#Your Funeral my trial | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

warpdrive-witch · 26 days ago

Note

hey, how are you and I was wondering if you could write me a story about Agatha and the reader being in a relationship and the reader is an angel and Agatha and reader and the rest of the coven is on the witches road and it is the readers trial. The rest like details are up to you and any other thing you want to and is up to you. Also you are one of my top 3 favorite writers

Hey Anon! You have no idea how much I loved writing this. When you wrote angel, I used it as being kind, but it also went into the plot. I hope you love it. Enjoy 💜

16.3k Words. Smut. Magic D. Mommi Kink. Religious Trauma. Edging. Praise Kink. Breeding Kink. The Witches Road.

Minors Do Not Interact.

Red Clay and Ruined Altars

The Witches’ Road was never supposed to be merciful.

It didn’t shimmer. It didn’t whisper. It watched.

A strip of ancient black stone coiled through a world that bent sideways the moment you stepped onto it, like reality exhaled and didn’t bother inhaling again. It wound through nothingness—no sky above, no horizon to anchor you—just a vast, velvet dark pierced by stray stars and a sickle moon that hung low, too close, too interested.

Each of your bare steps was silent, but the Road echoed anyway—mimicking not sound, but sensation. Memory. Every footfall called up things long buried beneath ribs and bone.

The magic of it made your skin buzz. Not warm. Not cold. Aware.

You weren’t alone. Jen moved at your left flank, her long coat whispering around her ankles, lips moving in rhythm with a language older than scripture—older than her own tongue had any right to know. She didn’t look at you. She didn’t need to. Her prayer was a shield, and she cast it like a net around the five of you with every breath.

Alice, beside her, was sharp in the silence. She scanned the dark edges of the Road like a blade looking for something to cut. Her hands never stopped moving—counting runes with her fingers, tapping patterns into her palms. If fear touched her, it hadn’t found a way to settle. Billy kept just ahead of you. Not leading. Not following. He walked like he knew the terrain, like the stones themselves whispered to him. His fingers brushed the air occasionally as if trying to remember something. Or maybe warning something not to come closer. Lilia’s hand found yours only once—fleeting, grounding. A soft press of knuckles. Her magic crackled faintly where your skin touched, familiar and warm, like a hearth fire trying to reach you in the cold.

But it was Agatha who stayed behind you. Not distant. Not silent. Watching. Every step you took, she matched with one of her own. You could feel her presence like gravity—like the hush before thunder. She hadn’t spoken since the threshold, but you could sense her magic stretching forward toward you, threads of violet and smoke weaving through the dark. Not pulling. Not guiding.

Catching. She’d catch you if you fell.

You paused when the Road bent—a turn sharp and sudden as a snapped neck—and for the first time, she broke the silence.

“This is your trial,” Agatha murmured, low and steady, the syllables curling with something sacred. “Not a punishment. Not a curse. A reckoning.” You turned slightly, just enough to glance at her over your shoulder.

Her expression was unreadable. But her eyes—those eyes—held centuries. They held you. And then the Road shifted beneath your feet. No warning. No whisper. One moment you stood on the Witches’ Road.

The next, you stood at the bottom of a hill that should not have existed. The air changed. Heavy. Wet. Oppressive with the stink of memory. The dirt here was red clay, soft and sucking at your feet. The trees that lined the path were dying, if not already dead—branches brittle as bone, bark sloughing off in long curls like burnt parchment. Spanish moss drooped in limp sheets, draping everything like funeral shrouds.

No wind. No birds. Just silence, thick and sharp. And then—smell. It hit first like a slap: old tobacco, clinging and acrid. The smoke had long gone out, but it still clung to the world like a rebuke. Beneath that—mold. Wet wood. Damp stone. The stench of abandonment. But deeper still came something harder to name. Blood and rot and the kind of hate that got baked into floorboards. The copper sting of something old and holy and ruined. You swallowed, but the air tasted like ash. Then your eyes followed the curve of the hill—and there it was.

The church.

It didn’t rise. It lurched.

Warped wooden beams jutted at uneasy angles, like bones broken and never reset. The white paint peeled in great curls, revealing the raw gray beneath. Vines coiled up the sides but refused to bloom. Every window had been smashed. The bell tower leaned slightly east, as if exhausted. And the sign out front—barely standing—still bore the word carved by your father’s own hand: REPENT. The letters were deep. Splintered. Unforgiving.

Billy let out a low whistle behind you. “Well,” he muttered, “shit.”

No one laughed. You hadn’t seen this place in years. But it hadn’t left you. Not really. It had lived inside you. Festering. Haunting.

Waiting for this moment. The others hesitated, hanging back. But Agatha stepped up beside you now, her hand brushing your back once—no pressure, no command. Just touch. She didn’t ask if you were ready.

She didn’t need to. The church door creaked open without touch. Just the nearness of your body was enough. Like it remembered you. Like it had been waiting. The hinges groaned, long and wet, and the air that hit your face was thick and rancid. A mix of old heat, mildew, and something sour that clung to your throat like regret. The inside smelled like rot and ritual. Like someone had buried something holy and let it spoil. Your bare feet crossed the threshold.

The memories didn’t wait to be invited. They surged. Off-key hymns swelled against your skull, sharp and jagged, never in harmony. You could still hear the way the congregation would scream hallelujah like it would scrub them clean, like it was violence disguised as praise.

The pews were collapsed now, but you saw them as they once were—neat rows of splinters, every one a trap for your back, your breath, your spine. You remembered where the cracks were, which nails stuck out, which planks creaked loud enough to draw your father’s glare from the pulpit. No one else noticed that sound. But you did.

And you remembered the kneeling. Not prayer. Submission. Your knees always found the knots in the floor—swollen, warped places in the wood that bit into your skin, leaving you with bruises that lasted longer than the sermons. You knew every dent by touch. Could still feel how your Sunday dress stuck to your thighs in the summer heat while the preacher screamed about hellfire and obedience. You moved slowly down the aisle, every footstep stirring the dust. Light slanted in through the broken windows, revealing motes thick as gnats—spinning and twitching like dying stars.

Behind you, the coven followed. But just before the altar, you stopped. Turned. Your voice came out quiet. Flat.

“Don’t touch anything.”

Alice opened her mouth, probably to joke, but stopped when she saw your face. Jen gave a single nod, solemn and understanding. Lilia took a sharp breath. Billy just looked around and said nothing at all. The floor groaned as you turned forward again. The altar still stood. Barely.

Its once-polished wood was now a mess of gouges and stains, the velvet cloth across it eaten through in patches like moths had feasted on the faith. Two of the candlesticks had fallen and stayed fallen. One remained upright—wax spilled in dried, ugly rivers down its base.

And then—you saw him. Behind the pulpit. Exactly where you knew he’d be. Your father. Or… something wearing his shape.

He was still. Too still. The light didn’t touch him. He looked like he’d been carved from the rot itself—skin pale and waxy, clothes dark with phantom sweat, hair clinging to his forehead like he’d never left the last revival tent he screamed in.

But it was his eyes that stopped you. They were familiar. Sick. Hungry. And they saw you. A grin spread slow across his face. Not welcoming. Not warm. It was the kind of smile a wolf shows a rabbit that stopped running.

“You came back,” he said, voice rough as gravel and soaked in venom. “Knew you would. Knew you couldn’t stay gone forever.”

Your fingers curled at your sides. You felt the Road thrumming through your bones.

He tilted his head, just slightly, like a crow watching something squirm. “Did you think you were free?”

Agatha’s magic stirred behind you, slow and silent. You didn’t need to turn to know her hand was half-raised, her eyes narrowed like a blade’s edge. But she didn’t move yet. She was waiting for you. This was your trial. And your father—whatever this shadowed thing was—looked ready to preach. Or to kill.

You didn’t answer him.

Not yet. Because the moment your eyes locked with his, the past surged up through the cracked floorboards like heat through a stove, filling your lungs, your eyes, your throat. And suddenly, you weren’t on the Witches’ Road anymore.

You were eight, barefoot on red clay, your best dress dust-stained and two sizes too small. The sanctuary was full—shoulder to shoulder, sweat-slick arms, voices raised in a chorus that never quite matched the key. It was a revival. They always were. Too loud. Too long. Too full of fear dressed as salvation.

And you—you glowed. You hadn’t meant to. You’d only been humming. Singing beneath your breath, voice soft and tremulous like the creek just outside the building. But the moment your hands clutched the edge of the pew and your eyes closed, the world had answered you. A shimmer had rippled out from your skin—soft, golden, trembling. Dust caught the light and danced. A sprig of green had pushed through the floorboards beneath your feet, stretching for the hem of your dress like it knew you. Like it loved you.

The preacher’s voice had cracked. Your father’s hands had clenched. And all around you, the flock had gone still. That was the first time you realized the magic inside you wasn’t just real. It was visible. The next Sunday, they made you kneel longer. Sharper. The floor bit into your skin like teeth. You were ten the first time someone struck you for it. Not in anger. Not in haste. No, your mother had pulled you gently by the hand into the back room and said, “Close your eyes. Pray real hard. I’ll know when it’s working.” And then—crack. Once. Twice. A third time. Not enough to kill. Just enough to teach. Just enough to make you doubt what bloomed inside you. But still, the earth beneath you softened when you cried.

You were thirteen when you first saw her. The deacon’s daughter. She was sweet-voiced and starched to perfection. Braided hair, white ribbons, always looking straight ahead. Except once. Once, she looked back. And you smiled.

It was small. Barely there. Just a flicker of light behind your teeth. But it lit something inside you. And they saw. Your father saw. Your mother did. The boy who used to pass you notes in Sunday school. You don’t remember what the sermon was that day. Just the look your father gave you when the choir sang about purity and fire. The way he gripped the pulpit like he was trying not to break it. The way the light through the stained glass hit your face and didn’t burn you.

They decided that day. They’d either kill you—or make you repent until the parts they didn’t like were burned out of you. They tried it all. Cold water dunked three times. “To flush the sin.” A week in silence. “To listen for God instead of yourself.”

Stripped food. Stripped sleep. One night locked in the church itself—doors barred, lights out, Psalms on a loop. They left you there like a lamb in a cage. But the thing they never understood-You were never the lamb.

That night, when the hunger clawed your stomach and fear tried to slither into your chest, you put your palm to the floor and whispered no. And the church shuddered. The pews groaned. The air thickened. The doors didn’t open. They burst. Your chains didn’t slip. They shattered.

You ran. No shoes. No coat. Just your name and a soul stitched with roots and stars. The trees reached down to guide you. The wind lifted your hair. And behind you, the church roared with something between fury and disbelief. You left your blood in that place. But not your power. You never gave that to them. You don’t remember how long you ran. Only that your legs didn’t stop until the road vanished and the woods swallowed you whole.

The night was thick—southern and heavy, the kind of dark that wraps around your lungs and makes every breath taste like earth. Branches clawed your arms. Briars bit your ankles. But you didn’t stop. Couldn’t. If you did, you knew the world would close back around you like a fist. You bled. You wept. You burned. And the world—noticed.

Roots shifted to let you pass. Owls watched without blinking. The wind moved ahead of you, parting the undergrowth in quiet reverence, like even the forest recognized what had just been born.

You were eighteen. Unkept. Unwashed. Unnamed by anything except your own magic. And still, you held yourself like something sacred.

You found the clearing by accident. Or maybe it found you. The trees opened like arms, moonlight crashing down in silver waves, and there—finally—your body gave out. You collapsed onto the grass, every breath a sob of defiance, face pressed to soil that didn’t judge, didn’t ask, didn’t punish.

The moss curled beneath your cheek like a cradle. And for the first time, you were free. You didn’t notice the woman until she spoke. Not loud. Not sudden. Just a voice—low, honey-dark, laced with caution and wonder.

“You did that, didn’t you?”

Your eyes snapped open. You rolled onto your back, chest rising and falling in frantic waves. And there—half-shadowed by trees, hair a mess of curls and wind, hands loose at her sides—stood her.

Agatha. You didn’t know her name then. Not yet. But you felt her power immediately. It pressed around you like velvet and smoke—not suffocating, just… surrounding. Matching you. Like two flames flickering toward each other across a distance that no longer mattered.

You bared your teeth. Growled, almost. Animal reflex. But she didn’t flinch. She stepped forward, slow and deliberate, until she could see you fully—your torn dress, the blood on your legs, the wild tangle of your hair. You expected disgust. Pity. Even fear. Instead, she looked at you like you were a meteor.

A miracle. A warning. A spark of something ancient and holy.

“You broke it open,” she said, almost to herself. “The whole church. The lock. The chains.”

You stared at her, throat raw, unable to lie.

“They were going to kill me.”

Agatha nodded, once. Solemn. Knowing.

“They would’ve tried.”

She didn’t offer you a hand. Not yet. She offered you her presence. She knelt in the dirt beside you, not minding the blood or the mud, and murmured, “You didn’t just survive. You made the world shift for you. That’s not an accident.”

You blinked hard. Your jaw trembled.

“I don’t know where to go.”

Her eyes met yours.

“You already left the only place you were never meant to stay.”

Then, softer, steadier: “Come with me.”

She reached out—not to drag. Not to tame.

To witness.

To honor.

And you took her hand.

That was the night she brought you to her home. The night you stopped being a fugitive, and started being yourself. The day the world called you sinner— —and magic answered back.

The memory cracked. The past peeled away.

And you were back. In the ruined church. But not small. Not kneeling. Not afraid. The scent of rot still clung to the rafters, thick as ever—mildewed velvet, stale tobacco, sunbaked blood—but it no longer coated your lungs. You inhaled it now, unflinching, your breath deep and even. The dust in the air didn't choke you. It swirled around your skin like mist curling off a cauldron, rising to meet you.

Your father’s shadow—sick and sinewed and stitched together by hate and old scripture—still leered behind the pulpit. But you didn’t flinch. Because you weren’t a girl now, soft-voiced and scared. You were a witch. You were Agatha’s. And you were not alone.

Behind you, the coven stood silent but solid—watchful, waiting, believing. Jen’s hands hummed at her sides with quiet protective spells, Alice’s stare bored into every corner like she dared something to move, Lilia’s breath came slow and even, and Billy…

Billy was grinning like he’d been waiting his whole life to see what would happen next. But it was Agatha who held the moment still.

Agatha, standing just behind your shoulder, her presence wrapped around you like dusk and embers. Her arms didn’t reach for you—she didn’t need to. Her magic threaded through the space between you, a living tether, invisible to the eye but felt in every part of your being.

She was your center of gravity. And you were the storm she had chosen. He spoke again—it did, this twisted version of your father, voice thick and boiling like oil on fire.

“You think you can stand against the Lord?”

You didn’t hesitate. Your voice, when it came, rang clean and sharp through the bones of the church:

“No.” You took one step forward. The floorboards groaned beneath your weight, not in protest—in recognition. Dust lifted. The light shifted. And then— life.

Tiny green vines—barely more than threads—spiraled up from the cracks in the floor beneath your feet. They reached like they had all those years ago, curling toward your ankles, remembering your skin. Remembering your truth. The magic that once made them bloom had only deepened, darkened, rooted. And they thrived on your return. Your next step was slower. Deliberate.

“I stand,” you said, “against you.” The pulpit cracked. Not from your voice, but from the weight of it. He snarled. The walls quivered. Shadows lengthened in the corners of the room like they wanted to devour the vines, the dust, the light. But none of them touched you.

Because Agatha raised her hand—just slightly—and her magic surged outward like a violet wave of smoke and fire, meeting the darkness before it reached your skin. A wordless defense. A promise. She didn’t speak. But the message was clear:

You don’t touch what’s hers. The thing in your father’s skin laughed—a low, broken, rattling thing. “You think love will save you?” And then, softly, from behind you, Agatha’s voice:

“No.” You felt her move forward—close, but never in front of you. Her fingers brushed your shoulder, a point of warmth that lit up the entire length of your spine.

“She doesn’t need saving.” Your eyes burned—not with tears, but with fire. With memory. With magic. Your fingers flexed, and the vines at your feet pulsed—thicker now. Blooming with tiny buds. The scent of fresh earth rose in the air, sweet and sharp.

You raised your hand. “I was the miracle,” you said, and your voice cracked the silence wide open. “You just couldn’t stand that it didn’t look like what you wanted.”

The altar split down the middle with a sound like thunder. The ghost of your father roared. Not words. Just rage. The windows shattered outward—every last one. Light poured in. But not sunlight.

Moonlight.

The Road’s light. It shone down through the open rafters and found only you. Your body soaked it in like soil drinks rain.

Magic rippled through you—not borrowed, not stolen, not taught. Yours. And the church—this tomb of hate and punishment—felt it. The floor cracked. The pews groaned again, and this time, it wasn’t memory. It was shift. It was change.

The vines at your feet bloomed into roses—thorns first. They grew fast. Fierce. Alive. And still, Agatha stood beside you, unblinking. Her magic wove with yours now, not as protection, but as harmony. Violet and green, shadow and flame. Her palm found your back, flat and strong. “Show him,” she whispered, her voice full of love and vengeance. “Show him what they couldn’t burn out of you. The vines at your feet curled tighter. The buds bloomed. And then—music.

It started low. Barely there. A whisper of a hymn, warped and crackling like it played from some distant, broken radio.

Then louder.

“Just as I am, without one plea…”

Your breath caught. The church hadn’t forgotten your blood. It hadn’t forgotten the shape of your knees in its floors, or the way you used to tremble during altar call, praying they wouldn’t see what you were.

But now it sang. The old choir. The harmonies that never matched. The thud of feet stomping in time with judgment. The echo of clapping hands that had once held you down. The hymn wrapped around your throat like smoke, trying to choke the power from your lungs. And behind the pulpit, your father’s ghost reeled with rage.

“This is what you’ve become?” he shouted, voice sharp enough to draw blood. “A weed in God’s garden. A whore of witchcraft, consorting with devils and laying down with darkness.” You said nothing. “You are evil,” he spat. “A mistake. An embarrassment. You were never worth saving.”

The walls groaned again—this time not with growth, but with rage. Splinters fell from the ceiling. The shadows trembled. And all around you, the hymn grew louder.

“O Lamb of God, I come, I come…”

But before you could fall into that old fear, Agatha was there. Her magic didn’t rise like yours. It unfurled—thick and warm and steady. She pressed her body against your back, lips near your ear, her breath firm and grounding.

“He couldn’t burn it out of you,” she whispered. “Not the wonder. Not the light. Not the girl who kissed the deacon’s daughter and made the church afraid of spring.”

Your eyes fluttered closed—but only for a moment. The hymn tried to bury you again. You opened your eyes, and the roses around your feet snapped their buds wide open. Agatha’s hand slid into yours.

“He tried to strip you down to bone,” she said, louder now. “But you still sang. You still bloomed.” Your father’s shade shrieked, half-human, half-shadow. The pulpit burst into splinters behind him. Flames licked up the walls—but not from you. From him. From his fear. He screamed again, voice raw. “You think that woman can save you? You think your filth is love? It’s corruption. It’s blasphemy!”

And then— “It’s mine,” Agatha said, stepping to your side, hand still clasped in yours. Her voice didn’t shout. It rang. “She’s mine. And she’s holy in ways you’ll never understand.”

The hymn stopped. Silence cracked through the church like lightning. You stepped forward. One more breath. And then— everything broke.

The ghost of your father lunged. The shadows rushed in, hands clawing from the walls, from the pews, from the pulpit itself. The stained glass exploded inward. The altar erupted into splinters.

But your magic met them midair.

Your hand burst into bloom—green and gold and deep russet red. Vines unfurled like whips, roses snapping wide with teeth of thorns. Your other hand raised, palm glowing. Symbols written in the dirt by your own blood lit up like stars. Agatha spun beside you, one hand raised in defense, the other still touching you. Her magic flared violet—sharp-edged, ancient, furious.

The coven moved as one behind you. Jen whispered a binding. Alice twisted the hymn’s melody into something chaotic and shattered its hold. Lilia extended her palm, a wall of wind crashing through the shadows. Billy, grinning, moving the air around him through the cracked rafters like a dragon in human skin.

And in the center of it all— you. You threw your arm outward and spoke—a wordless command that pulsed like thunder through your chest. Your father’s shade staggered back.

“I am not yours,” you said, every word a blade. “You never got to name me. You never got to decide what was holy.” Agatha’s hand found your shoulder again. Steady. Devoted.

“End it, love.”

And you did. The storm of shadow rushed you. You stood in its center. And you did not move. The church howled—its bones moaning, its stained glass shrieking like the ghosts of every sermon ever weaponized against you. The floor cracked. The altar shattered. The rafters trembled, but you stood rooted, barefoot and burning, hand clasped in Agatha’s as your other reached toward the pulpit. Toward him. Your father’s shade surged forward, mouth unhinged, fire in his eyes that had once promised salvation and delivered only scars. But now—he hit the edge of something invisible. Your magic rose like a barrier—woven through with the color of moss, blood, and memory. It shimmered gold at the edges, pulsing with every heartbeat you gave it.

He struck it. And stumbled. Snarled. Spat. “You think that’s power? You think that’s righteous? This is nothing but vanity—witchcraft—lies.” The shadows lashed. Agatha threw up her hand, a spiral of violet light colliding with the dark. Her power arced outward, splitting the air like thunder, and met yours in the space between your hearts.

It lit the church like sunrise. “You call it evil,” you said, stepping forward, “because it didn’t come from you.”

The vines beneath your feet thickened. Wrapped around your ankles, not to restrain—but to lift. You rose from the floor like a judgment in bloom, eyes glowing, breath steady. And the church—felt it.

The air bent. The hymn began again, desperately now, as if the building itself wanted to drown you in ritual. But Alice shattered the melody with a flick of her hand—strings of the song warping, collapsing into silence. Your father lunged again. But your magic met him midair—and didn’t yield. You threw both arms wide. And the world listened.

Symbols unfurled around you—sigils scrawled in air, in ash, in blood. They glowed in three colors: your gold, Agatha’s violet, and the raw, aching green of something ancient and unkillable. Your voice deepened. Not louder—truer. “This is my trial. Not yours. And I choose to rise.” The entire church shuddered.

Floorboards cracked. Vines burst from every crevice, spiraling up columns, crawling over windows, cracking stained glass into kaleidoscopic showers of color. Roots split the aisle down its center. Roses bloomed from the pulpit itself, curling around your father’s legs, binding him—not with hate, but truth.

“I am not your mistake.”

“I am not your shame.”

“I am not the burden you left in the back pew to rot.”

You stepped forward one final time. Your voice dropped.

“I am the daughter you couldn’t kill. The witch you couldn’t burn. The love you could never take from me.”

Your father screamed. But it wasn’t words. It was emptiness. And as he lunged, vines surged up and consumed him—not in violence, but in return. To the earth. To the past. To nothing.

Light erupted from the pulpit as his shadow cracked into a thousand cinders and was gone. Silence fell. Real silence. And then— The church exhaled.

The vines didn’t wither. They settled.

The air stilled.

And the building… changed.

The pews stood straighter. The altar rebuilt itself from fallen pieces, now coiled in ivy and moss. Sunlight poured through shattered windows, soft and unfiltered. Dust hung gentle, not heavy. It wasn’t a place of worship anymore.It was a place of witness.

And you—barefoot, sweat-soaked, blood-streaked—were still standing in the center.Agatha approached slowly, magic fading to a low hum beneath her skin. She stopped in front of you. Lifted one hand. And with infinite gentleness, tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

Her other hand found your heart, resting above it, steady as breath.

“He’s gone,” she said. “And you’re still here.”

You collapsed into her arms—not in weakness, but in release. The coven came closer, quiet in their reverence, not for what they’d done, but for what you had. You didn’t need saving. You needed to be seen. The church doors didn’t open.

They unlatched. Soft. Gentle. Like the building itself had finally released its hold on you. The back gate was overgrown, half-hidden behind thick ivy, a path long forgotten by worshippers but known by the Road. You could feel it in your chest—a pull. Not demanding. Just present. An invitation to leave this place behind.

The coven didn’t speak. Not yet. You led them through the threshold, your bare feet brushing moss and stone, the vines parting for your passage like they’d waited years to do so. Agatha’s hand lingered at your back, not pushing, just… there. Reminding you that your trial was done. That the world had changed.

The moment you crossed into the Witches’ Road again, the air shifted.

Cool. Open. Breathing. The silence after a storm. You kept walking. You didn’t look back.

Not until the church was swallowed in mist and memory, its twisted beams and stained glass softened by distance, reclaimed by root and shadow. The Road curled ahead, pale as ash and slick with soft moonlight. You said nothing to the others.

You just whispered, “I need a minute,” and kept walking.

No one followed. Not at first. Not even Agatha. The Road veered slightly to the left and you followed it until the sounds behind you—shuffling footsteps, murmured voices, the quiet crackle of settling magic—faded away. That’s when you saw it.

A stream ran just off the path, thin and clear, threading like silver through a break in the woods. A flat rock sat at its edge, smoothed by time. You moved toward it without thinking, lowering yourself slowly, breath still uneven in your chest. You slid your feet into the water.

Cool. Shockingly so. The stream curled around your ankles like silk, carrying away sweat, blood, ash—everything the trial had demanded. You didn’t cry. You just breathed. Until you felt her. She didn’t call your name. Didn’t announce herself. Just the soft crunch of footsteps behind you. Then silence.

Then weight, gentle and familiar, settling beside you. She didn’t speak at first. She simply sat on the rock’s edge, knees drawn up, her legs brushing yours. Her magic stayed close—not touching, not anchoring. Just present. The stream moved between you, soft and rhythmic. And then, after what felt like hours but was likely only minutes, she turned her head.

“I love you.” Your throat caught. Not because you didn’t know it. But because she said it like a truth older than trials. A vow that had survived fire.

Her hand found yours—cool, calloused, trembling slightly with everything she hadn’t said. “I love you,” she repeated, voice quieter now. “And I’m proud of the woman you are now…” Her fingers curled between yours, squeezing just once. “…and the girl I found beneath a bleeding moon a century ago. Wild. Unkept. Brilliant. You looked at me like I was either going to save you or ruin you.”

You turned toward her. Your voice, when it came, cracked: “And which one did you do?” She smiled. Not smug. Not sad. Soft. “I don’t think I ever had the power to do either. You saved yourself. You always did.”

She leaned in. Just a brush—her lips catching yours like a breath she’d been holding since the trial began. Like she needed to taste you, even if just for a second, to remind herself that you were real and whole and hers. You leaned into her harder. Not just meeting her kiss, but deepening it—your hand sliding to her waist, fingers curling tight in the fabric like you couldn’t stand the idea of her slipping away. Her other hand slid up your neck, cupping your jaw with reverence, her thumb brushing beneath your ear like a question.

And you answered. Not with words. But with motion.

You shifted, just enough to press your body more fully into hers, guiding her back as you took control of the kiss—slow at first, then hungrily, like you were trying to breathe her in. She gasped softly into your mouth as you kissed her like a promise. Like a prayer. Like you could imprint this moment between her ribs. Your magic hummed. Met hers. Tangled like vines in floodlight. The silence around you stretched—heavy and golden. Full of everything that didn’t need to be said. Agatha’s head rested soft against your shoulder, her hand still laced with yours, curls damp from sweat and mist. The stream gurgled nearby. The forest held its breath. You turned toward her hair. Inhaled. Ash. River water. Magic.

Her. And the ache inside you twisted, low and deep and impossible to ignore. You needed more. Not comfort. Not quiet. Her. Your fingers squeezed hers in warning. And when she looked up—eyes wide, open, waiting—you didn’t hesitate. You shifted, slow and sure, guiding her body into your lap. She didn’t resist. She let you take her. Let you move her exactly where you needed her—knees straddling your thighs, her weight settling into yours like she belonged there.

Because she did. Gods, she did.

Your hands gripped her hips, grounding yourself in the shape of her, the heat of her core so close it made your stomach clench. You could feel her breath catch. Her fingers dug lightly into your shoulders, steadying herself as you held her, eyes locked, lips parted—

And then you rocked up. Just once. But it lit everything. The friction—clothed, but electric—ripped a gasp from her throat, her hips instinctively responding, grinding back down against the seam of your jeans. You pressed your forehead to her chest. “I need—” You didn’t finish. You didn’t have to. You moved again. This time, intentional. A full, slow roll of your hips that pressed your core into hers with unmistakable rhythm. Her breath stuttered. Her hands flexed on your shoulders. And then she moaned.

Soft. Shaky. Your name whispered like a secret as her body melted into yours. You kept moving—rocking her against you, coaxing moans from her lips, your hands guiding her with quiet strength, pulling her down just a little harder, a little deeper. She gasped. Bit her lip.

“You’re not playing fair,” she whispered, breathless. You smiled against her skin.

“I’m not playing at all.”

You rutted up again, harder this time, and she whined—her thighs shaking, her body beginning to tremble against yours. One of her hands slid into your hair. The other clutched your jaw. But you were in control.

You set the pace. And she followed.

Riding you. Rocking down onto your thigh as you pressed up to meet her, your rhythm building until you were both panting, lost in heat, friction, want. The moans she let out were for you—and every one of them pulled you deeper into her orbit, her weight, her magic.

Until—

“Fuck—” she gasped, her forehead dropping to yours. “I can’t—baby, I—” You moved again. Rougher. And she shuddered. You thought she might break. But instead— She flipped you.

It was fast. Fluid. You gasped, your back hitting the soft, mossy ground, the stream still murmuring beside you like it had always known this moment was coming. The stars spun above you, fragments of silver caught in velvet. And then Agatha was over you.

Not looming—blanketing.

Her body curved above yours like a spell cast for shelter, for protection, for claiming. Her curls fell loose around your face, her hands braced to either side of your head, her eyes locked on yours with something ancient and unspeakably tender burning behind them. Her thigh slipped between your legs. Pressed firm to your still-sensitive center. You jerked beneath her, a soft, strangled cry escaping your lips before you could catch it. Her eyes never left yours.

“There she is,” she murmured, voice thick and molten, as if speaking through the heat in her throat. Her hands came to frame your face, thumbs brushing reverently over your cheeks—grounding you. “I need you to feel yourself again. You hear me?”

You nodded. Barely. But it was enough. And she moved. Her thigh rolled up against you—just once. Purposeful. Slow. The drag of fabric against the soaked seam of your jeans was maddening—too much and not enough, the pressure direct and devastating. You whimpered. She swallowed it with a kiss.

Deep. Slow. Possessive. A kiss that said mine. Then she pulled back, lips brushing your jaw as she whispered, “I want you to know exactly what you’ve done tonight.” Another slow grind of her thigh. You arched with a gasp, but she caught your hips, held them down, her hands strong and sure. “You didn’t survive him.” Another roll. Another helpless noise caught in your throat. “You ended him.”

Her mouth trailed lower—your jaw, your neck, the hollow where your pulse fluttered fast and raw. “You didn’t just make it out of that church…” Her voice, low and steady, rumbled through your chest. “…You remade it. You turned it into a place that answers to you now.” She moved again—slower, deeper pressure this time, and her thigh was slick with your heat. You whimpered, your body trembling with the effort of holding back. “And every time you breathe,” she whispered, “every time your body responds like this—” Another slow, grinding press of her thigh. “—you’re proving them all wrong.”

You let out a cry. Trying to hold on, even as you were unraveling under the gentle, relentless pressure of her body and her words. And Agatha kissed you again. First the corner of your mouth. Then your throat. Then the center of your chest—right over the place where your magic pulsed warm and alive beneath your skin. She didn’t move for a moment. Just held you.

Her thigh pressed snug between yours, her body flush to yours, her breath ghosting over your lips like a vow. You could feel her heartbeat through the layers between you—steady, strong, yours. Around you, the moss curled tighter—thick, lush, living. It cradled your back like a cradle, a nest, rising just high enough to shelter the two of you in green shadow.

Tiny flowers bloomed at the edges of your vision. Deep violet. Sun-bleached gold. Soft white. The stream slowed beside you, its voice growing smooth and steady as a lullaby. Overhead, the trees leaned in—guarding. Bearing witness.

The Witches’ Road watched. And then—for the first time since your trial began— It turned away. You felt the shift in your chest. A breath. A stillness. Sanctuary. Agatha lifted her head like she’d heard the spell woven in that silence.

She pressed her lips to your cheek, your temple, her breath warm as it passed across your skin. Her fingers traced your jaw, slow and sure, anchoring you in the here, the now, the you who had remade herself. Then she pulled back—just far enough to see all of you. Her eyes roamed your face like they’d never get another chance. Reverent. Wrecked. In love.

“Can I…?” she asked softly, her voice rougher now. Like it had traveled a long road to reach you. Like she’d waited too long to ask.

You nodded. No hesitation. Just trust. And her hands moved. Not with hunger. But with ritual. Her fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your pants again, thumbs grazing your skin, and then—slowly—she unfastened the button. She dragged the fabric down, over your hips, past your thighs, and the night air kissed your skin with cool reverence. You didn’t look away. You watched her. Every motion deliberate. Every touch a devotion.

When she reached for your shirt, she paused again—her palms resting against your ribs, feeling the shape of your breath, the place where your heartbeat thundered. Then she lifted the fabric away, baring inch after inch of you until nothing was left between your body and the world but the soft gold shimmer of your magic and the green cradle of the moss beneath you.

You lay back. Soft. Open. Trembling. And Agatha knelt beside you. Shedding her own clothes with no flourish, no seduction. Only need. Her blouse slipped from her shoulders. Her bra was unclasped and dropped away. Then came the soft tug of her skirt, the slide of leggings. Her fingers moved quickly, almost impatiently—but never careless. And when she was bare, she came to you. Not with urgency. But with gravity. She pressed her body over yours like a second skin—warm, real, and here. Agatha didn’t move for a moment. Didn’t need to.

Your skin sang where hers touched it. Her thigh bracketed yours. Her fingers glistened—slick with the heat she’d coaxed from you before.

But then she moved again, slow and grounding. Her hand slid down your thigh, over the curve of your hip, anchoring you to the earth, to this, to her. Her gaze never left yours. Even as her body shifted above you—hovering, barely touching. Her curls fell forward, brushing your bare shoulder. Her breath caught at the edges.

“I want to feel you,” she whispered, voice thick, trembling. “Not just around me. Against me.” Your breath stuttered. That ache in your chest cracked wide open again. You nodded—barely more than a breath.

“Please,” you said. “I need you there.” She kissed you again. Once on your cheek. Then your jaw. Then your mouth—slow and deep and tender enough to hurt. And then she shifted her hips—just enough to reach between her legs.

You watched her—dazed, already shaking—as she aligned herself with you, guiding her slick core forward until your centers met. Heat to heat. Bare to bare. It stole your breath. Your thighs jerked with the contact. Twin gasps broke into the air—hers and yours—twining together like smoke.

She was soaked. And you were already throbbing. When she finally pressed down—slow, steady, searing—her slick folds dragged over yours, clit catching against clit, the friction sending a shockwave through both your bodies. You nearly came again on the spot.

Agatha groaned, hips stuttering, her hand flattening beside your head for balance as she dropped her forehead to yours.

“Fuck—” You whimpered, mouth open, voice cracked. Your legs parted wider, hips lifting instinctively to meet her. To keep her. And then she moved. The grind was slow. Wet. Torturous.

Her slick folds slipped over yours, the contact so intimate, so bare, you felt like you’d been peeled open to the stars. Each pass dragged her clit against yours in a way that was almost too much—almost—just on the edge of pain, on the edge of breaking. There was nothing between you now. No fabric. No lies. Just heat. Wetness. Need. Her. You.

Together.

Agatha’s hips rolled into yours—slow, unhurried, as though she wanted to make sure you felt every single inch of her center sliding against yours. Every sticky, perfect drag. Every twitch of muscle. Every shiver when your clits caught. And gods, it was good. So good it hurt.

Your thighs trembled beneath her. Your stomach coiled tight. Your breath came shallow, your hands gripping her back—shoulder blades, then waist, then lower—just trying to anchor yourself to the reality of her. She picked up the pace. Not fast. But intentional. Every grind drove your hips deeper into the moss, your body lifting to meet hers like it was instinct. Like you’d always known how to move with her like this.

Each drag of her clit against yours sent another spike of heat zipping up your spine. The slick sounds between your bodies were filthy, echoing into the dark. And you didn’t care. You needed it. You whimpered. Moaned. Your head fell back into the moss with a soft cry—and Agatha caught it, her mouth slanting over yours, kissing you through it. “That’s it, baby,” she whispered against your lips, her voice so low, so reverent you could feel it between your legs. “Grind on me. Just like that.” You did. You gave in.

Your hips met hers with every roll. Your clit swelled beneath hers, heat spreading fast, dizzying, unbearable. You moved together in a rhythm older than magic. In a song only your bodies remembered. The moss beneath you thickened, plush and damp and alive. The heat between you burned hotter. Your breath caught with each movement. Her skin burned against yours.

“So wet,” she panted, curls stuck to her forehead, “fuck, you’re so wet—I can feel it every time you move—your clit’s fucking pulsing—gods, I feel everything—”

You arched. Cried out. Your hips moved faster now—less rhythm, more desperation. Your thighs were trembling, your stomach tensing with every thrust. You were so close, and every drag of her body over yours pushed you closer.

“I want you to cum like this,” she whispered, voice breaking. “I want you to fall apart on me. With me.” Your lips were parted. Your breath, wrecked. Your legs began to shake.

You gasped: “I want you in me.” Eyes dark, pupils blown, her slick body hovering just above yours.

“Say that again.”

“I want you in me,” you gasped. “I need—Gods, I need you inside me, Agatha—”

Agatha froze. Just for a moment. Her breath caught like a vow between her lips. Then her eyes met yours—wide, stunned, searching—and in that heartbeat of stillness, something ancient shivered through the air around you.

The Road shimmered. A pulse beneath the moss. A soft cracking in the air—not violent. Not thunderous. Just a shift. Like the universe giving way. Not power. Permission. You both felt it. The earth stilled. The stream quieted. The moss beneath you hummed and hushed, its flowers blooming wider, lifting their petals toward the dark sky. And between your bodies— Something changed. Agatha inhaled sharply, the sound soft and sharp like the first gasp of spring. Her hips stuttered where they hovered, slick and trembling against you.

“Wait—” she whispered, as if afraid to name it. “Did you feel—” You did. The heat between your legs hadn’t shifted—but it gathered. Pulled tight like a spell on the verge of form. Something thickened in the air, pressing low and dense and alive where her folds had been grinding against yours. Not flesh. Not spell. Possibility. A weight that wasn’t there moments ago now nudged at your slick center. Not just pressure. Presence. The ghost of a shape—real, but not bound by flesh. Agatha looked down. Her breath caught. You felt her hips roll once—slow, experimental—and something slid forward. Pressed. Not fully formed. Not fully solid. But perfect. A soft moan broke from your lips—high, sharp, almost frightened by the rightness of it.

“Is that—?”

Agatha’s voice was wrecked. “The Road,” she breathed. “It’s listening. It’s letting me—”

Another roll of her hips. And you felt it. A hot, impossible drag of something shaped by her, for you, gliding over your soaked folds—wet, aching, divine. Not a part of her body. Not separate either. A conjuring of everything she wanted to give. A manifestation of need, devotion, claiming. Your back arched. Your hands flew to her arms—fingers curling in tight. Your whole body trembled.

Agatha looked wrecked above you. Her eyes glassy. Her lips parted in disbelief. Her magic shimmered faintly across her skin, glowing low where your chests pressed together. “You wanted me inside.” Her hand came to your jaw, thumb stroking once beneath your cheekbone.

“Let me in.” And then— She thrust—but not fully. Just enough to part you. Just enough to begin. The pressure was unbearable in its gentleness. The way her magic—now flesh, now offering—pressed against your slick folds was slow, careful, aching. Your body responded instantly—thighs trembling, breath punched out of your lungs, hips tipping up to meet her with the desperation of someone who’s waited for this their entire life. “Easy,” Agatha whispered, her voice low and wrecked as she leaned down, pressing her mouth to your cheek. “I’ve got you.” She rolled her hips again—barely a shift—but the head of that not-quite-flesh, not-quite-spell form slid deeper. You gasped—eyes wide, heart hammering, legs tightening around her waist.

It was hot. Thick. A perfect stretch that made your breath catch and your muscles clamp down like your body knew her.

“You’re so tight,” she breathed, trembling above you, her palm braced beside your ribs. “You're holding me like you don't want to let go—”

“I don’t,” you whispered. “I want to feel every inch. I want you slow. I want to know it’s you.”

Her eyes fluttered closed, and she moaned—a sound low in her throat, nearly broken by how much she felt that. Her hips rocked forward again—just another inch. And gods. It burned. Not from pain. But from everything you had ever held back—every wall, every fear, every time you’d been told your body didn’t belong to you. It all cracked open in that stretch.

You arched beneath her, tears welling in your eyes. Your fingers found her shoulders—digging in—not to stop her, but to anchor her. To beg her not to leave your body, not for a single second. “That’s it, baby,” she whispered, kissing your cheek. “Let me in. All the way.”

And she pushed deeper. Slow. Steady. Every pulse of her magic made you wetter. Softer. Wider. More. You felt her slide deeper, inch by inch, until your whole body was trembling with it.

“You’re taking me so well,” she said softly, her voice cracking as her hips finally came flush to yours. Her body pressed down fully. Her thighs bracketed your own. “Fuck—you’re perfect. You were made to hold me like this.”

You sobbed—a sound of relief, of wonder, of reverence. Your walls fluttered around her. And still—she didn’t move. She stayed. Inside you. Letting you feel it. The fullness. The stretch. The heat. Her.

“Agatha—” you breathed, your voice wrecked, your hands sliding to cup her face. And she kissed you—slow and deep and ruined.

“I’m right here,” she whispered into your mouth. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She stayed there. Fully sheathed. Pressed deep—so deep—her body flush against yours, her hips trembling with the effort it took not to move. You were so full, your walls stretched wide, throbbing around her with every heartbeat. The weight of her inside you—real, shaped of magic and need—made your breath stutter. Your thighs quivered where they clung to her sides. Your fingers dug into the backs of her arms, desperate to keep her there. Your body was adjusting. Softening. Welcoming.

And Agatha— Agatha was barely breathing. You could feel the tension in her frame, every muscle locked, every shallow exhale brushing your lips. “Holy fuck,” she whispered, voice frayed and reverent. “Fuck, baby” You moaned—soft and broken, head tipped back as your hips shifted, just a little, testing. Her eyes rolled. She gasped. “Don’t—” Her hips twitched. “I can’t—I’m trying to let you adjust, but gods, you feel like you’re sucking me in—”

You whimpered, clenching around her again.

“You are,” she moaned, forehead dropping to yours. “You’re not letting me go. You want me to stay buried inside you like this—don’t you?” You nodded—barely able to speak. Your voice came out as a whisper: “I want you to move.” Her lips parted like a prayer.

“Yeah?” You wrapped your legs around her waist, locking her in place. “Fuck me, Agatha-slow.”

She growled—low, wrecked, trembling with restraint. “You’re gonna get all of me,” she whispered, her voice rough with worship. “I’m gonna move so slow you feel every fucking inch—you want that, baby? You want to feel how deep I can go? How long I can stay inside you?”

You moaned—needy, desperate—your hips arching as you felt her finally shift.

And then she pulled back— Just an inch. The drag of her cock—thick, real, perfect—made your walls clench and flutter and ache for more.Then she thrust forward.

Slow. Heavy. Deep.You cried out, hands clawing at her back, breath caught between a sob and a scream. “Yes,” she groaned. “Just like that—let me in, baby. Let me fuck you slow. Let me show you what it means to be mine.” And she moved again.

Deliberate. Dragging her cock out until you could feel the stretch, the emptiness— Then pushing back in until your whole body arched, your mouth dropped open, and you were gasping her name like it was the only thing that kept you tethered. “Fuck—you feel so good—” she rasped. “So warm—so tight—so fucking perfect—”

You sobbed. Your body melted beneath her—legs wide, hips tilted, cunt aching and soaked, stretched to hold the full, slow roll of her pelvis. The shape of her—thick, pulsing, impossibly right—dragged over your walls with a friction so exact it felt forged for you.

Because it was. You cried out when she thrust again. No urgency. Just a deep, slow claim—like she was planting herself in you, pressing magic into your bones with every pass. “Tell me what it feels like,” she panted against your throat, her breath sticky and hot. “Tell me what I feel like inside you.” You whimpered—speechless. Body clenching, pulsing, breath catching with each movement of her hips. She didn’t thrust so much as sink, as if every inch of her cock was a message she needed you to remember.

“Like I was made for you,” you finally whispered, the words catching in your chest like a sob. “Like you belong there—fuck, Agatha, I can��t—I can’t hold it—”

She kissed your jaw. Your lips. Your cheek.

“Yes you can,” she moaned, voice trembling with the weight of your need. “You’re taking me so fucking well, baby—look at you—”

Another thrust. Deeper. And you swore the magic sparked behind your ribs—pushing up through your diaphragm, stealing your air, blurring the edges of your vision. But she didn’t speed up. She just kept going. Steady. Controlled. Her hips rolled into you with an aching rhythm. The kind that made your toes curl and your thighs twitch, made you feel every nerve down to the soles of your feet. Over. And over. And over. Each stroke was a wave crashing through you—soft, wrecked, sacred. You were already gasping, already shaking, your hands scrabbling at her back, her waist, her ass, desperate to keep her in you.

“I love you,” she gasped into your skin, voice ragged. “I love being inside you. I love the way you sound when I stretch you open. You’re mine.”

Agatha’s hips kept moving. Not hard. Not fast. Just perfect. Each thrust filled you completely, her cock dragging along your walls with just enough pressure to leave you breathless—then pulling out slowly, like she needed you to ache for it again. The tip of her magic bumped just beneath your cervix with every pass, and your whole body shuddered.

Your cunt fluttered—wet, tight, hot. Your thighs clung around her waist, twitching. Your mouth hung open on every exhale, your head tipping back as the tension coiled harder inside you.

And Agatha—gods, Agatha—was watching you fall apart.

“Look at you,” she whispered, voice like fire wrapped in velvet. “So open. So wrecked already. And I’ve barely even—”

She thrust deeper. You cried out, hips jerking up to meet her, your cunt clamping down around her so hard you both gasped. Agatha dropped her forehead to yours. Her breath came out in a shattered moan.

“You’re milking me, baby,” she groaned. “Gods—look at how hungry your body is for me.”

“Please,” you gasped, voice trembling. “Please, Agatha, let me—”

She cut you off with a kiss. Not soft. Not slow. Possessive. Then her hand slid between your bodies, her thumb pressing lightly—so lightly—to your clit. Just enough to tease. Just enough to ruin. You choked on a sob. Her lips brushing your cheek, her hips still grinding slow and deep. “You want to fall apart on my cock like a good little witch? Hm? Want me to watch you shake while I fuck you full of magic?”

You nodded. Frantic. Desperate. But she just moaned against your jaw—and slowed down even more. Each stroke was fire now. Dragging against every raw inch of you. Your cunt clenched around her. Your thighs were soaked. Your magic pulsed in bursts under your skin.

Another slow thrust. You keened. “That’s it,” she hissed, her teeth grazing your throat. “That’s my girl. All fucked open on my spell, twitching like you’ll die if I don’t let you cum.”

Her thumb circled your clit— Once. And stopped. “Please—Agatha—” you sobbed, your hips chasing hers, trying to get friction, trying to get anything. Your mouth found her shoulder. Her collarbone. Her lips. You kissed every inch you could reach, trembling beneath her. She pressed her body fully to yours—chest to chest, heat to heat—and rocked deeper.

“You’re close,” she breathed, voice breaking. “I can feel it. You’re so fucking close, and you’re going to stay there. Right here—” her thumb circled again, slow, maddening— “until I say.” You screamed.

And Agatha laughed—wrecked, wild, worshipful. Her hips picked up pace.

Not fast. Not brutal. Just enough to drive you insane. Every thrust now pressed deep and slow, her cock slick with you, your wetness leaking down your thighs, the moss below soaked and singing. Your cunt fluttered with every motion, clamping down like it didn’t know how to let her go.

“Fuck,” Agatha gasped, panting. “You’re squeezing me—how are you still this tight?”

You moaned. You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think. Her thumb brushed your clit again—barely there—and your whole body bucked beneath her. She didn’t stop. She spurred you on. Her thrusts sharper now, more urgent. Still slow—but deliberate. Intense. Designed to keep you teetering on the edge until you couldn’t hold on.

“You’re wrecked already,” she panted. “Soaked. Fucking dripping. I haven’t even let you cum.”

She drove into you again—deeper. You sobbed. Your hands slid between your bodies—desperate to feel where you were joined, slick and full and pulsing. You looked up at her. Ruined. Open. Shaking.

“I want you to wreck me,” you sobbed.

Her rhythm faltered—just a beat.

Your hands grabbed her shoulders. “I want you to ruin me, Agatha. Please. I want to feel it for days—”

She growled. Her mouth crashed into yours. Her body slammed forward.

“I want you to finish in me,” you whispered against her lips.

Her entire body shuddered. The magic inside her surged—her cock pulsing deep in your core, like it had heard you like it had been made to live there. Her hips snapped once. Then again. Not fast. Not wild. Just precise—sharp, measured, filthy. Each thrust drove deeper, the slide of her cock dragging so perfectly along your fluttering walls you thought you might scream from the tension alone.

“Say it again,” she begged, mouth at your ear, voice wrecked and reverent. Her hand gripped your thigh so tight it bordered on pain. “Say it, baby—tell me what you want.”

“I want you to finish inside me,” you cried, voice high, cracked, desperate. “I want to feel you—fill me—don’t stop, Agatha, please—”

She snapped. Her hips started pounding into you—still steady, still controlled, but no longer gentle. Each thrust was deliberate and cruel in its slowness, your cunt taking every inch with no escape. She held you open—one hand gripping your thigh, forcing you wider, the other tangled in your hair, keeping your head tilted, your throat exposed. Her cock—still formed of her magic, of her love, of her goddamn devotion—pressed into every trembling inch of you. Again. And again. And again.

You were soaked. The moss beneath you wept with it. The flowers blooming under your back were bent low, heavy with dew and magic, their petals quivering with every slap of her hips into yours. And you—gods, you were ruined. But Agatha didn’t stop. She couldn’t. She fucked you through the rhythm with a focus that bordered on unholy. Each thrust rolled heat through your belly. Each withdrawal made your body beg for more. She didn’t give you release. She gave you ownership.

“You want me to cum inside you?” she growled into your throat, voice dark and wrecked. “You want me to keep you open, aching for me for days?” You whimpered—barely conscious, half-mad with tension.

“You do,” she hissed. “I can feel it. You’re clenching around me like you’re already coming—but I’m not going to let you. Not yet. Not until I’ve earned it.”

You opened your mouth—but nothing came out. No words. Just gasps. Just magic. Just the searing heat of her cock dragging against every nerve in you. Your magic pulsed now—gold and wild and molten, flowing from your skin like honey. Agatha’s shimmered through it—violet, stormy, burning. The two of you lit the moss like stars. And still she moved. Hard. Deep. Measured. The slap of her hips echoed with wet sound, each thrust pressing impossibly deep. Your cunt spasmed around her—slick, swollen, starving—but she wouldn’t give it to you. Not yet.

“You’re holding it,” she panted, her eyes locked on your face. “You’re trying so hard, my sweet girl. So good for me. So fucking good.”

You sobbed. And she groaned, mouth crashing into yours—sloppy, raw, desperate. When she pulled back, her breath dragged hot over your lips.

“You’re going to remember this,” she whispered. “Every time you sit. Every time you dream. I’m going to haunt you, baby.”

She thrust deep. You screamed. But still—no permission. No release. Just her body, her cock, her magic owning you. She was still in control. Barely. Each thrust kept hitting that perfect place inside you, your cunt squeezing tighter around her, slick gushing with every stroke—but she didn’t let up. You didn’t want release. You wanted her. Ruined. Your fingers tangled in her hair. You dragged her mouth to your ear and moaned—low, deliberate, filthy.

“Agatha.”

Her hips faltered. Just a beat. You smiled. “I want to feel you dripping out of me for days. I want your cock inside me in my dreams. I want to smell like you. Taste like you. Fucking ache for you.”

Agatha let out a shattered breath. Her rhythm broke. You didn’t stop. Your nails slid down her spine, sharp enough to sting. Your legs locked around her hips, holding her in. “I want you to lose control.” Your voice cracked on it. “I want you to fuck me like you mean it. Like you can’t stop.” Her hips snapped. Hard. She bit your throat—just enough to leave a mark.

“I can’t—” she gasped. “Fuck, baby—” And still—you whispered: “Cum inside me. Please, Agatha. Fill me up. I want to feel it—I want you to make a mess of me.”

“You want me like this?” she snarled, voice breaking open around each word—wild, low, possessive. “You want me to fuck you like I’ve lost every ounce of control—like I can’t think, can’t fucking breathe unless I’m buried in you?”

“Yes—” you gasped, your legs locking tighter around her waist, already trembling. “Yes, fuck, yes—Agatha, don’t stop—please—”

She didn’t. She couldn’t. Her thighs slapped against yours, punishing and perfect, her rhythm brutal, steady, unrelenting. Every thrust was a promise she kept and then broke—harder, deeper, again. Her sweat dripped from her chest onto yours, hot and salty where it kissed your skin. Her mouth dragged over your jaw, panting—ravaging. Her teeth grazed your neck, your collarbone, the curve of your shoulder like she wanted to mark you, taste you, claim you with every breath.

“You feel so fucking good,” she groaned, thrusting harder. “You’re so fucking tight—gods—gripping me like this pussy was made for my cock—like your body knew mine—”

You cried out, loud, wrecked, nails raking down her back, and she moaned for it—loved it. Her hips slammed forward again, and the sound was obscene—wet, frantic, filthy. Her cock dragged along your soaked walls, slick with your arousal, your magic, your need. You felt every inch—every stretch, every stutter, every aching pulse. The weight of her over you. The heat of her around you. The rhythm of her inside you.

“You’re mine,” she growled.

“I’m yours,” you sobbed, hands locked in her hair, your whole body trembling.

“Fucking say it again—”

“I’m yours,” you gasped, choking on the words as she pounded into you. “Please—please, Agatha—I need it—need you—”

Her voice cracked, feral and commanding. “What do you need, baby?” Her hips snapped, harder. The moss beneath you trembled. “Tell me what this cock’s doing to you.”

“Filling me—fucking me so deep I can’t think—I can’t—” You sobbed. “I want it. I want you to stay inside me—forever—gods—Agatha—please—”

Her next thrust was brutal. Measured. She groaned, a sound like surrender and worship all at once. Her cock twitched inside you—just once—but she caught it. Buried it. Controlled it. You could feel the heat building in her—the way her arms trembled, how her thrusts got even harder, more devastating. And still, she didn’t let go.

“You don’t get it yet,” she snarled, her voice ragged, her mouth grazing your ear. “This isn’t fucking.”

She thrust again. Deep. So deep you saw stars.

“This is a fucking offering.”

You gasped—no, screamed, wrecked and helpless as she slammed into you again, and again, and again. Her magic flared around you—sharp, radiant, uncontrollable. And she laughed. Not cruel. Not amused. Overcome.

“Fuck, baby—I haven’t even started to ruin you yet.” she growled.

And then you said it. Soft. Right into her ear.

“Mommy—” She snapped. Her whole body jerked. Her hips slammed forward like you’d cast a spell through her core. Her breath caught in her throat—a sound between a sob and a snarl—and her thrust stuttered, just for a second, before she slammed in again harder.

“Don’t call me that—” she choked. But you smiled. You knew better. You rolled your hips into hers, tightening your legs around her, and whispered it again:

“Why Mommy? Don’t you want to fuck your girl?”

A gasp burst from her mouth. Her head dropped to your neck, lips open, teeth grazing your skin. Her next thrust was brutal—deep enough you thought you might pass out from how good it felt. “You little fucking brat,” she hissed, but her voice was falling apart, her control shattering. “You want to push me over the edge? You want me to lose it that badly?”

You nodded—voice breaking. “Please. I want you to fuck me like you mean it. I want it all. I want to feel it—Mommy.”

Her hips snapped again, loud, soaked, her cock slamming into you so deep your toes curled. And then— You whispered the words that destroyed her:

“I want you to get me pregnant.”

Agatha froze. Her breath stuttered. Her thighs shook. You felt her cock twitch hard inside you.

“Fuck,” she gasped. “You—baby, you can’t—don’t say that unless you want me to fucking—”

“I do,” you moaned, nails dragging down her back. “I want it. I want you to fill me up, Mommy. I want to carry it. I want to wake up leaking and aching and still fucking wet from how deep you were in me.”

She snarled—the sound ripped from her throat like it hurt—and started fucking you harder, hips pounding, no pretense left, just pure animal rhythm. “You want me to breed you?” she growled, her voice wrecked, hips pounding into yours like her body had stopped listening to her. “You want me to own you like that?”

“Yes,” you gasped. “Yes, Mommy—please—put it in me. Fill me up. Fuck it into me until it stays.” She twitched inside you—thick and pulsing, magic flaring.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” she rasped, her voice breaking even as her hips kept snapping forward, unrelenting. “You say that again, I will cum inside you. I’ll make a mess so deep you’ll be dripping every time you take a step.” You cried out—high, sharp, wrecked.

“Do it,” you moaned. Her control shattered in a groan—long, low, feral. Her hand gripped your thigh, held you open, kept you pinned as she fucked into you harder than before, her rhythm relentless, breath crashing against your cheek.

“You’re mine,” she snarled, her voice hoarse, hips slamming forward. “Say it again. Louder.”

“I’m yours.”

“Louder.”

“I’m yours, Mommy. I’m yours.” Her eyes locked on yours—wild, glassy, worshipful.

“I’ll make it stick,” she gasped. “You’re gonna feel me for fucking weeks—I’ll fuck you so full they’ll hear your moans echo through the damn coven—” She thrust hard—once, twice—every slam soaking the moss, your thighs sticky with your own arousal and her magic, your body trembling with how badly it wanted her to lose control.

“You want to be filled with me?” she hissed. “You want to be ruined, wrecked, claimed from the inside out?” You nodded—frantic, eyes wide, mouth open in a moan that wouldn’t stop.

“Then fucking beg,” she growled, her hand slamming beside your head, magic cracking through her fingertips into the moss. “Tell me what you want, baby. Tell me who this pussy belongs to.”

“You—Mommy—you—”

“Say it.”

“It’s yours. My pussy’s yours. My body’s yours. Fucking fill me—I need it—please—please—”

Her body jerked, her breath shattered, and still—she held it. Held you. Her thrusts were getting messier now—less control, more desperation—her voice collapsing in your ear:

“You’re gonna take it, baby—all of it gonna let me cum inside this perfect pussy until you’re leaking for days—fuck—say you want it—”

“I want it—Mommy, please—I want you to cum so deep in me I can feel it when I sleep—”

Her rhythm snapped again—hard, fast, unforgiving. Her whole body was burning above you, trembling, magic clawing at the moss like even the Road couldn’t hold the two of you anymore. She didn’t slow. Didn’t soften. Her hips kept slamming into yours, wet and punishing, your bodies crashing together like waves and flame and want.

“Mommy—” you moaned, the name breaking across your tongue like a spell, “please”

She snarled. Then her angle shifted. Deliberate. Predatory. Agatha sat back just enough to shift her weight, her knees bracketing your hips. Her hands grabbed behind your thighs—wrenched them wider—then she drove forward hard enough to make you cry out.

“That what you want, baby?” she hissed, voice splintering as her cock speared deeper, rougher, grinding against the place inside you that made your legs spasm. “Want me to hold you open like this? Want to be fucking pinned while I make this pussy forget anything but me?”

“Yes—yes—Mommy—please don’t stop—”

She didn’t. She let her full body weight fall over yours now—skin to skin, sweat-slick, chest to chest—her forearms sliding under your knees, locking your thighs up and back. The new angle wrecked you—every thrust dragging her cock over that spot again and again until your hips bucked on their own, until your mouth fell open in a silent scream. You were trapped under her. Caged. Pinned and fucked. And gods—there was nothing more perfect.

Her mouth was everywhere—your jaw, your neck, your shoulder—biting, panting, moaning. She snapped her hips forward—brutal—and your whole body jerked beneath her. She was riding the edge, her pace brutal and unwavering, body shaking over yours, teeth gritted like she was holding back an earthquake.

Her body crashed into yours—again, and again, and again—and you screamed for it, your nails clawing down her back, your walls fluttering in helpless, soaked spasms around her magic. She pinned you tighter. Every inch of her weight on top of you now. Her hips grinding deeper, slower for a breath—just enough to press her cock where it made your vision blur—then fucking slamming again like she could brand her shape into your body. You couldn’t move. Could barely breathe. You were held—claimed—and still, she wouldn’t let you cum. Still, she hadn’t let herself fall.

“You want to break me?” she growled, mouth at your ear, cock still pounding into you. “Then say it again. Say my fucking name while I fuck you open.” You tried to say it. You tried. Her body slammed into yours again, cock dragging deep, your thighs trembling from the force of it. Your breath came in ragged gasps, your mouth open against her neck, lips barely able to shape the words through the wreckage of your moans.

“Aga—”

She growled. “No.” Another thrust. Harder. Deeper. “try again.”

You gasped, tears welling in your eyes—too much, too good, not enough. “Aga—please—” Her hand wrapped around your jaw, turning your face to hers. Her eyes burned. Her voice was low and savage: “who.” Her hips snapped forward—once, twice—relentless. Your walls clamped down around her, your body trembling, sweat and slick and magic soaked into the moss beneath you. You whimpered.

“Say it, baby,” she whispered, her forehead pressed to yours, her breath catching. “You know what I want to hear. You know who’s fucking you like this.”

You opened your mouth. Tried again. “Mo”

“Louder.” She slammed into you again, your cunt so wet and full and aching that you almost came just from the sound. You sobbed— And then you gave it to her. “Mommy.”

She snapped. Her whole body shuddered above you—magic flaring like lightning through her limbs—and she moaned so loud it echoed through the trees. “Fuck—yes—there’s my good girl,” she groaned. “That’s it. That’s what I fucking needed. Gods, baby—you don’t even know what that name does to me—” Her rhythm broke open—still in control, but barely—her body moving harder, heavier, her voice rough and wild in your ear:

“You feel what you’re doing to me? Feel how close I am? You’re making me fucking lose it, baby—calling me that, looking at me like that—”

You nodded, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes. “I want to be yours,” you whispered.

“You are,” she hissed, breath shaking. “You’re mine. My girl. My fucking everything—” You nodded, wrecked beneath her—but it wasn’t enough. Not for her.Because she was still holding it.Still trembling.Still waiting for you to ask for more.Her cock twitched deep inside your cunt, soaked and clenching, and she moaned like it broke something loose in her chest.But she didn’t let go. Not until—

“Please, Mommy.”

Her breath caught. Her grip locked tighter. And then—then—she moaned, low and ruined, the sound full of heat and promise and surrender.

You could feel it in every trembling inch of her—the way her hips began to stutter, her thrusts losing rhythm as her cock twitched deep inside your soaked, aching cunt. Every vein of her magic pulsed along your skin in frantic bursts of violet fire, crackling like the storm she was trying to hold back.

She was shaking. Her thighs trembled around your hips, her grip on your wrists tightening until you could feel your pulse beating against her knuckles. Her forehead pressed to yours, her breath sharp and ragged, as if even speaking might push her over the edge. And still—still—Agatha held on.

You whimpered beneath her, back arching, body begging. She was pulsing inside you—hot, thick, throbbing—and you swore your cunt could feel the shape of her, every ridge, every twitch, so swollen and soaked it was unbearable.

“Mommy—” you sobbed, helpless, your voice cracking under the pressure.

Her breath caught. And then— Her voice dropped, reverent and ragged against your lips.

“Cum for me,” she whispered. “Cum on my cock—you’ve been so good, so fucking perfect, taking all of Mommy like you were made for it. I want to feel you lose it. I want to feel this pussy clench around me so hard I can’t fucking breathe—”

She thrust deep—grinding, her cock pressed so far inside you it felt like your whole body wrapped around it. “Now, baby. I need to feel you fall apart. I want you to cum so hard you scream for it—scream for me.”

And gods, you did. Your orgasm tore through you like a spell unraveling in real time—sacred, electric, your whole body seizing tight around her. Your cunt clenched, fluttering in desperate, pulsing waves, and you felt her cock throb inside you, twitching like she was seconds away from breaking too. She felt it.

“Fuck—fuck, baby—” she gasped, the sound crushed and frantic. “You’re—shit, you’re so tight—you’re squeezing me—”

She faltered. Just for a breath. She drew back a fraction of an inch—her hips twitching like she was going to pull out, like some instinctive part of her still tried to protect you from what was coming. If that was even possible. But you didn’t let her. You crossed your ankles behind her back—locked them—and pulled her in deeper.

All the way. She choked on a moan. And then she growled, low and feral, grabbing your thighs and forcing them wide, pressing her hips flush to yours, cock buried to the root as your slick spilled around her and your walls clenched again.

“Don’t you fucking stop,” you gasped. “Don’t pull out—don’t you dare. I want to feel your cock in me. I want to feel you everywhere.” She was shaking now—arms trembling, hips jerking, trying and failing to keep the rhythm steady.

“Fuck—I’m close—don’t say that, don’t—”

But she was already pounding into you harder, sloppier—her control gone, her breath broken against your mouth, her moans raw and wild as your bodies slammed together. The sound of your slick was obscene, the heat of her cock unbearable, every thrust forcing your orgasm deeper into your bones as she chased the edge you’d already fallen over.

“You want it?” she gasped. “You want my cum—want me to fill you until you’re leaking down your thighs?”

“Yes—”

“You want me to breed you, baby? Fuck you so full it sticks?” Her voice cracked, teeth gritting as her hips slammed into you like thunder. “Say it again.” You wrapped your arms around her. Held her to you. Looked her dead in the eyes as your voice broke wide open with need:

“Get me pregnant.” She snapped—and drove into you harder. One crashing, brutal thrust after another—her thighs slapping wetly against yours, her cock so deep your body arched around it, clinging to every inch. You were drenched, the moss beneath you soaked with your slick, your sweat, and the magic now rolling off both of you in wave after breathless wave.

“You want me to put it in you that deep?” she panted, her voice breaking at the edges. “You want to feel it pour out of me, right into you—so much you’ll taste it in your fucking dreams?”

You sobbed—wrecked. “Yes—yes—Mommy, please—” Another thrust. Deeper. Her hands slid up your thighs, spreading you wider, holding you open like a sacred vessel as her hips snapped forward again. Your body bowed, and she groaned into your throat.

She growled, reverent, breathless.

“Do it,” you begged. “Give it to me, Mommy—give me everything—I want it—I want you—”

“Fuck—” she groaned, desperate now. “Fuck, I’m gonna—I’m gonna fill you up, baby—take it—take every fucking drop—”

Her cock twitched—violently. Her body went taut.

And you felt it. Her hips faltered—each thrust breaking rhythm, snapping into you in short, panicked bursts like her body was fighting her mind for release. Her cock throbbed inside your cunt—thick, hot, pulsing with magic that sparked across your skin in frantic bursts of violet fire. You swore you could feel every ridge, every twitch, your body trembling around her in slick, gasping surrender. You screamed her name—loud, open, wrecked—your legs trembling, your vision gone white at the edges.

Her forehead dropped to yours, sweat slipping down her temple, lips brushing your mouth in ragged gasps. Her eyes met yours. Wide. Wild.

Terrified. And completely devoted. “I’m gonna—fuck—Mommy’s gonna cum in your—” Her voice broke. But she didn’t. She held on. Tighter.

Her hips didn’t slow—they slammed forward, again and again, pistoning into you with the force of something ancient, something starved. Her rhythm was feral now, wet and brutal like she needed to fuck her orgasm into you just to survive it. You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t speak. But you did. You whispered, wrecked and reverent:

“Are you gonna cum in me, Mommy?”

She moaned—a sound torn from her chest, low and guttural, pressed into your throat like it was the last safe place she had left. She didn’t answer. She just fucked you harder. Her cock slammed into your soaked cunt, every thrust deep, soaked, perfect. Your body arched, walls fluttering, already on the edge again.

“I hear you,” she gasped, voice fractured, “your little moans—fuck—the way you sound when I’m this deep” You sobbed—your thighs trembling, your mouth open, eyes glazed as she chased the fall. And then— She broke.

Her hands locked over yours, fingers clenched as her hips drove forward one last time—hard, deep, final—burying her cock to the root inside you as your body stretched around her, trembling, open, ready.

You felt her everywhere. In your cunt. In your belly. In your heart. And then—

Heat. Blinding. Immediate. Unrelenting. Her hips drove forward—one last brutal thrust—and then she broke. Her entire body arched, back pulled tight, chest crashing into yours. Her mouth fell open in a desperate, choked moan—raw and unfiltered, like the sound had been building inside her for hours and couldn’t be held anymore. Her cock convulsed deep in your cunt, and you felt it—gods, you felt it: Once. Twice. Three times.

Hot, molten spurts of cum slammed into you—thick, fast, and so deep it felt like she was pouring her soul into your body. You gasped, eyes fluttering shut as the pressure surged through your core and up your spine, blooming in your chest like fire.

Her voice cracked. A sharp, guttural “Fuck—” against your neck, followed by a whimper so soft you almost didn’t hear it: “It’s too much—I can’t—I’m still coming—baby, I’m still—fuck—”

And it didn’t stop. Her cock twitched again, harder this time, and you screamed—not from pain, but from the stretch and the heat and the way she moaned with you now, helpless and breathless. Your orgasm slammed through you like a wave crashing open from your chest. Your thighs locked around her hips. Your arms clung tight. Your cunt fluttered like it was trying to hold her there forever.

Agatha whimpered into your skin.

“That’s it—good girl, fuck—Mommy can’t stop—”

Her hips stuttered—still moving, still grinding, sloppy now, soaked with slick and sweat and cum, fucking you through every wave of her release. Her voice fell apart.

You sobbed. “Yes—yes—please—don’t stop—Mommy, I want all of it—I want all of you—” Another pulse of cum spilled into you, and her moan this time was high and cracked, like she couldn’t take it either. Her thighs trembled against yours. Her arms began to shake. Her forehead pressed to yours, lips open, breath shallow, her whole body coming undone above you.

“I’m still—fuck—I’m still coming,” she whimpered. “I don’t know how you’re still taking it—you’re so full—I can feel you holding me, baby, like you want to keep every drop—”

You kissed her. Desperate. Reverent. Crying into her mouth as your cunt clenched again, tighter now, your body wrecked and begging, overstimulated and overflowing.

She slammed into you again—one last time—as her cock pulsed violently and her breath caught mid-cry. And then she moaned—full-bodied, broken, the kind of moan that ripped straight from the center of her chest and out through her throat:

“You’re mine,” she gasped. “You’re everything—everything—fuck, I’m yours too, baby—take me—”

Her cock twitched again. Again. Her cum spilled from your cunt in slow, heavy waves—too much to hold—but she didn’t pull out. She didn’t let go. She just moaned into your shoulder, her hips still grinding, slow now, clumsy and sacred. She was shaking. You were shaking. And still—still—you held on to each other. The world was a blur of heat and heartbeat and sound.

Agatha’s breath broke in your ear—shallow, shattered, caught halfway between a gasp and a sob. Her body was still moving, just barely, little rocking thrusts she couldn’t stop, couldn’t not give you. Her hips trembled with every motion, her legs bracketing you down, her weight full and grounding over your chest. And her voice— Gods, her voice was wrecked.

“Still inside,” she whispered, lips dragging over your cheek, your temple. “I can feel you still pulling—like you don’t want to let me go.” You didn’t. You couldn’t. She let out a high, involuntary whimper—tiny, cracked, like she wasn’t even aware of it. Her forehead dropped to your shoulder, her breath ragged against your skin, and her thighs shook with the effort to stay upright.

“Fuck,” she breathed. “You—baby, you ruined me—”

Her words dissolved into another moan, softer this time, hushed and desperate, as her hips ground forward again. You felt her cock, still thick and pulsing inside you, slide deeper with the motion, and a small gush of warmth spilled from you in response—so much, you gasped.

“I can’t,” she whispered again. “I can’t move. Not yet. I need—need to feel this.”

Your arms came up around her. Not tightly. Just enough to keep her close. Enough to let her break gently against you.

“I’ve got you,” you murmured, brushing your lips over her damp forehead. “You gave me everything.”

Her hands found yours—slow, reverent, like they were afraid to let go. She threaded your fingers together, pressing your joined palms against the moss above your head.

And the Road responded.

The moss curled around you both—warm, velvet-soft, thick with golden bloom. The flowers that had erupted beneath your bodies remained open, turned toward you as though worshipping. The trees above were utterly still. The stream had quieted to a hush. You felt the pulse of magic still humming beneath your skin—orange and violet and honey-thick, braided between you like the tether it had always been.

Agatha let out another soft whimper, almost a whine, and you felt her curl into you—like she didn’t know how to exist outside your body now.

“You’re still shaking,” you whispered, kissing her temple.

“I know,” she whispered back. Her voice was barely there. “I—I didn’t know I could feel this much. I didn’t know it would be like this.” You squeezed her hand. “You stayed with me. Even when you broke.” She nodded, pressing a kiss to your collarbone. Then again. Then lower, over your heart.

“I felt you open for me,” she said. “I felt you keep me. I—I heard you say my name and I just—” Her breath caught. “I gave you everything I had.”

You kissed the edge of her jaw. “You still are.” There was a silence then. Not empty. Not hollow. A full, aching kind of silence. The kind that only comes when two bodies are still joined, still shaking, still trying to memorize the exact shape of this kind of closeness.

And then— “Good girl,” she whispered, breath warm against your throat. “You were so fucking perfect for me.”

You shivered. Agatha finally moved—just enough to shift her weight so she could look at you. Her eyes were glossy, still shining with magic, still wet with the tears she hadn’t even noticed she’d cried. She didn’t pull out. She didn’t even think about it. She just kissed your lips, slow and soft and holy.

------

The silence lingered as your bodies slowly remembered themselves.

Agatha was still inside you, her breath soft against your cheek, her hands resting where your hips met. Neither of you moved for a long time. The moss cradled you like a bed made for this moment. Your skin still tingled with the last echoes of magic—hers and yours, braided together like roots through loam.

But eventually, your muscles began to ache. Not painfully. Just in the way that reminded you that time existed, and so did everything outside this pocket of sacred stillness. Agatha shifted first. A soft, careful pull back, her hand on your thigh as she finally, slowly, eased out of you. You gasped—body shuddering with the loss—and she moaned quietly, her forehead pressing to your shoulder as if the separation hurt her, too.

“Still here,” she murmured, her voice scratchy and low. “Still yours.”

You nodded, eyes closed, breath shallow. Warmth leaked from your body—thick, slow, undeniable—and you felt your cheeks flush with something like awe. You were sore. You were soaked. You were loved. Agatha sat back onto her heels and looked at you—truly looked. Her eyes were wide and red-rimmed. She looked wrecked. Gorgeous. Bare in a way that had nothing to do with clothing.

“We should get cleaned up,” she said softly. “Even if I never want to leave this moss again.”

You dressed each other in silence. No rush. No shame. Just warmth—slow and human and holy—as fingers brushed fabric and lips found skin in quiet thanks. The moss beneath you had grown thick and golden-edged. Your scent was everywhere. The Road had given you this moment, and neither of you seemed willing to let it go. When you were fully clothed again, Agatha held your hand in both of hers. Not to lead. Just to feel.

Her thumb traced your knuckles. Her eyes never left your face. “Are you alright?” she asked, voice low. Reverent. You nodded, breath catching.

“I am now.” She smiled—and gods, she looked so wrecked. Not from the trial. Not from the pleasure. From loving you so hard it had hollowed her out and rebuilt her.

“You were brilliant,” she said. “You didn’t just survive. You changed the Road. I felt it.” You leaned into her touch. “Because you stayed. Because you caught me when I fell.” Her lips brushed your forehead. Her voice was a whisper against your hair.

“I always will.” You stood together then, still laced at the fingers, and took one final breath before facing the Road. And just as your foot stepped forward— The air shimmered. Not violently. Gently. Like a veil lifted. And for a single breath, the Road gave you a gift.

—

A clearing. Sunlit. Open. Time had passed—you felt it in the warmth of the grass, in the way the trees stood taller now. In the way joy had taken root.

A child ran barefoot through a bloom-drenched field, laughter echoing like windchimes. Flowers spilled behind every footstep—wild and soft and sacred. Purple and gold and green. And there—kneeling in the grass— Agatha. Smiling. Her sleeves rolled up, hands dirty from the garden, her magic curling lazily around her fingers as she reached to steady the child’s wobbly hand. She was older. Softer in the eyes. Just as powerful. Just as beautiful. She looked up.

And for a heartbeat, she saw you. Her smile widened. That was it. That was the vision. No threat. No shadow. Just a future. Yours. And then it was gone. The Road returned. The stream beside you rushed again. The trees exhaled. You blinked—tears threatening but not falling. Agatha turned to you instantly, her fingers tightening.

“What is it?” she asked, voice full of that quiet fear that only comes from loving someone too deeply. You didn’t speak at first. You just smiled.

“There were wildflowers,” you whispered. “And you were laughing. And there was… someone small. Someone we loved.”

Agatha’s breath hitched. Then she pulled you into her arms and held you there—not tight, not desperate. Just long enough for you to feel how her heartbeat answered yours. She kissed you once—soft and still shaking. And then the Road opened.

—

The coven looked up the moment you stepped through the tree line. Billy was the first to move—his brows lifting with both concern and awe. Jen exhaled like she’d been holding her breath. Alice gave you a look like she already knew. And Lilia—Lilia was watching quietly, hand over her heart. “You’re back,” she whispered.

Agatha blinked, stunned. Her hand tightened in yours. “How long were we gone?”

Jen glanced at the others, then looked back. “Five minutes,” she said softly. “Maybe six.”

You froze. Agatha’s mouth parted. Because to you, it had been hours. A breaking. A rebuilding. A reckoning. And somehow… only minutes had passed. The Road had hidden you. Had made space for you. Time bent not for pain or trial—but for love. You looked at Agatha again.

Her curls were still damp with sweat. Her lips swollen from your kiss. Her hand still trembling faintly in yours. And in her eyes— That same vision. That same future. Already blooming.

Anon: I hope you liked it

128 notes · View notes

jt1674 · 8 months ago

Text

#nick cave #bad seeds #stranger than kindness #your funeral my trial

14 notes · View notes

shanieveh · 2 years ago

Text

“ forget me not... ”

synopsis: neuvillette, too late to confess his love to you, is drowning from the suffering and regret that came along with it, especially after knowing that you felt the same all along.

tags: gn!reader x neuvillette, depression and low self-esteem, bittersweet ending, mentions of freminet, lynette and melusines, heavily implied reader death and neuvillette also kinda wanting to die

a/n: people want this and i have came to deliver (hopefully) enjoy~ this is my first long fic that i published

How can this be….?

Neuvillette sat in the corner of his office, all your letters in his right hand. How can you say you loved him… how dare you describe the love, the passion, everything you felt for him when he can't even say it back.

How can you love someone so unlovable?

His silent cries can't match up to the violent outbursts of the skies outside. Days went by when he first found out, the melusines were scared to death about who would report it to him. The way you dissolved into water, not even seeing you for the last time—not having the privilege to have a proper funeral.

He failed you… the monsieur wasn't too sure on many things but this one was certain.

Reading your diaries, knowing your thoughts and hopes for the future. It was an invasion of privacy but also in a way… the last remnants of your existence. One such entry was that of three years ago where you first met.

Encountering this, a profuse blush colored his face. The adjectives being used "handsome", "tall" and "kind" for your first meetingwith the chief justice. Far from the truth really, although Neuvillette knew you meant every word.

You always did.

You always were an honest person.

The very first day his lavender eyes met yours, to the very last. There was never a trace of impurity or a hint of a liar. Of course, the verdict went in your favor, because to him a precious rose like you can never steal and the plaintiffs were wrong.

Reading it now, not even a slightly negative comment was made to those who wrongly accused you.

"Maybe they had their reasons, after all, I was also in need of money at that time." you wrote. Adding on that you defended the "Monsieur Neuvillette" when people called "such a man of honor and kindness" a "merciless and arrogant man".

A man of honor and kindness? Your words became running thoughts in the hydro dragon's head. That day was one of the only days he didn't cry after a trial. Neuvillette was just happy that such a person of integrity was cleared of their name.

He turned through the pages of the diary, how you taught him to socialize and even mend his relationship with the hydro archon.

"Monsieur Neuvillette was too adorable! Being with a person of lowly status and treating me with such respect and humility, he truly is the epitome of mercy and loveliness."

How can you be so blind? Anyone with eyes will know that it's a privilege to be with someone so beautiful, especially to be with someone like Neuvillette. A cold and repulsive soul. You make him sound like a good person, when in fact he isn't both good and human.

He was a monster… these words of humanity you always used to describe a monster. Why do they sound so genuine? Why do they look so real? Maybe only you can make him like that, you and only you.

A few pages later he finally saw the words…

Words that should've made him scream in euphoria… tore him to a million pieces. Because even before this he already loved you… because you had so much time to confess but never did… and never will.

"I think I'm in love with the chief Justice."

And after that, he couldn't even get himself to read, he couldn't. His eyes got so blurry to see, his heart became too heavy to feel. Why were you… why you? In a world filled with monsters, they chose an angel. They chose a soul that still wanted to live, love and give. Those demons… despicable.

Remembering his shortcomings, maybe in some way he could've avoided all of this. Neuvillette shouldn't have given you his blessing to investigate the serial disappearance case.

But that glint of adventure in your eyes… he was too soft to reject you.

It was all his fault.

Wiping his tears he looked at the last entry of the diary… Oh.

Oh.

"After this investigation, I'll finally confess to him… I surely hope Neuvillette feels the same way, I even planted some forget-me-nots to give him in the backyard so that he'll know when it rains and he weeps. I will always be here."

The chief justice didn't know what was coming to him but he started running… and only then can he see the state of Fontaine. Many flowers have wilted and only a few people were outside. What had he become..?

"What's up with this weather? It isn't even the rainy season yet?!" A shop owner complained.

"I know! My crops have been drowning these days, at this rate if it doesn't stop we'll have a famine!"

It was all his fault, his running turned to a slow walk taking in all that he had done. This was all because of him. The lonely streets, the lowered morale. This was all because—

"Hydro dragon, hydro dragon, please don't cry!"

He turned to the voice and saw a young boy in the distance. Neuvillette remembered now, his name was Freminet. That child on which you doted extremely, giving him sweets and hushing his tears. The chief justice quickly let go of his gaze and continued to walk.

"You see Freminet, it didn't work... let's go inside."

The response was that of a stoic young woman, but he just continued his legs even if they wanted to rest all to see the last thing you cared for… those flowers. And when he finally was at the destination he saw it immediately outside.

It was in the bushes, he couldn't miss it. Every corner of your house was haunted, every tiny thing was a memory. The chairs you painted, the drawings pinned in the cabinet of you and him with the melusines. It was precious. All of it. Just as you are.

He finally saw them, most were almost to bloom and some were wilted. Picking one he unconsciously kissed it, perhaps mistaking it for you. These flowers were made to remind him he was never alone, but now he is.

More alone than he can ever be in one lifetime. Your scent still filled every corner, a remembrance of the biggest "what if" in his life. Your will stated that every single thing of yours is his just as you were always his. Bittersweet was he when reading it.

Neuvillete forgot that too included your house, maybe he was too consumed with your thoughts to visit this place. He was twisting the poor flower that looked so tiny compared to his hand. Perhaps that's what it's like to be with him. It's a curse…

He continues to caress the flowers, to treat them as if they were you. You were wrong on one thing about this, even if there were no flowers he will never forget you. Never, no way! The love he has for you can destroy nations and can cause millions of sacrifices. Just to keep you, to see your smile again.

But he can't even do that, you didn't give him the privilege to do something for you. If only he knew, he would've… done everything for you. The love that can create the strongest of floods failed to protect the one person he was supposed to protect.

At that moment, he felt the waters, the ocean, his home… you. It made his crying bearable, somewhat. Grief that could surpass a lifetime, wasn't enough. Nothing he can do will ever be enough to have you again. Perhaps he should also leave this world to stop being a burden to the people… and maybe to see you again.

"Neuvillette…"

Now he was even imagining your voice, or was he? Maybe he was delusional but he still followed your voice even if it took him to an unknown path. But the end was in a small pond, where you used to keep the fish, all of which were alive and well.

"Neuvillette…?"

At this he didn't even care if was going insane, your voice sounded like a melody even if it uttered his name. It sounded like a rare jewel, a myth, a prophecy too good to be true.

"Darling?" He replied in a hopeful tone. He looked through his surroundings, no longer was he in a pond but a terrain of boundless water. In the middle was a flying Oceanid, a spirit. Was it—could it be?

"Even I could feel the heavy pouring of rain, monsieur… don't be sad."

It was indeed your spirit, a part of you that remained before that bastard—he'll make whoever did this pay. It wasn't for justice anymore, this one is for revenge.

"How can I not? When I have failed you over and over again, I couldn't even get to say…"

"That you love me?"

His eyes widened, looking at you. Even if it didn't look like you, he knew… he always did. A nod soon followed after that, it was barely noticeable even at this rate the chief justice was a bit shy saying it.

"I just don't know why you could ever say you love me, how you could even think of me so kindly. Why? How? How can you love me back?" He was clueless to what you mean.

"How can I not?"

The reply you uttered was one of a teary-eyed person. Even to this moment you still haven't accepted you had died, not when he was still alone needing you.

"Just as you said… how can I not? You out of all people my dear… know of the sacrifices we make for the person we love."

It was that moment where you took your normal form, you looked beautiful as the day he lost you. As beautiful as the day you met. And as you walked towards him, the clock ticking until your final goodbye, it was time.

"I love you Neuvillette, i always had and continue to do so." For the last time, you cupped his cheek and kissed him.

"I love you, darling from the very beginning and every single lifetime to come." He let go of the kiss and hugged you tight, closing his eyes, until you disappeared not knowing he was hugging his own.

Opening his eyes, the rain was long gone, and what remained were the flowers in the bushes, the ponds, the fish, and him. Maybe… just maybe he will bring you and the other victims to light.

Until then, this one last encounter and goodbye will make him content. He was sure… that finally his love will be at rest.

#neuvillette x y/n #neuvillette x you #neuvillette x reader #neuvilette x reader #neuvilette genshin #neuvillette x gender neutral reader #neuvillette #genshin x gender neutral reader #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin x y/n #genshin neuvillette #neuvillette angst #neuvillette imagines #neuvillette drabbles #genshin angst #genshin imagines

2K notes · View notes

manitat · 1 year ago

Text

youtube

Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds - Hard On For Love

#hard on for love #your funeral my trial #nick cave and the bad seeds

4 notes · View notes

honeyedmiller · 2 months ago

Text

A Burning Desire part nine

firefighter!joel miller x f!reader

series masterlist

synopsis: inevitable trials and tribulations ensue with joel and tommy’s return from san angelo.

rating: 18+, minors do not interact

word count: 9.2k

warnings: lots of angst and emotions, trauma responses, mentions and descriptions of death, mentions of burns on a body, mentions of cause of death, funeral, family fluff, mentions of pregnancy (reader’s sister), no use of y/n.

a/n: this is my first real crack at writing angst like this, so i hope i did a decent job. hope you enjoy <3

You: Hey, are you free tonight after work by any chance?

Maria: Absolutely. What’s up?

You: I want to take you on a drive. I have a plan and I want to tell you all about it.

You’re grateful Maria doesn’t ask too many questions, because she agreed to your proposal and left it at that.

It’s Friday, and since Sarah will be with her friends from the soccer team, it’ll just be you and Maria in the house.

It’s a day shy of a month since Joel and Tommy left, and your heart aches at the empty spot beside you in the bed when you wake up and go to sleep. You never consider yourself to be a clingy person, but since Joel’s accident months ago, the worry in you clings to your body like Saran Wrap.

He still checks in every night as promised, but seeing him over a screen instead of having him physically by your side is a vastly different thing.

Maria comes home around four and she’s by your side ready to go an hour later.

You both enjoy the late golden afternoon sun and music softly playing in the background for fifteen minutes before Maria asks you the burning question.

“So what’s this about?” She asks, the warm air whipping through the rolled down windows of your car. It’s early May, and summer is quickly approaching.

“So you know that car accident I got into nine months ago?” You ask, taking the exit off the highway, beginning to head into the countryside.

She nods. “Mhm.”

“So it turns out, whoever hit me is some big wig’s kid. The parents cut me a check and it’s sitting in my underwear drawer as we speak,” you explain.

“Oh shit. How much is the check? If you don’t mind me asking.”

You shake your head and wave a hand. “Not at all. But that’s the fucking insane part. They wrote me a check for half a million fucking dollars, Maria.”

Her jaw pops open. She stares at you from the passenger seat in utter disbelief, and you roll your lips into your mouth to keep from laughing, because you know just how insane this all sounds. It’s exactly how you felt when you opened the envelope.

“What the fuck?” Is all she responds, and you nod.

“I said the same thing.”

“Have you told anyone about this?”

You shake your head. “You’re the first person.”

“Well shit,” she laughs breathlessly, “I’m honored.”

A smile tugs at the corner of your mouth before you puff a breath of air.

You pull down the ranch road a few minutes later, and the familiar crunch of gravel underneath tires fills the air before you come to a stop, putting the car in park.

You turn off your car and face her, and she’s looking at you like everything you’ve said is just batshit crazy and unreal.

Because, in all honesty, it is.

She finally takes in the surroundings, and furrows her brows. “What is this place?”

“It’s their uncle’s ranch. Joel took me here in January for a horseback riding date and we’ve been coming back whenever we just need a tiny break from everything.”

“You two are so in love it makes me sick,” she teases, and you wag your finger at her before pointing to the beautiful engagement ring on her left hand.

“Don’t even start with me. Tommy looks at you like you’ve hung the moon and stars. He loves you more than life itself.”

Maria smiles bashfully as she studies the ring that fits perfectly on her finger.

“Who knew that we’d go from being in cubicles talking about boy troubles to finding our men that would lead us here years later,” she laughs. “Happy and with the loves of our lives. Isn’t that crazy?”

“It really is. I’m so happy you’ve found someone who treats you with love and respect. Tommy is so infatuated with you. Rightfully so.”

“And Joel with you. I can see it in his eyes every time he looks at you. The eyes never lie.”

You huff a laugh and shake your head, heart clenching in your chest at how much you miss him.

“I’m sure you won’t be too far behind either,” she says, and you tilt your head to the side in confusion. She lifts her left hand, sun reflecting off the oval-shaped diamond sitting on her finger. It sparkles brilliantly and you can’t help but smile.

“Thank you for encouraging me throughout the months. I really appreciate you validating my feelings and understanding my hesitancy with my relationship with Joel when it was brand new. My ex was—is—a piece of shit who destroyed my confidence and made me truly believe I’d never find true love.”

Maria clasps her hands over yours, giving them a squeeze of reassurance.

“I don’t know what came over me at the coffee shop that first day Joel and I met. It wasn’t even the uniform. I paid for his coffee as a small thank you for what he does, but it was his kind eyes and smile that did me in. I’ve been a goner since then.”

Maria smiles at you adoringly, and you nod your head toward the ranch. “Joel told me his uncle was thinking of selling the ranch,” you start, and Maria gasps.

“No way. No freaking way,” she says, and you actively see the wheels turning in her head, putting the pieces of the puzzle together.

“You’re going to see about buying it, aren’t you?”

You nod.

“I am. This place means so much to Joel and Tommy and I can’t bear the thought of not allowing them the chance of carrying it on in their family. This is the perfect place to raise a family, to make new memories to add to the ones they both have as little boys here.”

“My god, woman. Joel is going to lose his mind. He’ll love this.”

“You think so?”

“Absolutely. This place is so near and dear to his heart. I don’t see why he wouldn’t love it.”

“I just want him to be happy.”

Maria moves a hand to your shoulder, dark brown eyes staring into yours with a fierceness.

“He is happy, honey. You make him happy.”

Your nose twitches to get rid of the burn, the threat of tears stinging behind your eyeballs.

“Now c’mon,” she says, jutting her chin toward the beautiful two story home.

You both make your way to the front door before you knock on it, and a couple of minutes later an older gentleman with a big white mustache and a black cowboy hat on his head answers the door.

He looks between you and Maria and furrows his eyebrows, and you shoot him a big smile.

“Hi, Robert Miller?” You ask, and he nods.

“I’m sorry to have bothered you. We’re Joel and Tommy’s partners,” you explain, waving a hand between your body and Maria’s.

“Ah, so you’re the young ladies who have my nephews all smitten,” he says, grinning at you both.

You laugh and nod.

“What can I do you ladies for?” He asks.

“I wanted to talk to you and see if you were still thinking about selling the ranch.”

The next day, you and Maria sit on the couch with a glass of wine in your palms as you discuss small details she’d want in her wedding. You’re both so lost in conversation that you don’t notice the front door unlocking.

It swings open to reveal two very exhausted Miller brothers, and you almost drop your glass at the sight of them both.

“Oh my god,” you cry, putting your cup down on the coaster in front of you, springing to your feet. Maria follows suit, and you both glance at each other in disbelief.

“Miss us?” Tommy smirks, and Maria rolls her watery eyes while she pushes herself into his body.

“Like hell,” you say, launching yourself into Joel’s arms. He hugs you so tightly, and you almost can’t believe he’s here.

You breathe in his scent, tears stinging your eyes once again.

“Fuck, I can’t believe you’re here,” you parrot your thoughts, sobbing into Joel’s neck.

He runs his hand soothingly down your back, kissing your hair repeatedly.

He doesn’t say anything, but you can feel it in his body language—he needs to hold you right now.

Your arms squeeze him tighter, one hand raking up to the curls at the base of his neck. You separate your head from his body with a lilting smile.

“You need a haircut,” you tease, and you feel the way he huffs a laugh before cradling the back of your head. You look into his eyes and notice a sadness that wasn’t there before he left. There’s no familiar spark of joy.

He looks almost… haunted.

It was evident that something happened while they were in San Angelo.

And with that realization, a gut wrenching, nauseating feeling permeates throughout your entire body.

You scratch Joel’s scalp with your fingertips in a soothing motion, just the way he likes it.

“Fuck. I’m ready to go home and take the longest nap of my life,” Tommy groans.

Your lips twitch in slight amusement, and Maria laughs against his chest as she pulls apart from him.

“Let’s get you home then, handsome.”

You smile at them as they leave toward the guest bedroom where Maria’s stuff is.

Your eyes shift back to Joel as soon as they’re out of sight.

“Let’s get you settled in, hm?” You ask, kissing the tip of his nose. He manages a smile and nods, and you take his duffel bag from his hands.

He opens his mouth to protest, but you put a finger to his lips to shush him. “No lip from you, Miller. You need your rest. Now get your fine ass upstairs,” you instruct.

It pulls a genuine chuckle from Joel, and your heart fucking swoons at the noise. It’s so good to have him back in front of you. He’s tangible. Not behind a screen.

“Where’s Sarah?”

“She’s taking a nap in her room. She’s going to be so excited to see you.”

Joel kisses your head before he treads upstairs and you take his duffel bag to the laundry room, sorting the clothes correctly before starting a load. You catch Tommy and Maria on their way out, hugging them and kissing them both on the cheek.

Joel is halfway down the stairs again before you round the corner, and he stops in his tracks.

“Come to bed with me. Please. I missed you so much,” he says. His voice is quiet. Solemn.

You nod and head upstairs with him, getting comfortable under the lightweight comforter that adorns your shared bed.

You’re facing each other, and you both lay there while looking into each other’s eyes.

“Honey,” you coo, reaching a hand out to stroke his cheek. “What happened out there?”

The look on his face is soul-crushing. His eyes instantly gloss over and he shakes his head, pulling you close as he rests his head on your chest. He takes a few deep breaths, inhaling your scent before kissing the skin there.

You sigh and rub his back soothingly, not wanting to rush him or force him to talk about something he isn’t ready to vocalize.

You also worry about him pushing you away, too. You promised him early on in your relationship that he could come to you with anything, especially if it was about work.

You sigh and kiss his curls, worry slinking through your veins.

Just give it time.

They say time heals all wounds.

You’re not so sure about that.

It’s been a month since Joel and Tommy’s return, and Joel is…different.

He still won’t talk about what happened out there, and he’s been pulling away more and more. He’s less talkative, less affectionate, more withdrawn. He doesn’t smile as much, either, and to see it all happening right before you absolutely obliterates your heart and crushes your soul.

You never want to see him hurting, but he simply won’t open up to you—or anyone, for that matter. Tommy tells you that they fought some gnarly fires out in San Angelo, and there were two unfortunate deaths in other firehouses, so that might be what’s shaken Joel up.

You try and make sense of it all, piecing the puzzle together for Joel’s behavior, and you can imagine he saw something that nobody should ever have to see in their lifetime.

Today, he and Tommy are attending the funeral of one of the men who passed away. You and Maria were asked to go for moral support, which of course you two didn’t turn down. You watch Joel in the mirror as he fumbles with his collar, and you step up behind him to put your hands on his shoulders.

He tenses under your touch and you immediately pull your hands away, a small frown forming on your lips. He’s never tensed at your touch. He turns around slowly, wordlessly, and looks at you with an apology clear as day in his eyes.

You reach up again, hesitant this time, but Joel grabs your wrists and holds your hands on his chest.

You slide your hands up to fix his collar, tucking it into his suit jacket. His Class A uniform adorns his body, and if it were under any other circumstance, you’d tell him how good he looks.

But you resort to straightening his lapels and his badge that sits on the left side of his uniform. Your eyes drift down as you run your fingers over the gold buttons of his jacket. You step back from him, giving him a once-over. His gloves and hat lay on the bed, so you retrieve them for him before meeting his gaze once again.

It kills you to see the man you love hurting so much, and you wish you could do more than offer your comfort. You know it’s not enough, but you really don’t want to stir the pot by asking him to open up to you and tell you how you can help him.

Maybe it was him reverting to his old ways, staying closed off like he would with his ex. Except you’ve made it abundantly clear that he didn’t need to do that anymore.

His gaze softens the longer he looks at you, and he opens his mouth to say something, but it snaps shut as soon as he hears the front door open. You clear your throat and give him a forced smile, turning to walk downstairs. You greet Tommy and Maria at the door, and immediately Maria clocks that something’s incredibly wrong.

Her eyebrows furrow as she looks at you, and your lips wobble a little before sighing, holding back the tears. She links her arm with yours and steps outside with you, walking toward Tommy’s truck.

“Talk to me, honey,” she coos, and a single tear slips from your eyes as you look up at the bright blue sky.

“He still won’t talk to me about it, Maria. He’s shutting me out and it’s fucking killing me. I don’t want to force him to talk about it, but I don’t know what to do.” The column of your throat works as you swallow harshly, sniffling as you try and will away the rest of the tears that want to escape.

“He’s been distant in general, too. He tensed up at my touch today. Usually he’s all over me, but for the past month, he’s barely even put his hands on me. I don’t know if this is his way of shutting down, but I want to do something to help him before he completely spirals.”

“Fuck,” she sighs under her breath, pulling you into a hug.

“Well I wanna distract your mind right now. Have you heard from Robert yet about the ranch?” She keeps her voice low as she watches for Tommy and Joel. They’re still inside, probably talking.

You blink. “Oh, yeah,” you start, “He agreed. It’s thirty acres of land. He said seventy five was good, and I tried to offer him a full one hundred but he refused me and said it was too much and that he was happy to sell it so it could stay in the family.”

“Oh wow, that’s amazing. So how long is the process going to take?”

“I’m not sure, actually, but I got his phone number before we left so he and I could stay in touch.”

Tommy and Joel come out of the house, and their expressions—two complete opposites of each other—take you aback.

Tommy looks pissed with a scowl on his face and Joel looks sad. Defeated, almost.

“Everything all good here?” Maria asks, raising an eyebrow. You look between the two brothers, and Tommy unlocks his truck.

“All good,” he grumbles. Joel opens the back door for you and you slide in, and he takes his seat next to you. Tommy’s truck roars to life and you’re all on your way.

A few minutes after Tommy gets onto the freeway, Joel slides his hand over to yours and grabs it, giving it a soft squeeze. Your gaze snaps to him, forgetting all about the flatland that surrounds you outside the car that you were so intently staring at.

He holds your hand the rest of the way there. You four make your way to the church, and Tommy and Joel sit with some of their coworkers and captain while you and Maria sit more toward the back, wanting to respect the attendees and the man’s whole firehouse.

It’s a beautiful but devastating ceremony, and even from back where you’re sitting you can see Joel’s shoulders stiffen, body taut throughout the whole ceremony.

You worry your bottom lip between your teeth, and only when everyone goes into the next room to eat some food do you straighten out your worried expression.

“I need a drink,” Joel mutters beside you, and you look at him with that same worried expression once again. Him drinking while he was in this mental state didn’t seem like the best combination.

You’re not sure where the line is drawn between being a truly concerned girlfriend and telling him that probably isn’t the greatest idea, and coming off as too controlling or overbearing.

Tommy shoots Joel a warning look. You try and wrap your hand gently around Joel’s forearm, and he flinches again. You sigh and let go of him, trying to puzzle together what’s going on in his mind and his actions that are quite frankly starting to give you whiplash.

“Tommy, can I borrow the keys to your truck really quick?” You ask, and he gives you a small smile before fishing the keys out of his pocket and putting them into the palm of your hand.

You mumble a small thank you before you head back to the parking lot, unlocking the truck before sliding into the backseat. You lean forward and stick the key into the ignition to crack the windows down a smidgen before fully slumping into the bench of the back seat.

You scrub your hands over your face, mental exhaustion hitting you all at once. As much as you hate to admit it, you need an ounce of space. Maybe Joel does too, because he seems to be pushing you away more and more.

You’re trying to be understanding and patient with him, but you’ve never seen this part of him—the part where he knows dark clouds are looming over his mind all day, and he chokes up on simply talking about what happened that made him curl in on himself.

You slip your phone out of your purse, tapping on the family group chat.

You: Hey guys. I know it’s last minute, but is anyone up for a family dinner tonight?

Dad: Ok

Mom: Hi sweetie. Absolutely. Our house? Six o’clock?

Emi: Heck yeah. One last family hoorah looking like a watermelon is in my tummy.

Cole: I’m in. Just strictly family?

Andy: Why? You wanna bring your new girlfriend?

Cole: Not around you, jerk.

Andy: Oh c’mon, she’s gotta meet the Brady Bunch, as Shadow called it, sooner or later. I’m in, btw. I miss mom’s cooking.

Emi: You’re both airheads. But I agree, your cooking is missed, mama.

Cole: That’s rude. Just know I’m rolling my eyes at all of you. Except Mom and Dad.

You: I didn’t even do anything.

Cole: Doesn’t matter. You’re automatically affiliated with the other goons. Is Joel coming too?

You: Nope, just me tonight. Sorry you can’t hang out with your boyfriend.

Andy: What a shame. Guess I won’t get all dolled up for tonight after all.

Mom: Enough, all of you. Can’t wait to see my babies tonight. <3

Andy: Who taught Mom the heart emoticon?

A laugh turned sob evades your throat, and a tear slips down your cheek. You miss your family so much, and you know tonight will make you feel better. You let a few more tears slip before you gather your bearings, wiping the tears away and slipping out of the truck.

You just needed a moment away. A moment where people couldn’t see you crying. You suppose it wouldn’t look too odd considering you’re at a funeral, but crying over someone you literally don’t even know would probably attract attention and garner more confusion than needed.

You slip back into the crowd, easily finding Tommy and Joel before handing Tommy the keys back to his truck.

“Everything okay?” Tommy asks. He cocks a concerned brow at your glassy eyes.

Your sniffle is a dead giveaway. “Yeah,” you say softly, and Tommy glares at Joel because he knows you’re not telling the truth.

“Wanna head out soon?” Tommy asks everyone, and Maria grabs your arm gently and nods, walking ahead of the brothers with you in tow.

“I’m gonna give him a little bit of space tonight,” you say to her, and she looks at you understandingly.

“If you need to crash at mine and Tommy’s, you’re always more than welcome,” she says.

You give her a small smile and lightly squeeze her arm.

“Thank you. I’m going over to my folks’ place tonight. We’re gonna have a family dinner.”

“That sounds really nice. Tell them I say hi.”

“Tell who you say hi?” Tommy asks.

“Nosey,” Maria scolds him, making you laugh.

“My family. We’re having dinner tonight at my parents' place. One last gathering before my sister has her baby.”

“That’s so nice. Tell them I say hi too,” Tommy grins. You give him a nod and glance at Joel, and the sad look in his eyes fucking kills you.

The ride back home is silent until you give Maria and Tommy a kiss on the cheek goodbye before heading inside, Joel hot on your trail.

You make it into the kitchen before you hear the gravelly sound of his voice.

“Baby,” Joel calls out, and your eyes close and at the sound of the pet name.

You spin around, gripping onto the countertop to keep yourself steady.

“I’m just having dinner with my family tonight, Joel. To give you some space.”

“I don’t need—” He sighs, slumping down onto a chair at the dining table. “I don’t need space,” he finishes.

“Then what do you need, Joel?” Your eyes sting once again and you look up at the ceiling.

“Listen. I’m trying to be patient and let you come to me on your own time, but you’re just pushing me further away. I’m so sorry for whatever happened out there. I know I can’t resonate with what you’re going through, and I wish I knew the right things to say. But I’m telling you I’m here for you, Joel. You don’t need to bottle up what you’re feeling around me. I want you to feel comfortable telling me these things, but I don’t want to force it out of you. So I’m giving you a little bit of space.”

You scrub your hands over your face again, a lone tear falling down your cheek.

“I love you so much, Joel. It kills me seeing you like this. I miss you. Sarah misses you.”

“Fuck,” he murmurs under his breath. His head is hung low between his shoulder blades, elbows on his knees as he knots his hands together and fidgets them anxiously.

You push yourself off of the counter and round it to kneel in front of him. You cover his hands with yours, bringing his knuckles up to your mouth to kiss them tenderly.

“I promise I’m not trying to make you feel guilt or anything. I’m just being honest with you. I love you, Joel. I’m not going anywhere. I just want to know how to help you.”

You give his knuckles one last kiss before standing up, making your way upstairs to get ready for dinner with your family.

You come back downstairs half an hour later. Joel is still in the same spot, and you want to cry at the sight.

You walk over to him and his head shoots up. You didn’t realize how tired he looks until now. Dark circles adorn the space underneath his eyes and his beautiful brown irises are still void of the light you wish you could put back in them.

He reaches out for your hand, gently coaxing you to sit on one of his thighs. You lean into him, running a hand through his soft curls while kissing his temple repeatedly.

You sit like that for a while, and this is what he might need, you think. To just sit in silence and physically be touching you while he sorts his thoughts. He turns his head to kiss your bare shoulder before leaning his forehead down on it.

“I love you so much, sweet girl. I’m so sorry.” His voice is hoarse, a pang of guilt and disappointment laced into his tone.

“I love you too, Joel. We’ll get through this. And I have every faith that you’ll get through this, too. Just please, please don’t shut me out. Let me be your escape. Tell me how I can help.”

”That’s just the thing, though. I don’t know how I can be helped, and I certainly don’t want to put that burden onto you. I don’t want to be a burden, even though I know I already am.”

You sharply inhale at his words, pulling away from him as you search his eyes. His brows are furrowed and he’s frowning, almost like he’s frustrated. Not with you, though. With himself.

“Joel Miller, you are not a burden, you hear me? This may be a rough time, but you’re allowed to feel what you’re feeling,” you sigh. You pause, rolling your lips into your mouth as you carefully contemplate your next words.

“Everyone copes differently, and if you don’t ever want to talk about what happened, then I simply need to respect that. But I am your partner, Joel, which means you don’t need to go through this alone. I need you to know that and understand that I wouldn’t ever force you into talking about something you weren’t ready to speak about, nor would I belittle you if you choose to speak about it. It just hurts to see you pull away or flinch at my touch. I want to be your peace, your safe space. Please let me be that for you.”

You both stew in the silence afterwards, your words lingering in the air.

”What did I do to deserve you?” He whispers, and you shake your head.

You kiss his temple one more time before getting off of his lap, and this time, he’s hesitant to let you go. You feel like staying too, but you really need to do this—give each other space for a few hours. Plus, you miss your family a lot and you could really use a few laughs and positive energy right now.

“I’ll be home in a few hours, okay?” Your voice is almost a whisper. He nods and you walk out of the front door without looking back at him, because you know if you do, those big brown eyes will lure you right back to him just like they have from day one.

You walk in through the front door of your parents’ house, slipping off your sandals before making your way into the kitchen where you hear a couple of voices.

“There she is!” Your mom says, and you can’t help but smile.

“Hi Mama,” you say, hugging her and kissing her cheek.

“Hey baby girl,” your dad says, giving you a hug.

Your eyes lock on Emily, and she’s absolutely glowing. Her hand is rubbing her stomach soothingly, and you make your way around the counter to bend down and kiss her stomach. She chuckles before you envelope her in a hug.

“Are you excited?” You ask. Her due date is in a couple of weeks, and you’re all waiting for the day you get to meet your nephew.

“I am, but I want this baby out of me. Josh has been a saint taking care of me.”

“As he should. You’re literally growing life inside you,” you deadpan. But you know Josh has and always will take care of your sister.

“I know. Isn’t that crazy? It’s even weirder when he moves and kicks.”

You smile at her, taking a seat next to her at the dining room table.

Her voice drops an octave as she leans in, grabbing your hand.

“Is everything okay?”

Fuck, she knows you like the back of her hand.

“Is it that obvious?” You reply, eyes meeting hers.

“Maybe not to the others, but I know you better than anyone, and I can tell something is wrong. Something seems… off.”

“Maybe it’s because I’m on the brink of insanity.”

She laughs at that, giving your hand a squeeze.

“Let’s go insane together. What’s on your mind?” She asks, keeping her voice low enough so nobody else can hear.

“Joel and I are going through a rough patch, but we’re… handling it.”

Emily’s eyebrows furrow before she sighs.

”I don’t want to pry and stick my nose where it doesn’t belong, but I hope whatever it is you’re going through gets better.”

You’re thankful your sister isn’t prying, honestly. You really don’t think you have the energy to talk about this with another person anyway. Maria, and you presume Tommy, knowing about what’s going on is already enough. This is something you need to take care of on your own.

The front door opens and your brothers walk through. “Ah, just in time. Dinner is ready,” your mom says, her and your dad setting everything on the table.

“I could’ve helped with that, Ma,” you say, and she waves her hand.

“It’s okay. I’m just happy you’re all here. I can’t remember the last time it was just us six,” she says.

Andy and Cole sit across from you and Emi, while your mom and dad take each end of the table.

“Hey sweet pea, how are Joel and Tommy doing? We have to get together soon and celebrate them being home now,” your mom says.

You almost physically flinch at the idea. Emily finds your hand under the table again and squeezes it, and you squeeze right back.

You really don’t know how to answer that question. You could tell the truth, or you could avoid putting Joel’s business out there. You choose Joel.

“They’re alright, just settling back in. I know they’re happy to be home.”

Your voice strangles around the lie, and your mom almost looks suspicious, but she lets it go… for now.

“Well I’m glad they’re both home safe,” she says.

You give her a small smile. “Me too.”

Everyone jumps into conversation about what Emily and Josh’s plans are for when the baby is ready to make his official debut into the world.

Emily doesn’t let go of your hand once.

You zone out for a bit, missing some of the conversation until Emi’s stern voice catches your attention.

“Word of advice. Don’t piss off a severely pregnant woman, Andy.” Emi glares at your brother while pointing her fork in his direction, and you and Cole look at each other, trying to suppress a laugh.

“Men,” you mutter, rolling your eyes. Emily and your mom laugh at that while the other three give you a fake glare.

“Anyway, it was really good to see all of you. We really should do this more often,” Andy says.

“Going all soft on us now, brother?” You quirk an eyebrow. You honestly live for the way you can give your brothers shit and they throw it right back to you. It’s all jokes, and at the end of the day, you know they love you—even if they don’t like to admit it out loud.

“Okay, everyone except Shadow,” Andy rephrases, and your jaw drops in fake offense.

You shift to grin at him anyway and flip him off, and your mom calls your name in horror as your dad laughs.

“Not at the table! I swear you four are impossible sometimes,” she huffs. You all laugh, and you reach over to grab her hand.

“We love you, mama. Thanks for always dealing with our bullshit, even as adults,” you say. She grins and kisses your hand.

“I’d do anything for my babies. I’m glad y’all still come around even though you’ve all got your own lives.”

“Damn ma, don’t make us cry,” Andy jokes, and everyone laughs again.

“It’s just nice to do this. It reminds me of when y’all were little. And now you’re all grown, and our family is growing. It’s not very long before Emi and Josh welcome their baby boy into the world, and probably not far off from you and Joel getting engaged to be married and having kids of your own. Cole with his new beau, and Andy, whoever you meet, I hope they keep you in check.”

You bark out a laugh at the last words your mom says, because you told him the exact same thing. You point at him and shake your head. Andy looks at you and rolls his eyes, sighing before looking at your mom.

“I know, ma. I just wanted to have fun for a little while, but I’m getting too old for that shit now and I really think I want to settle down with someone nice. I don’t want to force anything though, you know? I just want it to happen naturally.”

You’re stunned by your brother’s words. He’s never been the type anyone can tie down. He’s always been free-spirited and wild, always partying and having fun. Not really giving a flying fuck for as far as the eye can see.

Hearing him confess this to your mom, in front of everyone for that matter, is refreshing. He deserves to find that once-in-a-lifetime type partner; a true love.

“And you’ll find them, baby. It’ll happen when you’re not even expecting anything at all. That’s how it happened for your dad and I,” she says, looking at your dad as she finishes. He shoots her a wink from across the table. You smile at the exchange, feeling extremely warm and lucky to have had such a great example of the type of love you’d hoped would find you one day.

And now it has. And it makes you miss Joel, even though you saw him mere hours ago. You wish he was by your side right now. You’ll both get through this. You love him way too much to ever give up on him—not that that thought had ever crossed your mind in the first place.

You just want him to be okay.

You’re all stepping out of the front door of your mom and dad’s house, Tupperware in each of your hands as you kiss and hug your parents goodbye.

“Please text us when you get home, all of you,” your mom says in her stern Mom Voice, and everyone promises they will. Before you can get into your car, Andy calls your name gently. He walks up to your car, and he eyes you conspicuously.

“Is everything okay with you?” He asks. You furrow your brows, and worry your bottom lip between your teeth. You don’t know why, but your eyes sting terribly and before you know it, silent tears are cascading down your cheeks. You avert your gaze to the side, and Andy sighs before pulling you into a comforting hug. He kisses your hair before rubbing your back.

You truly can’t say you saw this coming—him noticing something is off, him asking about it, him comforting you in a way you don’t think he ever has. It’s a nice change from the constant jokes, jabs and bickering, though.

“Do I need to kick some ass?” He asks, and your shoulders shake as you laugh.

You sniffle and pull apart from him. “No, not today. I’ll be okay. Promise.”

He raises an eyebrow at you. “You sure? You’d tell me if something was wrong, wouldn’t you? I know I’m not Emily and all, ‘cus I know how close you two are, but if you ever need anything—and I mean anything, don’t hesitate to call me, okay?”

You nod at him, sniffling again before giving him another quick hug. You pull apart from him completely, lightly slugging him on the arm to break up the bit of tension.

“Damn Andy, you really have gone soft,” you tease. He chuckles and rolls his eyes, giving your bicep a squeeze.

“Shut up.”

You both laugh, and once you settle down, you give him a serious look.

“Hey, listen,” you start. “You’ll find your someone. And when you do, just know I’ll be the first to root for you. They’d be lucky to have you.”

You smile at him, and he returns it before his eyes shoot to the ground.

“I know I’m not the easiest person to be around sometimes, so this means a lot to me. Thanks, baby sis.”

You nod and give him one more hug. “People who think you’re hard to be around just don’t know you like your family does, Andy. You’re a great guy. Maybe a pain in the ass sometimes,” you both chuckle at that, “But you’ve secretly got a big heart behind that ‘I-don’t-give-a-fuck’ exterior that you have going on. Maybe it’s time you drop that façade and show the world how kindhearted you really are.”

This time you give his arm a reassuring squeeze, and he smiles at you.

“I needed to hear that. Thank you. I love you, okay? Tell Joel and Sarah I send my love.”

You nod, opening your car door. “I love you too. And I will. Drive safe,” you say, before getting into your car to drive back home.

You open the door and slip your sandals off once again, locking the lock before padding into the living room to see the TV playing the rolling credits to a movie. Joel and Sarah are on the couch, both knocked out cold. Her head rests on his shoulder and his head rests on top of hers. You smile at the sight, slinking into the kitchen to put the plentiful leftovers your mom sent home with you into the fridge, trying to be as quiet as possible.

You send a quick text to your family group chat letting everyone know you got home safe, seeing your siblings texted the same thing a few minutes prior.

You make your way back into the living room, maneuvering over between the coffee table and couch to pull up the blanket that had fallen down. You drape it over their bodies, giving them both a kiss on the forehead before you make your way upstairs. You do your night routine before slipping into Joel’s old Texas A&M shirt and some sleep shorts, getting comfortable in bed.

You don’t know how long it is before you feel the other side of the bed—Joel’s side—dip with his weight, throwing the sheet you had over your body over his too. You stir a bit and blink your tired eyes open, turning to look at him as your eyes adjust to the darkness in the room.

“Joel?” You murmur, voice thick with exhaustion. Your eyes glance over him to see the red blinking numbers on the alarm clock on his nightstand—4:36 a.m.

“Shh, go back to sleep honeybee,” he whispers, and you turn back around before he kisses your neck, pulling you into his body. Your heart bursts at the contact. It’s something you’ve missed terribly. You find it easier to fall asleep in his embrace, and before you know it, you’re out like a light once again.

You wake the next day to the bed empty beside you. You frown before pressing the palms of your hands into your eyes, rubbing them to wake yourself up a bit more. You sit up before blinking, and your phone buzzing on your nightstand catches your attention. You go into the bathroom and quickly freshen up for the day before heading back to the nightstand to retrieve your phone.

You pick it up, and gasp to see that it’s nearly twelve in the afternoon. You didn’t realize how late it was.

You tap on the notification to see a text from Tommy, which makes your heart drop to your ass.

Tommy: Hey there little lady. Is Joel at home with you?

You get out of bed to realize that there’s no sign of him. You check everywhere upstairs before making your way downstairs in a slight panic, looking through every room and space before realizing he’s not here. Wasn’t he supposed to be at work?

You realize Sarah isn’t home, either.

You: Hey Tommy. He isn’t here. I thought he was at work?

You shoot Sarah a quick text to see where she’s at too, and she replies that she’s spending a few days over at her friend Katie’s house. Partial relief floods through you that she’s safe, but you worry about Joel.

Tommy: He left work early today. Told Cap he wasn’t feeling well.

Fuck.

You: How long ago was this?

Tommy: A couple of hours ago.

Tommy: Fuck, don’t tell me my brother is missing.

You sigh as you stare at the words on your screen, but ailment flees your body as realization dawns on you.

You: I think I might know where he’s at.

Tommy: Thank god. Please let me know if he’s safe.

You: Will do.

You don’t even think about changing your clothes—you throw your phone into your purse, slip on your flip flops that are by the front door, and snag your car keys from the bowl on the entryway side table.

You lock up before getting into your car, starting toward the ranch. You may be breaking a couple of laws by how fast you’re driving, but in this moment, you couldn’t give two fucks. All that mattered was getting to Joel. Making sure he’s okay.

Well, okay in a physical sense.

You silently hope that he’s actually where you think he is. Panic slinks through your bones at the thought of him not being there, but you trudge ahead anyway. Your pulse thrums quickly, music in your car drowned out by your thoughts and blood pounding in your ears.

You turn down the ranch road, speeding up even more before the familiar sound of gravel crunches under your tires.

Relief floods your body when you see Joel’s truck. You throw your car in park next to it, hopping out and scanning the area only to find him perched up underneath a tree in the shade facing the creek. You shoot Tommy a quick text letting him know Joel is okay, and you pause to stare at him for a second.

You close your eyes and sigh, making your way over to him. You tread lightly, almost as if you’d startle him if you walked up too fast.

You hear a soft melody, and as you get closer to him, you realize he’s strumming a familiar tune on his guitar. His eyes are closed and he’s tapping a foot to the rhythm of the song.

“Hey there, cowboy,” you say softly, and his eyes shoot open. He looks up at you in pure shock.

“How’d you know I was over here?” He asks, and you take a seat beside him, leaning back against the large trunk of the tree.

“Tommy said you left work early. Asked me if you were home. Pretty sure you can fill in the blanks.”

“I can always count on my little brother to be in my business.” He rolls his eyes and sighs, propping the guitar up on the other side of him.

“He’s just looking out for you, Joel. He loves you and wants to make sure you’re okay.”

“Okay.” He scoffs at the word.

You roll your lips into your mouth and sigh, looking out at the creek. Silence falls between you both, and you feel Joel’s eyes take in your appearance, but you don’t look at him. You look at the glistening water, focus on the birds singing their songs, horses snorting and whinnying in the distance.

There’s a closeness here—a familiarity that has settled in the land, everything it has to offer wrapping a comfort around you both like a weighted blanket. A nice, welcome sort of relaxation.

You think about telling Joel about how you’re buying the land from his uncle. How this will someday be your everyday norm. How you can’t wait to spend the rest of your life with him, have kids with him, create new memories here with him and your family. But you keep that little secret locked up for now.

It’s silent for a little while longer, enjoying the sounds of nature before Joel’s gruff voice cuts through the air.

“We were up in a helicopter to get an aerial view of the bigger fire,” he starts, and your gaze snaps to him. Your heart starts to pound against your ribcage as you realize he’s telling you what’s been ailing him the past several weeks.

You’re deadly silent. As still as a statue. You freeze, because you don’t want to disrupt him in any way shape or form.

“We got back down on the ground after assessing it, many of us were partnered up in groups of five to try and tackle the fire from multiple angles. We got it under control after a few hours, and our captains wanted us to switch teams. I was walkin’ back to base when Johnny—the man whose funeral we attended—collapsed right next to me. He had no heartbeat. We tried to resuscitate him, but we’d come to find burns on his chest and abdomen. He wasn’t wearin’ his gear properly. We don’t know if it was from exhaustion, from carelessness, or whatever the case may have been. Crazy part is, he didn’t die from the burns. He died from extensive smoke inhalation.”

You swallow and reach for his hand, and he grips onto yours like a vice. You don’t say anything, silently urging him to continue.

“I was lookin’ into the eyes of this man—somebody’s son, somebody’s husband, somebody’s father,” he sighs, bringing his knees up toward his chest. He rests his elbows on his knees, letting go of your hand before digging the palms of his hands into his eyes before he continues. “All I kept thinkin’ at that moment was that it could've been me.”

He takes a few breaths before dangling his arms off of his knees, glossy eyes looking up at the bright blue sky.

“When I first started this job, I didn’t have a kid or a partner to worry about. It was just Tommy and I against the world. Two reckless, young fools who love to help people,” a dry, crackled chuckle evades his throat.

“But then we got older. And then Sarah came along. Maria came along for Tommy. You came along for me. And I just… I wanna be there for the milestones that life has to offer every single one of us. I wanna see my little brother get married to the love of his life. I wanna send my baby girl off to college. I wanna marry you someday soon and grow our family with you. I wanna get to grow old with you, and be by your side as our grandchildren surround us one day. I can’t have any of that if I’m doin’ a job that won’t guarantee me tomorrow.”

A tear slips down his cheek, and you want so badly to reach over and wipe it away just as he does for you, but your limbs feel like steel and you’re finding it harder to breathe normally as you soak in every single one of his words.

“It’s taken me nearly twenty years of doing this job to finally realize this. Sarah knocked a heap load of sense into me last night, and Tommy ripped me a new one the day of the funeral,” he says, and you raise your eyebrows in shock. Pride blooms in your chest at the fact that Sarah finally talked to Joel about how she really felt about all of this, but you wonder what Tommy must’ve told him.

“Johnny was only twenty-eight. Had two beautiful kids and a wife and his whole fuckin’ life ahead of him. I saw the life leave his eyes as he collapsed right next to me, and the sickest part is that after I had called it in and we tried our best to revive him but to no avail, I had to carry on because I had a job I still needed to do. A duty I needed to fulfill. When we were at his funeral, and god, I know this sounds so fuckin’ twisted, all I could think about was that it could’ve been my picture being displayed. My body in the casket. My partner and daughter and my family, or fuck, even my firehouse in absolute shambles because I didn’t make it home. How does someone carry on like that, knowin’ it could’ve been them instead?”

His voice cracks at the last words, and you’re quick to wrap your arms around him. You don’t know how long you stay like that, just holding him and almost rocking him soothingly while he lets out all of the pent up sadness and frustration that’s been wracking his body, mind and soul for far too long.

Every time you think you have something to say to soothe him, the words die on your tongue. Because what is there to say to someone who’s experienced traumatizing things over and over again? How do you consolidate someone who’s seen more fatalities, more accidents, more devastation than a single person has seen in multiple lifetimes?

“If I could take away all of your pain, I would in a heartbeat,” you finally say. He gives your body a light squeeze before pulling away from you, brown eyes full of sadness.

“I wouldn’t wish this shit on anyone, baby.”

You nod in understanding. He sighs, maneuvering your body over his as he drops his legs to stretch out in front of him. You’re straddling him now, knees digging into the plush grass that surrounds the tree.

You lean your forehead against his, hands landing on his strong chest—right where you can feel the strong beat of his heart. You roll your head right to left against his, sighing as your hands travel up to the sides of his neck. Your touch is gentle, and you swipe a thumb over the side of his throat, back down to where his warm, tan skin dips in at the base of the front of his throat.

“Thank you for opening up to me, Joel. I know it isn’t easy for you to talk about these things, so you telling me all of this means the world to me,” you say, pulling your forehead away from his. “I love you so much.”

The column of his throat works as he swallows, and his hands move to circle around your waist. He pulls you closer to his body, and your eyes flutter shut at the closeness. God, you’ve missed this so much. You’ve missed him so much.

“I love you. I am so sorry I ever put you through any of that, baby. You didn’t deserve that, and believe me, I’m not proud of how I shut down and tried to handle this situation on my own. I keep forgettin’—no, forbidding that it’s okay to ask for help.”

You gently grab his face in your hands, thumbs sweeping over the peaks of his cheekbones. “You don’t need to apologize, Joel. I’m sorry if I was too pushy or sounded ungrateful that you didn’t want to talk about this. I just worry about you and your wellbeing so much. I didn’t want you to lose yourself in all of this, but all of this clearly stems back further than I ever even knew.”

You pause for a beat. Then, you kiss the tip of his nose. “I admire you, you know,” you start, and he leans back with a frown and furrowed brows.

“Admire me?”

You nod your head. “You’ve been through so much shit in your life, and you still manage to love the way you do. Look out for others the way you do. Care for people the way you do. You’re a resilient, brave man, Mr. Miller. And I admire the courage it takes to do a job as daunting as this one, showing up for every shift even after everything it’s put you through. And look, we can—we can find someone for you to talk to about all of this. Someone who’s trained and equipped to help you professionally, if that’s what you’d like. Just so you at least don’t need to carry the weight of…this… on your shoulders anymore,” you offer.

You kiss his cheek, and his eyes flutter shut at the feeling.

He peels them open again, and Joel scans your face for a few silent minutes. You take the time to do the same. Your eyes roam over every freckle, every tiny scar, every beautiful feature that adorns him. There’s a slight sparkle back in his eyes, the one that you’ve silently hoped and wished would return again. It’s small, but it’s there. And it’s all yours to see at this very moment. He leans forward and kisses you softly, but there’s so much emotion behind it. An unspoken gratitude, a neediness, an unforgettable type of love.

There’s that look of pure love and devotion stricken clear as day on his face once again as he seemingly admires you. It’s the look that you’ve been longing to see.

The look that’s stronger than love.

And then he goes and says something that knocks the air clean out of your lungs, flipping your world around completely.

“Marry me.”

taglist: @raspberrybesitos ; @nostalxgic ; @endlessthxxghts ; @punkshort ; @clawdee

@pascalpvnk ; @bensonispunk ; @merz-8 ; @darkblue-tennesseee ; @typewriter83

@lizzie-cakes ; @sawymredfox ; @keylimebeag ; @nandan11 ; @pedropascalsbbg

@pimosworld ; @yxtkiwiyxt ; @anoverwhelmingdin ; @kikaaauu ; @buckyispunk

@untamedheart81 ; @picketniffler ; @fluffygoffpanda ; @paleidiot ; @survivingandenduring

@party-hearses ; @pedrospatch ; @harriedandharassed ; @brittmb115 ; @sunnytuliptime

@frodofreakingbaggins ; @aceaubrianna ; @tangled-tumbler-blog-blog ; @bunniboo0015 ; @aerihina

@pedritospunk ; @ro-nahime-things ; @ananonymousaffair ; @just-mj-or-not ; @melsunshine

if you'd like to be added / removed from the taglist, please let me know!

dividers by @.saradika-graphics

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x female reader #joel miller hbo #joel miller au #pedro pascal characters #joel miller fanfic #joel miller angst #hbo joel miller #no outbreak!joel miller #firefighter!joel miller #fic: a burning desire

123 notes · View notes

violet-eng · 1 year ago

Note

REMEMBER ME POOKIE? (THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR FOLLOWING I APPRECIATE IT ♡♡♡♡

So Just think about it if zongli is your boyfriend right image he shows his dragon parts to u like tail and tongue scales horns👹👹👹

And dragon is a type of lizard so dose that mean he breeds whit his tongue and tail and he always wears gloves JUST THINK ABOUT WHAT GOODIES ARE UNDER THERE😚😚😚 GROWING FINGERS.

do u think he has 2 cocks?

You.Need.Jesus... And so do I...

About the 2 cocks thing... I asked an expert (my college friend) and she said yes...

Btw I took a little creative freedom bc I had this "jealous scenario" long ago and wanted to try again some interaction with hybrid Zhongli.

Also, in case you want something more casual then just tell me and I'll give it a try.

Order ready. Enjoy.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

Jealous Hybrid! ¡Zhongli! x fem!reader | NSFW 🔞

Summary: You traveled to Fontaine where you became close friends with Neuvillette. That's why when you return to Liyue and Zhongli SMELLS Neuvillette in your clothes, he goes feral and (basically what was previously asked).

Warning: smut 🔞. MDNI. Established relationship. Dirty talk. Does this count as fucking a monster? Zhongli hybrid sex. size kink. Incorrect use of the dragon's tail (not just once, but twice 🎶fancyyy🎶). Two cocks. Piv, anal. Fingering. Does tail sucking count as a bJob? Unprotected sex. Overstimulation. Dacryphilia. Basically, daddy Geo goes wild.

4.1 k words.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

In a few days, you will return to Liyue Bay, to your comfortable apartment in the center above the jewelry store, next to your beloved Zhongli, who has not stopped answering your letters since you left for your work trip to Fontaine. The immense city had completely amazed you, and dazzled by the avant-garde facades of its buildings, the days had felt more like a vacation than work.

Despite the ostentatious façade of the city, you miss home and the delicate architecture between the mountains that guard the city. You also miss the ocean, so different from the primordial sea, full of ancient legends and tales of war. Most of all, you miss your dear counselor at the funeral parlor. Zhongli had been very encouraging about the idea of your trip, especially knowing how much you were interested in working at Meropide Fortress.

This, in your lover's words, would give you a fresh perspective and update your knowledge of the law, as well as a useful contact like the Duke. However, your dear Zhongli did not expect that your thirst for knowledge would be overshadowed by a reluctant desire to help the helpless.

Wriothesley was the first at Fontaine to notice this, so he didn't stop you when you offered your knowledge and help during a trial at the Opera Epiclese, a murder case that was quite scandalous, but not enough to horrify you…

As a paralegal, your knowledge had become indispensable in subsequent trials, so much so that you spent more time in the office of Iudex Neuvillette than in the Fortress. One day you had to attend to a poor robbery victim, the next day you had to observe the petitions and lawsuits of a Sumeru traveler who had come to town, another day you had to make sure that Liney had not been sued for one of those dangerous magic tricks, and then you had to return to the Opera for more cases… and so on for the months you spent there.

Mornings and afternoons you were busy, surrounded by paperwork and research. Fontaine's technology was indeed a welcome relief, and you counted the days to return to Liyue with plans for those strange machines….

As long as the sun was high, you kept your mind on your work, whether it was at a trial or in Monsieur Neuvillette's office. But when the moon rose, and even the Iudex warned you that you had worked too hard, you enjoyed the tourist wonders the city had to offer. The cuisine was very different from Liyue's, the clothes and the songs… ….

Neuvillette, like the good ruler he is, as a result of all the help you had given him, dedicated himself to being your guide during your stay there.

You had found in the Iudex a pleasant companion, whose stories and knowledge consumed you with curiosity. He reminded you of your Zhongli in many ways, and in that ancestral spirit they both radiate… After all, both of them had been great ancestral dragons at some point in their lives.

The farewell from Fontaine had been anything but sad, you had promised to come back, the Melusines had obliged you… and they had given you a box of macaroons. The return to Liyue is much easier than the departure, and when you finally see the red-and-green tiled roofs of the atavistic buildings, a warmth floods your heart. Home… you're finally back.

You hadn't told Zhongli about your return, so he's surprised when he catches your scent while drinking tea near the Wanmin Restaurant. He puts the cup down on the table and, with a subtle movement, closes his eyes, concentrating on the scent emanating from your skin. Yes… it is definitely you, it is the scent of your hair, the balm of your lips, the smell of the cream you use to moisturize your hands… how he missed that smell… how many times he had masturbated smelling your clothes, in the dark solitude of his apartment, longing for you to come back to him and let him take you on the floor, on the table or wherever…

He could perceive every bit of your cinnamon scent, of the lavender cologne you had bought a few months ago, of the floral soap with which you washed your clothes, even the new smells, the dew from the plants of Fontaine, the scent of the flour with which they prepared their famous cakes, the outflow of the sea in which you must have swum, and… what is that smell?

Zhongli frowns, no matter how expressive his face contorts as he turns his head toward the cobblestone streets of his city to meet your figure and your surprised, almost disappointed expression.

"It was supposed to be a surprise," you complain as you embrace him from behind and leave a kiss on his head, how much you missed the scent of his dark curls, the feel of the softness of his hair… the scent of the man he is… you can't wait to have him on top of you that night…

"I smelled you from miles away," he mentions as if it were something banal, though in a rather stern tone of voice. He can't help but dive into the deep doubts of that foul smell. It seems familiar to him…

"I missed you too, my dear… Ah… It's been a long trip, but I had fun… I learned a lot," you say smiling, "Wriothesley was very kind to me, he gave me a lot of freedom to work in the Fortress…" you begin to tell.

The Duke, Zhongli thinks, no… that smell doesn't belong to him….

"Clorinde saved me from trouble when I first came to Fontaine…" you continue.

No… neither did she, Zhongli tells himself.

"Oh, Lady Furina was also very hospitable to me, even though she had a terrible flu when I first started working with the Iudex Neuvillette… oh, I almost forgot to mention the Hydro Dragon to you," you laugh, "you two have a lot in common…"

That smell… that reptilian stench of primordial water. So that's the name the vermin is using now…

Zhongli, smelling Neuvillette's perfume on your clothes, on your skin, can't help but think of all the days you spent with this man… being with him instead. He starts to feel a burning spark inside him that could explode any moment. Jealousy, people would tell him, he would call it thirst for death and war….

For the rest of the afternoon, all he hears from you is how wonderful and interesting Monsieur Neuvillette is… Neuvillette this, Neuvillette that, Neuvillette complimented me, Neuvillette helped me… Although you talk little about him and more about the other friends you made during your stay in Fontaine, in your territorial friend's mind it feels like you're explaining to him what a catch Monsieur Neuvillette is, a dragon who's not afraid to rule his country... while he…. Well

"I didn't think he was such a dragon," you comment, recalling the time Liney insisted Neuvillette to show him his original form, lying that it was his birthday, something the kindly Iudex, who cherishes the friendship of such an interesting being as Monsieur Liney, cannot deny.

"Did he show you his draconic form?" asks Zhongli, as if out of a trance.

"Only for a few minutes, but that was only once. I think I saw him more often as a dragon-human hybrid when we were working in his office late at night," you comment, very unaware of the pressure cooker Zhongli is turning into.

How comfortable Neuvillette must have felt, Zhongli thinks, to show himself to her like that… did they…? No, he reproaches himself, y/n would never do such a thing. And surely Neuvillette was just being kind to a guest like her, who had been so helpful during her stay there.

"Well," Zhongli adds, in the mood to change the course of the conversation, feeling a little more relieved, shedding his primitive instincts, "how was the weather?" he already knows the answer… rainy as usual… ….

"Pretty sunny," you reply.

And that's the breaking point for the great Rex Lapis, who has so patiently endured this conversation.

You hadn't realized how quickly night had fallen on Liyue when Zhongli led you by the hand at a brisk pace to your shared apartment. His grip is strong, like a heavy chain on your wrist, and his steps are longer and faster.

"Zhongli," you mutter between gasps at the performance you must give for this feat… After your long journey, the workout is going badly for you, "slow down".

"Yes… practice," he says, "because soon you will ask me to go much slower."

Your voice catches in your throat, while a few hours ago you had the idea of intimacy with Zhongli, you were expecting something slow and loving, as it usually happens when you return from your crossings… not what this man has in mind.

You stumble up the stairs, covering your face in embarrassment at the curious looks of your neighbors as they watch the unchanging funeral consultant drag his girlfriend up the stairs and into the confines of his apartment.

"Zhongli, stop it," you say once inside, breaking free of his grip, "what will the neighbors think?"

"That I'm fucking you until your legs stop working," he says, locking the front door.

"Don't say things like that," you squeak as you cover your face, your face red as a tomato.

"I wonder if you were this embarrassing when you were with your dear, respectable Iudex Neuvillette," Zhongli whispers, a hoarse undertone rising from his throat.

"Wait, Zhongli, it's not what it looks like," you try to defend yourself, though your words seem futile as the former Archon has you pinned against the wall, his entire form dwarfing your diminutive humanity.

"I'll tell you what it looks like," Zhongli says, slurring his words, despite the darkness, you can see his figure changing, growing in front of you, and his eyes, like two amber fireflies, piercing, are the only glimpse of light in the house, "it looks like I have to remind you who is the only dragon that can impress you, who is the only dragon that can eat your pussy and penetrate you until you're split in two."

"Zhongli!" you try to push him away, even though deep down something has started to smoke between your legs.

"I can smell how I turn you on," Zongli hisses, sinking his nose into your neck and brushing your cheek with his… horns?

"These…" you bring your hands up to his head, running them along the curve of the appendages that spring from his forehead, tangled in a spiral.

"Do you like them?" Zhongli muses, so deep and seductive that your skin bristles and your core soaks at the mere sound.

"I've never seen them before…" you say, your voice cracking, something besides Zhongli's hands caressing your hips and sliding up your thigh.

A tail… you'd be sure it was a tail if it wasn't for the darkness…

You turn your face away from Zhongli to watch him closely, noticing a certain look in his amber eyes, a pupil of an unfamiliar shape, and the way his smile shows you his sharp, gleaming fangs.

"I hate that you smell like him," he growls, shaking his head, "you should smell like me."

"Zhongli…"

"Is that all you can say?" he teases, sensing the eager tone in your voice, the nerves coursing through you from the tip of your nose to your toes, overwhelming your body in a rising flame of bubbling pleasure.

Zhongli is subtle as he leads you to the carpet, lighting the fireplace with his breath of fire on the way, illuminating the room and drawing a gasp of surprise from you.

Zhongli's figure towers over you, slender, almost monstrous. You find yourself propped up on your elbows, your skin brushing against the fabric of the carpet, while before you were wondering why he didn't leave you on the bed, now you understand, and that is that he wouldn't fit.

"Do you like what you see?" asks Zhongli, a proud smile on his handsome face. He kneels over you, cupping your frame between his thighs, to remove his clothes, which would have been torn by now but for the subtlety of his movements.

The thin fabric of his cloak falls behind his back, as delicate as lilies in spring, while his vest slides under his shoulders, tracing the slender figure of the ancient Archon. His tie is undone with a practiced gesture, and his white shirt opens in two, revealing the sculpted figure of the man above you.

The golden details of his skin reflect the fire of the hearth, and his chest, as fiery as the flame beside you, rises proudly before your incredulous gaze. The distance between his shoulders has grown, his chiseled muscles flexing with every movement. He undoes his gloves with his teeth, and as perverse as he looks, you can't help but wet your lips with your tongue. His digits, like the rest of his body, have grown in size.

"I can read on your face the myriad fantasies that plague your depraved mind," he muses, adding a snaky sound to the end of the sentence.

Saliva drips down your throat, sweat trickles down your forehead, and your fluids begin to soak your core, all wet.

Zhongli is very skilled at undressing you, he has always taken his time for this kind of prelude, warming you up for him and adjusting your body to his eager caresses… but this is not just any situation… no, in his mind, in the mind of the powerful and ancestral ruler of Liyue, the goal is not to show you what a fervent and devoted lover he can become, but to rip all traces of the unwanted water dragon from your head and body.

"Careful," you mewel as you feel his claws growing and tearing at the fabric of your blouse and skirt.

"If these rags are so important to you, you know I can buy much more graceful ones that flatter the divinity of your figure," he orders, he's a tough nut to crack… and damn, that makes you…

"It's not the clothes…" you look for support on his shoulders, he moves you as if you were a rag doll, "I'm afraid you'll rub my skin…"

"Precious," he inhales deep into the skin on your shoulder, "I'm very skilled at moving when I'm with you. I would never allow myself such an atrocity, to bruise this pristine skin would be punished with the worst of punishments".

"Still," you whisper, and he gives you a golden look, expecting what you will say, with a calm but instinctive depth, you feel the flame of his lust grow and spread.

"Calm down," Zhongli says, laying your back down on the carpet again and parting the fabric of your bra with his claws. Your breasts heave after the release, your face turned sideways with crimson cheeks. "You look so beautiful when you're embarrassed," he adds, dipping his nose between your breasts, taking a deep breath of your eager, warm scent, bathed in eroticism and anticipation.

Zhongli slides his nose over your belly and then between your legs, over your soaked lingerie. Without taking his eyes off you, his eyes locked with yours in an iron grip, he slides the elastic of your garment around your hips, sliding the thin fabric down your thighs and then your ankles. The movement is slow and painful, but exhilarating, just as the image he gives you by smelling your underwear is exhilarating.

His beautified figure towers over you, the fabric clenched in a fist to his nose, where a deep sniff brings Zhongli the ecstasy that no recreational tea leaf could ever provide. The nectar of your sex is the only delicacy he needs that night, whether in his mouth or around his cock…

Throwing the lingerie aside, Zhongli places his hand on his pants, ripping the dark fabric tightly from his muscular legs to reveal not one, but two huge, thick, throbbing cocks eager for you.

"What the fuck!" you exclaim as you watch Zhongli's monstrous appendages slam into his abdomen.

He seems to ignore your expression as he buries his face between your legs, kissing the inside of your thighs, inhaling the juice inside of you as it oozes from your center… Well, he tells himself, it doesn't smell like Neuvillette, at least not here.

"Do you hear me?" you call, lifting his face by the horns, "do you have two cocks?"

"'Indeed, yes," he answers, taciturn as always, "what a crude way to question me about my nature, dear," he says, while you notice his tail waving behind him, wagging from side to side like a predator about to hunt. .

"Did you learn these manners on your wonderful journey to the Nation of Justice?" Zhongli asks as his tail wraps around your thigh, grazing your skin with its scales as it moves closer to your center.

"No… but it was a coherent question I asked," you argue with him, so vainly that you look pathetic.

"And I guess you didn't learn how dragons mate either?"

"The Iudex and I," you start to speak, but your voice stops when you feel Zhongli's tail tempting your folds, "He and I never… no…"

"Too bad," Zhongli replies, "because at least his tail would be softer than mine."

The words catch in your throat, a gasp as Zhongli spreads your legs and the rough skin of his tail slowly slides into your pussy, shaping the surprised, wet, velvety walls around him.

"Ahg!" You cry out between painful moans, you haven't even had time to get used to his thickness and he's already reached the bottom.

You writhe on the rug, your hands clenched tightly against the fabric of the rug as Zhongli holds your legs apart, watching the embarrassing way your pussy clenches around his appendage.

Your back arched as you heard him laugh, sending vibrations to your center, as if everything in it was somehow connected.

"Nothing to add?" he asks, almost mocking you.

"I~…mmhh~" you mewl as your chest rises and falls heavily, waves of heat gather in your belly, the thickness of his tail hurts, burns, but he touches you in every place you could want, even though it seems if he went any further he could reach your throat, "Ahg~"

"Too big?" he asks, pulling back just in time to hit your cervix again.

"Ah!" you moan hotly.

"Speechless?" Zhongli plays with your mind as he withdraws again, this time further, to sink deep inside you again, this time harder.

You can't help but let out a high-pitched, almost heartbreaking scream as you feel him plunge his tail all the way in, welcomed by your walls as they get used to him. His tail is long, largely due to his draconic form, so each time it curls up to penetrate you, it reaches the bottom with a crushing fall, pressing down on the rubbery spot that suffocates you.

Zhongli crosses your legs over his shoulder and pumps his tail into your pussy as if he's cleaning something inside you. Your back jiggles in this position, your waist moves at the stimulus of his thrusts inside you, your throat emits the most outrageous cries of pleasure you've ever made.

He goes in and out, rubbing every corner of you in synchronicity and fervor, little patient with your tolerance and abusing your limits. It excites him to see you screaming for him, and it excites him even more to see pearly drops sliding from your eyes, glistening like the juices overflowing from your abused hole.

"Ahhg~ yes, yes~" each word shouted between moans and sighs, deepens in Zhongli an instinctive way that he has wanted to show you for a long time. Each thrust accelerates, becoming frantic and jerky, each stroke brimming with power, and his hands wrap around your legs, holding you in place so you don't move as he ejaculates inside you.

His tail spasms painfully and suddenly you feel a familiar warmth explode inside you. he has cum inside you, you know it because you are aware of the sensation of his seed overflowing from your pussy… although you doubt that it came from his tail…

"You…" you gasp, mesmerized by the dark new sensation Zhongli has given you.

"Looks like you enjoyed it more than I thought," he smiles, a dark smile.

His tail emerges from inside you and slides over your stomach and waist, turning your body until your knees and palms touch the carpet.

"You're not very swollen yet, are you?" he asks.

"Well, I… ah!" you moan in mid-sentence as you feel his fingers sink deep into you, almost as long as your insides, reaching the deepest valleys of your insides, "Zh…. Zhongli~."

He moves his fingers inside you, bigger and thicker than you remembered. He pulls them out to leave your fluids on his cocks and plunges his fingers back in to lubricate your ass this time.

"I never dared to ask you to do it from behind," he says as he spreads your buttocks with his hands, exposing your small hole to him, "perfectly made for me," Zhongli whispers to himself.

You feel his thick member slide into your pussy, your entrance getting used to his new length as it throbs around him. Almost immediately he enters your ass, slowly working his way inside you, your hole welcoming the new guest with contractions that elicit guttural moans from Zhongli.

"Not so hard, darling," he growls, "or you'll make me cum," he adds, placing his hands firmly on your hips, avoiding the way your body trembles at his intrusion.

"It hurts~" you let out with a moan, because indeed it hurts, but the feeling of being so full makes your body feel like you are on cloud nine, experiencing sensations you have never felt before. "Mmhhh ~ Zhongli ~," you unconsciously move your hips back and vulgarly ask him to start his thrusts.

"I'm going to move, dear. Need you to hold on as long as you can," he says, leaning into your ear, the warmth of his breath flooding your neck and cheek. He doesn't want to hurt you, in short, he's jealous of your new friendship in Fontaine, but he didn't want to make you a victim of his feelings. He loves you, he is madly in love with you, and that is why he is willing to show you, in the most draconic human way possible, who is the only one who deserves to have you.

"Please," you beg, grinding your hips against his, feeling his cocks sink deeper into you.

Zhongli, like the ardent lover he is, doesn't keep his beautiful lady waiting, not after how well you've just taken him. He rubs your insides with his cock, eliciting mellifluous moans from you, and in an arduous retreat, he enters you again, all the way in, again and again and again.

The sound of skin against skin fills the room, Zhongli rushes into you at a frenetic and almost deadly pace, one second you feel empty and the next you are completely full, his appendages bruise your insides, shaking your insides and churning your belly in skillful movements.

He throws his head back, enjoying the way you clench around him, completely hooked on you, trapped in your vicious holes. He takes one of your breasts in his hand, massaging the soft, sweaty flesh under his fingers as heartbreaking screams leave your throat, his tail trailing up your other nipple, wrapping around it as one of his hands massages your clit.

You're completely pampered by his limbs, screaming his name as if it would save you from the overwhelming storm of pleasure consuming your body. Your face is contorted with pleasure, your eyes are in the back of your head, your heart is pounding against your chest just as Zhongli is doing inside you. All in perfect synchronicity.

The climax of pleasure comes when Zhongli takes your hands and places them behind you while his tail splits your lips and slides over your tongue, down your throat. All your holes are completely filled, all subdued by him, entering relentlessly without stopping for you to rest.

Zhongli grunts and moans as he feels your throat close to his tail and as your ass begins to shake around his cock. And he does it even more when he thinks about how beautiful you will look completely bathed in his cum. That's why when he comes inside you, from your mouth and pussy, he can't help but move away from you to get a clear picture of you gagging as you try to just swallow his contents, and as the milky fluid gushes from your butt under your thighs.

You cough and wipe your lips with the back of your hand, looking over your shoulder at the way your legs and ankles are soaked with hIs seed. Dragon stuff, you think, because he's never given you a load of this size before.

"Charming," he whispers, enchanted by the image your corrupted form offers him, "divinely accommodating and beautiful. The most precious treasure I have found on my long journey," he adds, crawling towards you, wrapping your body in his arms as he surrounds you with his figure in fluid movements, pressing you against his chest.

You feel Zhongli's chest vibrate, and the way he has put you on his chest, between his arms, and covered you with his tail, gives you the impression that he is holding you in a shelter, you, his precious treasure.

"Tomorrow I will make you a nest, I have to build one so I can take care of you and our cubs," he whispers above your head.

"Did it really occur to you that I could cheat on you with another man?" you ask, taking advantage of the fact that Zhongli has let down his guard.

"It was my mistake to let my foolish thoughts control my actions. In fact, I think you are the most loyal person I have ever met in my life," he replies.

"If so… why doubt me?"

"Because you are too good for someone like me. Because your sense of help and perseverance is more like that of a dragon who decides to take care of his people than one like me… who leaves them to their own fate," there was a hint of melancholy in his words.

"You have been a good ruler, my dear Rex Lapis. Liyue is more than ready to be ruled by humans…don't think that you have left it to its fate…especially when you walk through its streets and talk to its people," you smile as you caress his chest.

"My dear y/n, you always have the words to make my cold heart warm and smooth," he plays with the strands of your hair, "I am deeply sorry that I ever doubted you…in the near future I will make it up to you, and maybe in the distant future we can remember this as a simple and shameful mistake of mine," he adds, joining his lips to yours in a kiss that shows you his painstaking sincerity, the doors of his emotions wide open for you.

Zhongli's tongue slides into your mouth, giving the kiss a more naughty touch… and you don't know how, but suddenly you find yourself at his mercy again, stretching your pussy with his two cocks inside you, shaping your walls with relentless attacks.

"I want to see you with a swollen belly," he moans, "you're going to be a beautiful mother…" he says, opening your legs, digging his claws into your thighs, watching as his two cocks disappear into your hole.

Now that you think about it… maybe Zhongli is in heat…

#zhongli smut #genshin impact #zhongli x reader #genshin smut #genshin #zhongli #genshin zhongli #genshin impact smut #genshin x reader #zhongli genshin impact #zhongli x you #morax #rex lapis

517 notes · View notes