry to dry'." you hum.

"want me to stop?" you ask. she laughs out loud, a bright, echoing thing.

"hell no." she says. you grin, and continue trailing your fingers lower, fiddling with the button of her chaps.

shimmer continues her aimless trot, slowing occasionally to munch at spare patches of grass, knowing that you and sevika are in no rush to get anywhere.

when you slide your hand down her pants, she sighs, leaning some of her weight back against your chest. you pepper kisses against the side of her face, trying to give every branch of the scar on her left cheek a solid smooch. she giggles against you, then moans when your fingers start working against her clit.

"you're wet already." you mumble against her. she hums.

"knew this is what you were workin' up to the second you asked me to ride in front first." she says. you chuckle. "i'm never gonna get you to learn to ride, am i?" she asks.

"mmm, maybe someday. don't need it now, though, do i?" you ask. "not when i've got you." you say.

sevika sighs and turns her head to capture your lips in a kiss against hers. you hum against her mouth, nipping her lip as you start rubbing her clit in slow circles.

"fuck." she sighs, turning her neck back around to watch where shimmer's going. "i love you." she whispers. you smile and nip her neck.

"love you too." you say, trailing your free hand up her chest to fondle her breasts.

sevika's tits are sensitive, you've made her cum from your hands and mouth on her chest countless times before. she shudders against you, her back arching as she shoves her chest further against your hand. you snicker, and start to gently fiddle with her nipple.

"fuck-- your hands." she says.

"'s kinda what you're doin' now, baby." you tease. sevika snorts, but it quickly dissolves into a moan as you increase your pace on her clit, sinking your teeth into her neck as you pinch her nipple.

"y-you're horrible." she chastises you for the joke. you giggle against her.

"you close?" you ask. she laughs.

"yeah." she says.

shimmer lets out a sneeze-- clearly disapproving of the activities happening on her back, and you giggle.

"she's sick of us." you say. sevika sighs.

"she, fuck, she's so judgmental." sevika whimpers.

"should be gettin' back soon. 's almost midnight-- violet's gonna have her nightmare soon, we should be there when the girls come lookin' for us.' you say.

"fuck, can we please not talk about the kids while you got your hand on my cunt?" she asks. despite her complaints, sevika tugs on shimmer's reins, turning her back toward town as you work your hand against her.

"y' better hurry up. we're only a few minutes away from town." you say. sevika groans. "need some encouragement?" you whisper against her ear. she shivers, and you smirk.

"shut up." she whispers. you grin, knowing that sevika's 'shut up's tend to mean 'keep talking.' especially in the bedroom.

"you sure? y' don't want me to tell me how much i love you? how perfect you are for me?" you tease. sevika's thigh shakes against shimmer.

"fuck."

"my cowboy. my wife. so strong and handsome, givin' up her life of crime just for me. gotta compensate that kinda sacrifice properly, don't i?" you ask. sevika whines. "fuck, 'n you look so good when you're on shimmer's back. why would i wanna learn to ride when i could just watch you instead, hm?" you ask.

sevika lets go of the reins with one hand to grip onto your arm. you kiss her cheek.

"cum for me, pretty thing. if you're lucky, maybe i'll wake you up before sunrise to help me 'feed the chickens.'" you say. sevika whines, remembering the last time the two of you used that excuse-- you ended up with sevika's tongue inside of you, your back against the coop as she knelt on the shitty ground, clawing at your thighs. "c'mon sev-- give it to me, baby."

sevika cums with a resounding "shit!" shimmer spooks a bit, jumping and bucking beneath you, and you both squeal as you hold on to the mare while she calms down.

sevika's cunt is still fluttering beneath your palm as she pulls on shimmer's reins to bring her back to a walk as the shimmering lights of town become visible ahead. you hum against her, ducking your fingers down to gather her cum from her dripping hole, before pulling your hand out of her pants and popping your fingers in your mouth.

you moan. sevika moans. shimmer grunts, a disgusted little noise.

"fuck." sevika sighs out, her back slumping against your chest. you giggle, removing your hand from her tits to button up her pants, before giving her cunt a little pat over her chaps. she jolts. "hey!" she says, giggling. you grin against her neck, pressing another kiss to the skin beneath your lips.

just before shimmer starts down main street, sevika pulls her to a stop with a "woah, girl."

you're about to ask her what she's doing-- the tavern about two hundred feet away, but sevika answers your question before you can get it out when she turns her head, grabbing your chin with her fingers and smashing your lips together.

you sigh against her mouth, nipping on her tongue when she swipes it against your lips, giggling at the little involuntary twitch of her thigh.

she pulls away with a sigh, looking into your eyes dreamily.

"i love you more than there are stars in the sky, darlin'." she says. you smile against her lips.

"i love you too, my sweet wife." you say, reaching forward to snap shimmer's reins, letting the horse lead the two of you back home. sevika raises an eyebrow at you and you smile. "see, i did learn a little somethin'." you say.

sevika laughs.

"guess i gotta take you out for ridin' lessons every night, huh?" she asks. you grin.

"i wouldn't mind that at all."

taglist!

@lesbeaniegreenie @fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay @ellabslut @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner @shimtarofstupidity @love-sugarr @chuucanchuucan @222danielaa @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther @gr0ssz0mbi3 @ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @leomatsuzaki

[jammyambition]

Hello!!! Unfortunately for everyone who might see this, I have now attempted to write Baby’s First Smut™️. You heard it here first, I’m not just hoarding fics on this blog anymore (unless this crashes and burns then I will delete it and hide in shame forever ofc) I have been inspired by so many amazing fic writers on here, and I’ll tag a couple just so I can share the love, I hope that’s okay! @pascalisbaby , @tinycozycomfort, @cupofjoel, @joelscruff thank you for your amazing and inspiring work!! Lots of love!!❤️

If people like this I could always write a continuation!! I have lots of ideas in my brain 💡

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Old Man.

Jackson!Joel x Reader

MINORS DNI/NSFW

Warnings: No description of size/appearance/skin colour. Reader is in early to mid 20’s, has a vagina/vulva, has hair long enough to pull, Joel uses terms of endearment such as honey/sweetheart/darlin’/baby/little girl, contains fingering, finger sucking, hair pulling, face grabbing, light/moderate spanking, slightly Mean!Joel, Joel is 56 so I cannot stress this enough, there is a big age gap! 1 single use of the word Daddy, slight humiliation and finally the use of the word Sir about 2 or 3 times. I imagined game!Joel for this fic, but ofc imagine whatever iteration you like!! I am done.

word count: 3,835

You and Joel have been patrol partners for a while now, and you have taking quite a liking to him. A cocky mistake nearly costs you your life, and Joel takes drastic measures to ensure it doesn’t happen again.

The air is crisp and cool as you walk slowly up the snowy path to Joel’s front door. Your mind racing as you think back to the events of your most recent patrol with him; you, a bunch of clickers and your near devastating misplaced confidence in yourself.

You thought you could take on a group by yourself from the safety of your horse. You’d managed to get a few headshots, reaching back to get another arrow from your quiver and nicking yourself on your knife, a sharp gasp leaving your lips at the feeling of your skin being sliced open. At the sound of your gasp, the clickers whipped their heads around, causing a whimper of fear to bubble out from your lips. You urge your horse forward as quickly as possible, desperate to escape the clawing hands and gnashing teeth of the monsters, but you’re not quick enough, they’re gaining on you with alarming speed. Your heart pounds in your chest like a frightened rabbit, your breath coming in quick, wet pants as you panic. The situation seems dire, and you do the only thing you can think of that might save you from certain death.

“JOEL!!”

The clickers seem to gain even more speed at the sound of your scream, and you begin to worry that they might drag you off your horse, those gnarled claws and gaping mouths inching ever closer by the second. At the last second, just as you feel the tips of a set of claws scratching at your calf through your thick trousers, one of the clickers is thrown back by a direct shot to it’s head, a halo of gore and fungal brain matter splattering onto the ground and landing in patches on your clothes and face. Another deafening bang and another clicker thumps to the ground at the feet of your panicked horse, and after another 3 lethally calculated shots, you’re finally, blissfully safe. You feel colour and heat returning to your sweaty face, heart racing with adrenaline and relief. You look up, and he’s there. Your saviour. Of course it’s Joel, who else would it be? No one else would be that efficient, that calm under pressure, and also, you note with trembling breath, no one else would look quite that angry.

You can see the rifle clenched in his trembling fist, his nostrils flaring as he catches his breath, coming down from the panic of the last few minutes. He sets the rifle down and motions for you to ride over to join him.

Fuck.

The ride over to Joel feels somewhat like the ride to your own grave, the anger and frustration is radiating off him in palpable waves, his thick fingers twisting around the reins of his horse in a way that both frightens you and makes your mouth feel a little dry. You can’t deny that Joel is a treat to be on patrol with, between his hunting and shooting skills, his good looks and gruff, deep voice, usually you would jump at the chance to spend any amount of time with him, but right now you’d rather be on the receiving end of literally anybody else’s anger.

You turn to Joel, taking in the heavy, thunderous set of his dark brows, his usually kind brown eyes now steely with the promise of you being in for a real dressing down.

“So, you wanna tell me exactly what you were thinking back there?” Joel says, low and vaguely threatening, but tinged with genuine concern.

You swallow dryly.

“I-…I thought I could handle it Joel, I’m sorry. It was my fault.”

Your mouth feels dry and sandpapery, a fierce blush burning in your cheeks as your embarrassment grows.

He breathes in slowly, measuredly before exploding.

“You’re goddamn right it’s your fault, you couldn’t handle shit back there! What would have happened if I wasn’t there, if I hadn’t heard you call for me? I told you, I told you to stick with me and to let me handle packs of infected, and you ignored me and went off alone to try and what? Prove yourself to me? Well, I hate to tell you honey, but the only thing you’ve proven today is that I cannot trust you to follow my orders! I can’t believe you’d be so childish, so goddamn stubborn!”

He takes in another breath, this one sharp and gasping after this outburst.

You blanch, reaching another level of embarrassment you previously thought didn’t exist. He was right, you did want to prove yourself to him, you wanted to impress him, but it didn’t work, you just nearly got yourself killed. Your pride wounded and anger growing, you spit back at him in turn.

“Y-you think I want to impress you, old man? I only took on that pack of clickers because I thought YOU wouldn’t be able to handle it!”

You lie through your teeth, hating yourself even more the moment the words tumble from your freezing lips.

He looks straight ahead, over at the gates of Jackson which loom ahead of you.

“That right, sweetheart?”

He sounds as if he’s speaking through gritted teeth, and you feel your insides chill a little at the cold sound of his voice. You fucked up, bad.

You hitch your horses back at the stables, and as you walk away, desperate to go home, away from Joel and wash your day of adrenaline and crippling embarrassment off you with a hot shower, you feel his firm grasp on your upper arm, stopping you in your tracks.

He leans in close to your ear, his warm breath tickling your cold skin and making you shiver.

“I think you and I need to have a little talk about what happened today. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll have the decency to to show your face tomorrow. I expect an apology.”

Your breath catches in your throat at his words.

“Y-yeah, I’ll be there. I’ll see you tomorrow, Joel.” You stutter, your cheeks heating up even more.

He steps back from you, completely unaffected and calm.

“Good. I’ll catch you later, honey.”

He turns and walks away, over to where Tommy and Maria are beckoning him to come for a nightcap, greeting them with a familiar smile.

You rub your face with your gloved hands, squeezing your eyes shut and pressing your palms to your eyes.

“Shit!” You mutter under your breath. “Shit.”

And that is exactly why you’re hauling your sorry ass up Joel’s path, apologies and excuses dancing around your head, trying to work out just how you can get yourself out of this mess. You imagine Joel telling you that you can’t be on patrol anymore, you’re too irresponsible, too impulsive. Your stomach clenches with nerves.

Finally, you reach his front door and knock lightly a few times, willing him not to be in the house. You can come back tomorrow. You begin to turn away, making your way back down the path as you hear the latch of his front door opening.

You hear Joel’s heavy footsteps on the wooden porch and your heart sinks a little as you hear him speak.

“Don’t think you’ll get away that easy, darlin’. Get in here. Now.”

He steps aside to allow you to get past him, and you squeeze through into the living room, your shoulders brushing his lightly as you pass.

He steps back into the house and shuts the door firmly, your stomach jolting nervously at the finality of the sound. You’re trapped.

Joel moves through the living room, taking a seat on one of the large, comfortable chairs. He gets himself settled, leaning back with his arms draped casually across the back of the chair and his legs spread apart slightly. You can’t help it when your gaze flits between the exposed muscle of his bicep as the arms of his t-shirt rides up slightly, and the bulge in his blue jeans when he leans back. He adjusts himself again, pushing his hips forward. His t-shirt rides up just a little, exposing a sliver of soft, tanned stomach. You feel like you’re about to pass out as you take in the sight in front of you.

“Stop staring at him, for fucks sake!” You think, as you feel your face heat up even more.

“Come here.” Joel says sternly, pointing at a spot in front of him, about a foot away from where he’s sitting.

You walk tentatively over to where he points, coming to a halt just in front of his boots.

“That’s good, darlin’. So you can take orders, huh?” he rumbles, and you swear you hear a slight hint of amusement in his voice.

“I can take orders, old man.” You reply, tartly.

He grunts quietly, unamused.

“Now tell me, what’s with this attitude huh? You’re so polite with everyone else, so nice and sweet. Why do I get this bratty little attitude of yours?” He says, sternly, locking you in his steely gaze.

You don’t answer as you struggle to think of a reply, your mouth opening and closing over and over.

“You ain’t got nothin’ to say, sweetheart? You think I deserve this attitude of yours after I saved your life? Saved you from that cocky little stunt you pulled?” He goes on, filling the silence for you.

You feel hot and guilty as he lectures you, but your stomach twists pleasurably at the sight of him in front of you, and the deep, stern tone of his voice is making you feel hot and even a little damp in your underwear.

“J-Joel, this is…this is humiliating. I don’t need to be lectured like this, I’m not a child.” You find your voice, desperate to prove that you’re not as pathetic and bratty as he’s making you out to be.

“No? Then why do you act like such a child, out on patrol with me? Always with your bratty little comments, disobeying my direct orders, going off on your own when you think you know better!” He sounds more annoyed now, his voice taking on a sharper edge, you can tell you’re getting to him and a small part of you want to push further.

“Jesus Joel, you’re speaking to me like I’m not a grown woman, I’m in my 20’s for fucks sake! I don’t have to answer to you! I can take care of myself, I have more experience than you’ve ever given me credit for, old man.” You spit back, angry at the implications of his words and desperate to hold your own in this battle that you’re acutely aware you’re losing.

A dark look flits across his face, and he looks almost feral when he raises his eyes back to you. You a nervous tingling across the back of your neck as you realise you may have pushed it just a little too far this time.

His hand shoots out and grabs your collar tightly, pulling you down to his level, his forehead pressing against yours as his eyes bore into yours from below.

“Do you have any idea how much older I am than you, little girl? How much more experience I have than you? What I could do to a little brat like you?” He seethes, his voice low and threatening.

You feel a spike of arousal in your stomach as he grits his words out at you, his breath flickering over your face as his dark eyes search yours.

You swallow, steeling yourself against his intense gaze.

“Oh, I’d love to see what you’d do a little brat like me, old man.” You retort, smirking.

Another half-crazed look passes across his face and then suddenly he pulls you sharply by your wrist, unbalancing you and having you land directly across his knees, your ass sticking up slightly.

You’re in shock, feeling vulnerable and exposed despite the two layers of clothing protecting your modesty.

“Joel?! What the fuck?” You protest, trying to stand up, but his arm is solid and vice like around your waist.

He chuckles, clinging to your waist even tighter to ensure you can’t escape.

“Showin’ you what I do to little brats like you, sweetheart.”

Suddenly his hand comes down on your ass, taking you by surprise and making you yelp. Another sudden burst of arousal spikes through your core and you squirm in his lap slightly.

“You’re gonna spank me!? Really, Joel!?” You say, embarrassed.

“Don’t pretend you don’t like it, honey. I can see you squirmin’ from here.” He chides, bringing his hand down again, making you let out a strangled half yelp, half moan.

“F-fuck! That hurts, Joel!” You whimper.

“It’s meant to hurt sweetheart, how else is it gonna fix your little attitude problem?” He says, laughing slightly at your predicament.

You feel wetness pooling in your underwear as he strikes your ass again, and you squirm slightly again in his lap, feeling an unexpected hardness digging into your stomach.

“Don’t pretend you don’t like it, honey. I can practically feel you making a mess of your underwear, little girl.” He says coolly.

You whimper again, feeling hot and flustered from his ministrations and words. You can feel your pussy dripping with need and you worry it’s about to start making a stain on his jeans.

Joel runs a soothing, warm hand through your hair, coaxing you to look up at him.

“Cmon, darlin’. If you tell me the truth, I’ll give you what you want.” He looks searchingly into your face, big brown eyes kind and gentle.

You swallow, your throat dry with shame and your tongue thick with arousal, willing yourself to come up with a response that isn’t just incomprehensible whines and whimpers betraying your desperation for him.

“I..I…I don’t want anything, Joel. I swear!”

Your voice shakes as you lie through your teeth.

You hear Joel make a half grunt, half chuckle above you, and he draws breath before he speaks.

“You little liar.”

He sounds almost amused as he brings his hand down on your ass again, harder than before, and you accidentally let a strangled moan fall from your lips.

Your hand flies to your lips, as if you’re trying to push the sound back down your throat and your face feels impossibly hot. You can feel yourself leaking into your underwear, almost certainly soaking the fabric through entirely and you’re worried that it might start to leak out and stain his rough denim jeans.

“Oh, honey…” he says, sickly sweet and tender, and then winds a broad hand in the hair at the soft nape of your neck and pulls your head back sharply, slotting his face next to yours and pressing his lips up against your ear.

“I think you want me to fuck that little hole of yours until you remember who’s in charge here, little girl.”

You feel a gush of wetness in your underwear at his words, and an unrestrained moan leaves you against your will.

You nod your head as he begins to gently kiss and nibble at your ear slightly, making you shiver.

He leans back slightly and speaks again, his voice husky and laced with something like desire.

“Need words from you, darlin’. I ain’t doin’ shit until I know you want it. Come on, tell me what you want, honey.”

You gaze up at him, your eyes wide and probably slightly dazed looking from all the blood rushing away from your brain. You lick your dry lips and open your mouth to speak.

“N-need you to touch me Joel, please.”

He looks deep into your eyes.

“That right, baby? Need me to touch you, make you behave? Make you good for me?”

As he says this, you feel his large, warm hand sliding slowly up your thigh, stopping at your inner thigh and tracing small, teasing circles on the sensitive skin.

You can feel yourself get even wetter, and you squirm a little in his lap as his fingers move a little higher, tracing the large wet patch on your underwear.

He smirks slightly, almost condescendingly before speaking.

“All this from a little punishment, darlin’? You really this wet for me?”

He moves his fingers up to the waistband of your underwear and hooks his fingers under the elastic.

“Can I take these off, baby? You want this?”

You’re practically grinding on his thigh with frustration and your voice is small and desperate as you answer.

“Please Joel, take ‘em off, need you so bad.”

He chuckles, deep and warm as he slides your underwear down your thighs, tutting sympathetically as he sees the marks his hand left behind on your ass.

“Poor lil’ thing. Maybe I went too hard on you. Still, you look so damn good like this, honey. Is this how I should get you to mind me from now on? Put you over my knee and spank this pretty lil ass till ya’ listen?”

You moan quietly at his words, not at all opposed to the idea, which of course, Joel notices.

“I see I got a lil masochist on my hands here, ain’t that right, darlin’? You like a lil pain?”

You whimper out a response.

“Yeah, I-I like it, Joel. Now p-please, you’ve teased me enough, need you to touch me.”

He seems to take pity on you as he slowly pulls your underwear down your legs, urging your hips up to give himself room. As you lay back down in his lap you feel his hardness digging into your stomach and you whine out.

“Please Joel, I want your cock so bad, I’ll be good I promise.”

You look up at him with pleading eyes, and he brings his large hand up to your face, smushing your cheeks together so your lips push out in a pout.

“As cute as you are, darlin’, you’re not getting my cock until you can prove you can listen to me, take orders from me like a good girl. Got it, honey?”

You start to pitch up a whine, complaining slightly.

“B-but, Joel, I-I-….”

His grip on your cheeks goes tighter, and he nods your head up and down slightly, his mouth curved into a condescending grin.

“There we go, good girl. Say “Yes, Sir.” That’s it…”

He chuckles, dropping his grip on your cheeks and stroking your hair again in a soothing motion, then moving his hands back to your dripping wet core.

“Listen to me, little girl. You’re gonna lay nice and still over my knee and you’re gonna take what I have to give you, got it? Gonna show you who’s in charge around here, honey; you’re gonna mind me when we’re done.”

As he says this, he slides a thick finger into your dripping hole, and you feel yourself clench around his digit.

“O-oh, fuck!”

You whine as he starts up an unforgiving pace, and you can hear the sticky, wet noises of your own arousal echoing through the room.

“You like that honey? Huh?”

He says, as he slips another finger in, the slight stretch making you cry out in pleasure again.

“Where’s that bratty attitude now, little girl? You gonna talk back to me now you’re getting fucked over my knee? Fucked good by this old man?”

You feel yourself somehow get even wetter at his words, whines tumbling from your lips.

“N-no, Joel, I promise! I’ll b-be good, I swear! Just please don’t stop!”

He makes a thinking noise, his fingers not slowing as he moves his other hand to your lower back, holding you down.

“I don’t know honey, I’m not convinced that you’ll be a good girl for me. Show me some proper respect, and maybe I’ll think about it. Go on.”

You let out a frustrated whine, not believing that he can possibly make this situation anymore humiliating, but you think you know what he wants.

Finally you give in.

“Please, Sir! Please, don’t stop!”

You think you can feel his cock twitch slightly as it digs into your stomach from below, and you feel a slight sense of satisfaction as he speaks.

“Yeah honey, that’s a good girl. Showing me some proper respect now, huh?”

He seems pleased, and as if rewarding you for your efforts he scoops you up and sits you in his lap properly, draping your legs either side of his broad thighs.

You feel your wetness drip out of you as your core is entirely exposed to the cool air of the room.

“I think my good girl deserves a little reward now, show her I’m not all bad, right baby?”

His fingers go straight for your clit and begin to rub it in tight, calculated circles as the fingers of his other hand plunge back into your tight hole.

You moan loudly he does this, feeling yourself close to cumming already after his relentless teasing. You feel as if you can’t control the loud, desperate whines and moans leaving your lips as he continues to work your body expertly.

You hear him tut again as your moans reach a particularly loud crescendo.

“Shh, honey…damn, you really are desperate to cum, huh? You better quieten down, you wouldn’t want your lil’ friends to know you’re getting fucked so good by a man old enough to be your daddy. Ain’t that right little girl?”

As he says this, he takes his fingers out from your pussy and shoves them in your open mouth, silencing your moans.

“Yeah, that’s better. Give you something to keep you quiet while you cum, darlin’.”

You feel yourself tightening around nothing, your legs clenching and shaking as you begin to cum, Joel’s fingers in your mouth keeping you quiet.

He continues to rub your clit slowly as you come down from your high, the feeling making you shiver and spasm in his arms.

You relax back into his chest, feeling slightly dizzy from your intense orgasm, your muscles feeling jelly-like and utterly relaxed.

Joel wraps his arms around your shaking form, reclining further into the chair and allowing you to nestle into his arms.

“You okay, honey? Need anything, some water or something?”

You look up at him, his brown eyes kind and gentle again.

You giggle slightly,

“Maybe my pants back, old man…”

He raises his eyebrows in mock surprise.

“Oh, back to our old ways already are we, sweetheart?”

He says, playfully.

You laugh quietly again, resting your head on his chest.

“Yeah, something like that.”

You two stay like that for a while, until finally your legs begin to go numb due to the uncomfortable position. Joel sends you off with a kiss on the forehead and a pat on your (still slightly sore) ass, as well as a warning that you’d better listen to him next time you’re on patrol together.

You find yourself making a promise to yourself to show Joel just how much of a good girl you can be the next time you’re on patrol together.

[toast-tales]

Cursed Cravings, Chapter 2: Strange Hospitality

In which we return to the present day, where Danny finds a strange mansion in the woods while searching for her friend. Contains: ~2.8k words | Chapter 1 | Read this story on A03!

The weather was not kind to Danny as she trudged through the woods, each footstep falling heavy and laboriously through the snow as she marched onward, fueled by a bitter spite towards whatever entity had decided she would not have an easy journey.

She couldn’t give up. The horse that Nathan had taken out of town this morning had returned, frightened and skittish, without him. It had taken all morning to calm it down enough to take out again. They had been traveling for so long that Danny had to walk beside it now, giving the poor horse a rest while he carried the meager supplies she’d scraped together at the last minute. 

She tried to follow the path Nathan should have taken towards the next town, keeping a vigilant eye out for any danger. All of his things had still been in the horse’s saddlebags, so it couldn’t have been bandits, right? Had the horse been spooked by a wild animal? Had they simply gotten separated? He would walk back the way he’d come if that was the case, wouldn’t he?

He’d look for shelter, or for someone to help. Maybe there’s a home somewhere along the way. 

Surely he’s alright. He has to be.

But Danny had traveled all day, and hadn’t seen a sign of Nathan anywhere on the road. No one she’d passed had seen anyone matching her description of Nathan, either, which only made her more and more anxious. The sun began to dip near the horizon, and the encroaching darkness brought with it a fresh wave of anxiety. She couldn’t turn back, not without Nathan. She had to find him.

“NATHAN!” she called out, desperately, hopelessly. She couldn’t just yell his name out here in the middle of nowhere and expect a response. She did it anyway. “NATE!” 

“Hello? Are you okay?” 

She stopped in her tracks abruptly, so surprised by the voice that she almost didn’t realize she’d heard one in the first place. It wasn’t Nathan—and she couldn’t quite place where it had come from. She whipped her head this way and that, but all she could see immediately were snow-covered trees. 

“Where are you?” she called out, against her better judgment. Strangers in the woods were usually things you tried to avoid, but she was desperate—she had to take her chances with anyone who could help her find her friend. 

She followed the voice’s direction a little further down the path, and to her left, hidden well amongst the trees and the snow, she finally saw it—a huge mansion surrounded by a large, iron gate, obviously the home of someone who was very rich and important. This far out in the woods, though? She supposed some of them must have homes out in the country for when they got bored of city life. 

The voice from earlier came again, but she still couldn’t see who its owner was. “You seem lost. Are you okay?” 

Oddly, she couldn’t tell if the voice even belonged to a man or a woman, not without a face to go with it. Even so, it sounded young, and…fairly trustworthy, or at least, feigning a genuine enough concern.

“I’m…I’m looking for a friend. He was traveling this way earlier today…his name is Nathan Hayes. Have you seen anyone, by chance?”

The voice didn’t reply for a moment. Danny moved closer to the gate, cautiously, searching the mansion’s grounds for anyone who could have spoken to her. And then, she watched in wonder as the gate swung open—almost of its own accord.

…maybe the wind blew it open?

“I think I can help you find your friend. Would you like to come inside?” 

There was absolutely no way in hell this wasn’t the same kind of setup as every nightmarish fairy tale Nathan had ever told her—getting lost in the woods, wandering into some strange house, and then getting eaten by a witch or chased by bears or cursed by some fairy queen. 

She glared at the gate with a very heavy dose of suspicion. “What makes you say that, huh? How can you help me find him?” 

Another pause. “Because I’ve seen him. Curly brown hair, freckles, green shirt, right?”

Danny felt her heart drop into her stomach. “T-that’s him! You’ve seen him? Where? When? And…where are you? Why can’t I see you?” 

“I’m inside,” the voice simply said—which frankly should have been a lie, because the front door to the mansion was pretty far down the path, and this voice was as clear as if it was right next to her. Danny, unfortunately, didn’t have a better explanation to refute the claim. “I can explain more if you come in? It’s getting late—you shouldn’t travel at night. It’s dangerous.” 

I can’t argue with that, she thought sullenly. Though it’s just as dangerous to trust strangers like you. There was no doubt, though, that this person—whoever they were—had seen Nathan, at least. Danny had no choice—she needed to accept whatever help this person had to offer, no matter how strange. She had nothing else to go on.

She took a deep breath and made her way to the opened gate, pulling her horse along.

The horse stopped before the gate, kicking up his hooves and letting out a frightened whinny, refusing to go any further towards the house.

“Hey, hey! It’s okay, Buddy! It’s okay.” Danny tried to soothe him, but it was useless—no amount of coaxing was going to get the horse to calm down, it seemed. She didn’t know what had gotten him so worked up—but it certainly didn’t make her feel any better about listening to the strange voice.

I don’t have a choice. I have to find Nathan.

She tied Buddy’s reins to the fencepost—lest he run off again and leave her stranded in the woods as well—before heading down the path alone.

The grounds of this mansion, now that she could get a closer look, seemed to be well-maintained. A fountain sat a short ways down, the water frozen over it in an icy, solid waterfall. Hedges lined the yard, covered in a heavy layer of snow. There were even what appeared to be topiary animals here and there.

Rich people really do have the weirdest hobbies. 

She finally reached the mansion itself—a hulking, obscenely elaborate building of dark stone and sharp, twisted spires, like a grand cathedral instead of a place someone actually lived in. Ivy crawled up the edges of the worn brick, giving the whole place the feeling of being terribly old. 

Danny had never been afforded many luxuries in life—the modest house on their farm was a luxury in and of itself. This was far beyond her understanding of how any normal person could live. How much money did a place like this even cost? 

She took a few more cautious steps towards the huge front doors, which loomed before her in all their ornate beauty. There were patterns carved into the wood, elaborate etchings that curled their way all the way down and around a pair of huge, equally elaborate brass door knockers. 

A shiver ran down her spine, but she wrote it off as a gust of winter wind that snapped at her then, rustling her traveling cloak in its wake. 

She reached out for one of the door knockers, but before her hand could touch it, the door opened wide towards her. 

It was dark inside of the house—too dark to see much besides some sort of entryway awaiting her, and what looked like a grand staircase further in. She didn’t see anyone on the other side, strangely. 

“Hello?” she called out, waiting on the porch for an answer. 

“Come in,” the voice insisted, friendly and bright. “Sorry it’s a little dark, I’ll get things lit up for you.”

The voice seemed to have floated further inside the house, and so, with one last, decisive breath, she decided to follow it, and stepped over the threshold.

And immediately, she fell flat on her face. 

Something had rushed to her head almost immediately that had caused such a spell of sudden dizziness—almost a vertigo of some sort, like she’d fallen from some great height instead of just walking into a house. The split-second flash of memory she had retained from before the fall was quickly brushed away, written off as the ridiculous concoction of a brain that didn’t have the capability to walk in a straight line.

She quickly rose to her feet in shame, straightening her cloak and looking around for anyone who would have beared witness to her fall.

Suddenly, though, embarrassment was the least of her concerns.

This was not the same house she’d seen from outside the open door—the tiles below her were the same, the entryway stood before her, yes, but the problem was that everything was built for a fucking giant. 

The edge of the floor tile she was on now stretched on—it had been small enough to step over in one stride, and now it seemed to be as wide as her whole house. The ceiling rose above her, taller than a grand cathedral, much taller than the outside of the building suggested. She thought that a mountain could fit within this space comfortably, and the more she looked up, the dizzier she became. She tried to avert her eyes to something that made sense, but everywhere she looked brought an even further sense of terror. Everything, every chair, every window, every door frame and odd object scattered about seemed to be designed for someone easily a hundred feet tall, maybe more. 

She found that she had frozen in place, and as she looked behind her frantically, as if to catch a glimpse of the outside world to see if she was in a crazy dream or not, she saw the door—now rising so far above her that it would have been an impossible feat to reach the door knocker from before—closed shut on its own.

As if to fight against the sudden lack of air in her lungs, she took in a forceful inhale of breath—though what to do with it, she hadn’t decided. Screaming didn’t seem productive, not yet, and she wasn’t sure whether she was angry at having been deceived, or simply awestruck at whatever magic she’d stumbled into. 

“Hey, hey! Don’t panic.”

“I am NOT panicking,” Danny gasped, almost sounding offended at the notion as she did her best to stifle the hysteria rising in her throat.

She still didn’t see anyone nearby—which, frankly, maybe she should be thankful for. Oddly, the strange voice didn’t seem to come from high above her, as she imagined it might have if it had belonged to a giant. It almost sounded as if it came from right beside her, like there was another person standing just to her right—but there was nothing, except for a huge, stone vase next to the door that held a bouquet of flowers that rose higher above her than any tree she’d ever seen.

“It’s okay. I know it’s…a little weird.” 

“A-a little weird? You’ve got to be fucking with me,” Danny muttered, her eyes still casting about the room as though it might make sense the longer she took it all in. “What kind of crazy-ass house is this?” 

“It was built about three hundred years ago, and takes some influence from Baroque design-”

“I’m talking about the GIANT FUCKING EVERYTHING,” Danny blurted out, waving her arms around as if maybe the owner of the voice needed help seeing what she did. “How the fuck is this possible?”

“Uh…magic?” the voice supplied, semi-helpfully. 

Danny sighed, relinquishing the breath they’d taken in a weary, frazzled exhale. They couldn’t argue with that.

She gasped as a series of lamps far above her along the walls lit themselves up along the inside of the room, illuminating the space even more. She’d almost not noticed it from her vantage point earlier, but there was a gigantic staircase a ways ahead of her in the middle of the room, made of dark wood with a red fabric runner going down its length and spilling out onto the floor at the bottom. It rose up to the second level of the house, its railings intricately carved and oiled, with enormous wooden birds of a species she didn’t recognize adorning the bottom of the railing like perched gargoyles. A huge chandelier lit up directly above her as well, dripping with fine crystal far above like the stars in the sky had formed into one dazzling constellation. 

She stared in awe, a little of the initial shock making way for what might have been amazement. It truly was grand, and far fancier than anything she’d ever seen before. If only she didn’t have to crane her neck to actually see half of it—and if only she wasn’t also given the new and rather unwelcome perspective of what a bug might see before it was unceremoniously crushed under someone’s heel.

“It’s a real nice place, isn’t it?” 

The voice no longer came from her right, but from her other side—though, unsurprisingly at this point, there was nothing there but a small (relative to the house, not to her) table. 

“Y-yeah, it’s uh, it’s pretty fancy,” she relented, trying to settle her frantic heartbeat with what she’d come here for in the first place. “So, can you tell me what you know about Nathan? Do you know if he’s okay? Where are you?” She wondered if she would have to go wandering in this giant house—if this strange person was up the stairs or on the far side of the house, it could easily be a grand adventure of multiple days just to reach them, at her size. “Are you a…giant?”

“Nathan’s fine, he’s alright. And uh, no, I’m not a giant. But can I just say, you’re taking this really well so far.”

A few things seemed to rustle about, like a wind blew through an open window into the room. But none of the windows were open, so what made the curtains move like that?

“So…where is he? Is he here? Can you take me to him?”

Another chill ran down her spine like an ill omen, and she didn’t have to wait long to figure out what such a premonition had warned her of. She could hear, just around the corner, the sound of hulking, huge footsteps, moving slowly towards the room she was in now.

A giant.

“Can you do me just one favor?” the voice whispered, and it felt now as though the invisible person stood right next to her ear. It sent a fresh wave of chills down her skin, raising goosebumps along it, and she stood silently, frozen in place. “I’ll help you find Nathan as long as you don’t scream when you see this guy.” 

“W-when I see who?” Danny muttered harshly, her head beginning to frantically turn this way and that as she looked for the danger her body warned her about, her heart’s tempo increasing with every second. 

“The master of the house,” the voice said simply. Danny felt a sudden, almost tangible absence then—as if there really had been some sort of invisible person beside them, and they’d just…disappeared. 

She steeled herself for what she was about to see, doing her best to quiet the rising panic inside of her as the footsteps grew closer. It felt almost as though each step shook the whole place, though certainly that was only due to how utterly dwarfed she was by everything. It was like she could feel the vibrations of each step in her chest as the sound echoed hollowly in the huge, empty house. 

And then he made his appearance around the corner from a room further down, his eyes landing squarely and immediately on her—though as he caught sight of her, he remained standing where he was, as if he was simply observing her from a distance.

The man appeared to be young, not much older than her, with a slender, willowy frame and sharp, dark eyes. His dark black hair was done up in an elegant but simple updo, his hair twisted around on each side of his face and collected in a bun in the back. He wore a brocaded burgundy waistcoat atop a loose, white shirt—everything about him suggested an air of wealth and sophistication that fit the house he resided in. 

That, of course, and the fact that he was at least a hundred fucking feet tall. 

* * * * * * * * * * 

Next Chapter ->

You've all seen the movie, so surely you all know it's going to go well in the next chapter, right?

Thanks for reading, and see you next week with chapter 3, Master of the House!

[tickletastic]

High Horses and Trojan Ones Too

Fandom: Top Gun: Maverick

Ship: N/A (could be read as pre-slash Hangster)

Summary: Days after the mission, The Dagger Squad has decided to stay a week with Maverick before going off to visit their own families. Though Hangman and Rooster have made up, Hangman feels as though there are still some roadblocks between them, so he takes some advice from Phoenix. (Dialogue inspired by this prompt)

Warnings: sickeningly sweet

The morning had been pretty quiet, most of the Daggers being away from Mav’s. Phoenix and Bob had gone grocery shopping for snacks and things that Mav had run low on since seemingly adopting the squad. Javy had gone to get a book from Barnes & Noble, apparently his favourite author had released a new one some time during the mission and he was only now finding the time to grab it. The rest of the squad, Jake wasn’t sure of. 

Well, except for shirtless Bradley Bradshaw making eggs at Mav’s stove.

Jake awkwardly clears his throat when he enters the kitchen, and Bradley whips around, ceasing the humming he had previously been doing while stirring the eggs. 

"Bet those are the crunchiest eggs ever made,” Jake quips, grabbing a piece of bacon off the island, “do you even know how to cook, Bradshaw?”

Bradley scoffs, rolling his eyes as he watches Jake chew the bacon, “I have you know, I am an excellent chef.”

“If I asked Mav would he say the same?” Jake asks, eyebrow raised.

“Why would you ask Mav?” Bradley asks, head tilted. 

“I mean, he’s like your dad.” Jake laughs.

“Seresin,” Rooster grits, jaw suddenly tense, “what did I say about talking about my dad?”

Jake’s eyebrows shoot up and he stammers out an apology that seemingly falls on deaf ears. He gets up from where he had sat at the island in favour of walking to the living room, regretting the previous interaction. He shoots Phoenix a text, asking her if she has any solid advice on how to lessen the tension between himself and Rooster. She responds immediately.

Tash: Hi Hangman!! It’s Bob :)))

Tash: Phoenix is driving but she said “I’ve known Roos for a long ass time, and sometimes his panties just get in a twist, there’s nothing you can do but let him realize he’s being a baby.”

Hangman texts back, letting out a sigh.

Bagman: it’s not just this time, he kind of always assumes the worst with me, is there a way to get him to lighten up with me? 

Bagman: i already feel like an ass for bringing up his dad during training

Bagman: i don’t know why, but i just need him to know that i’m trying to be better, and i care about him

Once again, almost as soon as they saw his typing bubble stop they were ready to shoot him a response. 

Tash: Still Bob!

Tash: Who knew you were such a softie?

Tash: Tash said “there is one thing; he’s really ticklish. It makes him a little embarrassed, but he feels connected with people when they tickle him, it’s like a play-fighting thing.”

Bagman: tickling? tash, we are 2 adult men

Tash: She said “just trust me, Bagman.”

Jake grins to himself, and, just as he’s about to put his phone down, it pings again. 

Tash: One more thing; Tash said go for his tummy last.

Bagman: gr8, will do ;)

Just as Jake goes to put his phone down again, Bradley walks into the room, placing a plate on the coffee table in front of Jake before sitting down next to him on the couch, his own plate in hand. Bradley puts his own plate down and breathes in like he’s gonna speak, but remains silent.

A minute of thick silence passes them before Bradley finally breathes in to speak again. “Jake, I,”

“I’m sorry,” Jake interrupts, finally meeting Bradley’s eyes.

“No, no,” Bradley shakes his head, “no, this one’s on me.” 

Bradley awkwardly fiddles with his hands, taking a minute to collect his thoughts. 

“You were right when you said I’m kind of always on my high horse,” Bradley says as Jake laughs, “don’t laugh! You can be an asshole too.”

Jake grins, “I know, I know. But I’m trying not to be.”

“I know, trust me, I see that, Jake, I do,” Bradley scrambles out, putting a hand on Jake’s knee. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you, I know you didn’t mean it any way, it’s just between the comment at Top Gun and the whole thing with Mav... I was just being a little reactionary.” 

“Well, apology accepted, pretty boy,” Jake smiles, sending Bradley a wink.

Bradley goes pink, and he can’t help but break eye contact. They’re silent for another beat before Bradley finally concludes his apology, “and, well, you were right.”

“Don’t I know it and aren’t I always?” Jake says, southern twang on full display, “now, why don’t we see if this knocks you down off that high horse?”

“What do you- Jahahake, whahahahat the hehehehell?” Bradley screeches out at Jake manages to poke his ribs until he’s stuck in the corner of the couch, unable to escape Jake’s tickly fingers. “Thahahat tihihickles!”

“Uh, duh, Rooster,” Jake says with an over-exaggerated eye roll, “had to figure out some way to humble you.”

Rooster giggles, trying to flip himself over and failing hopelessly. He tries to grab for Jake’s hands, but his erratic movements are too much for Rooster’s tickle-addled reflexes. “Stahahap! Jahahake nohoho!”

“No can do, buckaroo, the doctor called for the full treatment,” Jake teases, noting how Bradley’s ears turn pink, “damn, you squirm harder than a rodeo bull.”

“ahahare youhohou- ahahare yohohou reheheally mahahaking Texhahahas refeeheherences?” Bradley laughs, arching when Jake gets a spot at the bottom of his spine. 

“Best state,” Jake says, a coo on the tip of his tongue as he watches Rooster giggle himself pink, “they say everythin’s bigger there, but something tells me that your laugh is about to be the biggest of all.”

Jake’s fingers dart all the way up to Rooster’s armpits, causing the other man to squeal, shaking his head back and forth. 

“Oh, you think this is bad?” Jake says, “this is only the start of my hands’ journey.”

He spiders in Bradley’s armpits before going lower, tasering his ribs. Bradley snorts whenever Jake hits a particularly bad one, squealing when he hits others. It’s like music, in a way. The cutest music that Jake’s ever heard. 

Once Jakes gets bored of that, he goes down to knead Bradley’s sides, which causes the other man to scream, trying to kick his legs out, arms going everywhere. “FUHUHUCK! JAHAHAKE PLEHEHEASE!”

“Don’t worry, Roos,” Jake smiles, sincere and lacking any of his usual smugness, “we’re almost at the grande finale.”

Jake moves his hand to hover just over Rooster’s tummy, shaped like a claw and lowering menacingly every few seconds. 

“No! nohoho! Jahahake dohohont!” Bradley pleads as he tries to both catch his breath and stop Jake’s hand. “I cahahan’t! Ihihi’ll dihihie!”

“You’re not gonna die, idiot,” Jake laughs, “but you might wish you did.”

Bradley’s laughter descends into silence when Jake’s hand starts to claw in circles around his belly button. He wheezes everytime he has enough air to audibly laugh, quickly descending again into silence. When Jake finally gets his belly button, tears prick from his eyes, laughter coming on loudly in bouts.

“UHUHUNCLE!” He screeches when he gets enough air to plead. Jake stops, giggling at the sight of Bradley, red-faced and smiley, trying to breathe as much air as possible. 

When Bradley finally recovers, panting only slightly, he glares at Jake, “you’re evil.”

“That’s the goal, Roos, and I’m damn good at it.” Jake smiles, winking.

Rooster gets up from the couch, walking towards the kitchen. 

“Where are you goin’?” Hangman asks, watching Rooster stop at the entryway. 

“Just got to do somethin’, that’s all,” Bradley responds with a shrug. 

“What about the food?” Hangman asks, “you’re not going to grace me with your presence?” 

“Ive got a call to make,” Bradley grins, devilish and chilling, “to Javy.”

“Oh no you don’t,” Jake shouts, chasing Bradley out of the room.

[darcyw16]

Yoongi’s Girl

Part 1

Warning: Crime, swearing, drugs, guns, smut mention (more smut in part 2 !), mafia

Your sitting at your dressing table in a world of your own carrying out you night time skin routine, girl gotta always look good. Your wedding ring catches you eyes as the light catches it, you smile to yourself remember just who put that ring on you finger, your knight in shining armour, the man of your dreams, your lover, your husband. Your sharp pulled out of your day dream when you hear shots fired. “ For fucks sake what now”, you give your self the once over whilst applying a tinted balm to your lips, and head out your room to were the gun shots were fired. You look over the staircase on the landing which looks over the main hall. You see 6 of your husbands men with their guns withdrawn all targeting the sleaze bag Mr Verrill. Jungkook clocks you giving you the side eye, you scoff to yourself, nothing can get passed that man. Your husband stands in front of his 6 men without a gun. “Damn Min why do you have to be so cocky in situations like this”. Your hear Verrill pleading for more cash, this is the man who has sold his wife to cover his debt previously. He is in his mid 50s with a growing gambling addiction, he's owes money to most lenders which we are using to our advantage. You see Verrill works in shipping firearms which he has some very loyal customers which we want, this is the only thing this man has along with his new taste is younger women which he obviously needs the cash to pay for, no women would that for free. You need to intervein before Yoongi sees red and blows his brains out, he hates people that beg, well that's lying as he makes me beg most nights but that's a different situation all together. You waltz down the stair case earning a smirk for Jimin, he knows what's coming. “Verrill how lovely to see you, you must be here to settle your debts” as you reach the bottom you weave through guys and stand in front of Yoongi with you back towards Verrill.  “Evening Miss Min” you whip you head round to glare at him “Its Mrs!” you turn back round to Yoongi fixing his tie. “Apologies Mrs Min, I'm hear to ask for an extension and also to extra cash, you see iv been giving a tip on a horse race tomorrow that will pay all my debts” i look up at yoongi and roll you eyes as i reach for his gun in his inside his suit jacket. “You see Verrill that's asking for two things, there will be no more lending until you pay up, i will give you another 24 hours to gather our funds. If you don't meet our agreement we will take goods to the value you owe like your firearms customers” you smirk up at Yoongi. “NO FUCKING WAY, they are my customers, do you know how long it has taking to get my customer base. Please I need  another $20,000 and I will pay you back tomorrow”. You sharply turn pointing the gun in Verrils direction “ I don't think you heard what i said,  there will be no more lending until you pay up do you understand.”, “Please I need to the cash, Yoongi please understand”. You point the gun and one of Verrills men and pull the trigger. “Fuck what did you do that for”. “Well that got your attention! There will be no more lending and if our money isn't not here tomorrow you will be lying there staining my marble floor like your friend and believe you me Mr Verrill I hate stains but not as much a lying basterd like you, Goodnight Mr Verrill. Namjoon can you see that Mr Verrill sees himself off the property”. Namjoon gives you the nod and you hear Jin say he will clean up the mess and dispose. You turn to Yoongi who has that devilish smirk plastered on his face, “ That was hot, I love when you take control like that, you make me so proud”, you scoff at him comment “ No you don't! I want to go bed and you would of had him pleading all night just to say no to him and shoot him dead if i hadn't stepped in”. He reaches out and pulls you in by your waist and whispers in you ear “Not true, i would of shot him with minutes as i have plans so get up the fucking stairs and wait for me like a good slut”. his voice sends shivers down your spine and the heat that has been pooling between you legs since you saw him this evening is starting to leak, you look at him “ Yes daddy” “Good girl we will carry on you performance upstairs”, you roll you eyes, i didn't do all this to create a scene or a “performance” as he called it, i did this for us i want to show him that I'm capable of handing things. I want to live up to my new name Min. “ if you want this to be such a performance I'm going to need an audience” you know you've touched a nerve when you hear a low growl “ Why don't you asks the guys to come up too, you know to watch the performance” he grabs your neck and pushes you against the wall, you love how his hand feels round your neck an he knows it. “ don't you dare say shit like that you know i hate thought of them hearing you scream, things like should just be for me but your so fucking loud”. Yoongi is the jealous type, iv lost count the number of people he has shot for just looking at you. You made the mistake one year for his birthday by hiring a female escort, he shot her for making you cum, such a shame she seemed like a really nice girl. But this why you love him, for once in you life you feel safe, wanted, loved. He saved you and provided you life and home you used to dream about. You didn't have the best start in life, you never met your dad and you honestly don't believe you mother knew who he was. She was drugged addict with many boyfriends, possibly even pimps. You were sold to yoongi to cover her debt, this situation should be the lowest point of anyone's life but I already rock bottom so the day i was handed over to yoongi that's when my life had finally become. You look up through you lashes, his eye piecing yours. You hold his hand that's wrapped round your neck to help you to pull up a kiss his soft lips, before he could swipe his tongue in to meet yours you pull away with his bottom lip between your teeth.

“ I'll be upstairs waiting daddy”

If you have got this for thank you so much for reading, this is my first piece of writing and already have part 2 in the works (which is very much for a smutty reader). Please forgive my spelling and grammer as i know its not the best, i kind of just doing this as a hobby rather than professional. I kind of have plan for this being a 2 part story, however i cant leave any of the members out so i may add extra parts so i give them all a bit of attention. XDX

[serenailith]

my heart, my love ii

chapter i here on ao3 | tumblr

chapter 2/4 on ao3 here

in which hob sets out to complete his task and gets a travelling companion in return

Hob sits at the window, watching the sky slowly brighten and turn a rosy gold. It’s time, he supposes, but he doesn’t move until someone knocks on the door and calls his name. Sighing, he rises to his feet and quickly dresses in his clothes from the day before. His heart lurches when he realises his sword is nowhere in sight. It’s been taken. Granted, it was someone else’s sword before he took it, but he’d earned it fair and square.

He gives up searching after another few minutes. It’s well and truly gone.

The steward stands on the other side of the door, hand poised to knock again, and he gives a small smile when he sees Hob. “If you’ll follow me, sir.”

“Lead the way, my good man.”

The steward lets out a small sound that could be stifled laughter then turns on his heel. Hob follows his quick footsteps until they reach the front door. The steward pulls the door open and gestures outside. Hob nods before stepping out onto the steps. The morning air is already thick with humidity and heat, and he breathes in the aroma of fresh-baked bread and air that smells too much like humans. He misses the wide-open prairies and fields he’s roamed since he was a lad.

Hooves clip-clopping on stone bring his attention to his surroundings, and he looks around to see his beautiful dappled Marabelle approaching. She tosses her head when she sees him. He grins and reaches out to pat her neck, praising her for being such a good mare. To his surprise, another horse stands just behind her. His brows rise, and the stablehand from the day before says it’s a gift from the king. Footsteps shuffle behind him, and he turns.

The newcomer holds out a sword—his sword. It’s shined and clearly sharpened, held within a beautiful scabbard bearing the royal coat of arms. In his other hand is a gun, long and narrow, and with it, Hob can find a meal.

Another member of the castle staff holds out a pack; Hob takes it, rifles through it, and bites back a smile at all it contains. There are basic medical equipment, daggers he will most likely never use, bullets, dried fruits and meats, and there, at the bottom, a coinpurse. He nods and attaches the pack and gun to the back of his saddle and hauls himself up. Taking the sword from the first man, he loops the band of the scabbard around his waist and takes up the reins of both horses.

The staff step back, and he nudges Marabelle forward. The stallion comes along, docile and obedient to the slight pull on his halter. Hob follows the stone roads until he reaches the gates; they open without hesitation, as if the guards here are desperate to rid the kingdom of the filth he is.

He settles into the saddle, tightens his grip on the reins, and clicks his tongue. Both Marabelle and the stallion lurch forward, cantering around the open fields in which farmers plant the year’s crops. They stop working, but Hob is here then gone before they can do more than catch a quick glimpse. The wind whips through his hair, and he grins as Marabelle stretches her neck further. She’s always loved to be free like this, to run like this, to have nothing holding her back but her trust for Hob’s instincts.

He pulls her to a trot after a while, and she snorts as she obeys. Hob stares around his surroundings, though he sees nothing. He hears—

His sword is drawn and he’s twisted in the saddle in time to aim the point at the newcomer. The hood of their cloak hides their face, though it’s a plain drape of fabric. Nothing royal, then. Maybe another hunter, perhaps another mercenary. Hob can work with either, really. But then pale hands reach up to drop the hood, and the sword nearly falls to the ground.

The king stares back impassively.

“Your Majesty?” Hob croaks.

He can hardly believe it, but it’s truly the king on a pure black stallion. His hair has been cut close, lying to the side atop his head. A few strands poke from where the hood had pulled them upright. There is nothing about him that screams ‘royalty!’, like he’s smarter than his knights and messenger were. His horse shifts, and Hob hears the telltale jingle of coins.

“You are rather quick in your reactions,” the king says smoothly as if he hadn’t just had a blade pointed at his face. “I believe I have made the right decision in employing your services.”

“Sire, I must ask, what are you doing here?”

“I have come to find my son.”

“You—you asked me to do it. Should you not be back in your castle, leading your kingdom?”

The king scowls and nudges his horse closer. “My affairs are none of your concern, Robert Gadling. You would do well to not question me again.”

“Right,” Hob drawls before sheathing his sword once more. “Then I suppose we best get on.”

The king doesn’t answer, just rides past Hob in stony silence. Hob rolls his eyes and presses his heels to Marabelle’s sides. She steps forward, falling in step beside the king, and Hob glances askance at the man of royalty. His eyes are brighter in the sunlight, though he keeps them narrowed, and his lips press tightly together. His gaze never strays from what’s ahead—which is to say, nothing but tall grasses—and Hob finally looks away.

They ride in silence for hours, then the king speaks. The words are veiled insults over Hob’s station in life, his choice of vocation, as if Hob has any control over where he stands in the social system. He can choose a different trajectory for his life; he can walk away from the hunting lifestyle, from being a mercenary for hire, but… He would rather not.

“How did you hear of me?” Hob asks, ignoring how the words sting.

“Your reputation precedes you, far and wide. It is… tasteless, I admit, though you have been praised as seeing the job through. You have protected lords and ladies before. I hear things.”

“Yes, well, can’t do with failing, can I?”

“It has also been told that you have also killed and stolen.”

“Have to make a living somehow.”

“Is that what you wish to do to me?” the king asks softly; his voice is a honey-trap, begging for Hob to make one wrong step. “Murder me and steal from me?”

“I’d never, sire.”

“It would be your biggest reward, wouldn’t it? After all, it’s a way to make a living, isn’t it?”

“It would also put a price upon my head, one that I can’t afford.”

The king hums in response then comments on Hob’s station once more. He questions Hob’s ability to protect them both should the need arise. Hob tugs Marabelle to a stop and watches the king do the same with his stallion.

“Look, sire. With all due respect, we aren’t in your precious kingdom anymore. You are no longer protected by high walls one cannot climb or knights who are too stupid to find their arse from a hole in the ground. You’d do well to defer to me should you wish to live, because I can and will do my utmost to keep you safe.”

The king lets out that annoying little sound again as he nudges his horse forward. Hob growls low in his throat but follows. Arion, because his new stallion looks like the depictions of the Greek mythological pegasus, obediently plods along.

Neither man nor king speaks for the rest of the day until it is time to stop for the night. Even then, it’s only for Hob to announce night is falling and they need to find a shelter of some sort. He leads the way through the thicket of trees, deeper toward the centre where the canopies grow denser. There is no rain on the horizon, but here it is cool, shaded. Silence reigns as the two dismount. The horses move toward the brush and nuzzle until they find suitable leaves to eat. Hob gathers enough sticks and twigs to start a respectable fire in the middle of the clearing.

The king’s nose turns up, clearly disapproving of the idea of sleeping on the ground. Too bad, Hob thinks, there is no other choice.

“You are right,” the king says long after the fire is going and they’ve eaten their fill of Hob’s food stores. “I am. Awful with people, Lucienne says. I am inclined to agree. People… vex me. They speak in half-truths and riddles, and it is impossible to know if they speak true or if they fear my wrath if they say something wrong.”

“Well, clearly, I fear nothing of you.”

“Though I very well might have you thrown in the cells beneath the castle?”

Hob laughs and says cheerfully, stoking the fire, “Though that.”

The king moves away from the fire, spreads his cloak across the ground, and lies down. He pulls his own pack closer to use as a pillow, and he rolls on his side facing away from Hob. The horses roam closer though stay well away from the fire. Hob goes through the motions of checking their hooves and legs, then he takes a seat once more with his sword within reach.

The king speaks again, long after Hob thought him asleep: “I do not believe I would imprison you, Robert Gadling.”

“Just Hob, if you please,” Hob says as he ignores the pleasant warmth beneath his ribs.

“Hob,” the king repeats slowly as if tasting the name on his tongue. “You may call me Morpheus.”

Hob swallows—this isn’t what he expected. It’s only been thirteen hours since the king joined him, and here Hob is being given a name. He’s known the king’s name, but never before has he ever used it. Now the king is giving it freely.

“Rest well, King Morpheus,” he murmurs after a pregnant pause.

There’s a soft sigh then nothing else.

Hob stays awake through the night, keeping watch despite the fact he doubts any would be foolish enough to attack in such a hidden area. At least, he’s never been.

Birdsong rouses the king—Morpheus—early the next morn. He slowly stirs, and Hob watches as realisation dawns. Morpheus sits up after a moment and yawns widely. With a low grunt, he clambers to his feet, and Hob does the same.

“There’s a runlet only a moment’s walk from here,” he supplies. “We can stop by on our way forward.”

Morpheus only nods in response.

Once they’ve drunk their fill of the water and refilled their flasks, both men climb astride their horses and push onward. Much like the day before, they ride in silence until midday. Morpheus stands with his stallion and Arian while Hob rides Marabelle into the shadows of the forest they’ve ridden beside for hours. He loads the gun, keeps it ready, as he makes his way through the trees.

It’s easy pickings—he exits the forest with two rabbits. He hadn’t dared snag a deer; the meat would only go to waste.

They eat in the same silence they rode in, then Morpheus hauls himself onto his horse’s back while Hob puts out the fire and tucks away the leftover cooked meat. The gun goes back in its place upon the saddle, and Hob’s arse does the same.

By the time the pair stops for the night, everything in Hob aches. A night of repose in a bed had done little to remove the strain of riding for three days, and now he’s meant to ride for however long more. He better get paid handsomely for this task, and for putting up with the king’s morose disposition.

Night falls and not a moment too soon. Hob just barely manages to not stumble as he dismounts, and he’s inordinately pleased to see Morpheus trip over his own feet once they’re on the ground. There is no creek here, no trees, but Hob thinks it will do. As long as they don’t light a fire, they should be safe enough.

He makes quick work of checking over the horses. Making a mental note to ride Arion tomorrow and give Marabelle a break, he turns back to where the silhouette of Morpheus sits. Hob settles in on the dirt a few feet away, palms planted against earth as he stares up at the sky.

Stars litter the stretch of black, and he slowly lowers himself to lie on his back. There are no shadows of birds here. All that remains of the world is the sky above a sea of tall grasses swaying lightly in the breeze. Two infinitesimal beings beneath an everchanging canopy of stars and universes beyond comprehension.

“You should rest,” Morpheus murmurs.

Hob doesn’t jolt in surprise, though his body tenses up. It senses a danger that isn’t there. Forcing himself to relax, he turns his head to see Morpheus wrapping a long piece of grass around another. His pale fingers are so sure even in the blanket of night. It’s a wonder Hob can see them at all.

“I will—”

“You cannot go another night without sleep, Hob. How can you be trusted to supply protection if you are too exhausted to react immediately?” Morpheus must sense Hob’s glower, for he looks over. “Worry not, Hob. I have some training in self-defense.”

Hob groans at the thought of what Morpheus might consider ‘some’. “We’re going to die,” he mutters even as he tugs his pack closer. “Wake me should there be any danger.”

Surprisingly, Hob falls asleep easily and wakes slowly. The stars still shine overhead, though the constellations have moved, and Morpheus still sits a few feet from Hob’s side. There is a small basket made of grass before him, and yet his hands work to add more. Hob pushes himself upright and raises a brow. He had half-expected Morpheus to fall asleep on watch; after all, what need does a king have to keep an eye on things?

“You should rest,” he says after a moment of watching long fingers twisting the blades of grass. “It would not do for you to fall from your horse with your fatigue.”

“I have never once fallen from Oneiros.”

“Always time for a first.”

King Morpheus sets aside the basket and lies in the tamped-down grass. He’s asleep within minutes.

So it goes. The next few days are spent riding in silence, to Hob’s displeasure. He has an inexplicable yearning to find out more about this king who has left the safety and sanctity of his castle so willingly. Certainly, he is after his son, but he’d employed Hob’s services. Did he not trust Hob to succeed?

They have been riding for three more days before Hob’s own stench gets to him. When they stop for the night, it is beside a vast yet shallow slow-moving river. Hob waits until he’s checked over the horses, removed the saddles and packs, before making his way into the water.

Chill against his warm, sweaty skin, the water invigorates him. He dunks his head into the deepest part of the river, barely to his waist, then flings his head back with a laugh. He strips to nothing within seconds, running his breeches and tunic through the water, taking care not to rake against the muddy bottom. He lays them aside on the bank then wades back in.

He emerges minutes later, shivering but pleased, and comes to a stop. Morpheus is pointedly looking away. Hob squeezes excess water from his hair then drops to sit beside the king.

“You should go in. It will do good to wash.”

Morpheus sniffs, and Hob has never heard such disdain in a sound like that before. “I would rather not.”

“You would rather sit in rank breeches, in your own filth, than be naked for a few minutes to wash?”

“No one has seen me in such a state of undress since my wife died,” Morpheus admits, hesitation and pain in the words.

Hob swallows. It’s information he already knew—Queen Calliope had contracted a deadly illness and was gone within two weeks—but hearing it from Morpheus’s lips feels wrong.

“I won’t look,” Hob murmurs, “I swear it.”

And he doesn’t. He closes his eyes and turns his head away as Morpheus climbs to his feet. Water splashes, and Hob lies on his back to stare at the sky while Morpheus washes himself. It isn’t much, this ‘washing’, not without soap, but at least it’s gotten most of the grime from Hob’s skin. He certainly smells better.

Though Morpheus stays wrapped in his cloak for the rest of the evening, Hob makes certain to keep his gaze averted. It’s the least he can do for such honesty.

[aldbooks]

The Temporary Roommate - T - Ch 2

7,616 words

Part 2 of ACOTAR Secret Santa gift for @poisonivy206

—-

Once they arrived at the house, Mor left Emerie to wander the garden she'd shown an interest in while she went inside to find the elderly couple, Bronwyn and Able, who looked after the estate while she was gone.

"My lady!" Bronwyn hurriedly dusted flour coated hands on her apron and dropped a curtsy while Able leapt up from the table he'd been sitting at, peeling vegetables to bow. "You're early. We did not expect you until tomorrow."

"Yes," Mor said, giving them an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry if I've disrupted your routine but, there's been a change of plans... I brought a guest."

Both faeries perked up at the news. "A guest? Oh, goodness. I'd only just begun preparing your room, my lady. I haven't opened any of the other rooms. It will take at least a day to prepare, the other rooms have been closed up for so long, they're frightfully dusty."

That was exactly what she'd been afraid of. She'd meant to send a note ahead of her arrival to warn the housekeeper but had been preoccupied with rushing the remainder of her preparations for the visit. With magic, it was the work of a few minutes to clean out a room and stock it with fresh linens but Bronwyn prided herself on anticipating her mistress' needs. Mor had thrown her carefully ordered household into a bit of chaos.

"Which room would you like to put...?"

"Emerie," she provided.

"Lady Emerie." Mor iddn't bother to correct her. Emerie could do decide if she was comfortable being addressed as such. "Which room shall I put her in?"

"Oh it doesn't matter," she waved a hand. "Whichever is easiest for you. I just wanted to give you a heads up for dinner."

The housekeeper's eyes widened as she glanced around at the ingredients she'd begun preparing and Mor could see her calculating if she'd have enough. She gave her husband a look and he nodded. "I'll gather some more potatoes," he said before moving towards the door.

"I was only preparing a simple stew," Bronwyn fretted, her eyes darting towards the larder which would likely not have been stocked with much meat yet until Able went hunting tomorrow.

"It's no bother, Bronwyn. I don't mind and I don't think Emerie will either. You can dazzle us with your culinary skills tomorrow night. I think my guest will wish to retire early this evening in any case," she added when the old woman looked uncertain. After a moment, she nodded, her spine straightening to military precision.

"Yes, very good. I'll start planning the menu now." She moved over to the corner where a pen and notebook sat for her use, and began jotting things down. "What sort of dishes does Lady Emerie prefer? Lamb? Chicken? Venison?"

"Oh, uh," Mor shifted on her feet. "I couldn't say. She's from Illyria, so I think she's used to simple fare."

Bronwyn's head whipped around, her eyes alight with curiosity. "An Illyrian?"

"Yes. She's a friend of my cousin's sister-in-law, Lady Nesta."

"The general's mate?"

"Indeed...." Mor hesitated, unsure how much to share. "There's been some- trouble in Windhaven, recently. The High Lord asked me to look out for her safety while he and the general sort out matters."

"I see." There was clear interest in the woman's dark gaze but she said nothing else as she returned to her planning. "Well, not to worry my lady, I'll take care of everything. You and your guest enjoy yourselves."

With that, she was shooed out of the kitchen and returned outside to find the gardens empty. She felt a brief moment of panic before spotting Emerie leaning against the paddock on the other side of the house.

A sleek white mare knickered and trotted over as she approached making Mor smile.

"She's beautiful," Emerie said, watching the horse nuzzle Mor's chest. "They all are."

Something warmed in her chest. These horses were her pride and joy, though she didn't get to spend nearly as much time with them as she would like. "Thank you. This beautiful girl is Ellia, my favorite. Don't tell the others," she whispered.

Emerie chuckled, tentatively holding out a hand for Ellia to sniff. The mare snorted but stuck her nose out further for pats. Mor let out a quiet breath, grateful the horse seemed to like her. Ellia was always friendly with her but had been skittish around Able when she'd first brought him in to help care for her. She hadn't been around too many other people for Mor to truly know how she'd respond.

"Would you like to join me for a ride?" The words were out before she could fully think them through.

Emerie blanched, pulling back slightly. "Oh, uh... actually, I'm still pretty sore and tired from- the other day. I think I'd like to lay down for a while, if that's alright?"

Mor's smile dimmed a little as disappointment burned. "Of course. I'm afraid we surprised my poor housekeeper by arriving unexpectedly so your room isn't prepared yet, but the chaise in the library is quite comfortable. If you need anything, just let Bronwyn know."

Emerie tucked her hands into her skirts as she backed away towards the house. "Right, thanks. I'll, er- see you later, I guess."

Mor nodded, but she'd already turned and started hurrying back inside. Mor frowned after her for a moment, wondering if Emerie's rejection of the invitation to ride was because of her, or a fear of horses. She'd seemed fine enough around Ellia, but she supposed petting one and riding one were two different things.

Oh well. There wasn't much point in dwelling on it and, despite her disappointment to be riding alone, Mor was dying to feel the wind in her hair. Clicking her tongue, she coaxed Ellia to follow her back into the stables where she bridled and saddled her before swinging up onto her back and racing out of the barn into the rolling hills of Athelwood's lands.

---

Emerie cursed herself for a coward as she returned to the house. The invitation to ride, and Mor's clear disappointment in her refusal had her stomach twisted in knots. As much as she'd wanted to spend time with the pretty female, something about putting herself on the back of an animal as large and intelligent as a horse terrified her.

Logically, she knew she was being silly. People rode horses all the time. Sure, there were sometimes accidents, but all in all, they were reasonably safe. Still, there wasn't a single horse in Illyria, not that she'd seen anyway. Why use animals to get around when you could walk or fly? At least, in the males case. However, if the males had no wish or need for horses, then neither did the females.

Nesta, she knew, had once owned horses when she'd been human, she hadn't been much of a rider, she'd explained, but they were useful work animals, helping to transport humans and goods alike. Gwyn, of course, was damn near obsessed with their winged cousins, the pegasus. Even Emerie could admit, there was something intriguing about the idea of them. She missed flying...

Emerie startled, swallowing a yelp as she nearly plowed over a smaller, fae female rounding the corner from the opposite direction Emerie had been wandering, lost in thought.

The woman jerked in surprise, carrying a stack of red sheets and several fluffy looking gold towels, then smiled. "Ah, you must be Lady Morrigan's guest. Pleasure to meet you, Lady Emerie. I'm Bronwyn," she said, bobbing a curtsy.

Emerie's cheeks burned pink. "Oh, I'm not a lady. It's just Emerie."

"My apologies, miss. Is there something I can do for you?"

"Oh, um, yes actually. Could you just point me in the direction of the library?"

"Of course dear, follow me."

She trailed behind the older woman, who lead her through a hallway lined in warm oak and lit by candle sconces. Emerie hadn't yet been inside the house, and only just now looked around at the interior. Thick carpets lined the floors muffling their steps, and painted landscapes decorated the walls. The entire house seemed to be done in warm shades of red, green, and gold that gave it a cozy feel, despite the size.

"Just through those doors, miss," the housekeeper nodded towards a set of carved oak doors with twisted iron handles. "If you need anything, just give a shout."

"Thank you." Emerie pushed open the doors and stepped into the room as the woman returned to her task and a delighted gasp left her.

She took several more steps into the room, turning a slow circle to take in every detail. She'd been in the library at the House of Wind before, as well as the massive archives of the Library where Gwyn and her fellow priestesses worked, but this one...

Books lined almost every inch of the two-story room, only broken up by the occasional door on one wall, a massive, roaring fire place on another, and several large windows on the outside of the house which let in lots of natural light. More thick, patterned carpets cushioned the oak floors and several comfortable pieces of leather furniture littered the open space in the middle of the room along with one larger round table near a window, and several smaller ones that sat between the armchairs and sofas with lamps and candelabras atop them.

For a long moment, Emerie just stood in the middle of the room, eyes closed and smile wide as she breathed in the smell of leather and books. This was heaven.

Trailing a finger along the nearest stack of books, she made her way around the room, scanning the titles until she found a few that caught her eye. When her arms were full, she made her way over to the chaise Mor had mentioned earlier which sat near the fire, a dark, woven blanket draped over the arm and sat her selections on the nearest table. Choosing one to start with, a mystery romance she remembered Gwyn recommending recently, she slipped out of her walking boots and settled on the chaise, draping her skirts around her curled legs and began reading.

Sometime later, Bronwyn returned to check on her, asking if she would like anything to drink. Emerie only asked for some water which she happily provided before informing her that dinner would be served in an hour. Glancing at the nearest window, she was momentarily startled to see the sun already setting before remembering that it was almost Solstice and the days had been growing shorter. By her estimation it was only a little after four in the afternoon.

Sighing, she returned to her book, only to be awoken- not even aware of when she'd fallen asleep- by Morrigan who smirked as she stood over her, her own book in hand. The one Emerie had been reading had been set aside by someone, her place marked by a strip of dark leather.

"Hello, Sleeping Beauty. Nice of you to join us again," she said with a teasing smile.

Rubbing her eyes, Emerie sat up, wincing as she stretched. Thankfully most of the lingering soreness seemed to have faded and she was merely stiff from the awkward position she'd been laying in. "What time is it?"

"Almost midnight. I figured you were probably still sleeping when you missed dinner and thought I'd leave you to it but, now that your room is ready and I'm heading up to bed myself, I thought you might want to relocate. Of course, if you're hungry, there's some stew left in the kitchen I can warm up for you?"

Emerie blushed, embarrassed by her rudeness in sleeping through dinner. "Oh, that's alright. I can manage. If you'll just tell me how to find my room so I can head up after I'm finished."

"Please," Mor insisted, holding out a hand to help her to her feet. She quickly stuffed her feet back into her boots before accepting and again felt that jolt of electricity when they touched. She could have sworn she heard a small intake of breath from her companion, but if she'd also felt it, she showed no outward sign. "You're my guest, Emerie. The least I can do is see that you're fed before I send you to bed."

Emerie couldn't think of a response for that that wouldn't sound like a dismissal which would be the height of rudeness, so merely smoothed her hands over her skirts and nodded. Morrigan led her out of the room and into the kitchens where only the embers of the fire remained. She quickly stoked them back to life, warming up the space and transferred a covered pot to the stove.

She watched in silence as Morrigan worked, somewhat surprised that someone who'd been raised in luxury was so comfortable in a kitchen. Then again, Nesta's own sister had also been born a lady and often worked in the kitchens of the High Lord's home. Was it really so shocking that a wellbred lady might find enjoyment in domestic tasks? What did that say about her that she had never considered the idea? Goodness, she was a snob.

Morrigan chuckled as she filled a bowl and laid it before her. "Don't look so impressed. I'm afraid reheating and serving food is about the extent of my culinary skills. The last time I tried to cook, I nearly burned down Rhys' cabin. He was less than thrilled."

She laughed, delighted to find this flaw in the otherwise seemingly perfect female. It made her goddess-like presence seem just a little less intimidating. Morrigan smiled wryly, pouring them each a glass of wine and leaning against the counter as she ate.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, concern creasing her brow as she scanned her like she was looking for evidence of any injury that might have been missed.

The scrutiny made her squirm a little in her seat. "Much better. I'd reckon a few more hours of good sleep and I'll be as good as new."

Red lips curved in a soft smile. "I'm glad to hear it. I was- worried after finding you like that. I'm glad Rhys sent me to find you when he did."

"So am I," Emerie said quietly, staring down at her food as she dragged her spoon through the hearty stew. "Why did he send you, anyways? I mean, I know he sends the boys to check on me from time to time- they try to be subtle about it but it's pretty obvious what they're doing when they drop by the store to purchase items they could easily find in Velaris. But Cassian had only been by a week ago."

Mor's lips twisted to the side. "I wondered that myself, to be honest. Rhys sometimes gets a little paranoid, something I can't blame him for after everything he's lost- and almost lost. I think he was just having one of those over cautious moments, only this time, he was right."

She sighed, sipping her wine. "As to why he sent me and not the boys? Probably because he knew that if something had happened to you, they'd explode first and ask questions never. I'm sure you've noticed those two can be very scary when they want to."

Emerie snickered, taking a sip of her own drink. The dark ruby wine burned pleasantly, the rich, spicy notes warming her as much as the hot stew.

"I think Rhys had also wanted to give them a moment to cool down before sending them to deal with the situation," Mor continued. "Though I have no doubt those boys received the beating of their lives once they found them." There was a dark glint in the female's golden eyes that told Emerie she was no stranger to violence.

Of course, Emerie had known who Mor was the first time she'd seen her visit Windhaven with her cousin when she was just a child. Everyone knew of the High Lord's legendary cousin. She was as renowned for her battle prowess as her beauty, something Emerie had seen first hand during the war with Koschei. Still, she sometimes forgot just how old she was, and how much she had seen in the multiple wars she had fought in over the course of five hundred years. That hint of danger in her gaze made her shiver in a not entirely unpleasant way.

"Good," she replied. "I'm only sorry I couldn't be there to see it. Or to help."

"So am I." She held out her glass and Emerie lightly touched the rim with hers. Their eyes met and held over the edge as they both took a sip and that shiver turned into a simmering warmth.

The temperature in the room seemed to rise rapidly for a moment before Mor lowered her glass and looked away leaving Emerie to wonder if she'd just imagined it.

---

Over the next few days, they fell into a pattern of sorts. Emerie was an early riser and would join Bronwyn in the kitchen, helping her prepare breakfast and prep the meals for later in the day while Mor stayed in bed until almost ten when the sun was almost halfway through it's trek across the sky. She'd tease her hostess about her laziness and propensity to waste precious sunlight which she graciously waved away and tried to coax Emerie to join her for a ride which she always refused.

While she spent a few hours with her horses, Emerie would explore the house- which was mostly closed up, the unused rooms dark and musty, their furnishings covered in dust cloths, or wandering through the gardens and the small forest that bordered the house. She'd learned from Able that the estate- Athelwood- was nearly three hundred acres which encompassed a goodly portion of the wooded area, and reached all the way across the rolling hills to the sea. The woods were mostly inhabited by small game animals such as rabbits, but a few deer could occasionally be spotted deeper in.

She'd found a lovely stream that wound through the pines on her first day and had spent some time following it to a miniature waterfall. The location was so picturesque, she found herself wishing she had the artistic ability to sketch it and wondered if the High Lady had ever painted it.

In the afternoons, she and Morrigan would join Bronwyn and Able for an informal luncheon in the kitchens that were always full of lively conversation and after dinner, they would retire to the library to spend the evening reading until bedtime.

Nighttime was the worst. She'd found out that first night that the housekeeper had decided to put them in bedrooms that were adjoined for convenience. She assumed that normally, they would be the master and mistress' chambers. Judging by the decidedly feminine decor of her own room, she'd been placed in the latter.

Every night, Emerie would lie in bed, staring up at the canopy as she tried (and failed) not to think of the beautiful woman sleeping in the room next door. Of her musical laughter and sunny smiles. Her bright humor and easy manner. Of her sparkling eyes like molten gold, and her plush lips that were always painted a tempting shade of red...

Little did she know that the object of her fascination lay on the other side of the wall just a few feet away, trying hard not to think of her own varied charms...

---

On the evening of their fourth night, they'd been sitting quietly in the library, as usual, when Mor gave a loud sigh, shutting her book with a sharp snap. The sound made Emerie nearly jump, her senses hyper focused on every move the woman across from her made as she tried-rather valiantly- to finish her novel.

They'd achieved a new sort of awareness of each other over the last few days as they slowly got to know one another and all it did was ramp up the hopeless crush she'd been harboring since the day she'd seen Morrigan strolling through Windhaven when she was sixteen and her previous hero-like worship had morphed into something more... mature.

Her heart didn't race every time she saw her anymore now that she was getting used to her presence, but she was painfully aware of her location in relation to her own at all times. The little accidental brushes of fingers or shoulders as they moved about the same spaces still sent little electric shocks through her and she was starting to go a little mad with longing.

Attempting to appear perfectly calm and not like she was about to crawl out of her skin from proximity, Emerie glanced up from her book to find Mor pouting towards the fireplace. Sensing her gaze, her golden head swiveled in Emerie's direction.

"I can't seem to focus on reading tonight," she sighed. "No matter how deliciously steamy the love scene..."

Emerie choked slightly, her cheeks heated at the knowledge Morrigan had been reading smut. She mentally added a new fantasy to the extensive collection in her brain, this one of them reading aloud to each other while acting out the scenes written on the pages...

Luckily, Mor didn't seem to be aware of the train of her thoughts as she cocked her head and asked. "Do you play chess?"

She blinked, a little taken aback by the question. "Um, yes?"

Amusement danced in her eyes. "Is that a question?"

"Yes- I mean, no."

She quirked a brow in question and Emerie took a slow breath before answering. "Yes, I do play."

"In that case... care for a game?" she smirked, nodding her head towards the larger table sat near one of the windows where a beautiful marble chess set was laid out.

Feeling her lips twitch into a smile, she nodded and set her book aside. They sat down at the table while Mor moved candles around to provide sufficient light and took the seat across from her. Leaning back in her chair, she smiled mischievously. "Shall we make it interesting?"

Emerie raised a brow, fighting her own smile. She'd been playing with Nesta and Gwyn for the last year and while Nesta was a formidable opponent, Gwyn was a devilishly tricky one who seemed to be a master at letting you think you'd won before executing a few brilliant moves that ended the game before you knew what had happened. She was fairly confident in her skills.

"Sure. What's the wager?"

Mor's eyes narrowed for a moment in thought. "If I win- you let me take you riding tomorrow."

Emerie's eyes widened. "And if I win?"

She shrugged. "Your choice."

She thought about it for a moment, then smiled. "If I win- we visit the beach tomorrow."

Mor scoffed. "I would've taken you there anyway if you'd asked."

She held up a finger, indicating she wasn't finished. "And you get to take a little mid winter swim."

Mor looked startled before tipping her head back with a sultry laugh. "Oh, you are a cruel one, Emerie. I didn't make my own stakes high enough it seems, but very well. I will accept your terms."

She said it so confidently that Emerie felt a flicker of uncertainty but accepted the hand she offered as they shook on the wager. Mor waved a hand, indicating she should start and she moved her queenside bishop's pawn two spaces in a move meant to feel out her opponent's strategy. Mor mirrored her movements and the game commenced.

The match quickly grew intense as it became apparent they were equally matched. They were down to five pieces each, circling one another's queens as they stared each other down across the board. Emerie met Mor's impassive stare with her own, her lips quirking in challenge. The air between them was charged, thick and heavy with tension, making it harder to breath. She was viscerally aware of every minute movement she made and knew their legs sat dangerously close together. She'd felt Mor's knee brush her skirts just a moment ago.

It would be so easy to just lift her foot off the ground and move it a few inches to the right to brush along her calf... Mor's tongue darted out to wet her lips and Emerie tracked the movement with her eyes, watching as the edge of her lip caught between her teeth and found herself biting the inside of her own to keep from launching across the table.

Her entire body was taught with tension, her skin warm and flushed and-

They both jerked as the door opened and Bronwyn bustled in holding a piece of folded paper in her hands. She smiled as she approached, eyeing the chessboard sat between them. "Sorry to interrupt your game, my lady. But this just arrived for you."

She held out the note to Mor and Emerie noted the official Night Court seal on the back. Mor sat straighter as she took it, instantly alert. "Thank you Bronwyn."

Ripping it open, she quickly scanned it, then relaxed. Sensing nothing was amiss, Bronwyn asked "can I get you anything, my lady?"

"Nothing for me, thank you." Emerie nodded her agreement and Bronwyn left them alone again.

"Is everything alright?"

"Oh, yes," Mor said distractedly, tucking the note in a pocket and studying the board once more, the tension of the moment they'd shared before they were interrupted disappearing. Emerie tried not to show her disappointment too badly. "Rhys was just letting me know Cass and Az have taken care of the boys that attacked you. They've been publicly punished and new rules laid out for violent acts committed in public spaces outside of training and tavern brawls. He seems to think it sufficient deterrent against future attacks."

Her tone seemed to suggest she did not agree but said nothing more as she finally moved her queen. "Check."

Emerie quickly moved her king out of danger, only for Mor to move her bishop behind her. "Check."

She moved her queen to block it's path then Mor's knight landed a few spaces away. "Mate."

Emerie flinched, blinking in shock. "Shit." How had she not seen that?

She looked up to see Mor grinning at her. "Meet me at the stables after breakfast. Did you bring your training leathers by chance? You can't ride in those skirts."

"Er-" she glanced down at the rough wool skirt of her dress. "No, but I think I have leggings and a sweater."

Mor hummed. "That might not be warm enough. I should have something you can borrow that will fit well enough to ride in." Standing, she winked. "Good night, darling. See you in the morning."

Emerie just stared after her, mouth agape as she flounced out of the room.

---

The next morning, Emerie shifted uncomfortably in the thick, suede breeches and wool coat Mor had given her to wear over her leggings and sweater as she stared down the massive black beast that had been presented to her by Able.

The animal snorted, it's breath fogging in the chill air and tossed it's head lightly, making her take a reflexive step back. Her movement was impeded by a warm hand on her back. "Relax," Mor said soothingly. Whether to her, or the horse, she wasn't sure. "They can sense fear," she breathed against her ear.

Emerie laughed nervously only to realize Mor wasn't kidding. Staring up into the beast's big, dark eyes, she believed it. She took a deep breath, repeating Gwyn's favored mantra to steady herself and met it's stare with a determined one of her own.

"Very good," Mor purred. Her hand trailed along her arm as she moved around her to stroke the horse's nose. Even through the multiple layers of fabric she could have sworn she felt the heat of that touch. "Emerie, this is Odette. Odette, meet Emerie."

At her encouraging smile, Emerie inched closer and held out a hand. The animal tossed it's head again and she flinched, but held steady, and was rewarded when the beast pressed it's snout into her hand. Mor's hand wrapped around her forearm and pulled her closer, urging her to pet the horse's neck.

She did so and both beast and rider seemed to calm.

"Well done," Mor praised, giving the animal a pat. "Odette only looks big and scary but she's a big softie, aren't you?" Odette snorted in return.

Mor grinned, stepping back. "Why don't you try mounting?"

Emerie raised a questioning brow and Mor gesture to the saddle. "Hook your foot there, and pull yourself up. Once you're standing, swing your other leg over and hook your foot in the other strap."

With a bracing breath, she did as instructed. It was a bit awkward with her wings, but once she was settled, Mor handed the reins to her. "There, see? Not so scary."

Emerie scoffed. "We haven't started moving yet."

Mor grinned. "That's the fun part. Moving around to her own white horse, she swung gracefully up into the saddle and turned her mount towards the door. Odette began to follow without prompting from Emerie and she gasped, holding on for dear life.

Behind them, Able laughed. "Have fun!"

Once outside the stables, Mor rode alongside her for a few minutes, correcting her posture and instructing her on how to steer and direct the horse to stop. Confident Emerie understood well enough, she kicked Ellia into a light trot and once again, Odette followed without prompting.

As they moved across the fields lightly dusted with snow, Emerie gradually began to relax, allowing herself to fully soak in the moment. The beast's movements under her thighs were strong and steady and she felt surprisingly safe. Then, Mor grinned back at her over her shoulder before digging her heels into Ellia's side.

She took off like a shot and a scream tore out of her as Odette followed. Once the initial burst of fear subsided, her scream turned to a giddy laugh as she leaned over the horse's back and felt the wind rushing past her face, pulling her braid out behind her. The cold gust moved over her wings, stimulating sensations she hadn't felt in years and she felt tears spring to her eyes as joy filled her heart.

It felt like flying.

Emerie laughed harder, not entirely sure if the heaving in her chest was not a sob as tears streamed down her face. Mor glanced back with a frown but she paid her no mind as her horse, sensing her elation, put on a burst of speed and ran past Mor and Ellia. Something primal and instinctive took over and she threw her arms and wings wide, tilting her head back to the cloudy sky and cried out, the sound equal parts joy and sorrow.

Eventually her horse slowed as they neared the beach, breathing hard and slick with sweat. Mor caught up and pulled alongside her. "Are you alright?" she asked, eyeing the tears Emerie wiped from her cheeks.

She beamed. "Yes. Yes, I-" she was more than alright. She felt- free. For the first time in a very long time. Probably for the first time in her life. Finding her chosen sisters and joining the Valkyrie had felt a lot like breaking the chains that her family had tried to hold her with for so long but this... this felt like shedding them completely. They'd tried to take this feeling away from her, but she'd found it again. All thanks to the woman beside her. "Thank you."

Mor looked bemused. Emerie let out another breathy laugh and explained. "I haven't been able to fly since-" she gestured to the scars on her wings. "And that, I think, was about the closest thing to it I've felt in a very long time."

Understanding lit Mor's eyes and they sparkled with tears of her own. "You're very welcome, Emerie. I'm glad I could help."

The horses slowed further when they reached the sand and Mor reached out to bring them both to a stop. She slipped smoothly from her saddle and Emerie mimicked her movements, her booted feet soon finding the ground, albeit a bit more wobbly, but she was still too high from the ride to care.

They let the horses wander as they grazed through the grass nearby and Emerie took her first proper look at the ocean. "Wow," she breathed, watching the waves build and crash onto the shore, rolling over one another in a churning mass of deep blue that reminded her of her friend's eyes.

"Have you never seen the ocean?"

Emerie shook her head, not glancing away from the view before her. It was breathtaking, a sort of violent beauty that stirred her soul and eased her mind. "We're not close enough in Windhaven. I'd only ever seen lakes and streams before I came to Velaris for the first time."

Mor hummed thoughtfully. "Another first... I'm honored."

Her cheeks warmed and she laughed slightly. "It's beautiful."

"It is," Mor said, glancing at her. "Want to see something even more amazing?"

She turned to her, giving her a curious smile and nodded. Her grin felt big enough to split her face when Mor took her hand and pulled her further down the beach. She tugged her jacket tighter around her body as they walked, the wind feeling much colder here as she followed along.

After a few minutes of walking, they approached a collection of large rocks and headed toward them. "Watch your step," Mor warned as they moved over slick, waved smoothed stones and around the side of the large formation, only- it wasn't a rock formation. It was the mouth of a cave.

Mor gave her a grin full of child-like excitement she couldn't help but match as she pulled her inside. The sharp wind cut off, for which Emerie was grateful as they moved deeper into the rocky cavern. The walls were rough and jagged and it got gradually darker as they moved out of the sunlight. Suddenly, Mor tugged her around a corner and she let out a gasp.

They'd entered a long, low ceilinged cavern, the floor covered in water. The walls- "It's glowing!" he said in wonder.

Tiny, bright blue pricks of light covered the walls and ceilings, casting the whole space in an ethereal glow, reflected back by the water below. It reminded her of the night sky.

"Bioluminescent algae," Mor explained. "It's everywhere here, even on the beach, but you can't see it during the day. We can only see it here because it's dark."

"It's incredible." They grinned at each other, still holding hands and Emerie didn't think she could imagine a more perfect moment.

---

Mor woke with a start, her blades instantly in her hands as she glanced around her dark room, searching for the threat. She was somewhat surprised to find she'd actually been sleeping. Both she and Emerie had been exhausted after spending the day exploring the beaches, riding back to the house just as the sun was setting and had gone to bed straight after dinner instead of going to the library.

Even still, once she'd gotten into bed, she'd lain awake for a long time, her fingers stroking over the hand that had held Emerie's all day long as they walked and talked and laughed together. She could swear she still felt the heat of it against her palm.

She heard a sound from beyond the wall of her room and realized what had woken her. Bolting out of bed, not bothering to throw on a robe over the tiny, satin night dress she wore, she raced into Emerei's room, heart pounding, for once grateful that Bronwyn had put them in adjoining rooms.

She relaxed slightly once she'd scanned the room and found no threat, but it was short lived as she found Emerie thrashing and crying on the bed. Dismissing her blades, she rushed over, and took her firmly by the shoulders, shaking her. She cried out, screaming in her face loud enough to hurt her ears but blinked awake.

Her eyes were wild as they darted around, not seeming to see her until they settled on her face and the haze of terror cleared. "It's alright," Mor whispered, running her hands over her trembling arms. "You're safe. It was just a dream."

Emerie's dark gaze searched hers for truth before nodding her acceptance of it. Sitting on the edge of the mattress, Mor stroked her fingers through the long, silky strands of her hair that hung loose around her shoulders, her braid having unraveled with her thrashing. Wild, dark, untamed curls that spilled down to her waist in a waterfall she desperately wanted to feel on her skin.

Blinking hard, she shook off her arousal. Now was definitely not the time for such thoughts. She kept moving her fingers through her hair and stroking her cheeks until her trembling began to subside. "Was it your attack?" she asked quietly.

Emerie's gaze had gone distant again, staring at some point on Mor'c chest though she didn't seem to actually be looking at her. Slowly, she shook her head. "No." Her voice was hoarse and small, making Mor want to cradle her in her arms.

She didn't press her for more details. She'd share if she wanted to. Instead she just kept running her hands over her in soothing gestures which she didn't seem to mind. Eventually she said, "It was my father this time."

This time. She had nightmares before. Quite often, if she had to guess. Not surprising given what she had been through between the Blood Rite, her attack, and the battle with Koschei. Not to mention whatever had happened when she'd earned the scars on her wings as they'd been clipped.

"He was always angry," she said softly. "And he was always drunk. And I was his favorite target... after my mother died."

Mor sat frozen as Emerie laid out the deeds of her father in a numb, distant sort of tone that she fully recognized. Because she'd used it herself many times. By the time she was finished, Mor was trembling with grief for the things this incredible female had endured and survived, and boiling rage for a man who was dead and gone.

At some point, their hands had found each other, and their fingers had woven together. It was through the strength of that grip that she found herself sharing her own story. The abuse and fear she'd lived through under that mountain until she'd begged Rhys to get her out. The pain she'd paid as the price of her freedom and the scars she now bore because of it.

When she was finished, both of them were crying. Emerie squeezed her hand, pulling her gently onto the bed and she climbed under the covers beside her without a word. In the silent darkness, they clung to one another for strength, crying bitter, cathartic tears for the innocence that had been stolen from them until sleep claimed them once more

---

There was a definitive shift in their relationship after that night. It wasn't anything sexual, at least, not yet, but they'd developed the sort of closeness that comes from baring one's soul to another living being.

After their trip to the beach, Emerie no longer needed Mor to convince her to come riding with her in the mornings and they spent almost every waking second together, growing ever closer.

One evening, during the second week of their stay, Mor returned downstairs after bathing to find the library empty. Emerie was not waiting there for her as she had every night and Mor, curious, had set off to find her.

She located her in the kitchen, groaning as she stepped inside. "What is that delicious smell?" she asked, eyeing the dark brown dough Bronwyn was rolling out on the counter as Emerie's focus was on the shapes she was cutting out of it and placing on baking sheets scattered around the counter.

Flour dusted every surface and a litany of spices covered the counter. Cinnamon, nutmeg, ginger, cloves...

"Gingerbread," Emerie answered with a smile. "A recipe I learned from my mother as a child. It used to be a tradition every Solstice." She carefully lifted the shape she'd just cut into her hand and placed it on a sheet before moving to another. "We'd cut some out and decorate them like tiny faeries, while the rest we baked into larger pieces to build a house."

"For the gingerbread faeries?" Mor asked, amused as she moved closer to watch her work.

Emerei's cheeks turned a delightful shade of pink but she nodded. "We used all sort of candies to decorate with," she nodded towards the array of sweets in little glass jars. "It's fun."

"Hmm," Mor hummed, intrigued. "How long until we can start decorating?"

Bronwyn chuckled. "The dough has already been chilled. Once we're finished cuttting all the shapes we want, we can start baking. Shouldn't be more than about two hours until they're all done."

Mor pouted, not looking forward to testing her patience with so much sugar displayed before her. Emerie laughed. "Don't worry, we'll do the pieces for the house first so they cool while the others are baking. Probably less than an hour before their cool enough to use."

Satisfied, Mor accepted a large mug full of soup from Able and the two sat together at the counter watching Bronwyn and Emerie work. By the time all the pieces for the house were baked and cooled, Mor was practically dancing in her seat with excitement.

When they were ready and had all the icing made and the decorations laid out, Emerie patiently instructed her on how to assemble the pieces so they would stay and the proper way to hold the icing bag. At one point, Mor put a little too much pressure and the bag exploded, spraying her sweater and hair with globs of white icing which made Emerie laugh so hard she cried until Mor retaliated by squirting icing in her face and a minature food fight began.

The kitchen was a mess of powdered sugar and icing when they were done but both grinned ear to ear as they examined the slightly lopsided structure with mismatched decorations and the tiny fairie people they'd dressed in ridiculous costumes with silly faces. Mor couldn't recall ever having so much fun in her life.

"Not bad," Emerie said, tilting her head to examine the candy studded 'snow' that was dripping off one side of the roof.

Mor snorted rather indelicately. "Don't lie to me, Em. It's terrible. But I love it. We should do this with the rest of the group next year. Feyre and Elain will undoubtedly make the prettiest ones, but I'd love to see boys try. I can imagine the ridiculousness Cass would come up with."

"Or how Az and Gwyn would bicker over the 'right way' to build the house for so long they wouldn't even finish."

They grinned at each other and it took Mor a moment to realize she'd been talking about next Solstice as though she fully expected Emerie to be there with her. She seemed to realize it too and her smile slipped slightly.

Her breathing grew a bit ragged as they stared at other, studying the bits of sugar smeared on thier faces and trying very hard not to let their gazes linger on the other's lips. Gradually, as though pulled by some invisible force, they drifted closer until thier noses were almost brushing-

The clock in the hall chimed midnight and the spell was broken. Jumping apart, Mor looked away, realizing they were alone. Bronwyn and Able must have left them some time ago but neither had even noticed. She also finally took in the mess they'd made and grimaced. "We should clean this up for Bronwyn so she doesn't have fit in the morning."

"Right," Emerie cleared her throat, glancing around for a rag but with a snap of Mor's fingers, the mess disappeared. She wiped at her cheek, marveling that the sugar and icing was gone. "I still feel sticky," she said , wrinkling her nose.

"Yeah, that's the odd thing about magic," Mor agreed. "The mess is gone but you can still feel it on you. I'm afraid nothing but a bath will take care of that."

"Right..." They shared another charged look before Mor chickened out and quickly backed out of the room, faking a yawn.

"Well, we should get to bed, it's late. I'm sure you've noticed by now your bathroom has running water, so no need to wait for someone to help fill it if you want to wash up. I'll see you tomorrow!"

She dashed up to her room and shut herself in the bathing room, hurriedly rinsing the lingering stickiness from her skin before crawling into bed alone. A strange feeling as, ever since Emerie had that nightmare, they'd spent every night in the same bed, wether her's or Emerie's. Nothing ever happened, they just sat up all night talking and giggling until they couldn't keep their eyes open but it had been.... nice.

The next day, it was almost as though nothing had happened the night before though the tension between them had once more shifted becoming something thicker and hotter though both were still too scard to make a move.

Of course, eventually all good things must come to an end...

[wizardcat99]

Worlds Collide

Chapter 2

Cyrus ran up a tree before hanging upside down. He aimed an arrow at the target with the sheriffs face poorly drawn on it. He loosened the arrow with ease and watched it barrel through the air before lodging into the targets eye. "Boom! You're a cyclops now!" He fell from the tree flipping just in time to land on his feet. His long white hair flowing and tangling in an unruly manner before he flips it out of his face.

"If you somehow survived that it'll be an improvement on your ugly mug" he talked to the sloppy doodle as if it were alive. "Not so smug now with your stupid ball and chain thinking you're so strong and intimidating. Look at me I can throw one of these. Look at me this is my signature weapon. Ladies. Ladies!" He mocked. "Please form an organized line!" Cyrus laughed at his seemingly perfect impression. Though he paused to notice the silence and emptiness of the forest around him.

Nobody in sight. Nobody to laugh at his jokes or tell him if they're even funny. He wouldn't complain about some notes. He shook the sudden loneliness off and pulled out his lute and began to play "Ooooohhhh, they say the king of Awna is a righteous noble man but let's say as of today I am not a fan. He's a liar and a cheat and he thinks he can't be beat, but let's be fair when comes to his only heir, he really couldn't care. He's a liar and a cheat and he thinks can't be beat but he still hasn't caught me, I'd consider that defeat"

he felt very proud of his lyrical genius and imagined a crowd of people crying for an encore. Although his fantasy was rudely interrupted. "Lotta tough talk for someone who's about to be caught" the sheriff sneered. "That doesn't even rhyme!!!" Cyrus pointed at him accusingly. "Bye!" He turned heel and took off.

He dodge a rock and leaped off it to propel himself into the air before swinging off a tree branch landing a distance forward building momentum. He heard an net arrow whip past him. They were gaining on him faster than usual. He looked behind. Damn it! They had horses this time. He couldn't outrun them. But maybe he could outsmart them.

He took the the trees instead of the ground. Swinging from one branch to the other with ease before sending himself high in the air landing on a rocky cave. He dipped in with ease. "In the cave!!!" One the men shouted. They all dismounted their horses to go inside. "We got him trapped now there's no way outta here" the sheriff said smugly.

Cyrus tried not to laugh hanging from the vines just at the mouth of the cave. He hid in the dark hanging from the ceiling until he was sure they were far enough in the cave. He climbed back out on top to decide which horse he was going to steal.

He hopped on the sheriff's horse "midnight beauty" and took off for the hills. He wished he could see their faces the minute they realized they'd been tricked but it was too risky to stick around and watch. Another close call but still exciting. "Those idiots will never catch me" he laughed before something heavy knocked him off midnight beauty. He fell to the ground entangled in a net.

[la-appel-du-vide]

08•12•23 - Nashville, Beach Bach Day 2

Today's theme was "Shine Bright Like Her Diamond," meaning, wear sparkle! I had the hardest time with this outfit because so many of the things that I wanted were sold out. But I'm really happy with what I ended up doing! These rainbow horse shorts were super popular, and I got compliments all day long haha.

We got off to a bit of a slower start this morning, with breakfast at Proper Bagel. It's just a small bagel shop, and it got very crowded, but it was delicious! They had all kinds of specialty cream cheeses. I did strawberry shortcake, and Beach got blueberry pie. I ended up liking hers better, which is unusual for me, but they were all so good! We had to be on time to our next event, so we were getting ready to head back to the car. It was probably a five-minute walk to where we parked. When we walked outside, we realized that it was absolutely POURING rain. Like.... torrential downpour. But we had no choice. We had to brave the storm. We looked INSANE sprinting through the rain, and we were all soaked by the time we got back to the car anyway. Did not love that for us.

Our next stop was a rolled ice cream class! I was introduced to rolled ice cream in Thailand, and it's a fun take on my favorite treat. The class was very interactive and fun! We started out by practicing with just a plain chocolate. From there, we did a vanilla with one mix in - Oreo! The last one was fully customizable. I did chocolate ice cream, mixed with banana and Oreo, and topped with Oreo and whip cream. It was amazingggg, but it was fun to try multiple flavors along the way. My rolls looked better with each practice round.

From there, it was time to relax by getting facials! We did some basic Glow facials, with an added scalp massage. They gave me a weighted blanket, and it was so peaceful. I definitely fell asleep at one point because I was just in pure nirvana. I could have stayed in there all day, and it definitely made me crave a massage. And it was a bonus to get to take off my wet boots for a bit, to try and dry them out!

We had a little bit of time to kill afterward, so we stopped by the Wings mural in the Gulch for some photos, and then did a quick bit of shopping. We did not have as much time as we thought we did, because Kena gave me the wrong time for our next activity.... but we'll get to that.

We got back in the car and gave Beach her next song clue with "Boot Scoot Boogie." This is how I learned that Beach believed that the song said "Boon Scoon" hahaha, this girl. But she guessed line dancing pretty quick! We'd always mess with her and tell her she was wrong, just for fun. But yes, we had a line dancing class scheduled! We were planning to have time to put some make-up on again after our facials, but we pulled into the parking lot at 4, and then Kena realized that's when it started. So we had to hurry, and we were definitely 15 minutes late. That's ok, we still had a great time! We learned two new line dances, and had so much fun doing it. It's been so long since I've learned a new one, and so it was tricky, but we pulled it off. This was Beach's favorite part of day 2!

My feet were hurting by this point, and we all needed a second to reset, so we went back to the car. I got to take my shoes off for a bit, and put some make-up on, and then we got Beach to guess our next activity by playing The House That Built Me by Miranda Lambert. I can't believe we were able to get her to guess Miranda Lambert's Casa Rosa. (I had to provide MANY hints, but we did get there.) Miranda has a Mexican restaurant on Broadway, that is super pink and girly, and that's where we'd planned to have dinner! It just worked out that the song Kena happened to pick had the word "house" in it haha. They don't take reservations, but said they can usually get people in fairly quickly. Well... when I went up to get on the list, she told me to expect TWO HOURS. I was blown away. I knew we would not have time for that, but got on the list anyway in case it ended up being faster than that. We hung out on the rooftop bar while we waited, but after an hour, Kena and I decided that it was probably better to leave and find guaranteed food, because we were all hungry, but still had to be to the next activity. Kena thought we should ask them again where we were at on the list, and that was a good call, because they ended up mistaking us for a different group and told us we were close. So we waited, and then she realized she'd mistaken us for another group, but still let us in. AMAZING. I'm so glad too, because it was so cute in there and the food was great. I got a chicken burrito, and we had chips and salsa for the table of course. YUM.

We ended up having plenty of time to finish eating, and still get to our next activity on time - bowling at Pinewood Social! I’d seen Brandi and Noah go bowling here on Instagram in the past, so that’s where the idea came from. It’s a vintage feeling bowling alley, where all of the balls are the same pretty blue, there’s neon signs and cute old school decor, and the bowling score isn’t even automated hahah. You have to count the pins yourself, and use an iPad app to keep score. It was my first time bowling at a place like that, and it was very vibey. Beach won the first game, I won the second, and then we bowled a few more turns before our time is up. We had a fun time.

Beach was saying over and over how full she was from dinner, so I was concerned for our final activity of the evening. But we rally! We played her Ice Cream Freeze as her hint, so that was a little obvious hahah, but we were doing ice cream at Jeni’s Ice Cream! Another place I’ve heard Brandi rave about as being the best of the best ice cream, so we knew we had to try it. When we first typed it into the GPS, it showed a location less than a mile away, but it was showing a 45 minute drive time. Are you kidding. So we ended up going to one a few miles away, but we were able to get there in 10 minutes. I got a Gooey Buttercake flavor, which was amazing, and Kena and Beach both went with fruit sorbet flavors.

When we made it back to the Airbnb, we were exhausted and ready for bed, but we still had more to do. We had to take pictures in our sweatshirts, and with our bachelorette decor. Kena had set it up originally, but it fell down overnight. So we had to redo it all, even though it was so late. We had a cow print backdrop, with hot pink balloons spelling out “Last Hoe Down.” We also had disco ball and star balloons, and it really was a cute set-up. We were all a bit delirious, so the pictures are ridiculous, but we did it. And then fell into a comatose state immediately.

[inbabylontheywept]

Dale of the Dales: Part 2

Dale had failed to mention that he’d made a whole spread. The shepard’s pie was there, but so was some unholy mixture of cheese and potatoes, something that looked like fried green beans, some kind of orange root that was both leaking syrup and coated with marshmallow, as well as a gel that would’ve looked more at home in a wizard’s lab than on a dinner table. It was orange for Gods’ sakes.

Aaaaaand the human was putting whipped cream on it. Wonderful.

(The pie, at least, had been divine. Alfonse could easily admit that.)

He tapped his fingers on the table nervously.

“I think I was braver a minute ago. I’m starting to realize how insane it is to talk about my late wife with someone I’ve known for two minutes.

Dale half-startled. He’d been very intently shoveling the root-mallow mixture onto his plate, and looked slightly annoyed at being interrupted.

“Hold your horses there son, I’m still servin’ myself up some-”

He froze mid-sentence as he actually processed what Alfonse just said. His face flushed red and he stopped a second time.

‘Aw hell. Sorry, my stomach got to my mouth ‘fore my brain did. Look: That’s just them negative-two drinks in ya talkin’. I’m gonna talk about my wife with someone I’ve known for two minutes, and I ain’t crazy.”

Alfonse eyed him, then the translucent orange slime, before raising an eyebrow.

Dale followed his gaze and let loose an exasperated sigh.

“Just try some, you half-pint fussbucket. I been part of caravans haulin’ crates of candied cicadas to Gnicaea. If your royal shortnesses can eat thems, you can eat these.”

“I am going to point out that those are delicacies for eccentric gnobles.”

“Yeah, and jello is a delicacy for eccentric farmers. I seen your hands Alfonse, you gonna claim you got them calluses from balancin’ budgets? Playin’ harpsichord?”

Alfonse stare met Dale’s for more intensely than the latter had been prepared for. Something about that line clearly hit a sore spot. Tension crackled in the shared gaze but Dale refused to break eye contact.

The tension melted out a little slower than it arrived. It took Alfonse’s shoulders several seconds to fully relax. When they bobbed back up, Dale braced for another surge of anger only to realize that the little man was only making the best shrug he could in his overwrought full plate.

“Alright. You’ve made your case: I’ll try this... this…”

“Jello.”

“Yes. Jello. I will have a bowl. Just a small one though, if you give me another human sized portion I am almost positive that I will puke.”

Dale grinned victoriously and busied himself getting a clean bowl from the kitchen. Alfonse took the moment alone to look over the room. His attention had divided between his food and his host, he could practically feel the breath of his first sergeant on his face, screaming at him for neglecting his surroundings.

Which, he had to confess, were beautiful. Gnomish styles were flashy, designed to display (or at least, suggest) an abundance of coin. The human style was hardly demure, but it didn’t seem to measure riches in gold or silver, but time. The materials were just simple enough, just wood, brass, and plaster, but there were no cut corners to be seen, no indication of any impatience on the craftsman’s part. The symmetry, the details, the perfectly applied finishing...They all suggested something rarely seen in gnomish construction: Love.

At once that clicked, it became hard to miss. The building itself was a love story, one he could read just by paying attention.

The walls weren’t just a flat white from the plaster, they were shimmering. Ground glass or even porcelain must’ve been added to the mix when it was still wet, a small extra cost that underlined the builders eye for detail.

Yet, even if it would’ve been beautiful bare, it was still given ornamentation: The wall in front of him was painted with a straight path running through a vale of aspens, stretching on and on before disappearing into the sunset. If he squinted at it, he could make out a feminine silhouette almost disappearing over the horizon, half buried in the sinking sun. Her arms were out in a way that made it hard to tell if she was reaching forward or beckoning back.

The simple sadness of it made his gut ache. It wasn’t hard to guess who that woman was.

Almost every wall had a scene of some kind on it. Some were simple patterns, blooms of wildflowers or geometric tessellations. Others seemed to have been made to commemorate specific events: There was a scene on the ceiling of grackles flying into the clouds, a small empty nest in the background, that he found particularly affecting. It was easily the worst fared of the bunch, the colors dim, and the paint itself cracking through in several places to reveal the plaster underneath.

“Yeah, these ain’t supposed to last more than six’er’seven years. Been closer to fifteen on that old boy but I still can’t bring myself to paint over it.”

Alfonse almost jumped out of his chair. How focused had he been, that a literal giant could walk up to him with a bowl of neon slime and still go unnoticed?

Dale ducked his head apologetically.

“Sorry, din’t mean to spook ya. I was more used to announcin’ my comin’s and goin’s when I was younger, been some long years since I could sneak up on anyone. Little folk normally got big ears, otherwise them owls getcha.”

Alfonse spent more than a few seconds preoccupied with the owl comment before deciding to focus on the painting itself.

“If you’re painting on top of plaster, why didn’t you make it a fresco? Those last for centuries.”

Dale scratched the back of his head.

“Ehh, things are at their most dead when they can’t change. Tryin’ too hard to make somethin’ last forever kills it just as fast as time woulda. Faster even. Somethin’ that lasts forever goes stagnant soon as the construction’s done. That’s the closest thing to stillborn art can get.”

He noticed the gnome’s wide eyes looking up at him in surprise and shrugged.

“And if that’s too phil’sophical forya, frescos just ain’t as bright as the direct paint is. I like bright colors. Not sure ya caught that yet.”

His eyes moved meaningfully to the fluorescent jello and Alfonse snorted. It was as jarring as any tone shift as any he’d ever heard.

“The way you leap from serious to ridiculous...Is that a Dale quirk? Or a human one?”

The giant gave him a crooked grin even as he pulled up his chair.

“You tellin’ me you’ve never gone from laughin’ to cryin’ and back again?”

Alfonse stopped a moment to mull that over.

“I have...But I think you would be surprised at how long it has been since I did either, even separately. Maybe it’s time I pushed myself a little bit.”

Dale’s ears practically cocked up, but he kept his voice even.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You’ve loosened my tongue with this vile brew-”

“-It’s just jello.”

“And now you’re going to have to sit through this old man’s story of love and loss.”

Alfonse looked at Dale for half a second longer, waiting for him to interrupt again. Content that the other man was holding his peace, he began to speak.

“Her name was-”

“Sorry, shoulda said it earlier, but if you’re a week over fifty, I’ll eat my damn hat. Old man my ass.”

And for the first time in months, Alfonse felt himself begin to laugh.

Dale of the Dales: Part 1

The Dales were home to the hillfolk, a happy people, but also the only group shorter than the gnomes. Commander Alfonse Sprocket had been prepared to discuss the surrender of Honnillee with someone quite a bit… shorter.

“Welcome, welcome, how do you do? I’m Dale Chesher, named after these self-same lands, yessiree. Something to drink?”

The situation was so surreal that he didn’t fight against the warm mug of tan liquid forced into his hand. He took a sip and winced: The tea was far too sweet, syrupy even.

Alfonse hadn’t actually met a human before this moment. Apparently, they didn’t take to the altitude of Gnicaea very well. Most of the trade the two cultures experienced came second hand from the dwarves, who were friendly enough, but prone to exaggeration. When he’d heard the dwarves talking about the scale of a human, he’d written it off as a cultural tendency to lionize their friends.

Apparently, he had failed to give his fellow mountain-folk appropriate credit. The man in front of him was easily twice his height, and thrice his breadth.

“You’re the mayor of this town?”

Dale shrugged.

“We got maybe a hundred folk down here in Honnillee, we ain’t nearly so formal as that. If someone needs to be in charge for a spell, we let em’, but it ain’t a lifelong deal. Titles go to yer head like cheese goes to yer thighs, that’s a Chesherism, free-a-charge.”

He swept a hand towards the dining room, cutting off the Commander from further interrogations.

“If you got any more questions, it’d be easier to ask them sittin’ down. If the Gods wanted me to spend my life standin’, they wouldn’t have given me such a soft ass, that’s a second Chesherism for ya. Our folk don’t dine much together, more’s the pity, so we’ve got two options so far as the table’s concerned: We got a booster chair you could use to sit at my very own personal dining set, carried all the way from the Malantai, or I could sit criss-cross-applesauce here at a table that the Midford’s lend me for the evenin’, bless their teenie-tiny hearts hearts. You’re the guest; choice is yours. ”

The avalanche of words was hard to keep up with. Worse, the man didn’t even seem to be doing it on purpose: His face was placid, almost serene, and his every movement had a sort of lazy-summer-sluggishness to it.

He could do this all night. Alfonse, on the other hand, could feel his strength draining with every moment he wore his ceremonial armor. He was supposed to come here armed to the teeth, plated in silver, an angel of war in a land of peace. He was supposed to be terrifying.

Craning his head almost forty-five degrees up just to make eye contact did not make him feel very terrifying.

Less than thrilled by the prospect of craning his neck the whole night, he weighed his options: He could accept the use of the booster seat, which would put him at eye level, although he wasn’t sure how he would manage to get up there. Perhaps a ladder would be produced? Or, if none were sturdy enough to handle him in full armor, perhaps a ramp?

Alternatively, he could use the standard size table, which would leave him with an aching neck to match everything else.

Easy choice.

“I would like to use your dining set, Master Chesher. The craftsmanship is remarka-”

He was cut off mid-sentence as Dale casually scooped him up, crossing the entire room in three easy strides before dropping him casually into the chair. The indignity of it was almost as infuriating as the casual display of strength was intimidating.

Almost.

Fear held his temper in, but it did little to curb other emotions. His mouth was desperate to say something about what had just happened, and the odd lingering smells in the upholstery of the seat gave it an outlet.

“I...Why does my chair reek of boiled peas?”

Dale shrugged, slightly embarrassed.

“Ah, well, normally this here seat is used by babs still sprouting their fangs. Boiled peas and carrots are delicacies for em’, but you know how it is when you’re feeding a ween, they wind up wearing as much as they eat! And they eat a good deal sir, a very good deal, humans don’t get this big by being dainty-like. Been a long time since I’ve had any runnin’ around the house though. Miss my little scamps.”

Ah. So this was a child’s chair. He hadn’t counted on that. He deflated in his chair before forcing himself up right again, consoling himself.

Ah hell, it wasn’t like the shock and awe had been working well anyway.

“I see. Well, Master Chesher, are you ready to discuss the details of your hamlet’s surrender?”

Dale winced.

“My boy, I done told you: I ain’t a mayor and Honnillee ain’t mine. It ain’t anyone’s. Only people with any claim to the ground near here at them that’s buried underneath it, there’s a third Chesherism for ya.”

“I am not a ‘boy’, and we’ve heard this claim from the hill-folk before. All that you’ve said is both well known, and highly contrary to how Gnicaea sees things. This document isn’t going to write itself Master Chesher, so if you would quit stalling and-”

Dale exploded up, his chair miraculously keeping its balance even as it slid across the room and slammed into the wall.

“It’s called hospitality, Alfonse, and you may not get our ways but under this roof you sure as sin are gonna respect em’! Now this is how our evenin’ is gonna go: We’re gonna eat our vittles like civilized-folk cuz I’m an old godsdamned widower and I baked you a shepard’s pie with the late wife’s recipe, first time I done touched an oven in ten years, and I cried into it thinkin’ about her, so you owe me big for that, you hear? Then, we’re gonna have two drinks apiece out on the porch because it is a nice summer evenin’ and a man can be too sober for a thing just as easily as he can be too drunk, and you sir strike me as a man that’s been two drinks too sober since he was born. We get those done, evenin’s yours. And if you even think about talkin’ any more business before those’re done, I swear, I swear, I’m gonna hang your shiny metal ass off that chandelier over there and leave you there until the sun doth rise or my house doth burn, whichever comes first. Are we clear?”

Alfonse blinked once, twice, three times. He’d been in the military a long time, climbed his way from boot camp all the way to the top. He’d been happy enough when he reached a rank where he didn’t get reamed on the daily, but it’d been so long that he’d dealt with anything besides excessive ass-kissing that he didn’t know what to do. To be honest, it was actually pretty damn refreshing.

He realized that Dale was still waiting for him to speak.

“Crystal clear, Dale. Just got one question for you.”

The human glared at him, suspicious as he’d ever been.

“Yeah? What’s that?”

“Does it get any easier?”

Dale’s face twisted up in confusion.

“Does what get any easier? Bein’ an old grump? Every damn day.”

Alfonse scratched the back of his head. Yeah, that hadn’t been a very clear question.

“No. Being a widower.”

There was a pause as Dale searched his face for any sign of lying, even a hint of manipulation.

He couldn’t find any, and the suspicion gave way into a begrudging sympathy.

“Ah. No. You just get stronger. Gimme a moment, this’ll be easier to talk about while eatin’ pie.”

Alfonse nodded, watching as the giant left. He was surprised at how empty the room felt without him. They’d barely been talking for two minutes, and he already felt closer to this stranger than he’d felt with anyone back home in years.

He had a moment to think back on how the dwarves described humans, beyond just their height, and couldn’t help but marvel at the accuracy. To think that this was the one thing you could trust a dwarf to be honest about. What was the phrase that he’d heard at the tavern, all those years ago...

Humans bond with strangers like they’re friends, friends like they're family, and family more than life.

He wondered where he stood on that list. It'd been a while since he'd had a friend.

[torotoro0]

Enemies? Or....

`~Miles Fairchild x Reader~` {Part 3}

{Click for Chapters}

Summary : Things are getting a tad bit awkward between you two, and not to add, Miles getting a bit romantic there.

A/N: Was part 3 fast enough for my children? YOU AND QUINT WERE BEST FRIENDS BEFORE JUST LIKE MILES AND HIM ITS JUST THAT YOU AND MILES DON'T GET ALONG WELL WITH EACH OTHER UNTIL NOW.

Your Pov

As of what happened last night.... we don't talk about that, sure; Kate was aghast of me getting lost, and Miles picking me up rescuing me, considering I got lost.

However all that doesn't matter now, all that matters is I am laying down on my bed having the best morning of my short life.

!Ba-dum, Ba-dum!

I hastily get up and hit my head on the head board, whilst my hair getting stuck at the zipper of the pillows "well, it was only the best whole 10 minutes of my short lived-life" before that buffoon made a commotion, I thought as I roll my eyes while I arise from the mattress.

I proceed to walk to Miles' room, "knock, knock" I muttered "Come in" Miles replied in a raspy morning voice.

"Can you turn your loud crappy music off?" I blurted

"No" he nonchalantly answered

"There's still people sleeping and include me there but your crappy music woke me up, come on turn it off" I beg since I'm still too sleepy to argue.

"No" he taunted

"fine" I shrugged.

I go back to my room to get dressed, seeing you can't stop him in any ways my crappy brain can think of. I dressed myself in my usual "stay-at-home-all-day" attire. I proceeded to head downstairs since the smell of Eggos and toast makes me go nuts.

"Morning Y/N, did you sleep well last night?" Kate chimed

"Good morning Y/N!" Flora beamed, even early morning she is nonetheless full of energy. I wonder if I was also this energetic before.

"Good morning" I yawn,

"Oh darling, can you call miles for breakfast?" Mrs. Grose asked

"sure... I'll go" even if I hate his guts, that's all I can do to repay Mrs. Grose's kindness to me, I approach the stairs while stretching my body.

I soon arrive at miles' room,

The door is open?, it was a little open but was enough for me to see half of the room.

"Mile-", he opens the door from the bathroom half naked, water dripping down his stomach, towel wrapped around his bottom wet, the water on his hair dripping on the carpet.

"shit!" I murmur as I move aside trying to work out what the heck I just saw. He is fucking naked!

Then after 2 minutes the door opens revealing Miles, now dressed up in sweater and pants.

"What do you want?" he questioned

"were you the one who opened the door?" he added

"U-uhm, no! It was already open by the time I got here! and I was here to let you know Mrs. Grose called you down for breakfast!" I blurted, why would he think I was the one who opened it?.

"What are you so worked about? I was only asking a question" he shrugged and went downstairs, I was left there speechless.

After a moment of contemplating my life choices I went downstairs.

"Y/N what took you so long! I saved these eggos for you because miles said he would eat it all up if you won't be down here!" Flora exclaimed.

"Oh- thank you so much flora" I replied as I sit down to the seat far away form miles.

"So, uhm, Kate can I still teach you how to ride horses?" Miles questioned

"Of course, I'd love that" Kate replied

"Can me and Y/N come too please please?" Flora looks at her brother dearly.

"Fine, you guys can go, BUT if SOMEONE here won't intrude my lesson with horse riding" was that meant for me?!, I glare at him.

{LONG PERIOD OF SILENCE}

"Let's go after breakfast I guess?" Kate broke the ice, "Sure!" I exclaimed as I chomp on my Eggo.

Me and Flora are now sitting down on the stairs observing miles and Kates's lesson.

"Bring her in hard" Miles said as he whips the Delila.

Poor horse, if i was her I'd kick Miles' butt that it makes him fly to mars.

"Well done" He compliments her "You don't have to keep whipping her" Kate blurted.

"Yes I did" Miles began "you wanted to learn, and that's how Quint taught me" he added.

I roll my eyes "That's not how Quint taught me though" I concluded, "He said you have to make a bond with your horse for it to listen to you, strong or not" I added.

"Quint taught me a different lesson than you, he taught you that because your too weak for what he teaches me" He shrugs as I sit there in annoyance.

"Miles I'm bored!, can we do something else now?" Flora complained, "What do you wanna do?" He replied.

"Can we show Kate the Koi pond?" she suggested

"Oh yes! the koi pond!" I beamed.

"Its floras favorite part of the garden" he looked at kate "Let's check it out".

Miles and Flora ride Samson while me and Kate ride Delila and of course, I drive her. We arrive at the koi pond, I went down and ran to where Flora and Miles were.

{TIME SKIP TO THE KOI POND}

"Shit! LOOK!" I pointed to where the crow was eating a fish

"STOP!" flora cried out at the crow

"Get the hell off of her!" miles yelled.He looked at the fish for a moment then-

!STOMP!

We three looked flabbergasted with what miles just did, he stomped on the fish mercilessly.

"Miles!" Kate looked at him "What are you doing?!" she looked so horrified.

"Nothing should have to suffer" Miles replied and then he walked away.

{T I M E S K I P to the next morning}

I wake due to the commotion downstairs.

"Maybe we could go to town and buy a new Koi fish?" I heard Kate asking as I enter the room.

"Morning Y/N!" flora as always excitedly beamed,

"Morning guys" I replied

"Y/N, Do you wanna go with us to town?" Kate turned to me

"uhm, sure why not" I agreed, no one wants to mope around this house always ya know.

"I- I don't want to" Flora disagreed

"You know flora doesn't leave the property" Mrs. Grose warned

"You don't have to go darling" Flora smiled.

"Miles and Y/N can come with you" She suggested.

"What if I ask my special friend huh?" Miles chimed in

"Want me to try? he looks at flora then to the mirror

"Will you keep me and flora safe?" he asked "You will?" gosh he just answered for himself

"Kate and Y/N too?" Flora looks at Miles.

"And them too?" wow what a good actor he is, I roll my eyes

"Really?" he turned to flora "He says you have nothing to worry about" he smiles.

"Well- ok let's go!" Flora excitedly yelled.

We proceed to go in the car, and I sat in the back with Flora.

{Time skip to where you guys are almost at the gate}

"Please stop I don't wanna go" flora complained as we approach the gate

"Oh, no honey were almost at the gate we'll be fine" Kate consoled

"I don't wanna go! stop!" flora yelled as she unbuckles her seat belt and trying to open the door.

"please stay in your seat flora" Kate ordered

"Kate stop the car" I demanded.

"Miles tell her to stop or I will die!" Flora cried out.

"Stop the car" Miles looked at Kate, "Y/N I don't wanna die!".

"KATE STOP THE CAR!" I yelled, the child has already cried but this bitch still won't stop?!,

"STOP THE CAR OR I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU!" Miles retorted

Kate stops the car, he opens the door and flora gets out, I follow her to where she was going.

Miles Pov

I open the door so Flora could get out and Y/N followed her, along with me getting out last.

As Kate open the door I slam it against her face.

"I know what your afraid of, keeping the lights on won't keep you safe" I taunted and with that I went after Flora. (boy why won't you include Y/N in your sentence🙄)

I arrive at the sight of Flora and Y/N feeding Delila apples, I lean unto the stable of Delila.

"Are you okay Flora?" I question.

"I'm fine, but Kate really scared me awhile ago though" She murmured.

{After some time...}

Flora?" Kate calls her.

"Leave her alone" Y/N replied without looking back "Flora can you look at me-".

"She doesn't want to talk to you" I block her way. "You terrified her" I cautioned.

"Where'd they find her anyways?" Y/N announced looking at her.

"You know you need to stop talking to me like that" she approach Y/N.

"Your not our mother, your not our family, So stop pretending to be" I retorted

"... And you can't talk to Y/N like that" I look at her full of hate.

"[scoff] I'm leaving" she says turning around.

"Yeah, go ahead and leave" I went on "Leave just like everyone else", she runs out and our gazes follow her"

A/N: was this chapter enough for you children?👍‍

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

5 times Merlin does something that requires a considerable amount of strength;

+1 time the gang has time to actually bring it up.

Everyone is baffled, half distracted by Merlin’s surprising buffness and half amused by Arthur’s gay panic:

1)

The clearing fills with the sounds of a brutal fight. 

The Knights of Camelot, along with their King, had given up on trying to figure out how bandits always managed to find them in the woods. It seemed impossible for there to be so many mercenary groups that it was just coincidence for them to stumble upon each other so often, but equally, the knights moved quietly and always covered their tracks well, so... yeah, who knows.

The point is, they’re outnumbered three to one, and all of them were starting to regret not listening to Merlin’s earlier suggestion that they keep riding for another hour or so; their camp was destroyed and the fight was tiring them out.

Three to one weren’t bad odds, especially for knights with such a high level of skill, but it was exhausting and time consuming and they just wanted it to be over. Merlin was having similar thoughts as he stumbles through the middle of the crowd, trying to get out of the way. He was keeping an eye on them of course, but his friends were winning so his magical intervention wasn’t really needed; he was just annoyed that Arthur was almost certainly going to make him clear everything up afterwards.

His attention is suddenly caught when Percival’s voice rings out across the clearing:

“Merlin! Behind you!”

All of the knights’ gazes whip to the servant when they hear the giant’s yell, and they all abandon their own battles to step towards him despite knowing that they were too far away to be able to help in time. The servant takes in a sharp breath at Percival’s warning, becoming suddenly aware of a fast-moving presence behind him; he forms a fist and turns, swinging blindly with all his strength and following through even when his knuckles crunch with surprising accuracy against the temple of a bandit.

The man, not expecting the rapid attack, doesn’t have time to move out of the way, and his head jerks to the side, his entire body following as if an afterthought. He crumples to the floor gracelessly, unconscious before his head makes contact with the trampled undergrowth.

Merlin hisses at the pain bursting through his knuckles and up into his wrist, shaking his hand out as he steps over the bandit’s still form without even blinking, back to focusing on attempting to find a tree to sit behind and sulk, as if nothing had happened.

The knights only have a fraction of a second to freeze in shock before they’re dragged back to their own fights, forced to defend themselves lest they get skewered. 

The battle only lasts a few more minutes; despite being outnumbered, the knights far outmatch the bandits in skill (and sufficient armour) and Merlin was correct in his assumption that they wouldn’t need any of his DIY luck, which is a good thing really, considering how much his hand is throbbing. He peeks his head around the tree when things go suspiciously quiet, getting up and making his way to the abandoned bag of medical supplies when he sees the knights victorious.

The servant runs a quick gaze over them, taking stock of any potential injuries as he makes his way through the clearing, injured hand clenched tightly and held to his chest. He may have knocked the bandit out, but that just meant that the punch was hard enough to do damage to his hand as well as the other guy’s head. When he finds nothing more than the odd bruise on the others, he grabs a roll of bandages for himself, quickly wrapping his hand almost painfully tight, before turning to Arthur with a scowl:

“I told you we were too close to the road, I told you we should’ve kept on going. But do you ever listen to me? No, because you’re-”

He’s cut off by The King stepping towards him and taking his bandaged hand, cradling it gently and looking to Merlin in concern:

“Merlin, are you alright?”

Merlin just rolls his eyes and huffs, snatching his hand back and retreating to check on the horses, thankfully tied and uninjured at the edge of the clearing:

“No, my hand fucking hurts, because, surprisingly enough, these idiots have skulls almost as thick as yours. We need to move camps, like I said earlier. Prat.”

Arthur frowns, looking down to Merlin’s unconscious bandit at his feet, and then glancing back to the other knights, who all just shrug with wide eyes. The King sighs, reluctantly nodding at Merlin’s assertion as he stares up at the darkening sky, deciding that Merlin must’ve... hit a pressure point or... something:

“Everyone pack up, I want to be moving on in three minutes.”

2)

Merlin had foregone his jacket and rolled his sleeves up in the surprising Spring heatwave.

Which was a sight in itself.

But what really made the knights look twice (I mean... Arthur was just outright staring, but Leon had long since glared the others into not mentioning The King’s little... crush) was the way the supposedly wimpy servant had two sets of chainmail folded on one shoulder, his arm curled over them to keep them balanced, and a few odd bits of mismatched armour clutched in his other hand. He was making his way from the training field up to the castle, presumably to find an empty room to sit quietly and clean them.

Elyan waves at him across the field, the movement just about catching the servant’s gaze as he twists around, flashing a bright, sunny grin in place of waving back. 

Arthur gulps, eyes drawn to the vein standing out from Merlin’s uncovered neck; apparently the heat had encouraged him to abandon his neckerchief as well. The King takes a deep breath, sending a scowl Merlin’s way to cover his... surprise, holding in a smirk when the servant just rolls his eyes and turns back to the castle.

His stride was strong, and though his arms were straining against the weight, he looked entirely unbothered, not even breathing deeply as he picks up his pace, jogging up the citadel steps.

Training had all but stopped at this point, the roundtable knights staring in confusion as Merlin carefully pulled the door open, making sure he wouldn’t drop anything, before nudging the door shut again with his hip. Gwaine was the first to break the silence, quirking one of his eyebrows up as he speaks in a slightly surprised tone:

“Didn’t know he had it in him. Wearing one set, when the weight is evenly distributed, is hard enough, let alone carrying two sets. And armour. Up steps. Huh.”

Arthur clears his throat, looking away with a slight blush as he asserts:

“Yes, well, knights carry the same weight in armour and weapons everyday, if not more. If you’re that impressed Sir Gwaine, perhaps you should work on your strength.”

Gwaine turns to him with a smirk, but Leon’s warning glare stops him from teasing, or saying anything else that could be considered treasonous. Instead, he rolls his eyes at the first knight before humming non-committedly and pointing his sword at The King:

“That, Princess, sounds like a challenge.”

Arthur, blush forgotten, looks up with raised eyebrows and a chuckle, noting with satisfaction the way the other knights spread out to form a circle around the two of them, swords lowered and expectant looks on their faces:

“Does it now? I suppose you’ll have to take me up on it then, won’t you?”

3)

The knights were on some stupid (in Merlin’s opinion) quest.

The group was currently making their way through a complicated cave system. They had maps, thankfully, but they were old, and provided by a small village of locals who hadn’t spoken common very well. 

They’d had to trade away half of their supplies in return for the maps, so Arthur was already in a foul mood, but a dotted line on the page across the path they were following was worrying him. The note written next to it was in some old, almost lost native language, so The King had just resigned himself to carrying on and hoping for the best.

Which is why he let out a series of echoing curse words when they turned a corner to find a ragged overhang, about eight feet above the path. The wall curved in on itself before jutting out again at the top, making it impossible to climb, even without armour and swords and packs.

Elyan is the first to break the tense silence after Arthur’s outburst, his tone half amused, half annoyed, as he mutters:

“That’ll be why the locals kept pointing at that ladder then.”

Arthur huffs, glaring at the knight with a rare venom, but Leon gestures to the map in his hand before he can retort:

“We can always go back, or is there another way around?”

Arthur huffs louder, letting out a short growl as he thrusts the maps to Leon’s chest and paces closer to the overhang:

“Feel free, if you can find an alternative route, please, enlighten me. The village is a day’s journey away, we don’t have time to go back.”

Leon covers his annoyance at Arthur’s harshness well, but Merlin scowls at The King openly before moving to stand at the junction between the wall of the corridor, and the overhang in front of them:

“Don’t be an arse, Arthur, it’s not Leon’s fault that none of us can understand Old... whatever it was. And it’s not that high, just-”

With that, Merlin braces his foot against the wall, bending his knees slightly before pushing off and jumping up, reaching out and grabbing the overhang, his feet dangling off the ground. The knights stare in shock, but before they can say anything, Merlin swings his feet forwards, and backwards, and forwards again. When they swing back for the second time, he uses the momentum to pull himself up, his arms locking out straight beneath him as he lifts his knees up, crawling over the edge and onto the floor above them.

Arthur blinks, looking from the floor, to the wall, and up to Merlin again, trying to figure out how the hell his manservant had enough strength in his arms and core to pull himself up; he hadn’t even taken his pack off.

Lancelot clears his throat, tilting his head and frowning as he slowly speaks:

“That was... impressive. But we’re wearing armour, Merlin, I don’t think we’ll be able to manage that with all the extra weight.”

No one mentions that they don’t think they could do it even without armour.

Merlin just rolls his eyes and sits on the edge, his feet dangling below him as he gestures vaguely:

“Well if you just get your hands on the ledge then I can pull you up. Take your packs off and throw them up first if you’re so worried, you can give each other a hand up, and Percival can go last because of how tall he is. Come on, it wasn’t that hard.”

Lancelot shrugs, taking his pack off and throwing it up with all his might. Merlin leans out, catching it with ease and chucking it behind him as he motions Percival to interlock his hands. The knight does so, allowing Lancelot to step on them and throw himself up, just about managing to catch the ledge and groaning at the strain in his arms. Merlin brings his feet back over the overhang, bracing his heels against the stone as he reaches down, gripping Lancelot’s wrists and hauling him up and over the edge.

Lance yelps as Merlin yanks him up, rolling onto his back and panting at the ceiling as he blinks in surprise. Merlin doesn’t pay him any attention, frowning down at the others and gesturing at them to hurry:

“Come on, I thought we were in a rush?”

With that, they all huddle below, taking turns to be thrown up and hauled over the edge. Merlin drags Elyan up on his own, Lance still recovering from his slight shock, but the more people gather at the top, the less work Merlin has to do. Which is good, because he may be strong, but he’s not sure he could manage Percival on his own. The giant has to take a running leap at the ledge, and it takes four of them to pull him up without dislocating any shoulders or throwing out any backs.

When they’re all successfully at the top, Merlin wordlessly picks his pack up, shrugging it onto his shoulders as he begins a quick pace along the corridor as if he hadn’t a care in the world; the knights break out of their stupors and jog to catch up, knowing that Merlin was right and they needed to hurry.

4)

Arthur was glaring resolutely at the floor, trying to psych himself up to confront whatever arsehole had managed to get the drop on him and his six best knights. The others were arguing in whispers around him, trying to figure out some way to escape the dungeon unscathed, though The King kept silent, knowing that the only way out was if someone unlocked these infernal chains first.

They’d only been there for around an hour, so no one from Camelot would have realised they were missing yet; their only hope was that Merlin was making his way back to the city to get help. He’d been off gathering firewood, and he’d already been gone half a candle mark when they’d been ambushed; Arthur would never admit it, but he had faith that Merlin would be able to sort everything out.

The King harshly shushes the knights as he hears the guards begin to yell, but frowns in confusion when he hears “They’re going crazy up there!” and “What the fuck?!” before the unmistakable sound of armoured boots running up the stairs and away from the dungeons reaches them.

The knights all look to each other in confusion, straining against their chains to try and see through the small barred window at the top of the door. A shadow passes through the square of light on the floor, and they all shuffle back against the wall, staying silent. None of them manage to hold in their surprised yelps however, when the door suddenly bursts in, the wood around the lock splintering violently and spreading shards across the dungeon floor.

A strong arm extends out, stopping the now broken beyond repair door from swinging shut again, and the knights look up, taking in sharp gasps when they see Merlin stood there, scowling disapprovingly with a ring of keys in his other hand and one foot in front of the other, as if he had... as if he had kicked the door. Leon is the first to break the silence:

“Merlin?? What are you doing here?”

Merlin’s scowl deepens as he glances down the corridor before stepping into the dungeon, sorting through the keys to try and figure out which one would open which set of chains:

“Well I’m rescuing you lot, obviously. I leave camp for barely a candle-mark and you get yourselves kidnapped. Honestly, how hard is it to not find trouble, for once?”

Arthur is too busy staring at Merlin’s apparently muscled legs to say anything, even when Elyan clears his throat and kicks him, so Percival is the next to speak as Merlin unlocks his chains:

“Why not just... unlock the door?”

Merlin doesn’t look at the largest of the knights as he moves on to the others, unchaining them one by one as he responds, his scowl still firmly in place:

“The key was on a separate ring and I only had time to grab one, figured the door would be easier to break than the chains.”

Arthur finally blinks and shakes his head free of.... distracting, thoughts as Merlin finally turns to him, holding his hands out to be unchained as he clears his throat and says strongly, forcing the waiver from his voice:

“How did you distract the guards?”

Merlin finally smiles at that, standing and reaching into his pocket to pull out a lumpy looking bit of plant:

“Snuck in and pretended to be one of their slaves, laced all the jugs with mandrake root. They’re all going loopy with hallucinations upstairs, a few of them vomited and I think one guy might have shit himself. The guards went to see what was wrong, so we don’t have much time, come on.”

Arthur nods impressed, and was the last of the group to sneak from the dungeon, pausing briefly to run a hand over the splintered wood and warped metal of the kicked-in door, before shaking his head and following the others out of the not-quite-abandoned fort.

5)

It had been almost a year since Merlin had last seen his mother, so when the servant requested two weeks off to visit home, wanting to help the village out with repairs before the winter set in, Arthur agreed immediately, on the condition that he and a couple of the knights could tag along.

Merlin reluctantly gave in, but only after insisting that he wouldn’t be Arthur’s servant, and whoever came would have to dig in and help out. To be honest, Arthur was mentally exhausted after months of work on repealing the magic ban, so Merlin was silently grateful that he was coming; The King needed a break, and Merlin knew how secretly fond the man was of Merlin’s mother, and her simple country life. 

In the end, Leon and Mordred were the only ones who could come; Lancelot and Elyan were left in charge of patrols, Percival and Gwaine were left in charge of training, and Guinevere, Gaius, and Morgana were left to oversee the council and the general running of the Kingdom. Arthur wasn’t worried to be honest, they were only going to be gone for two weeks, and if disaster set in they were only a two day’s ride away at most.

It was chilly, the winter was setting in early so Merlin and Hunith were eager for work to start as soon as possible. There were numerous leaks and fences to fix, and one of the village’s barns needed clearing out so it could filled with grain over the snowy season.

That, and as much firewood needed to be collected as possible so they could stockpile. They normally barely had enough to last them through the winter; Arthur had nodded in approval when Merlin had meekly asked if they could take a cart of wood with them from Camelot, but they still had a lot to gather.

It was the afternoon of their first day, Leon had been sent to a neighbour’s to fix a roof, Merlin was doing something outside, and Mordred was just about to head over to one of the livestock pastures to strengthen a few of the fences. Hunith was preparing the evening’s meal and Arthur stood politely in the doorway as he spoke:

“Merlin said that firewood had to be gathered? I can get started on that if you can point me in the right direction.”

Hunith smiles over her shoulder briefly, and Arthur ignores the warm fuzziness in his stomach at the sight as she speaks:

“Oh don’t worry about that, we’ve only one axe in the village and Merlin is out by the barn chopping wood now. I know there’s a leak somewhere in the basement of the village hall, a few of the boys are already down there if you’re looking for something to do?”

Arthur raises his eyebrow at Hunith’s insistence that Merlin, his lanky manservant, was outside with an axe chopping wood, and he glances at Mordred over his shoulder, who just shrugs, nodding to Hunith’s turned back. The King responds quietly, trying to keep the amusement out of his voice:

“Hmm. I’ll go check in with Merlin and then head down to the hall, if he doesn’t need help.”

Hunith hums in agreement, but otherwise doesn’t reply, mumbling under her breath about herbs and measurements as she stirs something into the pot. Arthur smirks at Mordred and the two of them head out, neither mentioning how Mordred was following Arthur to find Merlin instead of getting to the fences.

They walk in silence, though they both freeze on the spot when they turn a corner to see Merlin, once again with his sleeves rolled up, hefting around a huge lump of wood, a ginormous axe resting on his shoulder. He gets the wood where he wants it, stepping back and wiping his forearm across his sweaty forehead before lifting the axe and swinging it down again. The stump splits easily beneath the sharpened metal, and Merlin wastes no time in repositioning the new pieces of wood, ready to be chopped again.

Arthur doesn’t even realise his mouth is hanging open until Mordred looks at him and smirks, biting his lip before giving in and snorting quietly:

“You’re the colour of our capes, Sire, and you might want to shut your mouth. Don’t want to catch flies, do you?”

Arthur’s jaw snaps shut with a clack, and he frowns as his teeth begin to ache. Mordred chuckles slightly and though Arthur is grateful that the young knight is finally comfortable enough to joke around with him, he desperately wishes he wasn’t at Gwaine’s level of comfort.

Instead of retorting, Arthur just clears his throat and turns around, striding towards the village hall:

“It appears he’s got things handled. Those fences won’t fix themselves, Sir Mordred.”

Mordred only just manages to hold in his giggle, looking up to see Merlin staring confusedly at him and Arthur’s rapidly retreating back. He waves briefly, sending a quick “I’ll tell you later.” over their mental link before turning himself and heading in the direction of the pastures.

He knows full well that he has no intention of telling Merlin about Arthur’s crush; watching them tiptoe around each other was the funniest thing ever, and he didn’t want to ruin the bet that Gwaine had going.

+1)

The fight was vicious, more so than any of the skirmishes the knights had dealt with in the last several months.

They were vastly outnumbered, and the addition of four powerful sorcerers to the enemy ranks meant that Merlin and Mordred were quickly running out of energy, having to focus on both the magical aspect of the fight, and trying to keep everyone else alive.

The metallic scent of blood was almost overwhelming, and the constant clang of metal on metal mixed with the whooshing echoes of sorcerous fire and vines was deafening. The fight went on a lot longer than Merlin had thought it would; the enemy was clearly more skilled than predicted, but the Camelot knights did prevail eventually, Percival ending the fight with the smooth slice of his blade across the last mercenary’s throat.

Merlin wastes no time in running his gaze over the knights, giving special attention to Arthur as he searches for any injuries that need seeing to immediately. The last of the sorcerers had managed to escape, so they needed to get out of there as soon as possible: there’s no way they’d survive a second attack if he came back with reinforcements.

Merlin was relieved to see nothing too serious; Lancelot had a gash on his temple that would need a thorough cleaning and a few stitches, and Gwaine was holding his wrist to his chest in a way that told Merlin it was likely broken, but everyone was on their feet and no one was crying. That’s a good start.

Merlin relaxes, but his shoulders quickly tense again as Mordred’s voice echoes weakly through his head:

“Emrys... I’m... I’m tired...”

Merlin whips around quickly, his eyes wide and panicked as his frantic gaze lands on the young knight. He’s leaning against a tree, his eyes hooded and focused on the floor. Merlin leaps towards him, catching him just before his head lands harshly on a boulder, and pulling the collapsed younger man into a more comfortable position as Arthur rushes over:

“What’s wrong with him? I don’t see any blood, was he hit with magic?”

Merlin waves him off, checking Mordred’s pulse and breathing before he relaxes again, sending a tired, but relieved smile up to The King:

“He’s fine, just exhausted. This is the first time he’s used this much magic in years, he’ll need a little while to recover his strength, but we need to get out of here in case they come back.”

Arthur lets out a relieved sigh and nods, leaning down to take one of Mordred’s arms and waving Gwaine over to pick his legs up, but before either of them get even close, Merlin stands up, dragging Mordred with him and settling the armoured knight across his shoulders. He looks to Arthur next to him, not seeming to notice The King’s shock as he quickly says:

“I know you’re The King and all, but would you mind carrying my bag?”

Arthur nods dumbly, picking up Merlin’s dropped medical bag without taking his gaze off the Warlock, who wanders around double checking that the other knights were ok and that all the bandits were dead as if he didn’t have about 240 pounds of man and armour dangling from his shoulders.

Leon catches Arthur’s eye, nodding pointedly towards the path they needed to take, trying to pull Arthur back into the present before the others notice him gawping. Arthur gulps, blushing as he nods his thanks and moves away from the battlefield, Merlin’s bag secured on his shoulders as he confidently speaks:

“Merlin’s right, we need to get as far away from here as we can. I saw a cave about two hours’ back North, we can make camp there before heading back to Camelot in the morning. Gather as much as you can carry, we’ve no hope of finding the horses before nightfall, hopefully they can make their own way home.”

The knights all nod, following Arthur’s lead as he steps carefully through the underbrush, trying not leave any obvious pointers to their direction. He keeps his gaze resolutely ahead as he hears Percival ask:

“You alright, Merlin? Sure you don’t want a hand?”

Despite keeping his gaze stubbornly forward, Arthur strains his ears to hear Merlin’s response, refusing to acknowledge the sudden weakness in his knees at what the Warlock replies with:

“Nah, it’s fine, he’s not that heavy.”

Leon subtly sidles up to walk next to The King, glancing behind him before leaning in close, talking quietly as they moved:

“Perhaps you should... let him know of you affections, Sire?”

Arthur’s blushing gaze quickly finds the older knight’s before he looks away again:

“I don’t know what you think you’re implying, Sir Leon.”

Leon just raises his eyebrow in an unusual display of amused defiance:

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Arthur. He’s been by your side for ten years, you’ve been through the unspeakable, both with each other and for each other. That, and he has a surprisingly... admirable physique.-”

Arthur’s blush deepens and he clears his throat, crossing his arms petulantly and staring resolutely ahead. Leon puts a hand on The young King’s shoulder as he continues:

“-You’re...-”

The knight sighs and bites his lip again, debating with himself over whether he should say it or not:

“-you’re head over heels for him, Sire, perhaps it’s time to do something about it? Gods know he feels the same, and the Gods also know that he’ll never make the first move. He’s still... nervous, about messing things up, I think. His-”

Leon glances over his shoulder again to make sure no one could hear him before dropping his voice to a whisper:

“-his magic being outed put him... on edge, even after all these months. He won’t do anything that he think could push you away or anger you.”

Arthur sighs and nods, before turning to him slowly with an embarrassed scowl on his face; he doesn’t shrug off Leon’s hand, which the knight takes as a good sign:

“Not a word to anyone, Leon, I swear to the Gods.”

Leon holds his hand up and uses his other to wave a cross over his heart:

“I swear, Sire. Though I feel the need to tell you that... at least three of the other servants, and I do believe Lady Bronwyn and Sir Galahad, also have... uh... their eyes on him, as it were.”

Arthur’s scowl gets impossibly deeper as he huffs, muttering to himself:

“They do, do they? Well, we’ll see about that.”

Leon just smirks again and rolls his eyes fondly before falling back to walk with Elyan.

~

They finally make it back to the cave, though it took them even longer without horses. Merlin had requested they stop around a candle mark in so he could remove some of the heavier bits of Mordred’s armour, passing them off to the other knights, but he had once again rejected any offers of help, saying that he was slowly siphoning his own magic into Mordred so he would wake sooner. Apparently they needed to be touching for that to happen, and though Merlin had been teaching them, none of them had enough knowledge on magic to know whether that was true or not, but they did know that Merlin was incredibly protective of the young Druid, so they let it be.

A fire was lit quickly and supplies were laid out. A map had been saved, thankfully, so they could figure out roughly where they were and how long it would take them to get back home as Merlin quickly treated Lance’s gash and Gwaine’s wrist.

Mordred begins to stir just as Percival serves up food, groaning slightly and rubbing at his eyes before struggling to sit himself up. Merlin had rushed to his side as soon as he felt the Druid begin to wake, and helps prop him up against the cave wall, handing him a water-skin as he stares at him with concern. Mordred takes a long drink, nodding his thanks and clearing his throat before speaking, his voice gravelly and slow:

“This... this is the cave we passed a few hours ago...”

His voice trails off, and Arthur answers the question in his tone:

“Hmm. We had no horses, so we were never going to make it back to the city, but we couldn’t stay where we were.”

Mordred nods, yawning widely and rubbing his eyes again as he asks:

“How did you get me this far without horses?”

Arthur clenches his jaw, blushing slightly as he looks away, but thankfully Gwaine butts in, answering with a grin on his face before anyone notices The King’s flush:

“Merlin here is stronger than he looks. Carried you the whole way, didn’t use magic or anything.”

Mordred turns his incredulous gaze to Merlin and he just shrugs absentmindedly:

“You don’t weigh that much, it was fairly easy.”

Elyan laughs and shakes his head, joining in on the conversation quickly:

“Are you kidding me? I mean... sure, I could’ve carried him for maybe an hour, if I was at full strength and it was easy terrain. You carried him for three, only took his armour off in the second hour, down what could barely be classified as a path, in a barely tamed forest, after a pretty hefty fight. That’s... impressive.”

Merlin raises an eyebrow, looking around the room in bafflement as he realises that everyone is staring at him with varying levels of impressed confusion:

“You guys... you guys know that I grew up in the country, right? I spent my childhood climbing trees and running away from predators, and my teenage years chopping wood, building things with barely any help, and fighting the odd bear. I then arrive in Camelot, only to immediately be given a job that involves carrying a shit ton of heavy stuff, including, but not limited to: armour, luggage, hunting equipment, and the occasional unconscious idiot.”

Arthur sits up straight and scowls slightly when Merlin gestures to him instead of Mordred:

“You have never had to carry me anywhere.”

Merlin raises an eyebrow, gaze sinking to the floor as he smirks and coughs out something that sounds suspiciously like “Sophia”.

Arthur’s blush deepens and he jabs an accusing finger in Merlin’s direction:

“That. Didn’t. Happen.”

Merlin bites his lip to stop himself from laughing, but his dimples still show through despite his best effort and he holds his hands up in surrender:

“Whatever you say, Sire.”

Arthur just clenches his jaw and sits back against the wall with eyes focused on his food and cheeks red, stubbornly ignoring the knights’ curious stares as everyone eats their food. Merlin fusses over Mordred for a few more minutes but is quickly waved away by the younger man; the Warlock huffs and rolls his eyes, but gives in to the fact that Mordred did not need, nor want, to be babied. He moves subtly around the cave to sit down next to Arthur, barely a foot of air between them despite the abundance of space elsewhere.

Arthur forces his blush down at Merlin’s proximity, refusing to think of anything but his food and the difficult journey home, desperately keeping his gaze on his meal instead of Merlin’s strong legs stretched out next to him.

The King doesn’t acknowledge him, but doesn’t move away either, which Merlin takes as a good sign as he settles in, wrapping himself in a blanket to protect his body from the impending cold.

The other knights have long since finished their meals, scarping the lot in a matter of seconds in an attempt to gain back a little energy after the hours of riding and fighting and walking; they quickly settle into the blankets and cloaks and bedrolls they had managed to carry, though Leon seems to deliberately move slower, waiting for Arthur to glance up at him so he can give a pointed look to Merlin, just finishing his food, before laying down and attempting to sleep.

Arthur blushes with wide eyes, but Leon turns around before he has time to glare at him, and The King huffs quietly, risking a glance to a shivering Merlin next to him. He quickly frowns, not moving his gaze away like he had intended to, instead whispering softly:

“Cold? Can’t you use magic to warm up?”

Merlin looks to him tiredly, leaning his head back against the wall as his eyelids droop slightly:

“Hmm. I gave most of my reserves to Mordred, he was worse off than I first thought so he needed a lot more magic than I realised to keep him alive long enough for his energy to build up again.-”

Arthur widens his eyes at the fact that he was so close to losing one of his knights, but then shakes his head, huffing as he glares at the Warlock disapprovingly, but Merlin closes his eyes and continues before he can get told off:

“-I’ll be fine by morning, I just need-”

He’s interrupted when his body is wracked by a particularly strong shiver:

“-I just need some sleep.”

Arthur rolls his eyes, shuffling into a more comfortable position before opening his arms, spreading his cloak wide as if they were a pair of majestic wings:

“Come here, you idiot. I can’t have you freezing to death because you refuse to look after yourself.”

In normal circumstance Merlin would’ve argued, but he really was cold, so when he cracks his eyes open to see Arthur ready and waiting, he doesn’t hesitate to crawl hurriedly over. Arthur ignores the flush rising on his cheeks as Merlin clambers over one of his legs, settling between them and shoving his head under the blonde’s chin; he wraps his cloak around the two of them and rubs his cheek into the Warlock’s soft hair. 

He can feel Merlin grin against his collarbone, and it’s enough to distract him from the surprising, but not unwelcome, weight of Merlin’s muscled form against his chest:

“You know, Arthur, if you wanted to feel up my muscles so badly you just had to ask. You stare far too often to think you’re subtle.”

Arthur’s flush deepens and his body goes rigid as Merlin giggles. He clenches his jaw and lands a punch, far softer than he would normally go for, on the other man’s shoulder, but that just makes him giggle harder, and Arthur has to hush him in fear of waking the others. Merlin looks up at him through thick eyelashes, blinking tiredly with a satisfied smile on his face:

“Just let me know if you ever want carrying around, I’m more than happy to help.”

Arthur gulps, refusing to make eye contact as he stares resolutely at the opposite wall and not acknowledging the red hue of his cheeks:

“When we get back to Camelot, I’m hanging you for treason.”

Merlin snorts quietly, re-burying his face in Arthur’s chest and curling up tightly in his lap to stave off the cold:

“Whatever you say, Sire.”

Arthur gives in, smiling slightly and rolling his eyes as he tightens his hold on the other man. He lets his cheek fall back to rest on his soft hair as he closes his eyes, allowing his exhaustion to take over and descending into an easy sleep.

~

THE END!!

We stan Arthur gay panicking and all the knights (bar Leon of course, who handles it as tactically as he’s able) ruthlessly taking the piss :D

I hope y’all enjoyed reading this, I certainly enjoyed writing it! Thank you anon, I loved writing this!!!

Same as always, someone wants to write it up in full, go for it!! Drop me a message and credit/tag me :)

[house-of-vandernacht]

Morella's Last Meal Shepard's Pie (In Ireland, if you use beef its a "cottage pie" and if you use lamb its a "shepherd's pie". Pork can be used in a pinch but I call that the Swineherd's Forgiveness) There's lots of fawnsy ways to do this with red wine etc etc, but this is quick, easy and just as tasty!!

Ingredients

1 teaspoon salt, plus more to taste

3 large (1 1/2 to 2 pounds) potatoes , peeled and quartered

8 tablespoons (1 stick) butter, divided

1 medium onion, chopped (about 1 1/2 cups)

1 to 2 cups mixed vegetables, such as diced carrots and peas

1 1/2 pounds mince lamb (or beef, if ya wanna make Cottage)

1/2 cup beef broth (Bistro Beef Gravy granules can be used for ease. Or Vegetable Granules. Don't use Chicken granules, they're gonna taste gross in this)

1 teaspoon Worcestershire Sauce (If you can't get it in your area, a squirt of Brown Sauce can be substituted in. Some people add both. Is up to you.

Pepper and/or other seasonings of choice

Method

Boil the potatoes: Place the peeled and quartered potatoes in medium sized pot. Cover with at least an inch of cold water. Add a teaspoon of salt. Bring to a boil, reduce to a simmer, and cook until tender (about 20 minutes).

Preheat the oven to 400°F/200C. (Only if youre gonna be fawnsy. Want it slap dash? No need for the oven.) 3. Sauté the vegetables: While the potatoes are cooking, melt 4 tablespoons of the butter in a large sauté pan on medium heat. Add the chopped onions and cook until tender, about 6 to 10 minutes. If you are including vegetables, add them according to their cooking time. Carrots should be cooked with the onions, because they take as long to cook as the onions do. If you are including peas, add them toward the end of the cooking of the onions, or after the meat starts to cook, as they take very little cooking time.

4. Add the mince lamb, then the Worcestershire sauce and broth/gravy:

Add mince lamb to the pan with the onions and vegetables. Cook until no longer pink. Drain the pan of excess fat, if necessary (anything more than 1 tablespoon). Season with salt and pepper.

Add the Worcestershire/Brown sauce and beef broth/gravy. Bring the broth to a simmer and reduce heat to low. Cook uncovered for 10 minutes, adding more beef broth/gravy if necessary to keep the meat from drying out.

Taste the cooked filling and, if needed, add more salt, pepper, Worcestershire/Brown Sauce, or other seasonings of your choice.

5.Mash the cooked potatoes:

When the potatoes are done cooking (a fork can easily pierce), remove them from the pot and place them in a bowl with the remaining 4 tablespoons of butter. Mash with a fork or potato masher, taste, and adjust seasonings with salt and pepper.

THIS NEXT BIT CAN BE DONE ONE OF TWO WAYS. SLAPDASH OR FAWNSY 6. SLAPDASH: If you're already hungry, spoon some of the meat mixture into a bowl and top with potaoey goodness. Pour on more gravy if you like. You're good to go n gobble that shit up! (Let every thing cool, then divy it up into those plastic takeaway jibby jobbies and freeze. On a wet n dreary day, you can defrost n have some hearty goodness. Make sure to whip up some piping hot Bisto gravy to go over it)

6. FAWNSY: Slap that tasty meat mixture into a casserole dish or any super deep dish that's made for ovens at your disposal. Then layer the buttery mash potatoes goodness over the top.

Rough up the surface of the mashed potatoes with a fork so there are peaks that will get well browned. Go fucking ham! Make sea waves, sculpt the Uffington Horse if ya want. Have fun! Some folks sprinkle grated cheese over the taters. Cheddars are best for this. Id suggest a Strong mature white cheddar. If you go putting on french smellies, or soft cream cheeses, youre gonna have a bad time, and the ghost of an Irish grandmother will be allocated to you to haunt you for the rest of your days!

7. Bake:

Place in the oven and cook until browned and bubbling, about 30 minutes. 8. Serve!! Whip up extra Gravy granules to pour over your bit. (This recipe's weight should be enough to serve a found family of four. If you're making it for yourself. Let everything cool, then divy it up into those plastic takeaway jibby jobbies and freeze. On a wet n dreary day, you can defrost n have some hearty goodness. Make sure to whip up some piping hot Bisto gravy to go over it) GUINESS IS OPTIONAL! If you don't have access to fresh veggies or are pressed for time, you can use a cup and a half of frozen veg medley mixture. (which is what I do) Cook them via the instruction on the packet, drain and add to the meat. If you don't have freezer space for a leftover packet of frozen veggies, alternatively use a small tin of carrots, and a tin of garden peas, cook as per instruction on the tin, drain n slap them in with the meat as per number 4 If you're doing it this way remember to to cook the onions separate. *I tend to cook them in with the meat.

i’ve been a little busy with life events so now i’m catching up on Nevermore (which btw the season finale came out on my birthday so it was like a birthday gift to me) and oh my god this soup looks so good

like oh my god i really want that soup

[bellarkeselection]

Daughter's Matching

Request by @kaymudd Beth sets up a date for her dad with her friend whose younger than him. The pair are both nervous but realize they have a lot in common. (set after season 4 episode 4.)

Tags

@rosie-posie08

@kcloveswrestling

@whateverthecostner

@stellarosedutton

@the-morning-star-falls

@lizzydutton

Beth called me last night determined to have us hang out at her family's ranch tonight. Driving under the Yellowstone sign in my truck parking away from the porch. Beth comes over hugging me gently. "Glad you're here." I hug her back happily. "We need to hang out more often." She pulls away dragging me to the V barn for me to see two horses saddled. "Oh don't worry we will. You still remember how to ride?" Nodding I climbed on the horse questioning her when she climbed on the other horse. "I thought you'd never get back on a horse." Since her mother died she'd never get back on one until now. She simply had us ride out to the fields by the river. I parted my lips at what is in front of me. A picnic blanket covered with sandwiches and desserts is layed out before me. With a lit lantern in the middle. "Beth I'm confused-" I'm cut off hearing another horse riding up behind us.

Whipping my head around I see none other than her father, John Dutton. He dismounted his horse confused as me wearing a blue button up shirt, dark blue jeans muddy boots and a black cowboy hat. "Sweetheart what's going on here. I thought you wanted to see me to discuss our land?" Beth rides over on her horse smiling down at her father. "Daddy I said you need romance in your life. So I set this up. You and Y/n are perfect for each other. You both need someone and I thought this would be a perfect match, enjoy your date." She rides off before either of us can respond. A blush rises to my cheeks once I dismount my horse head buzzing with her words. Perfect for each other. Romance in your life. This is a date.

I've had a massive crush on her father for awhile. Granted I know he's a few years older than I am, I can't deny it. He clears his throat stepping towards me and I feel shorter then I already am. Being 5 1/2 he's taller than me. "Well we might enjoy this little spread considering we both know Beth will be pissed if we don't." He lightly chuckled groaning once bending down to have a seat. I drop down on my knees feeling the wind blowing my hair softly. "That's very true mr. Dutton-" He sticks his right hand out introducing himself. "Since this is a date call me John." Shacking his hand I lightly smile. "Hi John, I'm Y/n."

"This place is beautiful. Much more beautiful than a city building any day." I breathe out staring across the water at the different fall colored the horses munching on grass behind us. John picked up a strawberry watching me eating some too a bright smile on my face. "Here I was thinkin' everyone outside this ranch wants a damn casino." Looking at him I feel a little blush on my cheeks that he likes my comment. "I'm not like those business people John. Places like this should stay as they are, so you change enjoy the land." I direct my freehand.

John felt his heart warm as the words left your lips. He thought he'd never find another love after losing Evelyn. The love of his life. The woman who made him a better father to his children. But he felt himself blush when you'd laugh at his jokes or smile that smile of yours at him. Adding it together he'd see you blushing every few minutes back at him. Last night he thought his daughter was just slightly drunk and saying crazy things but now he was damn sure she was right. He needed love. He needed a new partner and he'd found it in you.

The sun was setting behind John and I as we put the horses up for the night. I started going to my truck but he called out to me from the porch, a nervous smile on his face. "Would you wanna come in for some hot chocolate?" I brush a strand of my hair behind my ear I nod yes. Sitting on his main couch in the living room I snuggled feeling the warmth of the fireplace going. He slowly entered the livingroom carrying two cups of hot chocolate, taking a seat beside me. I blow on the drink so I don't burn my tongue for one second forgetting I'm on a date with the famous John Dutton.

"This ranch is a getaway for me or at least it feels that way." I said drinking some of the drink moaning at the delicious taste and warmth. John slowly sat down his drink removing his black cowboy hat. "What if it was a permanent getaway Y/n?" I slightly choke on my drink sitting it on the coffee table I gasped staring into his eyes. "What - what do you mean John?" Once I'm sitting upright he scoots closer to me and I feel heat but no longer from the burning fire. His right hand takes mine in his gently squeezing it. Beth what have you gotten me into.

His left hand raised to rest on my cheek. His eyes locked onto mine deeply. "Y/n, I know it may seem crazy but I think my daughter was right. That you and I are meant for one another." I blushed stuttering out in disbelief. "John don't you think I'm too young?" He shakes his head chuckling softly. "If I was worried about what everyone thought I'd never do anything darlin'." His gaze shifted from my eyes to my lips then back up. "Can I kiss you, honey?"

"Yeah.." I stutter out feeling my heartbeat faster in my chest. He slowly leans forward placing his lips onto mine. I slowly kiss back loving the feeling of his lips on mine. Wrapping my arms around his neck deepening the kiss I felt his arms pull me onto his lap. We break apart needing air but we're both grinning lovingly. Unknown to the two of us Beth was standing in the doorway smiling. "What's got you smiling honey?" Rip's voice questions behind her confused. "Just my plan working perfectly, baby." She replied seeing John and I snuggled up on the couch.

Comment and reblog 😊