#but i am bleeding away so much that i am. still fucking tired

[emdotcom]

Status update! I'm still fucking tired, & i still have no money

[celestialmancer]

⛈️ ❌ ❌ ❌ // 2:09 am, tbd ;

[ultimate-shipper-blog]

I'll Send an SOS to Your Heart

-------

"Ok, I'm imagining things."

Steve is laying on his bed watching his lights flicker.

He plugged in one of those space projectors that's supposed to make your ceiling look like the night sky.

It's not weird that they're flickering, the light was a dollar at Melvads he wasn't expecting it to work long.

The weird part is that the stars keep making a heart shape.

He sees the heart flash a couple of times before he flips over and hides deeper into his pillow.

"No." He groans. "No more upside down shit."

If some upside-down monster was flirting with him he quits.

All the lights in his room surge to maximum brightness.

"Fuck off."

The lights draw a middle finger.

"WHAT THE FUCK!" He jumps out of bed and points at the orbs.

It draws a winky face. (;P)

"Who are you?"

His blood runs cold. An upside down monster can't flirt with him. They don't know English. He has an idea but it can't be true.

They left him there. He's dead.

...isn't he?

'SOS' the lights read.

"Fuck." Tears spring to his eyes. "Eddie?"

'Hiya'

-----

He spends a while talking to Eddie.

It's tough.

It takes a while to write everything out and Steve is still trying not to hyperventilate or cry or pass out so it's taking a lot of energy to keep up the conversation.

'Sleep?'

"No."

'?'

"Nothing I'm just...not tired."

'Liar'

"WHAT! I'm not I just-"

'-_-'

"Fine."

':)'

"I'm scared."

'Me?'

"No, I'm scared this is a dream. That I fell asleep hours ago and I made you out of my guilty conscious. I just don't want to lose you...again."

'Back'

"Back?"

'Bring back'

"Bring...you back?"

'YES'

"You think we can bring you back?"

'Plan'

"Yes! I'll call everyone we can figure it out. Oh! We have El to help us this time! You're gonna love her Eds she's just like the kids you look out for and she's magic! I'll call them right-"

'NO'

"No?"

'tom- sleep now'

"I think this is a little more important than-"

'Sleep <3'

Steve looks over at the clock, 4 am.

Shit.

"Ok. I'm going to sleep. Will you...will you be here in the morning?"

'W STEVIE'

"Ok. Goodnight Eddie."

'GN <3'

----

The plan goes off without a hitch.

It takes them about two weeks to formulate and execute the plan.

Steve spends his days and nights talking to Eddie, keeping him updated. Keeping him in his life.

He speed runs a crisis or two when he realizes he wants to spend the remainder of his days speaking to Eddie.

He can't wait until he's here with him.

Alive.

-----

So it's more complicated than he thought.

Maybe there's a hoard or bats blocking them from Eddie.

Maybe Steve throws himself in front of the kids and fights off the creatures long enough for them to find Eddie and get him back home.

Maybe Steve bleeds a little too much and collapsed as soon as they reach the other side.

----

He wakes in the hospital to nine pairs of eyes staring at him.

They're all arguing with each other. Their voices low as if they're trying not to wake them.

He wants to talk he wants to reach out.

Eddie is standing by the door in a baseball cap and sunglasses as if he was trying to be inconspicuous.

As if Eddie could ever hide from Steve. Steve would find him anywhere he is.

God, he's here! He's in the room! All this time apart and he's so close!

"Mphahhpsh" he can't form words but it doesn't matter.

Everyone stops and Eddie's eyes meet his. His eyes look wet and he looks skinny and exhausted.

He's never looked more beautiful.

Eddie's eyes turn down into a determined glare. He pushes past everyone until he's inches away from Steve.

He takes a deep breath and then leans down and kisses him.

Flat on the mouth. In front of everyone.

The shocked noises are what pulls them apart.

"I'm so happy to see you, I really like you," Steve says.

"That's my line." Eddie smiles and kisses him again.

"Don't ever try to save me again I can't ever see you in a hospital again," Eddie presses their noses together.

"That's my line."

Eddie chuckles and pushes his nose into Steve's cheek. "Dork."

"Yes, yes, you're both terrible. Now what the fuck is happening."

They break apart to see the crews shocked faces. Mike's face is pale and Dustin is an interesting shade of red.

Robin is staring at him a little proud.

He sends a wink her way and pulls Eddie in closer.

They'll figure it all out later. They have time.

----

This started with once sentence in my brain and grew into three different plot points I put together in a rush. :P

Please comment I love to read em!

[goldfades]

blurb based of joes frustration at the end of the game pretty plzzzzz

it’s not the first time you’ve seen him like this, jaw tight, eyes stormy, the weight of a thousand unspoken words pressing against the set of his mouth. but tonight feels different. sharper, maybe. rawer. his shoulders slump as he sinks onto the edge of the couch, the post-game silence clinging to him like an ill-fitted coat.

you don’t say anything at first, because what’s there to say? you know better than to try and fill the cracks with empty words—he’d see right through you anyway. instead, you linger in the doorway, arms crossed loosely, studying the way his hands rub at his face, frustration bleeding through the spaces between his fingers.

“rough one,” you offer finally, voice quiet, testing. it’s not much, but it’s something.

he doesn’t look at you, just shakes his head in that way that’s less no and more don’t even start.

“joey—”

“not tonight.” his voice cuts across the room, low and strained, and it stings more than you care to admit. not because he’s angry—it’s not the first time the aftermath of a loss has made him short—but because he won’t let you help carry the weight. he never does.

you hesitate, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. you could leave him to stew in his own misery, give him the space he seems to want so badly.

but then again, that’s never been your style.

you push off the doorframe, making your way toward him despite the tension crackling like static in the room. the air feels heavier with every step, but you don’t stop until you’re standing right in front of him. he still doesn’t look up, but you can feel the heat of his frustration radiating off him, see it in the way his leg bounces like a drumbeat he can’t silence.

“i’m not trying to fix it,” you say, your tone soft but steady, letting the words settle between you. “i just don’t want you sitting here drowning in it alone.”

his hands drop to his lap, and finally, finally, his eyes meet yours. they’re tired, bloodshot, and edged with something sharp enough to cut. “i don’t need a pep talk,” he mutters, his voice a low rasp. “i know what went wrong. i don’t need anyone telling me how to feel about it.”

“good thing i’m not here to give you one,” you reply, easing yourself down onto the couch beside him. close, but not too close. it’s a delicate dance, one you’ve learned to navigate over time. “but i am here. whether you like it or not.”

his gaze flickers to you for a moment, a brief flash of something softer breaking through the storm before he looks away again. he leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, head dropping into his hands. “it’s just… god, it’s so fucking frustrating.” the words come out ragged, pulled from somewhere deep and aching. “i know we’re better than this. i know i’m better than this. but tonight… it felt like nothing i did was good enough.”

there’s a beat of silence, heavy and loaded. you let it hang there for a moment before leaning back against the couch, your head tilting slightly as you watch him. “you ever think that maybe it’s not all on you?”

his head snaps up at that, and you can see the protest forming on his lips before he even says a word. “it is on me,” he argues, voice sharper now, cutting through the quiet. “that’s my job. that’s what being the quarterback means. i’m supposed to lead, supposed to—”

“supposed to be perfect?” you cut in, raising a brow.

the question hangs in the air like a challenge, and for a moment, he just stares at you, his jaw working like he’s trying to find the right words to throw back at you. but then he exhales, the fight draining out of him just as quickly as it flared up.

“it’s not about being perfect,” he says finally, quieter now, almost like he’s trying to convince himself. “it’s about…” he trails off, his hands running through his hair in a way that makes it stick up in every direction. “fuck, i don’t know. i just hate losing.”

“i know.” your voice softens, the sharp edges smoothing out as you reach over to nudge his shoulder gently with yours. “but it’s not just about tonight, is it?”

he doesn’t answer right away, but the silence says enough. you know how he gets—how the losses pile up in his mind, not just the ones on the field but the ones in his own head. every missed pass, every fumble, every moment where the weight of the world feels like it’s on his back. it’s not fair, but he carries it anyway, like he doesn’t know how to do anything else.

“you’re allowed to be mad,” you say eventually, your voice low but firm. “you’re allowed to be frustrated, to hate losing, to feel like shit about it. but you don’t have to shoulder all of it alone. that’s what i’m here for, joey.”

he doesn’t say anything, but the way his shoulders drop just a fraction tells you he’s listening. you reach out, your hand finding his on the couch between you, your fingers brushing lightly against his knuckles. it’s a small gesture, but it feels like enough.

for now, at least.

his hand shifts on the couch, brushing against yours for just a second before he grabs it. firm, almost desperate. it’s a small move, but it catches you off guard—joe’s never been one to reach out like this, not when he’s all wrapped up in his head. but then he’s tugging you toward him, his grip strong enough to make it clear he’s not letting go anytime soon.

he doesn’t say a word as he pulls you into his arms, burying his face in the crook of your neck. the hug is tight—bone-crushing, really—but you don’t mind. if anything, it tells you just how much he’s been holding back.

“i hate this,” he mutters against your skin, his voice muffled but no less raw. “i hate feeling like this. like i let everyone down. like i’m not good enough.”

“joey…” you start, but he shakes his head against you, cutting you off before you can say anything else.

“just—let me get it out, okay?” his words come fast, tumbling over each other like they’ve been bottled up too long. “the offense couldn’t get going. the o-line was all over the place. and me? i was fucking useless out there. missing reads, throwing late… i don’t know what the hell was wrong with me tonight.”

you don’t interrupt, don’t try to argue with him or tell him he’s being too hard on himself. you know better than to try and fix it for him, not when he’s like this. instead, you just hold him tighter, your hand moving to his back to rub slow, soothing circles.

when he finally pulls back, it’s only to sink down onto the couch, pulling you with him until you’re lying back against the cushions. he rests his head on your chest, his weight pressing into you in a way that feels grounding, like he’s letting himself find a moment of peace in the chaos.

your hands move without thinking, running up and down his arm in that slow, rhythmic way you know he likes. it’s a small thing, but it’s enough to make his breathing even out, the tension in his body easing bit by bit.

“it’s not all on you,” you say quietly, your voice breaking the quiet that’s settled over the room. “you know that, right?”

he doesn’t answer right away, and for a moment, you think maybe he’s fallen asleep. but then he shifts, turning his face into your shirt, his voice muffled but steady. “i know. i just… i can’t help feeling like it is sometimes.”

“you don’t have to carry it all, joey,” you murmur, your fingers tracing idle patterns along his arm. “that’s why you’ve got a team. that’s why you’ve got me.”

he doesn’t respond, but the way he relaxes against you says enough. and as the silence stretches on, the only sound his slow, steady breathing, you let yourself hope that maybe, just maybe, he’ll let himself believe it, too.

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[rinhaler]

perv!Rin always having a pair of your used panties on him when he goes on away games… 🫶🫶🫶

-🌹

this has been in my inbox for months sorry I am slow <3333 love my man love my pervy boyfriend rinnie mmmmmm

warnings: 18+ MDNI, fem!reader, calls ur pussy she/her, male!masturbation, long distance relationship, perv!rin, panty thief!rin, descriptions of sex and pussy eating.

words: 1.2k

He thinks being apart from you is a challenge. It’s hard, of course, but he makes it a challenge.

There’s an edge to his plays when he’s been without you for so long. He thinks he performs better when he doesn’t even get to hear your voice. When he doesn’t get to hold you, kiss you, feel you, he’s unbeatable.

He’s not a weak man, but he is for you. He’s wrapped around your finger and he knows he’s never felt love like he feels for you. You are his only weakness, but you’re also his strength.

He lies awake at night thinking of you, desperate to call you. His heart races as he thinks about your head resting on his chest whilst playing with your hair, whispering sweet nothings until you fall asleep or can’t take it anymore. You allow him full control over your body when you’re tired, succumbing instantly to the way he gropes and pinches at your supple skin as the pale moonlight bleeds through your windows.

Those moments are the closest thing to heaven, for each of you.

And to be without that for days, weeks, months… it’s plain torture. He wonders if it pains you just as much to be without him, if you miss him nearly as much as he does you. It takes a colossal amount of will power to not pick up the phone and call you.

He can never keep track of time differences when he’s away. Maybe you’re already fast asleep, or maybe you’re out in public with your friends. What good would it do to whine about how desperately he needs you when you can’t give him what he needs?

He’d give just about anything to hear you moan needily down the phone to him. He wants to tell you to touch yourself and lower the phone between your legs so he can hear the way your wetness squelches, drooling profusely as she knows nobody touches her better than he does. Nobody’s fingers are as perfectly thick and able to pummel and rub all of your sensitive places perfectly, so perfect that you unravel in record time.

She knows that it won’t just be once, either, not when he’s mastered the art of making you cream and mess yourself so expertly that he can do it again and again and again.

The sight in his mind of you cumming like that makes him sit upright in his bed, panting heavily as he reaches for his phone. His breath fans across his quickly typing thumbs as he messily writes some frenzied message to you.

He stares down at his writing with a heavy lidded stare, his breathing beginning to slow as he sees what a pitiful string of words he’s combined. Telling you that he misses you and how fucking hard he is. That he hopes you’re at home and you can call because he needs more than anything to get off to the sound of your voice, your mewls, your soaking wet cunt.

But he erases it. All of it. This libertine thinking will make or break him if he allows it to consume him. He doesn’t want to break, he never wants to break.

He turns on the flashlight of his phone as slowly rises from his seat in the middle of his bed, apprehension in his steps as he wanders towards his suitcase. There’s sweat beading at his hairline, a droplet sliding down his temple. It’s on his mind, it’s a targeted endeavour, and still, he’s fighting against it.

This is the compromise.

That’s his train of thought as a glob of saliva bulges down his throat. He drops to the balls of his feet, carefully unzipping a pouch to retrieve an innocuous item he always borrows for these trips away.

He wouldn’t survive if he didn’t.

He wouldn’t win if he didn’t.

Your worn panties are part of a ritual for success. He doesn’t steal the same pair every time. It’s always different. This time, they’re white and lacey. He thinks they might be your favourites, they seem to be the ones you wear the most.

They’re soft, he touches the material carefully. The harsh light of his phone makes it hard to see, really see, the pads of his fingers are his guide. He feels the intricate pattern of the lace detailing as his resolve crumbles faster and faster by the nano second.

And soon, he’s smothering himself with them. He takes an ample inhale, a breath so deep it resounds throughout the room. His breath is shaky as he breathes out the rakish scent of your used panties. His eyes almost fall back into his skull as he feels his cock spurt from your scent alone.

There’s sure the be a stain on his sweats, but he couldn’t possibly care less. He takes them off before walking back to bed, lying comfortably, completely naked, as he looks up at the ceiling.

He continues to breathe in the incomparable fragrance of your worn underwear, his dick getting wetter and wetter as he leaks from his tip like some kind of Pavlovian response. Like it knows the smell of your cunt and what it means. Like it knows it’s about to taste or feel you wrapped around the length until his balls tighten and he floods your insides with his love.

He can barely keep quiet as he tugs and squeezes furiously in a desperate bid to reach his climax. His inhales become sporadic and shorter as he begins to surmount the peak of his reward for having some semblance of restraint. This is restraint. He didn’t text, he didn’t call like he wanted. Like he needed. He settled for his salacious little secret. Your stolen, your borrowed, panties that you made smell so perfect for him.

Just for him.

He wonders, sometimes, if you know of his twisted little habit.

He isn’t sure what he considers more of a turn on. The fact that you’re clueless and he’s been getting away with something so sickeningly perverse for so long. Or that you possibly have known all along, but don’t care. Maybe it turns you on, too, knowing that he needs your help to make it through these long trips. And you help him so effortlessly.

All you need to do is wear panties for him to take, for him to get off like this.

He moans boisterously as the idea of you knowing seems to win the interest of his perversions. He almost suffocates himself with the lace, using it to stifle his raucous undoing. Thick creamy ropes of cum shoot from his cockhead and splash on his tummy. His flexing abs decorated and sparkling, the streetlights illuminating his figure as his toes curl and his breathing begins to stabilise.

He's exhausted, finally. The gnawing unease gone and forgotten as the desire to sleep overrides anything and everything else littering his thoughts. He uses your panties to mop up the sticky cum coating his abs before tossing them aside.

He’ll get them cleaned before he comes home, he always does.

There’s one thought still booming in his mind that is louder than the desire to close his eyes and sleep. He grabs his phone, writing out a shorter, more cohesive message for you to read.

Goodnight princess, I love you x

He can’t hide his smirk when three little dots immediately pop up.

I love you too Rinnie, goodnight x

And with that, he can finally sleep peacefully. But, still, he can’t help but wonder…

Do you know?

© 2024 rinhaler

[commandershepardvasfuckit]

An Arranged Marriage, part 7

(This is the second part posted on the same day! Make sure you didn’t miss 6!)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

M!troll x f!reader

1.2k words (tw for mention/suggestion of assault)

Zen’jan’s secret left you reeling and without a plan you left the city, but is the wilds really any better?

————

All the air left your lungs at his words, you want to scream but could not even manage that.

“It is alright” Zen’jan said trying to reassure you while getting up and taking a step towards you, finger still bleeding and dagger still in hand, “You are safe here, I promise! Please just sit and listen to me” he took another step towards you and reached for your hand.

“Don’t touch me!” you screamed at him, finally finding your voice. The clawing panic was rising in your throat, threatening to strangle you into silence again.

You looked at the man in front of you, the man who had been taking care of you and watching over you, it was like he was a complete stranger all over again. A follower of the Shadows, and avatar of the God of Shadows!

He looked visibly hurt and took a step back, “I am so sorry, I know I should not have sprang this on you, but please just listen to me, to Tsov’ka” slowly he reached his hand back out to you.

“No! Leave me alone!” you scrambled away from the shrine, away from Zen’jan. You did not know where you were going, but you had to get away. The brighter lights of the other shrine rooms and then the daylight blinded you, but once more being in the light comforted you and shook the deep chill out of your bones.

You kept moving, putting as much distance between yourself and the shrines, and hopefully Zen’jan. Nowhere felt safe, not home, not anywhere in the city, no one to talk to.

Out of the city it was then. You passed under the main gates that lead out of the ravine and into the surrounding grasslands. A few times you came out here with Bira, you knew it was pretty safe, especially if you followed along the small mountain ranged that housed the city.

For hours you walked, at first occasionally seeing people or passing by farms until they got fewer and fewer until you truly were alone. You did not have a plan, all you knew was that going back to the city was not an option.

You walked until your legs nearly gave out, collapsing into a sobbing mess, leaning against one of the very few trees in the grasslands for a needed bit of shade. It was a bit before midday when you had left, now the sun had moved fairly far along its path and would start in set in the next hour or so.

You curled up, maybe a nap would help you clear you mind a little.

“What’s a human doing way out here?” came a man’s voice that jolted you awake.

“Isn’t she the Lord Admiral’s daughter? The one that got married off?” came a second voice.

“Lucky day if she is” said the first one again.

You cracked your eyes open just enough to check your surroundings. Several human men stood around you, still not aware you had woken up.

“Whatcha figure she’s doing out here?” asked another.

“Who knows, who cares. You know the reward on her if anyone gets her back to her father? Set for life” answered the first.

Your father? None of it particularly made sense, you were tired and dehydrated, but at least this could be your way out.

“She’s a pretty thing, isn’t she? Shame she’s been ruined by a fucking monster” another chimed in.

“Speak for yourself, I’d still fuck her” the second piped up.

“Isn’t the reward for either bringing her back or for making it look like the monsters killed her?” came one of the previous voices.

“It is, it’s anything they can use to righteously start this war again. Get her home and let her father spin some horrible tales, or just kill her now and make it look like the monsters turned on her” answered the first again.

The War. It had only ended a few months ago. The death toll on both sides had been horrific, though most of the fighting all happened on the seas and grasslands surrounding the city here, and you had seen just how bad it was.

“Seems like a lot of effort to bring her back, another mouth to feed and supplies are already low. I say have a little fun with her and the just kill her” one suggested.

Your heart was racing, suddenly things were going sideways very fast. There looked to be six or so of them and only one of you, not good odds. You weighed the chances of bolting, though you were not sure if you could get away fast enough.

“Fine, it’s all the same in the end. Grab her and bring her back to camp at least though”.

You decided to take your chances, it looked like either die for sure soon or at least try to live. With whatever strength you could muster you leapt up and booked it, only making it a few steps before you were grabbed by your wrist.

“Now where do you think you’re going, little thing? And how much did you hear?” asked the first. He was an imposing man, the quintessential bandit looking type, as were the others.

You screamed, loud as you could until he placed a hand over your mouth.

“Screaming isn’t going to do anything, you’re miles and miles from anyone else, and you’re going to give me a headache with all that. Someone, knock her out”.

Before you could register anything else you were hit with a blinding pain on the back of your head, then blackness.

You awoke with a splitting headache and to the muffled sounds of voices.

“…in a bit, where’s she going anyways? Her hands are tied” one said.

It was dark, you had been tossed in a tent with your hands tied and left alone for now. Tears streamed down your face. You ran from the shadows, you heeded the teachings of the Light, why didn't the Light protect you?

It was getting cold with the sun down now, you could see the shadows cast by the fire poking under the tent, but its warmth could not reach you.

“It’s fucking cold, isn’t it?” one of the men asked.

“Toss some more wood on the fire then” another replied.

“And it’s fucking dark” the first speaker said.

“It’s nighttime, of course it’s dark you f-” he was cut off.

Everything was eerily silent for a moment, then the world was plunged into inky black darkness.

Screaming and snarling pierced through the stillness. Bloodcurdling screams of dying men and the snarls of something else. You held you breath and squeezed your eyes shut while you tried to block out the sounds of death. Fear gripped you and you just hoped whatever was out there would miss you.

Moments dragged to minutes, to what felt like an eternity until nothing but silence remained and the glow of the fire returned. Cautiously you peered under the edge of the tent, nearly retching at the sight. Blood soaked the ground in shiny puddles, men lay in shreds, mauled to the point of being unrecognizable amongst the viscera.

“I am so sorry” came a familiar voice at the door of the tent.

You looked up to see a figured cloaked in shadows, but it was a familiar one.

“Zen?”

And once more the world was black.

Part 8

[alavestineneas]

i can feel the soil falling over my head; no people are here, just the void in my chest

pairing: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!reader summary: Harkonnen men rarely wed; they just take what they capture—men and women—and turn them into slaves. Some, if particularly sweet, are reserved for fucking. There are no special songs for that; there isn't a specific word in their native tongue for wife, either. warnings: mentions of death, violence, implied/referenced child abuse, religious symbolism, daddy and sister issues, bald men chapter 1 - chapter 2 word count: 6,5K

author's note: hi beautiful people! this chapter may be classified as a prologue (yes, I am aware of its size, sorry, lol), but it is still integral to the story. we love evil people, especially evil bald people, in this house, so have fun and don't forget to wash your hands before reading! also, if you see things that are not canon, just know that me and the books are two parallel lines and we do not cross. feel free to point out grammar mistakes, though - english is not my first. love you!

Kaitain, 10176 AG

The violent streaks of light fight with the heavy cloth of drapes to find their way into the small, stifling chambers. The time was slowly crawling towards noon in the heavy summer heat, and the woman lying on the heavily decorated sheets was battling to get a breath in. Whether because of the annoying star, or the poisoning waiting, the patterns of sweat stained her tired face with esculent ornaments. Her lips, formed into a thin line, gleamed with small spots of dried crimson.

''Where is the messenger?'' The woman's voice was barely above a whisper, her eyes glued to the dancing light filtering through the window. ''The girl is strong; I can't hold her for much longer.''

The black figure on the chair in the corner slightly shifted at words. She was veiled, despite the heat—like a black hole, she seemed to suck the little air left. ''Forbearance,'' her raspy voice cuts through the room. ''The child makes you impatient. Control yourself.''

''I've waited, and waited long enough,'' the woman snapped, her frustration evident in her trembling hands. ''A few more minutes and all that is left of her will be a corpse.''

''Be quiet, Echidna. The child will live. If not, she was never meant to be part of our world in the first place.''

The woman clenched her jaw in a wave of pain and nodded. The girl ought to see the light of this planet today. Deep in her thoughts, she almost missed the rushed steps behind the door.

One of the Emperor's guards burst into the room, his eyes almost frantic. ''Lady Anirul has graced the Imperium with a daughter.''

Echidna smiled in relief, but her expression quickly changed as a beast-like cry pierced the air. The child was coming, with little care for the damage it caused to her aching womb. She tore the tissue down to the individual cells, gnawing her way with fists and elbows, moving the bones aside with brute force. Soon, her own cries were answered by much louder ones, as the head of the girl showed itself, covered in a thick layer of almost black blood. Just for a moment, the woman wished it would not steal another breath from the room, but she sharply composed herself. With a final push, the child left her body forever, leaving it a raw wound.

The small creature shrieked when the black figure approached, and slender, wrinkled arms took it from the warmth of rufous-red liquid. Echidna watched as the figure carried the girl away, resting her hurting body against the soaked pillows. She fulfilled her duty; she granted Bene   Gesserit the daughter they wanted. She is bleeding under a beautiful sun; she is holding the ghost of her child in her arms—the real one was never hers anyway. Echidna knows the Emperor will not come. From now on, it is just her and her never-passing pain. Thus, Kaitain, home to the Corrino dynasty, was warmed by the light of a new sun—Princess Irulan, an heiress to the Imperium—and chilled by the shadow of her sister, born a few minutes later.

-

The calmness of the gardens was disturbed only by the soft strokes of brushes against a thick canvas. YN sighed, her eyes still fixed on the tree nearby, its young branches swaying with the wind. Her body ached from stillness, the tension in her neck from holding her head slightly bowed spreading down to her small back. They posed for a portrait of what seemed like an eternity to a child, and was almost it to an adult who dared to inquire; the painter, while satisfied with the draft, looked at the group of young girls almost in fear—no normal child of that age would be unmoving for three hours. And yet, they were.

YN felt one of her sisters shift even through the thick fabric of her silver dress. Small Chalice turned, her cheeks red from the heat or tiredness, her lips forming a pout—the child was tired, sleepingly rubbing her eyes. YN thought for a moment, debating if the punishment would be worth it, or if her sisters could wait just a little bit more until the man with colours would end the session for today. She noticed how Irulan's face was starting to droop, her eyes fluttering closed and opening just a second later. Their youngest, Wensicia, was already asleep in Irulan's arms; her golden hair spread across her and YN's laps as a beautiful cover, shining under the faint sun.

''I am tired, Master Chen. We should end the painting for today,'' YN finally spoke; her voice was almost a whisper. She did not know whether it was not to awaken her sister or out of fear of the Emperor's anger; it did not matter. The man nodded and left, taking his canvases with him, leaving only a few drafts behind. Then, the sisters were left alone in the garden.

''Thank you,'' Irulan said softly, placing her head on YN's shoulder.

YN only nodded. Her eyes found the paper not so far away, her gaze studying the strokes of the pencil with interest. Wensicia, a beautiful girl of two, was smiling brightly, holding an olive branch in her chubby hands, her small feet peeking under the hem of her white dress. Small Chalice was at the opposite end of her, her curly hair surrounding her head like a halo as she leaned forward, holding a small dove inside her palms. Then, sitting at the bench, surrounded by lush greenery and bushes, they. Irulan and the Other.

YN was placed just a step away from her older sister, her head turned away from the gaze of the viewer. The delicate folds of her silver dress carefully cascaded down, creating an air of mist around them. Her hands were empty; she did not know if the artist hadn't decided with each object to grace her with, or left them hollow intently. She looked like a shadow—a ghost, maybe; her eyes were escaping the viewer as if hiding a secret.

Irulan was different. She was a sun-kissed creature, her head facing straight ahead. Her eyes, as if inviting for a challenge, were made from duty, steel. With a burning star on her regal forehead, crowning the streaks of golden hair, Irulan was water and air, dulcet and ever-bending; her figure held the place and her pose was distinct and commanding.

YN looked at the girl beside her, who was now quiet nearby. Irualn was wise, the wisest of the sisters; her eyes were all-seeing, her heart all-knowing. She was created in the shape of a mother since they could walk, and the small ones bathed in her light, drinking her till the last drop —like flowers following the warm embrace of the sun. The only one who could not enjoy the love was her, the Other. The other sister, the other half. For they have been too close in age, too similar to let each other pretend the burden was not a heavy one to bear.

When Irulan was natural in her all-caring shape, YN had to claw her way to the only role left—the father. An unbent tree, a silent soldier—she was not born to fit as one, but wishing for a different order of things was almost blasphemy. That's how it always was with them—out of two, one was the protector, the other - the protected. "Husband," Irulan humorously called her often. She smiled, and, for a moment, the wave of resentment in YN's soul calmed. She never called her wife in return: Irulan was too whole to be one, too proud to be moulded into. She stood alone, on a higher pedestal than all of them, closest to the Emperor, whom the Other was to call father, and closest to the Truth. No, Irulan was God.

God does not know how to love someone who is not his servant, because there is no one who would refuse to serve him; it is the only way. God guides, despite all one's protests. God gives, and God takes. God demands; Irulan demands—silent obedience without a need to explain or answer. That, she takes from their father. So, the Other takes a blade into her hand without compassion for her dead wishes and learns to wield it in God's name. She is the one little ones turn to when the world is too wicked for their fragile souls when the creatures under their beds lose all of their human form and turn violent. She takes their sins and bears the punishments, for they are not deserving of such cruelty. YN thinks not of her own guilt—what difference would one scourage make to one who counts in centuries? And when the sun shone, and God smiled, the Other almost forgot of the bruises she carried.

-

The first time he saw her, it was not supposed to happen at all. Feyd-Rautha just closed the door to Maester's chambers with such force that it shook against lean walls; the grumble echoed in the long corridors of Giedi Prime's fortness. The ache in his body was muted, but still present; the torn flesh inside his heart howled and clawed, slicing the ribcage in half. He would've screamed, or perhaps beat his hands bloody against the concrete until the dull pain turned into something as sharp as his knife's blade. Maybe he would've drowned himself in a small water bowl by his nightstand and done anything to escape the shame and humiliation that consumed him from within. But instead, Feyd-Rautha stood still, his jaw clenched tight and his breathing shallow. One day, it will pass. One day, he will see the world choke on its own spit.

That's when he noticed a small, shadow-like figure at the end of the hallway staring at him. A girl, not older than him, was in a dress so foreign to him that it hurt his eyes. The daughter of the Emperor, he guessed. One of many—only then would the golden stitching on her sleeve would make sense.

''What are you doing here?'' he barked, caring little for the common courtesy. Of course, she was a guest almost as prized as her father, but she was in his territory and dared to look at him for long enough without averting her eyes. Long enough to notice the bruising on his pale skin and a swelness surrounding his lips. Long enough to hear him cry.

''I was walking with my mother, but then I turned into the wrong hall,'' she shrugged. ''Will you be kind enough to show me the way out? Or should I find it myself?"

Feyd-Rautha ignored her question. What a weird creature she was—with cascades of hair and eyes that seemed to see too much. ''It is dangerous to walk these halls without guard, Princess.'' It is dangerous to be here, alone with him and the weapon strapped to his hip, but he did not add it.

''There is no use of guards if the one who wishes to kill you is their master.'' The girl took a step forward, pointing to the weapon at his side. "I am not afraid."

Feyd-Rautha laughed. It came out more as howling than human sounds, the abrupt nature of it ringing with high notes, tip-toeing down to hysterical; it sounded creaky, like his throat was not made for such sounds; yet here he was, laughing. ''Come,'' he gestured to her, his hand moving quickly, like ordering a slave around. ''I will show you why you should be.''

So, they walked. Inside the grandiose chambers and small rooms, filled with ancient artefacts or the newest technology Harkonnens came up with; inside the green lavish garden inside the dim castle and the training grounds, Feyd-Rautha showed every place that was built to display the greatness of his house and bestone fear inside both guests and people inhibiting it. He wanted to see the horror in the girl's eyes, to make her eyes water and her frame flee. Instead, he listened to her steady breathing just a step behind him, her curious questioning satisfying another need he did not know his heart possessed: reverence.

He was the youngest member of the ruling line, the smallest stone in the castle of power his uncle had built. His title meant nothing within these walls; he was too small in comparison to the Baron and his authority. Feyd-Rautha was feared, despite only being nine; he was the shadow in the corner that grew longer as the sun set, the whispered name that sent shivers down spines. But here, in the hallway he led the girl into, he turned out to be something else.

''Stunning,'' the girl whispered beside him.

Weapons. The walls, from the floor to the high ceilings, were covered in ritual and fighting blades. The pride of house Harkonnen, the tree of their dynasty, black, silver, golden, and steel knives, swords, and daggers gleamed in the dim light. Feyd-Rautha smiled, revealing a row of sharp teeth. "Welcome to our burial ground."

They stopped near every one, his voice briefly covering the story of each blade and his owner; barons that came before him; fighters and rules that defined their legacy. Some still have blood on them—the highest honour; some look almost virgin. The small signs underneath them tell the names of people who wielded these weapons, their stories forever immortalised in the cold metal. ''Each Harkonnen ruler is crafted a blade of his own, the one he is to honour in battle.''

The girl nodded, her fingers tracing the shape of the last blade carefully. Her palms danced around the sharp edge, taking in the ancient symbols she had no chance of knowing. ''Will you have to kill Baron Vladimir in order to have one, like he did with his father before?''

Feyd-Rautha paused. Of course, he has thought about it before. The idea he repeated like a mantra in his head for all of his short life, the belief that spread burning flames down his spine. The words left his mouth for the first time but felt almost natural against his cracked lips. ''I dream of the day I have the chance to.''

The pair of foreign eyes that stared back at him held a glint of intrigue that quickly changed with a flash of acknowledgement. Feyd-Rautha held the gaze; not a single thing about it was hard. Still, he was the first to turn away; the burning sensation of being  seen  made him want to tear his flesh apart. ''Let me escort you to your rooms, Princess. The walls grow colder as the evening approaches.''

-

The weather on the planet leaves too few guards out of their breath, Irulan notes. The striking sun burns through the rounded windows of man-built walls, the frankly depressing landscape of huge boxes constructed with little intent for anything else but utilitarianism. She must not fear, while those lands will also be under her power with time, but the dreadful atmosphere of the lonely planet makes her skin break out in hives.

She believes the people here are more terrifying. White, hairless creatures with eyes as dark as the sun above them speak with just nods and courseys, paying little to no attention to the world around them, save for the concrete floors.  ''Tell them to set themselves on fire, and they will,''  Irulan recalls Baron Vladimir telling her father over the banquet. She believed it to be a simple boast at first, but now, after a few days in the strange world, the words make greater sense.

Perhaps, the harsh weather made people here hardened. Perhaps, such cruelty is necessary for survival. What terrorised her more was her sister—the one who now silently reads nearby, her long dress carelessly spread on the floor. Irulan would never allow her dress to wrinkle before the concluding dinner, but she is not Irulan. Despite them being demisisters, they shared fewer similarities than one could guess. Two lambs, as many in court would call them—the white and black ones. They knew one another better than anything else; where one went, the other followed. Where Irulan failed, her sister succeeded. What was allowed for her sister, was fobility towards Irulan. No one was embedded in their small circle; no one could get close enough to understand the bond they shared—together, they were whole.

Yet as they grew older, the bond seemed to thin. The path to the mind of her sister was more often closed to her now, her thoughts veiled by the silence rooted deep into her veins. Irulan knows they are just growing up, trying to find their path in the unknown. But she is scared; what would be of her without her sister? What use would the river have without fish to fill it?

''I shall go,'' her sister says, closing the book. ''The dinner starts soon, and I wanted to return the book before it.''

''Is it the one Na-Baron recommended?'' Irulan voices. Truth be told, she would never touch anything that Baron or his family possessed, even more recommended, but her sister seemed to enjoy the ancient text.

''It is. Rather interesting are the traditions of these people. Did you know their slaves have no tongues?''

Irulan feels sick to her stomach; the thought of having slaves brings the small bits of her recent meal to her very present tongue. ''Can I come with you?'' she asks, instead of answering. Irulan does not want to leave the faint safety of her rooms, but even more, she does not want to be left alone. She feels vulnerable—she is not of power here, despite being the embodiment of it in all of the other corners of the Imperium.

''You know I walk without guards.''

Irulan knows. While she is not able as much as bathe without the presence of someone with fighting knowledge, the rules do not seem to apply to her younger sister; she can move freely, as she wishes. Was it because she carried a thin blade with her and knew how to use it, or because of the lack of care from their father? Irulan was not sure. What she was sure of, was that no woman of twelve should leave her sister alone in the halls of Harkonnens' fort.

''It is just to the reading room and back, is it not?''

''Yes,'' her sister nods.  ''I'll take you,''  it means.

So, they walk. Fortunately, the guards usually waiting outside are nowhere to be found, and they manage to slip away unnoticed. Irulan holds the hand of her sister tightly, with each noise from the outside digging her nails deeper into her soft palm. Her sister says nothing; she steps calmly into the labyrinth of corridors, navigating them without much evident trouble. Soon, they find themselves in front of a huge black door, incarnated with words Irulan hold no knowledge of.

Inside, the chamber is massive; it forms a beautiful, round circle with ceilings so high that the air in it is always chilly. Rows of books and manuscripts fill the shelves out of oxidant, contrasting starkly with the white wall. The black circle table of cold stone is filled with replicas and ancient artefacts, each emitting a soft glow.

Who knew the small, desert planet held such treasures inside? Irulan forgets about her sister entirely—the texts call to her, golden lettering shining under the light. Irulan follows the names on the covers: legends, myths, histories, and art overviews. Some even contained gardening and soil research; Baron likely held those for a good laugh.

Irulan travels deeper and deeper until the voice of her sister addressing the only library keeper almost disappears, consumed by tall bookcases. The section she finds herself in is solely dedicated to martial arts; where, if not here, would the hundreds of books on such a topic be stored? Some of them are used; the spines are slightly older; others look brand new.

Irulan is brought to her senses only when she notices a black figure moving in the corner of her vision. She puts the book back and Listens. Just like the Sisters taught her, her inner ear picks up the faint voice of her sister, and the moving of two sandaled feet—the slave handling the books. She feels something else, too. A presence familiar enough to recognise but not enough to name.

''We have to go,'' she says, grabbing her sister by the shoulder and pressing. ''We will be late,'' she explains to the slave. Not that it would question the whims of the princess.

''Why?'' her sister turns to her, confused. ''I was looking at some other books. Weren't you also?''

''Please,'' Irulan whispers. ''We spent enough time here as it is.''

Just as her sister was about to answer, the atmosphere shifted. The air, sitting in its calmness, heavied. The silent before slave turned on its feet, its eyes burning holes in Irulan's body. It lurches towards them, opening its obsidian mouth to show the blackened void inside—indeed, it possesses no tongue.

Irulan freezes. The void seems to suck her in, the sharp mouth growing wider as its owner approaches her body. The fear paralyses her, planting her otherwise quick feet deep into the ground. Now, her training as Bene Gesserit should awaken—she should oppose, or at the very least dodge, the attack. But the black mouth continues to draw her in, clouding her thoughts with terror.

The body beside her shifts; her sister is quick. With one strong thrust, she pushes Irulan aside. '' Hide ,'' the voice within her head commands, and Irulan has no force to object to the technique. She crawls under the heavy stone, frantically looking for something—anything—to protect herself with.

Despite the long skirts, her sister moves like Adam's wine; she bends and turns, and strikes the man far taller than her, but he seems determined on the idea of killing her. Her sister grunts under the heavy hits; one sits in her abdomen, and another lands on her knees. The slave's nails leave a trace on her skin, rough enough to pierce the young dermis.

Eventually, her sister grows tired; the slave pushes her to the ground, pressing his slender body on top and closing its white, almost translucent hands on her throat. Irulan clasps the found sharp cutting instrument to her chest, desperately trying to calm the wave of fear forming there.  ''I must not fear. Fear is a mind killer,''  she whispers again and again.

She watches as her sister's hand slips under her clothes and emerges an illicit, slender blade—it shines under the light just as lettering did on the books a minute ago. To Irulan, it feels like a year's hundred. ''No!'' she wants to shout as her sister raises the steel and preys it into the eye of the slave, but the words are unable to leave her throat. Like a waterfall, crimson covers her sister's face, staining her light grey dress in hot circles.

The slave falls on his back, his hands leaving their place on her sister's neck.

''Enough, please! Sister, stop!'' Irulan cries, crawling out of her hiding spot but daring not to get closer.

Her sister doesn't hear; she lurches towards the man in a slick puddle and takes his life quickly, cutting his throat in one swift motion. The blood from his arteria leaves the body in pulsations; they spatter everywhere, some drops going as far as touching the shelves.

The silence settles in the chamber once again; only the sound of weakly flowing blood disturbs the stillness. Her sister does not shed a tear; she meticulously cleans the blade with the slave's white cloth and slips it back into the folds of her gown.

''What have you done?'' Irulan whispers. Her hands tremble; the sight before her crawls into the deepest corners of her mind and tears everything there down. How can one kill so easily? How can one be so cold and calculating, as if it were nothing more than a daily chore? How could that one be her sister, the one she shared a life with?

''I protected.'' Her sister's voice is hoarse, but firm. There is no remorse in her tone, only weariness. ''What have you  done?'' She turns to face her. Her hair, carefully braided by servants for dinner, is undone; the wet strands of it grip her face like a vice, framing the unseeing eyes.

Like that, she looks like a woman mad. Irulan backs into the safety of the doors, feeling her fear turn into something much greater. ''Do not come near me,'' she commands. Just as the heavy doors close behind her, she sets off running.

-

YN waits until the footsteps of her sister are no longer heard, and only then does she come out of the reading room. She pays the body on the ground little attention; no one would bet an eye on the death of a useless creature like that. It did not intend to kill; rather, someone made it do it. Who, in their right mind, would try to harm the heir of the Emperor? How would they know that Irulan would follow her there?

Irulan. The one who watched as the Other almost gave her life for hers, the one who had the nerve to be repulsed by the blood on her hands—the blood she spilt protecting her. What do you do when you are not allowed to be angry at God? Why does God shame one for the will she herself inflicted on one to bestone? YN would ask the sun, but it hid behind the walls of the fort. She would ask, but no one would answer.

So, she does what she is meant to do—finds her way into the large dining hall, where everyone, of course, is starting to gather. The Emperor would be dissatisfied to find her not there on time; she has no time to fix her appearance. In light of the slight possibility of shaming their House with her muddled hairstyle or suffering yet another punishment for being even late, she chooses the first option.

The guards let her in without saying a word. YNr watches as the shield slides open, revealing a full hall. Rows and rows of tables, filled with foods one would imagine never would have made their way to the Giedi Prime, and laughter not so usual for a harsh realm.

''Princess...'' the servant starts, announcing her arrival, but she shushes him with a slight wave of her palm. She does not notice the crimson liquid staining it.

The Other makes her way to her seat calmly, careless of the way people around her stumble and twist their faces in shock. The only eyes that watch her without fear at the Emperor's table are those of Lady Echidna. Her face betrays no emotion at all—hidden by her veiled black cloth, it only slightly moves when the YN passes her seat.

She holds the angry gaze of the Emperor calmly. He will demand an answer, of course if Irulan has not whispered the truth into his aged ears already. Her sister probably would do no such thing; in that, she would admit to disobeying the orders bestowed upon her. YN is puzzled at the attention directed towards her humble figure—the first thing a Bene Gessarite in training learns is not to be repulsed by the anatomy of her body. Why be grossed out by the liquid coursing through her veins—the liquid she carries all her life? Why be scared of death, when it is always at your doorstep? In the sway of her thoughts, the Other also seems not to perceive the pair of icy blue eyes glued to her figure as she finds her seat and takes her place.

-

"The boy follows you around like a dog." The mother's tone stands not in judgment but rather simply states the truth.

Lady Echidna is not veiled now; her heavy hair is still tightly braided out of her face. Just a small black ribbon highlights her status as one of the Emperor's senior concubines, a position most would bear with honour. To her, it was yet another stain on her earthly body—the body she could not call her to possess. The black sun of Giedi Prime is finally long behind them; nothing but a few light orbs floating around illuminate the chamber, yet her intense gaze seems to pierce right through the girl that sits across her.

"I know, mother. His steps are heavy; his thoughts are even heavier; they follow me much more often."

The woman's fingers stop working on an intricate needlework for a moment, before continuing as it was. "You are to call me Sister, girl," she speaks, her voice low.

YN drags her teeth across her tongue, feeling the anger flow through the veins in her body. She wishes to be far away from this small chamber, to run and never face the woman's eyes again. "The girl has a name, Sister. Or do you fear to voice it?"

Lady Echidna places the cloth on the table beside her gracefully, as if paying no attention to the words spoken. But YN can sense can feel the resentment that burns inside her mother's stomach, spreading its molecules to her throat. "A name holds meaning; for a person to have a name, one must first be of character and substance. You are none."

YN bit the soft flesh inside her mouth; it tasted bitter. It was better if her mother shouted, if she hit her if she did anything to prove YN is still here in her eyes, that she was not just a void the woman spoke her riddles into. Maybe then the pain inside her would have a meaning, would have a reason better than just childish hurt. "Did I not have a beating heart when I left your womb, Sister? Did you not hear it loud and clear? What kind of proof is needed more of me?"

"My daughter died that day, screaming. You took her place. So do not bother me with your foolish talks anymore, for we both know they just waste the air we breathe. Am I heard?"

She was. The tears dried on YN's face before having the chance to spill, and she turned to her studies. Once more, a feeling of ever-lasting cold surrounded her shoulders. The never-leaving vision in her mind appeared once again—her mother's quick steps as she walked away in another corridor of Giedi Prime's fort, her head straight ahead as YN pleaded not to leave her alone, her legs glued to the command spoken. It was a blessing that the boy found her earlier than his uncle.

-

Time has passed since the first time YN's eyes saw the black sun of the foreign planet so far from hers. The Other trained, restlessly, in the tongues of ancient warriors and the most prominent whisperers, slowly earning the right to bear Knowledge in her crown-empty head. She had much yet to learn, but the prospect did not frighten her; with every passing day, she felt power building in her hands and soul. Patience, the greatest virtue of all. She was alone now, without her half of a sister; alone, in her solitude, the heavy bearings seemed not as heavy—she had no one to enlighten about her battles. Still, God was on her mind; YN felt her presence near, her watchful eyes guiding her. Like the tight, dampened cloth on her bruised knuckles, her sister was stuck to her open wound of a soul.

Irulan has grown. Her complexion changed; she no longer looked like a bright-faced girl who left her sister alone in Harkonnen's library; the plump cheeks were gone, and so was fear. At the Other stared a sole statue of power she bloomed into. Silver collars, light blue waves of fabric—the cut is, as always, straight. The Other eyed her up and down, taking in each detail of the painting-like sight. Irulan did the same—a slight disgust at the Other's simple tunic and pants, creased from the sparring. Irulan did not need to be broken in order to be a Sister in the Bene Gesserit; they wanted her Corrino first, and a servant second. The Other, however, held no such value—a child carried not by the lawful wife, a second, a spare. So, there would be no bone in her body left untouched by the lessons, no string in her soul unharmed by the knowledge. They crushed her cartilage in grey sand and forced her to swallow the bitter truths of their ways. Yet, God remains undisturbed—stoic. Eternal.

''Will you not eat again?'' Irulan musses, putting another piece of dish in her mouth.

The Other would take it as a cruel joke from anyone else, but not from God. She shakes her head instead. ''I am forbidden.''

Irulan hums. It was not the first time YN would be disciplined this way; the cycle of punishment and forgiveness was all too familiar to her. The room is silent; there is no one but the two of them. She could offer to eat, and no one would know she did, but Irulan won't offer. The Other does not expect her to; pity is not something a sister can possess.

''How are your lessons going? A fresh knowledge, perhaps?''

YN nods. If she opens her mouth now, her voice will betray her. She could cry all she wanted in the presence of a sister, but it is not appropriate for a thirteen-year-old to behave this way in front of God. The Other is reminded of that with an absence of bruises on Irulan's skin; her hands were never cut by the sharp blades, and her mouth was never starved. ''Why was I summoned from training?'' She asked, directing her eyes to the figure in front of her.

''I am here as a messenger from the Emperor.''

YN's eyes narrowed. ''And what does our dear Emperor desire to tell me now?'' She wishes not to hear anything he has to say; the Other is perfectly content here, amongst her Sisters. Here, she is of cost.

''Recently, Baron Vladimir turned to our House for guidance. He and na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen felt misled by the House Artreidis, and their promise of a bride that did not come. Our father has graciously offered to negotiate the conflict and pay the needed price for the Baron's cooperation.''

''Of course, he did. With all of our might, we are still afraid of the savages that made Arrakis their home. With what advice, may I ask, did the Emperor provide the Baron?''

Irulan's lips turn into a straight line, with the small wrinkle on her forehead appearing. Something that she carried with her through childhood. Something that still reminded of home. ''With the proposal of a woman of our House to na-Baron Feyd-Rautha.''

''A gift? Irulan, I am so sorry.''

Sure, the bridge between them was long forgotten, growing with tall grass and wildflowers, but the weight of their shared history still lingered in the air. Irulan was still her sister, no matter how many times the Other tried to tell herself otherwise. And no woman sane would consider giving her sister to the inhumane brutes that were Harkonnens—the people even Bene Gessarit wished to observe from afar; the people so ruthless mothers told stories about them to their small offspring in an attempt to instil fear and obedience.

Irulan does not answer. She hides her gaze, her eyes following the wooden panels of the quarters.

''What is it, sister?  Speak .''

''The offer Emperor found the most fitting would be of your hand, not mine.''

The Other exhales. As if a heavy stone were put on her chest, she fights to bring much-needed oxygen to her bloodstream. She almost feels the erythrocytes scatter from her face into her neck, hidden by the cloth, and gather there in an attempt to regrow their might. Her throat twists and closes, its muscles compressing until not even an ounce of air can get in. All of her organs, from heart to stomach, made their presence known; one by one, they tensed and burned, forcing the otherwise relaxed hands to grip them.

It was supposed to be Irulan. The first one to marry is the oldest sister; the title high enough to satisfy the ambitious Harkonnes would be hers, no less. Yet, here she stands, not even looking at the one taking her place as she sentences her to an ultimate death. No matter how much power the Corrino name held, on Giedi Prime, she would consider herself fortunate enough if she were to meet her end quickly.

''Why, Irulan? Have I not been a loyal servant to you all those years? Have I not followed every order without question? ''

Irulan is unmoved in her position. ''We can not risk the Harkonnen blood getting on the throne, you know it.''

''You mean we can not risk you? We are not eight anymore, dear Irulan; you can speak truthfully now. Do you really think the Emperor will treasure you more if you say nothing now? We are no sons, Irulan; we are sisters, you and I. Please, spare me this fate.''

''Yes,'' the girl lifts her eyes, taking a step closer. ''We are no sons; you knew that one day we would marry for the peace of the Imperium. Why do you shout now?''

''Married, yes, but not murdered for the sake of the fucking old man who could not hold his promise. They are monsters, Irulan, spilling innocent blood for the fun of it. I beg of you, sister, show me the mercy I know you are capable of.''

''You are worried about blood? What could one more splash of blood mean to you? You have been no sister for a long time; I order you, as an heir of the Emperor and as the messenger of his will here, to comply. Do not make it harder than it has to be.''

The Other smiled—she would not grant the pleasure of tears. ''Very well, then. Someone needs to go first. I'll go; I'll be first, at least here. Tell the Emperor that I will comply with any of his wishes, whether it be to throw me to the sharks or to feed me to the sandworms. As a confirmation of my undying loyalty, you may show him this:''

She slaps her. She slaps her not like a warrior, not like the trained assassin she was raised to be; she slaps her like a sister, bitterly, harshly. For the first time in her short life, YN raises a hand on something she deems holy—the God's shocked face brings a sense of satisfaction to the Other's veins, even if the same blood courses through them. She turns on her heels and walks away, leaving the forsaken room behind. Leaving God behind.

[pedrospatch]

to hell and back l one

Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Female Reader

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summary: After escaping a group of brutal slavers, you are left with permanent physical and emotional scars. Unwilling to put your trust in another human being ever again, you spend a year fighting for survival alone in the post outbreak world. But when you choose to save the life of a man named Joel Miller, the wall that you’ve built to protect yourself slowly begins to crumble.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY MINORS DNI. canon violence, canon language, brief mentions of slavers, brutality, torture, assault, guns, reader is an archer, mentions of hunting, animal death, injured/unconscious Joel, very minor mentions of blood, age gap (reader is 30, Joel is 56) very brief mention of scars, reader does not/cannot speak at times, a lot of internal dialogue from reader, at one point reader does try to speak to Joel but she is unable. *please be advised that no specific diagnosis is used or will be mentioned, i’m writing the series with the idea that reader herself cannot fully comprehend her inability to speak at times. basically the gist of it is we have a very traumatized person who does not realize just how traumatized she is.

word count: 8.2k (good lord I am so sorry)

a/n: not a whole lot to say except for that this is...different. at least i think it is, i could be wrong lmao. this is by far one of the most challenging things i have ever decided to write, but hopefully it turned out okay

California l Fall, 2023

You’d been on the run since dawn.

It was several hours later now and nightfall was approaching—and it was approaching a hell of a lot fucking faster than you could have even anticipated. The darkness was quickly closing in, falling around you like a velvet black curtain. However, stumbling around blindly in the dark was currently the very least of your worries. 

Your feet were raw, both completely blistered and bleeding through your socks inside of your worn out, muddied white canvas sneakers. Your sore, aching legs screamed out for mercy and your knees trembled violently, threatening to buckle out from underneath the weight of your body at any given moment. 

In the week and a half leading up to your escape from captivity, you’d been deprived of both food and water—it had been your punishment for closing your eyes and turning your head away after you’d been instructed by the slavers to watch their brutal assault of the young teenaged girl that you had been sharing a cage with. She’d been unable to keep up with her work duties, and they had decided to make an example out of her.

Despite still having been forced to witness the horrendous, unspeakable things they’d done to that poor girl, your initial resistance resulted in you being beaten and then starved for several days. Occasionally, one of the late night guards would try and bribe you, offering a small piece of jerky or a couple of stale crackers in exchange for a blowjob. At first, you told him you’d rather cut your own tongue out with a rusty blade than suck his dick, but when he proposed the disgusting, vile trade again just a couple of nights later, you’d accepted it—because him pulling you out of that fucking cage after hours and removing the tight shackles from your wrists when no one else was around would give you the chance to finally make a run for it.

You swung yourself around the nearest redwood tree, slumping back against its thick, wide trunk. You covered your mouth with your two hands in an attempt to silence the sound of your heavy panting. 

Besides being in pain, malnourished and severely dehydrated, the exhaustion was starting to set in too. The adrenaline pumping through your veins had brought you this far, but exactly how much farther could it take you? How much longer could it possibly keep you going before your tired body decided to give up and give out?

Somewhere behind you, you could hear the men calling out cheerfully.

One sang out, “Come out, come out, wherever you are!”

“Come out and plaaaaay,” a second taunted.

The third shouted, “We’re gonna get you!”

Their giddiness made you want to vomit. If your stomach hadn’t been empty, you would have.

Those sick, twisted fucks weren’t letting up. 

They’d been on your heels for hours.

The large group of slavers in California were over two hundred strong and had dozens of prisoners chained up in their human cages—they had more than enough people to force into labor. There was no need for them to waste their time and efforts going after you, but after spending the last eight months witnessing firsthand how these sadistic bastards operated, it occurred to you that their desire to recapture you wasn’t out of a need for labor. It was for their entertainment. 

They were hunting you down for sport.

This was their idea of fun.

“Fuck,” you whispered underneath your breath, your hands falling down to your sides.

Something had to give.

Your legs, your body, your will to live.

Perhaps all of the above.

You couldn’t keep on running for much longer.

And even if you could, where the hell were you supposed to go? How were you supposed to get there?

You had no food, no water, and no weapon.

Just the torn, tattered clothes on your back.

You were defenseless against whatever else was out there and you couldn’t see yourself surviving longer than a couple of days at most.

There was a part of you that wanted to give up and surrender. If you could be absolutely certain that they would shoot you dead on the spot, you would actually consider it and step out from behind the tree—hell, you would happily let them put a bullet between your eyes and put you out of your misery once and for all. But they wouldn’t be so generous. You knew they would have their way with you here in the middle of this forest and only after they were done would they take you back to their settlement where they’d put you right back in shackles so the real torture could begin. Just like that teenaged girl, the slavers would make an example out of you so that nobody else in their right mind would even think about running away. 

They would be sure to make your death as slow and as agonizing as possible.  

No. If you were going to die, then you were going to die. But fucking not like that.

Hearing them draw closer towards where you’d been hiding, you pushed yourself away from the redwood and willed yourself to keep on going.

Wyoming l Fall 2024

Your eyes softly flutter open.

Bright, early morning sunlight filters in through the ripped, white lace curtains that hang over the small, square shaped window right above your head. 

Blinking the sleep away, you prop yourself up slightly on your elbows and take a glance around at your surroundings. The old, abandoned cabin that you’d stumbled across just a couple of days ago is tiny, cramped, and crumbling. It also reeks—it smells damp, musty, and earthy, like rotting wood. But beggars can’t be choosers and you are certainly in no position to be a chooser right now. It’s not what you consider to be ideal, but it’s four walls and a roof, which is more than anyone can ask for. It’s sparsely furnished with a table and two chairs, an old wood burning stove you had been too afraid to light because you didn’t want to risk setting the place on fire, and there’s even a small, twin sized bed for you to sleep on. Well, perhaps calling it a bed was a tad bit too generous. It’s really just a mattress sitting on four large concrete blocks. It’s rough, dirty, and torn with rusted springs and bits of fluff sticking out from every corner. Still, it sure as fuck beat the hell out of sleeping outside in the dirt and using a rock as a pillow.

Besides the luxury of having something close to a proper roof to sleep under, there’s also a lake just two and a half miles north of the cabin where you had been able to fill your canteen with fresh water. Not to mention, you’d also been able to bathe and wash your clothes for the first time in a couple of weeks. You had been on your own for about a year now, and this was the luckiest you’ve gotten in terms of finding a decent place to stay.

Whether or not it’s safe, it was still too early to tell. 

Sure, you were out somewhere in the middle of bumfuck nowhere and hadn’t seen a single soul, living or dead, in a couple of months now. But that still didn’t mean that running into the infected or other people wasn’t a possibility. Letting your guard down was risky. Too risky. 

You swing your legs over the side of the mattress and sit up, slipping on your pair of warm, wool socks before tugging on your boots—you’d found them over the summer and even though they had been about one size too small for you, you’d managed to break them in since then and the supple brown leather now molds almost perfectly to your feet. You stand up and lift your arms up above your head while simultaneously twisting your stiff, sore back in a painful, but much needed stretch. You’re only just a couple of months shy of turning thirty years old, but lately, your bones snap, crackle and pop with each and every movement, making you feel twice your actual age. 

The thought of it makes you snort in amusement. You should be so lucky to stay alive long enough to see the age of sixty. Hell, you’re still unable to fathom how you’d even made it this close to seeing thirty.

Dropping your arms back down to your sides, you make your way over to your khaki colored pack and pull out your aluminum canteen from one of the side pockets. You twist off the cap and gulp back a long, cool drink of water, hoping to get rid of the dryness in your mouth and the cracks in your chapped lips. As soon as the liquid makes it all the way down to the pit of your stomach, the hollow, muscular organ grumbles loudly, demanding food. You’d had some decent luck while out hunting the previous morning, capturing two wild rabbits—you had eagerly skinned, cleaned and cooked them both, devouring one right after the other so fast that it had nearly made you sick. It had been a pretty decent meal, but not nearly enough to completely satisfy your ravenous hunger. Prior to finding the cabin and settling in, you had been living off of a couple handfuls of nuts and berries for three days while on the move. You were still fucking starving and all you could do was pray that you’d find more rabbits today. 

Maybe you’d get even luckier and spot a pheasant. It was their season, after all. 

You drink some more water and set your canteen aside. You’d planned to return to the lake later in the afternoon to refill it as well as to have another bath. You pull on your faded, black denim jacket over your hoodie and pick up the wooden bow and brown leather quiver of arrows sitting beside your pack. You’d found the weapon in some hunting shop back in Utah that had already been picked clean to the bone over the last couple of decades. However, no one had even bothered with taking the bow. It hadn’t really surprised you, though. In the post outbreak world, a bow and arrow would do absolutely nothing to protect against the infected runners and stalkers—and it would do much less to protect against clickers unless your aim was flawless.

Still, a bow was useful in its own right. 

It was perfect for hunting game. It was silent, keeping you and your location concealed from potential passersby at all times. Most importantly, you could reuse your arrows so long as you were careful and didn’t break them while removing them from your kills—and in the event that you did happen to snap an arrow, all you had to do was salvage what you could from the damaged projectile and make a new one. Simple as that. 

Your father had taught you how before he’d died.

“Why bother with a bow? What about a gun?” you had asked him. 

“Might not always be able to get your hands on a gun,” he’d replied as he sharpened an edge of the small, thumb sized rock in his hand. “Or bullets. It doesn’t hurt to have alternatives in the event that you can’t get your hands on either of those things, kiddo.” Despite being in your mid twenties at the time, he’d still always call you kiddo. “Always have a backup weapon, alright?”

He’d been wise to give you that advice.

You did have a firearm, a colt pistol that you hardly have ammunition for. There were ten rounds left in the clip and with no luck in finding any more in the last couple of months, you’d decided to preserve them, saving what little bullets you had left for a real emergency. You kept the gun tucked into the waistband of your jeans at all times, along with the sharp switchblade that you used to gut and skin game. As far as weapons go, you sure as hell could’ve been a lot worse off. But if you happened to stumble upon more ammunition for your gun, you certainly wouldn’t complain about it. 

Slinging your bow and the quiver of arrows over your shoulder, you grab the dark gray foraging bag that you used to collect and carry your kills in and leave the cabin, feeling somewhat confident enough to leave the remainder of your belongings behind instead of hauling them all along with you like you had the morning before. It wasn’t that you feared someone would come along and steal them. There wasn’t really anything for anyone to steal, anyway. Rather, you’d gotten so damn used to the instability and the constant moving around—you never stayed in one place for too long and were always prepared to run. But today, you decide to leave your things in the cabin, feeling certain that you would return in just a couple of hours. 

You step out onto the creaking, three step porch that’s so old it buckles slightly under your weight and a gentle breeze nips at your cheeks and nose. It’s the middle of autumn in Wyoming and the air outside is fresh, cool and crisp. Winter was looming right around the corner like a dark shadow, and although you’d somehow managed to make it through the previous year’s brutal snow season, that didn’t do much to stop you from being nervous about the one that was to come. If all went according to your plan, you’d be holing yourself up in that shoddy little cabin until the worst of winter was over and then you would move along.

To where?

You didn’t have the slightest fucking clue. 

You make a short trek about two miles south, going in the opposite direction of the lake and finding yourself closer to the thick forest trees that surrounded the base of the mountain range out in the distance instead. There’s a dried, grassy clearing just feet from the entrance of the forest—finding a single, decently sized boulder in the middle of the wide, open space, you decide that behind it is the perfect spot for you to set up and hope for the best. Carefully setting your things down on the ground, you pull out a pair of old, cracked binoculars from your bag. You lean your body over the smooth, round top of the rock and lift them up to your face, peeking through the lenses. You hope to spot something right away because it sure would be fucking nice to eat something sooner rather than later. Otherwise you might just start gnawing at your own arm. 

Diligently, you scan your surroundings for any and all signs of wildlife. 

That’s when you see it, standing near the edge of the woods.

You gasp softly as your sights fall upon the deer. 

Pulling your face away from your binoculars, you blink furiously before taking another look just to be sure that your eyes hadn’t been playing tricks on you. It’s not a hallucination. It’s a white tailed deer, a female, and from the look of her, she has to be at least about a hundred pounds. At least.

You try to not get too far ahead of yourself, but it’s far too late. The thought of finding some herbs and making a hot, venison stew for supper makes your mouth water. The rest of the meat could be dried out and made into a batch of jerky that could feed you for months. Months.

Then, you suddenly remember you’ve never even attempted to bring down an animal of that size before and you’re slapped back into reality.

You think about your father, who would bring home a deer every weekend after going on his hunting trips with some of his old college buddies. “You want to aim for the heart or the lungs,” he’d say as you and your siblings would watch him dress the carcass, much to your mother’s chagrin. “Look between the shoulder blade and the last rib,” he would tell you and your brothers. You’d also had an older sister, but she had always been incredibly squeamish and had a soul that was much too sweet and caring for hunting. She would always want to bring home every animal your father shot and nurse it back to health. “Somewhere between those two lies everything you need to hit in order to do the job and do it well. And for the love of god, don’t you ever aim directly for the shoulder. Behind it, kiddos, always aim behind it. You got it?”

“Yes Papa,” you’d all chime out together.

Setting down the binoculars in your hands, you reach for your bow and pluck an arrow from your quiver before stepping out from behind the boulder. You’re careful to be as silent as possible as you take a few steps closer towards the unsuspecting grazing animal. You position yourself and stand perpendicular to the deer, placing your feet shoulder width apart—you’re a little farther from your target than you would have preferred, but you don’t want to risk going any closer and scaring her off, so it would have to do. Once you feel comfortable enough with your stance, you nock the arrow and set it on the string. You then hold the string and steady your grip on the bow, relaxing your shoulders before drawing it and pulling your arm back until you’ve reached your anchor point, which is always the corner of your mouth. 

Breathe, you remind yourself calmly as you aim at the delicate spot behind her shoulder blade. Nice and slow. Breathe.

Just as you’re about to release the arrow and take your shot, the deer whips her head back towards the trees and her ears prick forward—a split second later, she darts off, zooming across the field in the opposite direction of where you’d been standing. 

Your mouth falls open in disbelief. 

“Are you fucking shitting me?” you mutter under your breath.

Frustrated, you lower your weapon and just as you start to contemplate whether or not it’s even worth it to try and hunt her down on foot, you suddenly hear something—it isn’t until the noise draws closer to where you’re standing that you realize it’s the sound of a galloping horse.

Perplexed, you squint over in the direction of where you think it’s coming from, right near the edge of the trees. Then, just a moment later, a brown stallion emerges from the woods with a dark haired man riding in his saddle. He holds a rifle in one hand and clutches the reins tightly in the other. 

Gasping, you whirl around on the heel of your boot and immediately make a beeline back to the boulder. You swing around the rock and crouch down, ducking out of his sight. You couldn’t be too sure if he’d seen you or not, but it doesn’t matter—a wave of sheer panic washes over you and you can physically feel your own body preparing itself to go into fight or flight mode. Despite having your gun tucked into the waistband of your jeans, you still haven’t reached for it and continue to clutch your bow and arrow in your hands instead. 

Swallowing dryly, you turn and carefully lift yourself up just enough so that you can glimpse over the top of the boulder. That’s when you see a second man emerge from the woods. This one is blond and he is on foot instead of a horse. He’s also armed, carrying a shotgun. 

“You’re mine you fucking son of a bitch!” he shouts. He lifts his weapon, aims, and then squeezes the trigger, shooting the horse in the side and bringing him down instantly. His rider goes flying off and he hits the ground several feet away from the dead animal, landing so painfully hard that even from a distance you’d manage to hear the loud, cracking sound his body had made upon impact.

You momentarily freeze. 

Your heart anxiously jumps up into your throat as you watch the shooter begin to approach him. The attacker moves slowly and with no haste seeing as his helpless victim is lying there motionless on the ground with his eyes closed and no idea that he’s about to die. The blond man comes to a halt just a few feet away from him, grinning as he lifts his shotgun once again and points the barrel of it at the other man’s head. His index finger hovers over the trigger. 

Before your mind and body can even make the connection, you rise to your feet and aim your bow, swiftly sending an arrow straight through the blond man’s neck. He crumples, falling to the ground writhing and squirming as he bleeds out in less than sixty seconds.

You wait it out for another minute, refusing to move another muscle until his body finally goes limp and you are certain he’s dead. Taking a look around, you make sure the coast is clear and grab your belongings, slinging them over your shoulder before you make your way over to the scene. Unsure of whether or not there could be others heading in this direction, your plan was to pick off their guns and any other useful supplies before making a run for it back to the cabin. You crouch down beside the man you’d shot and killed, carefully pulling your arrow out of his neck. It makes a loud, horrid squelching sound as you remove it and blood from his jugular splatters your blue jeans. You then pick up his shotgun and check the chamber for ammunition. 

Just like the pistol tucked away in your waistband, there’s hardly any rounds left, making it all but useless. Rolling your eyes, you carelessly drop the gun on top of his chest and move on in search of the rifle. You spot it right beside the dark haired man.

Apprehensive, you cautiously make your way over towards him. With how still he had been lying, you could have sworn he was gone—perhaps the fall off of his horse alone had killed him. But just to be sure, you decide to give his side a harsh nudge with the toe of your boot. 

He groans and his head rolls to the side.

He’s still alive.

You effortlessly string the bloodied arrow in your hand and aim it right at his chest.

Move again and you’re dead, motherfucker.

“Ellie,” the man mumbles, his eyes still closed.

Ellie?

You slowly lower your bow.

Without realizing it, a little bit of your guard lowers along with it. 

Carefully, you sink down onto one knee next to the man and get a better look at him. He’s much older than yourself, somewhere in his fifties if you had to guess. He has harsh forehead lines, deep creases in between his eyebrows, a patchy beard that is speckled with many, many grays, and wild waves of thick hair that look soft to the touch. Though some of his features are a little worse for wear due to his age, he’s still quite a handsome man from what you can see. He also appears to be in decent shape, clean and well fed, and you detect the light scent of laundry soap on his clothes. Surely, he had to have been part of some kind of group, and judging by the leather trimmed saddle on his horse, this group was one that was very well off in this post outbreak world. 

You hesitate, but then lift a slightly trembling hand and take the side of his face, cupping it in your palm as you turn his head towards you. 

There’s blood on his right temple and your fingers reach up to touch what you had assumed was the source of the bleeding—but then you realize it was a scar, maybe an inch or two in length at most and completely healed. Your fingers trail up even further and venture into his hair which, as it turned out, is in fact just as soft as one would imagine. You find a small gash on his scalp and your fingers become coated in the man’s blood.

Must’ve hit himself on a rock or something.

Your hand leaves his hair and you place it on his broad chest as you begin checking him over for any other potential injuries or wounds. Slipping your opposite hand inside of his brown jacket, you lift the hem of the dark green thermal henley he’s wearing and you discover the scar on his temple isn’t the only one he possesses—he has several more, way too many for you to count on one hand alone. You’re so preoccupied with inspecting the remainder of his abdomen that you don’t even notice the way one of his hands is slowly reaching for yours, the hand that’s still resting on his chest, right over his heartbeat.

Semiconscious, the man takes your hand in his so damn gently that it startles you and takes you by surprise, but it doesn’t frighten you. Weakly, he laces his fingers together with your own and he speaks again, uttering softly, “Babygirl.”

Puzzled, your eyebrows knit together.

It almost sounds like he’s pleading.

For what—for who? For Ellie?

Is she the babygirl he’s referring to?

Your other hand moves up to his shoulder and you give it a violent shake. 

Hey, you’ve got to get up now.

“H—” You try to speak the words, but can’t. They’re formed in your mind and it feels like they are right there on the very tip of your tongue, but when you open your mouth, they refuse to come out. You frown.

It’s happened before. 

In the spring, you’d stumbled across a small group of people while out hunting in Idaho—it was the first time you had seen other human beings since leaving California in the fall. There had been both men and women and they even had children with them, but that did nothing to stop you from panicking when they’d approached you. One of the women cornered you, trying to tell you that they were traveling across the country to the east coast. “It’s okay,” she’d tried to tell you, holding up her hands. “We’re not bad people, I promise. We’re just trying to get to the quarantine zone in Boston. I think you should come with us, honey.”

You’d been so terrified that when you’d tried to tell her that you didn’t want to join them, you couldn’t push the words out. It felt like your voice had gotten stuck in the back of your throat. That’s how afraid you’d been.

Technically, you can speak.

You’d talk to yourself often when you were feeling lonely. You would read the books you carried in your pack out loud. Hell, you even liked to sing.

But whenever you became stressed, anxious, or scared, it would happen. You’d lose your ability to speak and to communicate—not that you had anyone to communicate with except for yourself, but that’s besides the point. No matter how hard you tried to force your vocal cords, all you could get out were quiet, strangled noises. It was as if your own fears chased your voice away and during periods when you were under extreme distress, it would take several days for you to find it again. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that, whenever you used your voice back in California, it only led to the harshest of punishments. 

A gunshot sounds off in the distance, snapping you out of your train of thought.

You shake the man again, harder this time.

Come on, get up! They could be coming this way!

It’s useless. He’s losing complete consciousness. 

You hear another gunshot and this one sounds like it’s coming from the base of the mountain range on the other side of the trees, not all too far from where you are. For all you know, it could very well be members of his own group who are firing those weapons out there. But whether it was his group or the other man’s group, it doesn’t really fucking matter. You don’t want to run into either one of them, regardless of who were the good guys and who were the bad guys. In your eyes, everyone’s a fucking bad guy. 

Yanking your hand out of his, you get to your feet and prepare to make a run for it. But just as you’re about to take off, the man mumbles one last time. It’s incoherent and barely audible, but you manage to catch that name again. Ellie. 

Ellie, Ellie, Ellie.

For some reason you can’t quite explain, that sweet little name bounces around in the inside of your skull. 

You chew the inside of your cheek anxiously. 

If it’s his group out there, they’ll save him.

If it’s the other man’s group, they’ll kill him.

Normally, you’d have no problem with the idea of leaving another person to die.

After everything that happened in California, you had lost your sense of humanity. Your ability to empathize and actually give a shit about other people had been long gone—or so you’d thought. But you had just saved this man’s life and now you find yourself unwilling to run the risk of leaving him for dead. And you don’t have the slightest fucking clue as to why. He’s a stranger. He shouldn’t matter to you. 

You exhale a heavy sigh of defeat.

Okay, how the fuck do I do this?

Without much time left to waste, you gather up your belongings over your shoulder and pick up his rifle, slinging the brown leather strap across your chest so the gun rests comfortably against your backside. You walk around him, lean over, and hook your arms securely underneath his. Using every ounce of physical strength you have inside of you, you start dragging him back to the cabin as fast as you possibly can.

The pretty melody fills his ears as he comes to.

“Somewhere over the rainbow, way up high

there’s a land that I heard of once in a lullaby…”

Joel Miller isn’t all too sure if heaven is a real place that actually exists, but the very minute he hears the feminine voice singing, he can’t help but think he’s died and that’s exactly where he’s gone—because only an angel could possibly have a voice like that. So rich, so smooth, and oh so sickeningly sweet.

“Somewhere over the rainbow, skies are blue...”

The ballad being sung is all too familiar to him.

The Wizard of Oz had been Sarah’s favorite movie back when she had been a little girl, when she was seven years old and she still believed in princesses and fairy tales and faraway lands with yellow brick roads. Even when she grew older, his daughter continued to hold a soft spot for the film and Joel would watch it with her every Thanksgiving at his parents’ house right after their dinner—it would air on cable and Sarah would beg him to let her have her slice of pecan pie while sitting cross legged on the floor in front of his old man’s television set.

“So long as you don’t make a mess on Nana and PopPop’s carpet,” he’d warn her. “Deal?”

Sarah would beam at him and nod eagerly. “Deal!”

He’d grab his own slice of pie, park it right on the couch behind her, and together they would get lost in the whimsical world of Oz, although admittedly he’d usually fall deep into his food coma long before Dorothy had the chance to make it back home to Kansas.  

“Where troubles melt like lemon drops

away above the chimney tops 

that’s where you’ll find me...”

The words fade and the rest of the song is now being hummed.

Goddamn, he thinks.Even the humming is too fucking beautiful.

Joel feels a cold, damp cloth dabbing at his sore right temple.

Come to think of it, everything is fucking sore. 

Once, when Joel had been in his mid twenties, he had been doing some under the table roofing job with his younger brother, Tommy. It had been the hottest day of the summer in Texas, and the two of them thought having a couple cold beers with their lunch to cool off would be a good idea. The pair of them went back to work and started fucking around, goofing off like the drunk idiots they were. While horsing around, Joel accidentally stumbled right over the edge of the roof and he had fallen about fifteen feet to the ground, landing on his back on Mrs. Adler’s lawn. Luckily, he’d been okay after the fall and hadn’t sustained any serious injuries or broken any bones, but he had spent the following three to four weeks feeling like he’d been hit by a fucking Greyhound.

That’s how he felt now.

Like he’d been hit by a fucking bus. Twice. There isn’t a single part of him that isn’t pulsating with pain—his back, his shoulders, and his head. Oh god, his head feels the worst. It’s fucking killing him. 

Joel’s eyelids twitch and he cracks them open ever so slightly, just enough that he can see the silhouette of another person hovering over him. He feels a hand at the crown of his head as the other continues to dab at his temple with the cool cloth. It feels incredible against his warm skin and even sort of soothes the pain.

He lets out a small groan and the humming ceases.

Finally, he manages to force his eyes open.

Joel hears a little gasp and the bed he’s lying on squeaks and shifts. He then hears a loud thumping sound as if something, or someone had fallen to the floor. 

Although he’s still disoriented and his entire body aches with even the slightest movement, Joel manages to push himself up into a sitting position. Blinking rapidly, his blurred vision steadies itself after a minute and he glances around. He’s in a small, single room wooden cabin that has seen better days in its lifetime. Looking down, he sees that he’s lying on a bare, worn out mattress with his own jacket draped over him like a blanket. He racks his mildly concussed brain, trying to recollect what had happened—it takes him a minute, but one by one, the memories start flooding back to him. Joel had been leading mid morning patrol with Tommy when they had been ambushed by a large group of hostile raiders. He remembers shouting at his brother, telling him that he’d try and lead some of them off, away from the direction of their community. He’d succeeded and managed to pick off a few of the bastards that had been tailing him with his rifle, all except for one. The very last thing that he remembered was the sound of a gunshot behind him before his horse went down and he’d been thrown off and knocked out.

Everything after that was nothing but a blur.

Joel takes another look around the cabin and that’s when he sees you.

You’re on the floor, backed up against the wall near the foot of the mattress. Your eyes are wide and round, like a deer caught in the headlights. Your chest heaves, rising and falling rapidly—you remind him of a helpless, frightened animal that had been cornered by a vicious predator. You clutch the handle of a switchblade up against your chest with the blade pointing downwards, holding it so tightly in your hand that Joel can see the skin stretching tightly over your knuckles. 

“Who the hell are you?” He grimaces slightly, his own voice causing his head to throb. 

You don’t reply.

Joel moves onto his next question. “Where am I?”

Again, no response.

He tries again. “Are you alone?”

Silence. 

Joel takes a better look at you.

You’re young. You couldn’t have been older than your late twenties, perhaps even your early thirties although that might have been a bit of a stretch. You had that look about you, one that had become all but too familiar to him in the last two decades—the exhausted appearance of someone trying to survive in the post outbreak world. Your face is tired and worn, but somehow still soft and youthful at the same time. You might have looked a little rough around the edges, but you’re still the prettiest goddamn thing he’s seen in a long, long time. 

Joel speaks again. “Who are you? Where the hell are we?” When he’s met with complete silence for the fourth time, he raises an eyebrow, feeling annoyed. “You gonna fuckin’ say somethin’ or what?”

You can only stare at him, your fingers wrapped around the handle of your knife in a vice-like grip.

Joel frowns.

Are you really that fucking terrified of him?

Or perhaps you can’t hear?

Only one way to find out, he thinks to himself.

He raises his voice, asking once again, “Who are you? Where are we?”

You wince, your features twisting in discomfort.

Oh, you could fucking hear him, alright. 

Joel swings his legs over the side of the mattress, his movement causing you to shrink back further against the wall, almost as if you were trying to become a part of the old, rotted wood. He holds up his two hands, demonstrating that he has no plans to move another muscle towards you. “How long have I been out?”

He tries to show some patience and gives you a minute, gives you a chance to respond, but when you say nothing, he can’t help but sigh out in frustration. Just when he’s about to force himself to come to terms with the fact that he wouldn’t be getting any kind of answers out of you, you lift your free hand and hold up three trembling fingers. 

His stomach sinks. “Three days? I’ve been out for three fuckin’ days?”

You give him a nod so tiny and so subtle that he would’ve missed it had he blinked.

“Fuck,” Joel curses, hanging his head. He begins to spiral.

What happened to Tommy? And the others? 

Did they make it out alive?

And then Ellie’s face flashes in his mind, causing the blood in his veins to run ice cold. 

What could she possibly be thinking right now after he’d been missing for three whole days? Who was taking care of her and looking after her while he wasn’t there?

He needed to get back to Jackson—he needed to get back to Ellie.

He wasn’t sure how he would be able to do that if you didn’t start talking soon and answering his goddamn questions.

Lifting his head, Joel looks over at you again. 

“You all by yourself?”

You hesitate, but then nod in reply. Yes.

Joel sighs, his tense shoulders relaxing. That’s a start. “Listen, I’m gonna need a little help here, alright? I don’t remember much ‘bout what happened. I’m part of a community. I was out on patrol with my group when we were attacked by raiders. There were too many of them and I tried to lead some of them away,” he explains. He might not have known what had happened after he’d been thrown off of his horse, but the fact that he’s in your cabin and he’s alive help him piece at least one part of the puzzle together. “Wait a minute. Did you—did you save me out there?”

Sucking in your bottom lip, you nod again.

Stunned, Joel’s eyebrows raise up towards his hairline. “You fuckin’ serious?” he can’t help but question in complete and utter disbelief. Skeptically, he presses, “But how? What happened out there? How did you get me here all by yourself?” His queries spill from his lips one after the other despite knowing most of them, if not all of them, would go unanswered.

You look overwhelmed by them—by him.

Figuring it’s best to take it one slow step at a time, Joel stands up and he cautiously walks over towards you. He holds out his hand. “S’alright,” he assures you in the most gentle voice he can muster. “I ain’t gonna hurt you.”

You refuse to loosen your grip on your knife, but you accept his hand and allow him to help you up to your feet. Given that you didn’t lodge the blade straight through his chest, Joel would say some progress had been made. 

He releases your hand and takes a step backwards to give you your space. He isn’t too sure if you can’t talk or simply don’t want to talk—still thinking you’d been the woman he’d heard singing when he had drifted back into consciousness, he guesses it’s probably the latter. 

Joel tries to think of questions he knows you’ll be able to answer without having to speak. 

“How long have you been by yourself?”

Shifting anxiously from one foot to the other, you hold up one finger. 

“Sorry darlin’ but that don’t really help me much,” he mutters, shaking his head. “Are we talkin’ one week? One month?”

You make a gesture with your hand. Keep going.

“One year?” He doesn’t bother hiding his blatant skepticism. “You’ve been completely alone for one whole year?”

You point at him. That’s right. 

Joel is beside himself. He’s almost in awe over the fact that you’ve survived on your own for so fucking long.

“You got any other weapons besides that knife?”

You nod over towards a bow and sheath of arrows next to your backpack.

“You’re kiddin’ me. That’s all you’ve got?”

You narrow your eyes at him.

Hey, it’s a good weapon and it saved your fucking life, thank you very much.

“Sorry. Just can’t imagine that thing would do much against a clicker. ‘Specially if your aim is shit,” Joel muses. He notices the offended expression on your face and quickly moves on. “You don’t have a gun at all?”

You reach behind yourself and pull out a colt pistol from the waistband of your jeans. You finally set down your knife and then show him that you’re low on ammunition and don’t have any more. Tucking the gun back into your jeans, you step around him and walk over to a corner where his rifle is propped up against the wall. You pick it up, make your way back over to him and hand it over. 

I believe this belongs to you.

“Thank you,” he utters quietly, taking it from you. “And I ain’t talkin’ ‘bout the gun, either. I honestly don’t think I’d be standin’ here alive if you hadn’t done whatever it was you did out there.” His eyes try meeting yours. “I’m serious, darlin’. I owe you one. I really fuckin’ do.”

You shrug, too timid to meet his gaze.

“I’m Joel,” he says after a minute, setting his rifle down. “What’s your name?”

You simply stare at him.

“Oh that’s right,” Joel mumbles sheepishly. “You can’t—” He stops himself, but he’s sure you know what he’d meant to say.

You can’t talk.

“You got a pencil or somethin’ to write with?”

You snort and roll your eyes at him. No, sorry. Silly me totally forgot to pick up a pack of pencils while I was out scavenging for supplies the other day.

Joel chuckles and holds up his hands in defense. “Figured it was at least worth askin’,” he says. “It’d be kinda nice to know the name of the person who saved my fuckin’ ass, you know.” He clocks the way the corners of your mouth threaten to turn upwards into a tiny smile at his remark. “How ‘bout a map? You got one of those so you can show me where we are?”

You hold up a finger, as if telling him to give you a minute. Digging into one of the front pockets of your pack, you pull out a large map of the state of Wyoming. It’s severely creased, as if you’ve folded and unfolded it hundreds of times. You hand it over to him and as he holds it out for you, you point to your current location. 

“Jackson’s ‘bout fifteen miles south from here,” Joel murmurs as he scans the map. Suddenly, his dark brown eyes flicker over your wrist—the long sleeve of your thin gray shirt had hiked up, exposing severe discoloration and scarring that went all the way around, marking your skin. 

Noticing where his gaze had wandered off to, you quickly retract your hand away from the map and tug your sleeve down back into place. But it’d been much too late. He had seen the mark, clear as fucking day. 

Joel awkwardly clears his throat and for the sake of not causing you any discomfort, he pretends he hadn’t seen a goddamn thing. He turns his attention back to the map. “Remember how I told you I’m a part of a community? It’s in Jackson and it ain’t all too far from here,” he states, peering up at you from over the top of the map. “The town’s gated and it’s secure. You’ll be safe there. If we head out right now, we can make it there by nightfall—”

You back away from him, shaking your head.

I’m not going with you.

He cocks an eyebrow at you. “Look darlin’, I don’t mean to offend, but you ain’t gonna last a whole lot longer out here on your own, especially not in a place like this with winter right around the corner. If you don’t starve to death, then you’ll fuckin’ freeze to death.”

You glare at him and lift your chin.

I’ve been doing just fine on my own, thanks. 

Having read your mind, Joel sighs. “Alright, fair enough. You’ve gotten this far by yourself, but that don’t mean you gotta turn down an offer for some help. Just come with me to Jackson—”

You shake your head even harder.

The last time that you had agreed to go back with a stranger to their camp, you’d been imprisoned. Tortured. 

Joel observes you, and it doesn’t take him very long to connect the dots between the scars around your wrists and your refusal to leave with him. His hard, stony face softens. “Listen sweetheart, I ain’t all too sure ‘bout what’s happened to you,” he says, choosing his words carefully. “But I can assure you that you ain’t gotta worry ‘bout a thing this time around. Just come with me and I’ll prove it to you.”

You toss him a skeptical look.

“Jackson is a safe place,” he swears. “My brother runs it along with his wife and a small council. There’s families, lots of children—hell I’ve got a kid myself. Teenager. Her name is Ellie and she’s fifteen years old.”

Your lips part slightly and your eyes glimmer with something that looks a lot like recognition, though Joel can’t be too sure what had prompted it. Perhaps you’d known someone with that name once in your life. 

“There’s plenty of food, running water, electricity,” he lists off in an attempt to sway you. “It’d be a shot at a normal life. Wouldn’t you like that?”

Crossing your arms, you lift your chin again.

You’d heard that before.

Why the hell should I even trust you? Why should I trust this place is what you say it is?

Joel bites back another frustrated sigh. 

Normally, he wouldn’t bother to put up with such stubbornness. He wasn’t one to plead or beg and part of him almost wanted to give up so he could be on his way, but you had saved him from being killed. He owed you his fucking life. He had to get you to go with him. He wouldn’t give up until you agreed to go to Jackson with him. 

“I’ll let you carry your weapons,” he offers as a compromise. “Hell, you can even walk behind me with your gun pointed at the back of my fuckin’ head if that’s gonna make you feel safest.”

You squint at him. Really?

“Or that bow of yours,” he adds, chuckling softly. “It’s your pick, darlin’. Whatever’s gonna make you feel comfortable. I’ll trust you not to shoot an arrow through the back of my skull—all I ask in return is that you at least make an attempt to trust me too. I think that’s a fair enough deal. Don’t you?”

You bite your bottom lip. 

I don’t know about this.

“I really don’t wanna leave you out here all alone,” Joel says, taking a step closer towards you. He finds himself feeling surprised that it hadn’t startled you and he only hopes that means that, to some degree, you trust him already. “Please. You saved my life—and I know you probably don’t need me savin’ yours, but at least let me take you to Jackson so you can see for yourself what we’ve got goin’ on there. If you don’t like it and you don’t wanna stay, then we’ll load up your pack with food and supplies. We’ll put you on a horse and you can be on your way. You can choose to leave and no one will lift a finger to stop you, I’ll make sure of it. How does that sound?”

He waits, giving you a chance to think it over.

Finally, after a minute, you sigh and reluctantly nodd your head. 

Okay. I’m gonna try and trust you.

“Good,” Joel says, softly. “Now get your stuff and let’s head out before we start losin’ daylight.” 

[chvoswxtch]

WHOOOO 4K CONGRATS MY LOVE!!!

I gotta good one for ya ;)

For Frankie I would like an americano on ice with the lyric “A place that is so pure, so dirty and raw.” From PILLOWTALK by Zayne<3

Maybe Frank had a really bad case, one where Frank is just beaten, battered, tired and he’s just desperate for the reader when he gets home.

So basically desperate needy sex with Frank 😩

THANK YOU MY DARLING

now you know I got carried away with this one, but I know that you don't mind one bit

please enjoy our favorite soft bad boy getting exactly what he deserves <3

as a reminder over ice means it's spicy! (minors dni)

blurb below the cut

order for frank with a shot of pillowtalk (over ice)

a place that is so pure / so dirty and raw

There wasn’t a single part of Frank’s body that didn’t hurt. He’d taken a lot more damage than he promised you he would, and you didn’t have to voice your frustration with him. He could see it in the pinch between your brows and the purse of your lips while you focused solely on tending to the cut on his cheek. But that didn’t stop his large hands from wandering along your bare thighs as you stood between his spread ones, even when you pushed his hands away.

“Frank-”

“C’mon baby, haven’t seen ya in a week.”

“You are actively bleeding all over our kitchen-”

“And you look damn good in my shirt.”

Rolling your eyes, you gently smacked his hand away from grabbing at your ass and continued to tend to the wound on his cheek.

“I am trying to fix you up-”

“I know a better way you can do that.”

Frank was relentless when he wanted something. You knew that. You’d always known that. While you were trying to take care of his injuries, he was pushing the shirt of his you were wearing up to your hips, kissing along your neck hungrily. Despite how much you ached for him, you forced him to sit still until you were finished and stubbornly insisted on him taking something for the pain. In his desperation, Frank complied with all of your demands.

Which is how he ended up getting his way, laying back on the bed while you writhed above him, riding him at a slow and sensual pace. The affliction he felt in his battered body was nonexistent to him compared to how good it felt having your tight and warm velvety walls wrapped around his cock. His large hands kneaded your soft thighs and gripped your hips, staring up at you in complete marvel. When he tried to thrust up into you in search of more, you gently placed your hand on his chest and shook your head.

“What did I say?”

Your one condition for giving into Frank was that he wasn’t allowed to move. He was supposed to lay there and let you take care of him.

“Please, baby.”

“What do you need Frankie?”

“More. C’mon, ride me a little faster.”

“I don’t wanna hurt you-”

“You ain’t gonna hurt me, baby. You’re makin’ me feel good…so fuckin’ good. Please sweetheart…just…gimme a little more, yeah? C’mon baby, please?”

It was hard to deny Frank in general, but especially like this. Even though he was all banged up, covered in various wounds and bruises, he looked so fucking good like this, lying beneath you, begging. If the world only knew how you brought the fearsome Punisher to his knees and made him pray to you.

You were careful to avoid touching any part of him you patched up, instead reaching for his large hands that were digging into your hips. Interlacing your fingers together, you pinned your joined hands to the mattress above Frank’s head, leaning over him to stare deeply into his eyes while you began to rock your hips faster.

“This what you wanted, Frankie?”

Frank squeezed your hands tightly, but not enough to hurt you. He completely gave into you and the pleasure you brought him. 

“Fuck…that’s it…that’s it baby…don’t stop…please don’t fuckin’ stop.”

“You wanna come, baby? That what you need?”

Frank could hardly think straight with how tight and wet your pussy was, and how fucking incredible it felt when you rode him faster, taking every inch of him so goddamn deeply while whispering in his ear like a sultry siren.

“God baby…yeah…yeah it is. Please…please sweetheart…make me come…please.”

It didn’t take much longer for Frank to fall apart, and you were right there behind him. Once you both calmed down, he had the biggest sated grin on his lips, and you shook your head while laughing.

“Feeling better, hm?”

“Much. You’re a hell of a nurse, sweetheart.”

[bedtimescenarios]

Hii! You asked for prompts to stay motivated, so I thought I'd share my all time favorite as a possible request?

I'm a SUCKER for an injured whumpee who's incredibly scared of the caretaker, not understanding that they just want to help them! Maybe they lash out or try to run away and have to be held down to receive the medical care they desperately need, with the caretaker trying to comfort them as best as they possibly can... You know?

/nf of course!! Have a great day!!

This is my first time requesting whump stuff, I hope I'm doing everything right aaa

hey there, anon!! thank you so much for the prompt:) it's actually helped me get to writing, and it's even a bit different from my usual stories, so i had an opportunity to diversify my writing!!

i hope you like this and that it fits the prompt well enough, and thanks again!

p.s i am supposed to be sleeping and have written this at 2 am. if there's any mistakes in there or something that needs to be re-done please let me know😭

. . .

As the door swings open with a squeak, Whumpee instinctively presses their back into the wall and lowers their head. Whumper must have had a bad day, otherwise he would've let them heal before another session. They're not getting that luxury now, they think, as the wounds on their body throb and sting with the reminder of their situation. They prepare themselves. They unclench their jaw so they won't bite down on their tongue, shifting so their knees are facing outwards,- they'd rather endure another leg fracture than be nauseous all week- and they tightly shut their eyes.

"Whumpee?"

The voice that rings out is different.

They don't raise their head, but they hear the person's next footstep resound closer. Another one is their cue to cower, pressing an arm against their bleeding abdomen. Did Whumper send someone else to hurt them? Oh, God, he sent someone to finish them off. He got bored, they're finally going to die, or worse-

"Whumpee, I'm not here to hurt you." The voice says, as if reading their mind, and Whumpee takes note of the apparent gentleness of it. A trick.

They look up through the fallen strands of hair stuck to their forehead, trying to assess the amount of danger- no, pain- they're about to be in. A man stands a few feet away, and they quickly identify him as the owner of the voice. Fuck, he's strong, Whumpee thinks as they notice his buff, tall build. He could break their wrist bare handedly, without much effort. Their eyes slowly trail up to his face, noting the short, dark dreads pulled back into a ponytail that ensures an unperturbed view of his surroundings. Increased efficiency and a boost in fun. I can pair your screams with clear images, Whumper used to say.

Caretaker's obsidian eyes meet Whumpee's, and they imagine him saying that same thing to them. They ignore his manipulative attempt at an empathetic, pitying glance. Having been through this too many times already, they can recognize it from a mile away. They just want their break, at least until their wounds close. And they won't let this random stranger take it away from them. Their gaze hardens slightly, yet it's still tinged with raw fear.

"I'm Caretaker. I won't hurt you, I swear- Just- Whumpee, we need to get you to a hospital."

Another lie. But... taking them to another location? No, no no no. Whumpee's hand clenches around their wounds. Another lonely gathering of walls where their screams will echo for eternity. Whumper is giving them away for good. They're so, so tired. Death suddenly doesn't sound as bad.

Alarms blare inside Whumpee's mind, turning their world to hues of red. They feel their veins burn with adrenaline, and before they know it, they're on their feet, scratching at Caretaker's face. They use all their strength, a final attempt at freedom- one way or another. Like a wounded rabbit scratching at the fox whose jaw is clenched upon its ears.

They expect a hard blow to their temple. Or the sharp prick of a syringe. But nothing comes, except for pressure pulling their hands away from the man's face. As they're pulled away, writhing in the grip, they internally swear at themselves for omitting the possibility of backup. Only when their arms are held firmly to their sides is it that they notice themselves trembling, and only when the two people next to them lower them to their ground do they realize how much of an effort each move is. How much pain each shift brings.

As the people behind them hold them still, hands quickly shuffling through a first aid kit, they can finally make out Caretaker's expression. Beyond bloody streaks, his face is painted with genuine shock- or simply incredible acting. He doesn't step forward again as Whumpee sobs in terror, their eyes glassy and breathing labored. Though, if they look closely enough, they can distinguish tears at the corners of his eyes too. He tilts his head, and the corners of his mouth turn upwards softly.

"Shh...It's okay. We'll make you all better, and you'll be able to trust again sometime."

[unknownperson246]

a/n: I really wanted a age gap that y/n is 18 and izzy is older than her, he is coming back from a gig and he is completely wasted, soaked in sweat, but he puts his tiredness aside when she starts to provoke him. i wanted him to be very rough and give in to his primal instincts, but in the end be sweet to her and take care of her knowing she is very insecure and i want him to praise her, i really wanted big dominance and daddykink, swearing at her and dirty talk, praise kink and i wanted it to be like she was his little secret, something that no one of them wanted people to know of

I went wild with writing this fic 😭. Sorry if it seems a bit too much.

Modern Izzy: Our Little Secret

Words: 1,258

warnings: *smut* *fluff* *P in V* *Age gap* *Dirty talk* *Praise kink* *Daddy kink* *Izzy dominates reader* *Breeding Kink* *Bleeding* *Izzy cusses at reader* *cussing* *Virgin Role Play* *Aftercare* *Aggressive and Rough*

✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ:*

You were Izzy’s 18-year-old girlfriend. Your relationship was secret. You both promised each other not to tell anyone about the two of you. You told him that it’d be “Our little secret”. You were soon to be his wife. Izzy was 62 but you didn’t mind the 44-year-old age gap and neither did he. You found it sexy that Izzy was older than you. He was the first older man you were with. You were planning to stay with him forever. Something about him just made you thirsty. His fashion sense with the suits and hats he wears made you feel so excited. He was more mature than most younger men and that is what turned you on. You were sitting in bed when Izzy came home to you covered in sweat from his reunion concert with his old band Guns N Roses. It has been a while since you and Izzy did it. You wanted to role play as a virgin tonight. He looked like he was going to collapse from fatigue. He put his tiredness away feeling energetic with adrenaline still rushing through his body from playing his guitar in front of thousands of people who were cheering them on. 

“Daddy?” You say to Izzy randomly. 

He looked up at you with tired eyes but once he saw your bare body he put it aside for you. He started to go feral seeing his young girlfriend. Once you called him daddy he knew what you wanted.

“Come and fuck me I’m still a virgin Daddy.” You smile at him while pointing at your pussy that was out for him to see.

Izzy came closer to you. He just hovered over you staring at your tits and pussy.

“Come on Daddy. Or are you just a tired old man who is wrinkly?. It looks like you don't have the ability to have good sex.” You laugh in his face. 

You watched the bulge underneath his pants grow. His cock pulsed with hardness for you. You provoked him. You were pulling at his nerves. He didn't usually get angry like this but since you were naked putting yourself out there for him he went wild for you. 

“What the fuck did you just say?” He spat on your face.

“You're so hard Daddy,” You say as you see his hardness take over him

“You're just a fucking needy whore aren't you?” He asked.

“Daddy. You know I am. I love you and your sweet dick.” You said chuckling. 

Izzy's primal instincts take over. “I love when you pretend to be a virgin” he chuckles, getting ready to undo his belt. He unbuttoned his shirt before he dealt with his pants. 

He throws the belt onto the side of the floor. He gets on top of you on the bed. You grab your and Izzy's pillow to help support your elbows when he fucked you. “You know what to do,” He said aggressively.

You got on your hands and your knees on the bed. He got behind you and grabbed his cock. He put it at your entrance and you felt shivers go down your spine. You felt him trying to shove his enlarged dick inside of you. He couldn't fit it in your tight hole.

“Daddy, it won't fit. It hurts” You whine.

“You can take it like a good girl,” He said as he finally managed to shove the tip of his dick inside of you. Soon you felt him slide into you. You felt his full length. You wanted his balls to crush your pussy.

“Daddy. I am letting you take my virginity” You say seductively.

“Let Daddy take it” He smirked, petting your hair.

 Soon you felt him thrusting deep inside of you. He was very aggressive with each thrust. He felt his hands holding hips to hold you up. You felt the front of his body leaning on your back more and more with each thrust. You could feel the smooth friction. Each thrust just got harsher. A strong scent of his cologne came from his pillow and you almost melted into the bed. Your body wanted to give up but your mind told you to stay up in the position on the bed. His hands occasionally moved up to your tits. He gave them a nice squeeze once in a while. “Daddy please fuck a baby into me. Fuck me like the little needy whore you know I am.” You moan grabbing at the bedsheet's.

“Not yet you needy fucking bitch. Just a bit longer. Almost there.” He grunted. 

You loved it when he cussed at you. He loved seeing you like this all needy for him. He loved cursing at you to put him at ease. You were obsessed with trying to get him to have a baby with you. He didn't want kids but your breeding kink was always on when you were fucked by him. He still had heavy lust in his eyes for you. You kept moving forward each time he thrust into your tight hole that barely had any space for his huge and long dick. You felt his breathing get harder as he kept shoving his huge erection inside of you. “Stay still bitch. Or else you won’t be called a good girl anymore.” He spat.

You stayed still for your boyfriend to keep doing his work. 

“Daddy I am gonna come.” You moan trying to scratch at his pillow. 

“Shhh, your my little secret. My good little girl” He groaned trying to quiet you down so the neighbors couldn't hear the both of you.

From that point, you kept all your cries, moans, and sighs quiet. You could feel him pounding your pussy which was quivering for his attention. He moaned and groaned quietly as he kept going full speed on your pussy. You felt that your pussy was going to rip soon from the friction of his huge dick but you didn't care as long as you could feel him pounding you from the inside like the needy whore you were.

“Almost there” He moaned as you felt him dump his wet load into you.

 You felt his jets of come coat your womb. You felt his come coat your wet folds. In return, you came on his cock. You felt both of your orgasms travel down your thighs. Once Izzy pulled out of you saw his cock was glistening and it returned down to its normal size. You saw small strings of blood from how aggressive he was. He got up from the bed and saw the blood on his cock and on the strings of come flowing down your thighs.

“Hey, are you okay?” He asked. 

His demeanor was different from how it was when he was fucking you. “Yeah, I’m fine Izzy. I guess we took the virgin role play a little too seriously.” You chuckle as you get up from the bed. 

You clean the excess come that had flowed down your thighs with a wet napkin you had on the side table. You noticed he wasn't putting on his clothes. You felt his hands on your body. He picked you up bridal style and took you into the bathroom with him. You and Izzy took a shower together. He took care of you after the intense sex you both had.

“My tits hurt,” You say looking at the hand print Izzy had left.

“Sorry sweetheart.” He apologized while the both of you were in the shower rinsing off all the dirt from your bodies.

[madwomansapologist]

──────〃✰ KINKTOBER DAY 8: 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐄𝐗

title: let it sink in synopsis: the fight was over, the war was done, but the tension was still there. watching the princess falling victim of her own mind, the navigator has to intervene. [1K] cw: established relationship, insecurity, a bit of hurt and a lot of comfort, this isn't sex it's love okay i'm sensitive about them, shower sex, masturbation.

PREV POST ✰ NEXT POST

The bathroom smelled like tangerines and honey. Hot water melted the layers of dirty, washing away sweat and tears. It was over. It was really, finally over.

Rubbing Vivi’s back, a scent of iron invaded their little bubble of peacefulness. Nami looked down at the bath, just now seeing how rosy the water surrounding them both was. Only then she was reminded of how much blood she lost. Of how much blood the two of them lost.

Sore muscles. Mind tired from all the screaming and crying. Open, bleeding wounds. It was over, finally, but that didn’t mean it all simply stopped hurting. And if her shot feet is enough to make Nami tremble, then she can’t even imagine all the things going through Vivi’s head.

The bathroom smelled like tangerines, honey, and blood.

“You can breathe now”, Nami whispered. She filled her hands with bubbles, placing them on top of Vivi’s shoulder. “You did it. Vivi, you really did it.”

“We”, she said. Vivi played with her fingers, trying to not get lost inside her own head. It was a very crowded place right now, and not kind in the slightest. “I never would’ve done it without you. Without all of you.”

Sweet words, but Nami noticed how off they felt. Their meaning was genuine, she knows Vivi well enough to understand that, but it sounded more like an echo of anyone would expect her to say than what she is actually thinking about. Nami is familiar with lies imbued with truths.

She gets it. Nami really does. Nami knows good things don’t always feel good. Sometimes they hurt for a long time. But Vivi… She doesn’t deserve that. She doesn’t deserve to wait until happiness finds her. Vivi is good, she’s kind, and she had enough of pain for a lifetime.

Nami thought a bath would help. At least, it helps her when her mind is a cruel place. Hot water takes care of the body, expelling the tiredness away, and the rest treats the mind. Oils and creams, shampoos and soaps, masks and exfoliants. After a time, muscle memory is all that remains. Not a thought, not a worry, just something new to rub on your skin.

It isn’t working on Vivi.

Calloused hands grabbed her soft hips, fingers moving in circles against her tender skin. Everything about Vivi is so delicate. “You’re thinking loudly”, Nami murmured. “I don’t like this. Not knowing how to make you happier.”

That made Vivi laugh. Nami assumed it was a good thing, although she couldn’t quite understand why Vivi would react like that. Vivi leaned onto her, head fitting in the crook of Nami’s neck. She inhaled deeply.

“Don’t mock me, princess.” Nami pinched the soft thigh. That only made Vivi laugh more. “Here I am, pouring my heart for you. Should’ve robbed you when I had the chance.”

Vivi only rolled her eyes. She took Nami’s hand in between hers, stroking the scar on it. She kissed the raw knuckles, unaffected by the blood on it. If anything, she was grateful Nami would fight for her dreams and hopes. But then again, knowing the navigator, Vivi knew it was the only thing Nami would’ve done.

Somehow, and that still surprises her, Nami cares.

 “You don’t know how to make me happier?” Vivi sighed. How truly stupid Nami has to be in order to not see she’s the only thing between Vivi and a violent sob? “Just by being near me, darling Nami, I turn into the happiest woman this country ever saw.”

“You are so…” Nami giggled, face heating up. The tip of her ears burned. “Darling Nami? Is that so?”

Vivi only nodded.

For a moment, Nami hesitated. There was something she wanted to say, something that maybe she shouldn’t. Fuck it, Nami thought. I faced scarier things that a princess. Still, she hesitated.

“I had no hope for my life”, Nami whispered. There was no need to, they were alone and so close, but that’s something one simply does when sharing a secret. “But now… Every time I look around, all I see is people I care about. People I love. I care about you, darling Vivi. I love you.”

It was Vivi’s time to giggle. Her smile was so big, so genuine, her entire face burned. “My cheeks will fall apart”, she tried to cover her face, but Nami held her hands in place. “I never thought you would be so sweet.”

“And I never thought you would be so furious. We both are full of surprises.”

Vivi kissed the crook of Nami’s neck. Little pecks, sweet just like her. Nami massaged her waist, using the right amount of strength to undo all those knots.

“Are you tired?” Vivi asked, voice lower.

“Exhausted”, Nami sighed. Her fingers moved to Vivi’s thighs, caressing them gently. “I guess we feel the same way.”

Leaving open mouth kisses on her shoulder, Vivi whimpered as those skilled fingers touched her lips. It was a weird position, her arm contorted in an uncomfortable angle, but she managed to draw circles around Nami’s clit.

There wasn’t a need to rush. There wasn’t a goal they both needed to seek after. At that moment, Nami and Vivi simply needed to be together. As close as possible.

“Thank you”, Vivi whispered. With two long fingers inside of her, a sob escaped her throat. “For being born. This world would be a boring place without you.”

Nami kissed her. She wanted to kiss Vivi, she needed to kiss Vivi, but the main reason she did so was because Nami couldn’t figure out something to say.

Hearing those sensitive whimpers, feeling as Vivi turned limp against her hand, she felt whole. “Princess”, Nami called. She rubbed her nose against the blue hair, legs trembling underwater.

Vivi smiled. “Pirate.”

Embracing one another, it was really, finally over.

taglist: @ffinosie @lovelyy-moonlight @alzaira @s2-angells @eyes-ofhell @inlovewithmariah @chiiyohiimee @shaquilles-0atmeal @bloodyziggy @salemey @kcch-ns @notanalienindisguiseblink @py-schi @miyanosm

© all rights reserved to MADWOMANSAPOLOGIST

[vividraft]

tacet discord matchmaker ! *ੈ✩‧₊˚ - where he more or less, accidentally confesses his love to you ⋆·˚ ༘ *

⇢ ˗ˏˋ characters: Jiyan

⇢ ˗ˏˋ readers gender not specified !

⇢ ˗ˏˋ important note: This is shorter than i wanted it to be, but I gotta post something! I'm also still trying to get used to writing for wuwa characters

⇢ ˗ˏˋ a/n: Thank you guys for all the support!!

masterlist

Again and again, you tried your best to help in battle. Even if Jiyan repeatedly told you not too. You should probably listen to him, since he is the general and all, yet you can’t let him on the battlefield alone. You couldn’t stand seeing him fight out there alone. 

Not when you held him so dear to you, so no matter what he said to you, you weren’t willing to watch him fight without your help. It’s not like you couldn’t defend yourself. You were a resonator after all. 

Yet you made a tiny mistake. A tiny slip up was all it took for you to get hurt, and now you are sitting back at the camp. No matter how much you insisted you were okay, Jiyan ended up dragging you back to get you patched up.

“Alright I’m all fixed up now let’s go back-”, you jumped up from the mat you were sitting on, a silent attempt to prove that you were fine, and could keep going.

“No you’re staying here, you’re not going back on the battlefield with a still bleeding wound”, Jiyan pushed you back down on your shoulders while speaking. 

“Jiyan I swear I’m fine and I can keep going, it barely even hurts”, you stared up at him.

“I will follow you whether you want me to or not, so either we can head back together or I’ll go on my own”, you grinned at him like you just won. 

“I’ll have someone else keep an eye on you. You’re not going anywhere until that wound is fine again y/n”, Jiyan crossed his arms. 

“But-”

“No buts. I cannot let you get back out there. We have this conversation every single time y/n”, Jiyan was already ready to leave again. 

“Yeah we wouldn’t have this conversation every time if you would just let me help you out there, but you treat me like a child that can’t fend for themselves”, you leaned back against the wall in frustration, already thinking of a plan how to get out of here. 

“You know that that’s not true y/n. I just care about you and won’t let you tire yourself out extremely just so you can get what you want!”, this was already running out of control. 

“It’s not about me getting what I want Jiyan! Do you not see that I’m doing all this just-”

“Of course I see it!”

“Then why won’t you just let me help! Do you think I’m fucking weak? Do you think I can’t fend for myself! Am I a bother to you out there on the battlefield?!”, tears were starting to cling at the corner of your eyes, and you shot up to bore your finger into Jiyans chest. 

“What- no! None of those things are true and you know it!”, people around you have stopped in their tracks to watch you two argue. 

Anyone else would have been scared standing in front of Jiyan, with him right in front of you shouting right back at you. Not you though. Not when you have known this man since as long as you can remember. 

“Then what is your reason for always keeping me out and away from the battlefield huh?!”, Jiyan didn’t answer. He didn’t even look at you. He looked around locking eyes with all the people who stopped to watch, some being send back to work with a mere look into Jiyan’s eyes. 

“Come on, answer me! Don’t ignore me like I am not standing right in front of you!”

“Y/n we’re not doing this right here”, Jiyan took your hand away from his chest and put it down. 

“Oh what so your solution is to run away again? You always do this!”, a tear has fallen from your eye by now, and without caring who or how many people were watching, you just kept on shouting at Jiyan. 

To be really honest with yourself, you couldn’t care less if he hated you for making him angry all the time. He could hate you more than anyone in the world, and it was okay with you. It was all okay with you, as long as you could still make sure that he was okay. 

Even if it was from afar. 

“Y/n, stop-”

“It’s not fair! Everyone else gets to be out there, fighting by your side except for me! What did I do?!”, tear after tear fell, but the words which came out of your mouth expressed nothing except for pure anger. 

Jiyan has always been unpredictable, in battle, in conversation or even in his actions. But never this unpredictable. 

He grabbed your wrist and pulled you closer, to whisper in your ear, attempting to not let anyone else hear his words, since they were only meant for you. 

“I’m doing this because I love you, y/n. Is that reason enough for you?”

Indeed an effective way to shut someone up. 

“Jiyan I-”, all words were knocked out of your vocabulary, and your eyes wandered to the floor. In shame maybe? 

How did you never notice? I mean you and him had the same reasons for your actions. Maybe you were a little blind.

You wanted him to know how you felt about him as well. But was now the right moment to let him know? The hand he had on your wrist has now wandered down to your hand, and it remained there. It was warm. Warmer than yours for sure. 

“Jiyan I… love you too. I love you too”, you replied. 

Suddenly a voice interrupted. 

“General! General Jiyan! The wave of Tacet Discords has been defeated. Shall we go back to our usual patrol routines?”

“Oh- yes in that case, return to your routines. I will be joining you in a little while. Please inform the magistrate and her assistant that everything has been dealt with”, it always amazed you how quickly Jiyan’s brain could be back on track, no matter how distracted he was before. 

“Well-”, you started, looking for words to summarize the feeling in your heart but could find none. And luckily you didn’t have to.

“Y/n you need to understand, the only reason that I try my hardest to keep you off the battlefield is because I know how terrifying it can be. If you fight for anybody, it should be for yourself. Not for me. With so many TDs out there as there were today, I would hate to have you fight while being injured. And yes I am very well aware that you can fend for yourself, but that doesn’t take away how worried I get”, Jiyan’s eyes kept flicking from the floor to the expressions you wore on your face. 

Never have you seen him so… Emotional? Is that the right word?

“Y/n, I am truly sor-”, there was no way you would let him apologize to you after all that. Quickly, you cut him off with a kiss. Catching him off guard has always been a challenge, but like this, it was easier than ever. 

“Don’t apologize. Not for something like this”

taglist: @lupicalbestwolf

[shimkongzlove]

Ryouhei x reader

A/N - loved windbreaker but I couldn't find many fics related to it so I decided to write one on my own . It is terribly written with a bunch of spelling mistakes and a basic plot. Read at your own risk ❌️❌️

Warning- mention of blood , violence , a bit of angst , sexual themes ( ig that's it )

You were working as an intern in the xyz hospital ( choose any name u like ) for your winter break . U loved working there , the staff was sweet and u received a good pay . But there were a lot of things which dint particularly suit your liking ,first and foremost it was situated in a rather shady area , the patients who came there during ur night shift were let's just say interesting .

Night shifts were something that u did not enjoy even hated to a certain level . They were tiring, boring and deprived you off of sleep . Yet what was important had to be done

4:30 am

A cold gush of winds welcomed u as u exited the hospital . The walk home was rather quite until u heard grunting from a nearby alley . Normally u would have ignored it but today u were feeling rather curious

U peeked into the alley way only to find a man surrounded by blood , lying on the cold floor . U stood there Debating whether to help the man or not and atlast ur heart won over ur mind .

U made your way to him cursing yourself for even stopping in the first place . Kneeling down next to him u observed his features . He was handsome no he was hot as fuck , the scar running down his face Made it 100 times better maybe it wasn't that bad of a decision to stop

While u were in your little dream land the man in question had regained his consciousness, his instinct led his hand to your wrist breaking u away from your thoughts .

The panic started to set in 'fuck he's awake man I hate my self for this ' , " who are you " said the stranger in question not letting go of your wrist which was starting to hurt " you're hurting me let go , please " ur plee fell on deff ears " I'm a doctor ur bleeding profusely if we don't sto-" ur words were cut short by the man pulling u closer "I asked who the fuck are you " he asked once again ignoring ur words . His deep voice sent shivers down ur body , ur face was just inches away frm his " si-sir I'm y/n , I can help you , your wounds look deep we have to stop the bleeding "

"I'm fine " he said letting go of your wrist " don't need help frm a complete stranger " "sir pls these wounds look serious I promise I mean no harm " as much as u hated the man's attitude u were still a doctor by profession it was your duty to help those in need

"My house is just 5 minutes away from here I can help stop ur bleeding and then we can both go our separate ways forgetting this ever happened deal " before he could argue his body gave up and he fell right into your arms

'Fuck he's heavy ' u somehow managed to drag him to your apartment . U laid his body down on your bed and started collecting all the medical supplys needed for the treatment .

Ryouhei's pov - 'man does my head hurt ' regaing back his consciousness he started to realize that he was not in an alley fighting people but rather he was lying on a bed one that was not his , his vision was still quite blurry from the hit he had taken , realizing he could not do much in his state he layed there accepting his faith

"Oh, ur awake I was just collecting the medical supplies needed for your treatment " "where am i" he said once again ignoring u " ur at my house, I promised I won't harm u so rest assured" u said walking closer to him " I dint quite catch ur name " " ryouhei " he said In an uninterested tone " well ryouhei-san you'll need to take of your um... clothes for me to help you..." u said as blood creeped up to your cheeks

He adhered to your request without any further question . He had a well toned body with a few cuts and scratches here and there . U caught urself staring a little more then needed, face as red as a tomato "take a pic it'll last longer " were the words that broke ur train of thoughts u felt an ache between ur legs ' this is so unprofessional, but man he's so hot ' "so-sorry, ehh anyways I'll start your treatment it's gonna sting a little so try not to move that much k?"

Sitting next to him on your bed u started your treatment , u felt him shiver under your touch "why are u doing this " he asked " I'm a doctor, it's my duty to help those in need " ur words sounded sincere to him " I'm a bad guy ukw that right " " I'm just here for the intern ship , i dont know the dirty business that goes around here " u said eyes still on his wounds , somehow u dint feel scared by his declaration , his hands went to your waist pulling ur body even more closer to his , stopping ur movements " everyone here knows who I am , many are scared to even approach I could do anything to you and ppl won't even bat an eye "

"U could have harmed me the moment you woke up yet here we are , so ik u won't do anything to me , atleast that's what I'd like to believe " " tch, ur way too confident " u decided not to reply , the time after that passed by silently

After about 15 or 20 minutes u were done putting bandages on his chest, arms and shoulders there were still a few cuts and scratches on his back so u asked him to turn around . He was now laying on his back

The spots were hard to treat because of the position u both were In , the only best possible way for u to reach them was to sit on his back "ryouhei-san ...the wounds on your back are kind of hard to reach so I'll need to change my position to treat them " " do whatever u want"

So u did what u had to , your theigs were now on either side of his body ( u were wearing shorts) touching his bare back.

Ryouheis pov

He was going crazy , the feeling of your theigs deff caused him to get a hard on not only that ,since the moment he met u . He was doomed. U were so pretty ,ur skin shining in the moon light, ur sweet voice, ur scent everything about u was intoxicating he couldn't take it much longer

He turned around causing u to yelp and hold on to his shoulders for support u were now basically straddling him " ur driving me nuts " "what did I d-" before u could finish , u felt smth poking ur inner thigh "oh" " yea feel that , that's what u did , you gotta help me now babe "

The end

( this is sooo poorly written 👎 but I had to to justice to my man ryouhei , there are barely any fics about him 😭😭 lemme know if yall want a pt2 )

( ps- this is the first fic iv ever written so please go easy on me and I hope yall enjoyed it)

[sallownights]

Hello, can I request an Ominis x reader? Maybe something with angst and a lot of fluff? I’ll let you choose what it’s about, or if you’d prefer not then it could be about something with the reader getting hurt. Thank you!!

i think he knows

word count: 2.9k

CW: angst, hurt/comfort, fluff. leander slander. they kiss, idk

A/N: anyways, i think he knows is a good song. banger song. also thank you for the request🤍🤍 i had a fun time writing this and i think i genuinely giggled a total of 14 times. my girlfriend proofread this 😐

pairing: ominis gaunt x f!reader. implied imelda x garreth?

Ominis had been searching for Y/N almost the whole day. Poppy had told him that she was in the Room of Requirement. However, when he was there, she wasn’t. Sebastian told him she was in the Undercroft, again, not there. Imelda had even tried to help Ominis look for Y/N with no such luck. He had even asked Garreth if he had seen her, but no such luck.

The castle was vast, there was a possibility that he just got unlucky when looking for her. Ominis couldn’t shake the feeling that she may be avoiding him. While he was walking towards the Slytherin common room, he heard a hushed argument down the hall. He stopped in his tracks, trying to decipher what was being said.

“Sebastian, I am fine. I’m just tired,” Ominis perks up hearing Y/N’s voice.

“You’re clearly not, your robes are in tatters. The ‘armor’ you wear is practically torn. Your eyebrow’s bleeding and Merlin knows what else!” Sebastian’s voice rang out in Ominis’ ears. His mind starts going quickly. Had Y/N gotten hurt? Where had she been?

“I’m fine.” He can hear how she’s quickly getting aggravated. He hears her footsteps get closer before she cries out in pain.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. You just- Y/N. You’re clearly hurt. Ominis has been trying to find you all day. What would he think?” He hears Sebastian plead with Y/N, something he didn’t do very often.

“I just- I just needed to take care of something. Ominis would be fine. I’m okay.” Ominis frowns at her words. He’s not fine. He feels awful.

“Did you really? You wouldn’t care if I go find him and tell him that you’re all bloody?” Sebastian’s voice gets stern with Y/N, again, a rare occurrence. It’s normally the other way around.

“No! No- I just… I’ll tell him. I don’t want him to hear it from you. You’ll make everything worse. No offense.”

“I still am taking offense.”

“I said not to.”

“Well, fuck you, I am.” Ominis smiles at the two bickerings, deciding to walk out to where they can see him. He wanders towards their voices.

“Hey Y/N. Sebastian.” Y/N’s eyes get as big as mooncalves when she sees Ominis.

“Hey, Ominis… Sebastian and I were just-” She looks at Sebastian and he shakes his head. “talking about how I got hurt earlier.” Y/N says with a sigh and looks down.

“I’ll leave you two to talk.” Sebastian walks away, patting Ominis on the back.

“Is that where you were today? Fighting?” Ominis’ voice was a little tense, worried she was upset with him. He was so infatuated with her that even when he should be upset, he just wanted her to be happy with him.

“I’m sorry,” Y/N looks at her hands. They were covered in dirt and blood. She wasn’t sure when her blood started and stopped.

“Why don’t we go to the Undercroft? Or your Room of Requirement. I know how much you dislike the Hospital Wing,” He carefully wraps his arm around her shoulder, he hears her wince and drops his arm to her waist.

“Room of Requirement might be better. I can brew some wiggenweld when we're there.” Ominis nods and helps Y/N walk. They get to a floo powder station, taking them to the Astronomy Tower. He knew she wouldn’t be able to walk up all those stairs while hurt.

The door appears before the two, Ominis pushes it open, helping Y/N move inside.

“I can walk, it’s okay.” Ominis shakes his head.

“No, sit down. Let me take care of you.” Y/N blushes. Her head feeling a bit woozy. She’s not sure if it’s from blood loss or from Ominis’ caring nature.

Ominis helps Y/N sit down before he rushes off toward a first aid kit he made her keep in the room. It wasn’t the first time she had come back bloody. Ominis brought a bowl, rags, and the kit over to where Y/N was sitting. He brought himself to his knees, the bowl next to him. He quickly cast Aquamenti, filling the bowl with water.

“Give me your hands, love,” his voice is quiet, not wanting her to think he was upset with her. She places her hands in his. Ominis wets one of the rags he brought over before beginning to scrub the dirt and blood off her. He hears her wince every now and then.

“I’m sorry, love. I’ll be done with your hands soon.” He feels around her hands, feeling for any parts that feel grimy or sticky. When he can’t find any, he smiles and puts her hands down against her softly. He casts a spell quickly to figure out where her other wounds are.

“Okay, a pretty big gash on your back and one on your leg. I’m gonna bandage you up and then we’ll be done, okay?” He brings a hand to her cheek. She nods weakly. He frowns and stands up, helping her take her makeshift chest plate off and her bloodied shirt. He moves her so she’s standing up so he can wrap a bandage around her. He brings a new rag to her back, feeling her shiver at the cold sensation and wincing every now and again. He presses kisses onto her shoulder trying to bring her some comfort.

Once the scar is clean, he starts bandaging her, wrapping it around her back and waist. He kisses her shoulder when he’s done with that. He walks over to the dresser Y/N has kept in the room in case she wants to get changed into something comfier. He feels around for a fresh shirt for her to wear. He smiles feeling an embroidered flower on the shirt. It was a shirt he had given her. One he never wanted back because she sounded happy to wear it.

He walked back to her, helping her put on the new shirt. Y/N started taking off her trousers so Ominis could bandage her leg. It wasn’t bleeding nearly as bad as it was. He has Y/N sit down again, lifting her leg to wash it. When he finishes getting the blood off of it, he wraps another bandage around her leg.

“I’m sorry,” She whispers, he can hear her voice breaking. He lowers her leg, moving closer to her. His hands rest on her thighs, drawing circles into them with his thumbs.

“Love, it’s okay. Just come to me next time, okay? I promise I won’t be upset with you.” He presses a soft kiss to each of her knees.

“Okay, thank you for helping me,” Her voice was still, quiet. She sniffles, and Ominis reaches a hand to her face, wiping away a few of her tears.

“Of course. I’ll always patch you up. I would prefer it if you brought more wiggenweld when you’re out. Or Sebastian, he always offers.”

“Oh, Merlin. I don’t mind going with him sometimes, he’s just a bit much sometimes. I just wanted to be alone.” Ominis nods.

“Do you need to talk about it, love?” He brings himself closer to her, kissing her cheek. Her face gets warmer as her face goes crimson.

“It’s embarrassing,” she whines. Ominis chuckles at her antics before standing up.

“I’m sure it’s not. Do you want to lay down, love? I’m sure you’re sore.” Y/N sighs, taking Ominis’ hands to stand up. He brings her into a soft hug, kissing her shoulder again.

“C’mon, love.” Ominis softly takes her hand, leading her to the bed she conjured in the room to take naps between classes. Y/N smiles as Ominis helps her walk. His touch was so quick to calm her down. To bring her back from the confines of her mind. Ominis helps her onto the bed before he walks to the other side. He takes his shoes off carefully, discarding his robe as well.

When Ominis lays down, Y/N was quick to snuggle next to him. He wraps his arms around her, bringing his warmth with him. She clutches his jumper, glad to be next to him. They lay there, wrapped in each other's arms, sharing a warm embrace. Ominis is careful when Y/N brings her legs to get tangled with his. He puts her injured one above his. He places his hand on her thigh, keeping her close to him. They don’t talk enjoying each other's company in comfortable silence, feeling safe and happy in each other's presence. Ominis brings a small blanket above Y/N when he feels her shivering.

It wasn’t unusual for the two to cuddle. Y/N always found comfort in Ominis’ arms. Ominis wasn’t one to complain either, the idea of keeping her in his arms was one he rather fancied. Keeping her out of harm's way. The way she went to him when she was sad. Or happy. Or excited. It never failed to bring a smile to his face. Neither of them ever expressed feelings of anything more. Worried they would ruin a friend they hold so dearly to them. So, cuddling was their best option.

This wasn’t the only way they shared their affection though. She would carry Ominis’ books from class to class while their hands were intertwined. Ominis often heard from Sebastian that Y/N looked at him like he was the greatest thing in life.

“Love?” Y/N looks up at Ominis, he presses a soft kiss to her forehead again. “What was it?” Y/N groans, trying to pull back from Ominis but he has a firm grip on her.

“It cannot be that bad,” Ominis says, reassuringly.

“You have no idea,” her face flushes. Ominis slides his hand up her thigh before placing his hand on her face.

“Just tell me. I promise you I won’t judge you.” Y/N licks her lips looking at how close Ominis is to her. His moles gracing his face so beautifully.

“It’s so stupid, I was telling Poppy the other day-”

“You told Poppy?” Ominis exclaims quizzically.

“Uh… maybe?” The shyness in Y/N’s voice returning. It was always intriguing to Ominis how someone as powerful and confident as Y/N could be so incredibly shy sometimes.

“Who else knows?” his voice is teasing as he brings his lips to her head again.

“Uhm… Sebastian. Imelda figured it out on her own. I told Natty too-” He chuckles hearing the list of people.

“Darling, it cannot be that embarrassing then.” Y/N groans again and covers her face with her hands and mumbles something quickly.

“Darling, c’mon. Move your hands.” He softly pulls her hands away from her face, kissing her nose.

“You won’t laugh?” Y/N pinches the bridge of her nose.

“Promise.” Ominis takes his hand and crosses it over it his heart.

“I am not above hitting a blind person,” Ominis chuckles and shakes his head.

“What is it?”

“I have this stupid crush on… someone. It’s so dumb and whenever I’m with them my brain gets all muddled and I get so worried I’m going to say the wrong thing. I feel like I can’t breathe whenever they're around. Like, whenever they touch me, my brain stops for a few seconds before I realize we’re in the middle of a conversation. My face is always so red too. I blush like fucking crazy and it's just… stupid.” Ominis’ thumb rubs Y/N’s thigh as she talks. He takes in her words carefully, trying not to let his disappointment show on his face.

“Okay… do I get to know who?” Y/N groans again. She goes to cover her face but Ominis is quick on the draw and catches her wrist.

“Oh Merlin, don’t make me say it,” He kisses her wrist causing her ever-present blush to deepen.

“Should I guess?”

“Oh, uh, sure. Why not?” Y/N’s voice is quiet. Ominis takes a moment to think.

“It’s not Northcott, is it?” Y/N giggles.

“Ew, no. Oh, wait, that sounds mean. No, it’s not him.” Ominis laughs, continuing down his list.

“Garreth?” He hears Y/N gag and he shakes his head, “Okay, not him. Natsai?”

“Why are you only guessing Gryffindors?”

“I’m going house by house. So, Natsai?” Y/N makes some sound that makes him nod and move on.

“Oh, Merlin, it’s not Leander is it?” Y/N lets out a loud laugh. Ominis joins her. She clutches onto his shirt to try to calm down. He brings his hand to her face, kissing her forehead before breaking out into another set of giggles.

“Sorry, sorry. That’s so rude of me. No, no, not Prewett.” Ominis nods again, moving to the next house.

“Amit?” As he holds her face, feeling her shake her head.

“Okay. Poppy?” She shakes her again.

“No, Pop is a really good best friend though.” Ominis nods. He knows Poppy had been there for Y/N many times. How they were also rumored to have saved a dragon. He didn’t know Poppy well, but with how many times Y/N spoke of her, he felt like he was her good friend. Y/N did sneak Poppy into the Slytherin common room enough for sleepovers though. Somehow never getting caught by prefects.

“Sebastian?” Ominis’ heart rate picks up a bit at the thought she might like his best friend.

“Ew, no. Sebastian is like an annoying older brother.” She quickly responds. He lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding in.

“I’m not going to entertain the fact it might be Imelda.” Y/N giggles and shakes her head again.

“No, Imelda is head over heels for Weasley. You didn’t hear it from me though.” Ominis smiles and nods. He had heard how the girl was slightly nicer to Weasley but if anyone asked about it, she would through some string of insults towards him.

“Oh, Merlin, I don’t know. Me?” Ominis says, half-joking. When Y/N doesn’t answer he smiles.

“Did I guess right?” Y/N smacks his chest lightly.

“Maybe,” He turns to face her, his hand stroking her cheek. Their foreheads touch as their legs get tangled together, causing Y/N to wince when she slotted her legs between his. He whispers a sorry against her forehead, leaving a kiss there. Ominis kisses Y/N sweetly, he smiles into the kiss. Their lips meeting in a soft and tender kiss. A kiss he had been wanting to do for the past year. A kiss he had wanted to do since he had gotten to know her. She was here, with him. He never wanted to be anywhere else. Without saying a word, they get closer to each other, The kiss is full of passion and tenderness, reflecting their deep feelings for each other. They wrap their arms around each other, deepening the kiss as they explore the connection they have always felt but never acted upon. The kiss ends, Y/N pulling Ominis into a tight embrace.

They lay there, in each other's arms. Ominis runs a hand up and down Y/N’s back softly, trying not to hurt her. Y/N hums softly in Ominis’ ear. It’s some orchestration she made him listen to. One he listened to as often as he could because she loved it so much. Neither wanted to break the silence.

Eventually, Y/N let their grip on Ominis go, moving back to bring him into another kiss. This one is more passionate. There is a deeper sense of familiarity and comfort between them, as they have already experienced the thrill of their first kiss. They explore each other's lips and Y/N nipping at Ominis’ bottom lip. Eventually, their kiss deepens, Y/N’s hands in Ominis’ hair and Ominis’ hands exploring Y/N”s curves. They savor the sensation of being close to each other as the kiss ends.

“I think I know who you have a crush on.” Ominis jokes, pressing a kiss to Y/N’s cheek.

“Oh, shut up.” She kisses him quickly before backing away, enjoying the warmth of his body. They sit there in silence. Ominis traces the curves of her face, wanting to feel every part of her. To know every minute detail.

“So, what now?” Y/N breaks the silence. Ominis moves his thumb to her bottom lip, tracing it.

“How do you mean, love?” He tilts his head slightly.

“Like, what… what do we do now?”

“Oh, I suppose I should court you correctly.” Ominis sits up quickly, Y/N jumps slightly at the sudden movement but sits up too.

“Y/N, you are truly wondrous and I would be honored if you went out on a date with me.” He holds her hands gingerly, bringing them to his lips, the kisses soft. Y/N lets out a soft laugh before answering.

“Ominis, I would love nothing more than to go on a date with you.” A smile breaks out on Ominis’ face as he leans in to kiss Y/N again, but stops before coming to a realization.

“Oh, this makes so much sense now.” Y/N’s eyebrows furrow.

“What does?”

“Well, Sebastian once told me that you look at me like I’m a broomstick.” Y/N tilts her head quizzically.

“Huh?”

“It’s highly improper.” Y/N laughs, a bit confused.

“I’m literally half naked. Your hand is on my thigh. We’re past improper.” Ominis chuckles before leaning close to whisper in her ear.

“You look at me like you want to ride me.”

[sweetcici11]

smoke signals

the future’s unwritten, the past is a corridor

i’m at the exit, looking back through the hall

you are anonymous, i am a concrete wall

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

ellie williams x abby anderson

small trigger warnings- blood, suicidal thoughts, losts of angst

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

ellie williams was a disappointment to everyone and everything she ever knew. she’s failed everyone that’s ever mattered to her in too many ways to fix. there’s a certain point in your life where you need to stop and force yourself to ask what youre doing.

and when that moment comes, the world goes quiet. not a single sound can be heard. not the heavy and ragged breathing of the blood covered girl. not the desperate thrashing of someone trying to survive. not the splashing of water. her ears fail her, and apparently so does her heart.

if you asked her why she let abby anderson go that day, she wouldn’t be able to give you a clear answer. she might give a shrug or a mumble, or she might pull a gun on you. she was so unpredictable, it was impossible to tell.

there was so much resentment in her body, but she was also tired. when abby crawled away from her, choking and gasping for air she thought she might never breathe again, ellie couldnt bring herself to even glance over at her, to see the damage she kept causing everywhere she went. it was taxing, and it cost her everything.

her mother. riley. sam. joel. jesse. dina.

when did loss break you? when did it finally catch up to you and make you give up? ellie was strong. stronger than anyone she’d ever crossed paths with. and yet, as she sat in the shallow water, the salt burning every scratch on her small body, sobbing breathlessly and cradling her seemingly endlessly bleeding hand, she knew it was over. the pain was too much. she wouldnt survive it. not this time.

“just go,” the auburn hair girl sobbed, her eyes shut tight. she held her hand, though not trying to make the blood stop. there was no point. “just take him.”

when abby heard those words, her mind immediately shot to the unconscious teenage boy in the boat, and her heart ached. though in ellie’s mind, she had forgotten of the boy completely. the only thing consuming her mind was yet again, joel. she knew damn well that the moment abby drove the boat away, he was gone. for good.

and she would be too.

maybe in some other world everything wouldve been worth it. maybe in another world, she wouldve had the gut to kill abby. maybe in another world, she couldve just fucking forgiven joel and the guilt wouldnt consume her every second of every day.

maybe. maybe not.

“get up,” rang a voice form behind her, momentarily snapping her out of her thoughts. she slowly turned her head and looked at abby; broken and bleeding, but still looking at her with the saddest eyes she’d ever seen.

it scared her.

abby wasn’t supposed to be real. she wasn’t supposed to be human, she was supposed to be a monster. she was supposed to be someone ellie could blame. someone she could hate. someone she could kill. not someone she could see herself in. not someone she was supposed to empathize with.

“what?” ellie asked, and her voice rang so broken in her own ears.

“i said get up,” abby repeated, and ellie despised how gentle her voice was. she needed her to yell. to hate her too. ellie didnt understand what abby meant, so she ignored her. it wasnt hard as she was losing blood and her eyes felt heavy. the stab wound in her stomach had reopened but ellie had no intention of trying to stop it.

her body hurt. she was tired. the water seemed to be getting rougher by the second and it was drowning her. she was suffocating in her own mind and she wanted nothing more than to be put out of her misery.

“you need to get up,” abby pleaded, starting to feel drops of rain falling from the sky, washing away the blood on her body just to be replace by more. “get in the boat, come on. the ra-rattlers will kill you.”

ellie ignored her, abby’s shaky voice foreign in her ears. ellie hated abby more than her mind let her know. the last thing she wanted was for her to get in a boat with her.

abby was getting frustrated. she was trying to help her despite not deserving any of it. the girl sitting in the water had single handedly ruined her life, and abby wanted to leave her there, bleeding out and to die, but for some reason, abby couldn’t help the tug in her heart. this girl was hurt and broken, but there was something inside of abby that needed to save her. to help her.

and she hated herself for it.

ellie on the other hand was losing consciousness. and quickly. her eyes were getting too heavy to keep open, and her head was light and spinning from the blood loss. if the bleeding wasn’t stopped soon, then ellie wouldn’t make it. ellie couldn’t find it in herself to care.

abby was conflicted. it was raining hard now, and the wind was picking up. it was only a matter of time before the water got unsafe to travel in. she had to decide quickly. should she try to physically force ellie into the boat and take her? it could be the only way she survives. but it could also kill them all if she tries fighting back. did she have enough energy? what if abby gets her in the boat, but ellie starts fighting after she’s in? the boat could tip over, and the current and wind was too strong. they were all too weak.

abby could just leave her there, but abby could already feel the guilt it would bring her. maybe, in order to heal herself, she had to help ellie heal too.

abby’s blue eyes were watching ellie carefully, studying every shoulder heaving sob and every shallow breath. abby was good in noticing the small things, and the obviousness that ellie was on the verge of passing out was clear.

abby caught it in the blink of an eye; the way ellie’s sobs fell short and the way her body started leaning too much to one side. despite her potentially fatally injured state, abby swiftly knelt down and caught ellie before she was submerged completely. she had to act fast. her eyes landed on her openly bleeding hand, blood gushing out of the stubs where ellie’s pinky and ring finger used to be. while that was a problem, what worried abby the most was the fact that what used to be ellie’s white tank top was now almost completely soaked in red, and the water around them was crimson as well. abby took in a deep and shaky breath as she stood up, ellie in her arms. the girl was completely unconscious, so abby didn’t worry about her fighting back. abby grunted as she forced herself and ellie to the boat. it was rough and painful, but abby still had a will to live. she needed to survive this, not just for her, but for lev.

lev who lay in the boat, now next to ellie, starved to the bone and even in sleep, his face looked so sad and pale. she needed to help him even if it killed her.

and so, with little time to spare, abby ripped a good part of her own tank top off and lifted ellie’s stained crimson shirt, and she fought the urge to gag at the sight. the wound looked bad. she took the piece of cloth and submerged it in the water below, trying to clean it at least a tiny bit. she wrung it out and quickly press it to ellie’s wound, and even in sleep, ellie seemed to wince softly. she shifted and abby paused, praying she didn’t wake up. when she didn’t, she tied it securely to her lower abdomen and quickly set off the untie the ropes, keeping the three of them there.

abby hadn’t driven a boat like it’s in a while, and this one was old, so it took a moment to get the engine to start, but when it did, abby could feel a spark of hope ignite in her chest; something she hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

⭒

catalina island was, thankfully, not too far. the fact abby was even still conscious was nothing short of a miracle. she felt awful and she wanted so badly to just let go and let sleep steal her away, but ellie’s, lev’s, and her own life depended on her fighting.

when the domed building came into view even through the heavy rain, abby felt a wave of relief wash over her sore chest.

she was so weak and tired that she almost crashed into the beach trying to park the boat. but she didn’t care; they had made it. she stumbled out of the boat, and immediately reached for lev before pausing slightly. ellie was still lying there, her breathing ragged and shallow. abby took a deep breath before picking up lev and getting away from the boat. she aimlessly heads for the domed building, trying to get help for all three of them. abby was half hoping ellie might just bleed out in the boat on her own.

abby’s whole body froze when she heard the clicking of guns and a loud voice.

“dont you fuckin’ move!” the male voice shouted, making abby slowly turn her head to the sound. this man had shaggy orange hair and minimal facial hair, and the darkest eyes shed ever seen.

“please,” she panted, her voice just as weak as she felt. “i-im abby, i radioed in a while ago. i was told to come here. we need help, please.”

the man didnt lower his gun, but he seemed to consider her for a second.

“put the boy down, just set him on the ground,” he told her, keeping his voice just as stern. abby reluctantly did as she was told, and silently thanked him for the excuse to rest her burning arms. “there any more a’ ya?”

abby nodded slowly, noticing how her head started spinning the moment she stood back up. “one more in the boat,” she mumbled. “shes unconscious. and bleeding.”

the man with the gun nodded in acknowledgment. he said something, but abby couldn’t make it out as everyting went black.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

hi y’all! this is my first time trying to write something here so please be patient

lemme know if you guys like this, i have more chapters written and stuff planned!! feedback is encouraged!!

yours truly, ci