#I just have drawn way more of her than I bargained for and that will be it’s on post (pun unintended) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kumkaniudaku · 2 months ago

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Stay A While (2)

Summary: Terry and Treece are feeling the sparks again.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC

Word Count: 3,659

Part: 2 of ??

Warnings: None. This one's a safe for work slow burn. Enjoy.

Grocery shopping was Patrice's private pastime. She was the queen of her universe when she walked through aisles every Saturday morning. Every flash bargain and value-sized item bent to her will for a chance at making it to her humble abode and fulfilling its one purpose in life. Employees greeted her like royalty. Customers started conversations like old friends, always giving her the scoop on any sale they'd overheard in their neighborhood Facebook groups. She was happy. She was zen. She was in her element.

"Do you need this?"

She was a woman dragging around a large man intent on breaking any modicum of concentration she had left.

Patrice stopped and looked over her shoulder at Terry, who held a bag of cotton candy grapes up in the air for her inspection. "No, TJ. Put it down."

"Why? You like grapes."

"Because we're getting grapes from the farmer's market. Now, put it back."

Her rebuke was sweet but stern. Having him as a way too familiar roommate was becoming easier as the days passed. But she'd be lying if she said she didn't miss the freedom to go for a walk, watch a movie on the couch, or even enjoy an intimate moment alone in her own house without a man looming somewhere in the very near background.

He didn't allow her to travel alone, and she never had the energy to protest.

"You don't have to talk to me like I'm a kid," he grumbled as he put the grapes back in their place.

"Then stop acting like one. I have a list. I know what I need."

"I know what I need." He exaggerated his mimicry for maximum effect.

"You see how that was childish?"

"Whatever."

Patrice ignored him in favor of browsing packages of beef for the best deal. If she didn't respond, maybe he would get the hint. And, for a few moments, he did. Terry took a break in conversation to scan the immediate area quietly. He noted each patron and their most important details before checking the exit and entry points at the front of the store. They weren't secure enough, but he could manage if the situation required evacuation.

A lack of action soon turned his attention back to Patrice, who still hadn't decided. He gave her a slow once over and smiled at how much focus she put into such a simple choice. Her brow remained furrowed in intense thought, transforming her into the ninth-grade Patrice he met during a chance encounter in the library. Truthfully, he didn't have much of an opinion either way. He just wanted to talk to her every second of the day, even if it meant being annoying.

"Get that one."

His sudden interruption startled Patrice out of her zone, adding a final straw to an already exhausted camel's back. Terry grinned in triumph as she closed her eyes for a calming breath.

"Terry," she spoke, slow and measured to keep the peace. "Take the other half of this list and get out of my face. Don't come back until you find everything. I'll meet you at the register."

She didn't give him much time to protest before she shoved a carefully torn half of paper into his chest and sent him on his way. He gave her a sarcastic salute, which she waved off without a second look. She needed a moment alone and didn't care if he came back with Fruity O's instead of Fruit Loops if that meant he would be out of her hair for more than 10 minutes.

Terry found himself slowly meandering around the grocery store with a tiny basket in tow, exhausted by all the options on each aisle. If Patrice hadn't been so meticulous with her lists, he would've given up on the mission and gone back to home base with his tail tucked between his legs.

After sourcing the perfect pint of Oreo ice cream as an apology for his behavior, Terry found himself drawn to the sound of laughter on the next aisle. Sure enough, Patrice was parked by the frozen vegetables and engaged with a man dressed in the store's colors with his eyes directed far too low to be looking at Patrice's face.

Terry quickly reached her location, stopping behind Patrice to show her guest the full extent of his scowl.

Patrice noticed how his once loose body language had gone stiff and sighed. She didn't need to investigate the problem. Only her human pitbull could make a man cower in fear like that.

"Derrick, this is Terry. Terry, this is Derrick. He usually helps me get stuff to my car."

"Ah, man. It's a good thing I'm here, right? We don't need you taking too many breaks from stocking. Mornin' rush can get crazy."

"Terry," Patrice admonished with a harsh whisper and an elbow to his stomach.

Terry remained steadfast, keeping his eyes on Derrick while taking one step closer. A taunting smile tugged on the right side of his mouth. He waited on any sign of fight from his unspoken adversary.

Derrick stood in palpable discomfort, sizing up the outcomes if he decided to test his luck. Each mental scenario led him back to some instance of physical harm on his last shift of the week. He had plans for the weekend, none involving a trip to the emergency room.

Patrice stood between a rock and a hardheaded man, praying that the Lord would end her suffering.

"That's what I was about to say," Derrick answered before shifting his attention back to Patrice. "I think I oughta get going. See you around, Ms. Ellis?"

"Same time next week."

He nodded in half-hearted agreement and hurried out of dodge, with Terry keeping a watchful eye until he was safely around the corner.

Patrice groaned with one hand, rubbing tight circles at her temple. "What in the hell was that about?"

"He wouldn't even look you in the eye. If he can't look you in the eye when he's speaking, he can't protect you, and he doesn't respect you."

"I'm not looking for his protection. I need this water loaded into my trunk every week when you aren't here!"

"I'll never not be here. Problem solved."

His declaration was so sure, so matter of fact, that it left Patrice no room for retort. So she resorted to schoolyard antics.

It was her turn to mock him with an exaggerated, deep voice. "Problem solved. Push the damn cart since you got so much energy."

He obliged without protest and a proud, self-satisfied grin that Patrice couldn't see while she led the way to the register. An unexpected system error had halted all transactions, leaving them log jammed in a long line of restless customers.

Together, they stood sharing light banter and running through weekend tasks, resembling any other couple making a store run to strangers observing them from the outside looking in. Former acquaintances, however, had no problem drawing attention to the pair from three spots back in line.

"I know that ain't who I think it is." Both Patrice's and Terry's eyes darted up to find the source of the loud outburst, only to whisper 'fuck’ in tandem when they spotted Katrina Spivey waving her arms to grab their attention. "Hey, Terry Richmond!"

Terry pretended to ignore being singled out by turning his back, earning a stifled laugh from Patrice. Katrina, not one to be deterred, used the moment to push past patrons in line until she reached her destination with a host of angry faces in her wake.

"Well, if it ain't Mr. and Miss Homecoming in the flesh. You two finally stopped kidding around and got married?"

"No," Terry answered without much explanation, his back still turned. Patrice reluctantly made up his slack.

"What Terry meant to say was that we're not married. We're not together at all, actually. But he's here to visit me for a while."

"What a blessing it is to have friends you can lean on when you need a helping hand."

"Amen."

An awkward tension settled into the conversation's lull, compounded by Terry's outright refusal to engage. Patrice was in deep water without a paddle and a co-captain who had already jumped ship.

Katrina wouldn't let the conversation end and take her newfound place in line. She continued to pry.

"Both of y'all look good! How long has it been since we last saw each other, huh? Gotta be since Terry's graduation send-off."

Patrice feigned interest with a hollow smile. "Yeah, I think that was it. A looong time ago. All grown up now."

"And thank God for it! I remember how sad you looked all night because ol' Terry was moving away. Like a little crying puppy!"

Katrina's laughter didn't quite reach Terry or Patrice, who bristled at mentioning one of the more contentious nights in their friendship.

"Everybody's been a little young and dumb, right? Like when you and BJ got caught underneath the bleachers during state championships."

Checkmate. A little reminder of her indiscretions had turned Katrina's condescending smile into a mean mug that could burn through anyone not equally as stubborn.

Terry showed his approval with a light nudge against Patrice's arm. That was his girl. Sweet as pie but a tongue coated in venom when backed against the wall. He'd been on the receiving end on one too many occasions. It felt good to be on the winning side this time.

Three seconds of a Western standoff had culminated in a gift sent via store intercom.

"Apologies for the stoppage, folks. Our registers are back up and running. Thanks for your patience."

Terry moved the cart to place items on the conveyor belt while Patrice waited for the conversation to resume.

Recovering from the sharp end of a verbal lashing, Katrina cleared her throat and grabbed hold of her cart in preparation to skip lines.

"Well, I don't wanna hold y'all too much longer. If y'all don't think you're too good to mingle with us Francis High Hornets anymore, Corey's throwing a little Juneteenth gathering at his daddy's pool hall. This is my personal invite for the both of you."

"We were already invited. Maybe we'll make an appearance."

"That'd be grand."

"I bet it would."

Nice nasty smiles passed between the two foes until Katrina was off to harass some other unsuspecting patron.

Patrice tried to let go of her frustration with an angry huff before turning to catch up with Terry, who was casually moving groceries from the bagging station to the shopping basket. He waited a moment before acknowledging the obvious.

"You over it now, or do I need to iron a shirt for tonight?"

"I'm over it," Patrice answered plainly. She calmly handed over payment for the day's groceries and smiled ever so sweetly to bid the cashier farewell. To an outsider, she'd returned to her zen state without much effort. Terry was no outsider and kept a cautious eye on her as they loaded bags into the trunk and got settled in the front seat of her SUV.

"You sure you're good," he asked as he backed out of their parking space.

"I'm sure, TJ," she answered with almost too much enthusiasm. Terry started a mental countdown for the other shoe to drop. "I'll iron the shirt. You need to shave."

--------

The final verdict? A plain white T-shirt.

An hour of searching, choosing, rejecting, and choosing again led them to a plain, crisp white tee. Patrice said it went better with her yellow wrap dress, which she chose because her girlfriends were all in dresses, and she wanted to match the occasion. It all sounded like made-up bullshit to Terry. Still, he accepted being treated like a Ken Doll because it meant that his Barbie would agree to a two-hour hard stop at the festivities.

He'd already started his stopwatch when they pulled up on a busy street in front of an even busier hole in the wall.

The smell of fresh grease greeted them upon crossing the threshold from outside into Mister C's Bar and Lounge. Fried fish, French fries, and wings in any flavor you could ask for sat in the service window, waiting for their delivery to any one of the patrons packed from wall to cinderblock wall. Terry inhaled deeply and let his scowl drop for one second to fantasize about a bite of Corey Sr.'s signature catfish and fries basket.

Next came the familiar mix of sweat and weed near the dancefloor as bodies intertwined to some GloRilla song neither of them recognized. Thick traffic in the center of the room paused Patrice on her path to the pool tables, locking her between Terry and a crowd that wouldn't budge.

"Excuse me!" she shouted over a swell of crowd reaction to a new song. "I need to get by!"

No response. Not even a look back as she used a hand to create space between her and a group of men debating nonsense. Before she could try again, Terry used one hand to push her forward and his voice to clear the way.

"Yo, step out of the way. We need to get through." Direct and to the point. He left no room for misinterpretation, and his baritone's boom left no confusion about who was calling the shots. Patrice watched with her lips slightly parted in awe.

The first reaction to his demand was the embers of confrontation. Each member of the group sized Terry up, noticing his heavy scowl and size in comparison to their own. Then, they realized that this wasn't a winning game.

The flashiest of the group nodded, though disdain at the mere suggestion that he was in the way kept his mouth in a tight frown. "Yeah, you good, OG. My fault."

Another light push propelled Patrice forward as Terry maintained with each man until they had passed.

Once they were out of the mix and nearing their destination, he advised, "Stay close." Patrice nodded her compliance, shocking Terry into a slight smile in appreciation for her obedience.

Sparks of electricity shot between them but had no time to turn into a total current before Corey called out to them.

"Treece! Terry! We over here!"

Surrounded by familiar faces from Francis Edward's Class of 2010, Corey welcomed them with open arms and his ever-present 100-watt smile. At a slight 5'6", 150 on his best day, he'd always been larger than his frame would suggest. Loud and flamboyant had always been the name of his game, earning him anything he set his sights on.

It didn't take long for the trio and Corey's wife, June, to fall into familiar habits and friendly jabs at one another as they took their seats in a makeshift VIP section by the pool tables. The Three-Headed Monster was their moniker in high school, and they moved like a military force. Terry was the enforcer, while Corey and Patrice served as judge and prosecutor. If you had an issue with one, you had an issue with all three.

"Your security is lax. Who trained them?" Terry pointed out during a dead spot in conversation.

Corey followed his eyeline to the two young men standing at the door and back. "My boy at the sheriff's office. What you see?"

"They look soft. It wouldn't take much to overpower them and get in for some drama. You only have one exit. Somebody breeches this place, and you're on the hook for a tragedy. Plus, the one on the left is scared. He'll be the first to leave if things get hot. Watch him."

"Impressive," June remarked, smiling at Patrice, who subtly playfully waved her off.

"Hm." Corey took a long pull from his cigar, taking in the information before responding." You here for a minute, T? I got some connections over at Liberty if you looking to get back in the swing of things."

"Contract?"

"Whatever you need, man. You know I'm good for it."

Terry looked over at Patrice for some indication that she believed in Corey, and she returned with a subtle nod and encouraging smile. June looked between them and then at her husband before clearing her throat.

"It looks like Kel and his boy are back on the pool table. You know he still owes you a game from when he cheated last week."

"Hell yeah," Corey agreed as he turned in his seat to get a look at his enemy. "Aye, T, you trynna make $100 real quick?"

"It's either that or you gotta come dance with me," Patrice challenged. "This rum and pineapple got me feeling a little loose."

She wasn't lying. A taste of alcohol in her system was starting to make her want to explore parts of the Patrice she thought she left at North Carolina A&T. Every heart-rattling thump of Megan Thee Stallion's latest and greatest had her thinking about reminding everyone in the room that she could move with the best of them.

Her little grind in her seat made Terry show teeth in a small grin before he stood to his full height and looked down at her. His eyes were hooded and dreamy from some combination of exhaustion and a contact high, reintroducing that spark from before.

"Don't go too far. I'll be back with your money in a little bit."

Patrice's tongue felt too heavy to respond coherently past a punch-drunk nod. June watched her watch him make his way down the platform and into the crowd until both men were out of earshot.

She whistled and shook her head. "That's a good-looking man, ain't he?"

"Who? Corey? He alright. He's like a slightly more attractive Taye Diggs."

"First off, ouch," June laughed. "Second, I was talking about Terry. He was cute in high school, but I'll be damned if that second puberty didn't take him to a whole 'nother level."

"Don't tell him that. His head is big enough."

"You know you wrong for that." If the music weren't so loud, everyone in the building would've heard the pair guffawing over Patrice's petty insult.

Once they contained themselves, June took a sip from her margarita and shifted in her seat to get closer to Patrice.

"He likes you still." Five plain words shook Patrice internally as she struggled to maintain a poker face. June continued. "I see the way he looks for your approval and damn near trips on himself to fulfill your every whim. You're all he talks about when he and Corey get on the phone."

"They talk?"

"From time to time. I think he needs a man's opinion sometimes, you know?"

Patrice wrestled with the influx of information as June continued.

"That man is mean as a snake. Always has been and always will be. But, you bring something out of him. Even if you can't always see it."

"If that were the case, things would've been different for us back then."

June shrugged. "Maybe. Or maybe you're right where you're supposed to be. I know I can't make you do what you don't wanna do, but if what I say means anything, focus on today. Thirty-two-year-old Terry is so much more prepared to love you than eighteen-year-old Terry was."

Punctuating her advice, June tapped Patrice's leg twice before taking a step away to refill their tray of food.

Focus on today.

The words replayed in her mind repeatedly; even after their two hours were up, Terry had returned $100 richer, and they were back on the road to their quiet slice of the world.

They rode together in content quiet, letting the Quiet Storm host talk while Terry tapped his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the music.

Randomly, he would glance in her direction, assuming she had lost the sleep battle to her old friend Bacardi. When he reached over to adjust the air vent on her side of the car, he was surprised when she mumbled a low "thank you."

"My bad. I thought you were sleeping."

"No. My head is swimming, though. Don't let me drink that much anymore." she laughed.

He chuckled along with her but didn't agree to keep her from letting her hair down occasionally. In his eyes, seeing her relaxed and carefree was a gift to the world.

The opening notes of Tevin Campbell's "I'm Ready" swirled around them, sounding like a secret message to Patrice as she focused on streetlights to keep the contents of her dinner inside her stomach.

"Hey," she whispered before she could catch herself. Terry acknowledged her with a glance. "Do you think you're still scared?"

"Of what?"

"Of whatever kept you away for so long?"

He thought for a moment, wanting to make sure he was clear with his word. "No. I was never afraid of you. I was afraid of bringing you along for a ride I might not survive. That's not a threat anymore. So, no, I'm not scared anymore."

You know I'm ready

To love you

Forever

Patrice reached across the center console until she reached Terry's hand to interlock her fingers with his. He gave her an appreciative squeeze without taking his eyes off the road.

"I-I don't think I'm scared anymore either."

Her heart raced wildly behind her ribs, and Patrice was that if Terry pressed his wrist close enough to hers, he could feel her pulse accelerate. He didn't mind either way. Sweaty palms and trembling fingers would never be enough for him to let her go. Not again.

As if she'd break if he moved too fast, Terry brought her hand to his lips slowly. One kiss. Another. Two more. And a final one for good measure.

When he'd had his fill of her skin, he pressed the spot up against his cheek. He needed to feel and absorb her until they were one body.

But, for tonight at least, this was enough.

TAGS: @planetblaque @wvsspoppin @thatone-girly @oniccah @avoidthings @slutsareteacherstoo @eilujion @amyhennessyhouse

#terry richmond #terry richmond x oc #rebel ridge #aaron pierre

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illyrian-dreamer · 1 year ago

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Our girl – Part 3

Summary: Deeming you unfit for a mission, the Inner Circle have betrayed your trust and shattered your life’s mission to avenge you sister. And the two males you love most were at the centre of it all.

Word count: 6.5k

Warnings: Grief/depression

The Spring Court lake had weathered the same depletion as the rest of the state. Empty wooden cabins sat abandoned and unused, the sand had turned grey and the flourishing fruit trees that once aligned it hacked down to stumps. Hybern had drained Spring Court of so much of its natural resource and beauty.

“It’s a disturbing sight, isn’t it?” your uncle muttered, placing two steaming mugs of tea at the table beside you, joining you on the porch. His bark-like skin had weathered and aged since the last time you had seen him, untold sorrows hiding in his deep within the ripples. What atrocities had he witnessed during the war? And what bargains had he had to make to keep his own cabin standing amongst a sea of homes destroyed?

“I’m so sorry Finbark. I should have returned to help you sooner,” you said, your heart clenching as the males eyes warmed with a pain smile.

“I did not write for a reason. I would never want to drag you into this mess,” he said, waving his hand to the desolate land around him. “Not when you were so aligned with an enemy court.”

You raised the mug to your lips, casting your eyes to the lake before blowing on the hot liquid. He was right, you had no business entering Spring Court at a time like that, never mind that you were completely preoccupied with serving your duties alongside Cassian and Azriel. Gods, your heart ached more than it should just at the thought of them.

You cleared your throat quietly, trying not to dwell. “It sparkles the same,” you spoke distantly, distracting yourself. “The lake, I mean. It still sparkles in the way I remember.”

Finbark chuckled, his eyes warming again. “You and Meryl spent so much time in that lake, I remember your parents debating on how they would have to bribe the two of you out of it.”

You forced a smile back, clenching your mug a little tighter.

“It was the same for my cousin’s nephews, they adored playing in the water, they would beg their Aunt to come stay for weeks on end.”

“Whatever happened to them?” you asked, unsure if you could handle the truth.

“Of Alis and the boys?” He paused then, clearing his throat. “They fled to Summer, with some luck and no deniable assistance from your High Lady.”

You had to physically swallow at Feyre’s mention, but the relief was greater to know Finbark’s family was safe. “Well, she’s no longer my High Lady,” you corrected.

“I’m sorry, I don't mean to upset you.”

“Not at all Fin,” you smiled softly before drawing a deep breath. “I know she is a generous and caring ruler, and I’m grateful your family is safe. I only wish I could have done more.”

“I was protected too Y/N. How do you think it is my home is still standing, or that I am here at all? I’m clever, but not that clever,” he winked. “I have no doubt my relation to Alis and your parents kept me well and safe during the war. No wagons found the trail to my home, no one knocked on my door demanding answers or resources, or to pick up a weapon and fight. It was if I didn't exist at all.”

It clicked then – of course. Alis had been Feyre’s maid at the Spring Manor. Feyre had spoken of her so fondly. And you had been so worried for Finbark’s safety, confiding in your High Lady who had merely comforted you at the time, reassuring you that he would be safe. She and Rhys never mentioned their connection, or the magic they spent to keep Finbark hidden. Your heart ached at the reminder of their generosity.

“Y/N?” your uncle waved a rippled hand in front of your face, and you blinked before straightening, drawn back from your thoughts.

Fin sighed with a knowing look. “You don't need to feel guilty about the magic that kept me safe, sweetheart. They wronged you in a very serious way.”

Your eyebrows clenched as you blinked back the sting of tears. “But they are good people Fin, the lot of them.”

Finbark’s hand rested atop of your forearm, his face soft with understanding. “It changes very little, young spark. The damage is all the same.” Your uncle once again waved his hand out to the barren land around you.

You stood now, setting your tea down – you needed to get out of your head. “I will make one more trip to town tonight, there are some homes still without firewood.”

“At this time? You’ve been working since dawn Y/N, why not rest? It’s not as cold tonight.”

But you were already reaching for your axe. The more you moved, the less you would have to think. “It’ll be alright uncle, I’ll return before midnight.”

He didn't say anything further as you sheathed the weapon to your back, heading up the trail to town where the sun had already began to set.

————

It had been five months since you had found home in Spring Court.

At first, you found work serving your uncle’s town. Much of the remaining fae had rural upbringing, with little skill to sustain themselves after their farms, once lush with crops and animals, were destroyed.

Word spread quick of help from an outside court, and when you were sure the locals could stand on their own two feet, you began to travel, finding town after town with more fae in need. So began your course, trailing further away from your uncle’s cabin at the border and nearing the centre of the court.

Magic found you easier here too. Whether it was the exhaustion from a hard days worth of work, or that you rarely had a moment to think about yourself, you didn't know.

Soon enough, you learned to summon your sparks, lighting fires in homes in an instant or heating food and teas for the ill. It wasn’t much, but you had never yielded so much control, and didn't remember a day when you hadn't feared your abilities since Meryl’s death. Finbark was particularly delighted when you showed him your new trick, clapping with a cheer, reminding you of why he dubbed you young spark.

So much of Spring Court reminded you of your sister, and while it had never been your home, memories of pleasant holidays surrounded by loved ones seemed to wait at every garden, field or bubbling brook you encountered. You welcomed those memories, letting grief wash over you when it came, using it to fuel your determination to keep on working. Grief was a weapon of kinds, and you were only now learning to yield it. You would build a better world for those who were left behind, just like you.

And over the course of those months, the land around you slowly came to life. Not from your work alone, but as the fae of Spring Court worked together to heal and rebuild, the land began to give back. The grass was greener and more lush now, flowers blossomed instead of dying at the bud, and trees bristled as gentle breezes passed through their luscious leaves. The land wasn’t yet singing, but it began to hum – it was healing, and so were you. And you were sure somewhere out in these lands, so was its High Lord.

————

“Damn it Rhys! Let us go!” Cassian slammed his fists on the table, silver cutlery and porcelain plates rattling at the force.

Rhys’s gaze was cold as he glared back at the General. “No,” was all he answered.

Feyre fidgeted with her hands in her lap, her dinner now cold where her knife and fork set at her plate minutes ago when tension began to brew. She knew there would be another fight tonight – neither Cassian or Azriel had taken the order to begin training the new recruits at the House of Wind well. It reminded them too much of Y/N, and they had spent five months furious with both her and Rhys for placing them on court arrest, stopping them from scouting Prythian to find you.

“Feyre, please,” Cassian begged, his brow clenched in anguish.

She swallowed, her heart pulling at his pain. “You know we can't Cass, Rhys gave her his word.” The black ink-like marking on her forearm itched at the mention, the symbol of a cross inside a triangle – a treasure and its whereabouts locked in secret. The mark had appeared the same moment Rhys had promised to not trail your location, an identical mark etched to his forearm too.

As part of that promise, the High Lord and Lady had ordered Cassian and Azriel against anything they could do to find you – there was to be no tracking your scent, no using intel from other courts, and no leaving the Night Court to investigate.

Cassian roared in frustration, throwing his head in his hands, gripping at the roots of his hair. “We only want to know she’s safe. If you care for us at all–"

“Enough Cassian!” Rhys bellowed, night filling every void of the room. Everyone froze.

Rhys pinched his nose, the clouds of his magic lower to a thick fog that covered the floor. “You do not question our care for anyone in this family.”

Azriel spoke then, stiff and stoic from his seat. “It is worth the breach of the bargain you made. We will burden the consequence.”

“It’s not just for the consequence, Azriel,” Feyre answered, meeting the Shadowsinger’s hardened stare. “This was Y/N’s choice. How do you think she will feel knowing we have breached her trust again?”

“I will deal with that after I know she is safe.”

Rhys ran a hand over his face before rubbing at his temples. “As I have said countless times, you will not be granted permission to track her.” Rhys’s power tightened then, yanking on a leash he had kept around the General and Shadowsinger’s necks for months.

“How can you do this to us?” Azriel seethed, knuckles white from where the gripped the table.

“I don't know Azriel. Perhaps the same way I kept Y/N grounded when you ordered her unfit to kill Alvar.”

Azriel stood then, his seat thrown back. “How dare you,” he spat, shadows racing towards the High Lord.

Rhys stood too, night magic clashing with shadows, a fight for dominance. “Calm yourself,” Rhys growled, staring the Shadowsinger down.

Mor sighed, swirling the wine in her glass from where she sat, fingers strumming the table impatiently. “Can we not go a single dinner without it turning to a fight?” she said flatly, before drawing a long sip.

Azriel’s teeth drew back to a snarl as he whipped his head to her. “Since when did you become so heartless?”

Mor stood, levelling her brown eyes at the Shadowsinger. “Don’t be a fool, I care for Y/N just as much as you. But I trust in my High Lord and Lady to dow that is right. When was the last time you exercised that same loyalty you swore to this court?” Mor paused before speaking again. “You’ve become undone, the both of you. And you will unravel this family if you continue down this path.”

Feyre threw Mor a grateful look.

Shadows continued to bulk at Azriel’s frame. “She is our love, Mor. Are we not worthy of her whereabouts?”

“No,” Mor said, her voice flat and cold. “You are not. That is your consequence for holding her too tight.”

Azriel’s nostrils flared, his eyes widening as he recoiled ever so slightly. Cassian could not raise his head from where it still hung in his hands, but for a moment he stopped breathing.

Mor softened then, seeing how deep her words had cut. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice still stern. “But it’s true. And I’m tired of having our family torn apart because of a decision that was her right to make. We have to rebuild what is here, what we have left. Otherwise our family will be ruined, and with it our court.”

Cassian took deep, shaky breaths, trying to hold the anguished cry that begged to be released. He had endured months of restlessness heartbreak, and there was no sign of it easing. It was torture.

Azriel looked back at his brother, knowing that pain, feeling it writhe within himself. Wordlessly, he walked to Cassian, clasping a firm hand on his shoulder and winnowing them from the room.

————

It was early one morning after you had set off from your uncle’s cabin, days worth of resources and tools hung from the back of your horse.

The horse was noble, a once well-kept steed that had been abandoned since the war. He had found you in a field, bucking and neighing as you approached. But with a gentle hand to his nose and some soothing commands, he had yielded, reminded of his connection to fae.

Every great steed deserved a name, and it found you instantly – Podie. It was Nyx’s way of saying “pony”, his chubby finger pointed at the array of horses in the stables when you had taken him with your family, the lot of you chuckling at his adorable attempt. Your heart ached as you thought of the child, of how much he must have grown since you had left the Night Court. So you named your horse in his honour, and relished the comfort it was to feel feel that little bit closer to him.

Finbark had waved you off as the sun was rising, and it was only a few hours later when had you entered the trail you had become so familiar with, headed for the next town on your map. The quiet was tranquil in Spring Court, but in that moment even the birds stopped singing, and an eerie sensation swept you over you, the hairs on your neck standing. Podie’s nostrils flared as harsh breaths blew from his snout, his ears twitching nervously.

Something, or someone, was watching you.

You immediately dismounted, not wanting to zap or upset Podie as began power tickling at your skin.

“Who’s there?” you spoke, your heart fastening at the rustle from behind the trees.

For a moment, you thought they had found you, and your heart thundered as you prepared to confront Cassian and Azriel. Would they try to apologise again? Were they here to convince you to return to the Night Court? Perhaps they would go as far to drag you back, kicking and screaming?

Bile rose in your throat as you searched for the peaks of wings or siphons glowing amongst the greenery that rustled. Instead, antlers poked through before revealing narrowed green eyes. Heavy paws padded against the ground as a half-elk, half-lion emerged, prowling towards you.

You startled, fumbling back a few steps, too shocked to find your words. The beast approach, sniffing as sentient eyes scanned you with a knowing look. And as you stared back, you realised quickly who the creature before you was.

Before you could demand it, Tamlin morphed to his fae form, blond hair cropped to his strong shoulders, sharp green eyes fixed on you as he stared you down with a tight jaw.

There was no question of his beauty – Tamlin was incredibly handsome, even with his face fixed with such a stern and threatening stare. He was not cloaked in green as Feyre had often described him, instead he wore brown working pants and a black shirt that were rolled at the sleeves revealing strong, veiny forearms. He was dressed no better than the working class of his court.

“High Lord,” you greeted as you bowed your head, lowering slightly at one knee. This was his court at the end of the day, no matter what he had done to ruin it.

He watched you intently, unspeaking and his face softened ever so slightly, his jaw unclenching only a little.

“Can I help you with something?”

“I’ve come to meet the Night Court emissary who has been assisting in the refuge of my land.” His voice was deep, commanding even after everything he had lost.

“I assure you, I am no longer affiliated with the Night Court. There is no treason to be found here.”

“I know.” He said with a straight face. “I’ve been tracking your work for months.”

You gulped at that. You had hoped to blend in, an anonymous helper with no past and no future.

“Did you think you could enter my court unnoticed?” he questioned, and sharp brown quirking.

You found your eyes narrowing. “From what I was told, your borders had fallen, and your lands used as a place for sanction after the war. I did not think announcing my arrival was necessary, and you were certainly in no position to refuse my aid.”

Tamlin was unmoved at your tone. Instead he ran that pointed green stare down your body and back up again, flicking them to Podie who stood to the side, grazing on some grass, before settling them back on you. “Why?” he asked.

“Pardon?”

“Why have you come to aid my court?”

“I care to help those in need.”

“There are plenty across Prythian in need.” Tamlin was scowling now.

There was a beat of silence between you, only the sound of the heavy breaths that left Podie’s nostrils to fill it.

“What did they do to you?” Tamlin asked. There was no softness in his question.

Now it was your turn to scowl. “I sought your court, High Lord, because I have an uncle who resides by the lake in the south. I knew there was work to be done here, and I had a home at his cabin.”

If your answer satiated Tamlin, he did not let it show, his green eyes continuing to pierce through you. It was a conscious effort not to let your power overcome you in the grasp of his stare.

“Come to my Manor.”

You choked. “Pardon me?”

The High Lord shuffled then, his first natural movement, and you could have sworn a slight blush tinged his cheeks. “My apologies, I’ve spent so much time in my beast form, it’s easy to forget my manners. Please, join me for a meal at my Manor. It’s the least I can do, to thank you for your contributions.”

Your stare on Tamlin harshened. “I did not do it for you.”

Tamlin merely shrugged. “I’m aware. Regardless, I am grateful.”

You had only heard of Tamlin’s Manor through Feyre’s stories, how he had warded the home, trapping her within, hurting her with that uncontrollable rage of his. You had little interest in seeing the place where this occured, a small tether of loyalty to Feyre ignited at the thought.

You may as well have said it out loud, as Tamlin tracked the movements in your eyes before bowing his head.

“The choice is yours, of course.”

You swallowed, observing the male before you. A High Lord would never bow their head for such a thing.

That smallest of behaviours begged so many questions. Was he sorry? Was he ashamed? Was it possible Tamlin had learnt from his mistakes, and had grown to be a better High Lord?

He reminded you so much of the males you once loved – a good heart with mislead direction. If he had shed of his possessive and controlling nature – you craved to see it, you needed to know it possible, even if it was in someone else.

So you realised there was a part of you that wanted to go to the Manor and join Tamlin for an evening, to answer that question alone. You could attend for one meal, just to plug the hole in your heart for a night.

“Alright. I’ll visit your manor,” you said impartially.

Tamlin nodded once. “Is there a time that suits you best?”

You looked back at Podie, waving an arm to the gear and resources strapped to his saddle. “I will spend three days in Rellford to assist with building a new market. With another afternoon of travel I can make it to your Manor in four days time.”

Talmlin nodded again, smiling softly now, the pull of his mouth catching your breath as his handsomeness was further revealed. “I look forward to it, Y/N L/N.” After a low bow, Tamlin was once again a beast, treading away and leaving you to continue your journey.

————

You stood awkwardly at the door to the Tamlin’s Manor, your hand hung in the air, unable to make the first knock.

The gate had willed itself open, and you were surprised to see the exterior well kept, almost immaculate. Rhys had described it differently from his last visit, ivy overgrown and no maids or servicemen to be seen. But a stable boy had helped you dismount on arrival, guiding Podie by his reins with a polite bow.

You smoothed out the skirts of your dress, self conscious of the scent of the horse you undoubtedly carried. You wore a humble frock, feminine and loose, one that allowed for a few hours of riding. The countless bold and revealing gowns you had once loved were left behind at the Night Court, they had no place in the new life you were building. With a final shake of your head, you willed yourself to knock on the large arched doors.

But before your fist made contact, the doors swung open, revealing a maid.

“Hello,” she said sweetly.

“H-hi.”

“Come inside.”

And so you did, taking in the impressive home. Natural light poured in from all around, floor length windows cast open as sheers danced gently as the breeze passed through. Tasteful vases of Spring’s finest flowers decorated the space, with countless rooms joining the space and a grand staircase that led to reveal even more of the manor.

The maid lead you to a sitting room, the space just as light an airy, with no door, just an open archway. This was not what you had imagined at all.

“The High Lord is expecting you, but he apologises as he has a meeting that has run over. He won't be too long, but would like to convey his apologies,” she said with pep. “You can wait here, M’Lady. Would you care for something to drink?”

You silently took a seat at the lounge she had waved at, looking behind at the floor to ceiling bookshelves that aligned the room. It was a tasteful room, and you thought you could spend all day he curled up with a good book.

“No, no thank you,” you eventually said, slow to respond in your awe of the house.

With a bouncy courtesy, the maid left you to be.

Standing immediately, you moved to inspect the books, fingering their spines and muttering their titles aloud.

“Flora and Fauna of the Spring Season. How to Care for Roses and Thorns Alike.”

Your ears pricked as two sets of footsteps making their way down the staircase, and deep voices spoke in discussion.

“I would be grateful for the resources Tamlin. And it’s clear you are mending your court. I would be happy to align with you once again.”

You knew that voice – Tarquin.

“I’m glad, and yes, we are making progress. Though it would be insincere of me to accept any credit. I thank the people of my court, and I have had aid from others too.”

The males passed the open archway to the reading room, Tarquin stopping in his tracks.

“Y/N?”

You froze, book still in hand. “Greetings, Tarquin,” you said thickly, barely able to swallow.

Tarquin cast his magnificent blue eyes to Tamlin for just a moment, and you were sure if you had blinked you would have missed it. You glanced at Tamlin too, who showed no sign of discomfort.

Tarquin was quick to recover from his shock, making his way over to greet you, embracing you with open arms and a quick kiss to each of your cheeks.

“I’m sorry to have heard of your departure from the Nigh Court,” he said, blue eyes fixed on you with a warm, sorry smile.

You smiled back softly, rubbing his arms where they held your shoulders. “That is kind, Tarquin. I am sorry too.” You fought the urge to embrace him again – it was so nice to see a friend.

Tamlin waited by the archway, his hands behind his back as he watched your interaction with passive curiosity.

“And how did you find yourself in Spring?” Tarquin asked.

You shrugged. “I have an uncle here, and I wanted to work to help repair that lost in the war.”

Tarquin nodded. “Yes, Tamlin was telling that he was quite impressed with you. And I must say, it’s encouraging to see how much progress has been made.”

You flicked your eyes to Tamlin who remained unmoved. He had credited you to another High Lord? You blushed lightly, shifting uncomfortably on your feet.

“And what of Varian and Cresseida? Are they well?” you skilfully diverted the conversation.

Tarquin grinned. “Varian is well, and Cresseida is engaged.”

“Engaged!” you burst, a smile so wide on your face as you thought of her. She was always a romantic.

“Yes, she’s quite excited, as is the rest of the family. You will keep your eye out for an invitation to the wedding, yes?”

You blushed again – you were unsure how the news would be received by the other High Lords of your leaving, it was nice to know you were still considered you a friend at Summer. “Of course, Tarquin. I would be honoured to celebrate with you all.”

Tarquin smiled at that, before turning back to Tamlin. “What a jewel you have here in your court Tamlin. You won't take her for granted I hope.” You could sense the warning laced in his tone.

Tamlin lowered his eyes slightly, a small gesture, but in the language of High Lords it spoke volumes. Understanding, submission, guilt even. “I wouldn’t dare of it,” he spoke, hands still clasped behind his back.

Tarquin seemed reassured at that. “I must journey back. A delight to see you Y/N, do take care, and come visit whenever you find suitable.”

You agreed to that, watching Tarquin shake Tamlins hand before leaving the Manor.

“I apologise for making you wait,” Tamlin said with a soft smile. He seemed stiff still, and you wondered if he nervous to host you.

You eyed the High Lord up and down. “Not at all. I’m just… a little surprised to have our meetings overlap.”

Tamlin nodded with understanding. “I have nothing to hide Y/N. It is a lesson I should have learned long ago.”

You nodded at that, looping your arm through Tamlin’s outstretched one as he lead you through to on a tour of the Manor.

————

The meal with Tamlin was far more enjoyable that you had thought it would be, food and company alike. He did not lead you to a dining room, instead, a small table was set in the balcony overlooking the estate, the warm spring breeze gentle as the sun set over the groomed gardens, rows of trees and flowering bushes tinged with orange from the sunset.

The conversation was awkward at first, Tamlin was nervous, and it didn't help that you headed every comment with caution. But after a few sips of wine, and a few jokes exchanged, it seemed you and the High Lord had much in common.

You felt yourself relaxing, joking and laughing with ease. It was nice to chat and enjoy the company of another, something you hadn’t done since Azriel killed Alvar. You hadn't realised that in throwing yourself in work, you had deprived yourself from any true fun. Perhaps Tamlin had seen that, perhaps that’s why he invited you here.

He hadn't asked or pried of your past, only talking of your work with immense gratitude. And when you told him of your childhood memories in his court, Tamlin beamed with pride, his face fixed with a smile and his posture a little more straight. That of course, lead to the conversation of Meryl.

“And what of your sister?” Tamlin asked. “Where does she reside now?”

“Ah,” you said, before drawing a long sip of wine, taking a moment before you could will yourself to respond. “Unfortunately Meryl was murdered by one of Hybern’s own spies.”

Pain sliced across Tamlin’s face, his green eyes panicked before he bowed his head in shame. “Gods, Y/N. I am so sorry.” Blond strands fell in front of his face, his strong hands clasped together so tightly his knuckles turned white.

“Tamlin, it’s alright. It was many years ago, well before the war.”

He looked at you then, his face softening. He knew what you were saying – it was before he allied himself with Hybern. He was not to blame.

“I was a fool to have ever opened my borders to him,” Tamlin said thickly, casting his eyes down.

“I could not agree more,” you replied, before offering him a tight smile. You were certain he regretted many of his choices, but it was reassuring to hear.

“Was your sister’s death how you found yourself as a Night Court emissary?”

You nodded. “That’s right. I was motivated to protect others, and largely driven to avenge Meryl.” Speaking of your past after all that had happened, it seemed to foreign to you now. You no longer knew the girl you were when you had found a home in Velaris.

“It would seem that is still very true,” Tamlin complimented.

“In some ways, yes,” you agreed, unsure if he caught the blush on your cheeks. “But also untrue in others.”

Tamlin waited patiently, but didn't push. The choice was yours to continue.

So you told him of your time at the Night Court, of the decade you had spent training with Cassian and Azriel. You spoke of the extent of your training, and how after a few years friendship had turned to love, and the family had welcomed you with open arms.

Dancing around the details of the Night Court, you were careful not to expose Velaris or other sensitive information – you were not here to damn the court, you were only telling your story.

And as you spoke, Tamlin listened intently without casting judgement, just patiently absorbing your story, nodding where he understood and asking questions where he didn’t. He never pried, nor did he ask for more detail of the Night Court, or of Feyre and Rhys.

Finally, you explained what lead to you leaving your old life behind, how you were betrayed by your loves and wider family, and how your one true shot to avenge your sister was stolen from you.

As you finished, you drew a big breath, and an even bigger sip of wine. You slouched further into your seat, relaxing as you felt free from the weight of bottling your truth for so long.

Tamlin watched you for a moment, before drawing a long breath. “Would you like to know what I think?”

You raised your brows, toying with your glass of wine. “Do tell.”

“I feel you were treated with an utter lack of empathy, and it was cruel to not at least tell you of the mission. I’m sorry that you were hurt in such a way. They are fools to have mistreated you so greatly, and I know this because… not only am I fully capable of such behaviour, but it is so similar to how I had treated Feyre.”

Your eyes went wide at his confession, your brows clenching at the way it made your heart ache.

“I know what it is to love another so fiercely, you stop seeing them as someone, and start seeing them as something. It was a lesson I learned only when I lost everything – my love, my council, my entire damn court. I was vengeful, jealous, and I would have torn the world in half to claim what I thought belonged to me. But I had no one to blame but myself, and I’ve learnt nothing is mine to ever own or control, no matter how much that scares me. In all truths Y/N, I am sickened that so many were hurt and lost for me to learn that lesson, and I’m so sorry that you were hurt for Azriel and Cassian to learn theirs.”

You blinked at Tamlin, swallowing your shock. “That is… a very honest confession.”

Tamlin gave you a tight smile before shrugging. “Honesty is all I have.”

You returned his smile, extended a hand to rest on his forearm. “If you ask me, honesty and trust are the only true currency of this life.”

Tamlin raised his brows then, whether he was shocked by your words or by your touch you couldn't tell. His green eyes met yours, sincerity swarming as he held you in a soft gaze. “Fae like you have known that all along though. And it is males like me who hurt those infinitely wiser, like you.”

You chuckled then. “I’m not perfect Tamlin, far from it. I think all we can do is try to be better, and work to ensure we don't hurt those that we love through our imperfections.”

Tamlin’s eyes warmed. “I think you’re right,” he said softly, his voice almost a whisper.

And maybe it was the wine, or the way your heart swelled at the honestly and sincerity of his confession, but all of the fibres of your being begged you to lean a little closer, to bask in his warmth and comfort, and even press your lips to his.

With a flick of his eyes to your lips, you knew Tamlin felt the same draw to you. He placed a large hand over your own that rested on his forearm. “Y/N, you must know I didn't invite you here to… disrupt, or interfere with–"

“I know,” you interrupted him, smiling softly.

Tamlin paused, eyes darting between yours. “Your company has been a delightful surprise. But I would hate for you to regret–"

“My life in the Night Court is behind me Tamlin. I have built a life of my own, and this is the path I choose.”

Tamlin moved then, a large hand coming to cup your face, his thumb stroking your cheek and he gave you a pained look, as if physically trying to restrain himself. “I don't mean to lecture the more wise,” he said softly. “But if you feel that I can change or grow or learn from my mistakes, don’t you believe Azriel and Cassian can too?”

Your eyes fluttered close, your brow pulling at the weight of his question. “I suppose.”

“And if they have changed, or at least try to, do you think that you might want to forgive them?”

You opened your eyes, holding Tamlin’s gaze with a serious expression. “Forgiveness is one thing. But I will never return to the life I had with them Tamlin, not like that. Too much has happened.”

“Hmm,” Tamlin hummed thoughtfully. He waited a moment, green eyes drinking in your face, scanning your features delicately as you blushed, closing your eyes again to bare the intensity.

When Tamlin spoke again, his tone was a lot more assured. “I can see you have are still in the thick of processing what has happened, Y/N. And for that reason alone, it would be improper to kiss you right now, despite how much I want to.”

You were frowning as you opened your eyes, finding a sorry smile planted on Tamlin’s face.

“You’re a cruel High Lord,” you joked flatly, returning the pained smile and holding the hand he kept to your face.

“I’ll work on that,” he chuckled, pulling both your hands in his before kissing them.

“Come,” he said, standing from his chair and offering you his hand. “I’m yet to show you the gardens.”

————

“Coming!” Amrin barked at the third rapping on her door, the knocks growing more impatient. Slinking into a silver silk robe, she opened the door to reveal Cassian and Azriel, their cheeks more hollow and bags even darker than the last time she had seen them a few weeks ago.

“Gods, you both look awful,” she said plainly before walking further into her apartment, not checking to see if they followed.

“Where the hell have you been?” Azriel grumbled.

“Working from home, if you will.”

“Why?” Cassian asked defensively.

“You know the answer, brutes. All of that fighting and tension, it gives me a headache.”

Azriel scowled, crossing his arms across his chest, shadows stretching across Amren’s apartment with familiarity.

“You’re sensitive at the best of times,” Cassian bit back.

“Why are you here?” Amren spoke plainly, sounding bored by their presence.

Cassian approached Amren while Azriel lingered back. “Help us,” Cassian said.

Amren scoffed. “You know I can’t, boy.”

Cassian’s brows clenched before he moved to his knees, squatting in front of Amren as she lounged in a chair. “Please, Amren, do you have anything? Information from an outside court, or a lead on her whereabouts?”

Amren levelled her silver eyes with his brown ones. “Why do you torture yourself with such questions? Y/N is quite capable of taking care of herself, you know.”

“C’mon Cass, let’s just go,” Azriel said tightly from behind. From the tension in the room, it was hard to remember they were serving the same throne.

“You want my advice? The both of you need to be patient. If it takes her an eternity to forgive you, then so be it. There is nothing you can do to force that.”

“We can't just switch it off Amren, it doesn't work like that.”

“The Illyrian possessiveness, or the hopelessly in love part?” Amren mocked. “Y/N is mending herself, and I applaud that. I suggest you take a page from her book and start to do the same.”

Azriel had already stalked for the door when Amren started to mock, but she called him a few paces shy. “Whatever you took, I suggest you leave it behind,” she said, her tone almost playful.

Azriel froze, before letting go of a gold piece of card, the paper fluttering to the floor as he and Cassian stalked out, slamming the door behind them.

“What was that?” Cassian asked with a whisper.

Azriel hushed him, nodding as he walked forward, waiting until they had made it a few streets from Amren’s home.

“A wedding invitation. For Creseida.”

Cassian’s eyes light up. “Do you think–?”

“Perhaps, but I don't think we’d be welcomed company if Y/N does attend. Rhys and Feyre will surely keep us here.”

“So we keep our walls up. We won’t disclose to know of the wedding, and that way the bargain will never be broken.”

Azriel nodded. “The only risk is Amren, should she mention that I saw the invitation.”

Cassian sighed, running his hand through his long hair. “I sure as hell hope she can keep her mouth shut.”

--------

Part 4>>>>

AN: Omgosh, you guys have been so so patient with this part, thank you from the bottom of my heart. I sincerely hope you liked it, it was so much fun to introduce Tamlin and explore the way he might be healing after the war. Not to mention writing a few wins for our reader?? She deserves it.

Also how the Inner Curcle is just falling to shit without her 💅🏼 I so look forward to exploring the TEA at this wedding.... I always want to know what you guys think, so feel free to drop a comment, and if you'd like to join my general tag list, or just for Our Girl, drop a comment too :) Thank you always for your support <3

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joelscurls · 11 months ago

Text

a heart for melting

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

words: 2.7k

warnings: post-outbreak, implied age gap, themes surrounding child loss and grief, some angst but mostly festive fluff, grumpy x sunshine dynamics (Joel is a grinch & reader loves the holidays), reader is described as having long-ish hair

summary: Jackson's first annual Holiday Market brings about more than just cheer.

a/n: Merry Christmas @thetriumphantpanda; I'm your pedrostories secret santa! I hope you enjoy this lil festive take on grumpy!joel x sunshine!reader — I had lots of fun writing it 🤍🎄 🥧 🪵 🦌

Joel doesn’t want to be here — surrounded by garland and ribbons and so much unadulterated joy, it’s nauseating. No, he was forced to be here.

Please, Ellie had begged, it’ll be good for you to do something other than patrol or drinking with Tommy. Plus, they’re too good to keep to yourself.

They, being wood carvings — the tiny sculptures of deer and bears and birds, tufts of hair and bunches of feathers drawn out of driftwood with the tip of his blade. It was only ever meant to be a hobby, a way to busy his hands after they’d been wrapped around the cold metal of his rifle all day. Something lighter, creative rather than destructive, an act of giving rather than taking.

But sharing them with other people? He hadn’t been interested. Maybe he’d make one for Ellie or Tommy. Wrap it up in a piece of cloth and offer it as a gift for their birthday.

Not that he thought they were any good, really.

With the announcement of Jackson’s first annual Holiday Market, though, came Ellie’s pleading. “I’ll help you,” she’d bargained. “You don’t even have to give me anything!”

“Who said I would anyway?” he’d grumbled, digging his spoon into the bottom of his bowl of stew and sifting out a chunk of meat.

Joel despises the Holiday Season. He’d welcomed its disappearance with the end of the world. Because he had no reason to celebrate, with Sarah gone. Her absence stung like salt in an open wound on any normal day. But on Christmas, memories of her hanging her favorite ornaments on the tree and sneaking one of the cookies baked for Santa burned behind his eyelids. Left him heaving through hot tears.

The holidays had no place in his world, but they certainly had a place in Jackson. The first time he and Ellie had strode through those gates, they’d been met with that damned Christmas Tree, towering over the settlement like a beacon. And he hated it, hated the way it brought about that pounding in his chest and that spinning in his head.

How could anyone find any good in such a poignant reminder of loss?

Tommy says it’s about new beginnings, finding ways to be happy again. And what’s happier ‘n Christmas? God damn Santa Clause, hot chocolate, children singin’ carols?

Still, Joel isn’t convinced — not yet.

Standing across the mess hall, at your table piled high with baked goods, you are far too cheerful. You’re humming some song with a jovial beat, absentmindedly swaying as you rearrange rows of gingerbread and muffins and scones — all of which are draped in white icing, like flocking on Christmas trees. You pause to wish a happy holiday to everyone who passes through.

Joel knows he’s seen you before, flitting in and out of the community’s kitchen, always with that signature smile scrawled across your face.

And god, you’re so bubbly, taking to everyone you meet like a bee to honey, letting them in without a care in the world. Popping from table to table, making sure they have enough to eat. That they’re doing well.

It shouldn’t surprise him that you’re so…spirited, too. You seem to find the good in everyone and everything, after all.

It infuriates him, nonetheless.

Joel groans to himself. Stuffs his hands in the pockets of his jeans as an elderly couple rounds on him.

He grumbles a hello to them when they approach. They offer him half-smiles in return, beginning to pick up some of the carvings laid out on the table — turning them, inspecting them.

“This one’s nice,” the man says to his wife. She hums in agreement.

“You got any tigers?” the man asks.

“Tigers?”

“Yeah — I used to love ‘em as a kid.”

“Got what’s on the table,” Joel grumbles.

“You make ‘em custom? I can offer some homemade jam in return — elderberry.”

Joel sighs in annoyance.

“Don’t make ‘em custom. Got what I got.”

The man seems defeated, nodding and walking off without another word. The woman follows closely behind.

Just as they leave, Ellie appears. She sidles up to Joel and shrugs her jacket off. Pulls a chair up next to him.

“There’s so much cool shit here!” she exclaims, too loud. A judgemental set of eyes flit her direction. She glares right back at them.

“Do you mind?” Joel huffs, jaw ticking.

“Jesus, who pissed in your Cheerios?”

“How do you even know what Cheerios are?”

“Don’t,” she admits. “I read it in a book.”

“Of course you did.”

Ellie leans back in her chair, pulling an apple out of her backpack and biting into it. She shuffles some of the carvings around on the table. “Gotta fill in these gaps, man,” she says, juice dribbling down her chin.

Joel ignores her. He sneaks a glance at you; finds that you’re already looking. Your expression is unreadable, gaze unmoving as he studies you.

Despite your upbeat disposition bothering him, he can’t deny that you’re gorgeous: bright, beckoning eyes, siren-like smile — it’s like you’re peering into his soul.

He didn’t think he still had one of those.

“Dude.” Ellie nudges him. He peels his eyes from you reluctantly. “I asked how many takers you’ve had.”

“Uh.” He pretends to think.

“You have no fucking idea, do you? Too busy staring at that girl.”

“Wasn’t starin’,” he clips defensively.

“No? Well she’s coming over here, man.”

Sure enough, you’re striding right toward him, abandoning your post. Joel barely has time to prepare for impact.

He unconsciously straightens up and pulls his hands out of his pockets. He brushes them on his jeans just as you stop in front of his table.

“Hi there,” you say.

“Hi!” Ellie chimes.

You pick up a carving of a two-headed deer. His favorite.

“This is beautiful,” you coo. “The craftsmanship is lovely.” You’re running a finger along the grooves in the wood, holding the piece delicately in the palm of your hand — as if it’s made of glass, not wood. “You have a real gift…”

“Joel.”

“Joel,” you repeat. He ignores how sweet his name sounds coming out of your mouth. You tell him your name, and it fits you, he thinks. It’s pretty.

“How long have you been making them?”

“Just since I got to Jackson. ‘ts somethin’ to pass the time.”

You nod. Continue scanning over the intricacies of the deer. “I was never much of a baker before I got here, either,” you joke, gesturing back toward your table.

“Good one,” Ellie laughs. “You’re funny — isn’t she funny, Joel?”

In his head, he’s glowering at her. Outwardly, he feigns amusement.

“Real funny.”

“I’d love to see how you make these sometime,” you say, then, placing the deer back on the table gingerly. “Do you have a workshop?”

“In our shed,” Ellie pipes in before he can say anything. “You should come by tomorrow! Joel’s off patrol.”

He shoots her daggers. She pretends not to notice.

“I’d love that! I have to work in the kitchen, though. I could come by after?”

Joel starts to shake his head no. Ellie’s hand wraps around his arm like a vice grip. He stills.

“Sure,” he grits.

“I can bring some pastries, if you’d like.”

“Don’t like sweets.”

“Oh,” you say, a little thwarted, but you’re undeterred. You shift on your feet. Chew your bottom lip. “Well, how about something not sweet, then?”

Your brows lift, narrowed eyes on him as you await a response. Joel still isn’t thrilled about the prospect of a visitor. Really, he doesn’t like anyone on his property that isn’t Ellie, or Tommy and Maria if he’s invited them. But you don’t seem so bad, offering to bring him food.

He can probably deal with your sunny disposition in exchange for a full belly. Lord knows he went too long without that luxury, and he’d be a fool to deny himself of it ever again.

So, he agrees, the garbled sure less than enthusiastic leaving his mouth. Still, you don’t seem too offended. In fact, you smirk at him, wordlessly sauntering back to your table, sneaking glances at him every so often for the remainder of the afternoon.

Sure enough, the next evening, while Joel is whittling in the shed, you show up.

You’re wielding a basket of savory hand pies, as promised, and Joel has to stop himself from drooling. They smell incredible. And they’re still warm, somehow, steam wafting off of them even after your walk here.

“Come in,” he gruffs, his nose following the scent like a dog’s as he trails behind you inside.

His set up is minimal: a rocking chair next to a bench, a couple stools he made for when Tommy comes by to play poker. But his works are scattered throughout, every surface in the small room cluttered with little carvings.

He settles atop one of the stools as you begin to wander around the room, plucking sculptures off shelves and awing at them with such genuine admiration, it causes something to pull in his chest.

Every so often, you make a remark about the details in a piece, how the fur on the deer looks real, how you can practically smell the replica evergreen in your grasp.

And something shifts — carried by your kind words through the stuffy shed.

Taken by the slight lilt in your voice when you speak to him, the almost-shy smile that pulls at the corners of your lips — Joel is attracted to you.

He’s following the line of your neck down to your collarbone, ogling at the exposed skin there when you pick another carving up off the shelf. And he feels guilty — he shouldn’t be looking at you like this. You’re just being nice, being neighborly, and he’s gawking at you like you’d have any interest in him.

No; you’re young, beautiful, could do a lot better than an old grump like him.

He averts his gaze quickly when you suddenly set down the tiny, carved bird that had been in your palm, round the workbench and perch yourself atop the stool next to his. You retrieve a handpie out of the basket and pass it over to him.

“It has braised rabbit and carmelized onions in it,” you explain, taking a bite and letting the steam roll out.

He follows suit and — it tastes just as good as it smells, if not better. He’s salivating again, letting the dough melt in his mouth before swallowing.

The two of you eat in comfortable silence, getting through the entire basket in mere minutes.

When you’re finished, you ask him where he’s from.

The question shouldn’t feel like such a shock to the system. But after a year of being in Jackson, successfully avoiding conversation about his life before the outbreak, it sets off a panging between his eyes, a dull ache in his viscera.

“Texas,” he tells you plainly. “From Austin, originally.”

You nod. And you must be able to tell that he’s not used to talking about himself — by the tick of his jaw or the lack of eye contact — he’s not sure. Because you don’t pry. Instead, you say, “you can ask me something.”

He nods. Thinks on it for a moment.

“When did you arrive here? To Jackson?”

Unlike him, you do not grimace at the intrusion. Instead, you tell him: about your parents, their untimely deaths, the harrowing road that led you here. You do not cry, but Joel can see the pain in your shiny eyes.

It’s inevitable; there isn’t a single person here who hasn’t been dealt a bad hand. But you wear your past like a badge of honor, like you’re still grateful, after it all, to be alive.

Joel envies your tenacity.

So when you ask him about Ellie, if she is his daughter, he lets the walls around him down — just an inch. He doesn’t get upset when he stumbles over his words while telling you about Sarah. He finds comfort in confiding in you, in the way you so attentively listen, quietly nodding along as he recalls his version of the end of the world.

“Thank you,” you say when he’s done, burying his hands back in his pockets.

“For what?”

“For sharing that with me. I know it can be difficult to relive it.”

“I relive it everyday,” he admits. “Everything reminds me of her in one way or another.”

“I understand,” you nod. He believes you do.

So sweet, gaze like honey, you are an enigma to him. He hasn’t met many people who are kind just for the sake of it — not in a long while. Maybe that’s why he’d been so bothered by it at the market. It had felt almost unnatural to him, bound to be laced with an ulterior motive.

He’s still learning how to trust people again. It doesn’t come easily after twenty-odd years of rationing it like the pills he’d stowed. Still, there is something innate about baring his soul to you. Letting you in through the cracks in his battered being. You are safe, he’s sure of it; benevolence radiating from you like warmth.

It drips off your tongue when you ask him to show you how he does his craft — slips down your fluttering lashes. No longer can he deny you of anything — he’s accepted this swiftly — and so he obliges.

A half-whittled fox materializes from his coat pocket, along with his blade. He passes both to you and pulls his stool closer to yours.

He guides you, taking your hand in his, encouraging the press of the blade into the wood. Shows you how to round out a corner with a subtle twist of the knife. You’re a fast learner, Joel notes, attentive, taking every instruction like gospel.

The slow drag of steel, your fingers wrapped tightly around the handle; you’re so focused that you jump slightly when he places a reassuring hand on your knee.

“Doin’ great, darlin’,” he says, and your lips pull around pearlescent teeth. Joel feels as enraptured by you as you do the carving — the loose tendrils of hair that drape over your shoulder, the clinging of cotton to your soft curves. Though he hardened into stone a long time ago, he feels smelted in your presence. So he cannot help it when his fingers begin to drift up your leg, settling at your side as he turns his body toward yours.

The blade stalls, tip still stuck into the wood, puncturing the fox’s non-existent spine, and your face lifts.

“Is this okay?” he whispers. You nod, gaze flickering between his eyes and his lips.

You’re so close like this; Joel can smell the floral perfume dappled along your neck, can feel your warm breath fanning his face. He has half a mind to stop himself from sealing the sliver of distance left between you. But then you’re sighing, placing the blade and the wooden fox on the tabletop. And it’s your turn to guide him — winding your delicate fingers around his wrist and settling his hand at the small of your back.

The air in the tiny workshop grows heavy with unspoken desire, a longing to disrupt; to create. Your body forms to his languidly, arms interlocking behind his neck, fingers weaving in his hair to pull him closer to you. And then your lips press to his — hesitant at first, then not. You drink from each other until you are drunk, breathless and giddy when you separate.

“That was nice,” you whisper, and Joel chuckles.

“Just nice?”

“Great,” you amend. “It was great. Better than I imagined, even.”

“You imagined this?”

“Yes,” you smirk. “On a loop since I first saw you at the market.”

He pulls you back in. Gives you another chaste kiss. “For good measure.”

“Joel,” you say then, “will you and Ellie come by mine on Christmas? I could even cook — it’s just-”

“Yes,” he’s accepting before you can finish. “I’d love that. As long as you make more of those,” he gestures toward the empty basket on the workbench.

“That can be arranged,” you grin.

As soon as you leave that evening — sent off with a goodbye muttered between slotted mouths — Joel starts on your Christmas present.

end notes: thank you for reading! Please consider reblogging or leaving a comment if you enjoyed <3

#joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller oneshot #joel miller x reader #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal as joel miller #pedro pascal #pedrostoriesgift23 #pedrostories

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void-detective · 5 months ago

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Earned Place 💰

[[GIF NOT MINE! ALL DIVIDERS MADE BY CAFEKITSUNES]]

Author note: This is a request made by @eboni-napalm that continues as part to my Gunther series, check the other two parts here. My requests are currently open as of now 🖊️ Final part for the Gunther series as of right now! Sorry about lack of proof editing btw 🖤

Word count: 2,646

Warning: praise kink, 18+, sex, gentle sex, two way(?), and face fucking

Summary: After Gunther's king of the ring win the reader seeks a way to prove their spot within the Imperium. After winning the tournament the reader gets greeted by more than they had bargained for.

May 25, 2024 - Women's Queen of the Ring finals

After your previous encounters with Imperium you had sought out a way to prove you deserved a spot within the tag team. And what better way to do it then win the Queen of the Ring tournament just like how Gunther had won against Orton. It only seemed fair that you proved you could hold your own like Kaiser, believing you needed to earn your spot in their team.

So you worked your ass off towards the finals of the Queen of the Ring and ended up in one last match against Lyra who was an upcoming star like yourself but you had more to prove compared to her.

This was for Imperium.

You staggered backstage panting and skin glistening backstage as you smiled, feeling the adrenaline finally ebb away as you wiped down your face. You felt relieved with your win and secretly hoped it was possible that Gunther had seen how hard you worked to get the win on Lyra. You were still sore but felt happy with the results of your win as you brushed damp strands of your hair back with a satisfied look.

So you made it through backstage quietly walking down the corridor a bit lost in thought as you went with a small sigh letting the tension finally ease out your body. It felt nice to actually win a big match for once in your career and even more to prove you could hold your own as a singles competitor outside of NXT and the indies.

You were still buzzing from the match as you moved past other superstars till you made it towards the locker room. You exhaled a nervous breath and pushed open the door to the locker room. You peered around as you stepped further in being greeted by the ever smug and annoyed expression of Kaiser standing of course in the way of where Gunther was.

“Can I help you?” Ludwig narrowed his eyes as he folded his arms behind his back with a small frown, assessing you with a scrutinizing gaze. His brows drawn down in that glare and a bit of a sneer pulling at his lips as he stared you down.

You let out an exasperated huff and looked around the locker room for the General before you glanced back towards Ludwig. “Are you ever going to like me?” You questioned with a quirked brow giving him a half amused yet tired stare.

“Probably not.” Ludwig shrugged and chuckled in amusement at your frustration as he waved a hand. “I just believe he deserves better.” He muttered with a scoff and stepped out your way with his eyes narrowed and a bitter scowl present on his features.

You ignored his comment with a roll of your eyes as you moved further into the locker room with a sigh. You stopped coming across Gunther lounged on one of the couches with that nice navy suit that he wore when he wasn't scheduled to fight. You smiled shyly as you stepped towards him and he sat up straight to meet you with a friendly look.

“You did good y/n, always impressive.” Gunther chuckled warmly and smiled as he observed you carefully with a intrigued look. “You did well on your promise to earn your spot as a member and lucky for you, we have an opening.” The offering felt like the biggest luck and like your wish had been granted but you secretly felt bad for Giovanni who had been kicked out of Imperium not too long ago by Ludwig. It made sense because of the fact that he wasn't used much unlike Kaiser but it still stung regardless.

“Thank you, your praise means a lot to me.” You smiled warmly looking fond as you brushed your hair out your face. “Although I don't know if Ludwig will ever like me.” You added jokingly as you peered over towards Kaiser who was still standing nearby, listening in as always.

Gunther cracked a genuine laugh and patted his chest with a smile as he turned his gaze towards his tag team partner. “Ah well, he'll warm up eventually..if not I'll chop him for you.” He hummed back in a playful way but still in a serious tone that had the other man tense a bit noticeably.

Ludwig held his hands up in a placating gesture and chuckled as he looked off to the side as he cleared his throat. You couldn't help but laugh to yourself at the gesture and the way he looked at the response but you couldn't blame him either. Being on the receiving end of one of Gunther's chops sounded less than ideal.

“Anyway y/n, I had an idea to reward your hard work but I need to know if you're comfortable with..Ludwig too. If he gets out of hand I will straighten him out for you.” Gunther patted his lap leaning forward with his hands on his knees trying to ensure you saw he was serious as he gazed up at you intently.

“You mean like..as in sex?” You questioned as you scratched your cheek turning to gaze at the younger man with curiosity, feeling your cheeks warm up in embarrassment. Your heart beginning to race in your chest are the implications like it was the most dirty thing to do.

“No he means in the ring.” Kaiser muttered with an amused snort as he raised a brow in amusement over the situation. His lips turned up into a wide smirk as he eyed you in an almost condescending way. God you wanted to smack him.

The thought made your head reel but it wasn't an unsavory idea now that you thought about it. You weren't into Kaiser like you were Gunther but if it meant getting even more good favor within the group, you were in for it. Plus maybe he'd stop being such a dick about all of it.

“I'm good with it.” You whispered back fiddling with your ring gear as you smiled over at Gunther with a nod of reassurance. It made you feel a lot better knowing how considerate he could be even now in these situations.

Gunther nodded his head in approval and leaned back on the couch looking up at you with an appraising gaze almost like a proud mentor. “Well go ahead I'll let you choose whatever you want.” He chuckled, the Austrian accent still ever prominent and you couldn't help but internally melt.

You let out a small breath feeling your nerves rack but with his permission you told a lot more at ease as you walked toward him. You watched him relax and give you another nod before you slipped onto his lap, gently straddling him as you looked up at him with your thighs on each side of his legs as you looked up at him. You felt his hands slide up your thighs and stay there which you didn't mind anyway.

As you adjusted getting used to sitting on his lap you could just feel the warmth and difference in your sizes. He was a big guy in general with everything and you could never not marvel at it all. You knew a lot of the women in the locker room didn't find him attractive but to you he was and not just in looks but the style and passion for the business.

You hesitated and felt him gently squeeze your thighs in response, almost trying to silently soothe you and tell you it was okay. You took another deep breath through your nose and moved a hand over his arm and onto his shoulder. Your other free hand moving up to gently caress his face like he was fragile even though it would take a lot to even dent him at all. You saw the glimmer of amusement in those green eyes as he raised a brow in question at your gentle handling of him.

“..Sorry, uh just admiring.” You cleared your throat and felt your blush burn toward the tips on your ears in response and felt your heart flutter at the soft chuckle that left him.

“Really? You're an odd one y/n, I don't have many women say they're trying to admire me.” The Austrian mused with a shake of his head but didn't deter your touches, only looking amused by them.

Contemplating your next moves you leaned your head forward peering at him uncertainty before mentally saying ‘fuck it' and closed the distance between you both. You kissed him gently and sighed, relaxing as he reciprocated the kiss and you moved the hand to his shoulder.

Eventually you parted and avoided his gaze as you rubbed your neck looking down as you shifted in his lap. You had an idea for what you wanted so you shifted and rocked your hips forward against the erection you could feel hardening against your thigh. “This okay?” You whispered a bit breathless as squeezed his shoulders, getting a hum in response.

You lifted yourself up and helped undo the belt carefully with his help pulling the pants down enough so they wouldn't get stained. You shifted and felt your breathing hitch as he helped pull down your ring gear to help get better access. As you shifted he guided you to lean back a bit and ran his hand over your side gently.

“I'm going to have to prep you, I don't have any condoms on me either. Plus I need to ensure you stay quiet so..” He gently laid you down on the couch, shifting to lean over you as he ran his fingers over your folds gently. He chuckled feeling you shiver and whimper under him before he nodded to Ludwig who had been patiently waiting at the sidelines for que.

Kaiser smirked in amusement and dark enjoyment as he stepped forward as he pulled down his wrestling trunks. He coaxed you to look over by turning your head towards his now freed cock and stepped towards you. “I hope you remember last time.” He mused with a smirk as he guided you to take him slowly.

In time with Kaiser's thrusts you could feel Gunther's thick fingers scissoring the inside of your entrance as you whimpered around Ludwig. The feeling on both ends was overwhelming even as you trembled beneath both men who were assaulting your senses on each end.

“Breath princess, you're doing very good.” Gunther pulled his fingers free from you and he gently stroked your thigh as he watched Ludwig thrust into your mouth. One of his hands soothing your trembling thigh while his partner worked towards his release. “That's a good girl.” He whispered to you and rubbed the soft skin of your inner thigh.

You trembled, breathing through your nose as you hollowed your cheeks and gently reached to hold Ludwig's hip as the man steadied his ever shuttering thrusts. You felt his movement getting erratic as he grunted above you before grabbing a handful of your hair and pushing deep with a low groan. You internally grimaced as the salty taste went down your throat and grunted around him as you tapped his hip.

Ludwig pulled back from you and ruffled your hair with a chuckle as he stepped back. “She's all yours, Gunther.” He wiped himself clean and tucked himself back in his trunks as he turned walking across the locker room.

You coughed lightly and made a face as you huffed watching the other man leave with a small huff of breath. Your breathing slowly coming back to normal as you turned your gaze back towards the larger man above you.

The General smiled at you and brushed your hair out your face as he looked down at you from above. “Are you sure this is what you want, y/n?” He whispered and ran his thumb over your cheek in a gesture that was almost too sweet. Everything about him was so tough and dominant but it seemed he was showing you a softer side of himself.

As you nodded in confirmation and gently spread your legs, you could see him relax and his eyes flick up to your face as he moved over on top of you. One hand braced over the arm of the couch and the other soothing your side and coming down to rub your hip as if steading your nerves.

You breathed shaky and shifted, placing a hand on his shoulder and the other on his side, guiding him closer. You bit your bottom lip as you wrapped your legs around his waist and used your free hand to free his cock from the confines of his boxers. You felt his grip tighten on your hip as he lifted your body up towards him a bit and he positioned himself between your legs.

“Ready? I need you to breathe and tell me if you need me to stop okay? Alright..” The Austrian murmured gently soothing a hand over your stomach as he guided the tip into your entrance. “Easy love, easy..I got you.” He whispered, feeling you tense and whimper under him as he slowly pushed more of himself into you. “There, you're doing so good for me hm?” He chuckled and leaned down to kiss your jaw before he moved the hand off your hip to cover your mouth. “Tap me if you want me to stop okay? I can't risk being heard.”

You felt your heart racing in your chest both from anticipation and excitement as you slowly nodded in agreement to his words. You let yourself relax beneath him and jolted at the first experimental thrust he gave which made you feel just how much he filled you up. You trembled and exhaled through your nose as he set a steady yet gentle pace so you could adjust to the foreign sensation. The burning and discomfort slowly gave way to pleasure like sensation lightening your senses on fire.

Upon feeling you begin to relax and hear your soft muffled sounds against his hands he had begun to move a bit faster and with more force. The movements made you shake and jolt beneath him and you braced yourself by holding his shoulders as his hand clamped over your mouth more. He grunted softly with the effort and watched your reactions carefully for any signs of discomfort as you tilted your head back and arched your back into his movements.

It didn't take long for you to feel the familiar pooling in your stomach and increasing heat that was building towards your release. You trembled upon the intense feeling as you gasped softly against his hand and tightened your grip on his shoulder to try and anchor yourself as your mind began to blank.

“That's a good girl.” Gunther growled in your ear and thrusted deep making you lightly scratch his shoulder and tense up. “Let go for me.” He whispered and kissed your neck, keeping a hand over your mouth as he used the free one to rub the sensitive bud which sent you right over the edge. He grunted and scrunched his nose as you clamped around him as you moaned against his hand.

As your release slowly died down you could feel him pull out and rub your thigh. You watched as he sat back slightly and pumped himself a few times before he came with a low growl and panted softly. God you loved being underneath him. Even now boneless and spent you could feel your attraction and love for the man only increasing.

“You did so good for me, my queen.” He whispered and cupped your cheek giving you a soft kiss before he pulled back to watch you with a soft look. “You earned your spot.”

#this is my gift to Gunther fans alike #i do a good service/j #wwe #wwe gunther #gunther wwe #ludwig kaiser #the imperium #wwe fanfiction #wwe fic #fanfiction #fanfic #fanfic request #x reader #gunther x reader #bunny writes #wwe imagine #wwe smut

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we-are-all-stories-in-the-end · 12 days ago

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The Day Death Met Her Equal

(Agatha/Rio fic)

When Rio entered the small wooden cabin, she instantly knew that this job would be an easy one. Looking around the sparse room she squinted in the semi-darkness taking in the tiny hearth with the ambers barely glowing, the drying herbs hanging from the ceiling, the little basket with needle work in the corner, and the old woman sleeping peacefully in the bed in the corner. A simple life, but well lived. She liked encounters like this, the ones who went so willingly. She had chosen a young woman's appearance, a nice face, a kind face. It made the journey so much easier. She had learned a long time ago that her true self caused more fear than necessary, and she adjusted.

Not that she didn't bring it out from time to time, usually for the men, the ones who she would have loved to take sooner if she was allowed to. The ones who were horrible until the very end, who didn't deserve the life they had been given. Or just the ones who thought themselves so clever that they could somehow talk their way out of death. They annoyed her, so they got the full experience, a face that demanded respect.

Taking slow steps towards the bed in the corner, Rio suddenly stopped. Next to the old woman, a girl had drawn up a chair and fallen asleep, her face resting on the edge of the bed, her body hunched over, her features barely visible under her wild hair. Hesitating for a moment, Rio thought about returning later. But the time had come and the girl was fast asleep.

Stepping around the sleeping girl, Rio lightly touched the old woman's hand.

"It's time to go." Rio whispered.

The old woman opened her eyes and smiled.

"I've been waiting for you."

Taking her hand she led the woman to the other side of the cabin where she had opened up the portal for her to go through. Just like she had hoped, an easy, calm one. No bargaining, no holding on. Just peaceful acceptance. If only they all were like that.

Looking back at the sleeping girl, she lingered in the room. Tilting her head to the side, she couldn't quite tell why, but something about her was keeping her, drawing her in. Maybe her time was up soon, too. Rio couldn’t always predict the exact moment, and humans died at all ages, especially these days. Looking at her sleeping body, she watched her soft face, counting her breaths. No, this girl was nowhere near her end. If anything, she radiated too much life, too much energy. Something bigger than her seemingly fragile frame. I won't be seeing you for a long, long time, Rio thought to herself with a smile.

With one last look at the girl, she turned to leave when a sudden scraping sound made her jump.

"Who are you?"

Turning back slowly, Rio faced the now very much awake girl standing in front of her but didn't answer.

"You're a witch." the girl said.

Rio nodded.

"I haven't seen you around here before."

"I'm not from around here."

The girl crossed her arms in front of her chest and stared at Rio. Her whole body seemed to be ready to fight, like a reflex. Like a caged animal making herself bigger. Her piercing eyes studied Rio and then landed on the pathway still open behind her.

"Oh." the girl said softly.

Rio nodded again slowly.

"You came for..." The girl trailed off.

Suddenly her attention was back on the old woman. Leaning down she touched her now cold hand, and Rio watched a thousand thoughts wash over her face as she sat back down in the chair. A few silent tears ran down the girls face as she stared blankly ahead.

"You're not what I imagined you'd look like." she said finally.

"I have many faces," Rio replied matter of fact.

"I like this one," the girl said looking at her and Rio couldn't help but smile.

"Where did you take her?" The girl asked after a moment of silence.

"That, I can't tell you." Rio replied, shaking her head.

"She wasn't one of us, she had no power. But I liked her. We're not supposed to leave the coven, definitely not supposed to mingle with non-magick people. But she was always nice to me." The girl shrugged and wiped her face. "Not a lot of people are nice to me. She was nice."

"I'm sorry," Rio said although she had no idea how the girl felt.

Life and death to her were a cycle, the natural order of things. To Rio both were the same, two sides of one coin, she didn't know what grief felt like.

"I'm Agatha by the way," the girl said standing up and taking a step forwards.

"You are not scared." Rio said tilting her head again.

"Why would I be? You came for Mrs Miller, not me. And you... don't seem scary."

Rio laughed. This girl was unlike anyone she had met, and she had met a lot of people. Rio was deeply fascinated. She had been the moment she had laid eyes on her, but the longer she spent in her presence, the stronger her hold on Rio seemed to be. Staring into her inquisitive eyes, time seemed to stop, and the earth seemed to slow down around them.

"I must go." Rio said, remembering herself.

Turning towards the portal, she hesitated a moment.

"Will I see you again?" Agatha asked behind her.

Looking over her shoulder, Rio smiled at the girl.

"Of course you will. Everyone does."

"Oh, no, I meant... before then."

But Rio didn't reply. Still smiling, she turned and stepped through the portal, disappearing in the mist.

#agatha all along #aaa fanfic #agatha x rio #agathario

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creative-caramel-coffee · 1 year ago

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Cuddles and Colds

Prompt: “I don’t have time to sleep off a little cold.” (From Sombre Sapphics blog prompts)

Pairings: Wanda x R

Word count: 1.2K

Summary: your sick and wanda is there for you like always but your being difficult

TW: fever, flu (i think thats it let me know if i missed any)

Entering the room Wanda frowned at the sight. You were curled up in bed with the lights off and curtains drawn despite it being past midday. Your laptop was resting on your knees on the lowest possible brightness and yet you were still massaging your temples. Your cheeks and nose were a tad bit pink and you were sniffling softly.

“Baby?” Wanda called hesitant to make your obvious headache worse.

“Yes?” You said sounding mildly congested. Wanda winced at the sound knowing you didn’t feel good. “Are you feeling ok my love?” She asked coming to sit beside you on the bed. Frowning when she saw the mission report you were working on.

“Baby enough. It’s obvious you don’t feel good. You should rest not work. I can write that for you if you like.” She reached out to shut your laptop but you pulled it close to your chest making her frown.

“No. I cant.”

“Why not my love?” She asked always patient when it came to you and being sick.

“I don’t have time to sleep off a little cold.” You sniffed and couldn’t help the whine that left you when the air grated against your raw throat.

“Baby please. I know you feel like you need to work but let me help. You’ll let me help you right baby?” She cooed running her hands through your hair and frowning slightly at the damp warmth you were radiating.

“But- but I don’t have time.” She could see you were caving to the idea and she had to be gentle.

“You do my love.” She said gently, taking the laptop in the air with her magic so she could continue to stroke your hair. The red wisps closed it and placed it on the bedside. “Now sleep my sweet I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Ok ma’be a s’rt sl’ep” you slurred through the congestion and exhaustion which muddled your words.

You fell asleep quicker than normal nestled into Wanda thigh as she ran one hand through your hair and used the other to start finishing off your report.

You slept for about a half hour before Wanda could feel more and more heat radiating into her leg from your sleeping form. Knowing she had to wake you up to take your temperature she began running her hands up and down your arm.

“Sweetheart? Baby I need you to wake up for me my love.” She cooed softly and you eyes began to flicker. Her concern only grew as she saw your glassy eyes which looked at her seemingly unseeing despite your open eyes.

“Damn wan’s what dib u do while i was ‘seeping i fell awf’l” you croaked sounding much worse than earlier.

“Honey,” she frowned, “you feel way too warm. I think you have a fever.” She cooed.

“M’k bu’ can you geb rib of the mag’c now” you said still awfully congested.

Wanda frowned and read your mind as she realised you thought she was using her magic to make you rest. “honey” she said storing your damp hair and studying your face carefully to monitor how you felt. “My love I think your delirious and we really need to take your temp.”

“No no.” You began to squirm not really understanding “Need to work.” Gently Wanda pushed you back down into the pillows as you caved and sunk back into your little nest. “Baby I finished your report for you its ok” She was concerned at how easily you relented knowing you still didn’t understand.

You pulled the laptop off the side table and started keying in your passcode slowly struggling to read the keys.

“No no no my love” Wanda said scolding softly, “you need to rest or you wont get better. Now can i take your temp my sweet? Its just to make sure we don’t need to see Bruce and your brain is doing ok.” She said placing the laptop back on the bedside table.

“Depends” you sniffed and Wanda smiled softly at your bargaining. “will i be rewarded afterwards?” You asked

“You can have snuggles” Wanda shrugged glad you were being more agreeable.

You thought about it for a second before opening your mouth indicating wanda to put in the thermometer. Wanda chuckled softly at your antics

“let me go get it first my love.” She said using a finger to shut your jaw. “stay here now while I do my sweet.” She turned to you and and lent down the place a kiss on your warm forehead frowning at the warmth still burning under your skin.

“Ok” you said drowsily as you snuggled into her side again. “Don’t go.” You said as she began to pull away to find the thermometer. She would use her magic but she didn’t know where it was other than then general vicinity which wasn’t enough for her magic to work.

“I’ll only be a minute my love.” Wanda says peeling you sweat dampened form off her thigh. You whined like a child and Wanda shushed you softly.

“None of that now my love just a minute.” Once she had sat you back into the pile of pillows she darted off to the bathroom to grab the device.

Returning a moment later she guided you into a sitting position again. You lent heavily against her and without opening your eyes opened you mouth again. Carefully Wanda guided the thermometer into your mouth using a gentle finger to slowly close your open mouth. You swayed slightly and Wanda wrapped her arms around you shoulder to keep you upright until she could take out the thermometer.

“Oh baby you really don’t feel good do you my sweet?” She asked and you hummed a response. “Its ok I’ll look after you.”

The thermometer beeped and you jolted slightly as it surprised you in your fevered haze.

“Shh shh baby its just the device. Your ok.” She said brushing the pad of her thumb over your glistening waterline as tears gathered. With nimble fingers she removed the thermometer and looked at the number. She hummed her discontent.

“Is it bad?” You asked still slurred and tired.

“Its not good baby.” She placed it on the bedside and floated a container of fever reducers over to her hand she she ran her nails over your scalp. “You have a fever pf 102.7 and we need to get it down.” She guided the water to your lips and helped you take the tablets.

You moaned slightly when she placed a cold damp rag on your forehead and another on the back of your neck.

“Ok love you can sleep now.”

“S’eep?” You mumbled leaning into her side again. She guided your head back to her thigh and adjusted the cloths again before coaxing you back to sleep before she picked up her book from earlier.

You fell into a fitful fever sleep but Wanda occasionally check your temperature with the back of her palm content at the lowering heat she decided to let you rest.

Even in your unconscious state you were grateful for your girlfriend. She always knew what you needed and how got give it to you.

Its was a few hours later when Wanda woke you again for another dose of meds, she was glad to see more understanding in your eyes as the fever lowered further. After taking your temp and seeing it had gone down she was confident all you would need was some more love and care until you would be ok again.

MASTERLIST

#cold #flu #marvel #the avengers #wanda maximoff #wandanat #natasha romanov #sicfic #natasha romaoff #wanda marvel #wandanat x reader #wandanat comfort #wanda sicfic

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daydream-cement · 1 year ago

Note

i just need lots of miranda smut

Breakfast (NSFW)

Miranda Hilmarson x Reader

Some good old cunnilingus from sweet Miranda <3

Author’s Note: Short little fic but I needed Mir giving god-like head :)

“What do you think you’re doing?” You smirked, gazing down at the determined blonde. You knew damn well what Miranda was up to, but you liked to tease anyway.

Miranda has been feeling pent up all morning. Waking up with your body pressed up against hers was enough to drive a woman to madness, but watching you make breakfast in a tiny, sheer nightgown had her losing her mind. It started with kisses over your shoulders and hands pushing up the nightgown to touch the skin under your navel. Now she pulled you away from her breakfast and pushed you up on the countertop, choosing her own desires over your hunger, “I’m having breakfast.”

“If you must…” You were happy to indulge Miranda’s urges, laying back on the counter to show you were ready to receive the many orgasms Miranda was destined to give you.

It started slow. She bit, licked, and sucked her way across your inner thighs. The constable needed her mouth on your skin like she needed the air she breathed. You tried maintaining level breathing, but Miranda knew just where you liked every little touch. Your back rose up off the countertop, your shoulders painfully pressed to the granite countertop. You just needed Miranda to touch you.

“Stop the teasing,” You hissed.

Miranda did as she was told, never one to disobey her love. Her tongue pressed against the fabric of your panties, dragging up the length of your aching sex before finally pulling your panties to the side.

The manner in which Miranda feverishly ate you shocked you each time. Her tongue lapped through your folds, not quite stimulating your clit yet. That you would have to wait for. Miranda needed to savor the way you tasted, much like it was her last meal on earth. The constable’s mind tended to go blank in these moments, only spurred on by your moaning and writhing.

Your eyelids began to flutter when your first orgasm washed over you, but Miranda’s pacing wasn’t any slower. The blonde’s jaw ached but her pain was secondary to the task at hand. Miranda needed you to feel her love and passion. She needed you to keep cumming until you were begging for Miranda to stop.

Miranda’s hands rested on your abdomen, keeping your hips from bucking too wildly. Your moans grew louder and louder, Miranda was entranced by your voice as always. She picked up the pace of her tongue swirling around your clit causing your chest to convulse from another orgasm crashing down upon you.

Miranda wasn’t about to stop there. No. Not when your cum hit her tongue. That was the reward she was looking for. How better than to thank you for the treat than with more orgasms?

——-

You were sweating. This was more of a workout than you bargained for. Four orgasms. Was it four? You had lost count. You could feel every cell of her body buzzing and needed a break.

Miranda was unrelenting. Her jaw was on fire, but she was mindlessly fingering you, her tongue lapping up anything you had to offer. Every few seconds she would expertly swipe her tongue over your clit, sending a jolt through your body. Your breath shuddered with each gasp and your cunt flexed at the overstimulating sensations.

You attempted to roll your hips away first, but Miranda’s grasp on you was ironclad. Next, you pushed a hand into the blonde’s hair, attempting to push her away once more, but Miranda took that as an indication to move her lips back to your clit. When Miranda began sucking at your clit, that's when your eyes began to water from the overstimulation. You pinched the back of Miranda’s hand, writhed your hips and groaned, “Please…. Enough, baby…”

Miranda pulled away wide eyed, finally drawn from her trance. You were trying to steady your breath, but the over abundance of pleasure made coming down a challenge. The blonde apologetically kissed the backs of your hands followed by kisses to your navel and thighs. Her words were quiet and sincere, “I’m sorry… Did I hurt you?”

“On the contrary… I just… need a moment… You did very good… Too good… I… Jesus… Where did you… learn that?”

“You… and I think about doing that do you during most of my free time..” Miranda admitted softly, gently rubbing her hands up and down your thighs, ready to be there for you when you wanted to move off the kitchen counter.

——

The rest of the morning you were singing Miranda’s praises. Not just for the sex but for Miranda being Miranda. You knew the blonde melted at each praise and compliment, so the only true way to pay her back for such a delightful morning was to play into her praise kink.

You laid together lazily on the couch, ignoring the tv in exchange for each other’s company. A blush never left Miranda’s face as you showered her with quiet ‘I love you’s’ and sweet terms of endearment. Each one causing the blush to deepen and spread to the constable’s ears.

Taglist: @charymobile, @bri-sonat, @weemswife, @smutuniversesblog, @opheliauniverse, @renravens, @whenyouhaveanobsession, @shyladyfan, @rubberduckiesbathing, @mcufanisme, @peanutbutterprincess, @Alexthefavgay, @ladylarissaweems, @lvinhs, @myzzjolanda, @principal-weems09, @imlike-so-gaydude, @emilynissangtr, @xuukoo, @brienneswife, @kay-liah-scope, @oculusalien, @kimiinou, @sweetderacine, @giogwensversion, @milciak, @gela123, @maximoffslovergirl, @thevillagegay, @katiemcgrathsbitch1, @naomi-m3ndez, @mysaviorfalsegod, @salems-spaghettios, @imgayforwoman69, @bychrissi, @fyrecatz, @bitchr-mkay

#gwendoline christie #gwen christie #miranda hilmarson smut #miranda hilmarson x reader #miranda hilmarson #top of the lake #smut #oneshot

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eruden-writes · 2 months ago

Text

Where the Dark Stands Still by A.B. Poranek

This is the book that had me sobbing in bed a few nights ago. I found this book in the bin store, caught by the absolutely gorgeous cover art.

I didn't realize it was a young adult novel until I started reading, but I should've known. Young adult novels seem to have the most appealing cover art to me.

Where the Dark Stands Still is heavily inspired by Polish folklore while also having the feel of Howl's Moving Castle and Beauty and the Beast. It's really quite splendid.

The story follows Liska Radost - apparently a 17-year-old, but it was vague throughout the book - who is a girl with magic who happens to live in a Polish village entangled in Christian ideology. Meaning magic is seen as a sin. Liska does her best to hide her powers, but her magic does trigger and cause problems, at times.

In an effort to get rid of her magic, Liska takes to the nearby spirit woods, the Driada, during Kupala night. There, she hopes to find a legendary flower that will grant her a wish. Instead, she finds the Lesky, a powerful "demon" that offers her a bargain.

She is to stay and manage his manor for one year. At the end of that time, he will relieve her of her magic.

Throughout her stay, it's hard to trust the Lesky. He's enigmatic and sometimes refuses to answer Liska's questions, mostly pertaining to his past. It made Liska and Lesky's relationship a tense one, where the reader gets the vibe that he is using her for something sinister.

Over her stay at the manor, Liska also encounters different spirits and demons. Some of which become beloved friends or aid her in finding answers to her questions. Others of which try to kill her.

The romance with the Lesky definitely builds, which I appreciate. It's almost always fraught with a "what if" sensation, since Liska knows the Lesky could be using her. I don't appreciate that it builds over the course of four months, however. I wish it had been a longer timeline.

Interestingly, the book is written in present tense, which doesn't detract from the enjoyment. It was a unique facet I wanted to mention. The descriptions are very lovely and are not overly drawn out.

What others might care about:

Arrogant and distant male lead. There's reasons why he acts this way, but it's definitely a trope in YA. But he's bi, since we learn about one of his prior lovers, so marginally more palatable.

Big ole age gap. Yep, the Lesky is 700+ years old, although he doesn't look (nor act, in my opinion) much older than Liska. I'm willing to overlook this, since the Lesky is bound to/cursed by an ancient god.

Explicit violence and gore. The whole book is beautifully written and I honestly appreciated the detailed descriptions of violence and wounds. It really fit the vibe of the story.

Animal death. The Lesky's former lover had a dog that died terribly. His spirit is still wandering, depicting the dog in its mangled state.

Vague sex scenes befitting a young adult novel. I won't begrudge a young adult novel for having vague intimacy. However, coupled with the big ole age gap, other readers may not like this.

Overall, this is a solid 5 out of 5 for me. Some parts aren't to my taste, but not enough to detract from the story. Everything works phenomenally well together.

[SPOILER BELOW, DO NOT READ FURTHER IF YOU DON'T WANT SPOILED]

In an effort to disengage himself with the old god who wants to take over his body and cause havoc, the Lesky ends up killing himself. Just before he dies, he ends up transferring his powers and guardianship of the Driada to Liska without her consent. This scene was so very heartbreaking and the following scenes, when Liska wakes up and processes what happened, is also heartbreaking.

I was a sobbing mess. I'm a little misty-eyed just typing this up.

While this was extremely well done, I'm also conflicted. The long-lived male lead finally finding love having to sacrifice themselves for the greater good, while leaving their lover reeling in emotional agony, losing something so special that they fought so hard for? I feel like this is an oddly specific trope that's prevalent in stories like this.

Thankfully, because the Driada is a spirit wood, there's a dangling ending that may be sweeter for Liska and the Leszy.

#book recommendation #young adult #ya fantasy #demon #magic user #polish folklore

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longjohnsilverfish · 4 months ago

Text

Little Leech

No NSFW, though it references past sexual encounters. This does have graphic gore.

A/N: The GIF you see is what they are wearing in the story. Enjoyy!!

^_______________________________________^

Just a few more days.

Just a few…few more days.

I’ll have my engine fixed, we’ll get out of the Hells, and have the life of luxury.

All for you, little leech.

“Karlach?”

————————————————

It had been several months since Astarion and Karlach had been at their reunion party. Such fun it was, seeing his woman dance free like a newly born colt and hug each of their companions with heavy arms. For Astarion, that’s all the enjoyment he needed. To know that soon, this would be there normal.

But of course, seeing how everyone was keeping themselves was incredibly intriguing to see; Lae’zel a mother? Gale a teacher? Shadowheart a farmer? Wyll even more boring than before (okay that was a bit rude, but as if Astarion would admit to it), had he mention Lae’zel and Shadowheart were married? As in together?

Everything really can change in six months.

But soon, with heavy hearts, he and Karlach love were transported back to Avernus.

Since then, Karlach had been sobbing mess; and Astarion couldn’t blame her. Seeing her upset to be back in the place she hated broke Astarion’s heart. Even as they pillaged and fought every force their way, in the end of every fight—dust settling and last breaths drawn—Karlach would sob once more.

And each time, Astarion would be right at her side—drying her eyes, combing guys from her red-streaked raven-colored crown, holding her closely as she nuzzle into his hair.

And they would camp, nurturing each other’s woulds with care and affection. Astarion would peel her hair from her face with gentle hands, braiding tight and firm.

He would catch her eyes, amber and ruby sparkling from the fires that surrounded them—and in themselves.

Their hands would cup each other’s cheeks.

“I adore you, y’know?”, Karlach would say, a soft smile to her face.

Those dimples, those dark freckles. Gods, what a woman.

“I know, and adore you ever more,” Astarion replied.

He would push her to the ground. She would let him.

He was 5’11. She was 8’3.

How badly he looked, head between her breasts looking up with big eyes of lust.

And they would love each other, every night, legs twisted and arms wrapped. Souls melting as one in heat. Soft huffs of air. Scratches deep and red.

Morning would come, and so would the coming battle.

Such was the routine—a beautiful, loving routine—but a routine nonetheless.

And it would continue for several more months. Several months of killing, or surviving, of scratching up mountains to escape imps, planting bombs to blow cambions sky high, traps to keep monsters at bay—until now.

An infernal blacksmith was found.

And through pleading, bargaining, threatening, and (more effectively) body-out-the-window-ing, it would be made.

Three days, and they would be free from Avernus.

Three days, and Astarion would return to the surface. The sun.

The sun.

“Are you worried, Star?”

Karlach’s soft voice awoke the vampire from his thoughts. Astarion looked to the left, to the lying woman against his being—body warmth radiating and wrapping around the cold elf.

They had been able to camp in the blacksmith’s workshop, and now slept beneath a small canopy with pillows and blankets beneath them. The smell of coal and soot was strong, but it wasn’t better than the constant stench of imp piss staining every inch of dead soil.

Astarion rolled his eyes, hand coming up to the tip of Karlach’s ear. A small cut—healed, but scarred. A permanent reminder to him and his failure to watch Karlach’s back.

“No…just thinking,” he said absentmindedly. “I’ll have to buy a sunhat. Ugh.”

Karlach giggled. “Aw, you don’t like being a grandma? You have the hair for it.”

The vampiric elf gasped in dramatic feigning. “You little devil, you!”

A soft push against her arm made the strong red tiefling laugh more, now infecting Astarion—fangs shown and all.

“I’ll have you know, that while you shall grow old in our mansion by the sea, I will be the cougar-loving man who shall feast upon you every night.”

“A mansion?”, Karlach said bemused, a hand on her cheek as she laid idly. “How will you afford for that—pay theif to pay theif?”

“Oooh, you fiendish little pup.” Astarion rolled over on-top of Karlach’s stomach—petite and lean. She had placed a cambion’s large belt around her belly—a trophy, she said. Astarion couldn’t argue with that—the way the golden matched her eyes looked good on her.

Astarion bent down, nipping under her jaw like a mother would do her babe. “Gods, just a few more days.”

Karlach went quiet.

“Karlach?” Astarion asked, a touch of concern in her tone.

The elf looked downwards to the woman, who seemed to be clouded in thought. She swallowed, before speaking.

“Karlach?”, Astarion asked, head cocked to the right.

“I-I just, I’m worried—for you,” she said, her hands coming up to Astarion’s waist—holding tight and secure. “You’ll have to hide from the sun.”

“Yes.” Astarion agreed, his mind momentarily fleeting within itself.

He hadn’t thought about it, until now. To hide in the shadows, to never be able to walk like a man again—boundless and carefree. And yet, Astarion found himself…not caring.

Not caring.

Well, isn’t that something.

“Strangely, I am not worried.” The elf man replied. “At least, not a lot. Don’t get me wrong, it will be an issue…”

“Another issue—.”

“Another?”

Karlach froze, shutting her eyes. “I-I just, I mean..”

“Yes, darling?”

The tiefling woman took a deep breath, sighing heavily. It was a few moments, but Astarion sat—patient and listening.

“You’ve dealt with me, dealing with me, and Astarion…now I’m—.”

Nope. Nope. No no no.

“Oh no, there’s no need for that.”, said Astarion, his hand on Karlach’s cheeks—squishing her facing together, lips puckered. “You, my salivating sweetheart, are not an issue.”

“Bt, ‘Strwn—“

“Hush hush. You’ve lost your speaking privileges.” Astarion settled upon Karlach’s body, before slowly shutting his eyes—his left and right hand now covering her mouth.

“M-mm-m-mm”

“Lalala. Cannot hear you. I’m off to trance.”

————————————————

“Aagh! AGGH! ASTARION!!”

Astarion was thrown from Karalch’s body—sliding across the coal-coated floor. Airborne was he was, the vampire was slowly awaking—in his blurred vision, only seeing the claws of his lover throw his towards the other end of the room.

With a large thunk, Astarion landed square against the wall. His head ached and pounded in pain, his hand coming up to soothe it. As the elf man grumbled from his trance, eyes blinking awake to see the woman screaming in pain, her hands upon the thick cambion belt.

And that is when Astarion’s fears and nerves crashed upon him like a stack of bricks.

The agonizing screams that echoed throughout the forge were ear-splitting. As the pale elf scrambled to his feet and ran, the screaming only got louder and louder.

Sliding to Karlach’s side, Astarion was incensed at once—looking all over Karlach for any wounds or new blemishes.

“What happened?”, Astarion screamed, fear evident in his voice.

“FUCK! GET—THIS—OFF—!”

With a deep belly roar, Astarion watched as Karlach ripped off her belt and throw it just as she did with him, now revealing her mid-drift.

Her very large, very swollen mid-drift.

What in the hells?!

Before Astarion could speak, he watched Karlach barked at him in a rageful gaze, her own sharp teeth bared like a predator to its prey. Not longer was this his Karlach, but the barbarian Karlach every victim of hers had faces before their death.

“GET THESE FUCKING PANTS OFF ME YOU ELF BASTARD!”

Astarion said nothing, and with a quick swipe of his blade, did her pants come down in loose rags, only partly held together by stitches. Sharp pale nails rakes the loose pants down her legs, now seeing the wetness drip down her legs, pooling on the ground like a heavy waterfall.

The air stung with a smell of Karlach. Pure, unbridled rage with a tinge of sweetness and painfully evident this was amniotic fluid.

“FUCK! FUCK FUCK FUCK! FUCK ME, GODSDAMNIT!”

“I’m here, I’m here. Lay on your back, darling.”

There’s a small relief within Astarion—Karlach looked slightly less angry on her back. Oh, how she looked so beautiful, with her brow furrowed and nose scrunched.

“Good. Good.”

Astarion moved himself between Karlach’s legs, staring between her thighs. It was nothing he hadn’t seen before, her womanhood throbbing and heaving, covered in slick and water-like fluid.

“Darling, how long were you—?”

“STOP ASKING QUESTIONS AND HELP ME YOU MOTHERFUCKER—!”

The voice alone blew Astarion’s hair back just as accurately as a heavy wind on the open hills. With no response, the elf man ducked his head and watched her cunt.

Clench. Unclench. Clench. Unclench.

Her vaginal hole was breathing hard, and soon, more fluid began to exit down to the ground. The dirty, disgusting, coal-sooted ground.

With haste, Astarion grabbed his silk purple outfit and with no hesitation, tore the cloth apart to be longer lengthwise. The sound was no scream, but it was loud—each stitch popping, embroidery crying as it was being split in two.

Clothing be damned.

A deep huff exhausted from Karlach. Another contraction.

“Fuck fuck fuck…”, she hissed. This wasn’t angry, but it was in pain, and it was afraid.

“I have you, my dear.”, Astarion cooed, bringing a hand upwards

Almost immediately, the elf regretted it as Karlach took it in her palms, squeezing it irregularly and tightly. Astarion hissed in pain, but gritted his teeth as he looked between the tiefling’s legs.

The contraction wanes, the thighs shake, and Karlach’s breath grows stable.

“Good,” Astarion encourages. “Good—well done, darling.”

Astarion saw in his side-view Karlach nodded her head furiously as the mixture of sweat and tears on her cheek bones flow down her face. Her hair curling upon her forehead, her eyes half-lidded and pained.

The vampire placed his second hand upon her face, brushing her hair away.

“Gods…you have that glow midwives speak about.”

“R-really?” Her voice was now a whisper, her throat strained.

“Would I ever lie?”

“Yes…” A cheeky smile grew on Karlach’s face.

He didn’t encourage her to push, only the loud anguished roar that shook the room around them told him her pitiful attempt. Astarion watched as his lover clenched her teeth and bared down as hard as she could, letting out a gritted scream he hadn’t heard since their time in Faerûn.

Looking between her legs once more, and now—now Astarion watched her vaginal entrance was beginning to open. The sounds exhales and huffs of pain rang in his ear, accompanying the raging symphony of Karlach’s cries and scream of pain as she began another push. Astarion gently rubbed her forehead, a soothing motion to allow her to continue.

His action worked, and fueled the woman with a second wind of courage.

“I’m gonna…I’m gonna. Please, please don’t leave.”

“Never.”

Karlach inhaled, shuts her eyes, and pushed again.

Her legs opened wider, her hole pulsed with pain, and just like that—the skin on the side of her womanhood tore.

Karlach’s eyes opened wide, and the rage returned in full blast.

“AGHHHHHHHHHH!”

Blood began to pour from the wide of Karlach’s hole, and Astarion acted fast. Quick as he could, Astarion tore his shirt up, quickly balling it up to a point. Gently as he could, the elf dabbed the tear to cease the bleeding, dribbles upon dribbles of scarlet water pouring down her curving toned thighs.

As the new father began to calm him nerves for a thirteenth time in the last five minutes, he felt his arm get soaked in a flush of clear fluids. It was cold, it was warm, it was thick, it was thin; it was as beautiful as it was surprising.

And there they were—in the opening of his lover’s hole was the top of a head.

“Again,” Astarion looked up at her seriously. “I need you to push again, Karlach.”

“ARE YOU FUCKING INSANE? THIS IS THE WORST PAIN I—!”

“Listen to me!” His voice loud and clean, eyes narrowed with emotion, fear, anger, and joy. He felt his lashes wet, but pushed his tickling feelings aside. “Push hard and hold it for as long as you can. It’s going to hurt, Gods know it will, but you must push.”

Astarion held their intertwined hands up for them to see. “For our baby’s sake.”

It was a wordless agreement; just a nod and Karlach squeezing Astarion’s bones together as she cried in jolting screech.

A crunch, a snap, and a squish went Astarion’s hand—no doubt sprained somewhere.

But watching Karlach, his strong tiefling love, pushing as hard as she could, was something that Astarion was enthralled with. Such beauty, such resilience, such strength.

Dear Gods, darling, where did you come from?

“SHIT!”

Something changes. More fluids gush—this time, thicker than before.

“ASTARION!“

He can tell, not just by the look of reverence on Karlach’s face, but by the increasing warmth on his arm.

Astarion looked down, and the head hadn’t moved.

Instead, blood was everywhere. The tear had grew, now stretching down her thigh. Red was everywhere, and the smell of Karlach was filling Astarion’s lungs more than ever. His eyes stared to the head, and it was so small, so tiny, but Astarion saw it.

The head moved, just an inch to the right.

“They’re here!” Astarion exclaimed prematurely from his throat, so fast he was unsure who was speaking.

The spreading of vaginal lips only got worse, the blood flowing down, the water gushing upwards.

The more the seconds past, the more the screaming cried, the more Karlach sobbed, the more she squeezed, she pushed, she stretched herself in two, the scene looking incredibly painful and horrendous for Karlach’s body.

“I can’t!” She wails, gasping before letting out a sob. Her legs began to shut, but with his adrenaline running Astarion kept her open.

“LET ME GO! I CANT DO THIS, ASTARION! IM DYING! IM GOING TO DIE—IM KILLING OUR BABY AND IM SORRY!”

Tears flowed down Karlach’s face, her lip quivering.

“Hey!” Astarion snaps at her. “Listen to me—you are okay—you’re here with me and you are okay.”

She is weeping uncontrollably now. Astarion leans down upon her belly gently. “I am not going to let either of you die.” He assures her. “I know it is unbearable, but you are so very close.” He encourages her. “Don’t give up—I know you can do this.”

She lets her body take her where she needs to go, panting and whimpering as she does. She angles her hips, her thighs toughen by themselves, and she grabs Astarion’s hand as she bears down.

This contraction reaches its peak when Astarion places the ball of her hand on her knee and commands her.

“Stop! Stop pushing!”

The head was halfway out. Black tufted hair, two small bumps on the lower side of the head, and Astarion didn’t realize until now that he was crying.

“Puff,” Astarion sucks in a breath through puckered lips and exhales quickly and sharply to demonstrate. “Puff, now. Little pushes.” Though he doesn’t breathe, Astarion looks up to see Karlach matching him.

A moment, an ever louder scream, a second of ears ringing, and the eyes of the vampiric elf widen.

“Head’s out!” Astarion looks up at her, triumphantly. Though, the relief which should come with such a feat eludes her. He discards this thought and gives a pat to her knee, and she pushed again, giving Astarion time to take his hand from her knee to under her womanhood.

He took his hand from hers, now assured his hand was broken in seven places. And yet, the new father took the silk he had ripped minutes before and into his hands.

“ASTARION!”

The pain reached another crux.

And in a desperate attempt to keep from drowning in it, Karlach sucks in a breath, squeezes her eyes shut and pushes through with all her might.

Astarion watches in awe as blood and clear fluids now exploded from Karlach, and in their wake, a small black furred head popped out.

Before Astarion could begin to panic, his new fatherly instincts took hold. With gentle clothed hands, he pulled their child out from Karlach’s sacred place.

The cry it gave was their bell, their last hurrah.

A boy.

It was over.

All over.

The wrinkly baby screamed and wailed, his fists and eyes scrunched so tightly it looked liked it hurt. His black hair was covered in gunk, so much that no matter how much Astarion wiped there was still a shine.

So small.

So innocent.

Their small, innocent boy.

“A boy…”, Astarion sobbed with joy. No longer did he hold back, his nerves coming out in bulbous tears that streamed down his face.

“Astarion…” Karlach’s voice was soft. “Please…”

Onto her bare chest Astarion but their boy, and begins to rub circles on its back. He then pulled away to rummage through the duffle bag again.

Returning back, his hand showed a red potion to Karlach’s lips. “Open, sweetheart. It will help.”

The sudden shift upwards caused the baby to let out a hearty cry. Karlach—in turn—bursts into tears.

“My baby,” she weeps. “Oh—my baby!” Karlach lifts her head and allowed Astarion to feed her the potion. With each gulp, the cut upon her thigh began to heal just as quickly it was given.

Astarion had moved to cradle his love and his child in his arms. The child has a full head of Karlach’s dark hair, his skin few shades lighter than hers.

The elf slowly raises his hand and brings it to rest on his son’s back; his tiny stature shakes as the tearless cries leave his lungs. Astarion strokes the baby’s skin, he is so enamored by the child, he cannot think of a better way to comfort it.

“He is magnificent,” He says in awe, as he still cleaned the babe with gentle movements. “Well done, my love.”

They stay this way. Astarion shimmies a new, cleaner cloth over the now clean baby. The baby had quieted down, having adjusted to the environment outside of the homely womb.

Astarion lays eyes on the new mother and the baby lying on her chest. As Karlach regained her breath, she slowly adjusted her shirt off of herself, and gently nudge her large breast to the baby. The sleeping baby slowly fussed awake, before calming down and suckling the nipple greedily.

“He’s perfect.”, Karlach grinned. “The little leech.”

Silence between both new parents—in awe and in peace.

“So…was this the other “issue”?”

Astarion was gentle, a bit teasing, but gentle.

“Yes. It was.”

“How long ago?”

“About two weeks after coming back to Avernus. I…I couldn’t tell you.”

Astarion opened his mouth, when Karlach quickly interrupted.

“N-not because I didn’t know how you react—well, kinda, but not the entire reason. We had that general, then we had those imps. We never had a moment, y’know?”

The elf went quiet, before looking down at the feasting baby. Eyes fully of joy, as Astarion pulled his hand up and softly rubbed the boy’s head.

“What should we name him?”

“Something smart. Like his father.”, Karlach replied.

“Something brave, like his mother, personally.” Astarion smiled as Karlach nuzzled her head upon the shoulder of Astarion.

A few moments passed, before Astarion spoke—eyes never leaving his boy.

His boy. His.

Not in a possessive way, but a loving way.

“How about…Ivaebhin?”, he suggested. “The Boy with Brightness.”

“Ivaebhin…I like it.”, Karlach smiled. “Are you okay with a double name?”

“Double name? Quite unique.”

“For a unique child.”, she chided. “How about Ivaebhin…Astarion”

Astarion perked at this, looking at Karlach with questioning eyes. “A-Astarion?”

“Yes. Quite a good name. I fell it love with it the moment it first threatened me.”

Tears flowed from Astarion, as he lovingly dug into Karlach’s hair. “You insufferable fury.”

“You pompous leech.”

And such was the family of Astarion, Karlach, and Ivaebhin-Astarion Ancunín-Cliffgate

#astarion smut #karlach cliffgate #karlach x astarion #karlach smut #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 smut #i dont know how to tag really but im glad everyone likes the fic

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haladrielficxch · 8 months ago

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Author Reveals are here! Read below the cut to see who wrote your favorite fics!

don't let it in with no intention to keep it by alicuntisms for @nuclearnik

galadriel is in need of a human - halbrand is in need of a warm place to sleep. a bargain is struck. if only galadriel knew who she was striking a bargain with....

A Lust for Light by cozy_ships for @liminal-zone

The magic is always just there on the periphery of his lands, threatening to spill over. Sometimes he swears he can feel it in the earth beneath his feet, taste it in the water, clear and bright and so utterly unlike his own. The flowing currents of it had drawn him to these lands, led him to stake his own claim and build his fortress along the borders of the Golden Wood. He knows who resides within, hiding herself away amidst the forest’s glittering bowers.

Tempered by eye_of_a_cat for @cozy_ships on Twitter

She focuses instead on smaller things. She notices the edges of him: the sewed seams of his bracers, the way they press against the skin of his hands; the shadow at his neck where the cloth of his collar falls loosely; the way the fuzz of hair on his arms glows a little in reflected firelight. He is all edges and joins, scars and soldered seams. There will be a way to break him apart.

at the dawn of our folly, we took from the tree that was rotting by ichabodcranemills for @lisenberry

Stranded togehter in the middle of nowehere, political rivals Galadriel and Halbrand learn they have more in common than they could've possibly imagined.

Love is heavy and light, bright and dark by lisenberry for @softlighter

There was a time in Lady Galadriel Artanis Noldor’s life when all she had to worry about was keeping her face out of the sun and her feet out of the mud. Her nose in her embroidery and her hands soft as lambskin. Her brain empty and her mouth shut.

Many things had changed since then.

and I feel like I just got home by Lizzen for @eye_of_a_cat on Twitter

A third age haunting of a sort; an alternate version of life as seen through the looking glass, and the impact resonate.

She is Everything You Want by MyrsineMezzo for @alicuntisms

As he looked at that tight braid with the light reflecting in her hair, Halbrand realized he knew who she was. Everyone knew who she was. Galadriel Noldor. She was the best and the brightest; the pride of the university who had been profiled in the recent campus magazine because she was on a sure ride through the NCAA fencing tournament system even as a sophomore. He realized Mel had followed his gaze when he heard a low scoff.

“Noldor. A loner who thinks she’s above it all. Now there’s a challenge worthy of the highest of prizes.”

the only song i want to hear by MyrsineMezzo for @ichabodcranemills

5 times Halbrand kissed Galadriel in exchange for a secret, and one time he did not.

Set throughout the first season of Rings of Power.

Deeper, Darker Things Than You by nuclearnik for @formerlyIR on Twitter

He is effortlessly charming—and everyone besides Galadriel seems to eat it right up—but something hiding just below the surface, coiled and restless, calls to her.

don't answer me (i'm calling just to hear you scream" by poeticmemory for @the-sweet-hibiscus

One year after her eldest brother‘s murder, Galadriel and her friends find themselves in the sights of a horror-film obsessed killer.

everything (except what it is) by softlight for @myrsinemezzo

“And what are you going to say?” “That I can be civil if you can."

Rival teachers Galadriel and Halbrand sign up to run the school show. Things do not go as expected.

the Curse of Linhir by TheSweetHibiscus for @justatinycollector

The morning of October 28th I, along with my unwilling companion, managed to flea the decrepit town of Linhir. I had ran, cloaked in nothing more than a t-shirt and the threadbare soles of my brother's old hiking boots, nearly twenty miles to the Regent's port home in Númenor. Each step was agony – the ill-timed impromptu marathon more than enough to cause my lungs and thighs to burn like coal cinders. Yet it was nothing compared to the sinking dread — a fear I hadn't gotten far enough away.

By the Moonlight by justatinycollector for @wyrd-syster

It would seem to Galadriel, in their first few encounters, that Halbrand would always leave her with something. Later, she’d come to learn that he never left a place empty-handed.

The Highwayman AU.

stones that move (and trees that speak) by Wyrd_Syster for @bad-surprise

Halbrand wants power and Galadriel wants her inheritance. There is no cost too high, no price too steep, to stop them from taking what they want.

A Macbeth AU with a dash of Sleep No More.

#haladriel #haladriel fic exchange #ao3 fic #galadriel x halbrand #fanfiction #haladriel fanfic #ao3 works #fanfic event #rop #sauron x galadriel

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buckets-and-trees · 2 years ago

Text

Consort

Characters/Pairings: Namor x female!Reader Word Count: 2.3k Summary: Diplomatic fraternization is never easy and situations can turn on a dime. When you accompany your father to negotiate future ties between your two underwater kingdoms, one mistake changes everything.

Content Warnings: SMUT, thigh riding

Additional Notes: Before this week it had never even as a WHIM come across my radar to write anything Namor. But two-almost-three-days ago @artsynellyyy shared a ridiculously gorgeous unfinished piece of art she was working on, asked for some input, and it spurred a plot concept that just GRIPPED my brain and had me feeling THINGS. I don’t think I will be writing a lot of Namor, but I do know there’s certainly a part two to this because…there’s more story for these two in my head. There’s a particular moment that exists for them that as this developed, I knew could not happen yet for them, it would’ve been too rushed. So… just… Happy fourth installment of the 2022 Holiday Extravaganza!

A/N 2: Be gentle! This is my first attempt at Namor. I did some canon diving and research, but I did not dive deep into the Namor fandom because I didn’t want to get too influenced about established patterns or too intimidated about what’s already out there. Honestly kind of terrified to publish this one, so just... jumping out of the airplane and pulling the parachute okay bye.

“Let us speak without pretense,” the king of Talokan’s voice resonates powerfully through the throne room. “Tell me why you sought private audience with me today, Hamal.”

Standing at the right hand of your father, you observe the way he draws his shoulders up just a fraction more, the way his nostrils flare just before he speaks again. “Fine, I will speak plainly, Namor. Your recent dealings with the surface, particularly with the kingdom of Wakanda, is concerning to the kingdom of Fourchon.”

“Why should it concern you?” Namor patiently humors the conversation further, but you can read that the patience is wearing thin.

“King to king, I find it concerning because it calls into question whether we are moving into a state of volatility for all who dwell in the oceans, and I have no wish to see my people drawn into hostilities or war of any kind.”

“And you are here to ensure continued peace between our nations?”

“I am.”

Your heart isn’t racing, but the beats thrum more swiftly against your chest as you will this to go well.

“And what do you propose, Hamal? What does the kingdom of Fourchon possibly have to offer Talokan?”

There’s a moment of silence that hangs between the two rulers, then your father answers, “Her.”

Every muscle in your body seizes with dread, your heart skipping a beat. Your eyes widen, but every bit of diplomatic rearing mercifully allows you to keep your mouth from dropping open in complete shock.

“My daughter.”

You cannot look at either king, looking straight ahead to keep your composure, but you register the sharp change in Namor’s voice. “Fourchon is neither enemy nor ally to Talokan, and yet you come to my court with the arrogance of demanding peace between our countries when for more than three hundred years there has been nary a quarrel. Indeed, your small kingdom has meant nothing to me, an inconsequential player amongst underwater realms. We have maintained social civility only because you were not worth any more or less to me.

He pauses, and you can feel the tension rolling in waves off your father.

“Your offer is horrible, but I will give you what you came here to bargain and secure today for the sake of your people, despite the prideful blunder of their king. Now leave.”

You are desperate to acquiesce to Namor’s command after the humiliation of being offered first as a trinket or some form of tribute and then receiving by association a political rebuke, and you turn immediately to depart with your father.

“Not you, Princess,” his voice halts you.

You watch your father leave; he doesn’t look back at you or Namor.

“Come here,” the king of Talokan says.

You turn back to face him, squaring your shoulders and looking straight at him as you approach. Your father had asked for a private audience, and you are grateful for that as no one else saw the disaster that just took place.

He regards you openly. You focus on breathing evenly when all you want to do is flee from this room and let your emotions rage. When his gaze meets yours again, he tilts his chin and narrows his eyes ever so slightly.

“Do you not kneel for your king?”

Heat rushes from your chest up to flood your cheeks, and your throat feels thick with anger, but you manage to speak. “You are not my king.”

“Did I not accept the terms offered?”

“An offer you called horrible,” you say as you sink to your knees and bow your head as is customary.

“The offer, not you.”

Your head snaps back up at these words.

“And the offer was horrible in relation to you, not me.”

Your brow furrows in question.

“When your father made the overtures for this meeting, I asked my ambassador to share with me his outlook on your kingdom and your court.”

“You said we were inconsequential.”

“But an element that still exists.”

He evaluated the full landscape. You were under no illusions that the kingdom of your birth was small in comparison to Talokan or Atlantis, but he was a ruler who wasn’t fool enough discount the smaller players.

“My ambassador said,” he continues, “that your people love and respect you and that it is a loss to Fourchon that you were both second-born and a daughter of the throne instead of a son.”

Resentment spreads through your veins at these words. You’d fought the unrest of what you would not be able to do while also feeling confident in your brother’s ability to rule, that he’d proven himself worthy of his birthright.

“He said you were your father’s favorite.”

You had thought that, too. And yet… “How easily he would bargain me away would say otherwise.”

“It was clear you had no indication of his intent.”

A bitter laugh escapes your throat. “Truly. I thought he valued my presence, my counsel, even perhaps my help in diplomatic relations, but I was only a pawn.”

“No.”

You narrow your eyes and cock your head to the side.

“I think you are wrong. Stand, Princess.”

You rise slowly, with as much grace as you can.

He moves from the throne, stepping over the jaw that frames his seat of power, and moves down the steps toward you.

“In future you kneel for only me, no one else.”

You remain in your place as he slowly circles you.

“I did lecture your father for his arrogance on an improper read on the state of affairs, assuming Talokan would turn on Fourchon. However, as a king, I do not fault him for caring for the welfare of his people, or for overestimating the value of his kingdom,” he states, his voice warming with this admission. He comes to a stop in front of you. “And to negotiate safety and peace for his people?” He raises his right hand and draws his fingers down reverently along your jaw. “He offers you, his greatest treasure. He insinuates you are worth more than an entire kingdom.”

You open then close your mouth, unsure how to respond to this interpretation. Your eyes search his, but all you can see there is a resoluteness that he truly means what he’s just said. It’s disarming, and with the way your world fell out from under you only minutes ago, you’re unsure of what to trust now.

Namor radiates confidence, it rolls easily off him in waves, but when he takes a step closer, you can feel the heat of him. His fingers move over your shoulder and down the length of your arm, and you shiver but keep holding his gaze. Your instincts tell you that every moment in this room has been significant, it’s determining your future, every movement, every word, every observation.

He takes half a step closer, only a whisper of space between you now, and you hold your ground. He almost smiles, then he turns away, seizing your hand and leading you up the stairs of the dais, and you quickly lift your skirts so you can ascend quickly behind him. Up close you can admire the artistry of the jaw that encases his throne. Like him, it’s charming, beautiful, and dangerous, each intricate designs carved into the bone, and the teeth replaced with jade stones.

“Your father was right to anticipate a shift in my rule.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve been king of Talokan for centuries, but my dealings with Wakanda have me considering eventualities of the future.”

Namor takes steps over the jaw, then draws you carefully in with him, still holding your hand as you step over the mighty frame, before finally releasing it. He turns back to look out over the throne room and further the drop off to look out over the kingdom of Talokan, but angles himself slightly toward you as well, and you mirror him. It’s a breathtaking view, and you imagine it is an altogether different manner of beauty with the court or an audience of people called to convene. But like this, still and quiet, it’s ethereal.

“You will be my queen.”

“That’s a bold declaration.”

“You’ve been offered to me in exchange for a promise of peace for your people, would you renege?”

You close your eyes briefly but square your shoulders and shake your head.

“Now you can choose your course in this.”

“Enlighten me,” you can’t hold back, though you do manage to keep your voice even.

There’s a flicker of something in his eyes, but he’s speaking again before you can decipher it. “If I’m to have an heir, to secure the future, ensure stability for my people, I need a queen; but whether you merely bear my child or become my consort is something I cannot determine for you. I would prefer the latter.”

In the next second, he’s pulled you to his side and captured your lips in a kiss that is altogether slow and searing. His arm winds around your waist, bringing you flush against him, and your hands move of their own volition to rest on either side of his neck. Heat runs through your veins, and you know without question he could consume you.

You break off the kiss, but he respectfully retreats. He takes a seat on the throne, and you see he’s as breathless as you are.

But you broke off the kiss to ask the question that will haunt you if you don’t ask it.

“You’re truly ready to bind me to your side, just like that? You don’t even know me.”

“This is not a marriage of convenience. This is a marriage of opportunity.”

“I’m not–“

He holds up a hand to silence you, but it’s not in impatience, you can see that in his face, and he immediately says, “I will grant you that we do not know each other yet, but I know enough to know who you are. I have the trusted insight of my ambassador, but I also have accounts from people who have served and interacted with you here in my own kingdom these past two days, and biologically prolonged life or not, a king also doesn’t keep his crown or the respect of his people for as long as I have without being able to judge those around him well. You were taken by surprise today, but you are not naïve. You came to my court to be of counsel, serve, influence. Why should that not still be your fate?”

“A foreign princess?”

He shakes his head and holds his hand out to you. “A queen consort.”

You search his face again. This was the moment. You could not read any falseness, arrogance, or cruelty. Indeed, though he was surprising you with this swift and forthright proposition, your intuition doesn’t question him or his intentions.

You take the hand he presented, and he pulls you forward, placing his hands on your hips once you are close enough and guiding you to sit astride one of his powerful thighs, the rich fabric of your dress sliding up your legs. You place your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself.

“I want your mind, your body, and your soul,” he says, sealing it with your name, not your title.

“I want the same,” you say.

“You’re sure?”

“I need the same.” Being this close to him is both invigorating and steadying. The way he is looking at you, the way he is holding you, it’s also intimate and heated, and those feelings are amplified as he pulls you just a little closer.

“Then take what you need,” he commands in a tone that makes your heart soar and desire bloom in your stomach. He flexes his thigh against your core, and it spurs you to lean in and kiss him again, hungry for more.

He matches your eagerness. When his tongue seeks entrance, you open your lips, moaning. He begins rocking your hips back and forth over his thigh, and you know he can feel the heat and the wetness of the desire he’s stoked within you seeping through the silk of your underwear. As you take control of moving against him, his hands travel up your sides until he reaches your breasts, and his thumbs brush over the tender flesh. You both moan, him in approval, and you with pleasure. You’re swept away completely in all the sensations, in his passion, your body singing for him. He is a powerful force, one you will have to be sure to meet with your own spirit and fire so you aren’t lost. This union is for fulfilment for you both, not to be destroyed, diminished, or tossed away.

As you speed up, he drops one hand down to anchor on your hips, helping you grind down on his thigh. He keeps flexing it against you, and you whimper, head falling back.

“Keep going,” he growls against the column of your throat, kissing his way down to the sweet spot at the base of your neck. “I love the way your body is trembling; I can tell you’re so close.”

“Yes, Namor,” you keen.

“K’uk’ulkan,” he says, and your head snaps back up, eyes locking intensely with his.

“K’uk’ulkan,” you repeat – the invitation to use the more personal name drops the intimacy between you two to a deeper level.

You both move with a desperate frenzy now, you craving the release and him eager to give it to you, his lips searing every inch of the exposed skin available to him at your neck, collar bone, pulling at the neckline of your dress.

“So close,” you cry.

“Let go.”

And you do, tight coil of ecstasy peaking and releasing, you cling to him, and as your body begins to relax wish pleasure, you press your forehead to his, both of your eyes closed now, sealing the moment in your memory.

His hands are slowly running up and down your back. “Jach ma’alob,” he croons softly. “This is enough for now; there will be so much more, my queen.”

Jach ma’alob = very good

PART TWO: COMPANION

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

#namor the sub mariner #namor smut #namor x you #namor x y/n #namor x female reader #namor fic #tenoch huerta namor #aspen wrote something #aspen's holiday extravaganza #ahe 2022 #namor x reader #to become his queen series #female reader

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the-darkestminds · 6 months ago

Text

Autumn's Shadow: Chapter 4

Azriel x Eris (Azriel POV)

Summary: A covert meeting between Azriel and Eris to exchange valuable intel leaves Azriel reeling—and questioning everything he has ever felt for the Heir of Autumn. Azriel finds himself inexorably drawn to Eris, unable to resist his captivating allure. With the threat of Koschei and Beron looming ever closer, can their forbidden love endure in the face of such danger?

a/n: The plot is not canon compliant. Took some dialogue directly from acosf for this chapter.

Let me know if you want to be added to a tag list!

Read on AO3!

Full Chapter List

Chapter 4:

Azriel winnowed directly into Rhys’s office, not bothering to waste time knocking. He found it empty, and it took less than a minute for his shadows to determine that only Elain was home. Where the hell had they all gone?

Rhys. RHYS. He felt like a fool, trying to yell inside his own mind, but sometimes it worked at getting the attention of his High Lord.

Come to Windhaven, immediately. Emerie’s house. Rhys responded in his mind, voice grave. Seconds later, Azriel stepped into the small guest bedroom of Emerie’s home and took in the varying looks of dismay and fear on his friends’ faces.

“What is it?” Azriel asked, afraid to hear the answer. Cassian sat on the bed with his head in his hands and didn’t look up.

Rhys answered him instead, “It’s Nesta. And Emerie and Gwyn. Last night they were snatched from their beds and entered into the Blood Rite.” Rhys glanced at Cassian, regret and pain shining in his eyes. He knew it must be killing Cassian not to go after Nesta. Azriel felt sick at the thought of the three females surrounded by so many Illyrian warriors, intent on killing their way to victory, or for sport. He shoved the feelings down. Didn’t let himself think of Nesta and the danger she was in.

He knew there was nothing he could say to comfort Cassian, so he addressed Rhys instead. “Eris has been captured by Briallyn. He was dragged into her castle last night.” He paused. “We have to get him out.” Only Rhys seemed mildly concerned by the news. No one moved or said anything. “Are you all hearing me? We have to get him out.” When, still, no one answered, Azriel said a tad too forcefully, “We can’t just let him die.” He took a deep breath to steady himself.

Cassian looked at him like he’d grown a second head. “We?”

Rhys mastered himself and stepped up to Azriel’s side. “He’s right. And I can’t go.” That had Azriel and Cassian both turning to him in disbelief.

Cassian glared at Rhys. “You can be in and out in an hour.”

“I can’t go,” he insisted. Azriel furrowed his brows, not understanding the refusal. He was inclined to agree with Cassian. Rhys was powerful enough to retrieve Eris without much difficulty.

“Yes, you fucking can,” Cassian snarled at the same time Azriel said coldly, “You'd leave him to die? He's our ally.” They needed to go now, before Briallyn decided Eris was more trouble than he was worth.

Feyre interrupted and spoke for them both. “We made a bargain. After the war. To…only leave this world together.”

The words floored him. “You made a bargain to die together?” And with Feyre’s pregnancy, the birth only months away—one they were not sure she’d survive…

“Fools,” Amren hissed. Rhys’s eyes were bleak. Azriel stood frozen to the spot.

“If Rhys dies, I die.” Feyre’s voice trembled as she spoke.

“And if you die, Feyre,” Azriel said quietly, “then Rhys dies.” They were all silent at the realization that they might lose all three of them in a few months' time.

Azriel tried to wrap his mind around how the two of them could be so foolish. So selfish. They had both known they’d want children some day. And yet they’d still agreed to this bargain, one that could potentially leave any child of theirs an orphan if one of them passed. It would also leave the Night Court in the hands of someone unknown. He resented them both in that moment, but he pushed the feelings down.

“There’s nothing we can do for Nesta right now. We need to get Eris out. Cassian, I can’t go alone. Please.” He tried to make the words sound aloof, but knew he had failed when he beheld the icy look on Cassian’s face. Azriel added, “It’s dangerous to leave him with Briallyn, considering all he knows about us.”

“Since when do you give a fuck about Eris? Let him die.” He knew Cassian’s temper was riding a dangerous edge. Azriel said nothing as panic swirled through him. He looked at Rhys, let him see some of the urgency in his eyes. He was the only one who could truly make Cassian obey, and they were wasting precious time.

“You will help Azriel retrieve Eris, Cassian. He’s right, there’s nothing we can do for Nesta right now.” The words were laced with dominant command. Cassian growled but didn’t argue further.

***

They sat on their asses for two days waiting for Eris to emerge from the castle. Azriel tortured himself with thoughts of what might be happening to Eris inside the fortress, though he suspected deep down that Eris was likely not Briallyn’s intended target.

A loud sound drew his attention and he elbowed Cassian and nodded towards the opening gate of the castle. And surely enough, a hunched figure rode out on a black horse, surrounded by several guards, with Eris following closely behind them. There were six guards at his back as well.

Azriel and Cassian shot into the sky to avoid detection. They followed overhead for a time until the caravan was blocked from sight by the thick canopy of trees. Azriel jerked his head and Cassian swept left as he went right. They landed silently several dozen yards behind the group, hidden behind the thick trunks of the towering trees.

Azriel’s eyes locked onto the back of Eris’s head and he silently willed the male to turn around so he could see his face. He didn’t. Azriel cloaked himself in shadows and kept close on their trail. He could spy Cassian creeping from tree to tree across from him on silent feet. Azriel paused behind a particularly large oak and tried to figure out his next move. He could appear beside Eris and grab him, but he wasn’t sure what manner of weapons Briallyn bore. When he peered out from behind the tree, the entire group was gone. Azriel blinked in confusion. What—?

“Over here, shadowsinger,” Eris crooned.

Azriel stiffened as he felt a dagger press against his ribs from behind.

“Eris…” Azriel’s words were laced with violence. Had this all been a trap?

“I knew you were a lying bastard,” Cassian said through his clenched teeth as he stepped out from behind the tree a half dozen yards away. Cassian approached slowly, but he could do nothing more, not with the knife pointed into Azriel’s ribs. Azriel’s heart had iced over, and he let the cold flow through his veins, steadying him.

“I’m disappointed in Rhysand,” Eris said haughtily. “He’s become so bland these days. He didn’t even try to look into my mind.” The sneering derision had returned to his voice and it gave Azriel pause. Had it truly all been a ruse? The words, the secret touches? To what end?

“You can’t win this,” Cassian warned. “You’re a dead man walking. Have been for a long time.”

“Yes, yes, all that old business with the Morrigan. How boring of you to cling to it so.”

Azriel blinked. The Morrigan. Eris never referred to her like that. Cassian realized it at the same time.

“Let him go, Briallyn,” Cassian growled, scanning the dense woods. “Come play with us instead.”

A withered voice said closeby, “I’m already playing with you, Lord of Bastards.”

Azriel felt the Made dagger drop and didn’t wait a second before throwing his head back against Eris’s face. He heard the crack as his skull connected with bone, though Eris didn’t so much as wince at the pain.

Azriel whirled and lunged for Eris, grabbing him tightly and rocketing himself off the ground as fast as he could, leaving Cassian alone to fend for himself. Fuck. How had they screwed this up so badly? He couldn’t risk Koschei or Briallyn seeing the Made dagger at Eris’s side. That was why he had grabbed the male without a second thought. At least that’s what Azriel was telling himself. And he’d left Cassian there, alone. Fuck. His heart was pounding as he flew west as fast as his wings would carry them.

“Eris, what the fuck happened?” he shouted over the wind in his ears and scanned Eris’s face. The male didn’t respond. He had a dazed look on his face, like he’d been knocked over the head with something heavy. Blood poured from his nose where Azriel had clocked him. “Eris!” He shouted his name, but there was no recognition in his eyes. Azriel cursed and kept flying. When he could finally see the coast, he wrapped them both in shadows and winnowed them to the Moonstone Palace above Hewn City.

***

Azriel set Eris down and scanned him for injuries. He couldn’t see any obvious hurt aside from some minor bruising along his sharp jawline, and the nosebleed, which had already begun to slow.

Eris blinked rapidly and looked around the opulent guest room. His eyes landed on Azriel and widened in surprise.

“What…?” He glanced around, seemingly bewildered, “How…?” he trailed off. Eris brought his hand to his face and stared at the blood that came away on his fingers.

Azriel studied him, trying to determine if it was an act, or if the influence of the Crown had finally worn off. He appeared genuinely confused to find himself in the Night Court, but if this was all a ruse…if Eris had truly betrayed him, had lied to him, and Cassian wound up dead… Azriel unsheathed Truth Teller from his back and held it at his side as oily betrayal coursed through his veins. Eris paled at the sight of it and stepped back, hands raising slowly. “Whatever you think I did, I’m sure it’s merely a misunderstanding,” he said weakly. But Azriel was beyond words.

He had left Cassian, had left his brother, and had chosen to save Eris and flee. For all he knew Cassian was now dead. Truth Teller burned in his grip as he let himself sink into the icy pit of hate deep within him. Mostly hatred for himself, for being such a fool, for letting his emotions cloud his judgment. Eris blanched at the look he beheld on Azriel’s face.

Before Azriel could act, Rhys winnowed in beside him with a loud crack. Eris jolted at the sound and the High Lord now standing before him. Rhysand’s face was brutal, the true ruler of the Court of Nightmares, and darkness swirled around him like smoke.

“What. Happened?” Rhys snarled viciously, echoing Azriel’s question. His voice was laced with cold fury. He turned to Azriel, “Where’s Cassian?”

Azriel opened his mind to Rhys instead of speaking, afraid of what might spill out of his mouth. Rhys stiffened as he watched it play out, and then he turned his wrath on Eris. Azriel could tell he was shredding through his mental shields when Eris flinched and recoiled at the intrusion. Azriel took an accidental half step towards Eris and Rhys shifted his eyes towards him in question.

It was over in seconds. Rhys relaxed slightly and blew out a deep breath, rubbing his hands over his face and through his hair.

“He doesn’t know anything. The dagger didn’t protect against influence from the Crown the way we expected. The soldiers she had in her thrall grabbed him from Autumn,” Rhys said to Azriel, warily. Azriel resheathed his blade, already feeling guilty for having drawn it in the first place. His head was dizzy with relief.

Rhys looked back at Eris, the fury now gone, and said, “I had to be sure you hadn’t betrayed us. I apologize for the mental assault.” Rhys sounded tired and miserable. “You are to remain here until we come back,” he added firmly. Eris seemed too stunned to speak. Perhaps Azriel had hit him too hard?

“But Cassian—” Azriel started but Rhys interrupted.

“Azriel. It’s Feyre. I need you.” His voice broke on the last words. The despair and fear in his voice had icy dread pooling in Azriel’s stomach. He nodded once and Rhys winnowed away. Azriel turned to Eris, who looked so dreadfully confused that Azriel’s heart squeezed painfully.

“Just wait here, I’ll be back soon to explain everything.” His shadows swept him away before Eris could so much as nod his head in answer.

***

Azriel shuffled out of the room along with Cassian, Nesta, Elain, Mor and Amren and stepped out into the main hall of the river manor. They all collectively released sighs of relief. Feyre and Nyx were resting, with Rhys watching over them protectively. That they had almost lost all three of them…Azriel blew out another deep breath. Cassian clapped him on the back.

“They’re okay, Az.” Azriel was sure Cassian said it to reassure himself as well. Cassian followed after Nesta who had already begun walking down the hall. Azriel knew she was eager to see Gwyn and Emerie. She hadn’t discussed what had happened in the Rite, but from the distressed look on her face when Mor had asked, he knew it had been bad. She had saved Cassian, and yet she seemed more determined than ever to keep him at arm’s length.

He heard the front door slam a few seconds later. Amren nodded to Azriel and saw herself out as well. Elain smiled and muttered something about sitting in the garden and excused herself, leaving Azriel and Mor alone in the hall.

He and Mor walked quietly towards the front entryway of the manor. She sighed and playfully bumped his shoulder with her own. “You okay? I feel like I haven’t seen you in months.”

“I’m alright. Better now that Briallyn’s not our problem anymore.” He knew she wasn’t asking about his duties as spymaster, but he’d always had a hard time opening up to her. “And you? How’s Vallahan been treating you?” he asked. His mind was elsewhere, and he struggled to pay attention to her response.

“I’ll be glad to finally be back home for good soon. Politicking gets old quickly,” she smiled grimly. He grinned in return. “Want to get a drink at Rita’s?” she asked, sounding hopeful.

“I have to go deal with Eris. He’s locked in a room at the palace. Has been for two days now.” He scratched at the back of his neck, suddenly uncomfortable. He hadn’t seen or spoken to Mor for more than a few minutes since she’d returned from Vallahan to help Feyre. But now he found he didn’t know what to say to her.

Her face shadowed at the mention of Eris, but she snickered and said, “Well, what’s a few more days locked in a tower? I say let him suffer a bit.” She smiled conspiratorially at Azriel and he tried to mirror it, though he was sure it looked more like a grimace.

Rhys had told him to deal with Eris however he saw fit, and then quickly reminded Azriel not to damage their fragile alliance. Not that Azriel needed the reminder. His feelings towards Eris had changed. When he’d asked Rhys what, exactly, he wanted him to do, he’d just waved his hand dismissively, eyes focused on Feyre who held a sleeping Nyx in her arms.

“Another time?” he suggested, eager to leave. She was clearly disappointed but did her best to hide it as she nodded and smiled sadly. Azriel kissed her cheek and left, his mind already on the male waiting for him at the Moonstone Palace.

***

Azriel knocked twice on the door to the guest chambers Eris was residing in and entered without waiting for a response. As he closed the door behind him, Eris stood up quickly, the book he’d been reading discarded on the small table beside his chair. Azriel could see the anger simmering in Eris’s eyes. The blood was gone, though the bridge of his elegant nose was shadowed with a purple bruise.

“I was beginning to think you were going to let me rot here,” he sneered. Azriel rolled his eyes.

“It’s been less than two full days,” he sighed. He knew Eris had the right to be angry. He would feel the same if he’d had his memory tampered with and found himself a prisoner in a foreign court. “I’m sorry,” he amended, “the issue with Rhys couldn’t wait.”

Eris surprised him by asking, “Is Feyre well?”

“She’s fine. It’s a boy,” he smiled as he shared the news, “His name is Nyx. Mother and babe are both healthy.”

He briefly wondered if he should’ve kept the news to himself until checking with Rhys, but then Eris almost-smiled and replied, “Please extend my congratulations. I wish them all well.” The words sounded genuine. “Now will you tell me what the hell happened and why you’re holding me captive?” Sentimental moment over.

Azriel began with the meeting Eris hadn’t shown up to and continued from there. He explained each item of the Trove, and how Briallyn had used the Crown’s power to ensnare Eris’s soldiers, and then had used it on him to draw Cassian in. He told him of what they’d learned of Koschei’s power. He finished with a very brief explanation of how Nesta had killed Briallyn, but left out some details of the magnitude of her power.

When he finished, Eris sat back down in the chair. His face was pale and his eyes were distant. “Gods,” he rasped. He cleared his throat and sat in silence for several minutes. Azriel waited for him to gather his thoughts. “This Trove…you have all three items in your possession now?”

“Yes,” he said, “and they will be kept somewhere Koschei, or anyone else, can never access them.” He gave Eris a pointed look to indicate the anyone else he referred to was Beron.

“Good. That’s good,” he nodded to himself, looking relieved. “I truly don’t remember most of it. I can recall seeing some of my men who had gone missing. I tried to help them, but there was something wrong, like they didn’t know me…You could’ve informed me of the Crown,” he said, sounding frustrated.

“And risk you sharing that information with Beron? Not likely,” Azriel replied. It was the wrong thing to say. Eris went rigid, eyes burning with rage.

“Have I not done enough to prove myself to you and your ilk? Do I not risk my own life every time we meet? What more do you want from me?” he hissed at Azriel and the temperature in the room spiked with his temper. “You have no idea,” he snarled, “what I risk by allying with you. But I do it anyway, for the good of my people and your own.” Azriel already regretted the words. He hadn’t truly believed Eris would betray them to Beron, he’d just been echoing Rhys’s own thoughts on the matter. “Have you stopped to consider what I might face returning home now?”

He hadn’t. He cursed himself for not realizing the danger of Beron discovering Eris had been rescued by Rhys’s inner circle. “You’re right—” Azriel started.

“I’m leaving,” he growled as he shoved past Azriel and tried to exit the room. Azriel grabbed his arm before he could winnow out.

“Would you stop doing that? Eris, I didn’t mean it, okay? I had orders not to tell you about the Trove,” Azriel tried to make him understand that it wasn’t due to his own mistrust that he’d been left out of the loop. “Will Beron...will you be alright?” he asked lamely.

Eris glared at him and ignored the question, but beneath the anger, Azriel could see the fear in his eyes. Eris shrugged him off and slid past him. Azriel was quick on his heels, but when he stepped into the hall Eris was already gone.

***

Azriel cursed again as he slumped into the armchair in the corner of his apartment. He leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling, lost in thought. He always managed to say the wrong thing. All he’d been trying to do was make sure Eris was alright, that there hadn’t been any lingering injuries from Briallyn that he had not seen…he stewed silently, hating himself. He’d see Eris again soon, and then he would make it right. He’d force the male to listen. All of this winnowing away in the middle of a conversation was beginning to drive him mad.

Azriel tried to think of something else but as usual his thoughts were filled with nothing but Eris. He said a prayer to the Mother for his safety. He feared what Beron would do when he realized that Briallyn was dead—and that Eris had been involved in some way. That fear hounded him through the night and as the sun rose he finally gave up on sleep and flew to the river manor to speak with Rhys.

***

Azriel walked through the grand entryway of the estate and swept his shadows out around him. He sensed the three of them in the nursery. His steps were quiet down the hall, and Rhys came out to meet him, his shields alerting him to Azriel’s arrival. Rhys tilted his head to indicate they could speak in his office and Azriel followed silently behind him.

“I take it you set Eris free, so to speak?” Rhys asked as he sat down. Azriel nodded. Rhys sighed deeply. “I suppose we should check in with him soon. Beron is surely pissed that Briallyn is dead. We need to find out what his next move is,” Rhys said, tiredly. Indeed, there were dark circles under his eyes, likely from getting up with Nyx at all hours of the night. “Give it a week, and then contact him again.” Azriel hesitated before voicing his thoughts.

“He seemed…concerned that Beron would learn of our alliance, that we were the ones to rescue him,” Azriel said. He’d been far more than concerned, but he didn’t want Rhys to think he cared either way. Rhys nodded solemnly.

“He’s right to worry. There’s very little chance Beron won’t find out. The question now is whether or not Eris will spin this to his advantage and throw us to the wolves in the process.” Azriel tried and failed not to scowl at the implication. He’d suggested the same to Eris’s face, but he knew they should have more faith in him. “Don’t worry, if he did betray us I give you full permission to finally tear him apart,” Rhys said mildly, misreading the expression on Azriel’s face as anger at Eris. “Perhaps Beron already has.” He shrugged, seemingly unconcerned at the thought of Eris being brutally murdered by his own father. Azriel’s stomach plummeted and he stared at Rhys in horror. His brother was too exhausted to notice as he blinked blearily against the morning light shining through the large window.

“I’ll find out what he shared,” Azriel rasped. Rhys yawned, but then perked up and smiled widely.

“You’ll never guess what adorable thing Nyx did just last night,” Rhys began happily. Azriel sat in the chair before the desk and settled in to listen to Rhys gush over his newborn son. He tried to focus, to partake in Rhys’s joy, but his thoughts were consumed with worry for the red haired male he’d somehow grown to care for.

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