#Only she can acutally race with him

[scribe-of-hael]

Au time ⚡

Au where Vigh is a bot and has a trine with Smokescreen and Mirage as her trine mates I will NOT be taking criticism thank you v much ♡

Vigh would just be called Volt or Voltage. High Voltage (if ya wanna be formal) ppl still call her V or Vi. She'd also be an Autobot ! (Yes i make So many Cons but she would be a autobot!) She has , you guessed it, electricity like abilities. How original i know.

And yes I want Knockout to poke her with his shock staff only for it to have zero affect on her. And just the look of "Where would you like to be punched?" Because at first they are enemies it's only natural. And he just gets sent back.

Meeting on the battle field to meeting during racing. First time he sees her , he chases her off the road. But she snaps back and says "HEY THIS MY DOWN TIME, if I don't say anything, you don't. We race. We have fun. Nofighting, just the track."

Knockout thinks she is lying but can't stay away from the track for long. They decide that the race track is a neutral zone.

Every time they leave the track they learn a little more about each other. Time sudden oh, they are meeting outside the track. Driving secretly with each other.

We love a good star crossed lovers divided by war love story. It's fine they are fine.

[mistiell]

I'm Starvin', Darlin'

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

Summary: Spencer realizes how touch starved he is when you, the newest member of the BAU, develop a habit of casually touching him throughout the day.

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: Fluff, mutual pining, bit of a misunderstanding towards the end, this hasn't been proofread so I might come back to correct some things later

A/N: So, I have been like, completely MIA for the passed few months, and I apologize for that. Life has been hectic and I haven't had any motivation. However, I'm back now! At least for a little while. This is my first fic for Spencer but I hope to write more for him in the future. There'l definitely be a part two to this sometime in the future, so look out for that.

Part 2

Spencer has never been one for physical affection.

Logically he knows that he needs a certain amount of it to survive, and he doesn’t particularly mind it anymore when Morgan claps him on the back or when he has to shake somebody’s hand. But when he’s pulled in for a hug, there’s this weird sort of anxiety that makes him worry about whether or not he’s holding on too tight or how long he can stay there without making it awkward. He’ll endure it if he thinks a hug would be the best way to comfort someone, but typically, he avoids them altogether.

That was, until you came along.

It was sunny out, and for the first time in a while, the blinds in the bullpen were pulled open to let the sun shine in. Spencer was sitting at his desk, flipping through his mound of paperwork when JJ had led you over to your new desk, right across from his. JJ had caught his attention to introduce you, but the moment he laid eyes on you, whatever she was saying went in one ear and out the other

You had to be the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his entire life. 

“Spence.” JJ’s voice snapped him back into reality and he was suddenly acutely aware of how long he’d been staring.

“Hm?” You’d giggled at his dumbstruck expression and he swore he’d do anything to make you laugh like that again.

JJ stared at him expectantly for a few seconds before rolling her eyes and gesturing to you again, “I said, this is Agent L/n. She’s our newest member.”

“Oh, right, um, I’m Sp-Spencer Reid. Er– Doctor Spencer Reid.” He was halfway through mentally berating himself when you smiled oh so kindly at him, extending your hand.

“Y/n L/n. It’s nice to meet you, doctor.”

“Oh, um, you can just call me Reid.” 

“Right.” You very obviously looked him up and down in a way that made his heart race, “Reid.”

And then you sat down at your desk.

And he had to sit there and pretend he wasn’t utterly and entirely flustered by that tiny, microscopic interaction.

He came to realize about a month into your friendship that you were a touchy person by nature. You’d touch his arm when he made you laugh and sometimes you’d squeeze his shoulder before you sat down next to him at the round table. Six months into your career there and you’d gotten comfortable enough that you’d hug most of them when you showed up for drinks outside of work and playfully pinch Morgan’s arm or side when he got a little too brazen with his flirting. Sometimes you’d bump Spencer’s shoulder to tease him. It took a few times to get used to it, but eventually he started bumping you back.

Actually, he found that the more you touched him, the less he seemed to dislike it. In fact, he finds himself waiting for those casual displays of affection. Every time your skin meets his, he feels warm, revitalized. 

Which is why on one particularly late night, when he’s utterly exhausted and the two of you are the only ones in the office, he feels comfortable enough to do what he’s about to do.

He thinks about it for a long while, never one to do anything like this without properly thinking it through. He’s just so tired and this case was so draining that, as pathetic as he thinks it is, he finds himself wanting to ask for a hug.

He won’t. He’s not that confident yet. But he thinks that maybe there’s another way to get away with touching you in some capacity.

So he rolls his chair over to your desk, attempting to casually plop down next to you so his side is practically pressed against yours. To his surprise, it actually works, though his casual “plop” is more like a rather awkward “slip-and-almost-accidentally-knock-you-over”. But you don’t mind. Instead, you laugh and bump his shoulder a lot more gently than he bumped you.

“Watch it, clumsy.”

“Sorry.” He chuckles, awkwardly clearing his throat, “What are you working on?”

“The mountain of paperwork that’s been accumulating since I got here.” You huff a short, embarrassed puff of laughter as you glance down at a notepad he hadn’t noticed, “That, and doodling.”

“Doodling what?” He asks, though he wonders how much he’s actually going to be able to pay attention when he’s so focused on how warm your thigh and shoulder feel against his.

“Oh, um,” Is he crazy or are you blushing? “It’s embarrassing.”

“I won’t judge.” After a split second of deliberation, he gently shifts his weight into his shoulder to nudge you just a little.

“Promise?” You smile shyly and he can’t help but smile back.

“Promise.”

There’s a second where you hesitate before sliding the pad over for him to see. He uses his middle and index finger to drag it over a little more and what he’s met with makes his cheeks warm and his heart flutter about in his chest.

It’s him. 

You’ve drawn him at just about every angle, and in such detail that he wonders if you were trying to downplay your abilities or if this is really your definition of doodling. It’s clear you’ve done most of these by memory only because he’s had his head bent over his desk for the past few hours, and most of these are full views of his face. They’re unbelievably accurate, and he realizes you must look at him enough to have his facial features memorized.

“I-I know they’re not great, and I messed up your lips in a couple, but, uh–.”

“Wow.” He breathes in such genuine wonder that you cut yourself off. He looks up at you, a strange, viscous warmth weaving in between his ribs and settling to swirl in his stomach in such a way that it makes him feel a little sick. But, even more strangely, in a good way. He catches himself staring and quickly looks back at your artwork with a flustered smile, “I-I’m flattered. This is… I mean, you’re amazing.”

The moment the words leave his mouth, heat creeps up his neck and he rushes to correct himself, “I-I mean your work is amazing. Not that you aren’t amazing, because you are, but–.”

“Spence.” This time, it’s his turn to cut himself off. That’s the first time you’ve ever called him that.

And fuck, if he isn’t a goner.

You place your hand over his and his heart leaps into his throat, “Thank you.”

“Y-Yeah.” He’s so lost in your eyes that it comes out a whisper. With a little flush of confidence, he turns his hand palm up in yours to squeeze your fingers before hastily pulling away to avoid you noticing how clammy his hands are.

After that night, he finds himself seeking you out a lot more. Knocking his knee against yours under the table, tapping you to get your attention rather than just calling your name. 

It isn’t until you’re both out with the team that he realizes he hasn’t been as discreet as he thought he’d been. He’s had a few drinks and is a little more than tipsy, which is never a good thing with how much alcohol loosens his lips. Especially when you’re sitting right next to him, definitely more sober than he is. 

“Pretty boy, when did you get so comfortable with people touching you?” Derek asks, earning a rather confused look from the man in question. Before he gets a chance to respond, you’re asking exactly what he’d been thinking.

“What do you mean?” By the way he’s looking between the two of you, Spencer assumes Derek is referring to the way you’re pressed against his side – or rather, how he’s pressed against yours, considering he’s the one who leaned practically his whole body weight into your side the moment you sat down.

“You don’t know?” Emily asks, and you shake your head, “He doesn’t like touching anyone.” A knowing smirk creeps up on her face as she locks eyes with him, “Or at least he normally doesn’t.”

“Oh.” Is all you say in response. He doesn’t like the sadness in your tone, and he especially dislikes the way you shift away from him to give him space. There’s a rather startling urge to wrap his arm around you and pull you back to him, but he shuts that down immediately, not wanting to make you uncomfortable.

“Do you remember that time he dodged a handshake by telling the guy it would be safer for them to kiss?” Penelope giggles, clearly drunk at this point.

“You weren’t even there.” Spencer counters, laughing a little to diffuse the tension. He glances at you out of the corner of his eye and notices that your smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

You’re a little too quiet the rest of the night. At one point, you leave for the bathroom and when you return, you slide your purse in between the two of you to keep a safe distance. 

He hates it.

He hates it even more when you stop him outside the bar with an apologetic look on your face as you’re all leaving.

“Hey, Spence?”

He swallows the butterflies in his throat that surface at the nickname, “Yeah?”

“I, uh,” You clear your throat awkwardly, “I’m sorry if I’ve ever made you uncomfortable with all the, um… touching.”

He opens his mouth to tell you he really, really doesn’t mind it, but you accidentally cut him off, “I didn’t even consider that you might not be comfortable with it, and that was really inconsiderate of me. Now that I know, you don’t have to worry about it anymore. I’ll be sure to uh, keep my hands to myself.” You titter, glancing at your shoes sheepishly.

“Oh, it’s okay–.” He’s cut off again, this time by Emily, who’s yours and Garcia’s designated driver for the evening. “L/n! You coming?” She calls with a smile.

“Yeah!” You call back, before turning back to him. He watches you almost lean in for a hug, and a pang of disappointment stabs at his chest when you stop yourself in favour of nodding at him with a smile, “I’ll see you next week, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Is all he has time to say before you’re climbing into the backseat of Emily’s car.

He is seriously dreading going into work on Monday.

[afewfantasies]

🗡️ꜰᴇʏᴅ'ꜱ ʙʟᴀᴅᴇ 🗡️ - VII - KARMA

MASTERLIST

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 6.5K

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Feyd Rautha X Reader

ᴘʟᴏᴛ: Feyd-Rautha gets a bitter taste of his own medicine. His arrival on Arrakis is not all he hoped it would be with his lady. He learns she is far more than meets the eye and his desire for her is only heightened by her newfound agency. Feyd doesnt mind playing by her rules, so long as he gets lucky.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: NSFW, minors do not engage, sexually explicit content and violence.

The black and white hues of Giedi Prime blur as you sit in your chambers. Your chest rises and falls as people bustle around you. Pale women and men without hair dressed in black work efficiently to ride your chambers of every single personal touch you’ve placed within. White noise plays in your mind as the events of your time here blur together. Sadness has turned into anger, and belonging into loneliness. It leaves you in a gray haze. Beyond the palace cisterns of water are loaded on to industrial ships, as well as several months worth of excessive provisions for Arrakis. You can't help but wonder if your new home will bring happiness and stability. If you and Feyd will reconcile, if things will get better. You hear the whispers. The Fremen lore is so powerful it seems to scare the terrifying brutal people of Giedi Prime. It’s a fact that seems ironic to you. Feyd will have his work cut out for him, knowing how much he enjoys bloodsports you have little hope that he’ll have time for you. Honestly, you're not even sure of what you want from him. A throat clears pulling you from your daze. Feyd’s attendant holds a silver platter with a scroll on it. Instead of speaking you give him a bored look.

“From the na-Baron” he says, only your heart doesn’t flutter like it should.

Taking the scroll you read it out of mercy. Uncrossing your legs you lift yourself off the dining room table and step down into the sunken living room, then back up to the main doors. Feyd has requested your presence. A pod awaits and you enter before his attendants can help you in. You’re still angry at him. Livid actually. There are no flutters of anticipation as you speed through the corridors. It takes several minutes before you arrive at a foreign wing of the palace. You're escorted into an elevator that ascends just as fast and as violent as all the others. Your heart begins to race a little, your senses become acute. You feel like a rat in a trap when the attendants stop following you into the dimly lit room. You tense hoping your abilities can be of service but a bright light can be seen in the distance. You try to listen for the sound of the Baron’s suspension device and cringe in anticipation of his scent - only it doesn’t come. The air becomes light, with each step you find yourself breathing easier, the air is cool and light. As you get closer you see rich green foliage that goes against everything you’ve ever learned about the industrial planet. Looking around you make note of the rich plant life, several of which produce deadly poisons but are beautiful nonetheless. Feyd materializes dressed in his regalia, a long floor length tunic that accentuates his shoulders and striking features. His full lips stretch into a smirk. Once you’ve entered the strange room you see a table has been set elegantly. 

Feyd-Rautha steps into your personal space and in spite of the magnetic chemistry between you, you step back. He catches you at your waist, not allowing you to move any further. Swallowing you refuse to cower and look at him with defiance. Flowers and a nice breakfast don’t begin to account for the pain he’s caused you. It’s like he reads your thoughts and lets you go. Feyd steps back swallowing, shame flashes across his expression in vulnerability as he tries to understand your cold reaction to his gesture. He’d never put as much thought or time into anything for anyone before. 

“Na-Baron, you requested my presence” you speak and Feyd cuts his eyes at you.

“Breakfast” he says, omitting the truth that he’d gotten only a few hours of tortured sleep and felt convicted enough to seek redemption for his actions.

“I don’t have an appetite, thank you” you smile politely but Feyd knows well enough it’s insincere. He cannot feel the energy that usually accompanies the gesture.

“Should I call a physician?” Feyd asks.

“No need, I’ve had my prognosis” you comment looking at his rare meat. The iron rich scent still makes you a little queasy. More-so, now that you're upset with the na-baron.

“I was not made aware of any assessments” Feyd comments.

“I’m sick of this planet and the people on it.” You speak recklessly. Surprise covers Feyd’s expression. You’d ever been so uncouth or cold towards him. He watches you turn, giving him your ass to kiss. He’d have anyone else strung up for such insolence. He watches the swish of your step as you sashay away. It was a declaration of war, a death wish, a slight against people who would undoubtedly become yours in due time. Feyd-Rautha had never chased anything in all his years; he hunted, he stalked, he tracked. He was the predator and whatever he had set his sights upon was prey. Swallowing his pride he pursues you widening his stride. It only takes him moments to be at your side, your angry eyes slicing him with a gaze that levels him. He’d never seen anything like it.

“My Lady” he rasps, stopping you.

“My Lord?” You respond indignantly.

You radiate a defiance unlike anything Feyd had never encountered. Indignity and a disregard for your own well being. There’d never been any guideline on how to handle you beyond his feelings and intuition. If his socialization would have it, he would have you begging for death in an hour. The mere thought of such harsh punishment has him shudder stepping back. He’d been conditioned to respond to disrespect and defiance with brutality. 

“What is your issue?” He snaps grabbing your hand.

“There are no crowds, I am not required to perform” you snap. Clenching his jaw he lets your hand go. 

“Is that all they teach at the academy, how to twist a person's words against them?” He snaps.

“If you don't like your own words then maybe you should think before you speak!” you snap back.

“Mind your temper, mind our child” he snaps looking at your stomach.Swallowing you fight everything in yourself to withhold tears.

“Lets not go tit for tat Feyd, I will be on the ship, I will play the part that’s expected of me” you respond. He says nothing more as you approach the pod.

“Out” Feyd growls at the drivers, they disperse and you allow Feyd to get to your door. You don’t thank him for getting in and he drives to the docks. You relax in the passenger seat and he steals glances slightly impressed with your anger. He wants nothing more than to touch you, to lay hands on your stomach but he doesn't want to add to your newfound rage.

“Guess I should be happy you feel safe enough to behave this terribly without fear” he comments. “It means you know I love you” Feyd says instead.

“You just don’t treat me like it” you respond and he makes a frustrated sound. 

“Enough” he warns and you roll your eyes at him. The gesture is so flagrant he nearly loses control of the pod. 

“Not even close” you respond as the vehicle comes to a stop. Leia is standing with your other staff. You get out on your own as you hear the drums begin for his unmistakable score. Turning back to him you cast him a final look as the crowd begins their chant.

“Feyd-Rautha

Feyd-Rautha

Feyd-Rautha” 

Nothing else needs to be said. So you make your way onto the ship feeling his eyes on you the entire way in. Your heart races feeling exhilarated. You feel powerful, you feel like you have agency for the first time in very long.

Petty squabbles have never been your thing, since childhood you’d been keen to let things go easily. Time with the ones we love is fleeting and no one knows that more than you. Still, you find yourself resentful of what transpired. Your desire was not to throw caution to the wind, or to openly defy the Baron. Your thoughts had been with Feyd, your actions born out of love and fear for his well being. You had no desire to delve further into the spider's web, and yet the Baron still had you trapped. You just wanted the days and nights to return to what they once were. With Feyd’s insatiable appetite for you being at the forefront of his mind. You wanted to feed his physical desire for you, to satisfy him, to make his days easier. To ensure his cuts and bruises were on the mend to ensure the father of the child quickening in your womb was alright. His response to your love and care could not be so easily forgiven, no matter how hard you tried. 

“You must take your leave of me when we arrive in Arrakis. Take time for yourself, make friends, find someone” you smile. Your plight had become hers with a few exceptions. Leia reaches for your hand resting her head against yours as she scoots beside you.

“We’re sisters, I will never desert you.” She promises and you smile.

“We’re sisters, I will never rob you of your ambition or personal desires” you retort.

“Now that you’ve had a taste of love my company is not enough?” She smiles, taking you in a hug.

“It’s just a different yearning” you disagree. “If things weren’t so bad I could feel good. I could handle the distance but I’m so angry with him and I know nothing is promised but Leia, I am seething” you confess closing your eyes.

“You ought to be angry with him, going up to the Baron you were risking your life as much as he was and we know nothing of mindless customs. You meant no harm and he knows your heart is pure” Leia says and you smile at her for her alliance.

“Exactly” you nod.

“Feyd-Rautha is not known for being a rational or sensible man. His treatment of you is ill advised but for what he’s capable of, I don’t think anyone can deny there’s love there. No physical harm has come to you” Leia defends and you roll your eyes at her sensibility. You’d knowingly fallen for a monster, what could you expect. He hadn’t been a kind, gentleman. He was a killer, a brutal man prone to torture and treachery. He’d taken your maidenhead before marriage, he kept humanoid creatures as pets, the list of misdeeds were neverending, still you couldn't deny the love there.

“If what I’ve done is unforgivable then why not do away with me? Give me a tea to end the pregnancy and return me to the academy?” You ask not understanding the harshness of Feyd’s shunning. Feyd stops in the doorway, his acute sense of hearing trained to your discussion. Do away with you? Terminate the pregnancy and send you back to the academy? Had you listened to anything he’d said or paid attention to any of his actions? Anger surges through him again and he turns away heading to his own chambers. The thought of losing you too much, the thought of anyone else having you was too much. It was why he’d been upset in the first place. Your submission to his uncle. He was supposed to be the only man to bring you to your knees. You were never supposed to subject yourself, him, or an unborn child to that. He thought having you would end the obsessive thoughts, cool the fire within him, satiate his insatiable need but it had done the opposite. Therein lies the problem. Feyd-Rautha had never been able to control himself or hold back in any scenarios. Open defiance like what you had shown was a new concept for him. Other women would have never. Other women wouldn’t have survived it. It wasn’t so much that your acts were unforgivable, Feyd could never hate you long term but he had hated you in those few moments, he’d hated the image, what it represented.

Unsheathing one of his short blades, Feyd twists it into the table top as he ponders his next steps. He balances it on its point and then balances the blade rolling it between his fingers without cutting himself. Rising he turns to the cork wall in his chambers pulling out a drawer. Right now the board would be a sit in for the Baron. With each throw, blade after blade nicks the Baron. In Feyd’s mind, he’d sliced the shield off his uncle's finger before it could be activated. Then he’d began slicing and carving up the man that had his na-baroness questioning the love he bore her. Feyd holds nothing back, letting it all out. His guards tremble at the door mistaking his plan of vengeance from a foul mood.

“Na-Baron, we will be descending in half an hour” the attendant trembles, snapping him out of his dazed state. Feyd wanted nothing more than to drag you into the bathing chamber and place soap and a scrubber in your hands. He wouldn’t say a word, you’d have to figure out what he wanted. He would make you clean every inch of him thoroughly as he watched. Your anger and the charged energy between you both add to your electricity and the danger of it all. He could feel it now as he stepped into the shower, your soft hands running soap along his chest, the admiration for his form in your eyes always did something to him. He hoped anger would never change that. Top to bottom, he would guide you to your knees only to have you test your own work. He would guide his already hard manhood into your mouth. He’d speak for the first time asking you if it’s clean as he pushes it in so far you gag needing reprieve. He’d use your defiance against you, it would be the perfect recipe for a violent orgasm. He’d pinch one of your nipples to further his cruelty as you tried to undo him with your mouth. He’d grab a handful of your hair for leverage, he’d lie and tell you it was the worst blowjob he’d ever received through closed eyes and gritted teeth. It would incense you, he knows it would, but you won’t get up and walk away, you’d somehow get even better rising to the occasion. The hatred for him in your eyes fuelling his desire for you. Your eyes looking back at him as you draw in your cheeks adding more suction. When he was close he’d push you away by the throat to avoid the defeat of coming everywhere. He couldn’t grant you that victory with those defiant eyes. He could picture you turning to walk away upset and seeming unbothered and that’s when he would crack. His heart would race as he swiped two fingers at your folds, closing his eyes with pride when he felt your honey oozing for him. He’d put his dick where it belonged, burying it deep within you. He’d be undone by all the angry tension leaving your face and body as you re-acclimate to him. He’d steady you in the slippery bathing chambers thrusting hard. It would be quick, it’d been too long. He’d have your back against the chamber walls pressing his weight into you as he empties his arousal into you. He’d leave himself in, still hard and ready for more. That first kiss would be his apology, he’d get lost in it. There wouldn’t need to be any words as he looked into your eyes dispelling any concerns about the status of his desire for you. Disconnecting would be a task but it would be his turn to wash you up. The people of Arrakis would have to wait for the na-baron and his intended to dismount from the ship. He’d take your hand keeping you at his side so the people knew they had to answer to the both of you. On Arrakis you would be equals. He would teach you to keep your head held high. He’d take his time making love to you a few more times that afternoon before going on his first raids.

Opening his eyes Feyd releases a firm grip from his manhood. The mere fantasy of you is far more powerful than the prospect of another woman. Ridding himself of his mess, he leaves the bathing chambers getting on his garments and then his armor. Unlike most he needed to cover himself under the powerful Arrakeen sun. You hear Feyd's strong stride before you see him. Turning you see the na-baron, he has the flush he has after he’s made love to you. Your heart skips, your stomach falls and you feel loss - he’d been with someone. Frowning you swallow the sting of his infidelity bowing to him in the company of the huge procession traveling with you.

The bay doors descend slowly to a flurry of whispers and celebration sounds. The heat is strong, your robes blow slightly in the ever so slight breeze that seems to bring more heat than reprieve. Taking Leia’s had you step forward seeing the crowds. You go to take the discreet way onto the palatial grounds with the staff. Trying to remain calm in the face of the people about Feyd’s disloyalty. You look out at the hooded people and begin stepping down like the rest of the procession. A firm hand takes your wrist. Feyd looks down at you. His face is somewhat obstructed by a face shield contraption. Leia stops letting go when she sees Feyd’s hand around your wrist. To both of their surprise you snatch your wrist out of his grasp heading to follow the entourage. Feyd stands shocked allowing you to make several determined steps away before grabbing you by the arm this time. He presses the shield on his face making the screen go away.

“Walk” he commands tilting his head in the direction of the people. Blind rage has you angry enough to openly defy him once more.

“Go with him” Leia says telepathically. Swallowing your anger you adjust your robes and jewelry before turning to face Feyd. He holds a hand out for you to take it. You're so disgusted by his betrayal you cannot. Disgruntled Feyd grabs your hand before striding down the opening ship for onlookers. The reception is mixed, people shout different things, all respectful as far as you reckon. The strength of the sun mixed with the fire kindling in you is a dangerous combination.

“What’s the matter with you?” Feyd asks once you’ve completed the long walk into the palace.

“You don’t care” you grit. As the doors are closed behind you. Looking up you see the brown stone walls all around you. The attendants and staff are already more promising, not all of them are hairless and stark. Their eyes are warm and though there may be treachery in them you don’t foresee the same imminent danger as in Giedi Prime.

“Disperse!” Feyd roars, dragging you into a room as people scatter. He closes the door behind you and you turn, shoving him back reaching for the door as he holds it shut above you. Turning your back is against the wall, Feyd stands over you with his hand pressed against the door above your head. He doesn’t know whether to be turned on or murderous about your disrespect. Somehow your angry eyes are just as beautiful as your happy ones. You can hear your heartbeat in your ears as you stare back at him the tension thick between you.

“What?” You snap, stomping. 

“It must be the child that has you in this way!” He snaps with a clenched jaw.

“You were with someone on the ship here. Don’t lie to me, I know I can see it in your eyes, in your stance. Go to her and leave me be” you snap, turning to the door but there’s no knob and your strength isn’t a match for Feyd’s. When you turn he wears a smirk, losing it you shove him back for mocking you further. Chuckling he lets you take a few determined steps away.

“There’s one exit” he says, having you trapped. He undoes his armor and you wish you were strong enough to hurt him.

“There was no one else, no one else just visions of you and my hand” Feyd says, stopping you in your tracks. You stare at him, he’d never been a liar thus far and had no reason to lie but… taking a deep breath you pause trying to sense if it's the truth or not.

“I’ve already explained I need your love, I don’t do substitutions” Feyd-Rautha says and his tone does not waiver. Your cheeks burn with embarrassment over your behavior. You curse yourself for the colorful display and rush for the door. Your shoes make noise on the stone floor, the halls are deserted, you just follow the path until Feyd’s steps sound behind yours. When you reach the edge of the hall a few people look relieved to see you alive, Leia chief among them. 

“Anything the lady wants” Feyd speaks before turning in the direction of his war council. The sooner he could eradicate the Fremen rebellion the sooner he could tend to the woman he found himself thinking the gods had fashioned just for him. The crazy outburst stroking new flames within him. Going against his better judgment Feyd follows you into your chambers and the staff clears out. You turn to face him. He must think you’re a weak minded, stupid, lovesick, silly woman. The smirk on his face tells you he’s enjoying every moment of this. 

“Kneel” you tell him telepathically. You can feel resistance as he tries to decipher what’s happening to him. Feyd-Rautha falls to his knees. His eyes are on yours as you close the distance between you. “I may have been on my knees but I never begged” you say once again, your words leave your mind floating into his. You see comprehension in his eyes when he realizes your mouth hasn't moved. “It was never submission and if you opened your thick head and let me be there for you, you would know that! And then we wouldn’t be at odds and you wouldn’t have to have used your hand today. I would’ve been happy to show my appreciation to you and to walk at your side. Now I want you gone from my sight.” Your message is conveyed. Feyd goes to speak, “Silence” you declare and his lips close. “Stand and leave now, tend to your spice, finish your raid, leave me be” you add, turning away from him again. You can feel the resistance but ultimately in this area you are stronger than Feyd-Rautha. He says nothing, getting on his feet and leaving.

Deep admiration for you swells within him, at your strength, power and prowess. He’d been right about the gods.

———

Feyd-Rautha’s ability to focus is what set him apart from his brother. Unlike Rabanne he made everything coordinated on live feeds. There would be an overwhelming use of force in sync, giving the Fremen little time to react. He’d been tracking their movements and instead of wasting manpower he would use firepower to do as much damage as possible. He feared no one while out in the desert, unlike most he would not tire or dehydrate so fast. He’d withstood trials in extreme heat before and practiced fighting in the sand. Looking at the triangulation on the live map he uses the heat cameras to ensure the areas are as populated as was reported before callously pressing the buttons. Watching from the safety of his ship he sees all of the attacks have been successful. All possible entrances were destroyed. He has his reserve force evacuate the known alternate refuges. He’d had the doors re-wired to open allowing a large number of people inside before closing. Then those inside would be eviscerated in moments. The remaining living Fremen would be more desperate to crack, more pliable or more radical. Either way, there would be value in turning those few survivors. It would be consolation for all the restraint he required to deal with you. The success of his mission yields happy thoughts. Relaxing in his seat he considers his actions. In his preparation for Arrakis he had underestimated you greatly.

 Like one of his knives, the more beautiful the more deadly - the same was to be said for you. Your beautiful eyes were more piercing than a sword, looking as innocent as they do while yielding the ability to rob a man of his free will without a word. If it hadn't been for your blood within Feyd he never would have known it was you, as the sound of the voice in his head was his own. He felt the urge to kneel and do everything else you declared. Unlike with the late Bene Gesserit whose voice felt like a demand. The sound of shots being fired from the ship gets his attention as Fremen leaving the caves are killed.

“Should we go down and take hostages?” One of his men asks.

“No” Feyd says, not willing to risk his trip back home to you.

After a long day of fighting and bloodshed Feyd is satisfied by how things have gone. He could place harvesters down but he didn’t want to lose any others. He wouldn't risk it. He had better alternatives. Unlike his brother Feyd could take his time, there was no need for great haste just success.

“Reports of my betrothed?” He asks.

“She has had her lunch and dinner. She and her ladies went out into the night markets to give the excess to the people, specifically the children. She was advised against it but - she did as she wished.” The Mentat says. Feyd knows the creature's allegiance is to the Baron.

“If my betrothed requires advice I’m sure she will request it” Feys responds on your behalf.

“My lord it is unsafe and ill advised” the Mentat says. Feyd is no fool; he knows the objective of your exploration is undoubtedly to cause him grief but that frustration would be his and no one else’s. He slices the creature's throat without another thought and settles into his seat as the blood pools. Attendants carry the body out and silence falls on the ship.

Back on at the palace you feel far more settled and stable after a night enjoying the people and culture of Arrakis. It’s been so long since you’ve experienced any semblance of normalcy being at the academy and then on Giedi Prime. Your father had been a kind ruler and you hoped to be the same. Arrakeen mothers had been reluctant at first but then they’d come willingly. The kids had smiled as they ate things they’d never tried before, melons and other fruits not native to the desert. The party only grew in size as the people came to celebrate your kindness and arrival. You danced and laughed with Leia feeling as though you could breathe for the first time in so long. The blue eyed people sprinkled into the crowds brought you back to your visions but none looked like that woman watching you in a still suit. You return to your chambers with jewelry, silks and perfumes. Leia retires before you’re ready for sleep. You sit in the windowsill looking out into the nights shadows. You sense Feyd before you hear his soft steps. When you turn he’s in his night clothes, ready for bed. Unfortunately the technology in Arrakis is more analog and so keeping him out will take time. You’re happy he’s back safe, in spite of everything.

You want nothing more than to sit in his lap and melt into his arms. But, Feyd-Rautha has taught you much of the pride a na-baroness is supposed to have. The emotional control required of you, the constant calculation and maneuvering is exhausting.

“Come to bed” he commands, unwilling to submit. 

“Where are your quarters?” You ask and Feyd looks around. Frowning you raise an eyebrow. “It’s against custom, we’ve yet to marry” you remind him.

“You’ve chosen these rooms, there is no suitable room close enough to suit my needs” Feyd explains.

“Well as much as custom is important to you it is to me and I’d like you to take your leave” you comment taking the steps down from the window. Feyd smirks knowing he deserves your pettiness.

“Customs rooted in the opinions of others have no bearing on our relationship” Feyd says without humor.

“Since when?” you ask

“New place, new start” he declares conveniently.

“Why do you get the final say?” You ask as he closes in on you. Holding an arm out you keep him at arm's length. His eyes are on yours as he kisses the inside of your wrist. “Want to make it right?” You ask and he nods. “Sleep in your quarters, leave me be tonight” you tell him, getting a guttural growl in response. 

“No” he steps in and you step back.

“Yes. Then tomorrow; new place, new start” you respond, maintaining the distance. Feyds features harden; he steps forward again and you step back. It’s a battle of wills you're well aware Feyd could overpower you and your abilities only seemed to take when you were experiencing extremely heightened negative emotions. If Feyd pushed hard enough you’d crack wanting him as much as he wants you especially after this morning.

“Fine,” he agrees. Smiling you let your hand down, frustrated he turns away annoyed at your excitement. He takes a few steps down heading to the door without a goodnight.

“Feyd?” you call and he turns. “What was I doing in your fantasy on the ship?” You tease, his frown turns to a smile and he shakes his head heading to the door.

“I was giving you the hard fucking I should’ve started with” he says with his back to you. Turning to face you he assesses your pensive reaction. Shrugging you turn your back to him heading back up to the window.

“Maybe you can work on earning those privileges” you comment and he smiles shaking his head, he’d make you eat your words.

“Goodnight my love” he rasps.

“Good night na-Baron” you respond and he stops giving you another look. He gives you the opportunity to bid him the proper farewell and when it doesn’t come he strides to you up the stairs. Your heart races as his eyes fall to your lips instead he stinks down to a squat pulling you to him. He places a kiss on your stomach.

“Your father Feyd-Rautha loves you dearly, so I’ll let your mother have her way this night. I want you to be strong and healthy” Feyd says before standing. It’s high-level manipulation. You both know it as you melt. Feyd has never been known to play fair.

“Love you” he says again before leaving. You feel goosebumps pepper your skin. You lock the door behind him after palming your stomach. You step slowly back to your bedroom. Once in his quarters nearly five minutes away Feyd sits on his bed. It had been a foolish bit of architecture, clearly the previous occupants hadn’t loved each other, what other reason was there for such impracticality. He would have that rectified the moment the spice was flowing again. Turning on his screen he looks in on you. His eyes gape at the sight. There you are in a red and gold set that makes you look ethereal, wilder than any dream or fantasy his mind could ever conjure.

You had purchased a new wardrobe from the market. Undergarments and clothing said to stoke passion and desire from your lover. Something about the racy garments brought your thoughts to Feyd. It was supposed to be a surprise for your reconciliation but playing as dirty as he was now would have to do. Knowing his voyeuristic tendencies you put it on quickly before he could get into his room. You picture the lust in his eyes as he sees you on screen. The bra fits your breasts so well, the new volume of them confirming your pregnancy to him, as did the new curve of your hips. Barely visible changes to anyone else, but Feyd studied every inch of your figure. He watches as your hands hover over all the parts of you he loves so much. Untying the short red sarong of sorts he sees a small undergarment that covers hardly anything. Nothing similar could be found on Giedi Prime and he’d brought nothing of the sort from the academy. Arching your back you continue your striptease emboldened by Feyd’s own manipulation. You drag your hands up your behind the way Feyd does. You can feel his eyes on you as you pad to the bathing chambers. It's not as technical as the self cleaning mechanisms of Giedi but it will do. You part with your top before your bottoms baring it all unabashedly for Feyd your skin heating from the thrill of your seduction. You stand under the stream of water in view of the camera, facing him. You glisten, radiating confidence and seduction. He should be in there with you making his reverie come true. It’s a great miracle he remains seated growing painfully hard as he watches you wash up. He wanted to know you as intimately as you know yourself again. It should be his hands on you and yours on him. How could he ever be so stupid to risk you? Only you would be so crazy, so daring to push him so close to the edge. Freeing himself of his pants he uses his early arousal for slip.

You put on a show for him knowing he needs it, knowing he’s watching.  Adjusting yourself to the cameras you make sure he has the perfect view. Stepping from the shower to the air dryer you pad naked to your closet and pick out a sheer sleep set. Feyd can hardly stand not being able to touch you, he would let you be this once. Turning you lean against the intercom knowing it goes to him first looking at the camera he feels like your eyes meet his and he freezes mid stroke. Your eyes seem to be looking through him, your smirk all knowing as it curls into a smile. His breathing slows as you look to him coyly.

“White or lilac?” You ask looking up at the camera shattering his secret. His heart begins to race as it registers. The act had not been innocent but all for him. A tantalizing seduction you were taunting him with what was his and he yet he couldn't have.

“You're a bad bad bad na-baroness” he responds his voice is so guttural you know he’s pleasuring himself. Relaxing you smile nodding.

“So you’d better be a very good na-baron, going forward” you respond.

“Lilac your grace” he says and you dress slowly for him. “You don’t know what-”

You cut him off by pressing the button to chip him out, “Shows over Feyd-Rautha, sleep well my love” You say cutting off the light to leave him high and dry. As much as you want him you stand your ground as he had stood his. Smiling Feyd only feels arousal. It takes no time at all to finish himself off. His attraction to you was becoming dangerous, at this rate he would never stop having children.  He would need you every night, sometimes multiple times a day. You were teaching him so much about partnership, showing him grace where he’d shown you pride and immaturity. You had never asked him for change, you’d never asked him for anything really. He felt the shame of his actions, he was going to be a father soon and the only place he should be is beside you in bed. It had been his plan for Arrakis.  Feyd vows that it will be different come morning, he would hire the seamstresses to make multiples. He would begin the wedding preparations without the Baron’s consent. He would be the best lover and father. He would erase all ambiguity showing his love with the same unbridled abandon he showed his wrath.

The heated air rouses Feyd from an uncomfortable night's sleep. Coming to his senses slowly, you're the first thing on his mind. Checking the tablet he doesn’t see you in your chambers. Frowning as he stood there was no time to set up any other parts with such high tech cameras. He freshens up before dressing in his typical attire attaching his blade belt. Order would need to be maintained and fear would be his best motivator. Pushing open his bedroom door there’s no sign of movement. Looking around he heads to your quarters and stops at the scent of fresh blood. Running he sees dead guards littered all around the vicinity. Rushing to your door  he finds evidence of forced entry and pushes it open to find the room he’d seen on the screen, there were no signs of struggle. Heading to your bedside as your heart races he sees the lilac set has been discarded.

Leia comes to mind. He rushes over to her quarters and finds her tied up and gagged. Her tears weaken Feyds knees and he stumbles back into the wall. Taking the blade he cuts the bonds.

“They came looking for you, I heard footsteps but I couldn’t get to her in time. We were communicating telepathically, and I was about to get help when men came in and did this” she explains fast with tears in her eyes. Feyd has the urge to end her life but he already had enough to apologize to you for.

“Was she hurt?”

“No, there was a bag over her head. They were asking her for you” Leia explains. It’s the challenge of Feyd’s life. Pushing through he heads to the control center only to find all the surveillance systems down and workers dead. It had been an inside job. Grabbing a tablet he goes into your room's cameras rewinding the footage. You’re seconds away from pressing the intercom when they come in with guns pointed at you and his unborn. 

“Where is the Harkonnen scum?” you’re asked as you raise your hand in surrender. The guards repeat themselves and you go to scream only to have a black bag put over your head to silence you. They declare they’re taking you for questioning. The men leave and three women stand around you ransacking your closet. Feyd watches as they strip you, dressing you and then putting a still suit over your garments. Rising his chest heaves when he realizes you're destined for the desert. Seeing red, he vows to turn the dunes of Arrakis red with Fremen blood.

______________________

Authors Note:

I now this was a long one, probably the longest part I've ever written. Thank you so much for reading it. What do we think of the Lady's payback? Feyd's attempts to redeem himself and his double dose of Karma? Remember those visions a few chapters ago? What do we think happens next?

If you enjoyed, like comment and reblog.

See you in the comments below, xoxo

______________________

Tags:

@elf-punk @dvmb4ssbiatch @thegabbyh @fanfiction-addict22 @meetmeatyourworst @jojoclown69 @lillypink @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @avidreader73 @emeraldsgirl33 @strawberryfieldsforevermore @rose-are-royal @delusionsofnostalgia @szapizzapanda @palomavz @mcswan02 @slutforsmut4ever @emeraldsgirl @jackiekae @sarahhelpimsinking @maat-the-prescriptive @moonsoulk @katherineswiftie2017-blog @melancholicmelanin @littlebugs @alexa4040 @unicoreads @mimsie95 @mamawiggers1980 @miaraised @7-reblogs

[bloodreinasbathwater]

It's Always Been You

Part 5

Jack Hughes X F!Reader (Childhood Best friend)

a.n: Don't beat me up guys. I know this damn chapter took forever but fr I didn't know where to take this chapter, I was going to start with a flashback, so it wasn't boring but even that was boring. so after the long-awaited hiatus here is the next chapter!!!

Warnings: anxiety, kissing, eventual smut (part 6), arguments, unrequited love, ignore the mentions of summer I was to lazy to remove them lol.

Word Count - 4,163

Summary : When do you finally accept that it's time to move on? When do you finally admit that everything you fought so hard to forget is exactly what you're meant to remember for the rest of your life? How long can he pretend that it hasn't always been you?

Jacks masterlist

The Michigan sun streamed through the gauzy curtains of the guest room, the faint light of the morning sun illuminated her features, showcasing her furrowed brow and pensive eyes as she stirred awake.

For a blissful moment, she forgot where she was—and why her heart felt so heavy. Then reality crashed over her like a wave, and she remembered: Jack's family home, the ill-fated confession, and the potential love that she left back in Jersey.

Y/N sat up, running her fingers through her tangled hair, which was tousled from sleep. The distant laughter from downstairs was like music to her ears, a sound that she had grown to love —Jack's chuckle unmistakable even from afar. Her heart clenched. How was she supposed to act normal when every fiber of her being ached to be near him?

Her eyes darted towards her phone, resting on the soft sheets next to her. The glowing screen illuminated a new message and a missed call from Liam, causing her heart to flutter with anticipation and guilt. Ignoring it, she tossed the phone aside and decided to get up and get dressed.

She dressed slowly, each movement deliberate as she tried to delay the inevitable. The soft cotton of her favorite t-shirt offered little comfort as she pulled it over her head. It smelled faintly of home, of simpler times when loving Jack from afar seemed enough.

Hesitantly, Y/N made her way down the worn staircase, each creak of the wood echoing in her ears. Her heart raced as she prepared to face him, unsure of what the outcome would be. The aroma of coffee and bacon guided her to the kitchen, where Jack stood at the stove, spatula in hand.

"Morning, sleepyhead," he greeted, his voice carrying a hint of playful teasing. "Thought you might sleep through the whole trip," he added, his tone lighthearted yet genuine. He flashed that crooked smile that never failed to make her knees weak.

Y/N forced a laugh, hoping it sounded genuine. "And miss out on your world-famous pancakes? Never."

She slid onto a stool at the kitchen island, acutely aware of the distance between them—both physical and emotional. Jack moved around the kitchen with easy grace, and Y/N found herself tracking his every movement. The flex of his forearms as he flipped a pancake, the way his t-shirt stretched across his shoulders when he reached for a plate.

"Earth to Y/N," Jack's voice cut through her reverie. She blinked and looked up to see him staring at her with a mixture of amusement and concern, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. She realized with a start that he must have asked her a question while she was lost in her own world.

"Sorry, what?" she mumbled, feeling heat rise to her cheeks.

"I asked if you wanted blueberries in your pancakes. You okay? You seem a million miles away."

If only he knew how present she was—how every cell in her body seemed attuned to his presence. "I'm fine," she lied smoothly. "Just a little tired. And yes to blueberries, please."

As Jack turned back to the stove, Y/N caught a flicker of something in his eyes. Was it longing? Regret? Or just her imagination playing cruel tricks? She pushed the thought away, focusing instead on the plate he set before her.

They ate in companionable silence, but Y/N was hyperaware of every accidental brush of their hands, every shared glance. The pancakes tasted like sawdust in her mouth as she struggled to maintain the facade of normalcy.

"So," Jack said, breaking the silence, "we were thinking of taking the boat out today. Weather's perfect for it, just a little chilly."

Y/N's stomach dropped. The thought of being trapped on a small boat with Jack, pretending everything was fine, seemed unbearable. "Oh, um, actually..." she started, scrambling for an excuse.

Jack's smile was encouraging, but Y/N could see a flicker of disappointment in his eyes at her hesitant response. Just then, Luke appeared in the doorway, hair tousled from sleep.

"Morning, everyone," he said, his smile bright as he made his way to Y/N. He dropped a kiss on her cheek, and she saw Jack's jaw tighten almost imperceptibly.

"Luke," Y/N said, an idea forming. "Jack was just telling me about going out on the boat. What do you think about staying behind with me instead? I'm not really feeling up to it, and I'd love to explore the yard a bit."

She saw a flicker of something cross Jack's face before he masked it with a nonchalant shrug. "Sure, if that's what you want. Daphne and I can take my parents out."

The mention of Daphne sent a fresh wave of pain through Y/N's chest, a sharp ache that tightened her throat. Her eyes flickered with a hint of hurt before she quickly masked it.

She forced a smile, but it didn't reach her eyes, which darted away to avoid revealing too much. Her fingers curled into fists at her sides, nails biting into her palms. "Sounds great," she managed to say, her voice strained. "You guys have fun."

…

As they finished breakfast and plans were made for the day, Y/N couldn't shake the feeling that she was standing on the edge of a precipice. Every interaction with Jack felt charged, laden with unspoken words and suppressed emotions.

She watched him as he cleaned up the kitchen, his movements efficient and familiar. How many mornings had they spent like this, comfortable in each other's presence? Now, every moment felt like a bittersweet reminder of what she couldn't have.

When Jack's hand accidentally brushed hers as he reached for her empty plate, Y/N felt a jolt of electricity run through her. Their eyes met, and for a moment, the world fell away. There was something in Jack's gaze—a softness, a question—that made her breath catch.

But then Luke's arm snaked around her waist, breaking the spell. "Ready to go for that walk?" he asked, oblivious to the tension in the room.

Y/N nodded, tearing her eyes away from Jack. As she let Luke lead her outside, she couldn't help but glance back. Jack stood in the doorway, watching them go, an unreadable expression on his face.

The air was thick with the scent of pine and possibilities as Y/N stepped onto the porch. She took a deep breath, trying to clear her head of thoughts of Jack. But even as she walked away, she could feel the invisible thread that connected them, pulling taut with every step.

The afternoon sun hung high in the cloudless Michigan sky, its warmth a stark contrast to the chill that had settled in Y/N's chest. She stood on the weathered dock, watching as Jack's family bustled around, preparing for their boat outing. The gentle lapping of water against the shore provided a soothing backdrop to the chaos but did little to calm her racing thoughts.

Jack emerged from the boathouse, his chestnut hair pushed back carelessly, revealing the strong angles of his face. The pale blue shirt he wore clung to his athletic frame, bringing out the cerulean depths of his eyes - eyes that seemed to seek Y/N's gaze with an intensity that made her breath catch.

She found herself drinking in the sight of him, memorizing every detail as if it might be the last time she'd see him like this: carefree, relaxed, and heartbreakingly handsome.

As Jack approached, carrying a cooler, Y/N caught a whiff of his cologne - a woodsy scent that reminded her of countless shared adventures and unspoken longings. She fought the urge to close her eyes and lose herself in the familiar aroma.

"Sure you don't want to join us?" Jack asked, his voice low and tinged with something Y/N couldn't quite place. Was it hope? Regret?

Before she could respond, a melodious laugh cut through the air. Daphne sauntered down the dock, her presence as imposing as it was graceful.

She was the epitome of old money elegance, from her designer dress to her oversized sunglasses. Her honey-blonde hair fell in big, bouncy curls reminiscent of a 1970s fashion icon, framing a face that belonged on magazine covers.

"Oh, Jack!" Daphne called out, her voice saccharine sweet. "Don't forget the picnic basket I prepared. Remember how we used to love our little sunset dinners on the lake?"

Y/N felt her stomach twist, the image of Jack and Daphne sharing romantic moments on the boat searing itself into her mind. She clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms as she fought to maintain her composure.

Jack's eyes flickered between Y/N and Daphne, a conflicted expression clouding his features. "Right," he muttered, "I'll grab it."

As he turned to head back to the house, Y/N couldn't help but notice the way his gaze lingered on her, a silent plea in his eyes that she couldn't decipher. The moment stretched between them, heavy with unspoken words and suppressed emotions.

Daphne, not oblivious to the tension, sidled up to Jack, placing a perfectly manicured hand on his arm. "We should recreate one of our romantic sunset cruises," she purred, loud enough for Y/N to hear. "For old times' sake."

The suggestion hung in the air like a challenge. Y/N felt a surge of emotions - jealousy, hurt, and an overwhelming desire to stake her claim. Before she could stop herself, words tumbled from her lips, sharp and biting.

"I'm sure Jack's made plenty of new memories since then," Y/N said, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "No need to dwell on the past, right?"

The dock fell silent, the only sound the gentle creaking of the boat against its moorings. Jack's head snapped up, his eyes wide as they met Y/N's, there was surprise there.

Daphne's smile faltered for a moment before she recovered, tightening her grip on Jack's arm. "Of course," she replied, her tone icy. "Though some memories are worth revisiting, wouldn't you agree, Jack?"

Jack stood frozen between the two women, the conflict evident on his face. His eyes darted between Y/N and Daphne, as if he were trying to solve an impossible equation. "I, uh..." he stammered, clearly at a loss for words.

A thick atmosphere of unease hung in the air, causing Jack's family to glance curiously at Y/N as they loaded the boat. She could feel their questioning stares, as if they could see the unspoken connection between her and Jack that she was trying to ignore. It seemed like everyone knew something that they didn't, except for the two of them.

Luke appeared at Y/N's side, sliding a lanky arm around her shoulders. "Everything okay here?" he asked, his voice tinged with concern.

Y/N leaned into him, grateful for the support even as her heart ached for Jack. "Everything's fine," she replied, forcing a smile. "Just wishing everyone a good trip."

As the two began to board the boat, Y/N couldn't help but notice the way Jack's eyes kept finding her, even as Daphne chatted animatedly at his side. There was a longing in his gaze that mirrored the ache in her own chest, a silent communication that spoke volumes.

Daphne, sensing the shift in Jack's attention, redoubled her efforts. She laughed louder, touched him more frequently, her actions screaming of desperation and possessiveness. It was clear she felt threatened, her carefully crafted plans unraveling in the face of the unspoken connection between Jack and Y/N.

As the boat pulled away from the dock, Y/N stood with Luke and his parents, watching it disappear into the distance. The sun glinted off the water, momentarily blinding her. When she blinked away the spots in her vision, she could have sworn she saw Jack standing at the back of the boat, still looking in her direction.

"You okay?" Luke asked, giving her a gentle squeeze.

Y/N nodded, not trusting her voice. How could she explain the tumult of emotions raging inside her? The love, the longing, the frustration, and the glimmer of hope that refused to be extinguished?

she turned to walk back to the house with Luke, Y/N couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted. And as much as it terrified her, a part of her welcomed it. Because pretending not to be in love with Jack was becoming harder with each passing moment.

The sun had begun its descent, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. Y/N and Luke sat on the porch swing, the gentle creaking of its chains providing a soothing rhythm to their conversation.

Despite the picturesque setting, Y/N couldn't shake the feeling of unease that had settled in her stomach since the boat departed. Luke watched her, his brow furrowed with concern. He nudged her gently with his elbow. "Hey, space cadet. Where'd you go?"

Y/N blinked, forcing a smile. "Sorry, just... thinking."

"About Jack?" Luke asked, his tone free of judgment.

She sighed, leaning her head on his shoulder. This was what she loved about Luke - his ability to read her, to understand without pushing. "Am I that obvious?"

Luke chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest. "Only to someone who knows you as well as I do, sis."

The term of endearment brought a genuine smile to Y/N's face. Though they'd been dating for a short while, their relationship had always felt more familial than romantic. Luke was the brother she never had, a safe harbor in the storm of her feelings for Jack.

"Want to talk about it?" Luke offered, his arm coming around her shoulders in a comforting squeeze.

Y/N shook her head. "Not really. Distract me instead?"

Luke was quiet for a moment, then sat up straighter, causing Y/N to lift her head from his shoulder. "Actually," he said, a hint of excitement creeping into his voice, "I've got some news that might do the trick."

Y/N turned to face him, curiosity piqued by the gleam in his eye. "Oh yeah? What's up?"

Luke took a deep breath, barely containing his grin. "So, you know how I've been waiting to hear back about the draft?"

Y/N nodded, her heart beginning to race with anticipation. "Did you...?"

"I got drafted!" Luke exclaimed, his face breaking into a wide smile. "I'm moving to Jersey after the summer. I'll be playing for the same team!"

For a moment, Y/N sat in stunned silence, processing the information. Then, as the reality of Luke's words sank in, her eyes widened. "Are you serious?" she asked, her voice rising with excitement.

Luke nodded, his grin growing impossibly wider. "Dead serious. Got the call yesterday, but I wanted to tell you in person."

"Oh my god, Luke!" Y/N squealed, launching herself into his arms. The porch swing swayed dangerously with their movement, but neither of them cared. "I can't believe it! This is amazing!"

Luke laughed, wrapping his arms around her in a bear hug. "Believe it, sis. Your boy's going pro!"

Y/N pulled back, holding Luke at arm's length to look at him properly. His face was alight with joy, and she felt a surge of pride and affection for him. "I'm so proud of you," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "You've worked so hard for this."

Luke's expression softened, and he tucked a strand of hair behind Y/N's ear in a brotherly gesture. "Couldn't have done it without my number one cheerleader," he said with a wink.

Y/N punched his arm playfully. "Oh please, as if you need any more ego boosting."

They fell into comfortable laughter, the kind that comes from years of shared jokes and mutual understanding. As their mirth subsided, Y/N found herself marveling at the easy camaraderie between them. Luke had been her rock, her confidant, through all the ups and downs of her unrequited love for Jack. And now, he was embarking on this new adventure.

"So, Jersey huh?" Y/N mused, settling back into the swing. "That's not too far. I expect free tickets to all the games."

Luke grinned, throwing an arm around her shoulders. "You got it. VIP treatment for my favorite girl."

Y/N leaned into him, feeling a mix of excitement for Luke and a twinge of sadness at the thought of leaving him behind for the next couple months. "I'm going to miss you, how am I supposed to deal with Jack all alone until fall?" she admitted softly.

Luke squeezed her shoulder. "Hey, none of that. Summers gonna pass in the blink of an eye. Plus, think of all the headaches I’m gonna cause when I move in."

Y/N rolled her eyes, but couldn't suppress her smile. "Always looking out for me, aren't you?"

"Someone's got to," Luke replied, his tone light but carrying an undercurrent of sincerity. "Especially with all this Jack drama."

Y/N tensed slightly at the mention of Jack, but Luke quickly steered the conversation back to his draft news, regaling her with details of the call and his future teammates. As they talked and laughed, the sun dipping lower on the horizon, Y/N felt some of the day's tension melt away.

…

The boat glided smoothly across the lake's surface, leaving a trail of ripples in its wake. Jack sat at the stern, his eyes fixed on the shrinking shoreline where he'd last seen Y/N. The fading sunlight caught the pale blue of his shirt, making his eyes appear even more vivid than usual.

Daphne sauntered over, her hips swaying with exaggerated grace. She held two glasses of champagne, bubbles fizzing merrily against the crystal. "Here you go, Jackie," she cooed, using the pet name that had once made his heart race but now only made him cringe inwardly.

"Thanks," Jack mumbled, accepting the glass without enthusiasm.

Undeterred by his lackluster response, Daphne settled herself next to him, pressing her leg against his in a way that was clearly meant to be alluring. "Remember our first boat trip together?" she asked, her voice dripping with nostalgia. "We watched the sunset right here."

Jack shifted uncomfortably, trying to put some distance between them without being overtly rude. "Yeah, I remember," he said noncommittally.

Daphne leaned in closer, the overpowering scent of her perfume suffocating him with its sickly sweetness. "We could recreate it, you know," she whispered, her breath hot against his ear. "For old times' sake."

Jack felt a twinge of something - nostalgia, perhaps, or the ghost of old feelings - and for a moment, he almost considered it. Daphne was familiar, safe in a way. She represented a simpler time, before these confusing feelings for Y/N had taken root.

But as he turned to respond, his eyes caught sight of the house in the distance. Even from here, he could make out two figures on the porch - Y/N and Luke, their heads close together in conversation. The sight sent a jolt through him, clearing away any lingering thoughts of rekindling things with Daphne.

Jack shook his head, gently but firmly removing Daphne's hand from his arm. "I'm sorry, Daph," he said, his voice soft but resolute. "But that's not going to happen again."

Daphne's perfectly plucked eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "But why not? We were so good together, Jackie. We could be again."

Jack took a deep breath, surprised by the relief he felt at finally voicing what he'd been feeling. "Because... I think I have feelings for Y/N."

The words hung in the air between them, heavy with implication. Jack himself seemed surprised by his admission, as if hearing it out loud had solidified something he'd only half-acknowledged to himself.

"Feelings I don't quite understand yet," he continued, more to himself than to Daphne. "But they're there, and they're real."

Daphne's expression cycled rapidly through surprise, hurt, and finally settled on a mix of resignation and irritation. She plopped down next to him with a dramatic sigh, all pretense of seduction gone. "God, Jack," she said, rolling her eyes. "I could have told you that."

Jack blinked, startled. "What? How?"

Daphne took a long sip of her champagne before answering. "The night I came to see you after your game? The way you talked about her, the look in your eyes... It was obvious to anyone paying attention."

Jack sat in stunned silence, processing this revelation. Had his feelings been that transparent? And if so, how had he missed them for so long?

As the boat continued its lazy path across the lake, Jack found his gaze drawn once again to the distant shore, to the house where Y/N waited. For the first time, he allowed himself to fully acknowledge the depth of his feelings for her, and the enormity of what that might mean.

…

Dark clouds rolled in from the horizon, their ominous rumble a stark contrast to the earlier calm. Jack guided the boat back to the dock, his knuckles white on the wheel as he fought against the choppy waters. The first drops of rain began to fall, creating tiny ripples across the lake's surface.

As they approached the dock, a crack of thunder split the air. Jack quickly secured the boat, then extended a hand to help Daphne disembark. She took it without a word, her earlier flirtatiousness replaced by a cold silence. As soon as her feet touched the wooden planks, she brushed past Jack, heading towards the house without a backward glance.

Jack stood for a moment, letting the light drizzle soak through his pale blue shirt. His eyes scanned the porch, searching for Y/N, but she was nowhere to be seen. A memory flickered in his mind - of a young Y/N, hair in pigtails, running to hide in the garden whenever she was upset.

Following an instinct he didn't quite understand, Jack made his way towards the old garden. The rain was falling harder now, plastering his hair to his forehead and blurring his vision. But he pressed on, drawn by an invisible thread.

As he rounded the corner, he saw her. Y/N stood by the fishpond, her back to him, seemingly oblivious to the rain soaking through her clothes. The sight of her, vulnerable and alone, made Jack's heart clench.

"Y/N?" he called out softly, not wanting to startle her.

She turned slowly, her eyes widening as she saw him. "Jack? What are you doing here?"

He took a step closer, raindrops clinging to his eyelashes. "I was looking for you. I thought... I thought we could talk."

Y/N shook her head, a pained expression crossing her face. "I can't, Jack. I can't do this anymore."

"Do what?" he asked, confusion evident in his voice.

"This!" she exclaimed, gesturing between them. "Pretending everything's normal when it's not. I can't be around you and act like my heart isn't breaking every single time."

Jack felt as if the ground had shifted beneath his feet. "Y/N, I-"

But she cut him off, words pouring out of her like a dam bursting. "How long, Jack? How long can you pretend that it hasn't always been me? By your side, helping you through everything, loving you for who you are?"

The rain fell harder, mirroring the intensity of Y/N's emotions. Jack stood frozen, the weight of her words washing over him.

"I've been there through everything," Y/N continued, her voice cracking. "Your first game, your injuries, your breakups. I've loved you through it all, Jack. And I can't pretend anymore that it doesn't kill me to see you with someone else, to know that you don't feel the same way."

Thunder rumbled overhead, punctuating her words. Jack took a step forward, reaching out to her. "Y/N, please-"

But before he could finish, a brilliant flash of lightning illuminated the garden, followed immediately by a deafening crack of thunder. Y/N jumped, instinctively moving closer to Jack. For a moment, they stood there, inches apart, rain streaming down their faces. Jack could see the pain in Y/N's eyes, the vulnerability, and something in him finally clicked into place.

"You're right," he said softly, his voice barely audible over the storm.

Y/N blinked, confusion replacing the hurt in her eyes. "What?"

Jack reached out, gently cupping her face in his hands. "You're right. It's always been you, Y/N. I've just been too blind to see it."

The world seemed to hold its breath as they stood there, the rain falling around them, the air electric with more than just the storm. Jack leaned in, his intention clear, but before their lips could meet, a voice called out from the house.

"Y/N? Jack? Where are you guys? It's pouring out here!"

The spell broken, Y/N and Jack stepped apart, both breathing heavily. They stared at each other, a thousand unspoken words passing between them.

"We should go in," Y/N said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. Jack nodded, unable to trust his voice. As they walked back to the house, side by side but not touching, the air between them crackled with possibility and unresolved tension.

...

Tag List <3

message me to be added!

@favsrachz @jacktoria4ever @bunbunbl0gs @ivy-34 @rebelatbay @bxtchopolis, @dasiysthings, @lazysportsfanfornhl, @uhhhidk9, @ru-kru @quinnylouhughesx43

[princess-yuna]

My Dearest: Part 2

Pairing: Colin Bridgerton x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1,744

Summary: It is calling hours in the Bennett estate, and an unexpected caller sparks something interesting.

Content: No use of y/n, reader’s last name is Bennett for fic purposes but feel free to imagine another surname that’s suitable for you, pining, friends turned lovers and a lot of fluff. Reader has a younger sister and an older brother.

A/N: Back at it again with another part! Thank you for showing love on the first part! Please enjoy! Previous | Next

Your head was spinning since Lady Danbury's ball. The way that Colin looked at you made something stir within you. You were acutely aware of how close you were standing, completely drawn to each other in a way you never were before. It was startling but you welcomed it. You were drawn to him like a moth to a flame, and if you lingered a moment more you would've caught on fire. There was a moment of thought to lean more into it but your mother's call saved you both. You wondered what his lips would feel like against yours and that thought was fleeting once the morning came.

You have spent all morning preparing the drawing room for the arrival of callers for your sister. The way she spoke about certain suitors made you hopeful that she would have an engagement by the end of the season, and you hoped that what happened to you wouldn't happen to her. These men were kind as they greeted you before they sat with your sister for conversation. You had no intention of prying as you read, but you couldn't help yourself from glancing up when you heard your sister's giggle.

Your attention was soon brought to the door as your handmaiden called out to you.

"There is a caller here, Miss Bennett," she stated, her gaze going to the hall briefly before her attention was on you again, "Not for your sister but for you."

The look on your face twisted to confusion as you set your book on your lap and sat up slightly more to fix your posture. You glanced at your mother where she sat across from you as she enjoyed her afternoon tea. Even when she was shocked, she still smiled as she perked up at the potential suitor even when you told her that this was not your season.

"Bring him in then," your mother encouraged.

As the words left her lips, your gaze was met with Colin Bridgerton. For a moment, time stood still and you felt your heart race. His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before he greeted your mother. You placed your book on the table before you stood to your feet as he approached you. Your mother then found a new spot in the room to allow you privacy but kept you and your sister in her sight.

"You truly can not be calling on me, Colin," you spoke finally in a near whisper, your tone filled with disbelief.

Colin's eyebrow rose in curiosity, but an amused expression crossed his features nonetheless. "I can't see a friend, Miss Bennett?" He sat on the chaise beside where you had been sitting.

"Of course you can," you responded as you slowly sat beside him. This was Colin Bridgerton, one of your dear friends, and you could not stop thinking of him. Even as he called you his friend, you heard that underlying tone. His written words plagued you and his spoken words made your head spin. You had to look away from him briefly to look at your sister who was entirely engrossed in conversation with one of her callers. She seemed oblivious that Colin had arrived moments earlier.

You looked back at him with a calmness that you had to will yourself to muster after taking a steady breath. "And what do I owe the pleasure?" You placed a smile on your face, and your body shifted to show you had interest.

"I wanted to see you. It has been too long since we have last seen each other, especially that you were not here last season," he replied.

That was why the letters were important. It was the only way you communicated with him of your whereabouts. After the failure of not receiving a proposal from Lord Brixton, you have expressed that maybe a season away would be beneficial since your sister was not ready to debut that previous year either. It had spread gossip among the ton that the season was skipped, but it certainly worked to bring attention to your sister. The queen did not announce her diamond for the season, but your sister had sparked enough interest without needing the title. You were thankful that your shame did not extend to her.

You hadn't noticed the gift that was in his hand, and it surprised you as he presented it to you. "I have been wanting to give this to you the next time I saw you," he stated, almost bashfully as you took it from him, "I saw it in Italy and I thought it would suit you."

Your fingers gently grazed the small rectangle box and then you opened it to reveal a dainty necklace that had a small pendant of your favorite jewel. "Oh, Colin, this is beautiful," you spoke gently.

You could feel his gaze on you and your gaze met his. There it was. The quickness of your heartbeat puts you into a frenzy. "May I?" He asked, motioning to the necklace. You simply nodded before you shifted so your back was towards him. Some relief came when the eye contact was broken.

Time slowed down as he placed the necklace around your neck. His fingers gently touched the back of your neck as he clasped the jewelry securely. A soft breath left your lips as you glanced down at the pendant to admire it but then your head turned quickly as his touch lingered on the back of your neck. Your gaze met his again and silence fell for a moment before you spoke up when you knew your gazes lingered too long.

"Colin, I-"

"Miss Bennett?"

A familiar voice knocked you to your senses, and you turned your body forward as your attention was now to the man at the door. Your mouth fell agape in surprise while you quickly rose to your feet. Colin had followed suit, but he was slower than you were.

"Lord Brixton?" Your mother's voice chimed, and she had rushed to her feet to greet the gentleman.

It was like seeing a ghost and you were glued to the floor until you felt your mother's hand on your arm to guide you. Colin was left gawking at the scene of you giving the lord a graceful curtsy as your mother gushed about the man who had mysteriously returned to the ton.

Lord Brixton was a distinguished respectable man. Even when he had left after your first season, he was not the one who was questioned but it was you. There were no suitors for you after the embarrassment of that season. However, you did not find it much of an embarrassment when you had not been in a rush to marry. He was someone who listened, and he valued you like none of the others did, which was why you would have said yes. Though you weren't sure why he would suddenly show up to call upon you and the curiosity was tugging at you.

"Miss Bennett, you look as beautiful as ever," he complimented as you stood before him. His gaze lingered over you as if you were a painting to admire, a look that you have known well in the time he had been courting you. "I do apologize for my abrupt disappearance, but there was an emergency that I need to tend to at my estate," he then said. His gaze shifted to Colin who was now standing behind you. "Ah, Mister Bridgerton, I almost did not see you there. I wish to speak to Miss Bennett, if you don't mind?"

You wanted to tell Lord Brixton to come back another time because there were things you still needed to discuss with Colin. He told you there was more that he needed to say to you when you met at Lady Danbury's ball but it was proven difficult to get a word in without being interrupted. Yet before you could say anything in protest, Colin was the one to speak up.

"I do not mind at all, I was just on my way out," he stated. He stood before you and your mother to give a respectful nod. As he glanced at you, his gaze lingered for a moment before he turned to the Lord to give his farewell before he stepped out of the drawing room.

You knew that he did mind, but he was unable to stop the conversation that you would have with the man who inserted himself back in your life. He was no one compared to Lord Brixton, and his insecurities were not truly known by you but you knew of his hesitance whenever he came around or when you spoke about him. You never brought it up and you were not sure if you should. For now, your focus had to be on the lord in front of you and you gave him the warmest smile before you were trapped in his explanation as to why he left you in further detail.

An explanation that you did not care to listen to as you thought about Colin.

The day came to an end and Lord Brixton had left your home with intentions of courting you again. You retired to your bedroom for the evening as you sat at your vanity as you removed your jewelry. When it came to the necklace, you hesitated a moment before you reached to unclasp it and returned it to the box it came in. You then noticed a paper that was folded neatly inside that you did not see before, and you took it out to unfold it to reveal the familiar handwriting of Colin Bridgerton.

My Dearest,

No jewel can be compared to your beauty, yet here I am gifting you the prettiest jewel that I found in the market while I was in Italy. I wish I could be more eloquent with my words when I am with you but I find myself becoming tongue tied whenever we are near each other. Perhaps I must take a leap. Would you care to join me for a promenade tomorrow?

Sincerely Yours, Colin Bridgerton

You clutched the letter to your chest, a soft smile graced your lips as his words spread warmth through you. By coincidence, you had plans to promenade with you sister and mother tomorrow. Maybe then you would finally have that moment to speak to your dear friend without interruption.

[justagalwhowrites]

Yearling - Ch. 37: Pieces

Mitchum sends you to where he wants you as Joel questions Cody. A continuation of Yearling ch. 1-36 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: Canon-typical violence and several steps beyond that. Fairly graphic torture (not of reader.) Mention of past sexual assault, not described. No use of Y/N. Minors DNI 18+ Only 

Length: 6k

A/N: As with the last chapter, I want to state, real quick, that Bambi is NOT going to be sexually assaulted again. This is a highly triggering subject and, given the situation she's in, I understand if folks are bracing for it. That's not going to happen. The threat of it is there but it's not going to happen.

We are into the final arc of Yearling and we are going to see some TLOU 2 OVERLAP again. There isn't any this chapter but there will be in this arc and here's how: a character from that game will be mentioned as will the spoiler-y incident from a few chapters ago. What happens plot wise in this arc is completely separate from the game and entirely original content BUT there is that character overlap and more specific mentions of the incident and the motives behind it. This character returns THIS CHAPTER. If you're trying to go in blind to season 2, it might be wise to step back. Feel free to send me a DM, I'm happy to answer any and all questions!

AO3 | Chapter One | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

They were talking about you like you weren’t there. 

You’d been used to that once but it had been a long time since you’d been just a thing, separate from that life about as long as you’d suffered it. You had forgotten just how much you hated this part of being a prisoner. You’d internalized so many of the more acute horrors that the smaller things had slipped away, but the change from human being to livestock was sharp. You didn’t have much in you to fight against anything - still barely able to stand - but it seemed what little there was faded quickly just listening to the men talk about you as though you were some unruly animal. 

“Take her back to the main camp,” Mitchum said, taking your arm and turning you around so he could look you over. “She’s good on a horse, don’t let her near the reins. Don’t be stupid enough to think this one won’t take off just because she’s down some fingers, she’s a feral thing. That fucking moron… Get her there and don’t fuck her, understand? She’s mine and I gotta make sure she’s broken in right. Been wild too long, gonna have to start from scratch.” 

He took your chin in his hand, forcing your eyes to meet his own. 

“Gonna bring you back where you belong,” he said. “I tamed you once, I can do it again.” 

You didn’t say anything, all your energy going in to keeping yourself standing. You tried to think about something, anything, beyond how close Mitchum was to you again, every alarm bell your body had ringing. Where his fingers were on you burned and your heart raced, the blood loss and fear making your head spin.

The only thing that could be worse than being this close to him again was Savvy and Ellie being this close to him. The thought that you’d saved them from this was a small comfort. You hoped they made it back. You had to believe they made it. You weren’t sure you’d have the strength to keep going otherwise. They made it, they made it back to Jackson, they were safe there. 

But the men were talking about Jackson, too. Like it was something they could take. What’s worse, they sounded confident that they could do it. It was something that had seemed impossible when you were within the walls, everything so strong and permanent. How could the will of men destroy something like that? But now that you were here, back in the grip of what terrified you, it didn’t seem so impossible anymore. Jackson was just people, too. Good people, strong people who had decided to survive and work and love alongside each other but people all the same. It doesn’t take some act of God to destroy a person, just one other, determined person can do the job. 

You couldn’t handle considering that, not when the only things in the world that mattered were dependent on Jackson to be safe. You had to believe that Jackson could withstand whatever came its way, that Ellie and Savvy had made it back, that they would be safe within its walls and would never have to face men like Mitchum and Cody again. They made it, they made it back to Jackson and they were safe. The whole city was.

You thought it over and over again in your head, a mantra of sorts, as they brought you to a horse and forced you on its back. You were too out of it to grab the reins immediately, a man mounting up in front of you before you could think twice about taking control of the animal. 

“Better not try anything back there if you know what’s good for you,” the man snapped before making the horse move. You just tried to stay upright and tried to think of ways to escape once you were strong enough to run. You had to resist the urge to try now, every nerve in your body on fire and driving you to run or fight. But you couldn’t. You’d never survive a fight right now and you’d only be able to walk a mile - maybe two - before you’d collapse and then they’d have you again. You needed to save your strength or you’d never get out. 

You tried to remind yourself that you’d done all this before. You’d survived what they did to you and made it out. You’d lived and built a life and found your daughter and protected what mattered. You’d done it once, you could do it again. You just had to survive. 

You focused on the people that you wanted to survive for - Savvy and Ellie and Joel and Maria and Tommy and William and Julie and and and - and tried to settle into the sway of the horse as it walked.

Time was strange like this, pulling and warping. It seemed like it was dark longer than it should have been when the sun started to rise and then, when the men stopped for a break, the sun seemed higher than it should have been. You drank water when it was offered. You watched for a chance to steal a horse - the only way you thought you’d be able to make it far in that moment - but didn’t get one. 

The light hadn’t yet taken on the soft, hazy quality of evening when you reached where you were headed. It was an unfamiliar place, a small subdivision - maybe two dozen houses total - with mountains at its back. There was a guarded perimeter, men in cowboy hats who gave the men you were with a nod as they rode in. 

They brought you to the center of the neighborhood, to a house that was small but looked to be in good repair, two men stationed outside. 

“Down,” the man you were riding with ordered. You obeyed, sliding off the horse and stumbling, head spinning. He dismounted more smoothly before grabbing you by the collar of your shirt - Joel’s shirt - and hauled you for the door, one of the guards meeting him there. He took a padlock off the front door before opening it and shoving you inside, past a small living room with a sunken sofa and a kitchen with counters covered in a thick layer of dust. He forced you down a hall to a bedroom. You were almost positive it had been a little girl’s room once but it had been stripped of all forms of childish comfort. There were two twin sized mattresses on the floor, tucked into corners on opposite pink walls. There had been carpet once, you were sure, but it had been pulled up, just the plywood below remaining. There was a bucket at the foot of each bed and some drywall had been pulled away near each bed, exposing the frame of the walls, chains wrapped around a stud near either bed. 

“On the bed,” the man ordered, shoving you toward it and making you stumble. You more fell onto the mattress than sat on it but it didn’t seem to make a difference. He approached you and you went to kick him, not about to let him just take what he wanted without a fight, but he caught your boot, giving you a sharp shake when he did. “Just making sure you don’t run. Sit still or this will hurt a lot more than it needs to.” 

He pulled your boot off before you had a chance to respond and tossed it near the door before picking up the chain. It was thick and heavy, no cuff on the end. He wrapped it around your ankle, tight enough that it cut into your flesh a little, and put a padlock through the loops to hold it in place. He gave it a testing pull and it didn’t budge. He nodded. 

“Recommend you rest while you can,” he said, dropping your leg. “Mitchum’s back in a day or two, don’t imagine you’ll have much while he’s here.” 

He turned to leave and you looked to the other mattress. There was a smear of blood near the chain that was still bright red, like it hadn’t dried yet. There was someone else who had been here, someone recently. The door closed and locked and you stretched out on the bed, trying to force your body and mind to still enough that you could rest. 

It didn’t work very well. You faded in and out of consciousness for a while - you weren’t entirely sure how long but you were fairly certain night had fallen. The window in the room was covered with yellowed newspaper but you were pretty sure you’d seen light coming through it earlier in the day. It was dark now. 

It took you a moment to realize what had pulled you back to consciousness. There was a scuffle outside your door, the sound of someone being wrestled inside. You shot up, scrambling to find something you might be able to use as a weapon but came up empty, the room stripped of anything that could be a tool and your mind still working slowly. You were still down a lot of blood. 

The door opened and you braced yourself to claw and bite but the man there paid you no mind. Instead, he shoved a tall, broad young woman in, one with a blonde fishtail braid that hung down her back. Something inside you twinged at the sight of her, a distant alarm bell ringing. She was familiar, you couldn’t see her face but you knew her. You could feel it.

The man forced her onto the opposite mattress and all but threw the chain around her ankle before locking it into place. 

“If you’re fuckin’ smart, you’ll behave yourself,” the man backed away from her, panting for breath with a cut on his cheek. “If you weren’t one of Mitchum’s favorite toys, I’d kill you myself.” 

“Fuck you,” she spat, lifting her head from the mattress, her teeth bared in a snarl. Your breath caught, the fingers from your intact hand groping for the chain attached to your ankle, your best hope for a weapon. 

You did know this woman - almost more of a girl in spite of her size and strength, she couldn’t be much older than Ellie and definitely young enough to be your daughter. You didn’t know her name or where she was from or why she had tried to murder your husband but you knew her, knew how she looked when she was filled with rage and desperate to kill a man. Knew how she looked as she beat Joel until he was bloody and half dead. Your grip on the chain tightened. 

The man left and you weren’t sure if the two of them had said anything else, the high pitched whine that had taken over your ears only just beginning to fade. 

She seemed to notice you then, straining to sit up, her eyes wide at first but narrowing when she reached your face. 

She recognized you, too. 

“You,” she was still panting for breath, leaning against the wall at her back, sneering at you. Watching you. “I should have known they’d find some other fucking way to torture me.” 

You watched her back, ready to defend yourself in case she made a move. 

“I could have said the same thing about you.” 

***

Joel wasn’t aware of much. 

There were gunshots but they were of little consequence. The screams didn’t register, either. Neither did the sweat on his neck or the pain in his back or the pull in his leg that had been there ever since he was shot by the girl who wanted him dead. 

He could feel your blood on his hands, though, and the feel of your fingers in his pocket and hear the thud of his heart and he could see. He could see Cody on his horse but he could see how you’d been afraid of him, too. That day in the stable when Joel held you and you were so scared you could barely stay standing. He could see how it would have happened, how this man would have cut away pieces of you. How scared you would have been, how you would have fought anyway, how you would have screamed. 

All Joel really knew in that moment was that he needed to hurt this man. He needed to take every ounce of pain from his body until there was nothing else left inside of him and he needed him to know, as he died, that he was dying for you. 

Cody tried to dodge Joel as he threw himself at him, the horse stutter stepping away as Cody tried to pull it back while also grabbing his gun. But he wasn’t fast enough, Joel’s hands closing around the edges of the man’s jacket as he yanked him to the ground, Cody’s gun flying into the trees. 

But Cody was not a small man and his thrashing weight threw Joel off balance, the two of them sprawling to the forest floor. Cody was younger and more agile and got to his feet first, pulling his knife free from his belt, lunging for Joel. But Joel was ready for him, kicking him in the gut so hard that it knocked the wind out of him and sent him stumbling back. He got to his feet, too, Cody leaning against a tree, knife out as he caught his breath. 

“You’re not gonna get her back,” he panted, a sneer on his face as he watched Joel. “She’s with him now and he’s not gonna let her go so easy this time. And when he’s done with her, don’t think you’ll even want her back.” 

There was commotion at Joel’s back but it barely registered. 

“I should have fucking killed you when I had the chance,” Joel said, watching him closely. “She was too good to you. She’s always been better than anyone left fuckin’ deserved, least of all you.” 

“And she should’ve known what I gave her when I let her go,” he said, standing up a little straighter now, breath caught. “Instead of being an ungrateful cunt.” 

Joel roared and threw himself at Cody, the other man striking out at him with his knife. He nicked Joel’s shoulder with the blade but he barely noticed it, the blow not really hurting so much as being filed away as information, things he would need to contend with at some point when Cody’s blood was cold on the ground. 

Joel threw a punch, catching Cody on the jaw and he stumbled for a moment before lunging at Joel, striking out with the knife again but falling short and following up with a clumsy fist after. Joel caught his hand and twisted it, the other man giving a sharp yelp. Joel liked the sound, the evidence of his pain soothing the gnawing desperation inside him. 

But his satisfaction was short lived, the knife slamming into Joel’s shoulder making him seize up for a moment. He was aware that it should hurt, that there was metal inside him now that didn’t belong, but all it did was bring everything into sharper focus. This knife was probably the one that had drawn your blood, too. It seemed right that he should suffer it with you after he’d failed at doing what he’d vowed to do. 

The split second of the shock of the stab passed quickly and Joel drove Cody back into the tree, slamming his back into the trunk of it and knocking the air out of him, his head hitting the bark with a sickening thud. Joel didn’t relent. Instead, he punched him across the face, one arm holding the man in place as he hit him again and again. 

This satisfaction held longer. Cody’s fingers scramble and clawed at Joel, trying to find purchase somewhere they could pull him away from his singular mission but that was impossible. Joel’s physical body didn’t matter to him anymore, not without you, and every small hurt was swallowed by the drive to destroy. 

“Joel!” Tommy’s arm looped around Joel’s neck, pulling him back from Cody who slipped down the tree trunk, his hands limp on the blood coated leaves, his chest still rising and falling, eyes blinking as he stared into space. Joel strained to pull away from Tommy’s grip but his brother held him firm as he panted for breath. “Joel, you can’t kill him yet, we need information. We kept one of the others alive but we need information or we’ll never find her. He’s alive, we need him to stay a live a little longer.” 

Joel slumped forward in Tommy’s grip and his hold on him loosened, starting to feel his body again. His knuckles hurt and were slick with blood. Joel wasn’t sure how much was Cody’s and how much was his own. There was a sharp, stabbing pain in his shoulder and he reached back with his other arm, flinching as he did, before taking hold of the knife and pulling the blade free. He heard Tommy wince as he did and Joel brought the weapon around in front of him, holding it up for a moment. His blood was slick over half the blade, the edge serrated. 

“You cut off my wife’s fingers with this?” Joel panted, squatting down to be on Cody’s level, holding the knife up. His own voice sounded odd to him, so normal when everything was so wrong. 

“Wait, what?” Ellie stalked over to him and Joel glanced up at her. There was a cut on her cheek and her eyes were wide. Joel turned back to Cody and reached into his pocket, gently pulling your fingers free before setting them on Cody’s stomach. “Motherfucker!” 

Joel barely registered the sound of Tommy wrestling Ellie away, too focused on the man in front of him to worry about anything else. 

“Did you cut off my wife’s fingers with this?” Joel said again, voice flat. 

Cody struggled to swallow and Joel took hold of his jaw, yanking his head around so he was looking right at him. 

“Answer the question.” 

Cody blinked a few times before taking a shaky breath. 

“Yes.” 

There was a rattle in his voice and blood on his teeth. 

“Good.” 

Joel took the knife and thrust it into his thigh, just over his knee. Cody screamed and squirmed uselessly under him and Joel waited, keeping constant pressure down on the blade, giving him no relief. 

As he quieted - gasping for breath, eyes wide and bloodshot - Joel pulled the knife from his leg and wiped the blood on his jeans. 

“Gonna hurt you like you hurt her,” he said, picking up Cody’s hand from the ground. He started trying to pull it away, heavy breaths shifting to hyperventilation, but Joel held firm, forcing the hand down to the man’s thigh. “What, you afraid of me usin’ your knife the way you do? That it? Can’t be that bad, can it?” 

“No,” he panted. “No, please, I’ll give you whatever you want, I’ll…” 

Joel lined the blade up with the smallest knuckle on Cody’s pinky and cut through it in one devastating push, the man screaming and writhing and trying to pull his hand into his chest to comfort himself but Joel didn’t let him. 

“You’ll give me what I want?” Joel asked, putting the knife at the next joint down. “But what if what I want is my wife? What if what I want is your pain, hm? You give me that?” 

He cut again, the blade meeting more resistance this time. Joel pushed through it, the knife cutting through the denim of his jeans on the other side of his hand as he screamed again. Cody closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the tree and Joel resisted the urge to beat his face in. He had to leave him alive for a little while longer. 

And besides, he couldn’t take more pain from him if he was dead. 

“No, you don’t get to fuckin’ pass out on me,” Joel stabbed the knife through his hand, pinning it to his thigh before grabbing his hair by the fistful, bringing his head forward so it was only inches from Joel’s own. He could smell the blood on his skin, clearly see the trails of salt on his cheeks. “You get to be awake for this. Doubt you ever let her pass out, did you? Not about to do you any favors. Now, you focus on me, understand?” 

Cody managed a nod. Joel dragged the blade through is palm, between the webbing of his fingers, cutting a path through the delicate bones of his hand and the thick muscle of his thigh as Cody begged and screamed. The wound at Joel’s shoulder ached. He couldn’t bring himself to care about either thing. 

He held Cody’s hand in place again and gave him a second to quiet and catch his breath before lining the knife up at the base of his pinky. 

“Please,” he panted, eyes so desperate as they met Joel’s. “Please, I can’t…” 

“Can’t what?” Joel asked, brows raised. “Can’t survive what you did to her?” 

Joel cut, separating the bloody remains of the finger from Cody’s hand and casting it aside. Cody’s screams were growing hoarse and Joel ground his teeth. He still needed answers from him and he needed to be able to talk for that. 

He pulled the knife away, holding it firmly and watching as the other man caught his breath. 

“I can make this easier,” Joel said after a moment. “You tell me where she is? I kill you. Quick. Maybe not painless but not as bad as this. You’re not leavin’ here alive. Should have killed you in Jackson months ago. Hell, should have fucking found you years ago and killed you then but I didn’t. Not about to let you go again. But it’s up to you if how I kill you is for you or for me, if it’s fast or if it’s slow.”

“I…” the wet rattle of Cody’s breath was sharper now. “I can’t… I can’t trust you to do it quick…” 

“Yes you can,” Joel said. “You tell me where my wife is? I’m gonna go get her. Not gonna want to waste more time here with you. It’ll be quick if you just tell me.” 

Cody’s eyes searched Joel’s for a moment, like he would find some kind of answer in them. Joel didn’t need to see his reflection to know that the only thing Cody would find in his gaze was the hollow, desperate pain of your loss. There wasn’t anything else left in him to see. 

“I traded her,” he said. “To Mitchum. Met… met him about 10 miles north east of here but he won’t still be there. I don’t think he’d keep her with him - he never did before, always… always had her at his base…” 

“And where’s that,” Joel asked when he trailed off. Cody’s neck went limp and Joel grabbed his chin again, giving him a sharp shake and forcing his eyes to spring open. “Stay with me, focus right here. Where is Mitchum’s base? Where would he take her?” 

“Little spot,” he panted. “Just… a bunch of houses, don’t know if it’s got a name…” 

“Tommy!” Joel called without even glancing back at him. “Need a map.” 

It took a few seconds before Tommy appeared, handing Joel a wrinkled and worn map. 

“Point to where it is on this map,” Joel said, releasing his bloody, four fingered hand. “Your buddy over there know where it is?” Cody nodded, shaky, once. “Good. You point where it is. He’d better point to the same goddamn spot.”

He handed the map back to Tommy and kept Cody in his sights, watching as his skin grew pale and his head listless and limp. There was a scuffle and scream behind him, loud enough that Cody shocked back to full consciousness with it. 

“Sounds like your friend don’t know what’s good for him,” Joel said, taking Cody’s bloodied hand and forcing it to his thigh again. “Or what’s good for you.” 

“No,” he shook his head, his eyes so wide. “No, please!” 

“Tell him to cooperate,” Joel said. 

“Do what he says!” Cody screamed. “Just do it, please!” 

Joel pressed the knife to the base of his ring finger and cut. He was almost surprised at how easy it was to force the blade through the bone and sinew. He could barely feel the strain of it as Cody screamed below him. The knife sank a bit into his leg as it cut through the last of the skin and Joel picked the finger up, holding it in front of Cody’s crying eyes. 

“She scream like you?” Joel asked, turning the piece of his captive slowly before them both, the wet of his blood catching the light like the fractures in the glass of his watch. “You like hearin’ it like I like hearin’ you?” 

“Please,” Cody managed, voice ragged and hoarse.

“Why’d you do it?” He asked, lowering the severed finger but keeping it firmly in his grip. “You already took her, already were handing her over to that… animal. Why’d you need to hurt her, too.” 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. Joel thrust the knife into his upper thigh, inches shy of the man’s crotch and he gasped, mouth open in a silent scream. He was wearing out, inching closer and closer to death. 

“Don’t give a shit about your sorry,” Joel said. “Why. Tell me.” 

He gave Cody a second to start to recover from the pain before twisting the knife, making him seize again. 

“Tell me.” 

“She tried to run!” He sobbed, collapsing back down again. “She… she tried to run, killed two of my men. And she never… never appreciated what I did for her then…” 

Joel just nodded slowly. You’d been able to try to run, at least before Cody took your fingers. You weren’t so scared that you couldn’t move, weren’t so beaten that you couldn’t run. That was a good sign. You were a survivor. He had to remember that. You’d survived before. You would now, too. You would still be alive for him to find, for him to save, and he would save you. If it was the last thing he did, he would save you.

“Joel,” Tommy was at his side and it was quiet at his back. “Same spot.” 

“Good,” Joel said. He carefully picked your fingers up from where they’d fallen in the leaves at Cody’s side and tucked them away in his pocket again before getting to his feet. Ellie was at his side, her rifle in her hands. 

“I want to hurt him,” she said, her voice flat. 

Joel looked at her, really looked at her for the first time since they’d found Cody. There was a darkness in her eyes that terrified him in its familiarity. It was the look she’d had for a split second when he’d found her after David had taken her from him. It was sharp and vicious and demanding and Joel wasn’t sure she knew how to come back from it. 

“Will hurtin’ him help you?” Joel asked as gently as he could. She looked up at him, that sharp look still in her eyes. 

“He hurt my mother,” she said, a hint of barely contained rage on her face. “I need to make him pay.” 

He considered her for a second, trying to think clearly as he looked at the young woman who had once been the girl he’d shepherded across the country. In so many ways, she was still that little girl, one who he’d protected and failed at protecting, one who he had saved and had led to her near demise.

Would this be any worse than anything she had already suffered? Would it hurt her any worse than the things that Joel had allowed on his watch before, when he hadn’t been good enough to take care of her the way she deserved? Would it be, somehow, any more terrible because he allowed it? 

Ellie was so like him in so many ways, ways that terrified him when he thought about it. There was a passion in her that so easily bloomed into rage and he knew what it was to keep that stifled and smothered. He knew, too, what it was to take it out on another human being, even one who deserved it. 

He adjusted his grip on the knife and held the handle out to her. She went to take it but he pulled it back for a moment. 

“Can’t kill him,” Joel said. “Understand?” 

“Joel…” Tommy said at his back, but Joel just held out his empty hand, silencing him. 

“Understand?” He repeated, watching Ellie closely. 

She hesitated a moment, watching him back with those sharp, dark eyes. 

“I understand,” she said, taking the knife from him and turning to Cody. She cocked her head, examining him cooly. 

“Please,” the man whispered, looking up at her. 

“Which fingers did he take?” Ellie asked, not looking back at Joel. 

“Outside two,” Joel said, a twinge in his chest as he said it. “Her wedding ring with ‘em.” 

Ellie nodded, her grip tightening on the knife before lowering her knee to pin Cody’s wrist of his intact hand to the ground. 

“I told you I was gonna fucking kill you,” she said, her voice dangerous as the man tried weakly to pull his arm away from her. “My dad told me not to do that. But I am going to make you fucking pay.” 

She slammed the knife into his hand with a sharp, angry cry, more hacking at him than cutting, striking him again and again until she was splattered with blood and Cody had screamed himself to silence. Joel’s stomach twisted at the sight of it, the satisfaction at knowing Cody’s agony twinged with an ache of his own at the sound of Ellie’s pained scream. 

“If you’re just gonna let her fuckin’…” Tommy snapped, nudging Joel roughly to the side and stepping around him to wrap his arms around Ellie from behind, forcing her to still. She quieted then, no longer screaming and just sobbing instead. “It’s OK baby girl. C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up…” 

“No!” She tried to shake him loose but he held firm. “I want him to hurt! I want to make him hurt, I want him fucking dead, he doesn’t deserve it, he doesn’t deserve to live, he doesn’t…” 

“I know,” Tommy said gently. “I know. But you hear him? He’s passed out, you’re not gonna make him regret this any more than he already does and Joel’s gonna finish him. He’s not gonna live, OK? He’s paid for it, he’s hurt for it, it’s OK baby girl.” 

The knife slipped from her hold then, lying beside the mangled flesh and bone that had once been Cody’s hand. His pinky and ring fingers were completely gone. 

“C’mon,” Tommy said again. “Gonna get you cleaned up, let Joel finish the job, then we’ll get movin’. You’re OK.” 

He pulled her gently to her feet and gave Joel a deadly look as he passed, Ellie gathered against his side as he led her away. 

Joel knelt and picked up the knife, every inch of it splattered in blood now. He didn’t care. He took Cody’s chin in his hand and gave his head a sharp shake and the man gave a sharp gasp before trying to cough but choked on his own blood instead, his eyes opening slowly. He couldn’t even lift his head now, his eyes the only thing it seemed he could really move. 

“Wanted you to be awake for this,” Joel said, his voice a deadly calm. “Wanted to make sure you felt it. Wanted to be sure you knew why you were dying.”

Joel thrust the knife into Cody’s side, burying it fully between two ribs and twisting it there. His eyes went wide and his body thrashed as much as it could but it was a useless endeavor. He started gasping for breath, the gurgling sound of him starting to drown in his own blood overwhelming the sound of the woods around them as Joel pulled the knife from his side. 

“You could have lived, you know,” Joel continued. “Could have spent the rest of your years anywhere but Jackson, never would have looked for you. She asked me not to look for you, to just leave you alive. Felt like she owed you somethin’. Maybe she thought you’d been a good man once, long time ago. But you and me, we know the truth. You were never a good man, never had it in you to be good. You didn’t deserve her mercy so you ain’t gettin’ mine.”

“You…” he gasped and choked. “Promised…” 

“Promised what?” He asked. “To make it quick for you?” 

He didn’t give Cody a chance to respond. Joel just shrugged. 

“I lied.” 

He thrust the knife in between the same ribs on the other side, twisting it and pulling it free before wiping the worst of the blood on Cody’s pants and getting back to his feet. He put his hand in his pocket, the one that held the pieces of you. He traced your wedding band with his thumb, feeling your cold skin below his touch. How many times had this flesh laced with his? How many times had it tangled in his hair or squeezed his arm or touched his cheek? 

He held it himself now, trying to keep the pieces of you warm as Cody drowned in his own blood. His dying breaths were harsh and rasping and desperate, the last gasp of his mortality clinging to this life as though there was anything but pain to be found for him here. As if there was anything he deserved beyond pain. Just before the light left his eyes, Joel picked Cody’s fingers up off the ground and opened his mouth, forcing them inside. He stood back again, watching as he tried to take two quick, shallow breaths around them before going completely still. 

“Joel,” Tommy said from behind him. 

Joel looked down at Cody’s body for a moment longer. This man had hurt you, raped you, taken you. He was dead now, at Joel’s hand. There was justice in that. He spit on his body all the same. 

He turned to find his brother and daughter standing side by side, Ellie’s eyes still sharp but rimmed in red, her cheeks puffy. Both of them were wet, Ellie no longer splattered in blood. 

“We should move,” Joel said, stalking toward Cody’s horse. Tommy just watched him as Joel mounted up, the horse pawing at the ground for a moment as he got settled. He looked back at his brother. “If you ain’t got the stomach, Tommy, I’ll do this myself…” 

“I’m comin’,” Tommy said, going to another horse and mounting up, too. “Just hope you don’t get lost in the process.” 

Joel didn’t say anything. What was there to say? That the man he had the potential to be had left when you did? That, without you, there was nothing left to lose? 

He didn’t need to say it. Somehow, he was sure, Tommy knew. 

Instead, he nudged his horse forward, starting on the path given to him by the man he’d left in pieces on the ground. 

Next Chapter

A/N: So Joel is pretttttttty damn feral at this point. I'm not sure I've ever written a Joel quite this unhinged and that's not even accounting for the fact that the juxtaposition between Jackson Joel and Feral Joel is pretty harsh. He's just gone, at least for now.

There are just three chapters left of this fic now (I think, the way some of this chapter flowed means it may grow to 41 chapters but I don't think so)! Next chapter is going to be a big one, one that's been building for the whole of this fic and I'm so excited for it. I hope you are, too!

Thanks for being here through this INSANELY lengthy journey both in word/chapter count and in time. It feels like we've been with Joel and Bambi forever and that's because we kind of have been - almost a year now! I hope you've enjoyed the ride. I know I have.

Love you!

Taglist: @ashleymsnodgrass@planet-marz1@kalea-bane @juneswonderlust @ilovepedro @h-annahayy @starstruckmusiciansartghost @beccerjune @mumma-moonchild @netonetoneto @mellymbee @purplelye @n7cje @flugazi @evyiione @randomhoex @aliengirl99 @orcasoul @reds-ramblings @pedropascalsbbg @fupoola @tinypotatothing @knopes-waffles @lilmizmoz @ayamenimthiriel @jenispunk @panda-pascal @sarap-77 @flugazi @your-slutty-gf @daniegraceg @partyofone3413 @cumberpegg @noisynightmarepoetry. @fifia-writes @grumpygrumperton @srmacaroni @txlady37 @bigboiseason123 @ashleyfilm @arizonadreamingg

[simpingforstardew]

misty [chapter three]

pairing: sdv harvey x reader

synopsis: harvey has always been a man of routine and order— although just as he begins to tire of his life in pelican town, a new farmer moves to the valley and turns his life around. chapter three.

warnings: poor overworked harvey :(( please enjoy my harvey playlist while you read ♡ (this is crossposted from ao3).

word count: 1.6k

<< last chapter | next chapter >>

The fluorescent lights of the clinic cast a harsh, sterile glow, illuminating the white walls and linoleum floors of Harvey’s small office, casting an unnaturally pale glow over the cluttered desk. The clatter of the doctor’s footsteps on tiled floors echoes through the empty hallways.

Today was supposed to be different. Today was supposed to be his day off.

For the past two weeks, Harvey had been working overtime, sacrificing his days off to update Pravoloxinanone prescriptions, coordinate with healthcare professionals around Ferngill, and arranging appointments for the townsfolk. Turns out that without the distraction of an attractive farmer, the passing work days have been unforgivingly laborious.

He could, in theory, ask Maru to pick up some extra shifts, to stay behind a couple hours more. He knew she was eager to help, but he couldn’t bring himself to burden her further. She had her own responsibilities, attending college lectures online while juggling part-time work at the clinic.

A sudden death rattle of his fax machine shattered the silence, its mechanical whirring cutting through the stillness of the office like a knife— a relentless reminder of the endless stream of tasks demanding his attention.

He glances at the clock on the wall, his tired eyes struggling to focus through the thick lenses of his glasses.

3:30 pm.

Another hour wasted, another day lost to the demands of his job. He sighed wearily, running a hand through his greying hair. Harvey still couldn’t tell if the strands of silver were a testament to his age or his perpetual stress. He didn’t know which answer he would prefer.

He gazed out of his window, watching sparrows gracefully darting through the clear sky above. Dark-eyed juncos, specifically— Junco hyemalis. Harvey’s brief fascination with bird-watching while at University always managed to resurface during moments like this, when searching for an excuse to look away from his work.

The sight stirs something within him, prompting him to break the monotony. Locking himself in his office, Harvey realized, would only consign him to an evening of fatigue. So, he pushes away from his cluttered desk, picking up his green overcoat from the coat rack as he leaves the clinic.

Hurrying down the cobblestone path, Harvey’s mind races with a cacophony of thoughts. He fails to notice you walking his way until it is too late.

You collide with a jolt, and Harvey stumbles backward. The doctor could practically hear his heart pounding in his chest. His dishevelled appearance must have been evident, his fatigue and stress written plainly across his face.

“Oh, shoot, I—,” You panic, rubbing your shoulder bashfully, “I am so sorry, Harvey I-,”

“No, no, It is perfectly fine— I was just, distracted tthinking about a recent article I read about the recent rise of…” His voice trails off, acutely aware of how awkward he must sound, “Whooping… cough.”

“Hm, that doesn’t sound like much fun,” you grimace sympathetically.

“Oh, on the contrary! Pertussis is actually rather fascinating, that reminds me to reach out to Jodi and Shane to see if they can book a vaccination appointment for Vincent and J—”

“You’re doing the thing.” You interrupt, recognising a fellow workaholic when you see one. A kindred spirit.

“What thing? I am not doing a… thing.”

“Sure you are— you’re doing the thing I used to do at my old job,” Your tone gentle but firm. “You grovel and moan over your work, it stresses you out so you take a break, then you realize you’re stuck thinking about the work that was stressing you out!”

“Well, I am a doctor— There is no way for me to not think… I- I have an entire town to look after for Yoba’s sake. ” Harvey retorts defensively.

“Of course, and that’s the problem.”

“That is..?”

In that moment, as you notice the doctor picking as the skin on his fingers, you see the bags under his eyes; the paleness of his skin. You had seen undead creatures in the mines more full of life.

“Who’s looking after you, Harvey?” your voice softens, concern evident in your eyes, “I mean, I don’t want to pry, but I’m not surprised you’re stressed with the weight of the valley on you all the time. But you can’t manage that burden alone. Nobody could.”

“O-Oh, I um—,” Harvey falters, stammering as his defences crumble in the face of your genuine concern, “Appreciate your candour, truly, but you do not need to worry about me. My well-being shouldn’t be any of your…” He huffs, his cheeks flushed.

Despite his larger stature, Harvey’s wide eyes scanning your face anxiously made the man appear small; weak. You ignore the impulse to take his rosy cheeks in your hands, or to clasp his hands to calm his nervous fidgeting.

He clears his throat as his phone rings— a blocky grey mobile, a model you haven’t seen since 2005.

“I- need to take this call, I’m sorry.” He leaves, jogging back to the clinic. As you see him leave, you wonder what exactly he was apologising for.

As you push open the creaky doors of the saloon, the sounds of clinking glasses and laughter wash over you like a warm embrace. The dimly lit room is filled with the scent of aged wood and the tang of whiskey.

“Hey there, stranger!” Sam’s booming voice cuts through the din, drawing the attention of the entire room. His grin is as infectious as ever, and you can’t help but return it as you make your way over to the group by the pool table. Abigail and Sebastian wave you over eagerly, their faces lit up with genuine excitement.

“Hey gang, sorry I got caught up with something,” You drop your backpack on the polished wooden floor as you crash onto the plush sofa next to Abigail.

It’s been years since you’ve all been together like this—no screens or avatars, just flesh and blood friends reconnecting in the real world. You couldn’t help but feel a wave of nostalgia wash over you. Sure, Sebastian is now a little taller, Sam a little more pierced, Abigail a little more muscular. Despite what has changed since you last visited the valley to see your grandfather, the gang was still here. And with the way you all slip into conversation, it’s as if you never left.

As you settle in, taking in the familiar faces and the comforting hum of conversation, Abigail leans in with a mischievous glint in her eye. “So, what’s going on with your love life? It seems like every time we’d chat online, you’d either be lovesick or swearing off romance altogether.”

Your smile falters slightly.

It wasn’t as though you weren’t looking for love— if anything, you consider yourself quite the romantic— but with the chaos of the farm, dating seems out of the question.

“I don’t know, Abs. I’ve come to realise that dying alone is underrated,” You quip with a chuckle, hoping a comedic distraction will satisfy as an answer, “Honestly, the freedom of being single rules, you guys should try it some time.”

“Nahh,” Sam lets out a hearty laugh, flopping down on top of you and Abigail with all the grace of a newborn foal, “We’ve got the dating thing down, shout out to your lonely ass though.”

“Sam!”Abigail gasps incredulously, pushing the blonde off with a huff, though there’s a fondness in her eyes that belies her words, “Don’t be an dick!”

You all share a laugh as Sam looks up from his crumpled position on the floor, his puppy-dog eyes silently pleading for forgiveness.

Sebastian places his drink on a nearby table, sauntering over to the three of you, “Well, (Y/n) if you ever need a wingman, you know where to find me.” He smirks at you before picking up the pool cue resting against the wall.

“Pfft, as if they’d pick you to be their wingman when I’m right here!” Sam stands up, looking frantically between you and Sebastian before dropping dramatically to his knees, “Right, bestie? You’d totally trust me to pick you out a partner!”

Before you can imagine what having the punk as your wingman would entail, the bell above the bar’s front door chimes: Elliot strides through the saloon, exchanging greetings with Emily and Gus before running his fingers through his auburn hair. You wonder what shampoo he uses.

The poet’s eyes scan the room until they land on you. “Ah, apologies for the interruption. Have any of you seen Harvey, perchance? This is the second time he has failed to show…” Elliot’s voice trails off, concern etching lines into his chiselled features.

“Oh, I saw him earlier. He seemed,” Overworked? Exhausted? Close to death? “…busy.”

“Ah, well that certainly sounds like him. If you happen to run into him again, do try to convince him to re-join society.” Elliot laughs, although there is no more humour in his statement as there is truth.

As the author leaves, the conversation in the saloon continues to flow. Despite your best efforts, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you might have overstepped with Harvey earlier— the thought gnaws at you.

You don’t know why you are so worried about him, surely he can look after himself; surely it didn’t matter if he has somebody in his life to look after him. You try not to think about somebody else being there for him. Somebody else holding him at night. Somebody else wiping away his tears.

Instead, you force a smile, joining in the laughter, as your concern for Harvey lingers, a shadow over the otherwise cheerful atmosphere of the saloon.

[wannabehockeygf]

prompt 7 with zegras? they're in a fwb relationship and she's all i have no feelings but then she's BLUSHING

Fuck it I love you - Trevor Zegras

“wish that you would hold me,

or just say that you were mine,

it’s killing me slowly.”

prompt #7: “Are you blushing?”

summary: pillow talk one morning turns more serious

word count: 2k

pairing: trevor zegras x fem! oc

warnings: refers to sex i suppose?

notes:

- thanks for requesting someone new! keep ‘em coming or i am absolutely totally fine with writing about ck9, bb6 or am34… wink wink nudge nudge

- i actually kept this one short someone give me a cookie

- also i fear… i love trevor and dixie together

- the d’amelio’s didn’t do shit!! leave them alone pls

- i can never tell green or blue eyes apart. as a brown eyed person I’m always so lost so I’m sorry if his eyes are actually blue

He’s got a nice face… need i say more?

***

“Good morning, baby,” a raspy voice comes from behind you. You had been staring at the wall prior, relishing in the way the warmth of his bare chest feels against your back although you’d never admit that out loud.

“I told you to stop calling me that, Trevor,” you sigh, squirming underneath the ticklish kisses he’s peppering on the sensitive skin on the back of your neck. You can basically hear his frown, but he recovers quickly, “Turn around, please.”

With a small groan, you turn your body, only to be met with Trevor’s face, the goofiest smile you had ever seen plastered onto it. When he sees you, he jokingly mocks your frown. “What’s got you in a mood?”

You pout, although something about the sparkle in those green puppy eyes softened your defenses. “I dunno, maybe it’s ‘cause you keep acting like we’re in a relationship when we’re not.”

“And I’ve told you,” he starts, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear, “That I’m happy to take you on a date. When you finally agree, that is.”

You roll your eyes, but the corners of your mouth betray you by twitching upward. His hand lingers on your cheek, his thumb tracing gentle circles that send shivers down your spine. “I don’t see why you’re so set on this,” you mutter, your voice barely above a whisper.

Trevor’s eyes search yours, the mischief replaced by a depth that makes your heart skip a beat. “Because you’re beautiful. And, you’ve got a great personality. What’s not to like?” he says softly, his breath warm against your face.

You break eye contact, staring at the spot where his collarbone meets his shoulder, the tan skin marred by a small scar. The silence stretches, filled only by the sound of your breathing and the distant hum of the city waking up outside.

“Are you blushing?” Trevor’s voice breaks through your thoughts, and you look back at him to meet that signature, toothy grin again. You hadn’t even realized it, but your cheeks were burning up by the second.

“Maybe it’s just hot in here,” you deflect, though you both know that’s a weak excuse. His grin widens, and he pulls you closer, wrapping his arms around your waist. His touch is gentle yet possessive, suffocating yet enamouring and it makes you want to either scream or kiss him.

“You’re adorable when you’re flustered,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear. The sensation makes your heart race, and you can’t help but lean into him, your resolve wavering. The scent of his cologne mixed with the faintest hint of sweat fills your senses, intoxicating and familiar. So distinctly Trevor.

Nope. Not doing this.

You peel yourself away from him, swinging your legs over his bed and standing up, still completely naked although you didn’t care as you searched for your clothes on the carpeted floor of his bedroom. “Not gonna happen,” you remind him.

Trevor watches you with a bemused expression, his eyes following every movement as you gather your clothes. His gaze is so intense you can almost feel it tracing lines along your skin, making you suddenly acutely aware of your nakedness.

"Come on, you can't keep running from this forever," he says, his voice softer now, almost pleading. You pull on your shirt, the fabric feeling oddly constricting compared to the warmth of his bed. “You know, it’s okay to admit you like me,” he continues.

You snort, a futile attempt to mask the way your heart flutters at his words. “Like you? As if. You’re just convenient.”

Trevor chuckles, the sound deep and resonant, wrapping around you like the ghost of an embrace. "Convenient, huh?" he echoes, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. The sunlight streaming through the window catches on the sharp lines of his abs, the shadow of stubble on his jaw making him look effortlessly rugged.

You pull on your jeans, the denim scratching against your skin, a stark contrast to the softness you left behind in the bed. "Yeah, convenient," you mutter, though your voice lacks the conviction you hope for.

Trevor stands, padding over to you with the quiet grace of a predator. "You can't fool me," he murmurs, his breath warm against your temple as he leans in, his fingers brushing a stray hair behind your ear. The touch is so gentle, so intimate, it makes your breath catch. "I see the way you look at me."

You swallow hard, the lump in your throat almost painful. "You're imagining things," you insist, but even to your own ears, the words sound hollow. “Put some fucking pants on. I don’t need to stare at your dick while trying to get out of here.” You add on, grabbing your shoes, the leather cool and stiff under your fingers, and sit on the edge of the bed to pull them on.

Trevor laughs, the sound vibrating through the room, low and teasing. “Fine, fine,” he says, lifting his hands in surrender. He grabs a pair of boxers from the dresser, slipping them on with a casualness that somehow makes him even more alluring. The fabric clings to his lean frame, outlining the muscles you know all too well.

You focus on tying your shoelaces, but your fingers tremble, betraying your inner turmoil. Trevor moves closer, his presence a magnetic force you can’t ignore. “You coming tonight?” He questions, casually.

“To the bar?” You snap back, your voice coming out more venomous than you meant it, “Maybe. Depends how shitty work is.”

Trevor’s brows furrow as he runs a hand through his messy mop of dirty blond hair, “No, to the game. My game.”

You force a nonchalant shrug, even as your heart thrums wildly in your chest. "I don’t know," you murmur, fiddling with the hem of your shirt. "Depends if I have nothing better to do."

He tilts his head, studying you with those piercing green eyes that seem to see straight through your facade. "Right," he says slowly, his voice a rich, low rumble that sends shivers down your spine. "Nothing better to do than watch me score goals and be amazing on the ice."

You can't help but snort, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. "Your ego is suffocating, you know that?" you tease, trying to deflect the conversation away from the uncomfortable truth lurking beneath. The truth that maybe, just maybe, you find his confidence intoxicating, and his presence addictive.

Trevor steps closer, and the familiar scent of him—woodsy cologne mixed with a hint of morning musk—envelops you. It's a scent that always clings to your skin long after you've left his bed, a constant reminder of moments you pretend don't mean as much as they do. His fingers brush your cheek, gentle but insistent, as he tilts your face up to meet his gaze. "I want you there," he says, and there's a raw honesty in his voice that twists something deep inside you. "Not just because you're my friend or because of this...whatever we have. But because I like you, and I want you to see me. This is my job, you know.”

You can't deny the effect he has on you, the way his touch makes you shiver and his words make your heart skip a beat. But you're not ready to give in, to admit that this casual arrangement might mean more to you than you're willing to acknowledge.

You push away from him, grabbing your jacket from the chair in the corner. "You don't have to put on a show for me," you mutter, pulling the fabric over your shoulders. The leather is cool against your skin, a stark contrast to the warmth of his gaze. "I'm just... someone you fuck occasionally, remember?"

Trevor's eyes darken, the playful glint replaced by something more serious. He steps closer, closing the distance between you with a grace that feels predatory, his presence overwhelming. "You know it's more than that," he murmurs, his voice low and intense. His hand reaches out, fingers brushing against your jaw, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. "And if you don't, then maybe you're not as smart as I thought."

The sharpness of his words stings, and you flinch, though you quickly mask it with a defiant glare. "Don't flatter yourself," you snap, even as his touch sends a jolt of electricity through your body. "I'm just not interested in complicating things."

"Complicating things?" Trevor echoes, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. He leans in, his breath warm against your skin, and you feel the heat of his body so close to yours. "You think this is simple for me? Watching you walk away every time, pretending like I don't care when you're gone?"

You swallow hard, the lump in your throat growing with each word. You can't meet his eyes, can't face the raw vulnerability in them. "I never asked you to feel that way," you whisper, barely audible over the pounding of your heart. "I never promised you anything."

"Maybe not," he concedes, his voice softening. "But that doesn't change the fact that I do. And you can pretend all you want, but I see right through you." His fingers slide down your neck, hand cupping your throat gently as he rests his thumb on your lower lip. "I see the way you look at me when you think I’m not paying attention, the way you relax when we’re alone, the way you blush when I say something nice. You’re not fooling anyone, least of all yourself."

You pull away, the intensity of his words too much to bear. You need to escape, to put distance between you and the truth he's forcing you to confront. "I have to go," you say, your voice trembling. You turn toward the door, your steps hurried as if you can outrun the emotions threatening to overwhelm you.

But Trevor isn't done. He grabs your wrist, his grip firm yet gentle, pulling you back to face him. The look in his eyes is fierce, determined, as if he's finally decided to lay all his cards on the table. "Running away isn't going to change anything," he says, his voice steady. "You can pretend this is just a fling, that you don't feel anything for me, but I know better. And deep down, so do you."

You close your eyes, the sincerity in his voice breaking through your defenses. It's terrifying, the thought of letting him in, of opening yourself up to the possibility of being hurt. But it's also exhilarating, the idea of finally allowing yourself to feel, to love, to be loved in return.

When you open your eyes again, Trevor is still there, watching you with an intensity that makes your pulse quicken. He leans in, his lips brushing against yours in the softest, most tentative kiss, as if he's giving you the choice to pull away.

But you don't. Instead, you kiss him back, your hands tangling in his hair as you pull him closer. The kiss deepens, and it's like everything else fades away—the fear, the uncertainty, the walls you've built around your heart. It's just you and him, and the raw, undeniable connection between you.

When you finally pull apart, you're both breathless, your foreheads resting against each other. "Okay," you whisper, your voice shaky but filled with a newfound determination. "Okay, I'll come to your game. But don't expect me to cheer."

Trevor chuckles, the sound rich and warm, and you can feel the smile spreading across his face. "I'll take what I can get," he says, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "And who knows? Maybe I'll score a hat trick just for you."

[i5uckersblog]

Logan Howlett HeadCanon

(LOGAN BEING AFRAID OF DOCTORS)

Logan Howlett has an intense fear of doctors and medical facilities rooted deeply in his traumatic past. This phobia stems from his experiences with the Weapon X program, where he was subjected to brutal and invasive procedures against his will. The cold, sterile environment of laboratories and the sight of medical instruments immediately trigger vivid flashbacks of the excruciating pain and loss of autonomy he endured during those experiments.

Even routine check-ups or minor injuries that require medical attention cause his heart to race and his body to tense, as he associates any form of medical intervention with torture and manipulation. His healing factor doesn’t alleviate this fear; if anything, it reinforces it, as he’s acutely aware of how much he can endure before his body mends itself. Consequently, Logan avoids doctors whenever possible, relying on his natural resilience and self-care to deal with most injuries, only seeking medical help as an absolute last resort.

When Logan is forced to attend a medical appointment, he often reverts to a childlike state, despite his rugged exterior and extensive life experience. He becomes noticeably fidgety and irritable, crossing his arms and huffing in frustration like a petulant child. His tough-guy persona cracks, revealing a side of him that's vulnerable and anxious.

Logan’s aversion is so strong that he might even try to negotiate his way out of it, using excuses or humor to deflect his unease. If his friends or loved ones insist on accompanying him, he clings to them for moral support, muttering under his breath about how unnecessary it all is. In the waiting room, he shifts uncomfortably in his seat, tapping his foot and grumbling about the wait times.

Once he's in the examination room, Logan becomes more obstinate, resisting the doctor's instructions with sarcastic remarks or outright refusals. Simple procedures like blood draws or physical exams make him visibly tense, and he glares suspiciously at every instrument as if it might turn into a weapon. It's only through the patient coaxing and reassurance from those he trusts that he can manage to get through the appointment, often with a mixture of embarrassment and relief once it's over.

Logan’s girlfriend, Dixie, often has to "baby" him during these appointments, guiding him through the process with a mix of patience and affection. Knowing how deeply his fear runs, she takes on a nurturing role, holding his hand and soothing him with soft words and gentle touches.

Before the appointment, Dixie prepares him mentally, using humor to lighten the mood and reassure him that she'll be right by his side the entire time. During the visit, she acts as a buffer between Logan and the medical staff, ensuring they explain everything clearly and move at a pace that keeps him comfortable.

When Logan starts to get fidgety or irritable, Dixie distracts him with small talk about their plans, reminiscing about good times they've had, or even teasing him playfully to keep his mind off the procedures. She might gently remind him to breathe deeply or give his hand a reassuring squeeze when he looks particularly tense.

In moments when Logan’s stubbornness kicks in, Dixie employs a mixture of firmness and tenderness, reminding him that the sooner they get through it, the sooner they can leave. After the appointment, she makes sure to reward him with his favorite activities or meals, turning what could be a traumatic day into a more bearable experience. Dixie’s unwavering support and understanding help Logan navigate his fear, making these necessary but dreaded appointments a bit more tolerable.

[scribbledghost]

The Visitor

Pairing: Vessel x Fem!Reader (Vessel the character, not the real man behind the mask)

Rating: T

Word count: 2,005

Summary: A visitor arrives in the realm of Sleep. Vessel is tasked with acclimating them, but things do not quite go according to Sleep's plan in the process.

Notes: 3rd person POV, use of she/her pronouns for reader. Includes references to the TMBTE creatures and the tree from The Love You Want video. Depending on the reception for this, I may make a part 2. EDIT: Part 2 can be found here.

There is something wrong.

Rot has seeped into his domain.

A thin wisp, incense smoke curling to and fro across the inky black ether. Barely visible, its scent barely noticed. But there nonetheless.

The realm of Sleep has often been infiltrated with sour notes, but this is the first time Vessel cannot discern the source. In previous iterations, it has always come from either himself or from another vessel that Sleep was gracious enough to inform him of prior to their arrival.

This rot - this pain - is not his, nor does it belong to any of the other vessels. It belongs to another. Someone he was not warned of.

"Please, show me."

It is a request to his deity. Sleep rewards Vessel's politeness by making the thin line of smoke more pronounced in the dark. Slight shimmers lead him through the void until he spots it:

A person. Curled up on the ground, curved in on themselves and unmoving.

Vessel is cautious in his approach, knowing the world of Sleep can be disorienting and upsetting upon one's first arrival.

The acrid smoke billows off of them now, still shining ever so slightly away from their body. If Vessel weren't acutely used to the scent of fear and pain by now, it would make him nauseous.

He approaches their back, kneeling down behind them and placing a gentle hand on their head.

The first connection is always rough. This is no exception.

Vessel's mind explodes to life with racing thoughts, far too many to parse individually. There is only a general sense of panic. Sadness. Frustration. A deep desire to be okay again repeating over and over, as if saying it enough will make it so.

When Vessel removes his hand and flashes back to the present, the body in front of him moves.

She quickly pushes herself from him, hands and legs scrambling backward. Her eyes are wide and her breaths are heavy as she stares.

"There is no need to be afraid," Vessel soothes, still crouched low. "I will not harm you."

"What are you?" she blurts. "Where am I? What's happening?"

"You are safe here," Vessel begins, extending a hand in a gentle "stop" motion. The initial meeting can be difficult; the last thing he needs is to add to her panic.

"This is the domain of the deity known as Sleep. I am Sleep's vessel. You have been brought here, though I cannot tell you why. That is something for you to discover on your own. But I will aid you in any way I can."

He instantly feels a connection with the woman, just as he had with II, III, and IV upon their first arrivals. He wonders if Sleep intends to take her as a fifth vessel. Part of him wishes it to be so; he wants to know more of her. He wants to see if the jagged, broken edges of her soul will fit into his own.

But he, better than anyone, knows how dangerous Sleep can be. How volatile, angry, and toxic the ancient thing is when its will is not strictly adhered to. He wishes such experiences on no one, much less someone so damaged and innocent.

"...I still don't understand," she says in a small voice.

He doesn't expect her to - not yet. Not this soon.

In lieu of an answer, Vessel stands, offering a hand down to her.

"Would you like to walk with me?"

She hesitates but eventually reaches for him with a shaking hand of her own. He helps her to her feet, and just when he begins to pull away, he feels the microscopic tightening of her grip.

He allows her to keep the connection. It is the least he can do. In fact, he deepens the hold, shifting her hand into the crook of his elbow as he walks with her.

There is little scenery in Sleep's domain, just various shades of shadow among a void. But Vessel knows the paths, and knows there is more structure than what meets the eye.

"How long have you been here?"

Truthfully, he cannot remember. Not accurately. But he has a vague idea.

"Not as long as vessels before me," he says. "But long enough."

She doesn't ask him to elaborate.

"So... are you... human? Under the mask?"

"I once was," he answers truthfully. "Now, I am simply a vessel."

He doesn't mention how he's changed since entering Sleep's dominion. How his skin has turned pitch black, how he now has six eyes instead of two, how his canines have become sharper. He hopes that if she thinks he still looks mostly human beneath the mask, then perhaps she won't be quite so afraid of him.

"Are there others here like you?"

"There are three other vessels here. But we are each different."

"Where are they?"

"Elsewhere. We gather together frequently, but I do not know their whereabouts at the moment."

This seems to sate her curiosity, though Vessel wishes she would ask more. He finds himself enjoying her voice.

He has no doubt the others are watching but giving Vessel and the newcomer their space. Just as Vessel himself does whenever it is one of the others to welcome guests.

Which vessel is chosen to appear to new arrivals depends on the person's needs. II arrives when they need someone steady, when they need a solid foundation to cling to in the dark like a strong, droning heartbeat. III arrives when someone is feeling particularly discordant and in need of a gentle rhythm to return them to harmony, or when the monotonous shades of grey in the realm would be too overwhelming. IV arrives when someone needs someone more lighthearted, something that strongly commands their attention away from the racing thoughts.

Vessel himself appears when the visitor needs... softness. A gentle melody to guide them through the void.

"How long do I have to stay here?"

The idea that she is so eager to leave pains him, and the reaction he has surprises him. It seems he has already become attached to the new visitor.

"I'm afraid I do not know," he says. "Each experience is different. You must uncover your pain and overcome it before Sleep will release you."

He wants to warn her - wants to tell her to be wary of the coming days when things older than her comprehension will offer saccharine deals that shift to decay as soon as they are made. But Sleep punishes those who interfere in such ways. He learned as much with the other three vessels.

Vessel can only hope she is smarter than he was. He hopes she has more to live for than he did.

If she stays, she will be yours.

Sleep's voice interjects, telepathically alerting Vessel of its presence.

And suddenly, he has a choice. He can aid his new visitor in absolving her pain and help her return home... or he can aid in Sleep's sabotage.

Vessel has done worse things in the name of Sleep - he is acutely aware of this. But those sins were committed long ago. He is different now. Bolder. Wiser. Stronger.

Perhaps that's why Sleep brought her here - to try to regain its control over Vessel. To bring him to heel, to remind him of his true allegiance. By showing him how easily he can be given what he desires, perhaps Sleep aims to sway him back to his rightful place.

But it won't work. Not this time.

She deserves more, Vessel responds.

Suddenly, the domain rumbles, and the woman next to him yelps and clings tighter to his arm.

Once the shaking stops, she speaks, her voice trembling in equal measure.

"What was that?"

"Nothing to be concerned of," Vessel soothes, running a gentle hand over one of her own. "Such quakes happen sometimes here."

He neglects to tell her they only happen when Vessel goes against Sleep's wishes.

The two continue to meander through the realm, only occasionally coming upon something other than shades of grey. Every so often, one of Sleep's creatures wanders past and Vessel must reassure his visitor that they mean her no harm, though he understands her apprehension. Particularly around some of the more... unconventional beings, like Chokehold or Vore.

After some time, they come upon a great tree, spattered with red leaves and moss and nearly covered in white ribbons.

Vessel leads the woman to the trunk, reaching up to where one of the ribbons is tied to the low-hanging branches. He grabs one, pulling it loose before turning back to her.

The realm around him rumbles again; another warning of what he is about to do.

He ignores it.

"I would like for you to consider this a promise," Vessel says as he reaches for the visitor's hand. "An... oath, if you will."

As he ties the ribbon around her wrist, he continues.

"With this, you have my word that I will help guide you through your trials. I will aid you in any way I am able. There will be much I cannot do for you, for there will be much you must do for yourself. But I would like for you to consider this as a token of my loyalty while you are here."

Do not forget where your true loyalty lies, my Vessel, Sleep's cloying voice sounds in his mind, only barely concealing condescending anger.

He has not forgotten. He is well aware of the potential punishment for going against his Deity in favor of another, let alone another human. To turn his devotion from Sleep to the visitor would result in levels of pain Vessel would wish on no one, much less the woman who has so quickly captured his affections.

Vessel cannot explain why he has become so enamored so quickly. He has welcomed visitors to the domain before, has helped several on their journey. But this is the first time he has experienced such a strong protective desire.

The visitor stares at the ribbon around her wrist for a moment, then looks back at him. Vessel can't quite place the expression in her eyes - it isn't until he gently taps into the connection he established upon her arrival that he realizes it's a mix of hope and apprehension.

"You won't leave?"

Her voice is small, and it breaks his heart.

"No," he says. "I will not leave."

She smiles at him, and he feels something shift. Somehow, somewhere, a cycle has broken.

Sleep feels it too, for the realm trembles as a mighty, eldritch roar emanates from nowhere and everywhere all at once.

The woman stumbles as the ground shakes, and Vessel reaches forward to help steady her. As the quake stops, he hears her heartbeat in his ears as if it were his own, racing and uncertain. She pulls away, and Vessel finds himself resisting the urge to chase her.

"Sorry," she says quickly, a slightly nervous smile playing on her lips.

"There is no need to apologize," Vessel returns.

I will be more than happy to catch you if you fall.

He will pay for his transgression. He is not sure when, but he knows it will happen.

Vessel will atone for his sin as best as he can in the interim, if only to ensure the visitor's safety. As far as Vessel is concerned, Sleep can do with him as it sees fit, but he would have difficulty living with himself should harm come to the woman before him purely because of his own feelings towards her.

If his own pain is what he must trade for a moment in her presence, then Vessel will sign the contract as many times as he needs to. He has already damned himself a thousand times over, what's a few more?

In the meantime, Vessel offers his arm to her once more, and she hooks a hand around his elbow. He walks with her away from the red tree, towards a dimly-lit sun among the dark fog of Sleep's domain.

[isaacarellanesismyhusband]

in your arms

pair: Draco Malfoy x reader

summery: y/n (she/her) is Draco Malfoy 's girlfriend and one night Draco show's up at her house and he ends up spending the night there, with him cuddled up in her arms crying after he told her that he was forced to join the death eaters.

masterlist | navigation

❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿

The summer night was quiet, the moonlight spilling softly through the open window of your bedroom. You were curled up in bed, a book lying forgotten on your lap as you fought the pull of sleep. The past few days had been restless—an uneasy feeling gnawing at your mind, one you couldn’t quite shake.

Just as your eyelids began to droop, a faint noise caught your attention. A soft tap tap tap at the window. Startled, you sat up, glancing towards the source of the sound. Your breath hitched when you saw a familiar figure standing on the other side of the glass. Draco.

You quickly moved to open the window, your heart racing. He climbed in, his usual grace replaced with a trembling urgency. You could see it immediately—something was terribly wrong. His normally immaculate appearance was disheveled; his hair, usually perfectly styled, was tousled, and his eyes were red-rimmed, dull with exhaustion.

“Draco?” you whispered, concern lacing your voice as you reached out to touch his arm.

He flinched slightly at your touch, his entire body tense, but then he collapsed against you, burying his face in your shoulder. You could feel him shaking, his breaths coming in ragged, uneven gasps. He clung to you as if you were his lifeline, the only thing keeping him from falling apart completely.

“I—” he started, his voice breaking. “I didn’t know where else to go. I didn’t want to—oh, Y/N, I’m so sorry.”

You wrapped your arms around him tightly, holding him close as he trembled in your embrace. “It’s okay,” you murmured, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. “You’re safe here, Draco. You’re always safe with me.”

For a moment, the only sound in the room was his quiet sobbing, muffled against your shoulder. You led him to the bed, gently coaxing him to lie down beside you. He didn’t resist, his grip on you never loosening. As you lay together, he finally managed to choke out the words that had been tearing him apart.

“They—they forced me to join them,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, raw with pain. “The Death Eaters. My father—he… I didn’t have a choice, Y/N. I didn’t want this. I never wanted this.”

Your heart ached for him, for the boy who had been thrust into a life of darkness and danger, a life he never asked for. You tightened your hold on him, your fingers gently running through his hair, trying to offer him some semblance of comfort.

“I’m so sorry, Draco,” you whispered, your voice breaking as you felt his pain as acutely as if it were your own. “But you’re not alone. We’ll get through this, together. I promise you.”

He looked up at you then, his silver eyes shining with unshed tears, filled with a vulnerability he had never let you see before. “How can you say that?” he asked, his voice trembling. “How can you still want to be with me after everything?”

You cupped his face in your hands, your thumb brushing away the tears that had begun to fall. “Because I love you, Draco. And nothing—not even this—will change that.”

He let out a shuddering breath, closing his eyes as he leaned into your touch. “I don’t deserve you,” he whispered, but there was a hint of relief in his voice, as if your words had managed to reach some part of him that had been drowning in despair.

You pulled him closer, his head resting against your chest as you held him in your arms. The night stretched on, but you didn’t care. All that mattered was the boy lying beside you, the one who had been forced to carry a burden far too heavy for someone so young.

As the minutes turned to hours, his sobs slowly subsided, his breathing evening out as he finally succumbed to the exhaustion that had been gnawing at him. You felt his body relax against yours, the tension easing as he drifted off to sleep, still wrapped securely in your arms.

You stayed awake for a while longer, your heart heavy with worry but also with a fierce determination. No matter what the future held, no matter how dark the days ahead might be, you knew you would stand by Draco’s side. You would be his light, his refuge from the storm that raged outside.

And as the first light of dawn began to filter through the curtains, you pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, whispering a silent vow to yourself. You would protect him, love him, and do whatever it took to help him find his way back to the boy you knew he truly was—the one who deserved so much more than the fate he had been forced into.

[luxeavenger]

Deep Breath

Kinktober prompt: Breathplay

Rating: Explicit (18+ ONLY)

Pairing: Backstage Pass!Bucky x Backstage Pass!Steve x reader

Warnings: Breathplay, dvp

Words: 994

Thanks for reblogging.

Kinktober Masterlist | Backstage Pass Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Ko-fi

part 1

“Take a deep breath, princess,” Steve tells you.

You take in a big lungful of air without needing to know why. Then Bucky’s arm comes from behind you. He presses his warm palm over your mouth, and pinches your nose closed with this thumb and forefinger. He eases your head back against his shoulder, cutting off your air, with no hope of dodging away from his restraining hand.

Your lizard brain kicks in before the rest of your brain can catch up, and your heartbeat thunders in your ears, fast and erratic. But then Bucky’s soothing voice is in your ear, “I’ve got you, princess. Stevie’s got you too.”

Of course they’ve got you. They’ve always got you. There’s no place from which you could fall where they wouldn’t be waiting there to catch you.

You nod. Your racing pulse slows, and you let your eyes flutter closed. Giving yourself over to them means you don’t have to think about anything. You don’t have to worry about anything. All you have to do is feel them. Enjoy the press of their bodies against yours. How thoroughly they surround you. How completely they fill you.

“Eyes on me, princess,” Steve’s voice is gentle, but insistent.

Your eyelids flutter open, and his smile is soft and beautiful. “Good girl,” he murmurs quietly.

Just as the need for a breath becomes urgent, Bucky’s hand is gone.

“Breathe for me, gorgeous,” he whispers in your ear.

As instructed, you breathe, and the action sends endorphins cascading through your body. Your fingers tingle with the release of happy chemicals, and you exhale a long, wavering, exultant moan.

Both of your men make encouraging noises while they push their cocks into you harder.

“Deep breath, princess,” Steve’s low baritone instructs.

Bucky’s hand covers your mouth and nose again, and this time… it’s pure, unadulterated bliss.

Not being able to breathe makes you acutely aware of everything else that’s happening with your body. Steve’s thumbs stroking over the stiff, sensitive peaks of your nipples. The heat and tension of your impending orgasm building in your center. The strong, steady thrum of Bucky’s heartbeat against your back. The contraction and release of their abs and thighs as they work in tandem to fuck you.

“Come on, sweetheart. Come for us,” Steve urges.

He feels it before you do, and gives a happy moan when your orgasm hits hard and messy. Come rushes out of you, soaking them both as you squirt for them.

“Fuck yes,” Bucky groans.

“Keep it going for us,” Steve demands.

Bucky releases your face, and the sudden influx of oxygen fans the fading flame of your orgasm, coaxing another orgasm out of you, a wave of pleasure so pure and intense the world goes dim for a few moments.

“Good girl,” they murmur at you while you recover. “So fucking good for us.”

Steve is beaming at you, and Bucky is wearing a beautific smile when he turns your head so he can kiss you.

You sigh contentedly.

Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers are proof that if god is real, she has favorites.

“Are you okay?” Bucky asks.

“Of course.”

“Do you want to keep going?” Steve asks.

Each breath you take belongs to them anyway, so you give him an eager, “Yes.”

“Then take a deep breath, princess,” Steve orders.

You inhale, filling your lungs with the smell of sex and lust, and the crisp, clean scents of your big, beautiful men. Your lungs hold the memory of those mingling fragrances while Bucky suffocates you, and they both fuck you.

Your hands wrap around Bucky’s forearm for support. Steve studies your face, looking for any sign of pain, exhaustion, or panic. You nod at him to let him know you’re fine. If you wanted Bucky to stop all you needed to do was tap his arm and he’d let up.

But you don’t want him to stop.

Another orgasm is building in your center. It already feels like a raging storm, and you aren’t even at your edge yet. Tears sting at the back of your eyes, and gather at your waterline. One spills over onto your cheek, and Steve sucks in a breath.

“I wish you could see how beautiful you look right now, princess,” Steve delivers his praise in a voice steeped with awe. Ordinarily he’d ask if he could take a picture of you, but he’s too busy keeping an eye on you right now. You make a mental note to ask for a repeat performance, and make sure he has his phone close at hand next time.

Bucky’s hand lifts again, and you use that first precious lungful of oxygen to beg them to fuck you harder.

Your desperation spurs them on. Steve’s thumb finds your clit, every pass of his thumb lights your nerves on fire, sending little zings of electricity jolting through your core. Bucky snaps his hips into you harder, sending thunder reverberating up your body with each powerful thrust.

Your mouth opens behind Bucky’s palm, and your hands squeeze his arm hard enough that your fingernails pierce his skin.

“We’ve got you, baby girl,” Bucky whispers huskily in your ear. “We’re right here. Waiting for you. Just let go and come for us.”

Your orgasm ignites and sizzles through you like black powder. Every muscle in your body sings with the force of it.

Then Bucky lets you breathe again.

And here, right at this precise moment, you’re pretty sure your soul leaves your body. Because all you’re aware of is the weight of Bucky’s arm around your middle holding you up, Steve’s brilliantly blue eyes watching you, the incoherent noises tearing their way out of your throat, and Bucky and Steve groaning as their cocks jerk and throb as they spill their come inside of you.

Your eyelids flutter open slowly, and you find yourself staring up into Steve’s sky blue eyes.

He smiles at you radiantly, “Welcome back, princess.”

part 3

[caterina-celestia]

How did Dmitry feel during the life-saving kiss he shared with Lane? ❤️

Dmitry would have felt an intense mix of emotions throughout the entire ordeal. As someone who is normally composed and guarded, this situation would push him to his emotional limits, exposing feelings he has been suppressing for a long time. Here’s a breakdown of how Dmitry likely felt:

1. Panic and Desperation: Dmitry’s primary emotion would have been sheer panic when he saw Lane fall through the ice. Despite being a seasoned General used to high-stakes situations, seeing her in danger would have triggered a deep fear of losing her. The stakes are higher for him emotionally because Lane means more to him than he’d openly admit. His mind would be racing, thinking about how he cannot afford to let her slip away, both physically and metaphorically.

2. Possessive Protection: As he dives in after her and struggles against the current, Dmitry’s protective instincts would have kicked into overdrive. His possessiveness is driven by the fear of losing her. He’s not just fighting the current or the cold water—he’s fighting the idea of Lane slipping out of his life. His grip on her is symbolic of his unwillingness to let her go, not just in this moment, but in general. His tenacity shows that he will hold on to her, no matter what forces try to pull them apart.

3. Shock and Intensity During the Kiss: When Lane doesn’t push him away but instead opens her mouth and pulls him closer, Dmitry would feel a surge of emotions that go beyond mere relief. He’s probably shocked by her willingness to let him save her in such an intimate way, given how much tension there’s been between them. The fact that she not only accepts but reciprocates his life-saving gesture would hit him hard. It would be a mixture of awe, respect, and an intense surge of protectiveness, with an underlying current of possessiveness that she is his to protect.

4. Hope and Determination: Dmitry is a fighter, both in battle and in life, so even as the situation seems dire, he would be driven by the hope that they can survive. Lane’s response—her pulling him closer, gripping his vest—would fill him with determination. He’s not saving someone who’s passive or giving up; she’s fighting with him. This unity in their struggle fuels his desire to push through, no matter how impossible the situation may seem. Her actions would reassure him that they are in this together.

5. Conflicted Emotions: As the physical intensity of the moment plays out, Dmitry would be conflicted emotionally. On one hand, he’s trying to save her life; on the other, there’s a deep emotional undercurrent of how much she means to him. The kiss, though life-saving, is still a kiss, and he would be acutely aware of that. The feel of her lips, the closeness of her body, and her pulling him nearer would blur the line between duty and desire. He’s saving her, but in doing so, he’s also letting himself feel something more, something he’s been resisting.

6. Possessive Satisfaction and Fear of Loss: When Lane pulls him closer and doesn’t reject him, there’s an element of possessive satisfaction in Dmitry. In this moment, she is his, and he is hers—they are united in survival. Her choice to pull him closer and not push him away affirms that she trusts him, depends on him, and maybe feels something for him too. However, this would also fuel his fear of losing her even more. Now that she’s shown this level of trust and connection, the stakes are even higher for him emotionally. The idea of failing to save her would be unbearable.

7. Relief Mixed with Uncertainty: By the end of the ordeal, once they make it to the surface, Dmitry would be overwhelmed with a combination of relief and uncertainty. He would be relieved that Lane survived, but he would also be unsure about what this means for them going forward. The intimacy of the situation, her response to him, and the raw emotions it brought out would leave him questioning what comes next. He’s never been one to easily show his emotions, and now everything is on the table in a way that can’t be ignored.

In conclusion, Dmitry likely felt a whirlwind of emotions: desperation, protectiveness, possessiveness, awe, hope, and deep fear of losing Lane. Her pulling him closer during the kiss would have been a pivotal moment for him, affirming their connection and forcing him to confront the depth of his feelings for her. It would leave him feeling conflicted—both possessively satisfied that she didn’t push him away and fearful of what their growing closeness could mean in the dangerous world they inhabit.

[hier--soir]

one last time

pairing: abby anderson x WLF f!reader, set within tlou pt II timeline summary: when the woman you love comes crawling back in the middle of the night, can you convince her to stay? warnings/tags: [18+ minors DNI] mainly angst, mentions of death, established past relationship, wlw, includes mentions of seraphites and wlf from tlou2, contains spoilers and plot points from the last of us part II game below the cut, mentions multiple canon deaths from the second game so beware if you don't want the game/potential future show plot points spoiled. word count: 2k

There was someone in your room. It was the middle of the night, and you’d woken with a start, acutely aware of a shuffling sound, as someone closed the door and stepped into your space.

Slowly, trying not to make a sound, you slid your hand underneath your pillow and gripped the hilt of the dagger you kept there. Your heart raced, blood roaring in your ears as they strained to listen for any sign of the intruder getting closer to the bed where you laid. The living quarters were so small though, and with the door only a metre or two from your bed, you knew it was a matter of seconds before they were on you. Sliding the knife out from under the pillow, you tightened your shoulders and prepared to leap out of bed, until a soft voice spoke your name in the darkness.

Your eyes shot open, and you strained to see her through the black void. But you’d know that voice anywhere. You heard her say your name every night in your dreams, and woke up every morning to the crushing reality that it hadn’t been real. That it would never be real again. But that voice… it was undeniably her.

“Abby?” you breathed, sitting up warily.

You fumbled for the lamp beside your bed and tugged the string quickly, soft yellow light flaring around you. And there she was. That all too familiar angular face and strong arms. Long braid hanging over her shoulder, just the way you remembered. Dirt coated her skin, clothes damp from the downpour of rain that you could hear raging outside your window. Cuts and bruises littered her face, harsh scrapes marring the skin that you loved so dearly.

It had been months since you’d last seen her; since the group of them had headed off to Wyoming to find… him. And she’d been back at the base since, but you’d avoided her like the plague. Couldn’t bear to see her, after the way things had been left between the two of you. And then a few days ago, she was gone again. It was all anyone could talk about; how Abby Anderson had fled the base and was out searching for Owen… how they were both traitors to the cause.

Her blue eyes were red rimmed and bloodshot, and your heart panged with nervousness. She didn’t dare say another word, gaze trained on the knife you still held in your grasp, pointed out in her direction.

“What the hell are you doing here?” you asked warily, feeling your hand begin to shake. “How did you even get inside? Fuck, Abby, Isaac has everyone looking for you, he… he’s saying you’re a deserter.”

Abby shook her head slowly, face slack with an expression of hopelessness. “I’m sorry… I didn’t know where else to go.”

With an ache in your chest, you lowered the weapon, knowing you could never bring yourself to use it on her anyway. Her shoulders relaxed, and she shrugged off her pack. It hit the ground with a sharp clatter, and you noticed a bloodied axe clipped to the side of it. She slumped down on the edge of your bed, and the frame creaked with the added weight.

“He interrogated me, you know,” you shuddered. “After you went after Owen. Was convinced I was a part of it, that I kne-“

“Isaac is gone,” she interrupted quickly, not meeting your gaze.  

You stared, eyes widening a fraction, and slowly asked, “What the fuck happened?”

“Owen and Mel too,” she said hoarsely, staring down her at her hands. “They’re… I found them, in the aquarium. Both of them... she killed them.”

All the breath in your lungs rushed out, leaving you lightheaded. “W-what?” you stuttered. No.

“It’s her,” she ground out, eyebrows pinched together. “She knows who we are and she’s… she’s fucking picking us off, one by one.”

Shaking your head desperately you rubbed a knuckle into the corner of your eye, willing the brimming tears to dry as you absorbed all the information. You knew this would happen. You fucking knew there would be consequences, and yet she didn’t listen. She never fucking listened.

“Who are you talking about?”

“The girl,” she chuckled mirthlessly. “The girl that was with the smuggler. And his brother.”

It felt like the walls were closing in on you as you stared at her. The woman you’d loved for so long, who’s bed you’d once shared, who you’d held while she told you stories of her late father. The women who’d chosen revenge over a life with you... just to come crawling back in the middle of the night.

“What are you doing here?” you repeated, voice shaky and thick with emotion. “Why did you come back?”

“I needed to see you,” she whispered, finally glancing over to you. Her eyes shone brightly in the dim light of your room, and you could see the tears that stained her cheeks, the tracks they’d left through the dirt on her skin. “Things are bad, and I don’t… I don’t know if I’m gonna make it through this. I needed to see you, just one last time.”

“Abby,” you choked out, pushing forward to rest on your knees, hands hovering over her face as you contemplated touching her. You knew that if you touched her, all the progress you’d made, all the efforts you’d gone to in order to try and get over her, would be out the window. “Please,” you breathed heavily, shoulders shaking. She leaned forward so her cheek brushed your fingers and your face crumpled, allowing your hands to rest on her face, thumbs brushing along her skin.

“Please don’t do this, I can’t fucking do this again. I told you,” your voice cracked, thumb pausing on her freckled cheekbone. “I fucking told you nothing good would come from going after him. But you couldn’t just…”

“I’m sorry,” her eyes screamed in earnest. “I can’t… I couldn’t keep going without coming back here to say that. You were right, and I’m sorry, but there’s no turning back now. There’s no undoing this. She knows who I am, and she’s coming for me, but… but I’m gonna find her first, and I’m gonna make her pay for what she did to them.”

“How?” your eyebrows raised incredulously. “Abby, you’re alone, you can’t-“

“I’m not alone,” she said coldly, and you froze, staring at her in confusion.

“Abby,” you said quietly, shaking your head. Your hands dropped from her face. “You can’t be serious… it-it’s true? They said Owen killed Danny to save one of them…. are you with the Scars?”

“No,” she sighed in frustration. “He’s not a Scar anymore, he- he saved my life, and I trust him.”

“I can’t hear this,” you frowned deeply, lip curling up at her words. “You know I never wanted any part in this. If they find out you were here, they’ll lock me up, they’ll fucking interrogate me for information, Abby, I’ll lose my position. Don’t tell me anything else.”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” she replied quickly, reaching up to rub her shoulder. She massaged the muscle firmly, fingertips dragging across her skin in a circular motion as she cringed.

“You’re hurt,” you murmured grimly.

“It’s nothing,” she shook her head. “I fell in Wyoming.”

“You’re a shit liar,” you grunted, nudging her thigh with your foot. She grabbed it, quick as a snake, her fingers curling around the arch of it and holding it to her thigh. Your face softened, and you frowned gently at her.

“I’ll go,” she whispered, meeting your eye. “I just… I wanted to be with you, just for a minute. Needed to see you. I couldn’t leave things the way they were; couldn’t have the last time I saw you be that.”

That day, weeks before, flashed through your mind. The two of you, in the very same room, glaring at each other.

 “If you go, this is over,” you’d told her. “I mean it Abby, don’t fucking do this. Nothing good will come from it. It won’t bring him back.”

“I’m going,” she’d shouted. “And they’re coming with me. Owen, Manny, all of them. They want what I want. And I thought you wanted it too.”

“Well, you thought wrong,” you’d said. “I’m not going. Why can't this be enough for you? To stay here, with me, and just forget about him?”

Wiping a tear from your cheek, you nodded slowly, leaning in so your shoulder rested against hers.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured softly. You didn’t stop her as she leaned in, resting her forehead against yours, and tilted her chin up so your lips brushed. Shaky breaths escaped your mouths, mingling in the air between your faces. Not for a long time had either of you been nervous around one another. So unsure, so hesitant… Pushing the thoughts aside, you kissed her firmly, ignoring the way your heart cracked as the familiar taste of her hit your lips. “I’m sorry,” you repeated against her mouth, and she whimpered, gripping your face gently. You despised the way your body reacted to such a small touch from her; the way your shirt was suddenly too tight around your torso, the way your underwear suffocated the warmth between your thighs. She was intoxicating, overriding every rational thought in your mind until all you could think was Abby, Abby, Abby.  

You fell backwards onto the bed, pulling her down with you, until her warm heavy weight rested against your chest. Her knee worked its way in between your thighs, pressing you down into the mattress. You clutched at her back, kissing her desperately, face still wet with tears. Her lips pressed longingly to yours, soft pants escaping her mouth as she pushed your head deeper into the pillows, holding you down and stealing the breath from your lungs. Your head was swimming, and you shivered at the feeling of her wet clothes dragging along your skin. She pulled back from the kiss with a gasp, tucking her face into your neck as she caught her breath. A soft kiss pressed against your pulse point and you sighed, closing your eyes and relaxing into her touch. She whispered something against your skin, but you couldn’t make out the words.

The sound of rain battering against the window filled the space with white noise as the pair of you laid in your small bed, limbs tangled together. Abby’s fingers stroked your cheek softly, and she pulled back to look at you, eyes watching you so intensely you could’ve sworn she was trying to memorise your features.

After a few moments, a soft sigh escaped her lips. “I have to go,” she whispered, eyebrows furrowing, and the crack through the middle of your heart deepened. She saw the look on your face and gave you a forlorn smile. “It took me half a day to get here,” she admitted sullenly, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth. “I’m sorry.”

You watched as she rose, stretching out her shoulder again before reaching down to grab her pack. She towered over the bed as she looked down at you one last time. Fat, hot tears brimmed on your lower eyelashes as you watched her turn toward the door.  

“Please,” you whispered to her back in the dim light, seeing her shoulders tense, head turning a fraction to glance at you from the corner of her eye. “Stay. We can figure this out, I… I’ll convince them to let you stay. Just please, don’t leave me again. Don’t do this.”

“I have to see this through,” she said quietly, in a tone that left no room for argument. Tears dripped down your face and onto your pillow, leaving wet patches in their wake. You made no effort to wipe them away as you nodded despondently.

“I love you,” you cried hopelessly. “Please.”

“I love you too,” she rasped, and you knew from the finality in her voice that this was it. The last time you’d see her. You could feel it in your bones; the undeniable truth of the moment.

“May your survival be long,” you choked out, shoulders shaking against your bed as you fought against the sob rising in your throat.

Abby’s hand gripped the doorknob, and she turned to look at you one last time. Her eyes raked over your body, and she offered one small, sad smile before she stepped into the hall.

“May my death be swift.”  

[nalyra-dreaming]

I’m a long- time reader of the VC - read the first 4 books in 1994 at the ripe old age of 12 and then eagerly kept up after that. I did the message boards thing and the live journal thing as a teen and young adult. I’ve been in this fandom a long time, and it’s interesting to see how show-only viewers see things.

One thing I’ve enjoyed with the show are the little ripple effects of the changes they’ve made to the time period, and to some of the characters races, ages, and origins. For the most part I’m in love with how these changes enrich and expand the story, lending new thematic weight to different aspects of the story.

I am having trouble processing the implications of one change, though, and wonder at your thoughts. One impact of changing Claudia’s age and origins is that her death no longer truly feels inevitable or necessary. Claudia of the books is trapped in a five year old’s body with a five year old’s cognitive development. No matter how long she lives or what that changes within her, she can never be free and independent. I think the core tragedy of Claudia is this inevitability. She must die. Lestat and Louis fail her by extending her life and rendering her into this unnatural, helpless creature of unquenchable appetites. Her death is tragic but also a mercy. It makes sense when you consider the loss Claudia’s character was born from. I think Anne wrote her the way she did as a way of letting go of her daughter. She wrote a story where eternal life as a child was a misery to be released from. Claudia’s end is tragic but also merciful. I have a five year old son; I would not want such endless suffering for him.

But Claudia in the show absolutely can survive and find fulfillment and meaning. We see that with the glimpses of her short life with Madeline. Even if they eventually parted ways, she could absolutely continue on. The audience feels this even more acutely because both Bailey and Delaney look like grown women. It’s hard to suspend disbelief enough to see them as young enough to be doomed. This fundamentally changes what Claudia’s story means. It ripples onto all the other characters as well. The way we read them and their arcs and involvement is deeply impacted by the implications that Claudia didn’t have to die. It changes the nature of the tragedy, and though I think her character has provided interesting insights into womanhood and growing up, I don’t know that this thematic change benefits the overall story. Still processing it, but feeling rather divided. And I can feel the new, show-only fan discourse barreling towards us like a boulder speeding down a hill.

Hmmm. So I get what you mean (also high-fives you, I'm a handful of years ahead but also went through all the "old fandom" stuff.)

Claudia's tragedy ... is changed, true. But she is still failed. By everyone who was supposed to take care of her. Her mother died, her father failed her, her auntie, too. Her "adopted" fathers failed her, too, though not really for lack of trying, but for the simple reason that they used her - they wanted her as something to bind them together, and she simply could not be that. The other vampires fail her, both in malicious and also pitiful ways. Armand - as the leader of the Parisian coven - should have protected her, after she joined.

They all fail her. Because Louis and Lestat, and Armand (and Santiago and the coven)... use her.

And I feel that the tragedy of her life is made all the clearer here, because she never stood a chance.

She found her "x", she found a way out, on her own devices, despite everything.

But she is pulled back, and used again, for a mock trial, a mock purpose. (Another parallel to Lestat here, who is also used throughout the chronicles.)

I would not want book!Claudia's fate for my child either. I can understand why Anne had to change the original book fate (which was her getting away!) to the one we have now. I get it.

But the show added more possibility to Claudia's fate. More... opportunity. In theory.

But she was never able to really take that opportunity, because she was locked into her existence by them. Not only into a teenage body, but also into the vampiric existence.

As soon as she gets away... there are machinations to pull her back. Literally in s1. More subtle in s2.

She cannot get away... because others use her - again.

Personally, I find that even more bitter.

[entishramblings]

The Innocence of Brutality Pt.1 [Legolas/F!Reader]

A.N: I've been working a lot on FATE (my long fic...you should check it out) so I haven't been posting many one-shots. BUT FINALLY....here you go! It's a bit different from my usual one-shots but hey I figured I may as well give it a go. This will have many parts depending on how much traction it gets  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Request: none

Pairing: Legolas X Reader

Summary: The Reader is Rámaitë Mahtar, a warrior spirit race, and she meets the fellowship on their quest to destroy the ring. 

Disclaimer: Any mythology relating to the Rámaitë Mahtar is not canon as I made up Rámaitë Mahtar. Also, all elvish was translated from a translator site—it may not be accurate.

Word count: ~8k (yes I went overboard)

Warnings: nudity (not sex), mentions of war, mentions of torture, violence, fluff

MASTERLIST | AO3 | WATTPAD

The Innocence of Brutality Masterlist — PART 2

The sky had been getting darker and darker as the hours went by, the sun slipping into a restless dream as a storm brewed. Clouds hung deep and gray high above the fellowship while claps of thunder neared them. It was a grumbling and crackling battle of light and dark. With every booming sound, the menacing void loomed closer and closer, electrifying the air with anxiety. It was casting above them at a rapid rate—a rate at which they could not outrun.

Gandalf squinted up at the sky as it churned and flashed again. "Hurry up. We don't have much time."

Legolas and Aragon exchanged a worried look before shifting their gaze to Gandalf, at the front of the group, who was now murmuring to himself. For the past two hours, he had been pushing a fast past—too fast for the hobbits and the exhausted mortals of the group.

They were all acutely aware that it had something to do with the strange storm bubbling above them, but other than that they knew not.

Aragon, who was bringing up the flank with Legolas, leaned in towards the elf. He lowered his voice to a whisper as he spoke in the elvish tongue, not wanting to worry the hobbits who were straggling and struggling before them. "Man- na- ho pent? Tur- cin hear ha? (What is he saying? Can you hear it?)"

Legolas sent a deadpan look to his friend. "Cin attindo nin edhelen tûr? (You doubt my elvish abilities?)"

Aragorn rolled his eyes, his tone dripping with sarcasm and faked irritability. "Tharchol- man an tuin -o ammen who are róvan -o lhaw, nin mellon. (Translate for those of us who are hard of hearing, my friend)."

Legolas' lip tugged slightly upward, like the stem of a flower reaching for the light, as he turned his attention back to Gandalf; however, that grin faded quite quickly as he picked up the words falling from the Maiar's lips.

"What? What is it?" Aragorn hissed, now in the common tongue, for they were far enough behind the others not to be heard.

Legolas shook his head as he lowered his voice. "He is worried. We are moving too slow."

"Too slow? Even I would not pick this pace to escape an oncoming storm."

Legolas pressed his lips into a tight line, tilting his head as he continued to listen to the wizard's muttering. "He thinks this weather is....unnatural."

Aragorn cast a weary and suspicious look up at the ever-darkening shadow upon them. "Sauron?" he whispered.

Legolas frowned. "I do not know. It doesn't necessarily feel...evil."

"What does it feel like?"

The elvish Prince shook his head, unsure.

Aragorn raised a thick brow. "You can't identify it? You are rather old. You must have felt such a feeling before."

Legolas shot him a gare at the words that came out rather a bit insulting.

His friend only smirked in reply.

The talking ceased between the two men, but they kept glancing up at the swirling clouds, which were now twisting with strange colors—hints of dulled oranges, pinks, purples, and blues. It most definitely was not natural. They were sure of that.

The storm continued to grow worse and worse with every advancing step. The pair now hung close to the hobbits considering the harsh weather conditions. The hot wind began whipping around them, making it harder to push against, as hail pelted them. The air was also stiff and murky, tension and power leaking into the atmosphere, which only produced more concern. An unusual combination of weather, yes. It was quite strange. It was terrifying.

"Gandalf!" Aragorn called out just as he yanked Sam out of the way of an entire tree turning and tumbling through the air. "We must seek shelter."

The wizard only shook his head as he turned to yell over the harsh sounds. "No. We must move further. We must get away from this."

"It will be the death of the hobbits!" Boromir interjected as he held tightly onto Pippin's shoulder. "We need to stop!"

"I wouldn't stop in this even if I had gotten my legs ripped off!" Gandalf snapped.

The cerulean blue eyes of the elf filled with worry. As an elf, he trusted Mithranduil and his wisdom, but this behavior made Legolas anxious. Never had the wizard been so admit about a concern. Not like this. "What is it, Gandalf? What worries you?"

The old man's gray eyes shifted to the center peak of the storm, where the light and thunder seemed to originate yet also hang calmly. He did not answer the elf's question though. Instead, his lips parted as a hole and began to open in the center. It was only then that he spoke. "We are too late."

With that, something began to tumble from the clouds. It spun, twisted, and warped—the winds tearing and clawing at it as if the world did not want its existence in this plane.

Legolas stepped forward, squinting.

What is that?

The Prince took another step.

A limb? No, it couldn't be.

Yet, as the object descended, he could make out flailing arms and legs, whipping hair, and...and wings.

"By the Valar," Legolas whispered.

"W-what is that?" Boromir stuttered, his anxiety dripping from his tone for he could not see what the elf could.

"A—a woman," Legolas breathed out. "A winged woman."

All eyes twisted and turned, necks cranking upwards in hopes to make out the figure Legolas described.

As the wind threw her into a rather forceful descent, she was finally close enough for the other members of the fellowship to make out her shape.

With gaping mouths, they all stared.

Her body, merely thirty feet away, slammed into the ground....hard.

Rocks and dirt were flung from every direction, which caused the men to raise their arms, turn their backs, and shield their eyes.

As the dust settled and the whipping wind hung still, the storm was silent and unmoving. Slowly, they turned back to see what was just delivered unto them.

A large crater had opened up, yet they couldn't make out the being that lay within. All they could see was a smoldering pile of feathers and little flickering flames.

Instantly, Legolas moved forward. His elvish body easily and quickly pushed him to the front of the group. He was about to pass Gandalf, but the wizard flung out his arm and stopped him—surprisingly fast reflexes for the old man.

"Don't," he muttered simply.

Legolas' brows pulled tight. "Is she one of Sauron's? Do you know that to be true?"

Gandalf, with narrowed eyes, shook his head. "No. Something far more dangerous."

The Prince shifted his weight. "What is she?"

Gandalf glanced at all the curious eyes upon him before his deep voice huffed across the dirt as he reluctantly spoke his next words. "Rámaite Mahtar."

Legolas spoke the translation. "Winged Warrior."

Gandalf nodded. "Before the Maiar were created, the Valar built a breed of warrior spirits. Strong, fierce, and utterly brutal. They used them once, and only once, to help defeat the darkness that occupied the lands long before they were molded into what we wander today."

"Why? Why only once?" Aragorn interjected. "Not even to defeat Morgoth?"

"Because they destroyed everything."

"We are here, are we not?" Boromir replied.

The wizard's eyes narrowed. "But before, we were not, were we? I would not dare interact with such a creature."

"But why was she sent here then?" Legolas rebutted.

As quick as an arrow, Gandalf's form shifted towards Legolas rather aggressively, and he barked his next words. "She could not have been sent here! She must have escaped to here!"

"Escaped?" Aragorn questioned.

"We don't have time for this. We must move while she is still. We can only hope that she is dead."

Legolas shook his head, muttering to himself for a moment, as he strained his elvish ears to listen.

Badum, badum.

Badum, badum, badum.

"She is not dead," he breathed out.

Badum, badum.

Not able to bear leaving a living woman, probably juried, behind, he shoved his bow into Gandalf's hand and took off in her direction.

"Legolas! Legolas!" Gandalf yelled, vexed.

But he did not falter. The Prince skipped across the rock and stone until he climbed to the top of the crater. Curiously, he peered over the edge.

About ten feet across and five or six down, among the dirt and dust, there she lay.

Her naked body, covered in ash, was curled in on itself like that of a baby deer left alone in the forest. Her (h/c) hair was sprawled messily across her face, blocking her features from view. It concealed her. It hid her. It was a block in the path to her soul...if she had one. Gandalf did say they were brutal. Regardless, much of Legolas' focus was on another part of the being: her wings. They now laid across the ground coated in the same dust....and blood. One wing specifically was badly damaged. It was broken. It was warped. It was snapped at the bone. It looked bad....very bad.

"By the Valar," he breathed out.

Legolas knew he would need to get a closer look at that wing. There was still a chance he could repair it. If he didn't, an untreated injury like that would kill her. He knew could help her. He knew could heal her. He knew it.

The Prince felt the fellowship's eyes on him as he began to slowly climb into the crater, being sure to avoid some of the smoldering embers and flames that still flickered within. He was slow as he approached the woman, for he didn't want to startle her.

Unfortunately, he did.

As his foot, silent in step, settled approximately two feet away from her, her eyes snapped open. He got a flash of brilliant (e/c) as they stared into his cerulean blues—for barely half of a second. As quick as an arrow leaving a bowstring, her form snapped upright and her wings warped around her entire body—forming a shield. It was a broken, bloody shield but a shield nonetheless.

Legolas faltered back. She was quick....maybe even quicker than him. And most definitely unpredictable.

Softly, Legolas spoke. "I am not going to hurt you." He took a cautious step forward, reclaiming his previous position. He could feel the fellowship's gaze still burning into him. They had moved closer to see what would take place. He could sense it. He focused back on the barricade of bloody feathers before him. "You are injured. Let me help."

One of the wings shifted, barely noticeable to any being of mortal descent, but Legolas was not one of those, was he? He could see the very small gap in the cascade of pain and dust. And, through this waterfall of despair, peered one of those curious (e/c) eyes.

Legolas knew he was being evaluated. She was examining and studying him. She was deciding if he was a threat.

He raised his palms, showing he was not going to touch the knives on his belt and back. "I am here to help," he repeated.

There was no motion.

He swallowed dryly as he thought back to Gandalf's words. The woman was a warrior. She was born of a warrior race. She was created to destroy and decimate entire worlds. Supposedly. Regardless, if she was going to kill him, she would have already.

With shaky hands, he opted to make a decision on how he would proceed. He reached forward. The Prince let his palm gently touch the un-injured wing in an attempt to move it out of the way to see the figure.

Wrong decision.

In an instant, the wings flew open and spread wide. The injured stretch of feathers hung at an awkward, bloody, and most certainly painful angle, but that didn't seem to matter to the woman. Her hand wrapped itself around Legolas' throat tightly. His own came up to hers in a poor attempt to pry off her grasp as his feet rose from the ground. Wheezing and huffing sounded from his lips, but she did not stop. Instead, those brilliant, (e/c) eyes only stared through the ash coating her face and form. That vibrant color burned into him with rage, anxiety, and....and fear.

Instantly, loud shrieks sounded from the hobbits—which were quickly shushed by the others, for they knew what may happen if the woman's attention focused on them.

Aragorn, however, still pulled his bow, ready to fire—not that it would do much.

But, at the sound of that panic, the woman's head snapped towards the group of people watching the interaction. She tilted her head curiously.

Legolas, thinking the same thought that his friends had, tried to speak to get her attention. He would rather it be on him than on them. Therefore, his raspy, broken voice sounded weakly. "Friend. We–we are friends."

Once again, those (e/c) eyes twisted back to him. The woman tilted her head again, her gaze peering into his.

The word then rolled off her tongue strangely and uncertainly, as if she was unsure of the sound. "F-friend."

"We-we can help," he wheezed out, desperately.

"We can help," she repeated.

"P-please," he whispered, his vision starting to blur.

All in one moment, the tightness fell from his neck as she abruptly dropped her hand. As soon as his feet hit the dirt, Legolas bent forward. He placed his hands upon his knees as he desperately tried to get air back into his lungs. He inhaled it in long gulps, begging it to fill his lungs.

He was defenseless. He was nothing against her. He knew it. And she knew it too.

She stood there, as still as stone, watching him as he recovered.

Aragorn took aim once again.

"Wait, laddie," Gimli muttered, putting a hand on the Ranger's bow.

Aragorn glanced at him suspiciously but lowered it nonetheless.

As Legolas stood upright once more, he peered at the woman before him. His gaze was cautious, for he feared she might wrap that viperous grip around his throat again; but, still, his curiosity and desire to help wouldn't fade. He needed to know more.

The Prince shifted as he took to observing her.

She wasn't exactly what he expected. She was human-like. She was elf-like. She was in the same image....but not. Something about her looks seemed slightly off. It was different, but not in a prominent or bad way. She just seemed...distinct. She seemed evolved. She seemed primitive. All contradictions. All at the same time. Yet, still, she was similar enough to pass as human or elf...well, mostly. Her ears were not pointed but she held that eternal expression of the elves. She was in between the two races. The woman was smaller than him—excluding the massive wingspan of what had to be nearly sixteen feet—as most beings were, for he was indeed an elf. Apparently, even the Rámaite Mahtar didn't have the height of elves either. Regardless of all this, she still stood proudly and powerfully before him.

She could kill him in an instant.

"You are injured," he began, his voice now rough, as he glanced at her broken wing. "I can help you."

She squinted curiously at him, once again. "Help," she stated, with no tone or inflection.

Legolas nodded. "Yes. I can help heal you if you will allow me."

Her gaze poured confusion into his.

Slowly, Legolas moved to the broken wing. He stopped as he arrived at the section that was ruptured and cautiously lifted his hands. He looked to her for permission, except nothing but that empty stare looked back at him. Therefore, making a decision, he took the wing in his hand.

Wrong decision. Again.

Immediately, she jerked back and hissed at him.

Legolas' hands flung to the sides of his head in a motion of surrender. "It's alright," he said calmly. "I am just examining it. I am here to help you."

Still, she held a frown of distrust.

He slowly touched the wing again, and she snapped an angry snarl at him.

"Shh, shh. It's okay," he whispered. Legolas then placed his palm upon her wing for the third time.

This time, she winced but did not make any motions to attack him.

As Legolas began to examine it, he spoke to her. "My name is Legolas."

She tilted her head, now seemingly interested. "Leg-o-las," she repeated.

He smiled and nodded. "And you? What are you named?"

That interest practically evaporated into nothingness in one second. She turned her head away from him, focusing on the group staring at them both. She basically ignored the elf. Clearly, she was not worried about an attack from him.

"Alright," he mumbled to himself. "I suppose I will have to earn your trust before I learn your name."

She did not look at him.

As he examined her wing, he told her of what he discovered—though he wasn't sure she was really listening. "It is broken. Still hanging on limply though. I can bind it with supplies and provide medicine for the wound." He let his hands fall as he moved back to face her, trying to get her attention. "If you come with me, to my friends, I can help."

She tilted her head, now looking at him. "Come with...."

"Yes. That is where we have supplies. That is where I can help."

Legolas took a couple of steps to his friends, before looking back to see if she was coming.

Seeing this, the woman took a cautious step forward.

Legolas smiled softly, holding out his hand in an inviting manner.

She, however, did not take it. She just pushed past him, her good wing knocking into him rather aggressively, as she continued towards the group.

Legolas jogged to catch up to her, being sure to avoid the massive wings this time, for he knew his friends may panic at the way she was approaching them. It most certainly seemed menacing.

They all shifted nervously when they saw her advance, but Legolas was still alive so they presumed the woman had made peace with him...hopefully.

She stopped about three feet in front of them, waiting for Legolas.

He ducked under her wing and stood before their gaping gazes. "We are going to help her."

"Are you serious?!" Boromir gruffed out. "The wizard said–"

"She is a living being. We will not let her become a victim of Sauron's manipulation. We are going to help her."

Boromir released a rough exhale. He knew what the elf was saying. And he was right. It was either them or Sauron. And they could presume that if she sided with Sauron, it would mean their end.

Aragorn nodded, accepting the situation much quicker than Legolas would have thought. "Alright. We must find a place nearby to camp for the night."

Legolas turned to look at Gandalf.

Would the wizard approve?

He would not look at the elf.

Apparently not.

Legolas sighed. He knew this would cause strain within the group, but what was he to do? This was the only option. Rámaite Mahtar or not, she needed help.

Therefore, he, with nothing else to say, took to following Aragorn—and the winged woman followed him.

Pippin, however, stood still, gaping as the naked figure strutted past him.

"Advert your eyes, Pip!" Sam huffed out in exacerbation. "It's not proper to look at a woman when she's unclothed!!"

The little hobbit, whose lips were parted and whose eyes were still fixated on the woman's ash-covered chest, replied. "I wasn't lookin!"

"Yes, ya were!" Merry replied with a giggle. "But so was I!"

"Come on," Frodo interjected. "Let's not stray from the group."

With that, they moved towards an area encircled by trees and rocks amount a mile away. The fellowship then began to set up camp and the sun started to set—the previously menacing weather entirely gone from existence. Aragorn started a fire as Boromir collected more wood and dropped it near the center. Sam began to unpack his cooking supplies, the rest of the hobbits huddling around him and stealing some scraps as he began. Gimli took to smoking his pipe, Gandalf doing the same but with a wary gaze on the strange woman who now joined them.

Legolas motioned to a log near the fire, in efforts to get the winged being to sit, as he gathered the healing supplies from his bag.

She glanced around at the group of people around her. Seeing Gandalf and Gimli upon a different log, she looked back to the stretch of wood that Legolas had gestured to. Cautiously, she moved towards it and sat down.

She stared at the various individuals around her and that stare was felt. Every so often, they would glance at her with anxiety in their eyes. Except Gandalf. His eyes never left her.

After a moment or so, one of the men, Aragorn, approached her. With a small smile, he passed her a long stretch of fabric before turning back to the fire.

She tilted her head as she took it before placing it limply on her lap—not necessarily covering much.

Legolas looked up from his leather satchel of healing herbs and pressed his lips together to suppress a small smile as he witnessed her little frown. She looked so confused. Despite knowing how lethal she was, it was cute.

He stood, taking his leather bag with him. He placed it at her feet before gently taking the blanket from her lap. He smiled softly, to assure her there was no harm to come, as he draped it over her body. Legolas did his best to swirl it across her skin while leaving her wings free from the fabric. She only looked up at him as he did it.

The Prince stepped back and was about to move to her left—towards the break in her wing—when a gust of wind rushed through his hair. There the injured wing curled, the wound now directly in front of her, and, therefore, him.

He knew what she meant by that: heal me.

Legolas knelt upon the soil and took to making an athelas paste with a mortar and pestle. She watched him curiously as he did so. Soon enough, he gently took the injury in his hand and began to smear the healing property onto the afflicted area. She let him.

"This will help stop any bleeding and prevent infection. Though, I will have to tend to the wound regularly."

She did not answer. Instead, her brilliant eyes were focused on those behind the elf. He glanced up at her as her gaze shifted with every word of conversation between his friends.

The Prince's brows pulled together.

When Aragorn spoke, her eyes were on him.

When Gimli spoke, her eyes moved.

When Boromir spoke, her eyes drifted again.

Boromir was the first to notice Legolas noticing such a pattern and, in turn, noticed the said pattern.

He stood. In an accusatory tone, he barked out a rough demand. "What is she doing?"

Instantly, all eyes shifted to the woman.

"She's just sittin there, lad," Gimli gruffed, drawing another breath from his pipe.

Her eyes went to Gimli...again.

"Nay, she's—she's looking at us," he argued.

Her eyes focused back on Boromir.

Gimli rolled her eyes. "Eh, let the lassie look. What is she gonna do?"

"What is she gonna do," sounded again....but not from any man. No, no, it came from her—from the woman.

Instantly, all eyes stuck to her like tree sap.

"That!" Boromir huffed as he pointed. "What was that?!"

"What was that," she repeated.

"Stop it!" Boromir snapped.

"Stop it," she replied.

"I said! STOP!"

"I said. Stop."

The hobbits' eyes were wide. Frodo stepped behind his friends. Sam grasped onto an empty pan. Merry and Pippin's mouths fell open, food falling from them as they stared in fear—like the rest of them.

Surprisingly, Gandalf was the next to speak. "She's learning, you fools."

She repeated his words: "She's learning, you fools."

"Every word you speak, every action you do, every look you give...She learns."

Each member of the fellowship's eyes filtered back to the woman as the sentence sounded again: "Every word you speak, every action you do, every look you give...She learns.

"What do you mean?" Frodo asked, now emerging from the hobbit blob and shakily walking towards the woman.

"What do you mean."

Aragorn grabbed the hobbit's arm, stopping him. In a parental-like tone, he spoke. "He means that she is incredibly intelligent."

"He means that she is incredibly intelligent."

Gandalf nodded, drawing from his pipe again. "Rámaite Mahtar are incredibly intelligent, smart, and deadly creatures. And you are feeding it."

Her tone echoed him again. "Rámaite Mahtar are incredibly intelligent, smart, and deadly creatures. And you are feeding it."

"Just get her to stop it!" Boromir snapped.

"I will not stop it," she stated.

At that, all sound was sucked out of the air. Everything seemed to be still but the breeze that shuffled lightly through the leaves. Did they just hear that correctly? Those words—they were not repeats.

Her voice then sounded again, slightly unsure. "I want to learning."

Legolas looked up at her from his kneeling position. In a soft and gentle tone, he spoke ever so quietly. "I want to learn."

A small smile pulled at her lips. "I want to learn," she repeated.

"Don't teach her!" Boromir yelled. "You want her to get smarter faster? You want her to learn how to kill us quicker?"

Legolas stood up, his form blocking the woman from Boromir's view. "She already knows how to kill us. And she hasn't. What is the harm in helping her learn how to communicate with us? She is a living being, you should treat her like one."

Boromir took a menacing step forward as he pointed at her. "A living being?! She might be, but she–she is an animal!"

Legolas narrowed his eyes. "She is more similar to us in likeness and image than any wild beast."

Boromir snorted. "And she has ensnared you with it." He raised a hand, motioning to the woman behind Legolas. "With those breasts, that ass, and those warm folds between her legs—I bet you just want to bury yourself in there—"

Legolas' fists balled and he practically growled at the person insulting him...and the woman. "You, human, know nothing of elvish culture. How dare—"

"ENOUGH!" Aragorn interrupted. "She is learning. Do you want her to learn this?! Hmm? You want her to learn anger and violence? More than she already knows?"

Silence.

The Ranger huffed slightly, dropping Frodo's arm and picking up a, rather large, stick to poke the fire with. "That's what I thought," was his gruff reply as he sat down upon a log.

Slowly, the fellowship dissipated back to their own tasks, uneasiness hanging in the air.

Legolas turned back to the woman. She was already focused on him with those frustrated, confused, (e/c) eyes of hers. Legolas knew she didn't understand what Boromir's words meant, for she was still figuring out what words were, but he presumed she could pick up on the basics of interaction by now.

She tilted her head at the elf.

He knew that she knew that he was upset.

He inhaled through his nose, releasing a long breath as he knelt down in front of her once again. "Don't mind Boromir. There is a lot of unease with our quest."

"Quest?" she questioned.

He nodded slightly, unsure of what to answer. He knew that his companions would not appreciate him telling her of their strenuous mission. They were already irritated with his decision to bring the woman into their group. Besides, he was unsure if she would even be able to understand it if he tried to explain it. Yes, it seemed she was grasping the basics of their language, but that was all at the moment: the basics.

Therefore, instead, he decided to comment on what he was doing. "I am going to wrap your wing in a bandage now. We don't want any dirt or grim getting in there, do we?" He smiled gently, glancing up at her ash-covered face before moving to finish the winding. "My, uh, my father and I used to repair injured birds' wings. At my home, in Greenwood, we have a great castle. It's strong for defense but the stone isn't so great for the creatures of the sky. Some of them have, unfortunately, flown into it. When I was a young elfling, he taught me how to mend their wings from such injuries. Yours are not far off from that of a bird, though significantly more damaged."

She tilted her head. "Bird?"

He bobbed his head, looking up at her. "Birds," he repeated gently. He pointed up to the sky and imitated the sound they make through a soft whistle.

She smiled, a little giggle escaping her lips.

Legolas grinned too. He liked her laugh. It didn't seem so scary or deadly. It was almost childlike, to be honest. He wondered if Gandalf had truly been right....she didn't seem that utterly, completely terrifying. Yes, she may have almost killed him earlier, but she could have just been scared. Living beings react when you scare them.

He looked back at her adorable face and instantly, his mind began racing through what else he could do to make her laugh. He wished to hear more of those little, bright giggles again.

Feeling embarrassment filter through his blood at that thought, he glanced back down at the wing.

The Prince tucked the last of the wrapping into itself before looking to her once again. "How about we get that ash off of you?" With that, he dug through his bag until he pulled out a rag. He then removed his water skin from his belt, using his teeth to pull open the stopper. He took a quick sip, then held it out to her.

She cautiously took it from him, twisting it in her hands, before glancing at the man before her.

He nodded encouragingly.

She raised the leather-skin to her lips and took a sip. It spilled down her chin as she did so, but she drank most of it. She then handed it back to him, almost in a shy manner.

Legolas poured some of it onto the swatch of the fabric before lifting it to the woman. He then gently began to wipe the grim from her skin, revealing the natural curves and extensions of her face, until there was no more ash upon her expression.

As he pulled the now gray fabric down to pour more water on it, she looked down at it. Her lips parted as she reached a dirty hand to her now clean face. She looked back to Legolas with an expression of surprise.

After a moment, she held out her hand to him.

He raised his brows slightly but began to wipe the ash from her hand, wrist, and arm. As he did so, he noticed something that made his heart freeze. Purple bruises, now uncovered from the ash, hung upon her wrist. Legolas glanced at her other hand. He could see the same purple and blue hue peaking through the dirt. He was sure to be extra gentle as he cleaned it, for he knew it must be painful. His mind, however, was now spinning with more questions.

Gandalf had said that she had to have escaped. What had she escaped from? It was obvious that she had been restrained. Why had she been? Was she tied up for a rather big reason? How dangerous was she, really? Should they be worried?

She lifted her hand in front of her face and examined it before another giggle left her lips. Valar—it was so adorable. She then pulled her leg out from the blanket and set it before the elf, her dirty foot resting upon his thigh.

Legolas' mouth parted at the action that would, in any other circumstance, seem sexual. She didn't know that though. No, she just wanted to be clean.

With nervous hands, Legolas took her calf in his grasp as he gently scrubbed away again. Valar, if his father saw him now, he surely would be smacked. She removed that leg from him and place her other in its spot. Her eyes were asking him to do the same for it. So he did. Once that leg was washed from the elements, she stood upright and began tugging on the blanket that Legolas had wrapped around her.

Understanding what she was bout to ask, and deeming it too provocative for their circumstances and his culture, he too stood and held out the rag.

She tilted her head.

"Learning, yes?"

Tentatively, she took the rag from his hand. "Leaning."

He smiled before turning away and scrambling to collect his medicinal supplies. He did not wish to be beside her when that blanket finally fell. It wasn't proper. With his leather bag hung over his shoulder, he began making his way towards Aragorn and the now blazing fire.

"Legolas," the winged woman's voice called out, seemingly urgent.

He turned, along with the rest of the fellowship.

"(Y/N)," she stated.

He blinked. "(Y/N)?"

She nodded. "Yes," she paused for a moment, trying to figure out how to convey what she wanted to say. "Legolas. You. (Y/N). Me."

"Your name? It is (Y/N)?"

She dipped her head up and down ever so slightly.

"Nice to meet you, (Y/N)," Legolas replied with a smile.

She grinned.

He then took to sitting beside Aragorn at the fire. He gratefully accepted a bowl of sausages and vegetables from Sam, for he hadn't realized how hungry he had been.

Meanwhile, (Y/N) took off the blanket and began to scrub away at her body. Every member of the fellowship, including the elf, avoided looking at her. They might be men but they were respectful. Legolas had seemingly decided for them that the Rámaite Mahtar was to be of their group, at least for the time being, and they were going to respect that—as well as her honor.

As they ate, Aragorn nudged the elf and spoke in a low tone. "So, (Y/N)."

Legolas swallowed. "I do not think she is going to kill us. If she was going to, she already would have."

"I suppose so." He stated. That is not what he had intended by his words. Aragorn sent a quick look at the woman before turning back to Legolas with a raised brow. "We should find her some clothing, don't you think?"

The elf only nodded, his cheeks red as he refused to look at the winged being.

"Don't suppose the hobbits' would fit her. Neither would yours. Or mine. I doubt Gandalf would spare his robe either."

Legolas chuckled at that. "I don't see many options. We will just have to make do. I think I may have an extra tunic. Those wings of hers will make it a bit difficult though."

Aragorn nodded. "I have an extra pair of trousers."

The two then began to ruffle through their belongings until they pulled out what they could.

"What about shoes? She has small feet. Smaller than mine and yours," Legolas said.

The Ranger snorted as he sent a glance at the footprint on Legolas' thigh. "You would know, wouldn't you?" The Ranger then tossed the trousers to his friend.

"Aragorn," he whispered in a slightly irked tone for he didn't appreciate the comment or the fact that he had to be the one to approach the rather very naked woman...again!

He smirked. "You will figure it out."

"But why do I–"

"She trusts you, doesn't she? She told you her name."

"I–" Legolas began, but the man had already walked away.

With a sigh, the elf began to approach (Y/N).

His gaze refused to drift anywhere but from her face to the ground—nothing in-between. He cleared his throat. "(Y/N)."

She turned, her wing nearly knocking into him.

"I, uh, I brought you some clothes."

She tilted her head and walked towards him until she was only inches away. He could feel her hot breath upon his skin. It tingled at his lips and brushed upon his nose. He could even smell her distinct scent—most ash and fresh soil, but there was something else there. Something different. He could hear her heart too, beating steadily, as if she didn't know what she was doing to him. And he could see that ever-present curious gaze of hers, examining him. Every part that made her living and free was there. It was right in front of him.

Legolas swallowed dryly and shifted his feet uncomfortably, before placing the bundle in her hands.

(Y/N) accepted it. She grasped onto the top fabric, letting the rest of them crumble to the floor.

She frowned at the trousers in her hands, twisting them trying to figure out what to do with them.

"They-they are to cover you. Trousers. To-to cover your legs."

Her frown deepened.

Legolas cleared his throat as he patted his thigh. "Legs."

She held up the pants. "Legs."

He shook his head. "No, no." As his face turned the color of a rose, he gently moved his hand forward, allowing a singular finger to poke her thigh. "Legs," he repeated. The Prince then touched the fabric in her hands. "Trousers." He then pulled at his own pants. "You wear them."

She nodded, understanding.

(Y/N) held them open as she lifted her leg to fit it through the hole. It easily slipped in and she moved to do the same to the next one. This, however, did not go so smoothly. She instantly began to wobble. Out of instinct, Legolas reached out and steadied her by the waist.

She pulled the pants up, her fingers brushing against his.

Instantly, he let go of her form....and she let go of the trousers. And, of course, they slipped. Quickly, she caught them, her eyes wide as she looked up at Legolas. "Help."

He pressed his lips together to prevent a little laugh. As uncomfortable as this situation was, he would have to admit that it was a bit amusing. But seeing this...this pure behavior. Well, there was no way she could have destroyed entire worlds—not with that kind of innocence to her. She seemed so...so precious. So young. So malleable. Gandalf had to be wrong.

Nodding to acknowledge her plee, Legolas tugged out a long stretch of fabric from one of his pockets. It was meant to bind wounds, leftover from wrapping her wing, but it would have to make do as a belt. He quickly looped it through the small hoops upon Aragorn's pants and tied it taught in the front. He then bent down to roll up the trousers around her ankles, for they practically swallowed her feet. While Legolas was down there, he grabbed the tunic she had dropped only moments before. He stood once again and began to dress her in it, trying his best not to look at her breasts. Luckily, it was a wrapping tunic, so it went rather quickly—until he got to her back. He, quite fortunately, was able to weave it around the part of the wings that extended from her skin so they could still move at ease. It wasn't perfect, but—once again—it would have to do. Legolas then began to pull some more fabric from one of his bags. He ripped it into smaller strips and began to bind her feet to serve as temporary shoes.

"There you are," he stated simply as he stood upright.

She smiled, playing with some of the soft material that now coated her body. "There I are!"

The corner of Legolas' lip tugged upwards just a bit. "There I am," he corrected.

She nodded. "There I am."

He bobbed his head as a means of telling her she was correct. The Prince then took to moving back to his place near the fire. He knew it was a bit abrupt to leave (Y/N) there, but he was unsure of what else to do. Besides, if he was being honest, his pants were now feeling a bit too tight for his liking and he wanted to take a couple of steps away from what had caused such a thing—especially before anyone noticed.

Much to his dismay, she followed him—stopping by Gandalf for just a moment to give him a rather large sniff. The wizard glared at her.

Legolas, once again, sat down on the log next to Aragorn. And she sat next to him.

The Prince swallowed dryly. Not what he had intended.

Aragorn, of course, saw that subtle discomfort and snorted rather obnoxiously.

(Y/N) frowned at the Ranger, not understanding, but she quickly became disinterested in the interaction. Instead, she settled her elbows upon her thighs and rested her face in her hands. She let her gaze become absorbed by the flames.

After a couple of minutes of this, Legolas—feeling guilt swell in his chest for his rather rude behavior of abandonment towards her—spoke again. "It is called fire."

She sighed, almost longingly. "I know....fire."

Legolas raised a brow and Aragorn shifted uncomfortably. She was speaking of the last time she was on a physical plane like this. She was speaking of the destruction Gandalf had mentioned. She had to be.

"You know fire?" Legolas pryed.

She bobbed her head. "I know fire. Fire was before."

"Do you like fire?" Aragorn asked, a bit too boldly for Legolas' liking.

She frowned, her eyes drifting to her bandaged wing. "Fire hurts."

The two men exchanged a look.

Before anything else could be said, Sam surprisingly approached. He seemed nervous as he did so, timid and unsure as the plate in his hand shook ever so slightly. "I, uh, lady (Y/N)," he began. "I made you up a plate. I reckon ya gotta be hungry after that fall you had there. Some fine sausages will do you good and help to heal that injury of yours."

"Does she even eat?" Aragorn whispered to Legolas.

The elf shrugged. "I–I don't know."

Cautiously, she took the plate from Sam as well as the fork he passed her. The object moved strangely in her hand as she looked at the others eating—trying to figure out what she was supposed to do. Her gaze settled on Gimli, who was shoveling the meat into his mouth way too quickly. Slowly, she impaled one of the sausages and brought it to her mouth. She chewed, just as the others did, and swallowed. Suddenly, the hunger seemed to settle in. She quickly continued the motions and, within minutes, that plate was empty. Suppose Gimli was good at teaching at least something, despite not knowing that he was doing such a thing.

(Y/N) looked up at Sam. "Like sausages."

The hobbit smiled, a little breath of relief escaping him, as he took the plate back. He was about to walk away when she reached out and grabbed onto his sleeve.

His form stilled almost immediately, and Aragorn's hand danced across the hilt of his sword.

"Sausages," (Y/N) stated.

"You–you would like more?" Sam stuttered.

She nodded.

"I–I can get you more sausages. We have some extra that will go bad if they don't get eaten up."

She released his sleeve and he nervously scurried off before returning with another plate.

She eagerly took it and cleaned it right off. Passing the plate back to him, she sighed, placing a hand on her stomach. "Good sausages."

Sam smiled shyly. He supposed that if someone who didn't know much about food liked his meal, he better be good at cooking. Therefore, failing to hide his grin, he disappeared back to his cooking supplies to tidy up.

The fellowship began to settle down for the night. The hobbits seemed to pile themselves together in a puddle of blankets and Gimli and Boromir laid out their bedrolls.

"I can take first watch," Aragorn stated simply as the sound of snoring started.

"Do you want company?" Legolas asked.

Surprisingly, it was Gandalf who interjected. With his attention still on (Y/N), he spoke. "I will do so, Legolas. You have had a long day, haven't you? You should rest."

The elf frowned at the subtle coolty upon the wizard's tone. He knew why, of course, but he didn't exactly appreciate it.

"Very well then," Legolas replied. With that, the elf stood and began to set up his sleeping roll as well. He laid down upon it with a quiet sigh. As angry as he was at Gandalf's little comment, he did indeed need the rest. Taking care of (Y/N) had been a lot—mentally, physically, and emotionally. He needed to close his eyes. He needed to just....think. Had he done the right thing? Should he have pulled her from that crater?

(Y/N) did not move to sleep, however. Instead, she stood up and began to explore their mini campsite—Aragorn and Gandalf's weary gaze hanging upon her.

As she strut about, picking up sticks and stones and examining them, their eyes followed. She tapped two rocks together curiously. Little clinking sounds echoed ever so quietly. She did it again, and again, before suddenly dropping them and moving on. She then plucked a leaf from a tree and began chewing on it, abruptly spitting it out only seconds later.

Aragorn and Gandalf exchanged a confused look. Well, this was interesting.

(Y/N) continued on with her mission of discovery. As she stomped through the camp, her exhausted wings dragged down upon the ground—knocking Sam's neatly stacked dishes onto the dirt—earning a couple of grumbles and groans from the sleeping men. She didn't seem to care or realize, for that matter.

Instead, she picked up Legolas' bag and began to pick random things out of it. She lifted a little leather pouch from its depths and pulled at the strings. She sniffed what was inside. Reaching into it, she pulled out some leaves. (Y/N) held them above her, examining them in the firelight, before putting them back in their container. She then pulled out another little leather pouch and yanked it open. She stuck her hand into this one too but pulled out a gold coin instead of herbs. She sniffed it. She put it in her mouth. She spit it out. (Y/N) reached into the bag once again and pulled out a sheathed knife.

At this, Aragorn and Gandalf shifted. What was she going to do with that?

She began twisting it around until she figured out how to pull the weapon from the sheath. Aragorn's fingers filtered over the hilt of his sword once again. She, however, held the blade close to her face and sniffed it. She then took her finger and poked the sharp point. Jumping at the pain, she frowned. (Y/N) watched as a little bit of blood prickled upon her finger, just for a moment, before wiping it on her trousers—well, Aragorn's trousers. It seemed she was more surprised than hurt.

She sheathed the blade and put it back in the bag.

(Y/N) continued doing this with all of the objects in Legolas' bag until she went through the entire thing. She then stood up again and went around to find something else to examine.

Soon enough, as the night's watches changed, the winged woman got tired. She eventually sat down, leaned her back upon a tree, and wrapped her dropping wings around her. There, she fell asleep.

PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 5 | PART 6 | PART 7

Everything Tag: @scxundress @lea----b @aredhel-of-gondolin @princecami @the-fandoms-georgie @jazziwritestolkienprimary @swimming-in-stardust @elvish-sky @red-riding @brun-lieve @hey-its-nonny  @mirclealignr @elizabeth-anya-knight @sydney-1209 @laneynoir

Everything But Smut Tag: @goldfearless @Brethil13 (?)

Legolas tag: @dark-angel-is-back @mylittle-escapingdreams @abandoncloud9 @bweakmybonez