#I want to be at peace because my mind is in disarray

[heartoflesh]

I want out of this pain... I want out of this mental torture that suppresses my mind. I've wanted to die. How do you medically induce amnesia?

The only thing worth going through this pain is the gain of heaven some day.

[somejazzinthemorning]

snapshot.

Carlos Sainz x Reader [Warnings: overuse of pet names because i'm a romantic, masturbation, mentions of sex. not beta-d so sorry for typos or mistakes ] - Word Count: 1K

you capture a candid photo of your boyfriend sleeping. little do you know, this innocent act sparks some ideas in his mind.

(i needed to do something after i saw him in boyfriend mode taking photos of his girl. hope this is a good way to make my comeback. soon i'll post about the little break I took. love you all. hope you enjoy) 🫶🏼

The morning sun pours its golden rays through the curtains. You wake up with its gentle kiss. The warm glow envelops you, seeming to prickling your naked skin. You find yourself nestled in its embrace, entangled in a sleepy haze, locked in the limbo between dreams and wakefulness.

You sigh as you open your eyes.

The gentle glow of the light dances around you, creating a peaceful ambiance that centers on the man lying next to you. Carlos. His head rests on the pillow; hair falling in disarray over his forehead.

Owning the image before you, your eyes don’t shy away from taking in the whole scene—the slightly parted lips, the shadow of his long eyebrows, the naked chest rising and falling with the rhythm of his slow breaths. There’s a serene vulnerability about him in that morning light, a beauty that begs to be immortalized.

And you know you can’t trust your mind for that. You can’t afford to have time tarnish it.

So you shift in bed and reach for the nightstand where your phone rests, and you aim the camera at Carlos. For a second, it seems a crime to so casually steal that image of beauty and serenity with something as mundane as a touch on a screen. Beauty like that deserves more effort.

Carlos stirs slightly, a fragment of a smile playing on his lips as he mumbles, with his eyes still closed,

“What are you doing?” There’s drowsiness in his voice, laced with a hint of amusement.

“Nothing,” you whisper softly. “You just looked so pretty.”

He smirks and runs his hands over his face. “I should feel violated,” he teases, extending his hands towards you, “My turn, now.”

Handing him the phone, you watch him. His gaze shifts to you with a different glint. You’re sitting on your knees in bed, the sheets around your legs, and nothing but your hair covering your chest. Reclining in bed, he points the camera at you. Instinctively, you cover your chest with your hands, the modesty you still hold translated into something similar to a pose.

Carlos lets out a soft groan. “No, no,” he protests, “you can’t hide those from me.”

“You want a photo of my boobs?”

“Sí, to have it as a keepsake in my wallet.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes and giggle at the sight of him. The sleepy eyes. The messy hair. The ridiculously overly feminine case on your iPhone that looks absurdly small in his big hairy hands. And all of this bathed in the soft glow of morning light and the memories of last night when you loved each other to sleep... God, you feel so lucky to have found this man.

Tilting your head to the photo, a faint smile grazes your lips as your gaze lingers on him, disregarding the phone pointing at you.

“The hair,” he directs.

This time, without even noticing, you were already obeying. You sweep your hair back, leaving the strands to cascade down your back. The soft sound of the clicks locks this moment into eternity. Looking down, you see the streaks of light cutting through your chest, drawing parallel lines over your naked bosom. You pass your fingers over it. Click. You take a deep breath and look in the direction of the light. Click. Your arms stretch over your head, in a casual stretch like you've done any morning, without a camera aiming at you. Click.

When you look back at your boyfriend, he’s smirking.

A mischievous twinkle awakens in his eyes. He’s enjoying this. Probably way more than you.

You let your fingers rest over your lips. Click. And then they hover over your jawline and your neck, which is still sore and probably painted with small hickeys. Click. Patiently, they glide over the curves of your chest with a fatherly touch, a tease enough to make your skin erupt into goosebumps. Before you dare to touch yourself, you look up.

“Do you like this?” His voice cuts the silence. And God, it’s so much deeper than before. “Tell me, love. Do you like having me here… watching you?” You nod. “Go ahead then. Play with them.”

You obey his command, gently pressing your fingertips against the buds on your chest and grazing over your nipples. Without realizing it, you squeeze your legs together. Carlos probably notices it because he moves in his place. When you look up, his hand is cradling his cock over the blanket. The power of his words and the sight of his hand on his cock are enough to make your breath hitch. You intensify your touch, tracing circles around your nipples, feeling them harden under your touch. Click. Your eyes never leave him as you continue to play with yourself, knowing you're putting on a show for him. The thought sends shivers down your spine and makes you wetter than before.

His hand doesn’t move too much, almost like he’s saving himself for you. You can see the tension building in him, the way his muscles are tense and his jaw clenched. It's a game of self-control, and you both know it.

"Spread your legs," he commands in a low voice. You obey without hesitation, spreading your legs wider and giving him a full view of your body. Click. "Fuck," he mutters through gritted teeth. "I want to be inside you."

The mattress shifts, and as you look in his direction, you can see him crawl towards you. His eyes are dark with desire, and there’s a hunger in his gaze that makes your heart race. Reaching for your chest, he kisses the spot your fingers are still pinching. He circles his tongue around your hard nipple, making you shiver, as if an electric current is flowing between the both of you. You arch into his touch, wanting more.

And then his teeth graze over your chest, ever so slightly, before he bites into it, making you gasp and whimper. The combination of pleasure and pain has you gripping the sheets tightly as he continues to tease and torment your sensitive nipples.

His hot breath is fanning over your face as he looks down at you, panting and begging for more. A smirk plays on his lips, knowing he has you right where he wants you. “Such a good girl,” he praises, before leaning in to kiss you again. This time, his tongue is demanding and forceful, exploring every inch of your mouth. You moan into the kiss, your hands reaching up to tangle in his hair as you desperately try to deepen the connection.

His fingers trail down from your chest to your stomach and then lower, slipping between your legs. The other hand keeps holding the phone, registering it. You take a couple of seconds to notice it, but you’re shaking. Burning.

“You’re so wet for me, baby,” he growls, before abruptly pulling away from you and returning to his seat. Arousal is dripping down your thighs as you watch him recline against the headboard. “Go ahead. Touch yourself.”

The memory of his lips and teeth seem to feed your body and arousal. You’re burning. The feeling of the sun on your skin only feeds that feeling. A warm tingling spreads through your chest and down to your core. You slide your fingers down. And God, you’re truly wet. You didn’t realize how hot this little game had turned you. You push your knees further apart, which earns a satisfied groan from your boyfriend.

"Do you want a photo of that too?" he asks.

You nod eagerly, feeling the heat radiating off your body. Without losing eye contact with him, you slide your fingers down to your throbbing center, spreading your folds and teasing yourself with light touches. His eyes are dark and intense as he watches you pleasure yourself under his gaze.

"Fuck," he groans, snapping another photo of your hand between your legs. You moan at the sound of his voice. "I love watching you, baby. You look so pretty."

Carlos repositions the phone to make you be right at the center. It’s a masterpiece. Your body fits perfectly within the frame of the phone. Your skin taken by the streaks of light, golden sunshine gilding your naked body almost like blessing the pleasure you're implying on yourself. You’d later learn that you looked unreal in those photos—something pulled out of a painting, shadows and light in perfect harmony. But in that moment, you just felt needy and desperate.

"Can I move?" You ask, your voice shaking with need.

"You can do what the fuck you want, baby," Carlos replies, his eyes never leaving you as he slides out of bed. You feel a surge of confidence and power as you take his spot, spreading your legs wide.

Your fingers slide over your wet lips, teasing yourself with light touches. Carlos sits at the end of the bed, watching intently. The sunlight streaming through the window catches on your juices and they sparkle in the light.

Your eyes meet his, and he nods encouragingly. You let out a breathy moan as you start to move your fingers in circles over your clit. The pleasure builds quickly within you, and you hear Carlos let out a low growl.

You slide two fingers inside of yourself, the wetness making it easy for them to slip in. You let out a loud moan around your fingers, imagining they're Carlos' instead. The thought of him filling you up makes your walls clench around your fingers.

You can feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, but you want Carlos with you. "Carlos," you cry out his name, hoping he'll join in and take over where your fingers are currently working.

But he doesn't move from his spot at the end of the bed. He continues to watch you with dark eyes, his hand still hovering over his erection but not touching it.

You can see the longing in his gaze and it only fuels your desire further. You want him desperately, to be taken by him until all sense is lost.

You call out to him again, pleading for his presence and touch. You long for him. His hand tightens around his erection as he struggles to hold onto control. Your eyes lock with his, and he lets out a small laugh of helplessness.

"Use your words, baby," he grunts. "Tell me what you want."

"Please, come here."

"Not yet."

"Can I?... Please? Can I cum?"

"Yes. Go ahead. Give in for me."

You comply, arching your back and pushing your hips forward. Your fingers glide in and out of your body at a rapid pace, your breaths becoming shallow and erratic. Carlos' gaze never wavers from you, and the sound of his gentle moans fills the room.

Climax is imminent.

You can feel it building, a searing warmth spreading through your veins, threatening to consume you completely. You know you're on the edge, but you want to prolong this moment, revel in the pleasure of it all.

When you open your eyes, he's standing by your side. The camera is focused on your face, but his eyes? His eyes are fixed on yours. All his attention is on you.

"I'm—," you gasp, meeting his gaze, your voice barely audible. “I'm so close.”

“I know, my love,” he whispers. Click. “Let yourself go for me.”

As the words leave his lips, you feel yourself start to unravel. Your body trembles with ecstasy as your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave. You let out a guttural moan, your fingers still working their magic on your slick folds. It hits you like a wave, stealing your breath and lifting you higher, as you cry out his name and arch your back, almost like being pulled towards him by an invisible force. The camera continues to click as your body convulses, capturing every bit of your ecstasy, your face twisting into a mix of pain and pleasure.

As you come down from your high, you're aware of Carlos moving around the room. The bed dips slightly, and then he's beside you, his hand reaching out to touch your sweat-damp skin.

“Can you take me now?,” your voice low. “Please?”

Had this one in my mind all day so I just needed to sit down and write it down before it would vanish. I know I've been MIA, but I see all the support you keep giving me. You're all incredible. Hope you enjoyed this one silly thing. As always, all feedback is appreciated. 🫶

[cowboylu]

Pinot Noir

This is my first time writing smut I really don’t have a fucking clue what I’m doing lmao but if I stare at this any longer I’ll kms

Warnings- Smut, eating Abby out, drinking and Owen and Mel catching strays ig 🤷‍♀️

⟢

It didn’t start this way. You didn’t mean for it to go this far. Just an offhand comment about her boyfriend and suddenly…

You can’t say you’re complaining though.

You rake in the sight in front of you. Abigail Anderson, shirt unbuttoned, and head tilted back on the couch as she rests her elbows over the cushions. In one hand there’s an almost empty bottle of wine and the other is gripping the pillow. Her legs are spread and her hair is down and she’s rocking her aching clit into your hand and even though you’re sitting on the floor, you can’t help but feel like you’re on top of the world. Also that her boyfriend is an idiot.

⟢

It’s late at night when your roommate comes back from her shift at the bar. Pouring drinks for strangers must have exhausted her somehow because she ignores you where you’re sitting on the couch and storms into her room. You get the feeling it isn’t just her job, though.

“You okay?” You call through the apartment. Always the unceremonious.

You hear a slam from her room and figure if she wants you to leave her alone, she can tell you. You leave your glass of wine on the coffee table and walk to her room, knocking on the door before calling through it.

“Abs? You okay?”

Your relationship has always been rocky. Her intensity freaks you out and your laid back attitude annoys her. there’s arguments about you not taking the trash out on time and her working out too loud too early in the morning. But for the most part, respect and distance makes a large difference in the peacefulness of everything. Sometimes you even manage to get on. However, the teeny tiny crush you may or may not be harbouring doesn’t help.

“I’m fine.” She calls back but there’s another bang, as if she’s dropped something, and you’re unconvinced.

“Okay, that sounds like the opposite of fine. Can I come in?”

Before you can knock again, she swings the door open to reveal her braid undone and her dress shirt unbuttoned to her sternum. You try not to stare but it’s hard and part of you wants to savour it. Never have you seen her in such disarray.

“Abby, what’s wrong?” You ask earnestly as she wipes her tired eyes. “You look like shit.” Good shit. Beautiful shit, even, but shit nonetheless.

“Thanks.” She laughs sarcastically and turns to walk back into her room. She leaves the door open and you don’t encroach, but you do take the opportunity to look around the room you’ve never seen before.

Her bed is made and everything seems normal until you find the source of the loud noises. A broken handle from her closet lies on her bed and a weight lies on the floor, apparently having fallen from the small weight rack she keeps next to her mirror. The woman herself is trying to find a way to open her closet door without the handle. Very much to no avail.

“I just mean you seem stressed.” You try and she turns around from her place on the other side of the room.

“Oh, do I?” She asks sharply and slams her hand against the door when part of the broken handle nips her finger.

“Okay.” You stop her and walk into her room to grab her hand and lead her out of the door and to the couch. You find another glass in the kitchen but when you turn around, she’s already taking a sip from the bottle. You laugh and put the glass away when she looks at you like she’s been caught.

“You have your glass…” She says defensively. As if you even mind.

“I can’t lie, Abby. I would have thought you were classier than this.” You tease, to which she snorts, wipes her mouth and puts the bottle back on the table.

“You wanna tell me what’s wrong?” You ask, picking your glass up from the table and plopping down on the couch next to her.

This is unusual because yes, you’ve had moments like these before, it’s never been on the same couch. Or while making conversation. Normally, you drink and read on the couch while she does the same on the armchair across from you. Maybe you’ll sit in silence as something you’ve both wanted to see plays on the television. But neither of you are talkers.

“Ahh, it’s… it doesn’t matter, it’s a long story.” She says dismissively but you can tell that whatever's plaguing her is doing just that. Plaguing her.

“Look,” you start, not one for dancing around, “you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to but your stress is stressing me out and it’s making this wine taste like shit. I wanna listen if you wanna tell me.”

“This wine already tastes like shit.”

“That’s what you took from that?”

She groans and tips her head back on the couch and you have to try as hard as possible not to stare at the way the anatomy of her neck stretches with her.

“School is running me into the ground and my boss is on my ass about shit I can’t even control all the time and I haven’t gotten in the gym in so long and my boyfriend… ugh…” she rambles.

Makes sense, you think. Med school and working as a bartender all while trying to juggle fitness and a boyfriend…can’t be easy. Although you didn’t know about the last one.

“Boyfriend?” You ask shamelessly. “What about him?”

Abby sighs and reaches for the bottle of wine on the coffee table. She takes a generous sip before licking her lips and resting the bottle in between her legs. You have to take a drink of your own wine so as not to audibly moan at the sight.

“He got my best friend pregnant.”

Oh!

“Oh…” You try to think of something encouraging to say but you can’t. “So… he cheated on you with your best friend?”

“Not exactly. It’s complicated, we weren’t exactly together at the time and she-“ Abby stops herself and runs a hand down her face. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“No wonder…” you murmur and take the bottle from between her legs, pouring some into your glass before offering it back to her. “We don’t have to talk. We can watch something terrible or just sit here if you want.”

She nods and shifts on the sofa so she’s leaning back and manspreading. She looks beautiful, you think. Even if she is a bit of a dick. Her hair down and her shirt unbuttoned and she must be so stressed, she doesn’t care about being put together anymore.

You’ve always thought so but never lingered on it for fear of losing this apartment and her (albeit unsteady) friendship. Always thought she was beautiful. Always thought she was something to be admired. You’re just too proud of yourself to admit it.

“I just think it’s fucked up.” She breaks the silence. Apparently she does want to talk about it.

“Yeah?” You drawl lazily, leaning your elbow over the back of the couch.

“Yeah. We weren’t together but that was my best friend, y’know? Then he had the audacity to come back to me and say ‘oh we’ve been together for so long, why waste it?’ Like…dude?” She throws her hands up in the air in front of her and shifts back on the couch so she’s sitting up more.

“And did you take him back?” You ask.

“Yeah.” She admits after a moment of hesitation but apparently you don’t hide the look on your face as well as you think you do. “I know, god. I know. I don’t need a lecture.”

You put your hands up in surrender and laugh softly.

“I didn’t say anything.”

She rolls her eyes and smiles and it’s moments like these where you think you could see yourself falling in love with her. Or at least having a tragic situationship and never getting over it.

“I'm just saying. The sex must have been mind blowing for you to stay after that.” You tease but she lets out a sarcastic laugh and your mouth drops open.

“Are you serious? He does all that and he doesn’t even fuck you good?”

“Don’t be so vulgar about it.” She scrunches up her nose cutely

“There’s no other way to be. If he’s gonna cheat, he should at least be able to make you cum hard enough to forget about it.”

“He never made me cum at all, actually.” She admits.

“Oh dear god.” You say dramatically and stand from the couch. You’re gonna need another bottle of wine if you’re gonna make it out of this alive. “Like ever? He didn’t even try?”

“You’re making me feel really good about myself right now.” Abby says sarcastically as her eyes follow you around the apartment.

“It’s not you, it’s him.” You say, looking down at the bottle of wine that I’m currently struggling to get the cork out of. “And if he never wanted to make a woman like you cum, then…”

Abby’s eyebrow lifts and her head tilts as a little smirk appears on her face.

“A woman like me?” She asks with a curious little smile, sitting back as she watches you pop the cork out of the bottle. “What does that mean?”

“What do you mean, ‘what do you mean’? It means what it means.” You counter, walking back over to the couch as Abby drains the last of the old wine bottle. You sit down and don’t bother filling up your glass, only taking a drink out of the new bottle before passing it to her.

“But what does that mean?” She says, with that cocky smirk that makes you want to drop your pants for her.

“Just that if he didn’t care about making his girl cum, then he’s a piece of shit.” You say before taking the bottle Abby had held out for you.

“You say it like it’s easy.” She scoffs.

“It is easy.” You retort before passing the bottle back to her. “You just have to pay attention.”

“You think you could do it to me?”

⟢

And that's how you got here. Holding Abby’s leg up as you devour her cunt and moaning every time she tugs on your hair.

“Oh fuck…please…” She moans breathlessly. You’re not even sure what she’s begging for.

Loud. Just like you imagined.

“Y’taste so good.” You mumble into her soaked folds but she pushes your head back into her and you laugh softly. The vibration makes her hips buck and you wrap an arm around her thigh to try and hold her down.

“Fuck— fu-ck…shit, m’gonna cum.” She whispers, quickly like she can’t get the words out fast enough.

“Mhm, cum on m’face.” Her hand pushes your head down as she fucks herself on your face and you moan against her pretty cunt.

She whines before she cums, a sound you’ve never imagined she’d make, but you want to hear that sound for the rest of your life. Make her cum so hard that she forgets all about her stupid fucking boyfriend.

Abby rides out her orgasm on your tongue and you look up at her with borderline predatory eyes. She pushes your sweaty hair out of your forehead and tips her head back on the couch.

You push her unbuttoned shirt off her stomach, revealing her waist and her pretty tits as you kiss up her abs and chest.

“Better than your boyfriend?”

“Fuck you.” She laughs before pulling you into a kiss.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

the girl next door 18

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, manipulation, chronic illness, noncon/dubcon, coercion, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: A new neighbour moves in and upends your already disarrayed life.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself.

This lewk but silverfox

“You know, sweetie, I was thinking,” Steve stacks the plates and gathers the utensils, “if you’re going to take those pills, I don’t think you should be alone.” 

You blink and sit up, rubbing your neck. You’re not a good liar. You weren’t planning on taking them. You were just going to go home and lay down but he keeps bringing it up. Maybe he’s suspicious. 

“Oh, I think I’ll be okay--” 

“Look, honey, your mom’s already in the hospital. I’d hate to see you in there with her. For my peace of mind, will you stay? Just for the night. That way we can head out bright and early to get mom,” he suggests. 

“Well...” you trail off, staring at the wall. 

He’s being pushy but for good reason. He’s looking out for you. You’re the one going against doctor’s orders and why? Because it’s embarrassing to think it’s that bad. Depressed? No, just pathetic. 

“Here, you can borrow some of my clothes,” his voice muffles as he goes into the kitchen and the plates clink in the sink. He reappears and grabs the boxes from the table, wiggling free on and peeling the flap open, “take a shower and relax. You need a good night’s sleep.” 

He pulls out the insert then reaches for the doctor’s note. He pops out a tablet and holds it out to you, “says you might get lightheaded. Let me know if you need anything, okay?” 

“I... It’s okay. I’ll go home to...” you bat your lashes at him and give up. He’s just as hard to argue with as your mother, although in a much different way. Your mom is stubborn and mean, but he’s concerned and you’re the one being obstinate. “Okay.” 

You take the pill and stare at it. It’s so small. You probably won’t feel a thing. You shrug and grab your glass of water and swig it down, tossing the tablet in your mouth before you swallow. You gulp thickly and set down the glass. 

“Right, let me get you something to sleep in. And a towel,” he says as he claps his hands. 

You nod and stay at the table as he strides off. You look down at your lap, thumbs twiddling around each other. As nice as he is, you’re starting to feel like just another burden. 

Before you can sink too far into self-pity, you make yourself get up. You take your glass and carry it into the kitchen. You flip on the faucet and dump what’s left of the water. You rinse out the glass and place it in the rack of the dishwasher. You do the plates next, then the cutlery. As you close the door and it clicks, you’re startled by the shadow to your left. 

Where the counter extends, Steve stands on the other side. You blanch and fold your hands over your chest. You show your teeth sheepishly. 

“You didn’t have to do all that,” he smiles. “You’re a guest.” 

“I... I wanted to help,” you say, “um, but... I don’t know how to turn it on.” 

“Leave that to me. I put the stuff in the bathroom for you. If you feel like it, you can have a bath. Help chase away the stressful day,” he offers. 

“Shower’s fine,” you drop your arms and raises your shoulders, trying to make yourself smaller, “thanks.” 

“No problem, sweetie,” he comes around the counter as you go to move in the opposite direction. You nearly collide and press yourself against the drawers as he grazes past you with and apology, “just... gonna finish up.” 

He presses a button on the dishwasher door and you flit away. His cologne clings in your nostrils as his warmth lingers around you. Too close. 

You go upstairs and shut yourself in the bathroom. It’s a little bit of solace. It’s not much but it’s space for yourself. You see the towel hung from the rack and the clothes folded on the counter. The tee shirt is grayish blue and the shorts are drawstring and stretchy.  

You twist and turn the faucet, water running into the sharp-cornered tub but you can’t figure out how to get the showerhead going. You turn the water off then on. Off and on. What the heck? 

“You okay in there, sweetie?” Steve calls through the door as friction rubs against the outside. 

“Um, yeah,” you shut off the tub and back up. You go to the door and flick the lock back, opening it just a little. “How... I can’t get the shower...” your words jumble up with your embarrassment. How stupid. You can’t even figure that out. 

“No problem,” he steps in and you back up. 

He goes to the tub and flips on the water, pulling out the lever until the water flows from above. You could smack yourself. Instead ,you thank him and hug yourself. He turns and winks at you, “all good. Anything else?” 

“No, I’m fine,” you assure him. 

He nods and marches back to the door, turning to tap on the edge of the door, “alright, sweetie.” 

He shuts the door and you go to lock it behind him. You retreat and slowly undress. The clothes you’ve been wearing since the night before are slightly musty with sweat and the stench of the hospital.

You step under the showerhead and let the temperature seep in. You lean your head back as it splashes down your chest. You stand with your eyes closed, your mind slowing and your eyelids scratchy. You feel your muscles slacken and sway just a little. 

Oof. You open your eyes and steady yourself. You look around and find a bottle of woodsy-scented soap. It’ll have to do. You won’t use too much, either. 

The steam forms a cloud around you. The humidity clogs in your nose and chest and swirls in your head. You’re dizzy as you slap a hand on the tile and turn off the faucet. 

You stagger out. The heat of the water fogs the mirror, further setting you off kilter. You pull on the shirt and shorts then collect your own clothes. You leave the towel on the rod and lean into the door as you unlock it. 

You trip out into the hall and wander along, for a moment, forgetting where you are. You enter the bedroom with the purple bedspread and dump the armful on the dresser. You stumble and sit on the edge of the bed. You slump onto your shoulder and your head lolls. You think the medicine is kicking in. 

You close your eyes and descend into the grey. It’s as if you’re floating on water, swaying and rolling with the tides. Not quite awake and not quite asleep. You hear yourself droning nonsensically. Snort and jerk but can’t break free of the heaviness. The world is moving around you but your eyelids won’t peel back. 

Your head pulses as you sink further and further down. Your subconscious is so deep it’s suffocating. The dim darkens to an endless void through which you hurtle down towards no bottom. The blackness unfurls before you, swallowing you up. 

You wake to the ceiling above you. There’s warmth against your side and a gentle breath brushing over your cheek. You groan and look over as the slumbering form next to you. You nearly scream at the sight of Steve but you don’t have the strength to do more than babble. 

Your arms shake as you sit up, your muscles sore and strained. You hold your head as you try to think straight. You shut your eyes again and urge yourself to wake up. It’s a nightmare. Some twisted dream. 

Your lashes flick up and you tilt your head to follow the yellow light seeping in between the curtains. It’s morning already. Your vision turns vivid and you’re certain you’re truly awake. But how did you end up here? 

“Sweetie,” Steve rasps groggily as he rolls onto his back, “you okay?” 

“Steve,” you look down at the tee shirt, drooping down one shoulder, “how... why am I in here?” 

“Hmm,” he rubs his forehead and opens his eyes, “you don’t remember?” 

“Remember?” 

“You came in here, saying you couldn’t sleep,” he lifts himself up, his chest bare as the blanket falls away, “you wouldn’t go back to bed so... I just let you stay. You seemed pretty out of it.” 

“I... I did?” You gurgle. 

“Must be the pills,” he rubs your back, “we can talk to the nurse again. Sweetie, are you okay?” 

You don’t understand. Why would you come in here? How can you not remember? 

“Nothing... happened?” 

He laughs, “sweetie, what would happen?” 

He stares at you and you grimace, shaking your head, “nothing. Nothing, I just... can’t remember.” 

“Hm,” he hums and his hand slides lower, stopping just above your bum before brushing back up, “just sleeping. That’s it.” 

[eff4freddie]

After She Left | Eight

Words: 4.5k

The morning after the night before breaks over you and Joel. You reach a breaking point of sorts. You do your best to mend bridges with Ellie, while a dangerous plot unfolds in Jackson.

Chapter warnings: Angst, mostly

A/N: Thank you for your support of this series, as always. Joel will soften up, he's just getting used to community and wanting someone again. We see a little more of his POV while we're also finding out a little more about what Shauna's planning. Or are we...

Seven | Series Masterlist | Nine

You woke with a start, a dream of your parents calling for you ripping you from sleep. You were in your bed, and you couldn’t remember getting there. You let your mind travel to the night before, with Joel’s head between your legs as he brought you to aching release. You remembered pulling him up your body, resting with his head on your belly as you ran your hands through his hair. He’d been a heavy warmth blanketing you. His weight on your body must have lulled you into sleep.

You glanced behind you. The pillows bore an indent, the blanket was in disarray. Did he carry you up here, tuck you in, lie down beside you? You only remember a feeling of contentment, of peace. You think you might have a faint memory of warm breath on the nape of your neck, of arms wrapped around your middle. You can’t be sure you’re not imagining it, your mind manufacturing it to keep you safe.

The sheets smell faintly of pine, and of citrus. But it could be that you carry the scent of him on your skin. But there’s something else now, something wafting up the stairs. You could swear it’s almost like…bacon. You wipe the sleep from your eyes.

Joel stands at your stove, breaking eggs into your skillet. Beside him he browns toast on the hob. Bacon spits fat in the pan on the other burner. He’s concentrating, making sure nothing burns. He hears you pull your rickety old chair out from the table, and stiffens, a tic in the muscles over his shoulder blades, a twitch of his forearm as he scrambles the eggs.

‘What’s cookin’ good lookin’?’ you asked, trying to make light of the situation, trying to settle the nerves in your belly.

‘Was never good at poachin’,’ he said to you, not turning around.

‘Always thought that was too fancy, just for show-offs,’ you consoled him. He huffed out a laugh.

‘Was surprised you had the bacon,’ he said. He turned the heat off the stove, assembling the breakfast on two plates. ‘Figured you for a vegetarian type.’

You weren’t sure if you should be offended. If it was a compliment. If he was calling you soft.

‘I was for a few weeks when I was 14,’ you conceded, and he smiled down at the plates in his hands.

‘What stopped ya?’

‘Mom took us to KFC for my sister’s birthday,’ you said, smiling at the memory. You’d gone on the insistence that you would only order fries, and had walked out of there with a 14 piece bucket. You weren’t as strong as you are now.

Joel put the bacon and eggs down in front of you, kicking out his chair and sitting beside you.

‘Clever woman,’ he said, and you grinned.

‘She knew me so well.’

You looked down at your plate. The bacon was perfect. You swallowed, a little ashamed that your mouth was watering.

‘Thank you,’ you said, and he smiled, seemingly genuinely pleased. Then his smile faltered a little, and you watched his face cloud over.

‘Figured I could try and be…I haven’t been good to ya.’ You wanted to disagree with him, wanted to brush away the feeling so that you wouldn’t have to deal with it, either. You bit down the urge to shy away from it. ‘S’just been so weird, all of this. I ain’t prepared for it.’

‘So, these are sorry eggs?’ you asked, smiling at him, but feeling your mouth tug down when he didn’t meet your gaze. He’d gone quiet, his face turning serious, apologetic.

‘Maybe they are. But mostly just didn’t want ya hungry.’

‘Joel…’ you said, and you trailed off, because he was looking at you with warmth in his eyes again, genuine affection, and it stopped your brain short.

You fell into a companionable silence, gazing at each other. The morning light caught some of the greys in his hair, making him look just a little rusted, a little ethereal. If cameras were still a thing you wanted one for this moment.

‘Things’ve been hard, and I know that I…I guess I tried to keep you out of it,’ he said.

You nodded, knowing this was the case. Having always known, because it was your first instinct, too.

‘Joel it’s hard to ignore that want to protect yourself,’ you said. You wanted to reach out and take his hand, warm it in yours for a second, because he was looking serious again, maybe even a little sad. He set his gaze on yours again, but you felt something heavy land with a thump in your chest. You wanted to hold onto the moment, freeze time for a second before he dropped whatever he was about to, and you couldn’t even as much as you longed for it.

He cleared his throat, and you felt yourself brace. 

‘Can’t do that again,’ he said, gesturing to your living room, to the scene of the crime. The eggs were growing cold, congealing on the plate.

Suddenly, it was really fucking early. Suddenly, you were tired.

‘Joel what the fuck?’ you asked, pushing your plate away and watching him wince. ‘You make me eggs so you can let me down easy?’

There was a pun in there, somewhere. Something about eggs over easy. You’d think of it later, and it would bring you no joy.

He put his fork down face up on the plate, the way your mom always used to hate when you did it. You fought the urge to reach over and set it correctly.

‘I’m trying to be kind about it,’ he said. ‘I ain’t been kind and I ain’t proud of it.’

‘You assume I want that to happen again,’ you said, trying to sound incredulous but hearing how tight your voice sounded, that it carried the jangle of your nerves. He looked at you, big brown eyes over saddled brows. There wasn’t any point pretending, but you wanted to, anyway.

‘Things are complicated with Shauna,’ he said, and you grimaced.

‘What was that last night?’ you asked, after a while. You knew what it was for you. You wanted to know if he would say it. That he wanted you. That it was something, even though he was now trying to choke the life out of it. That you weren’t imagining it. That he felt it, somewhere, too.

He lifted his hand and placed it gently down on yours, rubbing your knuckles with his thumb. His skin was rough on yours, but warm in the chill of the morning.

You realised you’d hit your limit. Finally, finally.

‘I think you should go, actually,’ you said, standing up from the table and carrying your untouched plate to the sink. Your tummy swirled. You weren’t sure if you’d ever be hungry again.

You wondered whether it was better to let him see you cry. You could head out the back door to the porch so that he wouldn’t see. Or you could spin around, stride out back to your bedroom, let him look at what he’d done to you. You stood, paralysed with indecision, your back to him. You heard him let out a long sigh.

‘Teach, I…’

‘Don’t,’ you said, and you were starting to choke up, knew that pretty soon you weren’t going to have a choice at all.

‘Will you still teach Ellie?’ he asked, and you felt a little flare of fury just below your ribcage.

‘So long as you can keep your tongue out of my cunt.’

For a long moment there was no movement at all in your kitchen. You weren’t sure either of you took in a single breath. You knew when you weren’t so angry you would regret it, but in that moment, you just couldn’t bring yourself to.

You heard his steps as he retreated down the hall and out the front door. You weren’t sure how you’d even begin to explain yourself to Rose.

--

Joel didn’t see you for days. When you didn’t show for your Sunday shift on the wall he spoke to Billy, tried to act casual about it, but couldn’t hide the way his face fell when Billy informed him you’d asked for a few weeks off.

He wanted to tell you that he’d realised the eggs were a mistake, borne out of shame and a sleep deprivation, that he’d spent the whole night awake after he carried you, snoring softly into his neck, up to your bed. That he’d held you as your eyes fluttered in dreams, thought back to all the awful shit he’d said to ya, to the way he’d shut you down when you’d asked him about Sarah, about Shauna. He’d not been able to stand the idea that all of that poison, all of that darkness, could cloud over your sun. He’d wanted it as clean and as uncomplicated as you could get at the end of the world. Hearing her name in your mouth had twisted something in him, something ugly and snarling and wrong. He didn’t have a name for it. But he let it take the wheel.

But then even as he’d held you he’d found himself thinking of Shauna, tucked up in the half-dark in Tommy’s garage. Felt the pull in his gut carrying him back twenty years. He had been, maybe still even was, her husband. All of the feelings were gone, he knew that, but also knew it wasn’t just about that, that he had a responsibility to her, that she had given him his little girl. Maybe she’d been right when she’d said she was still a Miller. Technically, at least.

Joel had been mean to you, dismissive and hard, and he owed you better but he owed the same to Shauna. He had owed it to her since he was 22, since his little girl emerged screaming into the world, and then later, when she slipped out of it.

You didn’t give up on family. You kept going. For family.

So it was that he took the sounds of your gasps and the feel of your hands in his hair, of the soft swell of your skin on his cheek as he rested his head on your belly, the heat of your body as he held you against him, took them and wrapped them up in newspaper and string, stored them in the attic of his mind, behind boxes of old clothing and Sarah’s soccer trophies, behind the hopes he ever had for himself, for something like a future with you.

Shauna was saying something to him, and he tuned back in just in time to make it look like he’d been listening the whole time.

‘Don’t you agree?’ she asked him, and he hummed a little as if he was thinking about it. She had brought the map over and spread it out over his kitchen table, her marker in her hand as she drew lines across the border of the wall. ‘We could go all the way up to the base of the mountain, but there’s no point doing that, because there’s no extra resources there. If we head west towards the planes we’ve got a better chance of…’

‘Mountains bring shelter, bring protection,’ Joel said, scratching at his beard. ‘People can’t come over ‘em without us knowing.’

‘But there’s no advantage, no gaining ground.’

‘The advantage is safety,’ Joel reminded her, feeling a little irritated by her tone. He wasn’t even sure why she was telling him all this, anyway.

‘West by the river means…’

‘Means people travelling in from the water, and on foot. Means trying to protect a whole other side of the town.’

‘Joel, you’re not thinking strategic.’

‘I am thinking of the men and women in this town, and the children, Shauna, who need protecting.’

He wasn’t sure why he put such a heavy emphasis on children. He had a suspicion.

‘Steve and Wren think that this is the right…’

‘Don’t give a rat’s shit what Steve and Wren think, and neither will Town Council.’

‘They’ve got some good ideas.’

‘Maybe so, but they ain’t been here more than thirty seconds.’

‘So, we have to squander the advantage until they’ve done their time?’

‘Why are we even havin’ this conversation, Shauna? You know I ain’t on council.’

Shauna stared at him for a moment, her jaw clenched as she thought. She was frustrated, Joel could see it all over her face, in the way she was hunched over the table, up on her elbows with her hair trailing over the map.

‘I thought you’d come and vouch for me, for this,’ she said, gesturing again to the western end of the river. Joel scoffed, then realised she was serious. He shifted in his chair.

‘Ain’t my battle,’ he said, and watched as she straightened up, crossing her arms over her chest. He braced himself for the fight. Some things, even twenty-five years gone, never changed.

‘When did you get so…passive?’ she asked, spitting it at him, hoping it would rankle him like it used to.

‘Got old, Shauna. So did you,’ he answered back, simply. He watched her breathe hard and fast through her nose. He almost remembered when he thought it was cute. When they were both a little younger, and he was a lot dumber.

‘Joel, you don’t realise how much of a leader you are. People follow you, they always have.’

‘I ain’t fixin’ to lead anyone anywhere,’ he said, and she sighed.

‘That’s exactly my point! You could, but you don’t. Joel, you could really help people…Tommy looks up to you, and then he can get in Maria’s ear…’

‘Oh, I’m your attack dog, huh?’ he said, standing. ‘You just point and tell me where to shoot?’

Shauna backed back a little, and he watched as she recalibrated. She put her hands up, holding her head down in supplication.

‘OK, Joel, m’sorry,’ she started, but Joel was tired, and he was still wondering if you were ever going to speak to him again, if he’d ever be able to eat eggs and bacon with a clear conscience.

‘You go and speak to Town Council, you do whatever you gotta do, I don’t care,’ he said, moving towards the door but stopping short when Shauna got in front of him.

‘M’just trying to do what’s right for the community,’ she said, and he studied her for a second. He could see the way she used to charm him, how it might have worked back in the day, but bits of him were sealed off tight now, welded shut from the loss and the terrors in the dark. He didn’t want her in his house anymore.

‘Go, Shauna,’ he said, quietly. He watched her eyes travel to his mouth, her lips parting slightly as she gasped a little. When they were kids she used to like it when he bossed her around a little. If he was honest with himself, and he rarely was, he liked doing it.

He watched her eyes study him for a second, cataloguing his skin.

‘Joel…’ she started, taking a step forward, and he held his hand up to brace against her.

‘Go,’ he said, and meant it. Meant it as he remembered the heat of your skin under his hands, the way your cunt glistened for him as he spread you out on the couch, your little snuffled snores as he held you safe between your sheets. Meant it as he sent you away, pushed you back, the crash of two worlds too cacophonous even for his half-deaf ears.

She took a step back again, then another, until she was hovering by the kitchen door.

‘Will you at least come to the meeting?’ she asked.

‘Ain’t a member, Shauna, ain’t no place for me there.’

‘You could come with me, though, I mean. You don’t have to present alongside me, just…be there for moral support, I guess.’

He didn’t have to think hard.

‘Go fight ya battles, Shauna,’ he said. ‘You picked ‘em, you fight ‘em.’

--

Ellie had the wisdom not to expect that you would come to their place for tutoring, and so she took to hanging back with at the end of the school day, straightening chairs and helping you wipe the board clean, until you walked together back down the path to your house. You were surprised by how much you wanted to make it up to her, having nearly abandoned her, wondering what you were thinking throwing away your friendship with her over grumpy pants Joel. Gorgeous, grumpy, mercurial Joel.

You knew she was smart enough to know that something had happened, maybe that something had changed. If she’d asked you, you wouldn’t have been able to put it into words. Just that you knew you needed to keep your distance, properly and actually, this time. That Joel hadn’t come knocking again any night since that morning in your kitchen, and that actually if he had you probably wouldn’t let him in.

‘It’s coming up on summer,’ Ellie said, as she walked beside you. The sun was warm, still putting out heat despite the relatively late hour of the afternoon, and you were starting to feel sweat stick your shirt to the back of your neck.

Summer was a tricky thing in an apocalypse. Even up in the mountains the sun could be trouble, the heat sneaking up on the older folks and the children, sunburn a genuine issue now that all the SPF had long expired. Everyone wore long shirts and just suffered through the heat regardless. In July the town almost stopped at lunchtime, the residents resorting to keeping to the relative comfort of indoors.

‘Been wondering what I’ll do,’ she said, and you nodded at her, lost in thought.

‘With your time off, you mean?’

‘Summer break,’ she said. You weren’t sure why but you had wanted to maintain the tradition, even if it was just so that you could take some time off from the kids for a while. It felt unnatural to be teaching in the middle of summer, when the kids stared out the window at the breeze in the trees and dreamt of plunging into the river. You had only tried it one year, the first year you opened the little school, and you had made it three weeks into June before you gave up and told the kids not to come back ‘til the leaves turned.

‘What would you like to do?’ you asked, and she shrugged.

‘Been a while since I got out of the walls,’ she said, and you laughed a little.

‘Ellie, there’s no way on Earth Joel will let you daytrip out there. It’s not safe.’

‘Maybe it’s not about him letting me,’ she said, and you smiled indulgently at her.

‘It is, though, at least for another few years.’ She went quiet, considering this. ‘What about the stables? How are you with horses?’

‘That new guy is down there most days,’ she said, and this was enough explanation.

‘Mmm,’ you hummed in agreement. ‘What’s Dina planning?’

You tried not to smile as you saw the pink spread across Ellie’s cheeks.

‘Uhhh…’ she stuttered, as you arrived at your front gate. You let her off the hook.

‘Ok, time for some more work,’ you said, and she rolled her eyes.

You had been worried that it would feel different. That being at your place, that having tried to break away from your tutoring with her just to give yourself some space from Joel, that Ellie knew he’d had to come asking, that she would be hurt or resentful or not want to see you anymore off her own bat. But you realised the more you got to know her Ellie was both blessed and cursed with low expectations. She’d been let down, hurt, enough times that it didn’t seem to make a dint anymore. You hated it for her, even if you admired the resilience it bestowed upon her.

‘We doing trigeography?’ she asked.

‘Trig…onometry,’ you clarified.

‘Whatever,’ she said. ‘It’s math.’

You set her up at your kitchen table, thinking for a moment about all the moments you’d shared with this girl in similar domestic settings. You supposed there was a comfort to it, a warmth.

‘Joels’ quiet,’ Ellie volunteered, as she fought every cell in her body to care about finding x.

‘Oh?’ you said, and you wondered how you could tell her you didn’t want to talk about it without making her feel shut down.

‘Mmhmm, kind of…not grumpy? It’s weird.’

‘That doesn’t sound like him, that’s true,’ you said, grinning a little.

‘Like he doesn’t even have the energy to be grumpy, he’s just…blah.’

You wanted to say you knew the feeling well, wanted to ask her for more details, figure out if he was missing you because fuck knows he would never actually say it out loud.

‘Is it over?’ she asked, and she was so small, then, quiet and staring down at her paper because you realised she was too nervous to look up.

‘I…’ you considered lying to her, considered pretending there was nothing to even be over. But you knew she was smarter than that, knew that she knew you well enough now that she could tell when you were lying. ‘I think it might be,’ you said, after a while. ‘I don’t know that it really ever got the oxygen it needed, but I think now it definitely won’t.’

‘Because of Shauna,’ Ellie clarified, and you kind of shrugged. ‘I don’t trust her,’ she said.

‘I think…things changed for him when she arrived, but that’s not her fault,’ you supplied.

‘You’re too nice,’ Ellie said, calm but devastating in her honesty as always. You looked at her, properly, for the first time in a while.

‘You know, he’s never going to…just because she’s here and all those memories of Sarah…you’ll always be his daughter. You know that, right?’

She was scribbling circles in the margins of her workbook. She didn’t say yes or no. You knew you couldn’t promise anything, not with Joel so unpredictable, but you knew how much he loved her, how much he went through every day to keep her safe.

You thought for a second. No, you couldn’t promise her what Joel would or wouldn’t do. But you could do something better.

‘Ellie, look at me,’ you said, and she finally raised her eyes to yours, surprised by the seriousness of your tone. ‘You might be young but you and I, I feel like we click, right?’ you said, and you were relieved when she nodded at you, owlish eyes watching you carefully. ‘I know things were a bit wobbly before, and I’m so sorry about that, I really am. I need you to know I’m always going to care about you, and I will always be there if you need me, and I know Joel’s…Joel...so just know that I’m…me. And I’m here for you. I am.’

Ellie stared at you, unblinking for a second. You could see she was uncomfortable, that the sincerity wasn’t familiar to her. You shared the feeling, holding firm in the face of it for this teenage girl you suddenly realised you had more than an affinity with, that you had genuine affection for, too.

‘Ok,’ she said, eventually. You knew her well enough to know she was fighting off the urge to make a joke of it.

‘Ok,’ you said, a little relieved the moment was over. She went back to her paper, then snapped her gaze back to yours.

‘You wouldn’t lie to me, right?’ she asked you, and you shook your head.

‘No, of course not,’ you said. She considered this, studying you in that way she had. ‘Do you think I’ve lied to you about something?’ you asked.

‘No, not you,’ she said, plainly, finding x by taking out her marker and circling it right there on the page.

--

Joel didn’t much care for politics. He didn’t have the patience for it, always considered himself too impatient, too pragmatic. If there was something that needed doing he’d just do it, and he wasn’t all that fussed about how people felt about it. So it was that he admired Tommy, although Joel knew Maria had a lot to do with it. Even though he knew Shauna was giving him a run for his money, even though he knew she would persist with whatever the hell she wanted until she eventually got it, he admired the fortitude of his brother and his brother’s wife. His sister in law. Whatever you wanted to call it.

It was another warm night, and he sat out on his porch rocking gently in the breeze. Out here the light wasn’t too good, probably not good enough for whittling, and he told himself that was why he held the knife still in his hands, unable to think of what to make. Ellie was too old for this stuff now, and he knew that from when Sarah grew out of it. The first thing he’d ever whittled Sarah was a butterfly, a clumsy looking thing that she’d loved anyway, in that way little girls love anything their daddies make just for them, and she took out her paints and gave it colours over its wings, reds and purples and blues that caught the light when she put it on her dresser by the window.

Joel swallowed. He hadn’t thought about that butterfly in decades, but now he could feel the weight of it in palm clear as day, could see Sarah holding it aloft in the air as she ‘flew’ with it across the living room, up over the couch and towards the top of the dinner table until he caught her and pulled her back down.

He closed his eyes. He couldn’t do another butterfly. He just hoped you weren’t planning on teachin’ any insects for the next little while.

He heard footsteps approaching, and he set his knife down.

‘Joel…’ Shauna almost whimpered, and he closed his eyes, sighing a little while he enjoyed his last few seconds of peace.

‘Here,’ he called to her as she appeared at the top step, huffing a little, out of breath, and when she didn’t speak he looked at her, properly. He realised she was scared, eyes locked on his like she was pleading with him for somethin’. He felt a bolt up his spine.

‘What…?’ he asked, already standing from his chair, walking over to her and steadying her with his hands.

‘I don’t…I didn’t want to say anything,’ she said, ‘I didn’t think I should. I wasn’t sure.’

‘What are you talkin’ about?’

‘It’s just…you have to promise me, that if things go bad…that you’ll…that I can be safe with you, Joel, please.’

She was trembling, her face contorted in worry.

‘Tell me what’s goin’ on, then we can figure out who’s safe with who,’ he said.

‘Joel they’re planning an attack,’ she rushed out, her eyes wide and darting over his face. ‘Tonight maybe. Tomorrow, I’m not sure. Steve and Wren…they never wanted to expand just wanted the map of the place, made me get it for them. I had to, I didn’t think I could say no, not when…Joel, they’re dangerous men.’

He immediately thought of you, raising his head in the direction of your house as if he could smell danger curling its way down the street.

‘What are they planning, Shauna?’ he asked, and she swallowed, hard, tears forming in her eyes. ‘Explosion, the mess hall’ she said. It was nearing dinner, half the town would be there. He didn’t know where Ellie was, assumed she was with you, hoped to all the gods he could think of he was right. All he could think was get to his girls, get to his girls. Shauna was still talking, grasping at his arms now. He forced himself to concentrate. ‘The gas line, Joel. It’s above the street, and it runs right down the middle of the mess hall.’

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[shalomniscient]

hi! may i request nsfw hcs of shalom in a sundress? 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩

anon u r so galaxy brain for this............. licherally feeding my shalom delusions HLDSJHDLSJHD

(SUN)DRESS || shalom x reader [NSFT][MDNI]

cw. cunnilingus, praise, pet names (pretty girl), mentions of public sex, fingering, strap-ons, riding

notes. this takes place post-canon :) also features implied chief!reader, because i can’t really see shalom ever truly falling for anyone else (sorry rahu 😔😔) also this is more fic than hcs because i wasn’t sure what to write for hcs….. sorry anon 😭😭😭

Shalom doesn’t wear sundresses often, but God help you when she does. The dress is form fitting and loose in the best of places, and it makes her seem almost ethereal, like she walked right off the set of some whimsical romance movie.

She enjoys the breeziness of the dress, and the amount of movement it allows—both very useful for when she convinces you to fuck her while she’s wearing it.

More often than not, she won’t be wearing anything underneath, allowing you very easy access to her cunt whenever you please. You could even tug the neckline down, if you so pleased, to access her full breasts. All this culminates in Shalom often testing your self control when you’re in public. Sometimes you wonder if she really does want you to just hike her dress up ever so slightly and fingerfuck her until she sees stars in some mall bathroom or a less visited corner of a park.

She likes to keep it on even in the comfort of your own home, and you’re not complaining much. She looks like a fucking vision when she rides your strap, her pretty little dress flowing and fluttering with each movement. Or when she’s on her back, silky hair splayed on the bed lile a halo as you fuck into her, dress bunched around her hips so you can see the way her cunt swallows your strap.

All in all, between the two of you, a sundress has become an unspoken invitation for sex. It’s a little unorthodox, but that’s the name of the game in your relationship, so you very much don’t mind at all.

Shalom is a woman whose every move is calculated. You know this from experience. From every move she makes, to every word she speaks, nothing is without purpose. It is a remnant from her days as a HUSH—though you’ve ensured she’ll never return to that life, it is nonetheless difficult for her to completely abandon that way of life after having lived it for a torturous amount of years.

All of this is to say that, Shalom deciding to go commando in a sundress today was 100% something she planned, even if she smiles and tells you otherwise.

Shalom looks real fucking good in a sundress, and she knows it. The bodice cut of the dress just makes the hourglass of her figure even more prominent, the wide neckline showing off her collarbones and her ample chest, usually obscured in her loose blouse and bulky Paradeisos-issued jacket.

The dress itself is a pastel shade of wine-red, a little lighter than her hair. Thin spaghetti straps show off her shoulders, and God, that open back—really, it was quite the achievement you lasted as long as you did.

Shalom laughs airily as you pick her up by her thighs and press her against a wall of your home. You felt like you’d been tortured the entire morning on what was supposed to be a peaceful promenade around town on a lovely summer morning. Instead, the mere sight of her in that damned dress has left your thoughts in complete and utter disarray. Now that you’re back in the privacy of your own home though, you press hot, open mouthed kisses against the pale column of Shalom’s neck like a woman starved, while her legs wrap around your waist.

“Eager, aren’t we?” she teases, fingers winding in your hair as you kiss lower, tongue and teeth laving at her collarbones.

“Wanted you the moment you put this fucking dress on,” you rasp. “Almost couldn’t wait to get home.”

Shalom chuckles at that. “Poor little thing.” It turns into a pleased groan when your hands find the globes of her ass and squeeze appreciatively, your thumbs rubbing circles over the indent of her hips. You swallow all of her noises with a greedy, devouring kiss. Fuck, you just can’t get enough of her.

“Pretty girl,” you mutter, as your hands slip under her dress. “So fucking pretty, all for me, hm?”

“All for you,” Shalom breathes out readily, eyes blowing wide as she watches you sink to your knees. The floor is hard, but you can’t find it in yourself to care, not when you come face to face with her bare, dripping cunt. She holds the lower half of her dress up for you, letting it bunch around her hips as you dive in.

The first stripe you lick along her sweet cunt has her sighing in pleasure. Slim fingers wind tightly in your hair as she tugs you closer to her sex, your nose pressing against her stiff clit. One of your hands grips her thigh and throws it over your shoulder, giving you more access to her. Shalom moans, high and loud as you plunge your tongue into her waiting cunt, lapping up her slick right from her twitching hole.

You practically make-out with her pussy, the wet sounds of your tongue fucking in and out of echoing around the living room. You glance up at her, and blood rushes to your core when you note the flush in her cheeks and the way she bites her lower lip between her teeth. It inspires you to keep going, to make her shatter from pleasure, so you withdraw your tongue and replace them with two fingers instead, right to the knuckle.

Shalom cries out, a sound so beautiful you wish you could capture it and keep it forever. But you can’t, so you decide to just pull more of them from her lips. Her ankle digs into your back as her body tenses up, and you feel her cunt tighten around your fingers, even as you scissor and curl them just the way you know she likes.

“Gonna cum, sweetheart?” you ask softly, pressing kisses to her thighs. Her body trembles, and the fingers in your hair tighten.

“J-Just like that, my heart,” she says breathily, hips starting to jerk as she careens towards that high. “Oh, love, I’m—“

You take the oppurtunity to dive back in and wrap your lips around her poor, swollen clit and suck and that’s all it takes for her to cum all over your fingers with a loud cry, almost a scream. You replace your fingers with your tongue as you help her ride out her orgasm, not letting a single drop of her slick go to waste. You don’t stop until she’s pushing your head away, hips twitching from overstimulation.

At that, you rise to your feet, and she lets her dress fall back how it’s supposed to. The waist area is terribly crumpled, but neither of you really care. You place a hand on her waist as she catches her breath again, and you resist the urge to pepper more kisses along her flushed chest and neck. Shalom has always had a somewhat poor constitution, so breaks were necessary in between.

“I should wear sundresses more often,” she muses eventually, leaning her head against the wall and offering you a smug smirk. You roll your eyes, but what can you say when you played right into her hands?

[itstimetojellyfish]

Hi Jellyfish,

I just wanted to say I really liked the Argenti reader angst fic and I had brainworms because of it the entire day at work. I got an idea of how it follows up.

It goes like this: Boothill is not feeling well about the situation because Argenti played with readers feelings and betrayed them and he one hates betrayal ab two is scared that Argenti could grow tired of him aswell.

So he brings Argenti to go to reader to apologize.

When Argenti go's into their home he finds everything in disarray and the place covered in thorns, rose petals and ginko leaves and in the middle of all, reader who ia losing themselve to the mara (The rose petals are from the transformation aswell)

Yeah... that's as far as I got in my mind and I have been microwaving the idea in my head the entire day so I thought I'd share :>

Anyway do with that whatever you want and enjoy your day/night

Ahem . I LOVE THE GODDAMN PLOT YOUR WISH IS MY COMMAND.

Roses and bullets with a bit of Ginko( Argenti x reader x Boothill)

Link to the first part : I’ll wait for you

It’s been well over a month since the incident with you , Boothill , and Argenti happened. However it’s not exactly an easy argument to forget and move on from .

Something was bothering him ever since he saw your face , all pretty , and yet crying fat droplets of pure anguish and pain because of what Argenti said .

He’s never like betrayal from day one , the IPC betrayed their title , so called “peace makers” when all they’ve done was destroy planets including his own .

Something in him worms around whenever he remembers what happened , and it doesn’t exactly sit right with him how watery those pretty shinning eyes of yours were .

( it makes his stomach crawl even though he doesn’t exactly have a real one)

It bothers him how Argenti didn’t even look guilty, only disappointed, when the water slipped from your tear ducts . You fell to your knees and curled in as Argenti guided him out , he could’ve swore your eyes started to glow a warm amber .

It was like a dam broke in you , when he walked out he cast one last look at you and even though he couldn’t cry , it felt like he would’ve right then and there when he saw you sobbing your heart out and clutching your chest.

After that , it was just… like before , Argenti courting him and bringing him to places that Boothill likes .

But…

He’s … scared…

Scared that Argenti will get bored of him or is playing with his feelings and will eventually leave him heartbroken and empty just like how you felt .

So …

Boothill does what he’s best at , confronting people and making them pay .

But , since this is his lover , the worst that he’ll do is just make him apologize to you for playing with your feelings .

He could’ve just rejected you so you could heal faster but no! He accepted the offer and now Boothill feels like crap for making the knight fall in love with him!

So now he forces Argenti to your house and then knocks on the door with one hand while the other has a firm grip on the knights arm so he won’t run away.

Argenti just sighs and looks away into the flower field , consisting of red roses and white roses that you planted for him, they’re usually well maintained .

However , he notices that the roses haven’t been pruned and plucked yet , did you really resent him that much?

It’s been a minute now , no one has responded.

So Boothill does what he does best , break into building by using his gun or brute force , he kicked the door down and then said “ Hey lady! I brought rosey here to apologize.”

He then realized what bad shape the house was in , rose petals all over the place , vases shattered, bright yellow ginko leaves everywhere.

Argenti entered ,” Y/N I’m sorry but-“ He stared at what had become of your home .

Next thing you know your bedroom door is forced open as Boothill and Argenti look in terror as they see what has become of you .

“The Mara-struck…”Boothill makes a poor attempt at cursing before giving up and starting to raise his gun but before he can , Argenti stops him.

Your arms are covered in black , cracked open with roses and ginko leaves , a feature of the love you lost , you now suffer.

You can’t be saved anymore , the one you loved betrayed you .

They saw you squirm in pain and then….

Silence . You’re dead now .

Argenti and Boothill ran over to your position and saw , you died in between the process.

You’re gone forever.

And it’s all because of them

[differentnerddiplomatopera]

Scene 4

O: “Dio. Tonight showed how incredibly stupid I am. How scared I am, how much of a coward I am.”

(Diomedes faintly snorts at Odysseus’s words)

O: “I-I have been foolish tonight. Instead of talking about something that was bothering me, I decided to betray you. Me. Us.”

D: “Oh, this is about you now?”

O: ”No-no. Well,yes. Betraying you broke me. It hurt my heart. You are part of my heart. And trying to hurt you was killing me.”

D: “You could always not try to kill me. Talking about the issue is an option.”

O: (with a huff) “I am intelligent, I never claimed to hold a massive amount of wisdom. I can be extremely dumb, especially when with you.”

D: “With me? So now I am the problem that drives your senses in disarray?

O: “Penelope is not here, so you will have to do, yes.”

D: ”Penelope? When did we get to her?“

O: “Oh by the gods, please don’t tell me that you are this dense.”

(Diomedes tightened his jaw at the comment)

D: “Carefully Odysseus. Choose your words carefully, lest the amount of admiration I hold for you turns into raw, pure hate.”

O: “Fine. Tonight, I tried to kill you because of the inadequacy I feel when with you. The fear I feel near your presence. I-“

D: “You think I would hurt you? So you got a head start to hurt me first.” ( Diomedes voice is desperately soft)

O: “Not physically. But what you do to my soul, my mind; I am unraveled around you. Weak, helpless, desperate and dying to be with you.

In war, in my position, that is a horrific thing to experience. I must keep my wits about me, but by the gods they are fleeting around you. So here. Here is the truth. I tried to kill you because the emotions and complex feelings I felt for you were getting to be too much. I tried to kill you because I was a coward. But not now. You deserve my bravery, my truest, most honest answer.”

(Diomedes hears his voice trembling. It brings him back to the Palamedes event, the raw honesty and horror of that night.)

Internal D: “ I don’t think so, I can’t handle the answer.”

D: “Odysseus, I think that-“

O: “No. Let me. Please let me.  You want me to be honest. I need to be honest. You deserve answers. To you, you mean so much to me, drives me a third out of my mind.

D: “A third. Interesting. Who are the other two? Who else drives you crazy into the grave?”

O: “My beloved Penelope and my darling Telemachus.”

D: (A nervous chuckle leaves his lips)  “Odysseus, I don’t count in that category. They are your loved ones, of course they are a part of your distraction and anguish. You miss them terribly. You love them unreservedly.”

O:…

D: “I told you not to lie to-“

O: “I did not lie. You are just not accepting of the truth. You know my tics and tells. You know if lies leave my lips. But not this time. This time only truth holds air in this room. So accept that and listen. You are in that part of my mind. In the same way I hold love for Penelope, is the same way I feel love for you.”

D: “Odysseus, I think this conversation is over. You may leave now, and we will forget this ever happened.”

(Odysseus notes the tremors in his voice, the tightening grip Diomedes has on his arms, so much his knuckles are turning a faint shade of white. Odysseus, however, cannot turn back now. Either the goddess is granting him a boon of bravery, or Diomedes and Odysseus switched places. But Odysseus cannot back down now. Not telling might just kill him.)

O: “Diomedes, when I am with you, I feel a sense of peace and slight terror. You are devastatingly beautiful and a wonder to behold.”

D: ”Odysseus, stop please.”

O:  “Hush Dio, quiet while I wax lyrical about you my dear. I might just die if I don’t tell you my truest feelings.”

(Odysseus steps closer to him, Diomedes' back still turned. But there is a mirror on the table Dio is leaning on. So even if the mirror is positioned in a way where Odysseus cannot see Diomedes face, Diomedes can still see his. He can see Odysseus.)

(Odysseus holds close to the honest truth, one of few truths that has kept Odysseus through this war. He is Telemachus’ father, he is hopelessly and reverently in love with Penelope, and Diomedes is no different, in no way exemplified from his love.)

O: “You are like the sun, my love. Big, bright and beautiful. You take up so much space. Please never stop taking up space, you never used to do that. Used to be a lingering shadow in the corner of the room. But now, you shine, and I can’t stop looking. No matter how I try I can’t stop looking.”

D: (A pathetic tiny noise leaves his mouth, a weak attempt to quiet Odysseus.)

D: “Please stop looking.”

O: “I can’t. I truly cannot. There is no thing in the mortal realm that is as magnificent as you.”

D: “Stop, please.”

O: “There is no force on earth as strong and as mighty as-as you.”

D: “Odysseus-I,”

O: “There are no words worthy of how I feel for you.”

D: “…what?”

[flowerandblood]

The Impossible Choice (38)

[ Aemond • Targaryen x Baratheon! • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, angst, smut, domination ]

[description: Aemond comes to Storm’s End to choose his future consort. However, Lord Borros Baratheon presents him with only four of his five daughters. Being attached to his youngest child, he does not want to marry her. The prince, however, thwarts his and her plans with his decision. This is slow burn, with a lot of dark angst and sexual tension. (Anon Request)]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

______

He could not fall asleep that night, but for the first time in his life not because of the nightmares, the war or his family. This time the reason was different, making him open his eye again as soon as he fell asleep, pressing his face against his wife's cheek, her naked back pressed against his chest, her legs entwined with his in disarray, her quiet, calm breathing the only sound in the tent.

I love you.

She said it aloud then and many more times afterwards as they made love, gently, slowly, tenderly. She knew he wanted to listen to those words endlessly − eventually he didn't even have to ask her to repeat them anymore − she mewled them in his ear as he rooted into her with slow, smooth thrusts of his hips, her hand stroking his hair.

He came inside her, panting with relief, feeling as if he were lighter, his chest filled with pure peace − he took his mind off what was happening around them and prayed to the gods that the night would last longer than usual, that the sun wouldn't rise, that he wouldn't have to tear himself away from her naked body.

He knew that with the next day − their world would collapse and everything around them would go up in flames.

Several times he fought with himself to whisper to her while she slept that he reciprocated her feelings, but he couldn't.

He was afraid that he would then cast some kind of curse on them, that until he said it aloud the gods did not know what he really felt and wouldn't take her away from him, thinking that she was not precious to him.

That he would succeed in deceiving them and destiny if he was destined to lose her.

He knew what it would mean to him.

The black, boundless abyss he had stood over before he flew to Storm's End and saw her.

He was dead and she was filled with life, quivering with uncertainty, feelings and emotions that he had drunk like nectar from her moist lips when he had stolen her first kiss so violently.

After that, he felt as if he had emerged from a watery depth and drew in deeply, the air painfully tearing at his lungs anew with life.

He was alive because she was alive.

He was living fire and she was like a rain that made sure that he didn't burn down along with everything around him, bringing him endless relief.

Fire and water.

He kissed her bare shoulder tenderly at that thought, his fingers massaging her lower abdomen where he held his hand, not letting go for a moment, in his mind protecting her and their child in this way.

Everything he wanted was in his arms.

Despite his prayers, morning came, and just after dawn a servant stepped into their tent, bowing shyly, not daring to look at their naked bodies − his wife covered herself quickly with the furs lying around them, ashamed of her scars. He stood up with a murmur of displeasure, putting on his breeches quickly, asking what was the matter.

"We have received a message from the Eyrie, Your Grace." Said the young boy and approached him without lifting his eyes, holding out his hand in front of him with a small note rolled up. He took it at once and unrolled the letter, reading it with rapidly beating heart.

According to the will of Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, the rightful heir to the Iron Throne will remain Jacaerys Velaryon as her first-born son and successor.

War then, he thought, tightening his lips, shredding the letter into tiny pieces.

His wife looked at him uncertainly, furrowing her brow, covering her breasts and thighs with thick furs, breathing anxiously.

"Bring my armour." He said lowly, the servant nodded quickly and left their tent, leaving them alone.

"What does the message say?" She asked quietly. He pressed his lips together.

"There is no turning back now." He said coolly, glancing at her out the corner of his eye. She was sitting in front of him, her lips parted in worry, her eyes warm and shining.

He thought he wanted to do this with her.

He'd thought about it all night.

He planned it all in his head.

"Meet me at sunset on the hill by Vhagar's lair. Don't take anyone with you. Do you know where it is?" He asked, dressing quickly, his wife blinking, surprised.

"Yes… something has happened? What are you going to do?" She mumbled, clearly horrified by how it sounded, perhaps even thinking he was going to run away with her on Vhagar to Essos.

"We'll get married." He said matter-of-factly, tying his shirt. His wife swallowed loudly, not understanding completely what he meant, so she remained silent for a moment, looking at him with wide eyes.

"I… forgive me, I don't understand. We are married." She said quietly, as if she feared she had missed something.

"Not in the face of my gods." He said quietly, casting her a careful, proud look. "Not in the tradition of Old Valryia."

He saw her blush all over and tighten her lips, trying to suppress the smile that pressed itself onto her face. She lowered her gaze, playing with the material of the fur with her fingers.

"Oh."

"Mmm." He just hummed, deciding he didn't need to say anything more.

He wanted, before the fighting began in earnest, to marry her in a way worthy of his great-grandparents, a wedding of blood and fire, of pain and pleasure.

One they were not forced into, one they decided for themselves.

His manifestation of infinite love towards her, his fidelity and devotion.

Once he was in full armour he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, her maid was just braiding her hair. His wife was looking at her hands, a dreamy expression on her face, her cheeks red, her lips curved in a gentle, almost invisible smile.

He felt a squeeze in his throat that all this was happening now, when she was closer to him than anyone had ever been. He left the tent without even saying goodbye to her, feeling that he wouldn't be able to get any words out.

He wanted to head for the tent where they met for council, but decided he would do something else, and made his way to the tent where Borros Baratheon was staying. The man threw him a surprised look when he stepped inside, Royce paused his words in mid-sentence, rising from his chair. They were both wearing armour.

"What is it?" Borros asked coolly, sitting down behind his large wooden table, on which were strewn maps and pawns, showing the proportions of the two opposing armies.

He figured he'd pretended that he hadn't heard him skip the courtesy phrase.

"I would like to speak to you alone, Lord Baratheon." He said coldly, glancing out of the corner of his eye at Royce, who snorted loudly.

"How dare you…"

"That's enough." Said Lord Borros, spreading himself out comfortably in the big wooden chair, sighing impatiently. "Leave us alone."

Royce pressed his lips together, looking away, and after a moment got up reluctantly, going outside. They were left alone.

"I don't have much time. Tell me what you're coming with." He said indifferently, looking him straight in the eye − his earlier fury had passed, his army did not look at all like they were gathering to return.

As long as his daughter stayed with him, he could not return with a calm heart to Storm's End.

He pressed his lips together at the thought of what he wanted to say.

He'd had all night to think about it, and he felt he had to do it if he was to be sure of his fidelity.

"My mother treats my wife as her daughter, however, you do not treat me as your son." He said indifferently, looking away, embarrassed by his own words. Lord Baratheon chuckled loudly, shaking his head.

"And you do not treat me as a father should be treated. You have neither respect nor patience altogether. My daughter and son, unlike you, know when to speak and when to be silent. You are a spoilt pup, nothing more." He said in a low, throaty, frustrated voice, slamming his fist on his armrest.

Aemond looked at him with his jaw clenched, furious. He felt humiliated, but he also recognised with pain that his father had never spoken to him in this way.

He didn't give him advice.

He did not lead him.

He was not his role model.

Criston tried to do so, but who was he to have the audacity to replace his father?

Lord Baratheon, however, was his wife's father, and though he could neither read nor write, he held his army in an iron grip, his soldiers respected him and listened intently to his words, his experience and sense of war strategy impressed even Criston, who did not have the gall to defy his orders.

He, although well-read in matters of war, had only a theoretical understanding of it.

He was the only one he could trust in this respect and whether he wanted it or not, he needed his support.

He grinned at his last words, but his smile did not reach his eye. He hummed and looked somewhere to the side, thoughtful.

"That is what we are alike in, my Lord." He said mischievously, and Borros pressed his lips together, wrinkling his brow, breathing anxiously.

He wanted to say something, but he would not let him.

"I will not leave my brother. My wife will not leave me. You will not leave her. Support me with your experience."

Silence fell around them. Lord Baratheon sighed heavily, massaging his temple, his face pale and tired, his wrinkles even more visible than usual.

"How can you let her stay here knowing what threatens her?" He asked defiantly, lowering his hand, not looking at him but somewhere to the side. He snorted.

"You know better than I do, my Lord, that she can be persuasive when she wants to be." He said lowly, glancing up at him to check his reaction. Her father measured his face with a wary look, apparently wondering whether he should believe him or not.

Go on, he thought.

Ask me.

"Why did you take her away from me?" He asked after a moment of regret and pain, and he struggled to hide the smirk of satisfaction that coursed across his face. "My youngest child. The most innocent, inexperienced, not knowing life −"

"− that's why." He said menacingly, glancing at him, a twinkle in his eye from which Lord Baratheon moved uneasily in his seat.

"You wanted to give me trained maidens, speaking from memory what they had been taught, what would be considered to please me. Do you know that one of your daughters came to me at night to suck my cock? Knowing my wife, I'm sure she's already told you about it." He said, his lips stretched at last in a mocking grin − he saw Borros press his lips together, reddened with shame, looking away.

He had him.

He had him in his grasp.

"I could have let her do it, because why not? I've heard of your many bastard children scattered throughout the kingdom, so you must have let the ladies take care of you this way more than once as well. My brother would say it's a manly thing, lust." He said, walking slowly around the tent, speaking lightly, his hands clasped behind his back. He could see her father shrinking into himself with every word he said, without even looking at him.

"Does my wife realise that she has many more siblings? I heard you left one behind in Harrenhal. Perhaps I should seek him out?"

He watched with a heart burning with joy as her father shook his head, as if the very thought of his beloved child finding out his unpleasant secrets put him off. Borros clenched his hand into a fist, tightening his lips, his nostrils moving restlessly in rage, his face red with shame.

"That's enough." He hissed, and Aemond hummed under his breath, looking contentedly to the side, sighing heavily.

"My wife seems to have inherited respect for herself and her body from her mother, for I have never experienced greater fulfilment with any other woman." He said calmly, as if he were telling some ordinary story, her father's eyelids closed at his words.

"For her sake I will never disrespect you in public again. For her sake I won't say anything about how you like to fuck on the side instead of taking a second legitimate wife, spawning bastards all over the kingdom on every hunt you visit. I won't tell her that you are in some ways like my brother, whom you both abhor so much." He said with emphasis on the last sentence, looking at him menacingly.

It was a warning and he knew it.

Borros swallowed heavily and let the air out loudly, his breath ragged. He ran his hand over his forehead, droplets of sweat from stress on his face − they both turned towards the entrance when a servant stepped inside and announced that the war meeting had begun and everyone was waiting for them. He threw him a smirk over his shoulder and left first.

During the council, he revealed to the lords that there would be no peaceful resolution of the situation because his sister would not relinquish the crown and pay tribute to his brother. He ordered the servants to send a letter to his brother on the matter to prepare for total war.

"How is the Greyjoy case?" He asked, glancing at Criston, who grunted loudly.

"Your grandfather proposed a marriage between your brother Prince Dareon and Lord Greyjoy's granddaughter. Lord Greyjoy accepted the offer." He said, and he pressed his lips together, nodding with satisfaction.

Perfect, he thought.

They'll blockade them at sea, he and Vhagar, and after his brother arrives, Dareon too will patrol the skies. Jason Lannister grunted, glancing at the map, stepping from foot to foot.

"The usurper has more dragons than we do. What if they just burn us alive?" He asked, several people nodded at him with uncertainty. He tightened his lips.

"Only the dragons of Daemon, Rhaenys and Rhaenyra are big enough to pose any threat. Rhaenyra won't poke her nose out of the Vale, because if she dies, all will be lost. The most dangerous rider is Daemon, Rhaenys also flies perfectly. I don't think Daemon or Rhaenyra would choose to put their children and their baby dragons at risk of death." He said, placing some pawns on the map in front of him.

"However, my Lords, I am the rider of the greatest dragon in the world. If they come within range of Vhagar's maw, they will die. The Harrenhal incident is a lesson to us, our army must stick together, so that I can protect us from above and not let anyone get close." He said lowly, glancing around him. The men nodded their heads, speaking to each other.

He thought with a beating heart that he had convinced them and himself.

It wasn't impossible.

They had to be careful and use their slight advantage, but it could work.

Lord Borros grunted, moving a few pawns back.

"If there will be a battle, you must set out in front of the army, watching over it from above. A situation may arise in which several dragons attack Vhagar, and several smaller dragons move on our army, scattering it. What then?" He asked, looking at him expectantly, on his face still rage and embarrassment after their conversation. He hummed at his words.

"That will be the task of my brother, Dareon. As a last resort, to protect our army, my sister, Helaena, can also help us." He said, placing an additional pawns with a dragon's head on the map.

He did not want to involve her in the war, but if the situation forces them to do so there will be no way out.

"According to my will, the armies from the south and the Hightower army are heading towards us. In terms of the number of armies, the fighting will be even, but it is the Baratheon army that is the most experienced in battle, and this is our strength." He said, throwing his wife's father an impatient look, and Borros only nodded. Royce looked uncertainly at his father, then at him, sensing that something had happened between them, but said nothing.

He walked out of the tent after his armor was pulled off, feeling hopeful for the first time in month.

His chest was filled with pleasant warmth for another reason as well.

He asked one of the dragon guardians to bring the robes that he had ordered to prepare for them earlier. They were not the same ones that his ancestors wore, but they were similar enough. He told him what he wanted to do, and the man nodded with understanding.

The two of them moved through the woods toward the hill near where Vhagar rested. He saw from afar a small hooded figure walking at a safe distance from her − his dragoness had her head raised high, looking at her, but did not move an inch.

She sensed that she had carried child in her womb, he thought fondly.

His wife turned over her shoulder hearing their footsteps and threw off her hood from her head. She was wearing a beautiful, ornate gown, red and brown, the colors of his and her lineage.

The corner of his mouth lifted up at the thought that she would have to pull it all off.

"We need to change." He said to her softly, the orange warm rays of the setting sun framing her face. She blinked, looking at him questioningly.

He held out his hand to the man in whose company he had come, and he handed him the ceremonial robes, cream-colored and dyed partly red. The man turned away, giving them a theoretical sense of intimacy.

"Here? What is this?" She asked at the same time frightened and curious − he felt heat run through his body at the thought of what they were about to do.

"These are our wedding robes." He hummed low, and she looked at him with wide-open eyes. She took one of the soft materials from him gently, looking at him with her lips tightened, her cheeks red with excitement and joy.

"You have to help me." She whispered, glancing at him, and he murmured low and nodded.

Untying the sleeves of her gown and her bodice proved more difficult than they had both anticipated, so they struggled with it for a while. It didn't spoil their mood, however; they glanced at each other once in a while, looks of contentment filling their eyes.

When she was finally left in just her chemise, he helped her put on the robe, placing it on her body with solemnity, tying it around her waist with a wide, gold girdle. He glanced at her with satisfaction and murmured under his breath, seeing how noble his wife looked in an attire similar to what his ancestors once wore.

"Let your hair down." He said calmly, and she threw him a surprised look.

She pressed her lips together, apparently having worked long on her exquisite hairstyle of braids tied up in a bun, however it did not match the headdress he had brought for her. He helped her slide the pins out of her hair, leaving them on the grass, lowering strand by strand onto her shoulders.

Once her hair had fallen down her back, framing her face wonderfully, he untied a triangular crown made of delicate material, decorated on the sides with tiny beads one the thin strings, all trimmed with gold threads. His wife looked at the object as if enchanted, her lips parted in mute admiration.

"It's beautiful." She whispered.

"Mmm." He hummed, lifting the crown up, gently placing it over her head. He moved back to look at her in all her glory and felt a tightening in his throat at the sight of her.

She looked as if they had stepped back in time, the simplicity and nobility of her robes made her look like a goddess, as if the Maiden herself had descended from the heavens to marry the god of the underworld, death, mystery, the Stranger.

He felt lust at that thought, at the sight of her innocent, soft face, red with emotion, at the sight of her warm eyes filled to the brim with affection for him, at the sight of her dark hair around which bright beads shimmered.

His beloved, whom he was about to marry.

She extended her hand to him. He passed her his robes and began to slowly undress − this time it was she who helped him, putting the long robe over his shoulders. He looked at her focused, thoughtful face, and saw her glance at him once in a while, embarrassed.

As if they were not yet married.

As if he hadn't fucked her for several months.

She tied an ornate girdle around his waist, tying it in front, looking up at him at last, her lips slightly parted, her gaze hot, from which he felt his manhood pulsate hard under his robe. He touched his fingers to her face, unable to stop himself as her hand reached for the black ribbon in his hair, loosening the strands tied back.

He pulled his eye patch off his head and took her face in his hands. She swallowed loudly, looking at him expectantly.

"Do you know what this ceremony involves?" He asked lowly, and she shook her head, scared and excited at the same time, placing her hand on his, pressing her cheek against his soft skin.

He thought he felt like ripping the robes off her and just fucking her, but he tried to focus and chase those thoughts away.

"Do you trust me?" He asked quietly. She pressed her lips together and nodded.

He hummed with satisfaction and leaned over her, placing a tender kiss on her forehead. He pressed his nose to her cheek and began to speak quietly, as if he had just revealed some secret or mystery to her.

"The man who came with me will lead the entire ceremony. He has dagger made of dragon glass with him. We will cut each other's lips with them, and then the insides of our hands. The blood will flow from them into a goblet, from which we will both drink afterwards." He said, stroking her cheek reassuringly with his thumb, seeing how terrified she was by what he said.

"− do not fret −" He whispered and kissed her greedily, slipping his tongue between her puffy, moist lips, drawing her close to him, letting her feel how much he wanted her, how much he needed her.

He pulled away from her, his hand still holding her cheek, her gaze dreamy and hot, full of affection from which he was filled with desire.

"Will you do it for me?" He whispered, and she nodded.

They walked slowly toward the man who was already waiting for them, the cup in his hand − he took out dagger made of dragon glass, which he handed to her. His wife took the object from him with a trembling hand, looking at him uncertainly, beautiful, pulsing with life.

His.

His lips formed soundlessly into the words do not fret again. He saw her swallow silently as the man spoke in a low voice the sentences in the language of his ancestors, the language of Old Valyria.

He felt the pride and solemnity of this moment fill him, the fact that this time they were deciding their own destiny.

His wife, his goddess, his Maiden approached him slowly, uncertainly, grasping his cheek in her hand, terrified that she felt she was about to do him harm, to hurt him. He, however, wanted nothing more than to feel the blade on his skin, to have their blood mingle, to be forever marked by her.

To be hers.

He grasped her petite hand in his, lifting it up, parting his lips with her fingers and nodded, encouraging her to do what she was about to do. He closed his eye when he felt the blade cut into his fleshy skin, going down his lower lip, felt a burning pain and sticky blood spilling over his palate.

He opened his eye, his wife was looking at him mesmerized − her breathing was uneven, her lips parted, her eyes misty, full of lust and desire.

He thought that he would fuck her all night, that he would devour her and finally become one with her.

He took the blade from her, and she drew in the air quietly, frightened. He hushed her quietly, stroking her plump, rosy cheek with his hand, drawing her closer to him. He looked at her with a pounding heart as his thumb slid inside her mouth and tilted her lower lip, soft and lusciously wet.

She trembled all over as he ran the blade gently over her fleshy skin, creating a red line from which a drop of blood dripped a moment later.

"− my brave girl −" He whispered, grabbing her neck, pressing his forehead to hers, looking at her with awe and reverence, feeling that they were taking part in something sacred, solemn, dark and beautiful at the same time. He put the blade back between her fingers and extended the inside of his hand to her.

This time she didn't hesitate that long and with a simple, sure, gentle cut she slashed his skin. The man in front of them placed a cup under their arms as he took the blade from her, grasping her hand in his, cutting it as gently as he could. He heard her quiet hiss of discomfort.

"− shhh − just a little more −" He whispered tenderly, then grasped her cut hand in his and intertwined them together, their mingled blood flowing into the cup beneath them.

They both looked at the scene as if mesmerized, for some reason both breathing loudly − when the blood stopped flowing, the man lifted the goblet up, handing it to his wife first.

She reached for it with her healthy hand, and he saw that she held it with difficulty, her fingers trembling all over. She looked at him uncertainly, and then took a deep sip from the cup, swallowing it with effort.

She handed it to him, and he drank its contents without hesitation − their blood had a tart, metallic aftertaste from which he shuddered all over.

Their blood mingled together.

They marked each other for eternity.

The Maiden and The Stranger.

Fire and Water.

They were one.

______

Taglist 1

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @astral-blossoms @randomdragonfires @amirawritespoorly @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes @darylandbethfanforever9 @fudge13 @snh96 @diosademuerte @rwdkarla @echos-muses @ipostwhtifeel @letmeloveyouuuu @yentroucnagol @valeskafics @tempt-ress @blairfox4 @crazymusicgirl104 @ahristata @menaosama @ladywin17 @queenofshinigamis @rae-seri @dark-night-sky-99

[marchtooctober]

Twilight finally steps into Loid Forger's home. It was late at night and he thought for sure that everybody was already asleep, save for Bond who might get overzealous and wake everyone up. But the moment he closes the door, a figure appeared through his vision.

It was Yor, putting away laundry. She put them down and walked over to Loid.

"Loid! You're finally back!" She says in quiet surprise. Bond circled around them.

Loid pat Bond's head who then went back to his spot right away. Then he turned to Yor.

"I'm home. Sorry, I'm very late... I must have made you worried."

"Uhm... No! It's okay... You must have been very busy at work. " Yor asked.

"Well..." Loid's voice trailed off.

If only she knows what this man just went through.

"Yes... I had a very tough patient I had to deal with." He finally said.

Yor's eyes went wide.

"Did you have another concussive session with a patient?! Did you get hurt anywhere?! Oh, look! You have bruises! Let's treat you! Sorry, I didn't notice right away. It's dim." Yor stared at him with obviously worried eyes.

Loid couldn't stare back at her, feeling that he might end up letting his guard down.

"N-No! There's no need for that. My bruises are not that bad. I'm just... really tired with dealing with my patient today."

"Do you want some tea before you rest?"

Loid was very ready to retire to bed and sleep away the pain of his arm's gunshot wound. But chances of peace with Yor are ever so rare that he willed himself to stay.

"Ah... Sure."

"Okay. I'll pour you a cup."

Yor seated herself beside Loid on the sofa. The closeness made Loid all tingly but in a very comforting way. For the most of time, they were silent. Then Yor gave repeated glances at Loid.

"Is there something bothering you, Yor?"

"A-Wha-What? Sorry! It's just..." Yor emptied her cup and placed it on the table before continuing.

"Seeing that you can get hurt like this for treating a patient... Are you still okay with it?"

Loid seemed to be caught off guard, he only stared right back at Yor.

"Don't you regret being a psychiatrist?"

The silenced prolonged. The question gave a deep impression to Loid, to Twilight. As if asking if he regrets being a spy.

"Sorry! That was rude of me to ask! I'm not even the one to speak. I'm really sorry! You don't need to answer that, Loid."

Loid also placed his own empty cup on the table. He leaned back and stared up the ceiling.

"No. I don't regret it. Even when I get hurt doing this proffession. Because it's something that I have decided a long time ago. So there's nothing else for me but to stick with it, even during the hard times."

Yor fell silent, her eyes glinting as if understanding Loid's words very well.

Loid closed his eyes and recalled right away what he just said. It was something he just blurted out but it's true. Not only for him, but also for everyone else who decided their own path.

He drew his head back, almost hanging to the side. His mind is in total disarray. His eyes fluttered open in time only to see Yor leaning over him. Too tired and slow to react, his mind suddenly went blank when he felt a kiss on his forehead.

"You did well." Yor said and sat back.

Her calm demeanor quickly turned into surprise, and she covered her face with her hands.

Loid fixed himself in an instant, sitting properly. He faced a very embarrassed Yor. Internally, he was just as embarrassed because of their proximity just now.

"N-No! It's not what you think it is! I just..." Yor said and waved her hands.

"C-Calm down, Yor! Speak slowly." Loid said with a similarly frantic gesture.

After a few breaths, Yor continued.

"My coworkers told me that... a... w-welcome home kiss is a common thing between couples. B-But I couldn't do it earlier and you're too tired from work so I... just wanted to comfort you instead." She said and shyly looked at Loid.

Loid took a deep breath.

"Thank you, Yor. And I'm sorry." He said.

"What? You have nothing to apologize! I'm... the one who should say sorry."

"I'm sorry because I..."

His words trailed off once more as his body started moving on its own. It was as if his arm was no longer in pain and reached out for Yor's face. In an instant, Loid closed off the distance and pulled Yor into a kiss.

It was a kiss that was warmer than the tea they just had. Loid closes his eyes and thoroughly felt Yor's lips, his hand gently holding the base of her head. Yor was wide-eyed for a second before she let herself be pulled in deeper. To her, this first kiss doesn't taste like lemon. It was the sweetest thing there ever was.

All thought is lost, only this moment remains. And perhaps, it's just what Loid really needed as a reward after a hard day's work.

[toodrasticallydumb]

Strickler and Jim headcanon?

Again. *Might've* gone overboard...like a little. This one actually took me a hot minute because I couldn't really find that many that I had but hey that's when you take the time to ✨figure it out✨ ;}>

Reblog if you have any of your own to add!!! Always fun to hear more of these.

They’re sassy at the dinner table. Like, impossibly so. They’ll trade jabs and good-natured quips, have petty fights about whatever, even THE WEATHER isn’t off the table if they’re that desperate for something to keep the surrealness of them eating as a family far out of their minds. Barb gets so sick of it sometimes she calls for who can stay quiet the longest just so she can enjoy her damn dinner in peace for once.

They’ll have mini-cooking contests for any given meal they have with Barbara as the judge, they’ll each make their own part of the meal and not reveal which part they did and constantly question Barbara about what she likes most about the meal and they both obsess of her facial expression when she takes any one bite off the plate while Barb is sitting there, resting-b-face and all, just wanting to eat HER DAMN FOOD. At the end, she always says they were perfect together and she could never rate them separate while they both cross their arms like preschoolers and ask in unison “But, hypothetically speaking, which *would* be your favorite?” “My glass of water.” “You served yourself that.” “Or so I did. Welp, I’m going to watch TV, I’m stuffed.”

After the Eternal Night is freshly over, and Strickler returns with Barbara to her home, she concedes to him staying the day because well, sun + changeling troll that is now just troll = easy sweep into the urn jar. So while he’s staying for the day and Barbara is called in for another shift, he has the house to himself and goes up the stairs to find Jim’s bedroom door slightly open and he peers inside to see it in a bit of disarray from Jim’s previous attempt to get off the amulet going badly. It’s mostly picked up but it’s still in need of some tidying. So, Strickler, after some mulling over, goes into the room and carefully starts cleaning things up, dusting, etc. for Barbara but also…mostly, for Jim. He knows what it’s like to need to start a new life from one day to the next. And for the following weeks, when it pains Barbara to go into the room, he takes it upon himself to keep it neat, keeping the hope at the back of his mind that Jim will return soon and it’s best to keep his room ready for him.

Jim was having a really hard time adjusting to a proper troll diet but actually got an unprompted message from Strickler with rocks/minerals that would be good to help him get the hang of eating rocks and ease him into it properly, and, later on, in an awkward phone call Barbara had passed to Strickler, Jim thanked him and Strickler sorta admitted that he had a sensitive stomach too and that he’d actually been experimenting recipes that could combine both human and troll tastes. Jim sorta kinda assumed it was mostly for himself that Strickler was experimenting but actually, Strickler was really surprised with how much he kept going failure after failure just to give Jim something he could eat with Barbara that wouldn’t feel awkward.

Y’know that sweater Strickler wore to Greenland in the movie-that-might-exist??? Well, if it did happen, Strickler was totally just trying to give Jim something to poke fun at. Something to bring back old times of them quipping at each other, especially with how stressed Jim was at the time. He was severely disappointed when Jim limited himself to just one slightly-snide comment about it. It made him realize just how much he wanted to protect Jim from more of all of this that had already changed him so much.

He ALWAYS texts Jim his mother’s schedule for the day/week and if it changes so he can find the best time to call her for the day. He gives his own suggestions for good times after she’s finished eating but before she goes to sleep (most of the time he tells Jim to call when it’s Barbara’s turn to care for the children/feed them/change diapers, and he takes the responsibility for her while they chat).

One day, while they’re texting to strategize when is the best time to call her, Jim refers to Barbara as just “Mom”. Not “my mom” and Strickler spends a ‘morning jog’/morning flight overthinking the whole interaction so much he forgets to bring Barb a flower, she wonders why and says she misses it but it’s okay, there’ll be plenty of other days for more flowers, and that’s when Jim calls and she automatically puts it on speaker and Jim automatically says “Hey, guys!” instead of “Hey, Mom” and Strickler realizes he has a son now. He has a lover. He has a family.

Another day, after a friendly spar, (it can either be pre-wizards/rott or just whenever), Jim and Strickler are both exhausted with just a narrow tie being called instead of a victory for either of them. In the exhaustion and half-loopiness of the moment, Strickler actually says how proud he is of Jim's improvement not only in fighting with Daylight and making the amulet his own but being adaptable and quick-thinking, and analyzing weaknesses to exploit and turning the battle in his favor, and "Yeah, well, I have you and Nomura to thank for that last stuff," he chuckled, "even if your 'training' was borderline 'almost kill--'" And that's when Strickler, unconsciously, bumped his forehead into Jim's with a hand at the back of his black hair. "Oh..." Jim just kinda goes still until Strickler blinks, realizes what he did, and clears his throat, absentmindedly ruffling Jim's hair before the conversation gets pretty awkward. "Well. We should uh- We should find Mom, she'll get worried." "Right- Of course, that's best avoided." "...Um....Thanks though, that wasn't...super weird....it was chill, I wouldn't like, tell you not to do that again." "....I'll em...I'll keep it in mind."

[bonecaffeine]

helloo! this for the touchstarved matchups,,,

I go by either sam or amber (have been called samba .), she her he him ... whatever works .. ROMANTIC PLEASE !! I love love

ok got my friend to describe me yay.. hair is dark brown, they said it a wolfcut its just layered and stuff. ends right above the shoulders and I have bangs,,, nose is like. mix between button nose n snub nose and I am white. french😢 5'3 (5'2 and a half but I needed the pity points)

okay iLOVE biology especially when it comes to like viruses and stuff I find that so interesting yes please. drawing, writing, baking (but I have been compared to kuras in that aspect), and occasionally insects and flowers have piqed my interest. I dunno I really like drawing and writing

for dislikes um.... math is my OPP and I hate like. unpredictability I prefer rules and stuff when I have to do something but i confess i do enjoy slacking.OK THANKS SO MUCH

Hii! Thank you so much for your request! You where first to submit one, so congratulations! I've also read through other request people have submitted and I've got to say I am very grateful!!

☆ Romantic matchup for @jellynui !!

☆ tw - none

...

Anyways, I decided to match you with Mhin!

Yours and Mhins differences balance you two out, whilst your mutual similiarities provide a deeper understanding of each other. As a result you two are not only good friends but amazing partners as well. Let me explain:

It's not a secret that Mhin hasn't had the easiest life. It's very obvious from their attitude and general distance they keep from people that they have seen a lot of things they wish they could unsee. But in the midst of the turbulence and the chaos they have to put with with on a daily basis, Mhin has you by their side. You are their peacemaker, someone who provides calmness in their otherwise disarrayed life. And Mhin is so, so thankful for that even if they don't express that often.

In return you get someone who'll always be there to protect you! If you struggle to stand up for yourself Mhin will do just that whether that be with a sharp tongue or a satisfying punch in the face. Mhin does not take any shits when it comes to you.

Mhin struggles with being vulnerable... like a lot. Yet I know you harbor enough patience for this person. Lay their head down on your chest or hold their face between your hands and you'll heal a part of Mhin that they thought would never heal. They like it when you "slack off" because Mhin craves some slowness in their life! And of course, during these moments Mhin can get a lot of attention from you, which is amazing, though they'll never admit that.

Mhin would love to hear you ramble about biology (or about anything, really) because they too are probably knowledgable in this subject since they know anatomy so well. Mhin will keep everything you say in mind and once they're out and about somewhere in nature they'll look at the flowers you talked to Mhin about and the flowers will remind them of you.

As for drawing and writing, Mhin will also try to support this aspect of your life the best way they can. Mhin finds it admirable that you create art and literature just from your hands alone. Reading your writings is like therapy to Mhin since they struggle a lot to express themselves verbally. They're quick to absorb how nicely you knit words into sentences and later Mhin finds themselves using the words you used in your creations in their own conversations with others.

For the baking part... well Mhin will try anything you make (as long as you didn't accidentally make poison) whether it's good or bad! Mhin is an honest personality though so you have to be prepared for that!

If that's what you'd want to do, I imagine you two going on a drawing date! Something like a picnic but you two get to draw. Since Mhin is a hunter I feel like they know where the most safest parts of Eridia are, and know exactly where to take you if you two need some peace and quiet.

Just like you, Mhin hates not sticking to rules and routine. While it may seem that Mhin has a rebellious nature at first, change makes Mhin anxious and frustrated. The freelancer is glad that you are the same and appreciates this trait of yours.

For my final point - and this may sound cheesy so bear with me. I like how different Mhins and yours hair colors are! White and brown go along so nicely, I feel like. It kinda reminds me of white flowers blooming on a tree, you know?

...

Alriiight, I hope you like it, Sam!! This was fun to write ngl^_^ let me know what you think, only if you want to of course.

[papurgaatika]

Last Words of a Shooting Star

Characters: Sarah Miller

Minors DNI with my work please !!

A/N: Howdy..... ummmm. So mitski,,,, yeah that's it. Whoopsie. Thank you @joelsdagger and @carlynkurin for looking over this,,, always glad to have yall ask me wtf my problem is <3 <3 Tags: angst, canon compliant, major character death, song fic, third person pov Word Count: 633 Remember that TLOU is created by a zionist so please look at the resources at the end of this fic and in my bio on ways to donate and educate yourself!!

Summary: Outbreak night, from her side. Set to lyrics from Mitski's Last Words of a Shooting star: https://open.spotify.com/track/7gn3NdQez9Pwbqak4gspz5?si=865e47a42fdb4c36

All of this turbulence wasn't forecasted, Apologies from the intercom

The TV was static; the radio had been going on and off for hours, but it was eerily silent now. Warnings to stay inside, warnings to get out while you can, it was overwhelming. The upheaval and absolute disarray on the streets was a sight that she could barely take in. This was her home, her city, the one she loved and it was turning into a walking graveyard in front of her. “Don't look,” plays in her head over and over again, the pain in her leg blistering, her eyes brimming with tears of both fear and pain “Keep looking at me” echoes with the other words, but with them come the screams and the gunshots. The nauseating sounds that just almost drowned his voice out. The voice that would always put her at ease because it meant she was safe. That despite the mayhem, she would be okay. He was there to protect her. 

And I am relieved that I'd left my room tidy, They'll think of me kindly

When they come for my things

She finds herself unable to tear her gaze away from him; The blood on his face, the look of fear behind his eyes, an emotion she had never associated with him. He was strong, the strongest in her eyes. Despite the circumstances she takes a moment to glance at the watch on his wrist, the one that she had fixed for him. Fleeting memories slip into her mind, ones of other birthdays she had celebrated with him. The tradition of putting frosting on his cheek and nose after he blew out the candles, the collection of various macaroni art projects she had made over the years, how year after year the one gift she would give him was a clean room. That it was the one day out of the year she could spare him the grief of cluttered toys and clothes. She was glad she had managed to keep her room clean today, glad to know that when this was over they would enter a place of peace and serenity. 

I always wanted to die clean and pretty

But I'd be too busy on working days

She wasn't truly sure what was happening. Why his voice quaked, why his hands held her tighter, why the bright light was glaring into her eyes. She was trying to stay calm, to center her breathing like he had taught her. In for four, hold for seven, out for eight, and repeat. 

In for four. We’re safe, we’re safe 

Hold for seven. We’re not sick 

Out for eig- We’ve just been through hell. 

She doesn’t make it through eight, a blood curdling scream cutting through her breaths as they fall. 

So I am relieved that the turbulence wasn't forecasted

I couldn't have changed anyways

Her breathing is shallow, the blood seeping through her shirt like the juice she had spilled on the carpet as a baby. The pressure of his hands on the wound leaves her feeling like all the air had been punched from her lungs, but she knows that he would keep her safe. Agonizing cries are falling from her lips as her hands grip onto him like a lifeline, like a child holding a finger, until she isn't anymore. 

I am relieved that I'd left my room tidy

She hopes he can see her room again. The carefully folded clothes, and neatly stacked books. The posters she had so lovingly put up on the walls, and the photos of him she kept. She hopes that he knows it wasn’t his fault, that he wasn’t to blame. Hope he realizes that even in agony, even on the brink of death, she felt safe in his arms. 

Goodbye

A/N: From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free READ: This account stands with Palestine unequivocally, and so— I require everyone who interacts to educate themselves, and support/donate. READ THESE; 1, HELP HERE, BOYCOTT. silence is complicity, do not scroll past this. DO NOT BUY THE REMASTER, TLOU2, TLOU1, OR ANY GAME FROM NAUGHTY DOG! neil druckmann (the creator) is a zionist. PLEASE READ THIS. AND REBLOG THIS.  Thank you for reading, and free Palestine

[wordsbyrian]

Short: Portland - Adriana Leon x Reader

Summary: a short fic about Dri being loaned to Portland

A/N: I wrote this weeks ago for an anon request and in true me fashion, I forgot about it. And there are like no Adriana Leon gifs on this site which is odd.

You’re not shocked by the news.

You had already known it was going to happen, you and Adriana had been discussing it a few weeks ago.

You knew it was going to happen but having Evie read it out to you while you were giving someone made it feel real.

“@LeonAdriana9 will spend the remainder of 2022/23 on loan at Portland Thorns,” the receptionist reads, standing in the entrance of your booth. “Did you know about this?”

“Yup.”

“And you didn’t tell me?” “Didn’t know I needed to,” you respond, attention still on the tattoo in front of you. “You still doing good, bro,” you ask the client.

Getting a nod in the affirmative, you continue your task, no longer paying any attention to Evie or the way she’s glaring at you.

“You’re insufferable.”

“Thank you.”

Yourfriend and coworker stands and stares at you for a moment longer before she shakes her head and leaves, giving you the peace you’ve wanted since she’s walked into the room.

That night when you return home, you’re unsurprised to see the living room in a state of disarray with clothes and suitcases all over the place.

 And somewhere in there, amongst the mess, is your girlfriend. Folding clothes and panicking over which shoes to bring.

Stepping more fully into the space, you can make out her figure sitting on the couch.

Carefully traversing the space, you make your way to sit beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

“Hey Dri,” you say, pressing a kiss to the side of her head, “I see you’ve been busy.”

Leaning into your embrace she responds, “Well I tried. How was your day?”

“Same as always, put some ink under people’s skin, and tried to ignore Evie’s antics.”

That gets a small laugh out of your girlfriend, the woman leaning even further into you as her exhaustion becomes clear.

Pulling her as close as possible, you let her take a moment, running a hand gently up and down her back until you feel her all but melt into you.

“So,” you say after some time has passed. “I think that you should figure out what you’d like to order for dinner. And in the meantime I can finish up your packing.”

You feel Dri nod and mumble her agreement into your chest although she makes no attempt to move.

“You’ll have to let me up for that, of course.”

A headshake.

“So we’re just gonna waste away here on the couch?”

A nod.

“If that’s what you wish, then I guess it would be an acceptable way to die: here with you in my arms,” you say, pulling her practically on top of you. “Although I had kind of hoped it would be many many years from now, not you know, today or tomorrow.”

“You’re an idiot,” Dri says, leaning away from you so she can sit up.

“I’m fine with that,” you respond with a laugh, “mostly because I know that you also think that I’m very attractive and good in bed.”

“And insufferable.”

“That too,” you agree, sliding off the couch to sit on the ground, surrounded on all sides by suitcases, clothes and shoes. “Go order something to eat, I’ve got this under control.”

And you really meant that because 25 minutes later when the food arrives, you’ve managed to mostly clear up the space, having pushed two full suitcases off to the side.

Dinner is mostly eaten in silence, the two of you content to just be in each other’s presence with the tv providing background noise.

The conversation after that is kept light, neither of you wanting to address the fact that in less than 24 hours, Adriana will be on a plane back to the United States without you.

So you talk about anything and everything else. How things are going at the shop, the latest family drama provided to you by your mothers, everything but the inevitable.

Later that night, after you’ve both crawled into bed, the topic seems to be keeping you both awake so you can’t help but say what’s on your mind.

“Do you remember a few months ago, when we had all of your teammates over her and you kept telling me that I was worried for nothing,” you ask, but you continue before she can answer your rhetorical question. “I think that you’re overthinking this whole Portland thing, especially since we’ve already talked this over.”

“Babe…”

“No, hear me out Dri,” you interrupt. “You’ll go to POrtland and You’ll get the minutes you need before this summer. Meanwhile, I’ll be back here doing what I do best, everything will be fine.”

“I’m not worried about that. Last time we were an ocean apart, you and your brother crashed into the back of an 18-wheeler.”

“Luckily for us, my brother is back in Canada.”

“You’re not funny,” she says, and you can just make out the glare she’s sending you through the tiny bit of light creeping in from the window. “At all.”

“Will it make you feel better if I told you that I’ve accepted a guest artist spot at Chico’s new shop in Portland?” Adriana sits up suddenly turning to face you.

“You waited until now to tell me this? After letting me sulk all day?”

“It seemed to be very important sulking,” you try to explain but it comes out more as a question.

“You’re the worst.”

“And you love me for it,” you remind her, pulling her to lay back down against you.

[yujo-nishimura]

The Escape - Part 27

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13 - Part 14 - Part 15 - Part 16 - Part 17 - Part 18 - Part 19 - Part 20 - Part 21 - Part 22 - Part 23 - Part 24 - Part 25 - Part 26

Warning: Buggy x femreader Smut. Minors do not interact.

He stays silent for a moment, feels that his gesture might have interrupted your word flow. As he slowly takes his hand back, you quickly reach for it, holding it tight with your unbandaged hand, leading it gently to your chest. Buggys face softens as he can feel your heartbeat through your clothes. 

“I am a bad leader and my impulsive decisions have killed people in the past and made me a wanted person. I started all this to make a peaceful change but in the end there is nothing you can do when there are people around you who get misled. And now, siding with the Buggy pirates, probably becoming even more dangerous to the world government, my bounty has probably increased and Baroque works are also informed about this.” 

You gulp, breathing heavily as you say this, squeezing his hand tightly on your chest. 

“Maybe I am the reason you have been constantly in danger. Maybe because of me there are more people now pursuing this ship, your crew and you as a captain.”  To your surprise Buggy starts laughing, he gently removes his hand from your grip and cups your face with it. 

“I am a pirate, little girl. If I would not be prosecuted for my crimes, I would do something wrong.”

You see the fire in his eyes, you suddenly realize that your honesty and your vulnerability has sparkled this desire in him again. As your lips try to form his name, he quickly presses his mouth on yours. This kiss is less sloppy and more intense than last time. In fact, it feels like heaven. You can feel all his acceptance and his approval while he gently pulls you toward him to deepen the kiss. He shortly interrupts it to whisper gently: 

“Since you have been so honest to me, I allow you to act shamelessly tonight…” 

Something in you seems to break, you cannot endure this desire any longer as he just uttered these words. You wrap your arms around him, you lean into him, all your senses are attune to Buggys smell, his taste, his touch. You can feel his hands wandering over your body, he is taking his time today, wanting to make you feel good. Without hesitation you take off your shirt, you want to be close to him, want to feel your skin on his heated body. He starts kissing your neck, you can hear how his breathing is getting quicker, you gently throw your head back to give him all the access to your neck and chest, to kiss you, to fondle you. He is more careful this time, taking off his coat, his hat, but keeping his clothes and his bandana on. You yearn to see him not just as your captain, but as your lover, and so you tenderly reach out, gently unraveling the bandana that conceals his identity, allowing his long blue hair to fall free on his shoulders.

His mesmerizing blue locks spill around him, framing his face and accentuating his features. The sight of him in this unguarded state evokes a sense of intimacy and authenticity and you can only feel deep admiration and affection for him in this moment.  Buggy gradually eases himself backward, enveloping you in his embrace as both of you sink into the inviting bed. His tousled hair cascades across the pillow, creating a halo of disarrayed strands. You delicately position yourself on top of him, the connection between your lips unbroken as the kiss deepens. Mindful of his nose, you tilt your head ever so slightly to maintain the intimate contact.

With his body beneath you, a newfound sense of empowerment courses through your veins. It's as if the weight of the world has momentarily lifted, and in this intimate moment, you feel a rare sense of control. It's a sensation that is both exhilarating and liberating, a departure from the uncertainties and struggles that have defined your journey thus far. He has allowed you to finally make a decision. He has given himself to you even for this short moment. You smile as you realize that he trusted you completely.  

Breaking the kiss for a second you take off your underwear and your pants. You sit completely naked on your captain, he is still fully dressed, blushing even through his makeup at your sight. He has not seen you like this before, the other day when you were intimate it was just to please him and to blow off the steam and desire he had felt without taking notice of your body. 

Now, his gaze traces every contour, capturing the delicate curve of your hips, the graceful shape of your breasts, and the stories etched into the scars that adorn your skin.

You kiss again, he slightly lifts his head, wanting more of you and you can feel the bulge in his pants pushing against you again as you lower yourself on his lap, longing to feel some friction. 

You slowly start grinding on him, feeling how he stiffens up, pushing into you. He wants to give you the lead, but you can feel his impatience. As you trace the lines of his face with your fingers, you can feel how he has opened up his pants, taking out his throbbing cock. You smile as you realize he cannot wait anymore. But you don't want to make it too easy for him. His gaze follows you all the way as you slowly lower yourself on the bed, crawling between his legs like a little kitten. You take his cock in between your hands, feeling his heat underneath the hardness. You can hear him hissing your name as you take his member in your mouth, carefully sucking down the shaft, carefully touching his balls with your right hand. He has been very patient until now, but you can feel he is at his limits. With detached hands he grabs for your head, fingers in your hair, gently but firmly guiding you. “That feels so good, Y/n…!”, he gently moans and you feel so much happiness from him praising you and wanting more.

As you feel him growing more impatient, you slow your movements down, he willingly lets go of your hair and you crawl up towards him, gently pressing another kiss on his lips. “I want you.”, he finally manages to utter this and you feel like not wanting to waste anymore time either. You lower yourself on his hard cock and moan as you can feel his hardness filling you completely out. This time you feel no pain, but only pure pleasure running down your spine, you immediately start to move, seeing your captain so submissive and helpless in his lust in front of you is almost driving you mad. He is holding on to you, hissing your name while pumping into your hips from below. You are riding him really good, slowly grinding down and his only half opened pants give you all the friction you need to become even wetter. You try to be silent as you realize he is also muffling his groans, making sure the crew does not hear you both being sunk into complete lust for each other. Buggy who had been looking at your body slowly jumping up and down on him now closes his eyes, completely enjoying you taking over. It doesn't take long until he suddenly stiffens under you, grabbing your ass with all might, pushing relentlessly in you until his climax. His moan is the loudest you have heard him uttering so far this evening and you quickly bend over to shut him up with a kiss as you can feel his hot juices flowing inside of you. He eagerly kisses you back, still holding your ass, you can feel his fingers grabbing on tight, so tight that it feels like he is leaving some marks on your skin. “You're too good to me…”, he lets out a tired sigh, trying to grasp his breath. For a moment you look deep into his eyes, wondering if you should try saying “it” again or if he would shut you again just like last time. You stay silent, biting your lips, smiling as you see he is smiling at you as well. You roll down from him, on the bed, next to his long blue locks. “Gonna make sure to protect you from the world government and anybody else who tries to take you away from me…” Buggy murmurs this more into himself than saying this to you, he doesn't look at you as he says this, but reaches out for your warm hand, to hold his very tight. You cannot remember when you finally drift into a warm dark sleep, but you remember feeling full of bliss before sleep took over you. 

[foundtherightwords]

The Quiet Chaos - Chapter 1

Pairing: Billy Knight (Lethal White/Strike) x OFC

Summary: After a bad breakup throws her carefully-planned life into disarray, Esme has sworn off dating forever. However, when she forms an unexpected connection with a young man named Billy, who's dealing with his own struggles, Esme is forced to face the truth: sometimes you can't plan for love.  

A/N: I had the hardest time writing this because it's not my usual fare of slow-burn angsty pining - there is angst, and it is kind of slow-burn, but the characters get together pretty quickly and spend most of the fic figuring out their relationship, which is not my forte at all. Ah well, it was a fun challenge.

Also, there are a lot of references to Discworld in this. I wanted to weave the Uffington White Horse into the story and my mind just immediately went to the chalk horse in the Tiffany Aching books, and it sort of spiraled from there. I tried not to let it distract from the story too much though.

Warnings: mental health issues, angst, slow-burn, developing relationship, dysfunctional family, some violence (non-graphic), some smut

Chapter word count: 2.4k

Chapter 1 - Billy

Is there anything lonelier than working the night shift at a not particularly busy 24-hour veterinarian clinic? Esme thought to herself as she made the rounds of the kennels. The clinic was a small one, so they never kept more than three or four animals overnight at the most, and that night, there was only a gray tabby cat, recovering from his recent surgery and looking rather glum about it. A roll of thunder in the distance, signaling rain, did little to lift his mood. "Cheer up, Monty," Esme told him, giving his ear a little stroke. "You'll be going home tomorrow."

Well, I suppose being the night guard at a museum may be lonelier, she admitted. Or a lighthouse keeper. Or working at a morgue. In fact, there are loads more jobs that are lonelier. But somehow, sharing her night with a living, breathing creature, one that she could talk to but couldn't answer back, made Esme more aware of how alone she was. Then again, if there was another person here with her, she knew she would soon get bored with the chit-chatting and wish for some peace and quiet again.

She used to love the night shift. She could use that as an excuse not to go out with her ex, Neil. "Sorry, I can't go out tonight, I have the night shift "or" Sorry, I just worked the night shift, I'm knackered." Of course, she didn't like the night shift just because of that. She had always enjoyed being on her own, doing things at her own pace. Neil's idea of being a couple was to go out constantly, to bars and restaurants and events and parties. When they first started dating, his sophistication had dazzled her, but after a while, it had become exhausting. However, if Esme suggested they went to something quieter like the theater or a museum, or, God forbid, stayed in, he would moan the whole time about how boring it was. Eventually, she stopped suggesting and started signing up for more night shifts just to have some time to herself. Still, as the nights stretched on and she was stuck in the empty clinic, sometimes it could feel as though she was the last person on earth.

Esme sighed at her own contradictoriness and reminded herself she has nothing to fill her nights anyway. Curl up with a book? She could do that here, on the threadbare sofa in the employee's lounge. Unpack the rest of her things? When she moved into the new flat four months ago, her parents had insisted she took with her some of the decorations and knick-knacks she'd left at home, though Esme kept saying she had no room for them. Now they still languished in boxes in the storage shed, a reminder of an old life. No, better to stay here, enjoying the company of the animals, knowing that she was keeping them safe, and wishing there wasn't going to be an emergency more serious than a dog that had eaten something it shouldn't.

But it didn't look like it was going to be one of those nights.

Esme was fixing the few things scattered on the front desk - the sign-in pad, the pen, the bowl of pick-and-mix - making them line up perfectly, when the front door slammed open and a man burst in, a dog cradled in his arms. "Help, please!" he shouted. "She's hurt!"

Esme jumped into action. The dog, a little mongrel of white and brown, was panting and whining in a way Esme knew too well, one of her back legs dangling at an unnatural angle and already swelling up. "What happened?" Esme asked.

"I just found her," the man said. "She must've been hit by a car..."

Esme took the dog from him. Now she noticed the dirty, matted fur, the protruding ribs, the gunk-filled eyes, and the lack of a collar. A stray. "Don't worry," she said, both to the dog and the man, who was looking frantic.

She rushed the dog into the operating room. The man trailed after her. "Would you mind waiting outside, please?" she asked.

He automatically took a step back, but kept wringing his hands and shifting his weight, fighting the urge to follow her.

"We'll take good care of her," she said reassuringly. Then, remembering that there was no one here but her, she corrected herself, "I will."

The dog, apparently frightened by the smells and sight of the operating room, started wriggling, her whines becoming more high-pitched as her broken leg brushed against Esme's arm. The man stepped in and put out a hand. The dog quieted down the moment his hand was on her. Esme threw him a surprised look.

"Sorry—I'm—" he mumbled.

"No, it's alright," Esme said. She was glad for the help. She gently moved the dog to the operating table, sedated her, and felt the fracture. Seemed to be a closed one, which was good, but she took an X-ray to be sure anyway. Then, while the man kept stroking the dog, his touch soft and soothing, Esme quickly set the bone and put it in a cast.

"There," she said, once the cast was finished. "She's young, so it shouldn't take long to heal. Thank you for your help."

The man nodded, still looking anxious. "What'll happen to her?" he asked.

Esme peered more closely at him. He was younger than she'd thought at first, probably in his late twenties, but despite a scruffy beard, there was still something boyish in his large brown eyes and tousled dark hair. He seemed strangely skittish, however - his eyes kept darting to hers and then away again, unable to hold the contact, and he carried himself rather stiffly. For a moment, she wondered if he was on some kind of drugs, neurodivergent, or perhaps simply shy.

"Once her fracture heals, we'll give her a once-over to make sure she's healthy and check if she's micro-chipped," she answered. "But she's most likely a stray, so she'll go to a rescue center."

He lifted his eyes to her face briefly, questioningly. Esme thought she understood the concern. "You don't have to worry about the bill," she said. "We get help from local animal charities for situations like this."

But the man shook his head. "No, will they—are they going to—I've heard that they put animals down at those places," he muttered.

"Oh." His concern warmed Esme's heart. Most people wouldn't even take the time to bring in a stray, let alone worry about their future. "Not if she's healthy. They'll find her a good home."

That seemed to reassure him. He nodded again and hesitated at the door, apparently unsure if he should stay or go.

"Thank you for bringing her in," Esme said. The man noted the final air of her words and turned to go, while she lifted the dog into a crate.

As she did so, Esme noticed the dog's pink, swollen teats. "Oh, no," she exclaimed.

The man turned back. "What is it?" he asked, looking stressed again.

"This dog is nursing," Esme said, her heart sinking. "She has puppies."

As if to add more drama to the situation, the thunder chose that moment to let out a low rumble. Rain was coming. Heavy rain. Small puppies would not survive in this weather without shelter.

"Where did you find her?" she asked the man. "Is it far?"

"No, just down the road, near Aldersbrook..."

Esme grabbed a carrier from the shelf, dug under the front desk for a torch, and shrugged her coat on. "Show me."

The man hung back, an uncertain look mixed with something else—Fear? Distrust?—crossed his face. "Why? What are you going to do?"

"We need to find the puppies before the rain comes."

He looked around the clinic. "But—what if there's an emergency..."

"This is an emergency. Come on!"

***

It started pouring down by the time they reach Aldersbrook Lane, one of those small, seedy-looking alleys that ran behind warehouses and blocks of cheap flats, ending at a railway bridge. "Right here," the man said. "I found her crawling on the road, dragging her leg."

"She must've left the puppies to look for food," Esme said, or, rather, shouted over the roar of the rain and the thunder. "But she wouldn't go too far. So they should be around here."

She strained her ear, listening for the sound of puppies crying, but the rain was drowning out even her own thoughts. Rain plastered her already lank hair to her head and ran down the collar of her coat in cold, clammy rivulets. She wondered what she was doing here, on a darkened road, in a storm, with a stranger who didn't seem all there. But, she reasoned with herself, anyone who brought an injured stray dog to a vet can't be untrustworthy.

A stale odor assaulted Esme's nostrils as they neared the railway bridge. A brook, or the remnant of one, which gave the lane its name, ran under the bridge, almost dry and choked with rubbish. The noise of the storm lessened here, and Esme thought she heard something, a soft whimpering. She swept the torch over the rubbish.

"There!" the man shouted, grabbing her arm to still the beam of the torch. "You see?"

She squinted. Indeed, under a milk crate turned on its side, she caught a glimpse of movement, something white and small. The poor mother dog had made a den out of rags and old newspaper inside the crate, right on top of an islet of rubbish. While the brook remained dry, she and her puppies were safe, but with the storm, the water was rising fast, and the puppies would drown.

Esme looked down the brook, chewing her lip. The brook bed was deep, and the slimy surface showing here and there amongst the rubbish looked treacherous. It might hold some small dogs, but she was certain it would not hold her. Perhaps she could reach them from the bank...

"Hold my hand," she said to the man, handing him the torch. "I'll try to reach them."

"Are—are you sure?"

"I don't want to risk climbing down there and sinking up to my armpits in slime. If you hold my hand and I lean down, I could reach them." When he still looked unsure, she turned to face him. "I trust you, alright? What's your name?"

"Billy." The answer came hesitantly, as though he wasn't used to people asking him his name.

"OK, Billy, I'm Esme." She took his hand and gave it a brief but firm shake. His grip was strong, his hand surprisingly warm. "Now let's save some puppies."

With Billy holding her left hand and keeping the torch fixed on the crate, Esme scrambled down the steep bank and leaned over as far as she could, while still keeping her feet on solid ground. She managed to hook her fingertips to the crate. A chorus of yelps from inside confirmed that it was indeed where the puppies were. She strained, drawing it closer until she could reach her hand in and pull out a warm, squirming bundle of soft fur. She passed the first one to Billy, who placed it in the carrier. One, two, three, four. The puppies were so young their eyes weren't even opened yet, but they soon snuggled down into the warmth of the carrier and lay still.

"Is that all?" Billy asked.

"I think so," Esme replied, running her hand over the milk crate once more to make sure. "Yeah, that's all." She started climbing back up the bank.

"Wait," Billy said, putting up a hand. "I still hear something."

Esme struggled to listen. Thankfully, the puppies in the carrier had gone quiet, but she still couldn't hear anything. "I don't—"

"Shh! There!"

Now she heard it—a tiny cry, weaker than the others. Following the beam of the torch, she noticed a stirring under some crisp packets, further away from where the milk crate was, close to the middle of the brook, where some of the rubbish was getting swept away by the rising water. She and Billy formed a human chain again, but this time, the straggler was too far. Esme's entire torso was hanging over the brook, with only the tip of her shoes gripping the bank. She could feel Billy struggling to hold on to her other hand. She clicked her fingers and made suckling sounds with her pursed lips, trying to entice the puppy closer. "Come on, little fella... Come join your brothers and sisters... Your mum's waiting..."

Finally, a black nose poked out from under the crisp packet, followed by a brindle body, no bigger than her palm. Esme made a grab for the puppy, just as her fingers slip out of Billy's hand, and the rubbish-covered bed of the brook loomed toward her at an alarming speed—

—only for Billy to snatch her wrist and haul her to her feet.

For a moment, Esme could only stand there and gasp for breath, glad of the firm ground under her feet. Then she became aware that Billy's arms were around her, and she had one hand on his chest, staring into his eyes, with the puppy squished between them. She scooted back, while Billy also looked away, his hands twitching at his sides. Bending down to hide her flushed face, Esme placed the puppy into the carrier with its brethren and zipped it up.

The moment they walked in through the door of the kennel room, the mother dog sat up in her crate, alert, her tail thumping like crazy. The yelps from the carrier rose to a deafening crescendo, and the mum tried to get to her feet. "OK, OK, here you go, don't hurt yourself again," Esme said, placing the puppies into the crate. The mum sniffed them, then gave them a good lick, and finally, satisfied, lay down with her babies. Esme smiled up at Billy, who was watching the dogs with a riveted expression.

"We did it," she told him. He smiled back at her, a brief and uncertain smile, yet it still lit up his whole face, like the sun peeking out from behind the clouds.

Chapter 2

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