#but for others I’ve done nothing but show up

[777bae]

WITH YOU JACK HUGHES

Summary :: After a brutal injury, you’re left to navigate recovery on your own. But Jack, despite the distance, becomes your lifeline—calling every day, offering comfort, and doing everything he can to be there. When he finally returns, his unwavering love and support help you heal, proving that together, you can overcome anything.

Warnings :: description of injury

Word count :: 5.6k

It all started at an NHL-run community skate event. You’d been invited along with a few other women’s league players to skate alongside the NHL stars, giving young fans a chance to meet their idols in a laid-back, personal setting. You didn’t expect much from the event—just another community outreach, another day to interact with fans and grow the game you loved. But that was before you met him.

Jack Hughes had been one of the NHL’s rising stars for a while, and despite the buzz around him, he was surprisingly down-to-earth. Tall, with his bright blue eyes and easy smile, he was exactly as you’d imagined him—charismatic, charming, and somehow completely approachable.

As you laced up your skates, adjusting the blades on your boots, you’d heard his laugh first, a genuine, warm sound that made it hard not to smile. You hadn’t even looked up when you realized he was skating toward you until you felt the brush of a glove on your shoulder.

“You here to show us how it’s done?” Jack’s voice was playful, but there was a hint of curiosity behind his words. You glanced up, met his gaze, and for a moment, both of you seemed to just… stop. He wasn’t towering over you, but there was a light in his eyes that made you feel like you were suddenly the center of attention.

“Me?” You raised an eyebrow and smirked. “You’re the one who’s been stealing all the spotlight. I just came to get some practice in. You know, to make sure I don’t show you up.”

He laughed again, this time shaking his head as he lowered himself into a comfortable skating stance. “I’m not worried. I’ve seen how fast some of the girls on your team can skate.” He leaned in a little, his voice a touch quieter. “But I have to admit, I’m hoping I’ll learn something today.”

It was all playful banter, but somehow, there was a connection that flickered between you in that brief exchange. Something about his easy confidence mixed with a genuine curiosity about the women’s game. It wasn’t like the typical interactions you had with male players; there was no condescension, no weird power dynamic. Just a guy who appreciated the game and the players—regardless of their gender.

The rest of the skate went by in a blur of friendly competition and shared laughter, with Jack occasionally pulling you into a race around the rink. You couldn’t deny that his speed on the ice matched his charm off it. It was fun—refreshing, really—especially since you were used to competing against men who sometimes didn’t seem to understand the level of skill and commitment women brought to the game. But Jack, he didn’t seem like that at all. If anything, he seemed eager to learn, to listen.

Afterward, while most of the other players were heading off to grab something to eat, Jack caught up to you again as you were packing your gear away.

“Hey, you wanna grab some dinner?” he asked, his voice casual but with that little spark of hopefulness. “I promise I won’t make it weird—just thought it’d be nice to hang out, talk about the game… maybe see if you’re as competitive off the ice as you are on it.”

It was a little unexpected, but something about the offer felt right. You’d spent so many years in a world of competition, sometimes too focused on the next game, the next practice. The thought of having a simple, easy evening, talking about something other than hockey, sounded like a refreshing change.

“Sure,” you agreed, trying to hide the small smile creeping onto your face. “I could use the company.”

That first dinner was nothing extraordinary—just a low-key meal at a local diner, where you both dug into greasy comfort food and swapped stories about your respective teams. But the conversation never lagged. Jack talked about his early days in hockey, his family, his goals, and somehow, you found yourself opening up in ways you hadn’t expected, sharing things you usually kept locked behind a barrier of professionalism. It felt natural, easy, like you’d known him much longer than just a few hours.

By the time you were leaving the diner, you felt something click. It wasn’t just the conversation. It was the way Jack made you feel seen, valued. He didn’t view you as just a player; he saw you as someone who belonged in the same conversation as the men he idolized.

That night, as he walked you to your car, he hesitated before speaking.

“Do you think we could do this again?” His tone was soft, uncertain—nothing like the cocky attitude you sometimes saw from athletes. There was a real vulnerability in his question, an openness that you hadn’t expected from someone with so much attention on him.

You smiled, already knowing the answer before you even said it. “Yeah, I think I’d like that.”

The following months passed in a whirlwind. The connection you’d felt that night only deepened as you found yourselves spending more time together, whether it was over quick dinners after games or stolen moments between practices. The distance between your homes had been a challenge at first, but Jack made it work. His busy NHL schedule and your packed NWHL calendar had their limitations, but you made it a priority. Phone calls, FaceTime, and text messages became lifelines, bridging the gap when you couldn’t be in the same place.

And then came the moment when it all felt a little more real. One night, after a game where you’d scored the game-winning goal, Jack called you to congratulate you. As you chatted about the game, the conversation shifted.

“So, I was thinking…” Jack’s voice dropped a little, a teasing edge creeping in. “What if we make this official? You know, like, ‘dating’ officially. I mean, we’ve spent enough time together at this point, and I’m kind of starting to like you.”

You’d laughed at first, but when you heard the sincerity in his voice, you felt that flutter in your chest.

“I think I could be okay with that,” you’d said softly, feeling something in your heart shift.

And just like that, what had started as a casual meeting at a community skate turned into something real, something deep. The spark between you two grew into a full-blown flame, one that, despite the distance and the challenges ahead, seemed unstoppable.

That was how it all began. From a community skate to something much bigger. And for the first time in a long time, you felt like you weren’t just fighting for your place in the game—you were fighting for something real, with someone who understood and shared your passion for both hockey and life.

It had been a few months since you and Jack had officially started dating, and even though the connection between you two had only deepened over time, the long-distance nature of your relationship had taken its toll. Jack was a rising star in the NHL, and your team’s season in the Women’s Hockey League was just as intense, if not more so. So, when Jack had to leave for a week-long stretch of West Coast games, the distance felt particularly harsh. But you both had your routines, and you had become experts at making the most of what time you had together.

The first night Jack was gone, you walked through your shared apartment, the silence of the space more apparent than usual. You had been here before, used to being away from each other for stretches of time, but it didn’t make the loneliness any easier. Still, you had your own games to focus on, so you pushed aside the feeling and settled into your familiar routine of stretching, preparing, and strategizing for your upcoming match.

That week, your team was on a roll. You managed to secure comfortable victories in your first two games, and no matter the late hours or time zone difference, you made sure to FaceTime Jack after each of your games. His voice was always a small anchor that pulled you back into a sense of normalcy. His tired face would appear on the screen, grinning with excitement or offering words of encouragement as you recapped your performances. The calls were a lifeline, a reminder that even though the miles between you stretched across the country, you weren’t alone in this. You’d FaceTime on his days off, too, taking solace in the familiarity of his presence, even if it was only a screen away.

But it was that third game that shook everything.

You had been feeling sharp and focused, your team’s momentum riding high. You were confident going into the match, your movements on the ice instinctively flowing with each pass and play. The puck was on your stick as you skated into the offensive zone, eyes locked on the net ahead, the crowd’s roars swelling around you. But just as you prepared to make your move, you felt a brutal shove from your side. The force was unanticipated, and before you could brace yourself, you were sent spiraling off balance.

The hit slammed into your leg, pain shooting through your entire body like a bolt of electricity. Your vision flashed white for a moment, the rink around you spinning as you crumpled to the ice, unable to register anything other than the excruciating ache in your lower body. You could hear voices, distant and muffled, but you couldn’t focus on anything but the raw agony. Your leg felt like it was on fire, every inch of it screaming at you in ways you didn’t think possible.

The next few moments were a blur. You were helped off the ice, each movement sending shocks of pain through your leg as your teammates rushed to your side. You were placed in an ice bath to try to numb the swelling, but it was clear from the first glance—the leg wasn’t just bruised. It was broken.

At the hospital, the diagnosis hit like a hammer to the chest. You had multiple fractures in your leg—some clean breaks, some more complicated. Surgery was the only option, and it needed to be done as soon as possible. You were too overwhelmed to process anything. The pain was all-consuming, and the physical shock of it was enough to dull your thoughts. The one thing that kept repeating in your mind, though, was that you hadn’t messaged Jack. You had forgotten. You had promised him you’d let him know if anything happened, but now, you couldn’t even remember if you had the energy to tell him.

You were rushed into surgery, the doctors prepping you quickly for the procedure, but you couldn’t shake the guilt of not reaching out to him. When you fell unconscious from the anesthesia, your thoughts faded, but that nagging feeling remained.

Meanwhile, in California, Jack had just finished his game. He had played well—scoring a goal and getting an assist—but his mind was elsewhere. His phone buzzed as he walked into the locker room to cool down. As he picked it up, his heart stopped for a second. It was a video message from one of his friends, a clip from the game he had just missed. It was you.

The footage was grainy, taken from the stands. He saw the hit happen in real-time, the moment when your body was slammed to the ice. And then, the terrible sight of you crumpling, unable to move as pain clearly overtook you. His breath caught in his throat, and panic surged through his chest.

Without thinking, he immediately called your number, but it went straight to voicemail. His hands were shaking now, his mind racing with worry. Why hasn’t she answered? He called again, and again, his anxiety growing with each unanswered ring.

“Come on, come on,” he muttered to himself, growing frantic. He tried texting you, then calling your teammates and coaches, but no one picked up. The seconds seemed to stretch into hours as he dialed number after number, panic creeping up his spine.

Finally, one of your coaches picked up. The calm, steady voice on the other end didn’t help to alleviate Jack’s mounting panic.

“Coach, what happened to her?” Jack’s voice was tight, strained. “Is she okay? Why isn’t she answering? What happened? I saw the hit—she looked… she looked like she was in so much pain!”

Your coach’s voice was reassuring but firm. “Jack, calm down. She’s in surgery right now. She fractured her leg pretty badly. The doctors are taking care of her. They’re going to monitor her recovery closely. But she’s going to be okay.”

He froze, his heart still pounding. “Surgery? Is she awake? Can I talk to her? I need to talk to her.”

“She’s still under, Jack. They’re finishing up. She’ll be okay. You can’t be here right now, and I know that’s hard. But she’s in good hands.”

Jack closed his eyes for a moment, trying to steady himself. “How long is she going to be in the hospital?”

“At least a couple weeks. They’ll want to monitor her closely to make sure everything heals properly.”

The words barely registered at first, but Jack’s mind finally began to slow, even as frustration and helplessness gnawed at him. He had a whole week of games ahead. There was no way he could be by her side—he would have to wait. And the thought of being this far away from her, with nothing but the distance and his uncertainty, felt unbearable.

After the call ended, Jack sat in silence for a long moment, trying to collect himself. He wasn’t sure how he would make it through the next few days, but he knew one thing for sure—he couldn’t just sit there and do nothing. He would call her every day. He would check in, even if it was through a screen, and he would make sure she knew he was there for her, even if he couldn’t be there physically.

Hours after the surgery, you began to stir, the soft beeping of machines pulling you from the thick haze of anesthesia. Your body felt heavy, your head foggy, and the ache in your leg was muted but persistent, a constant reminder of what had happened. Blinking against the harsh fluorescent lights, you slowly registered your surroundings—the sterile white hospital room, the IV taped to your arm, and the faint murmur of voices outside the door. Everything felt surreal, like you were caught between waking and dreaming.

The door creaked open, and your coach stepped inside. She offered a soft smile, her familiar presence grounding you amidst the disorientation. “Welcome back, kid,” she said gently, pulling up a chair beside your bed. “How are you feeling?”

You managed a weak laugh, though it sounded more like a croak. “Like I got hit by a truck,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

“That’s about right,” your coach replied, crossing her arms. “But the surgery went well. They said you’ll be back on your feet eventually—it’s just going to take some time.”

You nodded slowly, letting the information sink in. The details of the injury and the hit felt blurry, distant, as if they belonged to someone else. What you did remember, however, was the pressing need to call Jack. You opened your mouth to ask about him, but your coach beat you to it.

“Your boyfriend,” she said with a knowing smirk, “has been losing his mind. He’s been calling non-stop since he found out. I had to take one of his calls during your surgery just to calm him down. I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone freak out that much in my life.”

Despite the lingering grogginess, you chuckled softly, though the motion tugged at your sore muscles. “Did I… Did I at least tell him I’m okay before I went under?” you asked, your voice cracking slightly.

“Not a chance,” she said, shaking her head. “You were out cold before you could even grab your phone. But don’t worry—he knows you made it through the surgery. Barely, though. The poor guy sounded like he was about to hop on a plane mid-road trip.”

You smiled faintly at the image of Jack pacing in some hotel room, his phone glued to his ear as he pestered anyone who would answer. Your heart ached at the thought of how worried he must have been. You motioned weakly toward the bedside table, where your phone sat, its screen dark but promising missed calls and messages. “Can you hand me that?” you asked.

Your coach retrieved the phone and placed it in your trembling hands. As you fumbled with the screen, your fingers clumsy and unsteady, you saw the barrage of missed calls and texts from Jack. Over a dozen calls, countless messages—all timestamped from the moment he must have seen the hit. Swallowing hard, you tapped his name and brought the phone to your ear.

It barely rang once before his voice burst through the line. “Hey!” Jack’s tone was frantic, a mix of relief and worry. “Are you okay? Are you in pain? Is there someone there with you? Do you need something? God, I should’ve been there—I should’ve been with you—”

“Jack,” you interrupted softly, but he didn’t stop.

“I saw the clip. I saw it. That hit—it looked so bad. You just went down, and I—God, I felt like my heart stopped. I’ve been calling everyone, and no one was picking up, and then your coach finally called me back and said you were in surgery. Surgery! I should’ve been there—”

“Jack,” you said again, more firmly this time, though your voice was still weak. His words slowed, but the panic in his tone was still evident. “I’m okay,” you assured him, even as your own voice wavered. “The surgery went well. I’m sore, but I’ll be alright. I promise.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line, the silence filled with his uneven breathing. “You’re sure?” he asked finally, his voice quieter but still laced with worry. “You’re really okay?”

“I’m sure,” you said, your lips curling into a faint smile. “They said I’ll make a full recovery. It’s going to take a while, but I’m okay, Jack. You don’t have to worry.”

His sigh of relief was audible, but it was short-lived. “How could I not worry?” he said, his voice rising again. “I saw the hit, and then I didn’t hear from you, and I was stuck here, a thousand miles away, with no idea if you were okay or if you were—” He stopped himself, his voice breaking. “I hate this. I hate that I’m not there with you.”

The raw frustration in his voice was enough to bring tears to your eyes. “It’s just hockey,” you said softly, trying to reassure him. “Stuff like this happens. It’s part of the game.”

“Not to you,” he snapped, the sharpness of his words catching you off guard. “It can happen to anyone else, but not you. You’re the last person I want to see getting hurt, and now you’re stuck in a hospital bed, and I can’t even be there to hold your hand.”

“Jack,” you whispered, but he was on a roll now, his frustration spilling over.

“I can’t believe this stupid schedule,” he muttered. “I should be on the next flight home. Screw the games. They can deal without me for one night—”

“You can’t do that,” you said quickly, your voice firmer this time. “Jack, I need you to focus on your games. I’ll be fine. You’ll see me soon enough.”

He sighed again, the sound heavy with reluctance. “I just… I feel so helpless,” he admitted. “You’re hurt, and I can’t do anything about it.”

“You’re doing plenty,” you told him gently. “Just hearing your voice right now is enough.”

The conversation eventually calmed, though Jack’s worry never fully faded. He promised to call every day—and he did. Over the next week, he became your lifeline.

The first night after your surgery, Jack called you just as he promised he would. The moment your phone buzzed with his name on the screen, a sense of comfort washed over you. You answered immediately, his face appearing on the screen before you could even get out a greeting.

“Hey,” he said, his voice soft but still edged with worry. His hair was damp from a post-game shower, and you could see the dark circles under his eyes. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” you admitted, shifting slightly against the pillows propping you up. Your leg throbbed dully beneath the cast, but seeing Jack’s face helped dull the ache. “Sore, but okay.”

“You look pale,” he noted, his brows furrowing as his eyes scanned the screen, like he could physically assess you through it. “Are you sure you’re okay? Have you been eating? What about water—have you been drinking enough?”

“Jack,” you interrupted gently, your lips quirking into a faint smile. “I’m fine. They’ve been taking care of me here, and the doctors said the surgery went well. You don’t have to worry so much.”

His sigh was audible even through the small speaker of your phone. “How can I not worry? I hate that I’m stuck here while you’re dealing with all of this alone.”

“You’re not stuck. You’re doing your job,” you reminded him. “And I��m not alone. My team’s been in and out, and the nurses here are great.”

“It’s not the same,” he muttered, his tone low. “I should be there.”

You reached up and adjusted the angle of your phone, so he could see your reassuring smile. “You’re here, Jack. Maybe not physically, but this? These calls? They help more than you know.”

His face softened slightly, though the worry in his eyes didn’t entirely disappear. “I just wish I could do more.”

“You’re doing plenty,” you said firmly. “Now, tell me about your game. How’d it go?”

Jack hesitated for a moment, but when you raised an expectant eyebrow, he relented. “It went alright. We won, but it was closer than it should’ve been. I missed an open net in the second period, and the guys gave me hell for it.”

“Missed an open net?” you teased, your tone light. “Wow, Jack Hughes is human after all.”

He groaned, though you caught the faint smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. I’ll make up for it next game.”

“I’m sure you will,” you said with a grin. “You always do.”

The conversation shifted after that, Jack asking about your day in the hospital. He wanted to know everything—what you ate, what the doctors said, how much pain you were in. His questions were relentless, but you didn’t mind. If anything, it warmed your heart to know how much he cared. By the time the call ended, your eyelids were heavy with exhaustion, but the lingering sound of Jack’s voice in your mind made falling asleep a little easier.

The calls became your anchor over the next week. Every night, without fail, Jack would call you after his game, no matter how late it was. Some nights, he’d FaceTime you, propping his phone up on a stack of pillows in his hotel room while he lounged on the bed in sweats and a hoodie. Other nights, he’d call you during his downtime at the rink, his voice echoing faintly in the empty locker room as he checked in on you.

On the third night, after another win for his team, Jack’s call came through just after midnight. You answered groggily, your phone resting on your chest as you blinked sleepily at his face.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” he asked, his voice soft with concern.

“No, it’s okay,” you murmured, shifting slightly to prop yourself up against the pillows. “How was the game?”

“Good,” he said, though his expression was a little sheepish. “I scored a goal, but I got into it with a guy on the other team. He cross-checked me, and I might’ve, uh, shoved him a little.”

“Jack,” you said, narrowing your eyes at him playfully. “You can’t get yourself hurt. One of us in the hospital is enough.”

He chuckled, the sound warm and familiar. “Don’t worry, I can take a hit. But seriously, how are you feeling? Is the pain manageable? Do you need me to call someone for you?”

You shook your head, smiling at his endless concern. “I’m fine, Jack. They’ve got me on some good meds, so I’m not feeling much pain right now.”

“Good,” he said, though his gaze lingered on you for a moment, as if trying to detect any hidden discomfort. “Tell me if that changes, okay? If you need anything—anything at all—you call me.”

“Jack, you’re on the other side of the country,” you pointed out, your tone teasing. “What could you possibly do from there?”

“Plenty,” he said stubbornly. “I could call your coach. Or your doctor. Or the president, if I have to.”

You laughed, the sound soft but genuine. “I don’t think the president can help with a broken leg, Jack.”

“Then I’ll find someone who can,” he shot back, grinning. “I’m serious, though. Just tell me if you need anything.”

“All I need is for you to win some games,” you teased, your voice light. “That’s all the help I need.”

Jack rolled his eyes, but you could see the small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Yeah,” you said, smiling back. “But you love me anyway.”

By the end of the week, the calls felt like second nature. Jack would update you on his games, sharing every detail with the enthusiasm of someone desperate to distract himself from his own worries. In turn, you’d tell him about the progress you were making in the hospital, even if it was slow. You joked about how the nurses were starting to recognize him just from the sound of his voice, and he teased you about how bossy you were getting with your requests for snacks and drinks.

Through it all, Jack’s constant presence—whether through a screen or a phone call—was what kept you going. And even though he couldn’t be there in person, he made you feel as though he was never truly far away.

Finally, after what felt like the longest week of your life, the day finally arrived when Jack’s West Coast road trip came to an end. He had called you every day, just like he’d promised, but it wasn’t the same as having him by your side. Through the screen, you could see the worry etched into his face and hear it in the tone of his voice. He hated being so far away from you, and every conversation ended with him muttering how much he wished he could teleport home.

The waiting had been agonizing for both of you. Jack barely slept, the guilt of not being able to be there gnawing at him, and you had spent your days in the hospital, frustrated by your immobility and longing for his comforting presence. So when you finally got the text that he had landed and was on his way, the anticipation became almost unbearable.

You sat up in the hospital bed, your leg propped up in a brace and wrapped in layers of bandages, staring at the door like a puppy waiting for its owner to return. You heard the sound of hurried footsteps in the hallway, and then the door swung open.

“Jack,” you breathed, and there he was.

He looked exhausted. His hair was messy from the flight, his eyes shadowed from lack of sleep, but the relief on his face was so palpable it nearly brought tears to your eyes. He crossed the room in three long strides, not even bothering to set his bag down before he wrapped you in the gentlest hug he could manage. His arms circled you carefully, mindful of your injuries, but the embrace was so full of love that it made your chest ache.

“You’re okay,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion as he pulled back just enough to cup your face in his hands. “God, I was so scared. Watching that hit… hearing you were in surgery… I didn’t know what to do. I felt so useless.”

You could see the guilt swimming in his eyes, and you shook your head, resting your hand on top of his. “Jack, you’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

“I should’ve been here sooner,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “I hate that I wasn’t here when you needed me most.”

“Stop,” you said softly, your fingers brushing against his wrist. “You did everything you could. You called, you checked in—Jack, I knew you were with me, even if you weren’t here physically.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, his emotions flickering across his face like a storm. Then he leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I’m here now,” he murmured, as though saying it aloud made it more real. “And I’m not leaving until you’re back on your feet.”

The first day of Jack’s visit was spent catching up—he pulled a chair close to your bed, his fingers intertwined with yours as he asked about every detail of the surgery and recovery process. He flinched when you described the pain of the initial hit and visibly winced when you told him about waking up after the surgery. His worry was written all over him, and it didn’t fade even when you assured him that you were healing.

But he didn’t just stop at sitting by your side. By the next day, Jack had transformed into a one-man care team. He brought you your favorite coffee every morning, carefully maneuvering around the hospital room as though he’d been doing it for years. He kept your water bottle full, adjusted your pillows to make sure you were comfortable, and even insisted on helping you wash your hair when you mentioned you felt gross from lying in bed for so long.

“Jack, you don’t have to do all this,” you said one evening as he helped you shift positions, your leg still immobilized in the brace. “You just got back from a road trip. You should be resting, not waiting on me hand and foot.”

He scoffed, his hands steady as he fluffed your pillows. “Resting? What kind of boyfriend would I be if I wasn’t here taking care of you?”

“A tired one?” you offered, raising an eyebrow.

He smirked, but his expression softened as he leaned down to kiss your temple. “I’m exactly where I need to be. Don’t fight me on this—I’m taking care of you whether you like it or not.”

And he meant it. Jack spent every moment he wasn’t at practice by your side, helping you with the little things that had become impossible with your injury. When you were finally discharged and sent home, Jack took charge of setting up the apartment to accommodate your limited mobility. He rearranged furniture, set up a cozy corner on the couch where you could elevate your leg, and made sure your favorite snacks were within reach.

At night, when the pain was at its worst and sleep felt impossible, Jack was there. He’d sit beside you, his hand resting on your arm as he talked you through the discomfort. Sometimes he’d read to you, his voice low and soothing, and other times he’d just sit quietly, his presence enough to calm your racing thoughts.

One evening, as you lay curled up on the couch with your leg propped up on a stack of pillows, Jack sat beside you with a bag of takeout from your favorite restaurant. The smell of your favorite dish filled the room, and you smiled up at him, your heart swelling with gratitude.

“You’re kind of amazing, you know that?” you said, watching as he carefully plated the food for you.

He looked up, his face flushing slightly. “I’m just doing what anyone would do.”

“Not everyone would fly across the country after an exhausting road trip and spend every waking moment taking care of their injured girlfriend,” you pointed out. “You’ve been… incredible, Jack. I don’t know how I would’ve gotten through this without you.”

His eyes softened, and he leaned down to kiss you, his lips lingering against yours as though he was trying to convey everything he couldn’t say. “You don’t have to go through anything alone,” he murmured. “Not as long as I’m here.”

In the weeks that followed, Jack became your rock. He helped you through the frustration of physical therapy, cheered you on as you regained strength, and reminded you every day that you were stronger than you thought. And though the road to recovery was long and grueling, the love and support Jack gave you made it feel a little less daunting.

As you sat together one evening, your head resting on his shoulder and your cast resting across his lap, you realized something profound: this injury, as difficult as it had been, had only brought you closer. Jack’s unwavering dedication had proven, without a doubt, that he was in this for the long haul. And with him by your side, you knew you could face anything.

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

I may be a real bad boy...but baby I'm a real good man -Part 2 Oneshot

One of my lovely little darlings asked for a part 2 of this one. Hope y'all like it! Word count: 4834 Warnings: talk of past abuse, scarring

Part 1

“What’s that?” Bucky asked as he walked into Y/N’s room.

“Another letter from my parents,” she sighed, handing it over to him when he sat next to her on her bed.  

He read through it quickly, then scowled.  “Jesus, what is their problem?”

“I’ve been seen with the Avengers, Buck, which must mean I’m rich now, and that obviously means I owe them something since they are the reason I’m alive,” she scoffed, rubbing her eyes harshly with her fingers.  

He crumpled the letter up and stuffed it in his pocket before leaning forward and hugging her tight.  “You don’t owe them shit, babycakes, you know that right?” he said reassuringly.

Y/N smiled as she hugged him back.  “I know,” she said quietly.  “I just wish they would do what they’ve done for twenty years and just leave me alone.”

Bucky sighed heavily, then pulled back to look at her.  “Ignore them.  There’s nothing they can do to hurt you now.”  She nodded and leaned in to kiss him.  He playfully bit her lower lip and she whined at him, making him laugh.  “Come on, let’s go down to the pool with everybody else,” he said.  “The party has already started.”

Y/N’s anxiety spiked at that, but she kept a neutral face.  “Okay, um, give me a few minutes and I’ll be right down,” she said nonchalantly.

Bucky’s eyes slightly narrowed at her, waiting a beat to see if he could read what was wrong, before he smiled wider and nodded.  “Alright, don’t take too long!” he said, kissing her once more before getting up and leaving her room.

Y/N waited for his footsteps to go further down the hallway before she let out a shaky breath.  She hadn’t worn a tank top or anything revealing enough to show her back in years, and even during sex with Bucky she was always on her back, making it so he wouldn’t be able to see or feel it if he tried to wrap his arms under her.  How was she going to hide it from the entire team?

***

Steve, Bucky, Natasha and Yelena were in the pool, splashing each other until Steve and Bucky raced each other across the pool to see who was faster.  With the super soldier serum in their blood it was definitely impressive to watch.  Y/N was sitting on one of the beach chairs with Wanda next to her while Tony and Bruce were grilling burgers further away.

“Aren’t you hot?” Wanda asked her after a moment.  “It’s 92 degrees and you’re wearing a t-shirt and shorts.”

“I’m fine,” Y/N waved her off.  “It’s a white t-shirt, and it’s not that hot.”

“Says the girl who is literally sweating through her hair,” Wanda said, reaching over and swiping off a bead of sweat from Y/N’s temple.  “Come on, just take it off, you’ll feel better.”

“No thanks, I’m good,” Y/N said, taking a long sip of her water.

“Babycakes, come on in!” Bucky called to her from the pool.  

“I’m good, thank you!” she replied, trying to keep the air of nonchalance in her voice even as her frustration grew.  

Why won’t she come in?

What’s going on?

Does she not feel good about herself?

Y/N took a deep breath and closed her eyes, her sunglasses hiding the tightness around her eyes.  She was panicking, which made it so her mental blocks weren’t as strong as usual and she would hear people’s thoughts again.  She heard Bucky pull himself out of the pool, water dripping heavily from him as he walked over to her chair and sat on it by her legs.  “What’s wrong, Y/N?” he asked quietly as he leaned over her.  “Why won’t you come in?”

“I don’t feel like it,” she said quickly.  “Just wanna get some sun.”

He frowned at her, then looked at Wanda.  “Don’t ask me,” Wanda said, throwing her hands up.

Bucky leaned in closer to her ear so no one else could hear.  “What’s going on?” he whispered.

“I don’t wanna take my shirt off, Buck,” Y/N said, silently begging him to understand.

“Why not?  You look amazing,” he asked, looking shocked at her confession.  

“Please just trust me,” she whispered, finally opening her eyes and looking at him.  “Please?”

He looked surprised, his frown deepening, but he nodded.  “Okay,” he said simply before giving her a quick kiss and getting up from the chair.  She took a slow, deep breath, trying to calm herself as she turned on her electric fan and fanned her face.  

A little while later as she was standing by the other end of the pool after eating a burger, she was sipping on a cocktail when Sam came up out of nowhere and lifted her off her feet, heading toward the pool.

“Sam!  Stop!” she yelled, trying not to let her sonic scream overtake her voice.  “Don’t!”

“Oh come on, Y/N, have some fun!” he said, laughing as she kicked and squirmed in his hold.  The others started laughing at his antics, but Y/N was freaking out.  No, please, not this, not now…

He suddenly maneuvered her into a position at the edge of the pool so that he grabbed her shirt and lifted it over herself before dropping her into the water.  Y/N squealed, trying to twist her body as she hit the water.  When she resurfaced she spat out the water that rushed into her mouth and nose before glaring at Sam.  “Fuck you Sam!” she screamed, part of her ability slipping out and making the water ripple toward him.  It splashed his feet and legs, making him laugh harder as she tried backstroke swimming to the opposite side of the pool away from him.

“Hey, glad you made it,” Bucky said, swimming toward her with a smile.  

“I’m not staying,” Y/N said, keeping her back beneath the water as best as she could, facing him so he couldn’t see.

“What?  Y/N–” he started.

“Y/N?” Wanda’s voice carried over from her chair.  “What’s on your back?”

Y/N stiffened, shutting her eyes tight.  “Nothing,” she said loudly as she continued trying to get away.

Bucky frowned.  “What?  What’s on your back?” he asked, trying to swim around her.  

“No, Bucky, no,” she said, holding her hands out to him.  Her constant protests were getting the attention of everybody by the pool, all of them watching on with frowns on their faces as well.  “Just let me leave.”

“Okay, you’re scaring me now, babycakes,” he said, his eyes conveying his worry.  He got close to her and reached for her shoulders.  “Just let me see–”

“NO!” she yelped as she turned her sharply.  The second he saw it he froze, his fingers tightening on her shoulders.  She held her breath, hanging her face into her hands in shame.

“What is it—oh my god,” Wanda said when she walked around the edge of the pool to see.  “Y/N…what…how did you get that?”

She could hear the rest of them all coming over to look, each of them reacting with some type of gasp or sound of surprise.  “Y/N,” Bucky whispered.  “What is this?”

“Scars,” she whispered, pulling away from his touch.  “Please let me go.”

His hands fell away, and she swam to the side of the pool with the stairs and climbed out.  She ran into the building without looking back, her tears pouring down her face as she raced to her room barefoot in a swim top and short shorts.  She didn’t want it to happen like this.  Of course she wouldn’t be able to hide it forever, especially from Bucky, but she couldn’t stand the fact that this was how everybody found out.  When she reached her room she locked the door and instructed Friday to keep it locked before going to her bathroom and turning on the shower.  She turned the water cold to try and cool down her feverish skin, the scars feeling like they were burning along her back.  She washed off the sunscreen smell and let the water relax her as she cried heavily.  Another lovely reminder of her parents’ anger and transgressions, permanently etched into her skin.

***

“It’s been four days and she won’t come out,” Bucky explained to her uncle Teddy as they walked down the hallway to her room.  “She won’t talk to anyone, not even me.”

Teddy sighed heavily when they reached her door then turned to Bucky.  “Thank you for calling me,” he said quickly.  “I’ll see what I can do.”

Bucky nodded, looking at her door sadly before walking back down the hallway.  Teddy turned to the door and knocked.  “Y/N?  It’s Ted–”

The door ripped open and Y/N gaped at him.  “Teddy?” she cried, then threw herself into his arms.  “Teddy, what are you doing here?” she asked, tears streaming down her face.

“Your boyfriend called me,” he said with a sad chuckle.  “What’s this about you holing yourself away in here?”

Y/N let him go and gave him a pitiful sniffle.  “He saw,” she said quietly.  He frowned but nodded.  “They all saw,” she said, trying to bite back more tears.

“Come on, let’s talk,” Teddy said, pushing her back into her room and closing the door behind him.  “You look a mess, honey.”

“I know,” she sighed, flopping back down on her bed with him sitting next to her.  “I just couldn’t face it.  The looks they all gave me,” she said, her voice starting to raise in pitch as her emotions overwhelmed her again.  

“Well they were going to find out eventually anyway, right?” Teddy reasoned.  “What did you expect to do exactly?  Hide away a huge part of yourself, even from him?”

She shrugged her shoulders.  “It was working for a little while.”

“Sounds like you still have a bit of therapy to get through,” Teddy joked halfheartedly.  “You’re surrounded by the most extraordinary but traumatized people in the world.  They of all people would not judge you for what has happened in your past and the literal and metaphorical scars you hold from that.  Why did you feel the need to hide them?”

Y/N knew he was right.  Everyone on the team had been through some type of shit in their lives, some worse than her, especially Bucky.  Why was she so afraid?  “I guess I just wasn’t ready to face it myself,” she said finally.  “They’re just a constant reminder that I wasn’t…wanted.  That I was wrong.  Bad.  Abnormal.”

“Do you think I’m bad?” Teddy asked.

“What?  No, of course not!” Y/N retorted, looking at him incredulously.

“Am I wrong for having my ability?” he continued.  “Am I abnormal?  Unwanted?”

“No!  How could you say that?” she frowned.

“Because I feel the same about you,” Teddy said, reaching for and holding her hands.  “You aren’t bad, you’re good.  There’s nothing wrong with you for having a mutated gene that gives you abilities, just different.  Does that make us abnormal?  Sure.  But so what?  None of that means that you aren’t appreciated, wanted and loved.”  He pulled her into a hug, which she quickly reciprocated.  “Bucky wouldn’t have called me if he didn’t love and want you, scars and all.”

That made her cry all over again.  She had really sold him and the others short.  They had shown no signs of fear, hesitation or hate towards her the entire time she had been here, so why would a few scars make any difference?  “Thank you,” she said, squeezing him tight.

“Anytime,” Teddy said, his teasing tone coming back in his voice.  “But before you talk to everybody, you need to shower.  You stink.”

“Teddy!”

***

Y/N was sitting on a lone chair facing the rest of the Avengers who were all sitting on the couches and chairs across the common room, watching her intently.  “Um, firstly, I just wanted to say I’m sorry for how I reacted the other day,” she started, wringing her hands in her lap.  “And secondly, I wanted to explain.”

“You don’t have to explain,” Wanda said quickly.  The others all nodded in agreement.

“I appreciate that, but I think I do,” Y/N said, giving them all a small smile.  She took a deep breath then stood.  “So, uh, this is what I was hiding,” she said, unzipping her jacket and turning around.  She had a sports bra on so she wouldn’t be completely naked, but she shrugged the jacket off for them all to see.  There was a chorus of gasps and sounds of surprise.  Y/N let them look for a long moment before putting her jacket on and zipping it before she turned to sit back down and look at them.  Wanda was crying, Yelena’s frown was the deepest she’d ever seen, and Peter, Sam, Tony, Bruce and Steve were all upset.  But the worst was Bucky’s look of despair, a look that she’d only ever seen when he was coming out of his worst nightmares.

“My parents didn’t know how to handle my abilities when they manifested themselves,” she explained.  “I was seven when I first heard my mom’s thoughts.  I caught her in a lie, and she freaked out when she realized it was because I could hear her.  Then as she was spanking me I screamed, and it shattered the kitchen window.”  She swallowed, trying to not let it all make her cry again.  “I tried not to let the constant voices get to me, but I didn’t know how to tune them out like I do now.  My dad couldn’t handle the fact that I had inherited the mutant gene, that I was a ‘freak like his brother,’” she quoted with a scoff.  “After a pretty bad day he lost it on me, and hit me with his belt until I stopped screaming.”  She sniffed, quickly wiping her eyes before smiling.  “They shipped me off to Uncle Teddy so he could deal with me, and uh…long story short, I’m scarred, physically and mentally, and it sucks but it is what it is.  And I’m sorry I wasn’t trusting enough in all of you to be understanding about it–”

Wanda stood and walked over to her, kneeling down and hugging her tight.  “It wasn’t any of our business until you felt it was, dearest.  I’m sorry we all pushed you, we just didn’t know.  But we should have accepted your refusal from the start.  I’m sorry.”

Y/N hugged her back.  “Thank you.”

They each approached her with hugs and apologies, Sam especially feeling horrible for being the one to force her to show her scars, but Y/N felt lighter than she had in years at the way they all accepted it and didn’t judge or treat her any differently than normal.  Last to approach her was Bucky, who silently took her hand and pulled her out of the common room and towards her room.  Y/N let him lead her, knowing that they would need to have their own conversation about everything.  He closed her door behind her when she walked in then locked the door, and turned to face her.  Tears were brimming in his eyes and she panicked at the sight.

“Bucky,” she said, reaching up and cupping his face.  “Please don’t cry.”

“I’m sorry,” he whimpered.  “I’m sorry I didn’t see, that I wasn’t someone you felt safe enough with to talk to about it–”

“No, oh my god, no, Buck,” Y/N shook her head fervently.  “I do feel safe with you.  I do trust you.  I just wasn’t ready yet, do you hear me?”  Bucky bit his lower lip to bite back more crying, sniffling as she wiped his tears away.  “I love you,” she confessed.

His eyes widened at that.  They hadn’t said it to each other yet, but Y/N knew what she felt and didn’t want to keep anything else from him.  He released his lip and his lips trembled as he smiled at her.  “I love you, too, babycakes,” he breathed.  He wound his arms around her waist and pulled her into him, then leaned down and kissed her gently.  Y/N let herself melt into the kiss, but after a minute or two Bucky’s hands shifted down her back to the front of her jacket.  His fingers gripped the zipper and he pulled away to look at her.  “May I see?” he asked, a look of sadness and determination in his eyes.

Y/N nodded and took a deep breath.  Bucky getting up close and personal with her scars had worried her before, but now she knew he was just curious and wanting to make it better somehow for her.  He nodded then pulled the zipper down slowly, helping her pull it off and letting it fall to the floor before his fingers traced up her stomach to her sports bra.  She nodded permission, and he helped her take it off, leaving her top naked.  He kissed her again, pushing her back towards her bed until the back of her legs hit the mattress.  His fingers pulled her bottoms down and off, then pushed her to lay down on the bed.  “Turn over for me,” he said.  

She took a deep breath to steady her heartbeat, then turned herself over to lay on her stomach.  There was a beat of silence, then Bucky’s flesh fingers touched the base of her spine where the scars began.  Most of them were small gashes from the belt buckle and prong, but there were two long ones that stretched along her spine from the length of the leather belt hitting her skin just right so that it made the skin split.  His fingers traced along those two, the worst ones that had stretched her skin and pinkened it.  She heard his clothes jostling for a moment and then the bed dipped as he climbed up, kneeling between her legs.  Both of his hands were now on her back, almost massaging along her spine, until he leaned down and he kissed the first small scar near her ass.

Bucky’s kisses traveled over her back, making sure he touched and kissed every scar reverently before moving on to the next one.  It was overwhelming for Y/N, a fresh wave of tears silently falling down her face.  He was being so gentle, so sweet, and she couldn’t help the emotional reaction she was having.  She took another shaky breath as he finally reached the top of her longest scar in between her shoulder blades.  

“My pretty babycakes,” he whispered against her skin.  “I’m so sorry you weren’t loved the way you deserve.  Thank you for trusting me.”  His hands spread her legs further apart, his metal fingers moved in between her legs, his fingers slipping through her slit slowly.  “Thank you for loving me,” he continued.  “Can I make love to you like this, Y/N?”

She turned her head to look back at him.  His eyes were focused on her pussy, then glancing up at her back until he met her gaze.  “You want to see them while we…?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he nodded, leaning over so he could kiss her again.  “You accepted me, scars and all.  Let me return the favor.”  Her breath hitched, her chin wobbling as she bit back a sob.  She nodded with a small smile and he smiled back at her.  “Thank you.”

His first two metal fingers dipped inside her, making her moan and her head flop back onto the bed.  She didn’t realize she had gotten so wet just from his kisses across her back, but she had, and as he worked her up she couldn’t stop the tears as she thought about how wonderful this man of hers was.   Bucky pumped his fingers in and out of her slowly, taking his sweet time in pulling any and all sounds he could from her until her legs started shaking.  “That’s it, babycakes.”

She stiffened after a moment, then her body fell off that last precipice and she came, a small gush coating his fingers as she moaned into the blankets, her fingers gripping them tightly.  Bucky’s fingers fucked her through it until she stopped shaking, then he pulled them out and she could hear him lick his fingers clean.  “So good,” he mumbled.  “Get on your knees for me.”  Y/N struggled to shift up on her knees, leaning on her elbows as the side of her face rested against the bed.  “Aw, still sensitive?” he asked teasingly, then she felt the tip of his cock rub through her pussy lips. 

She jiggled her ass at him, and he chuckled, his flesh hand giving her right ass cheek a quick smack.  “Good girl,” he said, then started pushing in.  Y/N moaned into the bed, her legs slightly spreading even more to be able to take him in.  She would never get used to this, just how perfect he felt inside her, but now in this position he felt even deeper somehow, making her eyes roll back.  

“Buckyyyy…” she groaned when he was balls deep.

“Shit, baby,” he groaned with her.  “God, as much as I love the way we’ve always done it, this is…fuck,” he huffed, his hips trembling with how far inside he felt.  “This is different.”  She nodded, her arms moving above her head to grip at the blankets more firmly.  “And seeing your pretty ass raised like this for me,” he said, smacking her ass cheeks again, making her squeak.  “I didn’t know what I was missing.  And these,” his fingers traced up her scars again, his hips starting a steady pace in and out of her, “proving just how strong and good and beautiful my baby is.  I’m so proud of you, Y/N.”

Y/N was overcome with emotion, her tears falling harder and her breaths heavy with sobs.  “It’s okay, Y/N,” he said, keeping up the pace as he leaned over and across her back, positioning himself so he was basically mounting her.  “Let it all out while I love you.  I’ve got you.  I’ve got you.”

It felt like he was everywhere, his face tucked into the back of her neck, his huffed breaths heating her skin and his deep, low voice in her ear and vibrating from his chest onto her back, his metal arm holding around her waist while his flesh arm kept him up so he couldn’t crush her.  Feeling his front against her scarred back was somehow relieving, healing, like the skin to skin contact stitched together those last few pieces of her heart from when she was a child.  Her orgasm was fast approaching again, her legs shaking under him as he fucked her slowly, deliberately, letting her feel every little thing.  Her mental block slipped and she could hear him…

My strong girl.

My pretty babycakes.

“Atta girl, cum on me,” he said, kissing and licking her shoulder and the top of the longest scar.  “I can feel you.  Let go.  Let it all go, babycakes.”

Y/N’s breathing picked up even faster, her fingers scratching at the bed until the pressure built up impossibly high, then she was cumming again.  She squealed loudly as her pussy constricted around him, another gush spilling from her as she shook beneath him.  Bucky whimpered at how tight she was around his cock, fucking deep into her a few more times until he stiffened and came, his hips trembling harder as he let it all out inside of her.

They sat like that for another minute or two as their combined highs calmed down.  Bucky nuzzled his face into her hair before pulling himself up. He groaned as he slowly pulled himself out of her then turned her over so he could see her.  Y/N felt like jelly as she slumped to her back, her eyes feeling heavy as she looked up at Bucky.  He smirked at the look on her face, leaning down to kiss her deeply.  She lazily kissed him back, and when his lips moved from her mouth and down her neck she moved herself any way he wanted her to as he kissed across her skin.  “Mmh, sweetness,” she moaned lightly.

Bucky kissed back up to her face, kissing her cheek chastely before wiping away the tears that stained her cheeks.  “I hope those are good tears,” he said quietly.  

“Yes,” Y/N quickly nodded.  “Yes.  Thank you Bucky.  That was incredibly…healing,” she said, sniffling before any more emotions could overwhelm her again.

He gave her a wide smile.  “Please talk to me if you’re struggling, Y/N. Please don’t hide things from me.  Nothing you say or do could make me judge or hate you.  I love you too much,” he joked, nipping at her bottom lip.  

She huffed a laugh at him, running her fingers through his hair affectionately.  “I will, I promise,” she agreed.  “I love you, sweetness.”

***

Bucky sat at the small kitchen table in the old house, waiting as the sounds of bustling movement came from the garage.

“Harry, stop being such an idiot!” 

“Fuck off, Julia!”

Their shrill voices carried through the hallway, making Bucky grimace as he pointed the gun in his right hand, keeping it visible on top of the table for them to see as they walked in.

“How do you fuck up grabbing the bread I asked you to get?  It’s the same bread we’ve bought for thirty years!” Julia yelled as she walked through the door, her arms heavy laden with grocery bags.  She didn’t see him at first, plopping the bags on the floor before straightening herself up with a sigh, and as she turned to walk back out of the kitchen she did a double take of him.  Her eyes widened, and just as she opened her mouth to scream Bucky held up the gun, his eyebrows raising in a dare.  She cut herself off, her mouth shutting fast as she froze on the spot.

Harry walked through the door a moment later with a few bags in his hands.  “Jesus, woman, will you just leave me alo–” he froze when he saw Bucky, glancing at Julia before dropping his bags.  “What the fuck?!” he yelled.  “Who are you?”

“Shut up and sit down,” Bucky snarled, cocking the gun toward the last empty seat at the table.  Harry looked defiant but fearful, his jaw ticking as he slowly walked forward and sat down.  Bucky could see Julia inching towards the sink.  “I already grabbed that gun earlier,” he said to her.  “And you could try the knife block, but it won’t end well for either of you.”  Julia froze again, her eyes staying comically wide.  Bucky focused back on Harry.  “I’m not here to kill you,” he said.

Harry’s frown deepened.  “Then what do you want?  We don’t have any money.”

“Right, you’re just trying to get it from your daughter,” Bucky said, revealing his left arm as he let it fall on the table with a heavy thud that made a crack in the tabletop.  Harry’s eyes widened, his mouth dropping open and Julia whimpered behind him as they recognized him.  “Let me just make something abundantly clear,” he continued.  “You will not contact her again.  No calls, no emails, no more pathetic letters,” he said, unfurling his closed metal fist and letting the crumpled letter he’d taken fall on the table.  “She owes you nothing.  Don’t you ever bother her or interrupt her happiness again.  Do as you have done for the past 20 years, and leave her alone.”

“You have no right–” Harry started.

*BANG*

Julia screamed, cowering in the corner of the kitchen while Harry sat shaking, breathing heavily as blood trickled down from where the top of his left ear had been grazed.  Bucky glared at him, pointing the gun more toward his face.  “Do I need to repeat myself?” he asked dangerously.  Harry shook his head fast.  “Answer me,” Bucky grumbled.  

“N-n-no,” Harry stammered.

“No, what?” Bucky asked, tilting his head at him.

“No s-sir,” Harry said, his chin wobbling as his eyes brimmed with tears.

Bucky glanced at Julia, who quickly nodded and held her hands up.  “No sir,” she cried.

He glared at them both for another moment before nodding.  He stood from the table, putting his gun away before walking toward the door they had come through.  He stopped at the doorway and turned to look at Julia.  “If I ever even hear of either of you again, I’ll end you.  Slowly,” he warned, his metal arm whirring as he clenched his fist.  Julia sniffled sadly, nodding again.  Bucky huffed a laugh at how pathetic they were, then walked out of the house.  If there was anything he could do to protect his babycakes, he would do it.  

[thyras]

→ of great gatherings (bonus chapter)

PAIRING → mairon | sauron x female!elf!reader

WORD COUNT → 14.8k words

SERIES → of sauron & the moriquendi

WARNINGS → 18+ only MDNI - unprotected p in v, oral (female receiving), fingering, semi-public sex, tub sex, bruh this is just sex everywhere tbh

SUMMARY → your husband wishes to show you off in the grandest way possible.

AUTHORS NOTE → please don't kill me i'm running out of gif's guys, none of jack's sauron really works okay, i'm sorry. like i fucking love that moron but shit the chapters i've written of him do not align with that version of him 🤣 so as requested, cause y'all be some filthy horny animals I have two fully filled smut chapters to post for y'all, thought this was just 15k words nope apparently it was close to 30k so yeah i've split them up and i'll post them separately. so lots of eärlindë in this and we get why he calls her mori as well hehe though little tidbit, this story line was abandoned cause i was not going to have reader meet celebrimbor but his father. yeah i realized the timeline did not match up for melkor's first chaining so it was scrapped. but still hope y'all like it if the timeline is a little janky, i wrote all this like the day after i kinda knew what i wanted to write.

masterlist // series playlist // mood board

His eyes swept over you as you entered the room. You were adorned in one of your delicate gossamer gowns, every curve and contour of your form illuminated for him to admire. Your hair cascaded in loose waves, catching the golden hues of the evening sun, which framed you in a soft, ethereal halo. To Mairon, you were nothing less than a goddess—one worthy of an altar in the sky.

Your marital bliss was still so fresh, though years had passed since you first wed. Yet, he could never see that glow fading. Even now, Mairon often felt unworthy of the love and devotion you so freely gave. The sins of his past had long since faded into memory, and he had begun to move through this burgeoning city with greater ease. Feeling more than fallen Maia.

He had even ventured beyond its borders, learning from other elven craftsmen despite being a smith of Aulë—even if none knew of his true origins.

And still, in the quiet depths of night, when sleep occasionally found him, his dreams were shadowed with the lingering fear that this fragile happiness might shatter, that his secret would one day be laid bare.

A warmth touched your face as you stood beside him, neatly laying his freshly folded clothes on the wooden stool there. His hand emerged from the warm bathwater, catching your wrist before you could slip away. Water dampened the sleeve of your gown as his grip held you in place.

“Moriel,” he purred, his soft green gaze locking onto yours, searching for something only you could give. “Join me.”

You giggled, a playful smile curving your lips as you shook your head.

“I’ve already started getting ready,” you teased, flicking your eyes toward the neatly folded clothes. “And so should you.”

You moved to pull away, but in one swift motion, Mairon tugged you forward, pulling you into the bath with him.

A surprised yelp escaped your lips as you splashed into the warm water, laughter bubbling up in its wake. Your gown, now drenched, clung to your body like a second skin, leaving nothing to his imagination.

A playful smile danced on your lips as you pushed yourself back, away from Mairon's reach.

"Now look what you've done," you chuckled, trying to wring the water out of your soaked gown.

Mairon simply shrugged, his eyes locked onto your body, unbridled desire shining in their depths.

"I don't see a problem," he replied huskily, inching closer to you in the bath. "You know how much I adore seeing you wet."

Your cheeks flushed at his words, feeling heat pool low in your belly at the thought of him seeing you like this.

"Is that so?" you teased, playing coy even as his hand reached for yours and pulled you into his lap.

It was moments like these that reminded Mairon why he had chosen this life with you over all others. The way you responded to his touch with such raw abandon drove him wild with desire. 

But for now, he contented himself with kissing every inch of skin he could reach—the slope of your neck, the dip between your collarbones, and down to the valley between your breasts. You could feel his arousal pressing against your heated core, and you shifted your hips, grinding against him with a devilish grin. Mairon let out a low growl, his fingers digging into your hips as he pulled you even closer to him.

"Divine," Mairon growled against your skin. "Keep that up and we'll never make it to the gathering." 

You rolled your hips again teasingly. "Maybe that's my plan," you purred. "I'd rather feast on you right here."

With a groan, Mairon captured your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue plundering your mouth with unrestrained hunger. You returned the kiss with equal fervor, the wet fabric of your nightgown brushing against his bare chest as you pressed yourself against him. 

His hands roamed your body, gliding over the translucent material clinging to your curves. Fingers deftly untied the laces at the front until the fabric loosened. With a tug, he peeled the wet gown off, exposing your body to his greedy gaze. 

"Beautiful," he murmured reverently, gleaming eyes drinking in every inch of your glistening skin. "My Mori, my goddess." 

His hands caressed your breasts, thumbs flicking over the sensitive peaks until you arched into his touch with a gasp. Mairon's lips trailed kisses down your throat as his fingers dipped between your thighs, finding your slick folds. You mewled and ground against his hand, chasing the delicious friction.

"Mairon, please," you breathed, head lolling back as two fingers plunged inside your heat. "I need you."

"Patience, my love," he purred, pumping his fingers slowly, savoring your silken walls clenching around him. "I want to worship you properly first."

You whined as his fingers withdrew, but it quickly turned into a moan as Mairon's hot mouth enveloped your breast once more, tongue swirling around the stiff peak. His teeth grazed your sensitive flesh, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core.

"Yes!" you cried out, threading your fingers through his damp coppery hair to hold him against you. 

Mairon lavished attention on your breasts, suckling and nipping until you were writhing in his lap, desperate for more. His arousal throbbed between your bodies, the velvet head brushing your stomach. You reached down to stroke him, relishing the deep groan that rumbled in his chest.

Panting, Mairon released your nipple with a soft pop, eyes dark with lust as they met yours. "I want to taste you, sweet one," he rasped.

 With a wicked grin, you rose up on your knees, granting Mairon access to your dripping core. His hands gripped your hips as he guided you to hover over his face. You had to brace yourself against the edge of the tub as Mairon's sinful mouth made contact with your sensitive flesh. 

"Oh Mairon," you gasped as his tongue parted your folds, lapping up your essence. He groaned appreciatively, the vibrations making you shudder. 

Mairon begun eating you out, tongue swirling around your pearl before delving deep inside you. Your thighs trembled on either side of his head as he brought you closer and closer to the edge with every skilled flick and thrust. He slipped two fingers inside your clenching cunt, pumping in time with his licks.

"Don't stop, my love," you panted, rocking your hips against Mairon's face as the coil in your belly wound tighter and tighter. "I'm so close..."

Mairon redoubled his efforts, fingers curling inside you to stroke that sensitive spot while he suckled on your swollen pearl. The intense pleasure crashed over you in waves and with a sob of ecstasy, you shattered. Your inner walls clamped down on his fingers as you rode out your high, Mairon's tongue lapping up every drop of your release. 

Gently, he guided you back down into the warm bathwater, cradling you against his chest. You could feel his hardness pressing insistently against your stomach and you squirmed in his lap, eager to return the favor. But Mairon's arms tightened around your waist, stilling your movements.

"Not yet, my love," he murmured in your ear. "I'm almost finished.”

Mairon's hand glided down your stomach to tease your sensitive folds once more. You shivered and arched into his touch, still swollen from your recent climax. His nimble fingers circled your pearl, coaxing soft mewls from your lips as he reignited your arousal.

"Mairon," you whimpered. "I want to please you too." 

"You already please me more than you know, sweet one," he purred, nipping at your pointed ear. "Watching you come undone is the most exquisite sight."

To emphasize his point, Mairon thrust two fingers deep inside your core, making you cry out and clench around the sudden intrusion. He pumped them slowly, thumb rubbing firm circles on your pearl. The warm water lapped at your sensitized skin as Mairon worked you back up to a fever pitch. His other hand kneaded your breast, rolling and pinching the stiff peak until you were panting and writhing against him.

"That's it, my goddess," Mairon growled, increasing the pace of his thrusting fingers. "Let me feel you fall apart for me again."

Your walls fluttered around his digits as the pressure built, every drag against that spot inside you bringing you closer to oblivion. Mairon's teeth grazed the junction of your neck and shoulder before biting down, marking you as his. The erotic mix of pain and pleasure sent you careening over the edge with a strangled moan. 

Mairon worked you through the aftershocks, fingers gentling as you came down from your high. You sagged bonelessly against his chest, utterly sated. But Mairon's own need still pulsed hard and insistent between your bodies. With a languid smile, you shifted in his arms to straddle his lap, positioning yourself above his straining arousal.

"I believe it's my turn to worship you now, husband," you purred.

Mairon's sea-foam green eyes locked onto yours, burning with unbridled desire as you reached between your bodies to grasp his thick length. He let out a low hiss as you ran your palm along his shaft, your thumb swirling around the weeping tip. You positioned him at your entrance, teasing him with slow, shallow rocks of your hips that barely took him inside.

"Mori," Mairon growled, fingers digging into the flesh of your hips. "Stop tormenting me, you devilish woman.”

With a coquettish grin, you sank down slowly onto Mairon's throbbing arousal, enveloping him in your tight, wet heat. Twin moans of pleasure filled the steamy air as you seated yourself fully in his lap, relishing the delicious stretch and fullness. You paused for a moment, savoring the feeling of being one with your beloved husband.

Mairon's hands roamed your back, fingers tracing patterns on your damp skin as he gazed up at you with adoration and desire. "My beautiful wife," he breathed reverently. "I am forever yours."

"As I am yours, my love," you whispered back, capturing his lips in a deep, sensual kiss. 

Slowly, you began to rock your hips on Mairon's thick shaft. The warm water lapped at your joined bodies, heightening every sensation. Mairon groaned into the kiss, fingers digging into the flesh of your hips as he relished in your movements.

You set a languid pace, wanting to savor every blissful slide of his hardness inside your velvet walls. Mairon's hands glided up your sides to cup your breasts, kneading the soft mounds and teasing your nipples with flicks of his thumbs. You arched into his touch with a breathy moan, the dual stimulation sending sparks of pleasure racing through your veins.

"Mori," Mairon panted against your lips. "You feel incredible. So perfect around me."

"Mairon," you whimpered, circling your hips to grind against him. "You fill me so well, my love."

Mairon's hands slid down to grip your rear, guiding your movements as you undulated in his lap. The slick slide of your bodies, the erotic sounds of water lapping against heated skin, drove you both wild with lust. You increased your pace, moving to rise and fall on his thick shaft with wanton abandon. 

Mairon's head fell back against the edge of the tub, a guttural groan tearing from his throat as you rode him harder, faster. The coil of pleasure wound tighter in your core with every thrust, every drag of his cock inside you. You clenched around him, eliciting a strangled moan from Mairon's lips.

"Yes, just like that," he panted, hips snapping up to meet your downward thrusts. "Don't stop, I'm so close..."

You could feel your own release rapidly approaching, the relentless friction sending you spiraling towards that blissful edge. One hand gripped the edge of the tub for leverage while the other tangled in Mairon's damp hair, tugging him in for a sloppy, desperate kiss. Your tongues tangled and teeth clashed as you devoured each other, pouring all your love and passion into the heated embrace.

"Mairon, I'm close," you whimpered against his lips, walls fluttering around his length. "Come with me, my love."

"Together," Mairon groaned, one hand snaking between your bodies to rub firm circles on your swollen pearl. The added stimulation was all it took to send you flying over the edge with a keening cry of ecstasy. Your inner walls clamped down on Mairon's throbbing length, milking him for all he was worth as your orgasm crashed over you in intense waves of pleasure.

Mairon followed you a heartbeat later, spilling himself deep inside you with a hoarse call of your name. His hips jerked erratically as he emptied himself in long, hot spurts, your velvet heat coaxing every last drop from his pulsing shaft. 

You collapsed against Mairon's chest, both of you trembling and panting harshly as you came down from your mutual highs. Mairon's arms wrapped around you tightly, holding you close as he pressed soft kisses to your damp hair and temples. You nuzzled into his neck, savoring his warmth and the comforting scent of ash and soot that always clung to his skin.

For long moments, you simply held each other, basking in the afterglow of your lovemaking and the tranquility of the warm bathwater lapping at your sated bodies. Mairon's hands roamed your back in soothing caresses, fingers tracing idle patterns on your damp skin. You sighed contentedly, utterly at peace in your husband's strong arms.

Eventually, Mairon shifted, gently lifting you off his softening length. You whimpered at the loss, feeling empty without him filling you so completely. He chuckled softly at your pout, pressing a tender kiss to your lips. 

"As much as I would love to stay here with you all night, my goddess," Mairon murmured, "we do have a gathering to get to,” Reminding you of your earlier comment to him. 

You let out a languid sigh, nodding reluctantly. "I suppose you're right, my love. Though I can think of no finer feast than the one we just shared."

Mairon grinned at that, green eyes sparkling with mirth and adoration. "I couldn't agree more, sweet one. But alas, duty calls." 

With that, he stood, rivulets of water cascading down his toned body as he stepped out of the tub. You admired the play of muscles under his skin, the way his damp hair clung to his neck and shoulders. He was a vision of masculine beauty, and he was all yours.

Mairon turned, extending a hand to help you up. You grasped it, allowing him to pull you to your feet and out of the cooling bathwater. He enfolded you in a plush towel, rubbing your skin dry with gentle, attentive strokes. You practically purred at his ministrations, relishing his care. Once he was satisfied that every inch of you was dry, Mairon wrapped the towel snugly around your body before grabbing another for himself.

You padded over to the vanity, picking up your silver-handled hairbrush. Before you could begin detangling your damp tresses, Mairon's hand covered yours. "Allow me, my love," he murmured, taking the brush and guiding you to sit on the cushioned stool.

With infinite tenderness, Mairon ran the brush through your hair, carefully working out the knots and tangles. You closed your eyes, sighing contentedly at the soothing sensation. It never failed to amaze you how hands so powerful, so skilled at crafting wonders and forging metal, could be so incredibly gentle. Mairon treated you like the most precious treasure, every touch a whispered declaration of his love and devotion.

As he brushed your hair to a glossy sheen, his fingers would occasionally ghost along the elegant point of your ear or the nape of your neck, sending delicious shivers down your spine. With practiced ease, he separated sections of your hair, deftly twisting and braiding the strands into an intricate style fit for a queen. When he was finished, he reached for the silvery hairpiece on your vanity—the same one you had worn on your wedding night—and carefully placed it among his handiwork. The white jewels and silvery metal gleamed in the flickering candlelight, a reflection of the stars.

"Beautiful," Mairon murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your temple as he admired his masterpiece in the mirror. "A vision of perfection, as always."

You smiled at his reflection, eyes glowing with love and adoration. "Only because I have you by my side, my love," you replied, turning to loop your arms around his neck. "You make me feel cherished and radiant every single day."

Mairon's eyes softened, a tender smile gracing his lips as he pulled you flush against him. "You are my everything, Moriel," he whispered ardently. "My heart, my fëa. I will spend eternity showing you just how deeply I adore you."

Your heart swelled at his heartfelt declaration, a lump forming in your throat. Even after all this time, Mairon still had the power to make you feel like a blushing maiden with his poetic words and passionate devotion. Rising onto your toes, you captured his lips in a slow, sweet kiss, pouring all your love into the gentle caress.

"As I adore you, Mairon," you breathed.

Mairon returned the kiss with equal tenderness, his arms tightening around your waist. These quiet, intimate moments with you were his greatest treasure, filling him with a deep sense of peace and contentment he had never known before you entered his life.

Reluctantly, you broke the kiss, gazing up at Mairon with a warm smile. "As much as I would love to stay in your arms all night, my darling, we really should finish getting ready." You said, repeating his earlier words.

Mairon let out a dramatic sigh, a playful pout forming on his sensual lips. "If we must," he conceded. "Though I plan to hold you in my arms and shower you with kisses the moment we return from the gathering."

You giggled, pressing a quick peck to his pouting mouth. "I shall hold you to that promise, husband."

With that, you gently disentangled yourself from his embrace and watched as he walked back into the washroom, where his neatly folded robes awaited him. You smiled softly, content with everything that had transpired before moving to retrieve the gown hanging on the door of your wardrobe.

It was a soft, velvety blue gown adorned with sparkling diamonds, stitched into the fabric in delicate, star-like patterns. The craftsmanship was so exquisite, it seemed almost as if Vairë herself had woven it from the very threads of the night sky. It felt too grand, too regal for a woman like you to wear—meant instead for a queen.

Yet Mairon had brought it back from his visit to Gondolin, wrapped in an opulent box, his eyes alight with anticipation as he presented it to you. The moment you unfolded the gown, your heart had stuttered in your chest. It was breathtaking, and though you had deemed it unnecessary—believing you had no occasion grand enough to wear such a masterpiece—Mairon had been insistent. He had urged you to try it on, and to your amazement, it fit as though it had been tailored for you alone.

And then, when you turned to face him, you saw the look in his eyes—pure, unguarded adoration.

"You truly are a goddess, my love," he had whispered.

His words had made you flush with warmth, for you had never felt as such. But beneath his gaze, beneath his touch, you felt as though you were Varda herself.

"Do you need help?" Mairon’s voice pulled you back to the present.

You turned to find him watching you, a soft smile gracing his lips. He had already donned his elegant crimson robes, the intricate embroidery catching the candlelight like embers in a fire. He looked every inch the regal lord, his copper hair cascading over his shoulders in molten waves. Your breath caught at the sight of him—still, after all these years, you could scarcely believe this magnificent being had chosen you as his wife for all eternity.

"Yes, please," you admitted, holding up the sumptuous gown. "I don't think I can manage these tiny pearl buttons on my own."

Mairon crossed the room, his eyes gleaming with warmth and affection. "It would be my pleasure, my love," he murmured, taking the gown from your hands and holding it open for you to step into.

You let the towel slip to the floor and slipped your arms through the delicate sleeves of the gown. The luxurious fabric whispered against your skin as Mairon eased it over your shoulders, helping you shimmy it up your body. His fingertips traced feather-light paths along your sides and back as he worked, igniting small sparks of pleasure in their wake. You shivered at the sensation, though you could not tell whether it was from the cool touch of the fabric or the searing warmth of his hands.

With deft fingers, Mairon began fastening the three tiny pearl buttons that ran up the small of your back. Each brush of his knuckles against your spine sent tingles racing through you. He worked slowly, almost reverently, savoring the intimate moment before a single finger trailed up your back, tracing the exposed skin where the gown remained open.

"You take my breath away, Mori," Mairon murmured, his warm breath fanning across your neck as he secured the final button at the nape of your neck, fastening the delicate shoulders of your gown in place. His fingertips lingered for a moment before tracing down the elegant curve of your back. "This gown suits you perfectly, as if it were woven for you alone."

You turned in his arms, gazing up at him with shining eyes. "Only because you chose it for me, my darling," you replied softly, reaching up to caress his chiseled cheek. "Your impeccable taste and eye for beauty never cease to amaze me."

Mairon leaned into your touch, his eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment as he savored your gentle caress. "It is easy to choose beautiful things when I have perfection incarnate as my muse and inspiration," he purred, turning his head to press a tender kiss to your palm.

A delicate blush stained your cheeks at his heartfelt praise. Even after all this time, Mairon's poetic declarations of love and adoration still made your heart flutter like a hummingbird’s wings. You doubted you would ever grow accustomed to being so cherished and revered.

Mairon's hand came up to cradle your face, his thumb brushing across your flushed cheek. "My blushing bride," he teased gently, soft green eyes twinkling with mirth and affection. "Even after all this time, I can still make you blush with my words alone."

You playfully swatted his chest, an adoring smile tugging at your lips. “That silvery tongue of yours is going to get you trouble," you chided. "Keep your honeyed words for the gathering. We’re going to be late if we tarry much longer."

Mairon heaved an exaggerated sigh, his hands sliding down to rest on your hips. "As my lady commands," he acquiesced, though the wicked glint in his eye told you he was not quite finished with his amorous attentions.

He leaned in close, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he whispered, "But once we return, I fully intend to worship every inch of you until you are trembling and breathless with pleasure. Until the only word your lips remember is my name."

A shiver raced down your spine at his husky promise, heat pooling low in your belly. Your fingers tightened slightly where they rested on his chest, and for a fleeting moment, the thought of skipping the gathering altogether crossed your mind. But Mairon had grown to enjoy these grand affairs, or it was seeing you all made up and in your finery that drove him towards it. But in your heart you knew he would rather spend the night tangled in your embrace.

"I look forward to it, my love," you breathed, letting your lips brush fleetingly against his.

With a final heated look, Mairon stepped back and offered you his arm. "Shall we?"

You placed your hand in the crook of his elbow, a radiant smile blooming across your lips. "Lead the way, my dear husband."

Arm in arm, the two of you departed your home, stepping out into the moonlit streets of Laureandor.

Once at the gathering, you moved to envelop Eärlindë as she approached, her expression bright with delight. She returned your warm embrace, her laughter like the chime of silver bells.

"Tintilmë, you look absolutely stunning!" she exclaimed, holding you at arm’s length to admire your resplendent gown. "That color suits you beautifully."

You beamed at her praise, giving a little twirl to show off the shimmering fabric. "Thank you, my dear friend. It was a gift from Mairon."

Eärlindë’s eyes sparkled with mirth as she cast a glance toward your husband, who was engaged in conversation with a group of Noldorin lords. "He certainly has exquisite taste—in both fashion and wives," she teased, nudging you playfully.

You laughed, linking your arm with hers as the two of you began to weave your way through the gathering. The space had been transformed into something truly magical—golden lanterns hung from the trees, casting a warm, celestial glow over the revelers. The air was thick with the scent of exotic dishes and the sweet aroma of delicate confections. Soft music drifted through the night, mingling with the gentle hum of conversation and bursts of joyous laughter.

"It’s like something out of a dream," you sighed, your eyes drinking in the twinkling lights and elegantly dressed guests.

Eärlindë nodded, a smile gracing her lips. "The Noldor lords certainly elicit a grand response when their delegation arrives. Mother always goes overboard, seemingly feeling the need to prove herself or something." she commented as you looked around at all the elves present.

Many were from court, a court you never attended but knew. Whereas the taller ones you knew were high elves. Their opulent gowns, finery, and jewels all of Valinor. A place nether you or Eärlindë had seen.

Nor did you ever want to.

As you moved through the crowd, stopping occasionally to exchange greetings with familiar faces, you found yourself marveling at the unexpected path your life had taken.

From awakening in the woods of Cuiviénen, drinking from the sweet waters, migrating west with kin, traveling among the other Moriquendi and relishing in the beauty of Arda herself.

Never in your wildest imaginings did you expect to one day stand amongst the nobility of elves that were far younger than you, let alone knew of Beleriand’s true beauty.

Eventually, you and Eärlindë made your way to one of the long tables laden with delicacies, both savory and sweet. Crystal goblets filled with rich, fragrant wine gleamed invitingly under the lantern light. You each took a glass, moving to stand at the edge of the gathering where the view of the glowing garden stretched before you like an enchanted realm.

As you sipped your wine, movement from the corner of your eye caught your attention. A small cluster of elven ladies had gathered nearby, whispering and casting furtive glances in your direction. A few of them even had the audacity to point at your gown, their expressions laced with thinly veiled envy.

You felt a flicker of unease. Was the gown too ostentatious? Perhaps you should have chosen something simpler. But then you recalled the way Mairon had looked at you, as if you had woven the very stars into existence. His words echoed in your mind—"You truly are a goddess, my love."

Squaring your shoulders, you met the envious stares of the high elven ladies with a serene smile, refusing to let their pettiness diminish your joy.

Eärlindë, who had noticed the change in your posture, followed your gaze. When she spotted the gaggle of gossiping women, her brows furrowed in irritation. "Pay them no mind, Tintilmë," she murmured, giving your arm a reassuring squeeze. "They are merely bitter that your radiance outshines them all. Let them choke on their own jealousy."

You couldn’t help but chuckle at Eärlindë’s blunt words, grateful for her unwavering support. "You’re right, of course," you replied, taking another sip of your wine.

Your eyes wandered across the garden, searching for Mairon. It did not take long to find him. His crimson robes a striking contrast against the more subdued hues of the gathering. The coppery sheen of his hair caught the lantern light like molten fire, making him stand out effortlessly.

He was deep in conversation with a tall elven lord, whose finely embroidered outer robe bore a smith’s insignia—a fellow craftsman, no doubt. You could only imagine the topic at hand, likely some intricate discussion of metalwork or a trade of forging secrets.

As if sensing your gaze, Mairon glanced up, his sea-green eyes meeting yours instantly. A slow, knowing smile curved his lips, his expression filled with open adoration. With the barest tilt of his head, he beckoned you forward.

You turned to Eärlindë with an apologetic smile. "If you’ll excuse me, my dear, I believe my husband requires my attention."

Eärlindë followed your gaze, her smile turning knowing as she saw Mairon’s besotted expression. "Of course, mellon. Go to him. I’ll be just fine on my own."

With a grateful nod, you made your way through the gathering, your skirts swishing around your ankles as you moved with effortless grace. The envious stares of the high elven ladies burned into your back, but you paid them no heed. There was only one pair of eyes you cared for, and they were already fixed on you with unwavering devotion.

As you approached Mairon, the elven lord beside him turned his gaze upon you. He was taller which was typical of High Elves, with dark hair bound neatly at the nape of his neck, his strong features marked with a regal air. When he inclined his head in greeting, it was not the casual acknowledgment one would offer an acquaintance—it was a bow of deference, as if he expected you to be of higher station than you truly were.

And then recognition struck.

Curufin.

Your breath hitched slightly as you lowered into a respectful curtsy. You had heard of him before—one of Fëanor’s sons, a master smith in his own right. More importantly, he was a name you knew through Eärlindë’s brother, who had fought beside him in the early years of the war.

Rising gracefully, you met his gaze with composed politeness. "My Lord Curufin," you greeted, your voice steady despite the unexpectedness of his presence.

His dark eyes flickered with something unreadable before he inclined his head once more. "My lady," he greeted, his tone measured yet not unkind.

Mairon’s hand found the small of your back, his touch grounding you as always. “This is my wife, Tintilmë,” he said smoothly, his voice carrying the warmth of pride—but also a subtle edge of possession.

Curufin turned fully to you, taking your outstretched hand with practiced elegance. He brought it to his lips, pressing a chaste yet deliberate kiss to the delicate skin atop your knuckles. His lips lingered just a heartbeat too long for your husband's comfort. The shift was almost imperceptible, but you felt it—the tightening of Mairon’s grip against the small of your back, his fingers bunching the fine fabric of your gown ever so slightly.

"A pleasure, my lady," Curufin said as he released your hand and straightened to his full height. His gaze gleamed with something unreadable, a hint of amusement dancing in their depths. "It is not every day one has the privilege of meeting a maiden truly blessed by Varda herself."

Your face warmed at the unexpected compliment, but before you could formulate a response, you felt the slow rise and fall of Mairon's chest behind you. A glance upward confirmed your suspicion—his jaw was set, his expression composed, but the steel beneath his impassive exterior was unmistakable.

Possessiveness radiated from him like the smoldering heat of a forge, restrained but simmering beneath the surface. You knew that look well. While others might have mistaken his silence for indifference, you could see the warning in the slight clench of his jaw and the unyielding grip on your gown.

Curufin, it seemed, had noticed as well. A ghost of a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, as though he relished in pushing just enough to test the edges of Mairon’s restraint.

You cleared your throat delicately, hoping to diffuse the tension that crackled between the two smiths like a forge at full heat. "You are too kind, my lord," you replied graciously, offering Curufin a measured smile. "But I assure you, I am no more blessed than any other elf here tonight."

Curufin’s eyes glittered with intrigue, the corner of his mouth curving in something that was not quite a smirk. "Modesty becomes you, my lady. But surely you must know that your radiance outshines all others present." His gaze flickered briefly to Mairon before returning to you, keen and calculating. "A true jewel of Beleriand."

Before you could formulate a response, Mairon’s arm slipped fully around your waist, pulling you flush against his side in a blatant display of possession. His fingers pressed firmly into the fabric of your gown, a silent declaration of claim. "My wife's beauty is indeed unparalleled," he agreed, his voice a low, velvety purr that sent a shiver down your spine. "As is her grace and kindness. I am truly the most fortunate of elves to call her mine."

A warm flush crept up your neck at Mairon’s ardent words, his unwavering devotion sending a rush of heat through you. No matter how many times he declared his love, his admiration, it never failed to set your heart aflutter. Leaning into his embrace, you placed your hand over his where it rested on your hip, entwining your fingers in a silent reassurance that you belonged to no one but him.

Curufin inclined his head in acknowledgment, though the gleam in his eyes remained, assessing and appraising. "Indeed, you are a fortunate elf, Mairon," he mused, his tone almost too casual. "To have found such a rare treasure and claimed her as your own." A flicker of something unreadable passed through his gaze, his lips curving just slightly. "One can only hope you fully... appreciate her value."

The barely veiled insinuation made your stomach tighten, and you felt Mairon’s fingers flex against your hip, betraying the slow burn of anger beneath his controlled exterior. "I can assure you, Lord Curufin," he replied evenly, each syllable measured and precise, "that I cherish my wife above all else in this world. Her worth to me is beyond measure."

The unspoken warning in his tone was unmistakable—sharp as a honed dagger, a threat woven into civility. For a long moment, neither smith spoke, their gazes locked in a silent battle of wills. The air between them thrummed with the kind of tension that spoke of grudges unspoken and rivalries long since settled in steel and fire.

You glanced between them anxiously, your heart pounding. Though a small, primal part of you found the intensity of their regard thrilling, you knew better than to let this continue unchecked. The last thing you wished was for your presence to sow discord at what should have been a joyous gathering.

It was Curufin who broke the standoff, though the smirk that ghosted across his lips suggested he had achieved precisely what he intended. He inclined his head in a gesture that was both deferential and mocking. "Of that, I have no doubt," he drawled smoothly, his voice as rich and polished as the finest tempered steel. "Your devotion to your fair wife is admirable, Mairon. A lesser elf might find himself... distracted by such beauty." His eyes glinted, his meaning unmistakable.

Mairon’s grip tightened ever so slightly, his body rigid against yours. "Then it is fortunate that I am no lesser elf," he countered coolly, his words edged with steel.

Curufin’s smirk widened, a knowing gleam in his gaze as though Mairon had walked straight into his carefully laid verbal snare. But rather than press the point further, he merely dipped his head, feigning politeness. He had done what he came to do—test the edges of Mairon's restraint, and perhaps remind him that there were others who took notice of what he held most dear.

Satisfied, he straightened, offering a bow more formal than truly necessary. "I will take my leave," he said smoothly, his voice carrying just a whisper of amusement. "It was a pleasure speaking with you again, my lord." He turned to you then, his eyes settling on yours with an inscrutable look. "And an honor to meet you, my lady. For it is rare to meet a true child of Ilúvatar.”

With that, he gave a deeper, more measured bow and moved past you both, disappearing into the throng of guests.

Only when he was out of sight did you feel the full force of the tension leave Mairon’s frame. His fingers still rested against your hip, but they no longer pressed possessively—rather, they traced slow, absentminded circles against the fabric of your gown. You turned to him, catching the flicker of something dangerous in his eyes, something simmering just beneath the surface.

You exhaled softly, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. "Mairon," you murmured, coaxing him to meet your gaze.

His eyes softened, the glacial edge thawing ever so slightly. "He seeks to provoke," he muttered, his voice a thread of controlled ire. "And I do not take kindly to games where you are the prize."

You smiled gently, reaching up to trace your fingers along his jaw, easing away the tightness there. "I am no one's prize," you whispered. "I am yours. Always."

The heat in his gaze darkened, possessive in a way that sent a thrill through your veins. He lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your fingers. "Yes," he murmured, his voice a promise. "Mine."

The intensity of Mairon's gaze, the fervent promise in that single word, sent a shiver of desire down your spine. In that moment, you wanted nothing more than to melt into his embrace, propriety be damned. But you were still very much in public, surrounded by curious eyes and wagging tongues. The last thing you needed was to provide more fodder for the envious whispers of the elite.

Even if it would give Eärlindë something to gossip about.

Reluctantly, you stepped back, placing a more respectable distance between your bodies while still keeping your hand entwined with Mairon’s. "Later, my love," you murmured, a coy smile playing at the corners of your lips. "When we are alone, I will show you just how thoroughly I am yours."

Mairon's eyes darkened with barely restrained hunger, a muscle ticking in his jaw as he visibly struggled to rein in his desire. "I will hold you to that promise, sweet one," he purred, his voice a dark caress that sent heat pooling low in your belly. "And I intend to worship every inch of you until there is no doubt in your mind or body to whom you belong."

A delicious shiver raced down your spine at his fervent declaration. Oh, how you ached to drag him away from the festivities and lose yourself in his embrace. But duty and propriety demanded your presence a while longer. With a soft sigh, you gave his hand a final squeeze before reluctantly releasing it.

"I look forward to it, husband," you murmured, your voice husky with promise. “Though perhaps we should mingle separately for a while longer," you suggested, hoping a bit of distance might help.

Mairon exhaled slowly, as though grounding himself, before offering a slight nod. A flicker of reluctance passed through his soft green eyes at the loss of your touch, but he understood. Much as you both longed to remain by each other’s side, it would be wise to circulate separately, lest your mutual distraction become too apparent to the ever-watchful nobles.

"Save a dance for me later," you whispered, your tone sweet with anticipation. "I will be counting the moments until I am back in your arms."

Mairon’s gaze softened, his sculpted lips curving into a tender smile. "For you, my heart, I would wait an eternity." He lifted your hand to his mouth, pressing a lingering kiss to your knuckles that sent tingles racing up your arm. "But I will be counting the moments all the same."

With one final heated look that promised delights yet to come, Mairon released your hand and stepped back, allowing you to glide into the glittering throng of revelers. Though your body instantly mourned the loss of his closeness, you knew the anticipation would only make your reunion all the sweeter.

You moved through the crowd with practiced ease, your luminous gown drawing admiring glances and murmured compliments as you passed. Outwardly, you were the picture of serene grace, exchanging polite smiles and nods with nobles and dignitaries alike. But beneath that carefully composed facade, your mind still reeled from the tense exchange between Mairon and Lord Curufin.

The Noldor smith had always been a master of barbed words, and tonight had been no exception. His thinly veiled insinuations—about you, about Mairon, about the nature of your marriage—had clearly struck a nerve. Your husband, usually so impervious to provocation, had barely concealed the simmering fury beneath his polished veneer. You could still recall the way his fingers had tightened around yours, how his voice had taken on that dangerous, silken edge that only appeared when he was at the precipice of temper.

A part of you should have been unsettled. And yet, a dark thrill curled in your belly, knowing that you had the power to stir such intensity in him. That your love—your mere presence—could fracture the iron control of a man who prided himself on his unshakable composure. A shiver of anticipation danced down your spine as you imagined how he would stake that claim in private, how he would worship you with all the fervor of a disciple before an altar, possessive and unrelenting.

Lost in your musings, you nearly failed to notice Eärlindë appear at your elbow, her expression alight with mischief. In her hands, she carried two new crystal goblets, their contents catching the glow of the lanterns in warm amber hues. She extended one to you with a knowing smile, her keen eyes flickering over your dreamy, distracted expression.

"I know that look," she teased gently.

You accepted the proffered goblet with a grateful smile, taking a sip of the chilled, honey-sweet wine. "Am I truly so transparent?" you asked ruefully, feeling a telltale warmth creeping into your cheeks.

Eärlindë laughed, a melodic sound that turned a few curious heads. "Only to one who knows you as well as I do," she assured you, her smile laced with sisterly affection. "Let me guess—your devastatingly handsome husband has just promised to ravish you senseless the moment he gets you alone."

The wine nearly caught in your throat as a fierce blush bloomed across your cheeks. You gave her an exasperated look, but the amusement in her eyes only deepened.

"Not in so many words," you admitted, lowering your voice to ensure it wouldn’t carry to prying ears. "But Lord Curufin seems to have gotten under his skin with a few ill-advised remarks regarding my… allure." You shook your head, torn between flattery and exasperation at the memory of the Noldor lord’s casual provocations. "I fear my poor husband may be driven to distraction with the need to stake his claim.”

Eärlindë’s brows arched, intrigue sparking in her gaze. "My, my, the infamous Curufin taking notice of our sweet Tintilmë? You do aim high, my friend." She chuckled, taking a dainty sip of her own wine as her eyes scanned the room, no doubt searching for the elf lord in question.

"Believe me, his attentions are entirely unwarranted," you said hastily, as if that alone would deter her interest. But this was Eärlindë—once she caught the scent of gossip, she would not easily be dissuaded.

She hummed, clearly unconvinced, and her lips curled into a sly grin. "Oh, I don’t doubt that. But that won’t stop me from enjoying the scandal of it all." Her voice dropped conspiratorially. "Tell me, did Mairon look ready to strike him down where he stood? Or was he simply seething in that quiet, terrifying way of his?"

You gave her a pointed look, but despite your best efforts, a small, traitorous smile tugged at the corners of your lips.

"Perhaps a bit of both," you confessed.

Eärlindë grinned triumphantly. "Delicious. Do you think Mairon would let me watch when he exacts his vengeance? No doubt it will be something terribly dramatic."

You sighed, though you couldn’t quite suppress the amusement bubbling beneath your breath. "You are incorrigible."

"And you love me for it," Eärlindë said breezily, though a knowing gleam sparked in her eyes. She tilted her head, studying you with mild amusement before arching a delicate brow. "So, the renowned smith of Himlad has decided to test our Mairon's mettle, has he? I can't say I'm entirely surprised."

You frowned, swirling the wine in your goblet. "What do you mean?"

Your friend leaned in conspiratorially, her voice dropping just enough to ensure your conversation remained private. "Curufin is known for his sharp tongue and his taste for mind games. He enjoys pushing boundaries, needling just enough to see how far he can prod before someone snaps. Especially those he considers potential rivals."

"Rivals?" you echoed, puzzled. "Surely he doesn't see Mairon as a threat. Their crafts are distinct, and Mairon has never shown an interest in playing politics."

Eärlindë chuckled softly, her lips curving in that way that made you feel slightly naïve despite your own wisdom. "Oh, my sweet, oblivious Tintilmë. For all your years, you can still be so blind sometimes." She took a sip of her wine before continuing. "This isn’t about craftsmanship or politics—it’s about pride." Her gaze flickered across the room, seeking Curufin among the revelers. "Curufin is used to being the most sought-after presence in any gathering. He commands attention simply by being who he is. But tonight, all eyes are on you and Mairon. You outshine everyone, and he can't stand being eclipsed, even for a moment."

You blinked, absorbing her words. "So, he’s trying to unsettle Mairon out of… jealousy? Petty rivalry?"

Eärlindë inclined her head slightly, though her expression turned more contemplative. "Jealousy, perhaps, but not just that. He’s also testing Mairon, taking the measure of his mind and spirit, trying to see what lies beneath that flawless composure."

A flicker of unease curled in your gut. "To what end? What could he possibly hope to gain by provoking my husband?"

"Knowledge, leverage, or simply the satisfaction of cracking a particularly well-guarded puzzle," she mused, swirling the wine in her goblet. "Curufin’s motives are rarely straightforward. But one thing is certain—he wouldn’t bother engaging Mairon at all if he didn’t see him as an equal. In a twisted way, this may be Curufin’s version of a compliment."

You let out a soft huff, shaking your head. "I can think of far more pleasant ways to pay a compliment," you muttered before taking a fortifying sip of wine. "Ways that don’t involve trying to drive a wedge between newlyweds."

Eärlindë smirked, reaching out to squeeze your arm reassuringly. "Pay him no mind, mellon. Mairon adores you far too much to let Curufin’s petty machinations sway him." Her eyes glimmered with playful mischief as she added, "If anything, I suspect this little display has only inflamed your husband’s desire to worship you properly once you’re alone."

Heat crept up your neck at her words, your body already thrumming with anticipation for Mairon’s ardent attentions. You let out a soft laugh, shaking off the wicked images forming in your mind. "You are incorrigible," you said, though your grateful squeeze of her hand betrayed your fondness.

"Honestly, what would you do without my wisdom and encouragement?"

"Get into even more trouble, no doubt," you teased back, matching her grin. "Someone has to keep me grounded amidst all this opulence and intrigue."

"Exactly," she said with a wink. "Now, let’s at least pretend we’re enjoying the party before someone starts whispering that your dear husband has already whisked you away."

You chuckled, but even as you kept up the appearance of polite engagement, your gaze inevitably strayed across the glittering throng. Your eyes found Mairon with an unerring pull, as if drawn by some invisible thread. He stood among a cluster of lords, speaking with his usual elegance, yet there was a tautness to his posture, a barely concealed impatience beneath his mask of control.

And then, as if sensing your gaze, he turned.

His sea-green eyes locked onto yours, and even across the crowded courtyard, you could see the fire smoldering in their depths. A silent promise. A vow unspoken yet utterly clear. Your breath hitched, anticipation coiling within you.

Mairon inclined his head almost imperceptibly, an acknowledgment of the charged energy crackling between you. The corners of his sensual lips curled into the barest hint of a smirk—a warning, a tease, a promise of what was to come.

Then, with a smooth farewell to his companions, he excused himself. His long strides ate up the distance between you, his presence commanding even in so casual a movement. Within moments, he was standing before you and Eärlindë, his gaze flickering briefly to your friend before settling back on you, dark with intent.

"May I steal my wife for a dance?" he inquired smoothly, offering you his hand.

Eärlindë, sipping from her glass, gave you a sidelong glance and wiggled her brows in barely concealed amusement.

A fresh wave of heat flooded your cheeks as you placed your hand in his, your fingers curling instinctively around his own. He helped you step gracefully down from where you had been standing, his touch sending sparks racing up your arm.

You handed your goblet to Eärlindë, who accepted it with an exaggerated air of suffering. "Have fun," she said with a teasing lilt. "And do try not to scandalize anyone—at least not too much."

Mairon’s smirk deepened as he led you onto the dance floor, the music swelling around you in soft, lilting strains. His arm slid around your waist as he pulled you close, his touch both possessive and reverent. You exhaled, tilting your head to meet his gaze, and in that moment, nothing else in the grand, glittering courtyard existed but the two of you.

As he led you through the steps of the dance, his emerald eyes bored into yours, dark with unspoken promise. "You are a vision, my love," he murmured, his voice a low caress that sent shivers racing down your spine. "A goddess made flesh. I can scarcely keep my hands off you."

You melted into his embrace, your body molding perfectly to his as you moved together in the age-old rhythm. "Then don't," you breathed.

Your words sent a jolt of desire straight to Mairon's core. His grip on your waist tightened as he spun you gracefully across the dance floor, the two of you moving as one. Every brush of his body against yours stoked the flames of your mutual longing, until you felt you might combust from the sheer intensity of his gaze.

"Careful what you wish for, sweet one," Mairon growled, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. "Keep testing my restraint, and I may just ravish you right here, propriety be damned."

You shivered, your blood heating at his promise. Rising slowly, you met his burning gaze through your lashes. "And what's stopping you, husband?" you asked, your voice husky. "I seem to recall you promising to worship me until I remember naught but your name.”

Mairon's eyes flashed, his grip on your waist tightening to an almost bruising pressure. "Mori," he growled, his voice rough with barely restrained desire. "You tempt me beyond reason."

In a move almost too swift to follow, he spun you off the dance floor and into a darkened side garden, hidden from prying eyes. His powerful body caged you against a cool stone pillar, his lips claiming yours in a searing kiss that stole the breath from your lungs.

You melted into him, your fingers tangling in his silken hair as you returned his kiss with equal fervor. Mairon's hands roved over your body, mapping every curve and hollow as if he would commit them to memory. When his nimble fingers found the buttons of your gown, you tore your mouth from his with a gasp.

"Mairon," you panted. "What if..." 

Despite your halfhearted protest, your body arched into his touch, craving more. Mairon's lips curved into a wicked smirk against your throat as he continued his sensual assault. 

"No one will find us, sweet one," he purred, his fingers deftly undoing the top button of your gown to expose your heaving chest as the velvet shoulders slipped downward. "I'll be quick. I just need a taste..."

You shuddered as his hot mouth descended to your chest, tongue swirling around a taut nipple. A breathy moan escaped your lips and your fingers tightened in his hair, holding him to you. Mairon growled his approval, the sound vibrating against your sensitive flesh.

He released your peaked bud with a soft pop before trailing open-mouthed kisses across the swell of your breasts. "I need you, Mori," Mairon growled against your heated skin. "I need to claim you, mark you, make you scream my name until there's no doubt who you belong to."

"Yes," you gasped, arching wantonly into his touch. "I'm yours, Mairon, only yours. Take me, please..."

With a groan of satisfaction, Mairon sealed his lips over yours in a deep, plundering kiss. His fingers bunched in the skirts of your gown, hitching the flowing fabric up your thighs. You whimpered into his mouth as his hand found your heated center, cupping you possessively. The heat of his hand against the growing wetness there, sent a shiver of pleasure down your spine.

"So wet for me already,” He chuckled darkly. With deft fingers, he sank two digits deep into your aching core. A keening moan tore from your throat as he began to pump them slowly, his thumb circling your sensitive pearl. Mairon swallowed your cries with his lips, mindful of the need for discretion even in his passion-fueled haze.

"That's it, sweet one," he rasped against your mouth. "Let me feel you, all of you. I want to drown in your essence, be consumed by your fire.”

Incoherent pleas and praises fell from your lips as Mairon worked you higher, his clever fingers unraveling you with ruthless precision. The wet sounds of his digits thrusting into your slick cunt filled the air, mingling with your breathy moans and the distant strains of music from the gathering. The delicious scandal of it all—your husband fingering you to ecstasy in a darkened garden while a hundred nobles drank and danced mere yards away—only heightened your pleasure, edging you closer to that elusive peak.

"Mairon, please," you whimpered, writhing against him as the coil in your core wound tighter and tighter. "I need... I need..."

"I know, sweet one," Mairon growled, nipping at your kiss-swollen lips as a third finger joined the first two, stretching you exquisitely.

You gasped at the addition, your inner walls clenching greedily around Mairon's plundering digits. The building pressure in your core was almost unbearable now, your entire being focused on the exquisite sensations radiating from where Mairon played your body like a finely tuned instrument.

"That's it, my love," he purred against your ear. "Sing for me. Let me hear those sweet sounds of your pleasure."

His fingers curled inside you, stroking that sweet spot that made stars burst behind your tightly closed eyelids. Your thighs trembled, barely able to support you as Mairon drove you closer and closer to the edge of bliss.

"Mairon!" you keened, your nails digging into his shoulders as you teetered on the precipice. "I'm going to...I can't..."

"Yes, you can," Mairon growled, his fingers pumping harder, faster, his thumb grinding mercilessly against your throbbing pearl. "Come for me, Mori. Let go, sweet one. Shatter for me."

His dark, sensual command sent you over the edge. With a choked cry, you flew apart, your release crashing over you in shuddering waves of ecstasy. Your inner walls clenched almost painfully around Mairon's fingers as they gentled you through the aftershocks, drawing out your pleasure until you were limp and quivering in his arms.

Mairon's soft green eyes burned into yours as he slowly, deliberately sucked your essence from his fingers, savoring your taste like the finest wine. The sight of his sensual mouth wrapped around those same digits that had just brought you to such dizzying heights sent a fresh wave of desire crashing through your still trembling body. 

"Exquisite," he purred, releasing his fingers with a final lick. "I could feast on your sweet taste for eternity and never be sated."

You whimpered softly, reaching for him with needy hands. "Mairon, please," you breathed, hardly recognizing your own voice, wrecked as it was with desire. "I need you inside me. I ache to be filled by you, claimed by you."

A low growl rumbled in Mairon's chest, his eyes flashing with possessive heat. "And I ache to fill you, to claim every inch of your luscious body as mine," he rasped, his voice rough with desire. "But I fear if I take you here and now, I will not be able to control myself. I want to worship you properly, my goddess. I want to lay you out on our bed and spend hours driving you mad with pleasure until you forget your own name."

You shivered at his dark promise, your body already thrumming with renewed anticipation. "Then take me home, husband," you purred, sliding your hands down his chest to brush teasingly over the straining evidence of his arousal. "Take me to our bed and make me yours in every way. I need your touch like I need air to breathe."

Mairon captured your wandering hands, bringing them to his lips to press fervent kisses to your fingers. "As my lady commands,"

With a final searing kiss that stole your breath, Mairon set your skirts to rights, helped you button your dress back up, and took your hand, leading you swiftly out of the darkened side garden. The music and chatter of the feast reached your ears once more as you emerged onto the main path, a reminder of the outside world that had briefly ceased to exist while you were wrapped in Mairon's passionate embrace.

You both made your way to the edge of the gathering, trying to slip away as unobtrusively as possible. But before you could make your escape, a familiar voice called out your name.

"Tintilmë! Leaving so soon?"

You turned to see Eärlindë approaching, her eyes twinkling with mirth as she took in your flushed cheeks and kiss-swollen lips. Beside you, Mairon stiffened imperceptibly, though he maintained his polite smile as your friend drew near.

"I'm afraid so, Eärlindë," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady despite the thrum of desire still coursing through your veins. "Mairon and I have some...matters to attend to at home."

Eärlindë's smile turned knowing, her gaze flicking between you and your husband with barely concealed amusement. "I'm sure you do," she teased, her melodic voice laced with innuendo. "Far be it from me to keep you from your...marital duties."

You felt heat creep up your neck at her playful insinuation, even as a thrill raced down your spine at the thought of what those "duties" entailed. Beside you, Mairon shifted subtly, his grip on your hand tightening ever so slightly. You knew he was impatient to whisk you away and make good on his heated promises, but he maintained his composure for your friend's sake.

"Indeed," he replied smoothly, his rich voice betraying none of the hunger simmering beneath the surface. "My wife and I have much to...discuss in private. I'm sure you understand."

Eärlindë's eyes danced with barely suppressed laughter, but she nodded graciously. "Of course, my lord. I would not dream of keeping you from such important matters." She turned to you, pulling you in for a quick embrace. "You must tell me all about your 'discussions' later, mellon," she whispered in your ear, her voice trembling with mirth.

You swatted her arm playfully as you pulled away, fighting back a grin. "You are incorrigible, Eärlindë." 

Your friend merely winked, her smile full of mischief. "And you love me for it. Now go, enjoy your 'marital duties' with that delicious husband of yours." She made a shooing motion with her hands. "I expect a full report tomorrow!"

Shaking your head with a laugh, you allowed Mairon to lead you away, his strides purposeful as he guided you towards the path leading to home. The moment you were out of sight of the revelers, he pulled you flush against him, his arm snaking possessively around your waist.

"Divine," he growled against your ear, nipping at the sensitive lobe. "Teasing me with Eärlindë, knowing full well how desperate I am to have you." His hand slid lower, palming your ass through the thin velvet of your gown. "You enjoy testing my restraint, don't you, little temptress?"

You shivered, arching into his touch with a breathy sigh. "Can you blame me? Seeing you struggle to maintain your composure, knowing that I'm the reason for it...it's intoxicating."

Mairon's answering growl vibrated against your throat as he peppered your sensitive skin with hot, open-mouthed kisses. "Wicked woman. You'll pay for your teasing." He nipped at your racing pulse. "Once I get you home, I'm going to strip you bare and worship every inch of your body until you're mindless with pleasure."

You swallowed thickly, fighting against the desire to simply let Mairon take you right there on the moonlit path. "Then hurry, husband," you breathed. "Before I combust from wanting you."

Mairon's eyes glittered with dark promise as he scooped you into his arms, your surprised yelp quickly turning into delighted laughter as he carried you swiftly down the path towards home. Your heart raced with giddy anticipation, every nerve ending alight with desire for your passionate mate.

In what seemed like mere moments, you had crossed the threshold into your candlelit chambers. Mairon set you on your feet only long enough to secure the door before he was on you again, his mouth claiming yours in a searing kiss that left you weak in the knees.

"I thought I would go mad with jealousy tonight," he growled between kisses as he walked you backwards towards the bed, his nimble fingers already working on the buttons of your gown. "Seeing the way Curufin looked at you, the way his eyes devoured you like a wolf eyeing a lamb..." 

His teeth grazed your throat, making you gasp. "I wanted to throw you over my shoulder and carry you away from all those lustful stares, to remind everyone that you are mine and mine alone."

"Yours," you agreed breathlessly, shrugging out of your gown and letting the velvet fabric pool at your feet. "Only ever yours, Mairon."

A possessive growl rumbled through his chest as he drank in the sight of you standing before him in nothing but the silvery chain and wedding band he had placed upon you all those years ago. "My perfect goddess," he rasped, green eyes burning with reverent hunger. "Let me worship you as you deserve.”

With reverent hands, Mairon lifted you onto the bed, laying you out on the silken sheets like a priceless offering. His eyes raked over your naked form, drinking in every dip and curve illuminated by the flickering candlelight. You had never felt more desired, more cherished than you did under the heat of his adoring gaze.

"Magnificent," he breathed, long fingers trailing feather-light paths along your quivering skin. "An exquisite masterpiece shaped by Eru himself."

You keened softly, arching into his worshipful touch. "Mairon, please..."

He smiled, slow and sensual, as he divested himself of his own finery with deliberate grace. Each movement was a revelation, baring his sculpted physique to your hungry eyes inch by torturous inch until he stood before you in all his magnificent glory.

Mairon joined you on the bed, his powerful body covering yours as he claimed your lips in a deep, worshipful kiss. You melted beneath him, your fingers threading through his silken hair to hold him close. His tongue delved into the honeyed recesses of your mouth, mapping every curve and hollow.

"My Mori," he breathed against your lips. “My sweet wife,”

You moaned softly, your body already alight with need. "Show me," you pleaded, rolling your hips against his straining length. "Show me how much you adore me, husband."

Mairon's eyes flashed, a predatory smile curving his lips. He began a slow, sensual descent down your body, lips, teeth, and tongue painting fiery paths across your skin. He lingered at your breasts, lavishing attention on the soft mounds until you were arching off the bed with breathy cries, your fingers tangled almost painfully in his hair. His clever mouth suckled and nipped at the tender peaks, sending jolts of electric pleasure straight to your core.

"Mairon, yes.." you whimpered as he bit down on a sensitive nipple, the exquisite sting only heightening your arousal. 

He soothed the love bite with his tongue before continuing his worshipful journey down your quivering body. His hands mapped every inch of your heated flesh, tracing reverent patterns on your stomach, your thighs, the sensitive crease of your hips. He settled between your thighs like a supplicant before an altar, emerald eyes burning with reverent hunger as he took in your glistening folds.

"Moriel," he growled, hot breath fanning across your aching core. "I could feast on you for all eternity."

You shuddered, hips rolling pleadingly. "Then feast, my love. I am yours to devour.”

Mairon needed no further encouragement. With a groan of satisfaction, he buried his face between your thighs, his sinful mouth descending on your weeping center like a man starved. The first swipe of his tongue through your slick folds tore a keening cry from your lips, your back bowing off the bed at the exquisite sensation.

"Yes!" you gasped, one hand fisting in his silken hair while the other clawed at the sheets. "Just like that, my love..."

He growled his approval against your heated flesh, the vibrations only adding to the all-consuming pleasure building in your core. His lips closed around your throbbing pearl, suckling hard as two fingers plunged deep into your dripping core. The dual sensations sent you hurtling towards the edge with breathtaking speed.

Mairon's fingers pumped steadily as his tongue swirled and flicked against your sensitive bud, wringing gasps and moans from your lips with every masterful caress. He was relentless in his sensual onslaught, determined to shatter you again and again until you were boneless beneath him.

"Mairon, I-I'm close," you panted, feeling the tell-tale flutter of your inner walls. "Don't stop, please..."

He redoubled his efforts, fingers curling inside you to stroke the spot that made your toes curl and your vision blur. His lips and tongue worked in tandem, lashing your aching pearl until the coil in your belly snapped and you flew apart with a ragged scream of his name. 

Wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over you as Mairon gentled you through the aftershocks, his fingers and tongue slowing their relentless rhythm to soft, soothing caresses. You quivered and gasped beneath him, boneless and sated in the aftermath of your shattering release. 

Slowly, almost reverently, Mairon kissed his way back up your body, pausing to lave tender attention on the marks of passion he had left in his wake. When he finally reached your lips, he claimed them in a deep, sensual kiss, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. You moaned softly into his mouth, the intimate flavor igniting a fresh spark of desire in your veins.

"My goddess," Mairon breathed against your lips. "My perfect wife. I will never tire of worshipping you."

You smiled up at him, your heart full to bursting with love and desire for this magnificent being who had claimed you as his own. Reaching up, you traced the chiseled lines of his face with worshipful fingers, marveling at the raw beauty of him. 

"As I will never tire of being worshipped by you, husband," you murmured.

Mairon's eyes softened, a tender smile gracing his sculpted lips as he turned his head to press a fervent kiss to your palm. "Eternity will never be long enough to show you the depths of my love," he vowed, voice low and intense with emotion. "But I intend to spend every moment trying."

Mairon's lips claimed yours in a searing kiss, the intensity of his love and desire pouring into the passionate embrace. You surrendered to his ardent ministrations, your arms winding around his neck to pull him impossibly closer. The hard planes of his body aligned perfectly with your soft curves, two puzzle pieces fitting together in sublime harmony.

When the need for air finally forced you apart, Mairon rested his forehead against yours, his eyes boring into your own with breathtaking intensity. "My beautiful wife," he murmured, his voice low and rough with emotion. "I ache to be one with you, to join our bodies and souls as only husband and wife can."

You shivered at his words, your core clenching with desperate need. "Then take me, my love," you breathed, rolling your hips invitingly against his straining arousal. "Claim me,”

Mairon's eyes flashed with primal hunger at your wanton invitation. "With pleasure, my love," he growled, aligning himself at your entrance. 

With a powerful thrust of his hips, he sheathed himself fully inside your welcoming heat. Twin moans of ecstasy filled the air as you were finally joined as one, your bodies fitting together like lock and key. The delicious stretch and fullness drew a ragged gasp from your lips, your inner walls fluttering around his thick length.

"Mairon, yes..." you breathed, wrapping your legs around his trim waist to pull him impossibly deeper. "You feel incredible, my love."

He groaned, dropping his head to the crook of your neck as he savored the blissful sensation of your silken walls gripping him like a velvet glove. "No sweeter heaven than being buried inside you.”

Mairon began to move, his hips rolling in a slow, sensual rhythm that sent sparks of pleasure racing through your veins. Each deliberate thrust brushed against that spot deep within you, stoking the embers of your desire into a raging inferno. Your nails raked down the sculpted planes of his back, urging him on with breathy moans and pleas for more.

"Yes, Mairon," you gasped as he drove into you with increasing fervor, the wet slide of your joined bodies filling the room. "Harder, my love. I need to feel every inch of you."

With a guttural groan, Mairon complied, hips snapping against yours in a relentless rhythm, each powerful thrust driving you higher and higher towards that elusive peak. His lips and teeth mapped fiery paths across your throat and chest, worshipping every inch of your heated flesh. When his sinful mouth closed around a taut nipple, you cried out sharply, your back arching into his powerful thrusts.

"Mairon!" you keened, your fingers tangling almost painfully in his hair as he suckled and nipped at the sensitive bud. "Don't stop, my love, please..."

He growled his approval against your breast, the vibrations sending delicious shivers racing down your spine. His hand slid between your sweat-slicked bodies, nimble fingers finding your aching pearl. He circled the throbbing nub in tight, deliberate strokes, wringing desperate moans and pleas from your lips as he drove you towards the precipice with ruthless precision. The coil in your core wound tighter and tighter, your inner walls clenching greedily around his pistoning length. You could feel your release building like a tidal wave, cresting higher and higher with each masterful thrust and stroke.

"I'm so close!" you sobbed, your body beginning to tremble with the force of your impending climax. "Please, my love, I need..."

"I know, sweet one," Mairon rasped, his own voice strained with the effort of holding back his own release. He wanted to feel you shatter around him first, to watch you come undone in ecstasy before emptying himself deep inside your fluttering sheath. "Let go for me, Mori. Come all over my cock."

His filthy words and the relentless stimulation were the end. With a keening cry, you shattered in his arms, your climax crashing over you in shuddering waves of pure ecstasy. Your inner walls clamped down on his throbbing length, milking him with pulsing intensity as you rode out the dizzying pleasure.

Mairon groaned long and low, the exquisite feel of you fluttering around him sending him careening over the edge. With a final, powerful thrust, he buried himself to the hilt, spilling his hot seed deep inside your still quivering cunt. Your name fell from his lips like a reverent prayer as he lost himself to the bliss of his own release, his hips moving in shallow, erratic thrusts as he emptied every last drop into your welcoming womb.

Utterly sated, you clung to Mairon as the aftershocks of your mutual pleasure rippled through your joined bodies. He collapsed against you, his weight a warm, comforting presence as you both struggled to catch your breath. For long moments, you simply held each other, basking in the afterglow and the profound sense of connection it always brought.

Mairon was the first to stir, lifting his head from the crook of your neck to gaze down at you with adoring eyes. He brushed a few sweat-dampened locks from your brow, his touch infinitely tender. "My beautiful wife," he murmured, voice husky with emotion. “I could never tire of this.”

You smiled up at him, your heart full to bursting with love and contentment. "Nor could I, my darling husband," you whispered, tracing the chiseled lines of his face with worshipful fingers. "You are my everything, Mairon.”

Mairon's eyes softened, a tender smile gracing his sensual lips. "As you are mine, Mori," he breathed, turning his head to press a fervent kiss to your palm. "I am forever changed, forever blessed, to have you as my wife and eternal mate."

He shifted then, gently withdrawing from your warmth and rolling to his side, pulling you with him so that you were nestled against his chest. His arms encircled you, strong and protective, as though he could shield you from all the sorrows of the world. You nestled deeper into Mairon's embrace, relishing the comforting heat of his skin against yours. His fingers trailed idle patterns along your spine, soothing you like a lullaby. A contented sigh escaped your lips, your eyelids growing heavy in the hazy aftermath of your lovemaking.

"Sleep, my love," Mairon murmured, pressing a tender kiss to your hair. "I will guard your dreams and hold you close until morning’s light."

"Mmm, I like the sound of that," you mumbled, already halfway to slumber. The steady, rhythmic thrum of his heartbeat beneath your cheek was more potent than any sleeping draught. "Promise you'll still be here when I wake?"

Mairon's arms tightened around you, a silent vow. "Always, sweet one. There is nowhere in all of Arda I would rather be."

With that whispered promise, you let your eyes drift closed, secure and cherished in the circle of Mairon's arms. Sleep claimed you swiftly, your dreams filled with visions of eternal love and endless devotion. No matter what trials or challenges life might bring, you knew with unwavering certainty that Mairon would always be by your side—his love a steadfast anchor against the ever-changing tides of fate.

As you slept, Mairon watched over you, his green eyes soft with adoration and reverence. He marveled at the delicate beauty of your features in repose—the way your lashes fanned out against your cheeks, the gentle curve of your lips that he had kissed countless times. Even in slumber, you took his breath away, a vision of perfection that he still could scarcely believe was his to treasure.

Yet as he held you, his thoughts wandered back to the events of the evening—the simmering tension with Curufin, the way his possessive instincts had surged at the Noldor lord’s veiled provocations. Though Mairon knew beyond any doubt that your heart belonged to him alone, the mere thought of another coveting you, even in fleeting admiration, had stirred something primal within him. A need—not of mere possession, but of affirmation, to ensure that every fiber of your being knew, as surely as he did, that you were his and his alone.

He exhaled softly, brushing a reverent fingertip along your cheek, marveling at the silken softness of your skin. How had he been so blessed to earn the love and devotion of a maiden so radiant, so pure of heart? There were still moments when the shadows of his past whispered doubts in the recesses of his mind, when the weight of who he had once been threatened to taint the light he had found in you.

But then, he would look into your eyes—those luminous pools of unwavering adoration—and all fear would be banished. You had that power over him. You were his guiding star, his beacon of hope, casting light into the darkest corners of his fëa. With you beside him, Mairon felt capable of anything—renewed, redeemed, made whole by the sheer force of your love.

He silently vowed to spend every day proving himself worthy of the precious gift of your heart.

As the first rays of dawn painted the horizon in hues of rose and gold, Mairon pressed a final, reverent kiss to your brow before allowing himself to surrender to a light slumber. Even in sleep, his arms never loosened their protective embrace, as if holding onto you anchored him to the serenity he had found in your love.

Your soft breaths and the gentle rhythm of your heartbeat wove a lullaby more potent than any spell, and for the first time in his long, tumultuous existence, Mairon knew peace—a peace born not of conquest, nor of dominion, but of love. True and unbreakable.

Morning came all too soon, the warm caress of sunlight stirring you gently from your contented dreams. Your eyes fluttered open, blinking against the golden rays that filtered through the gossamer curtains. A sleepy smile curved your lips as you became aware of the strong arms still wrapped around you, holding you close against a firm, warm chest. Mairon's chest. Your husband, your love.

Careful not to wake him, you shifted slightly in his embrace, turning to face him. He looked so peaceful in slumber, the usual intensity of his features softened by the vulnerability of repose. Your heart swelled with adoration as you drank in the breathtaking sight of him—the high, sculpted cheekbones, the sensual curve of his lips, the fiery silk of his hair splayed across the pillow. Even in rest, he was a vision of masculine beauty, a work of art given life.

Unable to resist, you reached out to trace the lines of his face with a feather-light touch. Your fingertips ghosted over his brow, down the aristocratic slope of his nose, across the chiseled planes of his cheeks. You marveled at the smoothness of his skin, the way it warmed beneath your reverent caress. He was perfection incarnate.

Mairon stirred at your tender touch, his sea-foam eyes blinking open to meet your adoring gaze. A slow, sleepy smile curved his lips as he pulled you closer, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. "Good morning," he murmured, his voice husky from slumber. "What a vision you are to wake up to."

You giggled softly, threading your fingers through his sleep-tousled hair. "I could say the same, my love. Watching you sleep is one of my greatest joys." 

Mairon hummed contentedly, pressing languid kisses along your throat. "Is that so? And here I thought your greatest joy was screaming my name in ecstasy as I worship your exquisite body."

A shiver raced down your spine at his words, desire already stirring in your veins. "Mmm, that is a very close second," you purred, arching into his sensual kisses. "Perhaps you'd care to remind me just how exquisite that worship can be?"

Mairon's eyes darkened with hunger, a wicked smile curving his lips against your skin. "It would be my utmost pleasure, sweet one."

In a flash, he had rolled you beneath him, his powerful body covering yours deliciously. Your breath hitched as you felt his hardening length press against your thigh, evidence of his own stirring desire. Mairon claimed your lips in a deep, sensual kiss, his tongue delving past your parted lips to stroke and caress. You melted into the passionate embrace, your arms winding around his neck to pull him impossibly closer.

Mairon's hands roamed your body as he kissed you deeply, tracing every curve and dip he had long since committed to memory. Each caress ignited sparks of pleasure that raced through your veins, stoking your desire. You arched into his touch, silently begging for more, and he was all too happy to oblige.

His lips blazed a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses down your throat, pausing to nip and suck at your racing pulse. You gasped and writhed beneath him, your fingers tangling in his silken hair as he continued his sensual assault. When his clever mouth closed around a rosy peak, you cried out sharply, your back bowing off the bed.

"Mairon, yes!" you keened as he suckled and teased the sensitive bud, sending jolts of electric pleasure. His clever tongue swirled around the hardened peak, drawing breathy moans from your parted lips. Mairon lavished attention on your breasts, reveling in every gasp and whimper he coaxed from you. His hands mapped your quivering body with worshipful reverence.

Unable to resist any longer, you tugged impatiently at his hair, urging him back up to claim your lips once more. Mairon obliged with a low chuckle, sealing his mouth over yours in a deep, plundering kiss. As your tongues tangled sensually, you hooked a leg around his hip, using the leverage to grind your aching core against his hardness. You both groaned at the delicious friction, the kiss turning fevered and urgent.

Breaking away with a gasp, Mairon rested his forehead against yours, emerald eyes smoldering with barely restrained hunger. "I need you, Mori," he rasped, his voice rough with desire. "I ache to be one with you,”

"Yes, Mairon," you breathed, your body singing with the same desperate need. "Take me, my love."

With a low growl of satisfaction, Mairon reached between your bodies, aligning himself at your entrance. In one powerful thrust, he sheathed himself fully inside your slick heat, drawing twin moans of ecstasy from you both. Your inner walls fluttered around his thick length, relishing the delicious stretch and fullness that only he could provide.

Mairon stilled for a moment, savoring the blissful sensation of being buried deep inside your welcoming body. His eyes locked onto yours, burning with an intensity that stole your breath. "My perfect goddess," he murmured reverently, his fingers caressing your face with aching tenderness. "I will never tire of being one with you in every way."

"Nor will I, my love," you breathed, canting your hips to take him even deeper. 

Slowly, reverently, he began to move, his hips rolling in a sensual rhythm that sent waves of pleasure coursing through you.

You clung to his broad shoulders, meeting each deliberate thrust with a roll of your own hips. The slick slide of your joined bodies, the delicious drag of his thick length against your fluttering walls, drew breathy moans and gasps from your parted lips. Mairon drank in every sweet sound of your pleasure, his gaze never leaving your face as he made love to you with exquisite tenderness.

Your legs wound around Mairon's trim waist as he rocked into you, pulling him impossibly deeper. Each languid thrust brushed against that spot within you, stoking your desire. You could feel the coil of pleasure winding tighter and tighter in your core, your inner walls beginning to flutter around his hardness.

"Mairon," you gasped, your fingers digging into the flexing muscles of his back.

He groaned against your throat, his rhythm growing more urgent, more purposeful. "I feel you, love," he rasped, his voice strained with the effort of holding back his own release. "Your perfect body grips me so tightly, as if it never wants to let me go.”

You keened at his words, your head tossing against the pillow as Mairon's thrusts grew faster, harder, driving you closer and closer to that elusive peak. "Never, my love," you panted breathlessly. "I never want to let you go. I'm yours, Mairon, always..."

"Yes, Mori," he growled possessively, angling his hips to grind against that sensitive spot deep inside you with each purposeful thrust. "Mine, forever and always. No one else will ever touch you, worship you, like I do."

His hand slipped between your sweat-slicked bodies, fingers finding your aching pearl. He circled the throbbing nub in tight, deliberate strokes, the added stimulation wrenching sharp cries of ecstasy from your lips. The coil in your core wound impossibly tighter, your body trembling on the precipice of rapture. Mairon's thrusts grew more urgent, more demanding, each flex of his hips driving you higher and higher. His fingers worked your sensitive pearl mercilessly, determined to shatter you completely.

"Mairon…" you sobbed, your nails raking down his sweat-slicked back. "I can't...I'm going to..."

"Yes, Mori," he commanded, his voice a dark, sensual growl. "Come for me, my goddess, I have you."

With a keening cry, you shattered beneath him, your climax crashing over you in shuddering waves of ecstasy. Your inner walls clamped down on his throbbing length, milking him with rhythmic pulses as you rode out the pleasure. Mairon groaned long and low, the exquisite sensation of your fluttering heat too much to resist. With a final, powerful thrust, he buried himself to the hilt, spilling his essence deep inside you as his own release overtook him.

Mairon's hips moved in shallow, erratic thrusts as he emptied himself completely, your name tumbling from his lips like a reverent prayer. You clung to him, your bodies trembling in the aftermath of your mutual bliss, hearts pounding in perfect synchronicity.

As your shared breathing slowed, Mairon carefully withdrew from your slick heat, a contented sigh escaping his luscious lips. Emerald eyes bored into yours, Mairon's expression one of profound love and adoration.

"Mori," he murmured hoarsely, ducking his head to press kisses along your collarbone. "My divine wife, words will never encompass how much I truly love you."

You threaded your fingers through his damp coppery locks, guiding him back up to meet your gaze. "Then show me, my darling," you whispered against his lips. "Every day, for the rest of our lives, show me the depths of your love. As I will show you mine."

Mairon's eyes softened, a tender smile curving his sensual mouth. "For all of eternity, my heart," he vowed, sealing his promise with a sweet, lingering kiss. 

You melted into his embrace, relishing the comforting weight of his body covering yours. These moments of tranquility, tangled in the sheets with your beloved husband, were more precious to you than all the gems in Arda. Here, in the sanctuary of your marriage bed, the outside world faded away until nothing existed but the two of you, bound by unrequited love and fiery passion.

[glade-constellation]

This might just be a very niche problem I have, but if I don’t say anything about it it’s going to keep bothering me.

Please stop calling the Astrals a cult.

This post is not directed at any singular person, it’s something I’ve seen since the Astrals were first introduced. I know a lot of people throw the word cult around, so I tried to ignore it, but I also think people need a reminder as to want a cult actually is.

A cult, by definition, is “a religion regarded as unorthodox or spurious”. Basically, a religion based on weird or false information. Some definitions go even broader. What people tend to forget about is that cults have specific characteristics that classify them as cults.

First, cults typically display authoritarianism. There is typically one person in the group regarded as the leader, and they are treated with the highest of respect. Anything preserved as disrespectful towards this person is highly frowned upon, and can lead to harsh punishments. The leader can never be questioned and is never wrong about anything they say. There is no accountability to their actions.

You could say the Astrals portray this with Taurus and Leo, but that’s simply not true. They are very loud about their opinions, but they do not set the rules and they are not the leaders. They are simply the enforcers, just as Virgo is the judge. They simply play a role, they aren’t an authoritative leader. Plus, Gemini said some pretty disrespectful things about both and were allowed to have their opinion. Cults do not allow this behavior.

Which leads into the next point. Cults are very particular about behavior. They are isolationist by nature. They follow a very strict set of beliefs and rituals that must be upheld, or you will be shunned. Breaking them can also result in harsh punishment.

This one I can understand. The Astrals are very strict on rules and behaviors. Breaking them can result in death. Once again, you have to look at this in the right context. Astrals aren’t human. Both characters from the show and Reed himself have explained this. They cannot be held to human standards when they aren’t human. They have to have these rules, because one mess up isn’t just an oops situation. It could level worlds, kill entire universes. Lunar permanently disabled Earth, and has accidentally hurt others before with it. His punishment was completely fair considering what was at stake. I’m not agreeing with how they handled his training by any means, but you have to remember what was at risk.

There are other characteristics that just have nothing to do with the Astrals. The zodiac lore humans came up with pretty obviously aren’t real in TSAMS universe, they don’t have any “sacred text” to follow. They are enforcing cosmic rules to keep the balance of nature, not one set person. They work as a group, no single member has more power than the other. There is no abuse or exploitation of members because they aren’t a religion.

You want to call something a cult? Just look at our Dark Star group. Most are over here praising Cetus as some great higher being. They do everything in his name. The only reasons others are allowed to stay is because they’re spreading the DSP, and even then they’re aren’t really considered members so much as underlings. There are levels to their group. The higher you are, the closer you’re considered to Cetus. Anything else, they just kill. It’s about performance, not genuine belief. (There are cases like Rez where there is belief and then they just become deadly, because they believe everyone not in their group truly deserves their fate.) That is a cult. That is a religion built on false pretenses.

Context is key. Yes, Lunar wasn’t really treated with the best respect. There were things the Astrals could have done differently. Thing is, you cannot hold a non-human being to human standards. Plus, the last time they allowed someone to be an Astral, it backfired on them to the extreme (Cetus). When you have that much power, you have to enforce boundaries for yourself so you don’t accidentally kill a world. Lunar wasn’t blameless. He put himself in this situation the moment he even considered using DSP. The Astrals are not the only ones to blame for Lunar’s current predicament. If anything, the DS group are the ones to blame, not the Astrals. Cults will do that. They will exploit your weaknesses to draw you in and then keep you there. The only reason Rez wanted Lunar to join them was because Lunar had power Rez could use for himself. They dug at Lunar’s fear of uselessness and desperation for control of his life. Lunar is a victim, just not of the Astrals.

Cults are a real thing, they aren’t just a tool used in fiction. Real people are affected by them. Please stop throwing things like that around carelessly when you don’t know the true definition. It takes away from their true weight. Victims of cults are told they’re over exaggerating and telling lies. Turning real world problems into simple fictional tropes have real effects on real victims.

[marsdql]

through rose-coloured glasses [P.SH] v.2

synopsis: In a naive and trusting relationship with Sunghoon, you continue to give him all your love and attention, never seeing how he slowly pulls away, leaving you unaware of the way he’s using you until it’s too late.

toxic!sunghoon x naive!reader | wc: 1.3k | cw: emotional manipulation, gaslighting, toxic relationships, possessiveness, abuse of power in a relationship, self-doubt , insecurity, mild violence (psychological), themes of control and dependency, angst

Want to see other versions of this drabble? Click here!

The room felt suffocating, thick with a silence that screamed louder than any argument ever could. You sat on the bed, hands trembling in your lap, eyes cast downward. His presence, once a comfort, now felt like a weight pressing on your chest.

Sunghoon stood at the door, his gaze cold and unreadable. He wasn’t looking at you the way he used to. No softness in his eyes, no warmth. Just that sharp, almost bored look that had begun to replace every glance he ever gave you.

“Sunghoon,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, fighting the lump in your throat. “Have I done something wrong?”

You knew the answer before he even spoke. You could already feel it—the distance, the indifference that had crept in like a disease. But you were desperate for him to say something, anything that would make sense of the emptiness growing between you two.

His lips twisted into something that almost resembled a smirk, but it lacked any real emotion. “You’re acting weird,” he said flatly, his voice holding a dismissive edge. “Nothing’s wrong. Stop overthinking.”

Your chest tightened as he spoke, the words sinking deeper than they should. Acting weird? Was this really where you had ended up? After everything, this was how he saw you now? As someone who was just “acting weird,” as if your feelings didn’t matter. As if you didn’t matter.

“I just feel like you’ve been pulling away,” you said quietly, your heart aching in the silence that followed. “Like… you don’t want to be around me anymore.”

His eyes flickered, but it was more irritation than concern. He sighed, his gaze flicking to the floor as if you were the last thing on his mind. “You’re so dramatic,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck like he was somehow annoyed with your very existence. “You think I’m pulling away? I’m just tired. Stop making it into a bigger deal.”

You flinched, the words cutting deeper than you wanted to admit. You had always tried to please him, to make him happy. But here he was, dismissing your feelings like they were nothing. Like you were nothing.

“I miss you,” you whispered, the words barely escaping your lips as your throat tightened. “I miss the way we used to talk… the way you used to look at me.”

He tilted his head, his gaze icy, as if the sentiment you shared meant nothing to him anymore. “You’re acting needy,” he said bluntly, his voice almost harsh. “I told you, I’ve been busy. Stop acting like I’m supposed to drop everything for you every time you get upset.”

The sting of his words was almost unbearable. You had hoped he would soften, that he would at least show you a sliver of the affection he used to have for you. But all you saw was a cold stranger wearing the face of the person you once loved.

“I’m not trying to be needy,” you whispered, swallowing back the pain. “I just… I just want you to talk to me. I want you to be here.”

Sunghoon didn’t answer right away. Instead, he moved closer, but his touch was different now. It was colder, more distant. His fingers brushed against your arm in a way that felt almost like an obligation rather than affection. You felt the shift in the air, the absence of the warmth you once relied on.

“You’re too soft,” he said, voice barely above a murmur. “Too sensitive. I don’t need this right now.”

The words stung, but you had been hearing them more and more. You were too much. Too clingy. Too emotional. You were everything that Sunghoon didn’t want anymore, even though you had never changed. You hadn’t stopped loving him. You hadn’t stopped caring. But he had.

“I just want you to love me the way you used to,” you whispered, a tear escaping before you could stop it. “I just want to feel like I matter.”

His eyes flickered for a moment, but it was only for a fraction of a second. It was like he was bored with you now, like you were just a part of his past he was no longer interested in holding onto.

“Stop acting like I owe you something,” he snapped, his voice sharper now, harder. “You’re not the center of my universe, angel. You’re not the only thing that matters.”

The words hit you like a slap. You were nothing to him. Just a person he used to care about, a person he had no use for anymore. It wasn’t love. It was never love. It was just him feeding off your trust, your affection, and now he had drained you dry.

You stood up, your legs shaky, your heart breaking in ways you didn’t think were possible. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, the words feeling like a lie. You weren’t sorry. You weren’t sorry for loving him. You weren’t sorry for wanting him. You were only sorry that you had given him everything, and he had thrown it all away.

Sunghoon didn’t even look at you. He didn’t care. He had already turned away, already walking toward the door, not sparing you a second glance.

“I’m going out,” he said, his voice cold, almost robotic. “Don’t wait up.”

[bitchinbarzal]

Shut Me Out | K Kaprizov

summary: kirill isn’t handling his injury well and he takes it out on his girl.

-

Kirill's days had blurred into one long cycle of frustration. His injury was still healing, but it felt like time itself was moving too slowly. Sitting in their apartment, he had spent hours watching the Wild play—just as they had done the day before and the day before that—but it wasn't the same. Not being on the ice, not feeling the rush of the game, the roar of the crowd—it was all a distant memory now. Instead, he was left here, on the couch, immobilized. And, if he were being honest, he was angry.

He was angry at the situation, at the injury, at himself.

Y/N had been trying her best to keep him company, bringing him his favorite snacks and sitting by his side. She’d even begun watching games with him, though her interest in hockey was more out of love than any genuine passion for the sport. She tried to engage him in other ways, suggesting they go for walks, or that he try watching a new show, anything to distract him. But it all felt like a blur of activity that didn’t change anything.

This morning, she had brought him coffee and sat down next to him on the couch, offering words of encouragement. But he had been distant, barely acknowledging her, his focus entirely on the TV.

"Hey," she said, sitting beside him and watching his eyes stay glued to the screen. "You’ve been watching the game for hours. Maybe we should do something else for a bit?"

He didn’t answer right away, just let out a deep sigh, and then muttered, “I'm fine.”

Y/N frowned. “You sure? I can tell you’re not feeling great.”

Kirill set the remote down and turned to her. “I’m fine, Y/N,” he repeated, his tone sharper now. “I just don’t want to talk right now.”

She recoiled, surprised at the bite in his voice. "I just want to help, Kirill. I’m worried about you. You’ve been stuck here doing nothing, and I feel like you’re pushing me away."

“I’m not pushing you away," he shot back, his voice rising. “I just don’t need you all over me. You’re treating me like I’m some fragile thing that can’t function without your help.”

Y/N’s chest tightened at his words. She had been nothing but caring, trying her hardest to support him through a tough time, and now, he was acting like it was too much.

“That’s not what I’m doing!" she snapped. “I’m just trying to make sure you’re okay. I don’t know what you want me to do.”

"I want you to stop treating me like I’m broken!” Kirill’s voice cracked a little, the frustration of the last few weeks pouring out. "I’m not a kid. I don’t need you constantly asking how I feel or what I need. I just... I need space."

Y/N stood up, taking a step back from him, her eyes wide with shock. “Space?” Her voice trembled. “You’ve been on the couch for days. You haven’t left this apartment, Kirill. You don’t want space, you want to shut me out.”

His expression darkened, his jaw clenched. “Maybe I do want to shut you out. I just... I just want to feel like myself again, without everyone hovering over me.”

“Everyone?" Y/N blinked, almost laughing bitterly. "I’m the only one here. I’m the only one who cares about you like this, and you're acting like I’m a nuisance."

The words hit him harder than he anticipated, and for a moment, he faltered. He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. He ran a hand through his hair, pacing away from her, trying to control the mess of emotions swirling inside him.

“I’m not trying to make you feel bad,” she said, her voice softening as she watched him. “I just hate seeing you like this. You’re in pain, you’re frustrated, and I want to be here for you, Kirill.”

He turned to face her, his eyes tired, and there was something vulnerable in them that he hadn’t allowed himself to show before. “I don’t want to need anyone, Y/N. I’ve always been the guy who handles things on his own. I don’t know how to lean on someone, and it’s killing me.”

Her heart clenched at his confession, the sharp edge of his words now sounding hollow and raw. "You don't have to handle it all on your own," she whispered, taking a step toward him. "But I can't help you if you don't let me in."

He stared at her, his eyes shifting from frustration to something else—something softer, regretful. "I’m sorry," he muttered, his voice quiet now. "I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t know why I’m acting like this. I just... I hate feeling useless. I hate that I can’t play, that I can’t do what I love."

“I get it,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. "But that doesn’t mean you have to push me away. You’re not useless, Kirill. You’re still you. And I’m here for you, no matter what."

He let out a shaky breath, rubbing his eyes, as if trying to erase the frustration that still lingered there. He looked at her, really looked at her, and the weight of his words sank in. "I don’t know what I’d do without you," he whispered. "I’m sorry I made you feel like you weren’t helping. You’re the only person who gets it. I just... I didn’t want to seem weak."

Y/N walked over to him and gently cupped his face in her hands. “You’re not weak, Kirill. You’re human. And sometimes, even the strongest people need help.”

The apology was slow, but it was there, and she could see it in the way his shoulders sagged with relief, in the way his eyes softened.

"I don’t want to be this guy, the one who shuts you out," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I just... I hate being like this. I hate feeling like I’m not good enough when I’m not playing."

She smiled softly, tracing her thumb along his cheek. "You’re more than good enough. You're more than hockey. You’re you. And I love you. And I’ll love you even when you’re sitting on this couch all day, feeling sorry for yourself."

He chuckled softly, his hands moving to her waist as he pulled her into a tight hug. "Thank you," he whispered into her hair. "I promise I’ll try harder to let you in. I don’t want to make you feel like you’re not important to me."

Y/N smiled into his chest, feeling the weight of the tension finally lift. "I know you’ll try," she said, breathing him in. "We’ll figure this out. Together."

And for the first time in a long while, Kirill allowed himself to believe it.

[nikoniclove]

Hey so today’s my birthday, and birthdays kinda always suck for me (I’ve never known why and I’m fairly sure I’m not alone on this). But anyway, I was wondering if you could write something about Ace’s first concrete birthday with Jemily and maybe it kinda feels weird for her too?

Happy birthday! Sending you virtual love 💜

The First True Birthday

(Available on Ao3 here)

Even though you promised you’d tell her about your birthday, you don’t. Mostly it’s because you’ve spent decades ignoring your birthday, so it’s just another day on the calendar like any other. Also the makeshift celebration JJ planned last year when your work anniversary rolled around and she realized she never celebrated your first birthday with the team… well that was so over-the-top. Fun, sure, and very overwhelming and unnecessary. You don’t really want a repeat of that, and you don’t have anything you do want, so you keep your mouth shut. You don’t mention it, figuring it’s better for her to be mad at you for a bit than suffer through the discomfort of celebrating your birthday.

When the day rolls around, you wake up to JJ singing merrily. You groan and bury your head under the pillow. If even part of your brain thought you’d get away without a birthday celebration, you should have known better. “Happy birthday, baby,” JJ congratulates, ducking her head under your pillow too to give you a sweet kiss. “I know we have work, which is less than ideal from a celebration standpoint, but don’t worry. I’ve got a plan.”

“I’m worried because you have a plan,” you counter. “We don’t need to do this. If you insist on it, maybe just something lowkey that doesn’t make me crawl out of my skin please.”

“It’s your birthday. You deserve to be celebrated. I know you. It’s nothing crazy,” she swears.

“You do realize that even knowing my birthday and singing to me is more than I’ve done any other year, so that in and of itself is fine. We don’t need more than that. How did you even know anyway? I didn’t say anything.”

The pillow’s weight lightens as Emily removes your hiding place. “How many times have you been hospitalized, even briefly, in the last six months? I can recite your medical file verbatim.” You forgot about that factor. “Birth date is right up there, my love. Now we know, and you won’t be forgotten again.” Your forehead creases into an expressive frown. Emily kisses the furrowed spot. “Happy birthday.”

“Thanks,” you groan.

You briefly consider calling in sick to avoid whatever plans JJ might have concocted throughout the day. The idea of decomposing in the bed under a mountain of blankets and ignoring everything birthday related sounds more and more appealing. Emily grabs your ankle and drags you to the edge of the bed. “You’ll be okay. You can stomach us loving on you a bit.”

“Can I? Are you sure about that?” She lifts your pajama shirt off, tossing at the headboard to be dealt with later. “I do so well with surprises and things that are different from the norm,” you snark self deprecatingly. “And I just love to be the center of attention.”

“Trust us,” Emily implores. “If you need a break, give me a sign and I’ll get you to a quiet spot where you can take the time you need. You matter, my love, and it’s important that we get to show you that today of all days.” She helps you into clean underwear and jeans, though it’s mostly manipulating your uncooperative self because you hate the thought of this day more and more. “Up you go.” Your hands trapped in hers, Emily levers you up and nudges you toward the bathroom. You grab a black, long sleeve T shirt and deem it good enough. Deodorant. Face sunscreen. Eyeliner. Chapstick. Your morning routine takes all of six minutes. JJ stops you at your braid, taking the brush out of your hand. She takes the time to do a French braid, adding to the plait sections little by little as she moves down the back of your head.

You’re in the backseat with your work bag before you even realize you’re thirty minutes earlier than normal. The additional time makes sense when Emily parks outside of a little Parisian bakery that makes delicious croissants and lattes. When she pops in, JJ turns around in the passenger seat to look at you. “Let me celebrate you, baby, please. It’s important to me.” You clench your jaw and give her the smallest nod. You don’t really have a choice. When Jennifer Jareau sets her sights on something, nothing short of an apocalypse could stop her, and even then, you’d still bet on JJ.

When you walk through the bullpen’s double glass doors, you freeze, absolutely rooted to the spot. Your desk is a mess of color. “I did not do this,” JJ insists quickly. “I know you would hate something like this. I didn’t do this.” You hum some monosyllabic sound and force your feet forward. There are balloons and literal confetti that you already despise. There are cupcakes and little plastic characters everywhere.

The characters tell you all you need to know about who set this up, and it’s confirmed when Garcia squeals through the bullpen, shouting about your birthday with an exuberance that rivals a small child hopped up on cocaine-laced skittles. Your eyes widen at the volume. Your body instinctively braces for the inevitable hug. “Happy birthday, peaches! Oh you look stunning. A year older looks so good on you.” She bustles past you to your desk. “Okay, we have all of my favorite chachkies to keep you company throughout the day. Obviously balloons and cupcakes because it’s your birthday. I didn’t know your favorite flavor combination, so I got a bunch! I have candles and matches at my desk when you’re ready to make a wish! Oh! I love you so much,” she shrieks, pinching your cheeks dramatically.

You don’t know how to make this stop. You’re desperate to make it stop, for the earth to open up and swallow you whole. But it keeps going. You can’t tell Penelope how insane it all is because she’d be gutted that she made you uncomfortable. You manage a thank you and return the second hug she gives you. Emily squeezes your hand, a silent encouragement to keep it together.

When Garcia thankfully skedaddles back to her lair, you look at your desk in horror. It feels like everyone is looking at you, and your skin crawls with the weight of the presumed attention. You miss the silent conversation Emily and JJ share behind your back. You’re overwhelmed and uncomfortable in a very visible way in an environment that those adjectives are not… “Come with me, baby,” JJ whispers in your ear. “C’mon,” she soothes, her calm words interrupting your train of thought. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” you manage. You know Garcia meant well, and this is too much. It’s too much attention.

JJ takes matters into her own hands, dragging you up the short staircase to her old liaison office. The door thuds behind you, the deadbolt clicking into place. “Breathe, baby.” Clinging to her, you bury your face in her neck, letting her long blonde hair act as a curtain to hide you away from the attention on the other side of the door. Her own breathing follows the four count you know from decades in therapy. In two three four. Hold two three four. Out two three four. Hold two three four. JJ continues the pattern until your body mimics hers. “That’s my girl. I know that was a lot. Emily will take care of it, okay? I’ve got you. Emily’s got all of that,” she repeats. “It’s okay.”

“I don’t like my birthday,” you mumble. “I can’t… I can’t call attention to myself like that. I can’t stand out like that. I need to just… blend in. I need to survive.” You don’t have to see JJ’s face to know her blue eyes shine with unshed tears. You can feel her sadness for you.

“Stop making yourself small. You deserve to take up space,” JJ states, holding you tightly. “I understand why. I do, but, baby, you’re not that kid anymore. You have made a life for yourself out of all that hurt. You found people who love you, who want to celebrate you. You did that. Let us love you loudly, baby. There’s no scenario that you end up alone. Not anymore.”

“I don’t like my birthday,” you repeat, feeling pitiful in the face of her kind words that make you feel seen while also making you want to burrow away.

The knock on the office door startles you until Emily’s voice filters through. “Just me,” she announces. JJ reaches around you to flip the lock open. Emily locks it behind herself. “Just like old times, huh, Jen?” It’s meant to give you a second to settle again. “Everything’s shifted away from your desk. Just your coffee and pastry is there.”

“I don’t want to hurt her feelings. It’s sweet. It’s just a lot.”

“I know. I’ll explain it to her,” Emily promises. “You okay?”

“I’ll be fine.” Emily kisses the side of your head tenderly in response.

You’re relieved to see your desk mostly back to normal when you escape the reassuring confines of JJ’s arms (and her old office). There’s a large stack of case files for you to lose yourself in, and murdering serial killers distract you from the birthday nonsense from the morning.

Around noon, JJ appears at your desk. “C’mon.” You can’t help the grimace that stretches your lips. “Letting me love you loudly, remember? Trust that I know you.” You gather up your stuff and follow your partners out of the federal building.

The second you’re clear of the doors, Emily takes your hand, fingers interlacing together. They let you follow along in quiet companionship. They have a clear direction in mind, and you’ll go along with, trying to trust that JJ’s intention isn’t to make you uncomfortable.

JJ pops into a cafe, coming back out quickly with a stapled take out bag. She winks at you as Emily takes off walking again. It’s another few blocks before you’re in a small, grassy community park nestled between buildings. It’s adorable in its isolation. A pop of green serenity amongst the concrete. Emily leads you to a picnic table where JJ sets out different containers. “See? Nothing outrageous. Just lunch with your favorite people.”

“Who said you’re my favorite,” you retort playfully, the fresh air doing you worlds of good. JJ smacks you lightly. “I mean Emily’s definitely on my list of favorites.”

“You bitch,” JJ teases. “Eat your lunch.”

There’s something about being outside that helps you reset. The banter, the easy conversation, the company - it all feels almost celebratory. A happiness you never expected to feel on your birthday of all days. “You’re smiling,” JJ accuses, bumping your hip as you walk back to the office. You don’t bother denying it, laughing as she slings her arm over your shoulder and kisses the top of your head.

When you blindly reach for the next file in the stack around 4 PM after you’ve refilled your coffee and snacked on one of Penelope’s cupcakes, your to-do pile is empty, your fingers grazing the metal wire of the intake basket. You stare at it, unsure if you’ve ever actually caught up on all the cases and the paperwork. Your phone buzzes with a text from Emily, wishing you a happy birthday. You know there’s no way she took all of your remaining case files, so you’re betting she divvied them up amongst the team. It’s sweet and loving in a quiet way.

You’re even more surprised when JJ and Emily pack up at an appropriate time, nearly shoving you toward the elevator at 5:30 PM on the dot.

“This… umm… it was nice. Thank you,” you mumble self-consciously on the drive home.

“There’s a little bit more.”

“Okay,” you agree.

“Okay?”

“Trying to let you love me loudly. I trust you.”

At home, there’s a wrapped package in shiny purple paper on the coffee table. You trace its precise edges carefully. For a moment, tears burn in your eyes. You can’t remember the last time you got a real birthday present, so this feels monumental. “You can open it, you know,” Emily encourages, tugging your hips back onto the couch. JJ puts the box in your lap. “Hey, you okay, my love?” You nod, not trusting your voice. “You sure?”

“I’m okay. I wasn’t expecting anything.”

“It’s your birthday, baby. Of course, we’d give you a present.” You’re gentle peeling the tape, almost like a diffusing a bomb. You don’t want to rip the paper. “Hold on for a second. Talk to us. What’s going on?”

“I… just… I… uhh… I don’t remember getting a present on my birthday before,” you mumble, somehow hoping they heard you so you don’t have to repeat yourself and hoping they didn’t hear you at all. The hitch in JJ’s breath says she heard you loud and clear; she pulls you into a tight hug, professing her hatred for the world that made that a reality for you. “It’s okay. Really. It’s just new to me, so it feels intense. Good, but intense.”

To avoid driving the conversation further into volatile territory, Emily nudges you with her knee. “Go ahead, love. Open it.” The box shakes and rattles as you unfurl the tape pieces and gingerly peel apart the shimmery wrapping paper. Inside is a Lego set of the Milky Way from the art collection. Over three thousand colorful pieces to give depth and texture to the finished product, which can hang on the wall when it’s done.

“Will you build it with me?”

“Of course, baby. Do you like it?” You nod exuberantly, your fingers once again reverently tracing over the details on the box. “Good. Happy birthday, baby. We love you so very much.”

“Thank you… I… thank you for all of it.”

[ethicaltreatmentofcowplants]

simply lilac outtakes: lilac & minta

(set before the second strawberry ceremony - this would have occurred off-screen)

LILAC: Hey, so Ezekiel said I’d find you up here - oh. Talk to me.

ARAMINTA: It’s nothing, really.

LILAC: It’s clearly something. What’s up - did Dodo only recite love poetry to you twice this morning?

ARAMINTA: Today is your day.

LILAC: It is my day - and I’m choosing to make it about you at this moment. So tell me.

ARAMINTA: Hosting this - it is a privilege and I love seeing how the contestants grow - but it also makes me think back to the island, and of all the other people Dodo could have potentially been happy with instead of me.

LILAC: Wait - whoa. Have you not seen the two of you together?

ARAMINTA: I have. And all of this feels so unfair since when it’s just the two of us, he makes me feel like I’m the only other person in the world. It’s nothing that he’s done. It’s just me - all me. And I see you with contestants and I think “oh, they could be cute, but then they also could be cute” - what if everyone else is thinking that Dodo made the wrong choice?

LILAC: Then plum everyone else.

ARAMINTA: What if he has made the wrong choice? For him, I mean?

LILAC: Okay - oh, woof. Listen, when people have just started dating, most of the time they’re not exclusive. And if they are, it’s purely incidental.

LILAC: So what you saw on the show was merely what would have been going on in the background in real life. Though I get where it would have been hard to watch. Do you still feel like he’s the person for you?

ARAMINTA: Yes. Absolutely.

LILAC: So is it more that you wish you’d met under different circumstances?

ARAMINTA: Yes - actually, no. I wouldn’t have been the person that I am today, had I not entered the competition. It - it definitely did a lot of good for me.

LILAC: And maybe if you and Dodo had met elsewhere, you wouldn’t have given each other a chance? [dryly] I’m feeling that way a lot about my situation.

ARAMINTA: True. And I appreciate the opportunity. But then I look at Daisy Dee, who’s so gorgeous and has such charisma, and Sierra, who’s simply amazing - and I wonder how he could have possibly picked me? It’s not that I’m jealous of either of them, it’s-

LILAC: The Inner Araminta Own Worst Critic?

ARAMINTA: Perhaps. 

LILAC: You could also maybe look at it like, “here’s all these ‘amazing’ people he met and had a great time with, and he still chose me? So to him, I must be extra amazing? And he must really want to be with me?” Could you try and think of it that way?

ARAMINTA: Hmm.

LILAC: And if you can’t see yourself that way, could you maybe believe that Dodo does?

ARAMINTA: [...]

LILAC: Would you try and talk to him about this sometime? I know that communication isn’t always easy for you stiff upper lipped Henford types, but if you explained how you felt exactly the way you explained it to me just now. He thinks the world of you. And if I’ve noticed that something’s been off about you lately, then I’m sure he has too. In between all the belching and the paranoid muttering, even.

ARAMINTA: [tentative smile]

LILAC: Well, time to face the music. Just let me fix your mascara first. We’ll just pretend it’s bled since the Watcher didn’t fork out for the Lovestruck pack. Also what’s this dress you’re wearing? Amazing.

ARAMINTA: It’s a @sentate. We had all packed formal outfits for the final, but production never gave us the chance to change.

LILAC: Then production’s a bunch of idiots. Dodo would have proposed to you on the spot. Actually, we better have Lou check that he’s off set for now. Can’t have him ruining my moment in the spotlight, can we?

dodo harper by @akitasimblr, daisy darling by @mdshh, sierra mitchell by @tipsy-clouds

[thebrownestbabe]

Feels like I’m sort of a henchman, do boy, errand helper rn and I just needed to say that.

[spacespore]

HI TUMBLRR it’s me

[exopelagic]

WHY DID NOBODY TELL ME BURROWS END WASNT FREE

[arolesbianism]

Finallly got around to properly designing Demonstrator! She’s silly

[always-a-slut-4-ghouls]

When you might have popped your arm out of its socket a few months ago but you didn’t realize that a partial dislocation was a thing so, since you could move your arm and popped it right back into place, you just thought it was nothing, but now when you lift stuff a certain way or lay on that side in bed or move it a certain way while swimming it does that thing again and you’re like “would seeing a doctor about that make any difference if you probably already healed wrong? Can they even do anything at this point?”

[flippedorbit]

do you want me to fucking go off on you? do you truly fucking want that mother?

[tojbnuy]

boyfriend!toji who doesn’t know why but he feels this weird jealousy everytime he sees you meet your friends and greet them all with a big hug. you never did that with him. you relationship was still fairly new to the both of you, but you kissed you fucked you even held hands sometimes when walking around. but, what toji was now realizing, was that he wanted a hug. well, he wanted a hug from You. not a casual little hug, a hug. holding each other. he didn’t know how to broach the subject without sounding needy and like the complete opposite of how he usually acts. he had never cared about this kinda stuff with other people, he’d never experienced it growing up and he thought he could live without it. until you. until you showed him that wanting to be held was normal. he’d been thinking about it for a while until one night, as the two of you got ready for bed it simply slipped out.

‘how come you don’t hug me?’

immediately you stopped plaiting your hair and turned to him with a shocked look.

‘what?’

‘how come you don’t hug me? like when you see your friends or you say bye you hug them. you don’t hug me.’

as soon as he said it he felt stupid. a grown man like him, older than you and he was sat here asking for a fucking hug. what if you turned the question around and said ‘well you don’t hug me’ what would he say? that i’ve never done that before sorry i don’t know how? his thoughts came to a stop when he felt a small hand grab his own larger one.

‘i- toji im so sorry. i’m sorry i didn’t think that was something you wanted.’

fuck now he’s made you feel bad.

‘nah doll you don’t have to say sorry, its nothing let’s just go to bed’

‘no toji please. let’s talk about it.’

you lifted the blanket and made your way over to his side of the bed so you could sit face to face. everything about you was so soft, so kind. such a complete contrast to himself. he was panicking, he didn’t do stuff like this, never talked about stuff like this.

‘honestly toji, i really just thought you weren’t a touchy person. i’m sorry for just assuming especially considering everything you’ve been through,’

‘no please doll. i wasn’t trying to blame you for anything. i just’

his palms were actually sweating, but your face. god your darling sweet face, looking at him like he hung up the stars in sky. like every word out of his mouth meant the world to you. you would wait for him to get the words out no matter how long he took.

‘i don’t know to be honest. you’re right i’m not a touchy person i’ve never really hugged anyone. but i want that. with you. and im sorry, i should be the one to initiate it i just didn’t really know how doll.’ his voice was so quiet, just a rough whisper.

he looked up to stare into your glassy eyes when you leaned in and kissed him. a small whisper of a kiss.

‘can i hug you?’ you said with your lips pressed against his.

he knew you knew he would prefer not to dwell on it.

and then he wrapped his arms around your back so tightly like he was showing the universe just how bad he needed you. he pulled you into his lap and let his cheek fall to your shoulder. he felt your arms wrap around his neck and you fingers stroking the hairs at his nape.

neither of you spoke, you simply sat and held each other and made a silent promise to maintain the closeness from today onwards.

‘thank you for telling me toji. you big baby.’

‘yeah that’s enough. time for bed.’

your giggle was music to his ears.

[woundedheartwithin]

I think people look at me wearing all black with band tees and sneakers and 14mm tunnels in my ears and think I don’t know shit about horses. And like… I’ve had my gelding for a decade. I’ve ridden him basically everywhere in every situation you can imagine. Yeah, I’m a core kid, but I’m also a certified horse girl, and I have the back problems to prove it lmao