#managed to ruin not only their respective daughters

[quinnverse]

"Everything? That's a lazy answer and you know it." She grinned at him, using all her strength to keep him still beneath her. It was intoxicating to see him so out of sorts. For such a smart man, seeing him speechless made her buzz with excitement. His muttered replies did little to boost her ego, not when she already knew what he liked about her. But she wanted to hear him say it, to praise her while they were joined so intimately. His answers were met with a playfully patronizing expression as her fingers combed through his hair. It was fun to tease him normally, but teasing him in this way was exhilarating in ways she didn't know were possible.

Sarah opened her mouth to throw another taunt in his direction, but before she could managed to utter a further comment, he had taken control of the situation and flipped her over onto her back. She let out a surprised squeal before acquiescing to his wants. Her devious grin melted into an open-mouthed sigh as he entered her again with more desperation. She'd teased him into a frenzy and Sarah was enjoying every second of the payoff.

Her hands lowered to the mattress, fingers curling to grip the bedding until her knuckles turned white. She wanted to taunt him more, to provoke him and see just how feral he could become, but words were out of reach. Her mind was spinning and each thrust made the bed creak, creating a hypnotizing rhythm that sounded like music as her thoughts melted away. Sarah turned her head away from his kisses, moaning softly into the pillow as she fought to catch her breath. She felt herself racing to the pinnacle again and, unable to stall it any longer, Sarah resigned herself to it and arched her back as the wave of pleasure crashed down onto her.

Her moans echoed into the room around them, and if she had been in any other state of mind, she might've been horrified to know that she'd made such animalistic sounds. But, in the moment, she didn't care. Nothing mattered except him, and her, and the passion of their bodies. Her body felt tingly and hot and yet it still wasn't enough. She needed more of him. Her hands reached out clumsily, needy and desperately clinging to him as her legs wrapped tighter around his waist. She wanted him to stay here, forever, entangled with her. She never wanted to return to her life, didn't want to return to being the perfect, respectable eldest daughter. She wanted to exist in this moment until the world stopped spinning and only the two of them remained.

"Say it again." Her efforts to sound firm and demanding again failed as her resolve had dwindled as she oozed ardor. Instead of a commanding tone, her words were lessened to a gentle purr, more of a plea than a demand. Through ragged breaths and trembling legs, Sarah begged him to repeat it. The word love floated around her head and she tried to best to ignore it. Men were scared of love. Sarah herself was terrified of it. Love would only ruin this moment, uttering those three words would only bring the illusion crashing down, but she still wanted to be wanted. "Please."

With Sarah jolting against his lap, Benjamin could feel himself teetering dangerously close to that familiar precipice. She bounced into each frantic thrust, their lips grazing as she whined and arched into the circling strokes from his fingertips.

And then, she stopped. She stopped, and with a breathless grunt, he gritted his teeth as she locked her thighs around his hips and drew his thrusts to a grinding halt. His cock pulsed in protest, and with a shuddering groan, he nearly spilled between her thighs from overstimulation.

"Sarah," he pleaded, desperate for movement, for friction, for anything, but she laced their fingers and forced his hands away from her hips. "Sarah, w-what...?"

Without taking her eyes off his, she rolled forward into a firm, deliberate grind, her bud grazing the rigid rail of him each time she rose and fell into his lap.

“Tell me what you like about me,” she commanded.

Far too dizzy to form a proper response, Benjamin's mouth dropped and his brow furrowed, completely aflame as she rode him with a steady determination. On every descent, she drew a soft gasp from his throat, and nuzzling into her parted lips, he attempted to devour her mouth in a kiss, but Sarah was intent on an answer.

"Everything," he whispered. It embarrassed him how the word had come out like more of a whine. Benjamin didn't consider himself a needy nor desperate man, and yet in that moment, she made him wholly frantic and pitiful as he groped at her soft curves. Rolling himself into her vigorous rocking, he tried again, "Your intelligence...y-your maddening ability to upend me with just a glance..." In between breaths, she welcomed him more deeply inside and Benjamin dropped onto his elbows with a shudder, his arms supporting his weight as he started pushing up to meet her grinding hips.

In a pleasurable battle of wits, Sarah kept slowing her pace, only to abruptly quicken and ride him hard into the mattress, her tempo alternating to the point that his head spun.

“Tell me how much you want me.”

"So much," he gritted.

No longer able to control the urge, Benjamin rolled Sarah onto her back and pinned her beneath his weight, his mouth claiming hers as he resituated himself between her thighs. Far too worked up from their prior position, he hooked her legs over his hips and began to move immediately, each of his pounding thrusts jolting her against the mattress as he devoured her soft, eager cries with his lips.

[yolowritter]

In Defense of Chloe Bourgeois Part 3: Why Thomas, WHY?

Hello everyone! In case it wasn't obvious by the title, this is a part 3 to this post right there! I'd sincerely recommend reading it since you'll need the context. Anyhow, moving right onto where I left off! Yes I copied the message too, it's 2am leave me alone.

[...]

Mind you, I'm not saying that there shouldn't be one at all, but that Miracle Queen was absolutely not the right time to go for it. Assuming that Chloe's fall was planned from the start, then I'll admit that it was the right call from Astruc and Co. Why? Because Seasons 2 and 3 give us an excellent analysis of Chloe as a character, and a lot of time for her to try and acclimate herself to the new circumstances of actually belonging somewhere. But...they also don't provide Chloe with the oppurtunity to figure herself out that much. She's preoccupied with Akuma fights whenever she's Queen Bee, and doesn't get much time to actually talk to her would-be friends as herself, at least outside the context of beating up this week's fashion atrocity, courtesy of the local Butterfly Man. And to be honest? The only reason I don't love Miracle Queen as an episode is because Chloe's fall didn't get proper buildup. If Astruc had devoted time to show us what was happening, then I'd be head over heels for the sheer amount of potential doors this storyline was opening!

Unfortunately...Thomas decided to double down on a terrible writing mistake...with Queen Banana. Dear Nooroo, the sheer amount of hate I have for this episode is almost as bad as my seething rage for Ephemeral! I'll talk about that disasterous stew of rotten eggs and horrendous writing some other time, but Queen Banana nearly takes the cake for my least favorite episode in Season 4! Would you like to know why? Because I was inhaling one thousand cubic meters of copium when I predicted that Astruc would actually bother doing something worthwhile with Chloe! And I'll admit, I do see what they were going for here. Make Chloe as bad as possible to replace her with Zoe. But that just ended up undermining both of them so badly that it actually hurts me to watch Queen Banana and Sole Crusher! I honestly don't think it was 100% intentional to make it look like Zoe was her half-sister's replacement, but the fact that it even looks that way from what I believe to be a decently unbiased point of view...is a problem. Don't get me wrong, I love Zoe! She's amazing, and Season 5 made her even better! But her introduction was so poorly written that it feels that way.

And Thomas certainly didn't help matters with the way Chloe was portrayed in those episodes. People have said that "she was being nice to Zoe at the start" and that "Chloe was trying to help with the movie, she had a really cool idea!" and both of those are true, yes, but look at the way that she goes about it. Chloe cranks up her "Audrey-ness" from the 8.5 we see on a good day, to the 10 of Style Queen...to a good ol' 27. Mind you, this could have been very well done! It could have been made obvious that Chloe is intentionally falling back into old habits as a defense machanism or a way to cope by deluding herself into thinking she doesn't need anyone because she's a Bourgeois! Would have made for a wonderful plotline, especially since she broke off her and Adrien's friendship. If I recall correctly, he told her she's being unreasonable, which Chloe absolutely was the entire episode, at least in the way she went about interacting with people. Naturally, Chloe insists otherwise, and decides that she doesn't need him either! This would be a wonderful moment to have her cry in the limousine, or maybe we could have gotten a scene where she's regretting cutting him off in Sole Crusher! Even at some later point in the Season! It would have been great! It would have given Chloe proper depth and made the approach of her fall in Miracle Queen have actual consequence in regards to her character! It would have severely complicated Chloe's relationship with the now only positive influence in her life, Zoe!

Speaking of Zoe, there's a huge theme hanging between her and Andre about breaking cycles of abuse. I won't talk about it here since it fits into a future post, but there's already a lot of analysis posts out there, especially about their relationship, which I personally find fundementally flawed. Andre is in general a really shitty person who I don't think ever should gotten a redemption arc, especially one that amounts to "Oh well, the problem child (that I am responsible for failing to raise) is gone now, time to receive zero consequences and enjoy my life after being a corrupt politician for almost a decade!" Can you tell I do not like that by the way? Can you tell? I swear I am giving this man a downfall arc to end all downfalls in a fic one of these days...

Anyway, point is that Chloe and Zoe are both screwed over by their incredibly horrible parents! And to anyone who says "but Zoe isn't a bad person, she's just different", kindly think about why that is. Chloe spent her entire childhood begging for her mother's attention and then being taught how to bribe, extort, blackmail and bully people into submission by Andre. Which is canon by the way! Meanwhile Zoe spent a significant amount of time with Audrey, and therefore doesn't idolize the mom she never knew.

Now, I'm not going to speculate on Zoe's childhood, but it seems pretty logical that Zoe was at the very least witness to a frankly ludicrous amount of Audrey's "you're ridiculous, utterly ridiculous" moments, to the point where she's sick of it. Like c'mon, if you had anybody in your house firing their unpaid intern 27 consecutive times in the span of maybe an hour, you'd quickly get used to it, get annoyed by it, and then promptly decide the behavior isn't worth emulating. Especially if you're sick of their shit by that point, which we can logically Zoe is. Therefore, she doesn't act like Audrey. Considering Andre didn't know she existed, he never poisoned her with his slimy politician ways, Zoe's behavior is different from Chloe's. As an aside, she still does try to emulate her actions when she first arrives at Dupont, if only for a couple minutes. Zoe wants to fit in, and even if she doesn't like what Chloe does, she's willing to play the part at least for a moment to get close to her sister. Fits really well with her wanting to be an actress, so I wanted to highlight it!

Anyway, the point is that there is some great foundational material here! Regardless of whether or not Chloe "fell" in Miracle Queen, there's amazing potential for a proper conflict between these two! Because as a reminder, we deduced earlier that Chloe was jealous of Marinette because of the latter having what she didn't! Zoe presumably had Audrey's love (in Chloe's mind at least), hence she would treat her differently. Be it either with seething hatred or jealousy is up to whomever writes the story. Alternatively, Chloe could (in the scenario where Miracle Queen didn't happen) believe that Zoe is a similarly abusive situation as she, and we go from there for a plotline between the two. Irrespectively of which route they wanted or could have taken this, any potential for character development between these two is utterly ruined from the very moment they first interact on screen.

This because Chloe is now reduced to a one-dimensional "school bully" character, which would have made logical sense if the writers explained it as a self-defense mechanism, but without any context or exploration of her mental state post Season 3, it can only be seen as character regression, which is never a good idea! Not to mention that Lila Rossi exists specifically to fulfil the role of antagonist for Marinette's personal life now! I know as well as everyne else how much Lila gets ignored and underused in this show, but the fact that Thomas and Co. took time to forcefully shove Chloe back in a role that no longer fits her instead of using the villain they spent three Season Finales hanging in front of us like a carrot on a stick is ridiculous to me! Therefore, Chloe's entire character development, which I would have been completely fine with if anybody bothered to treat her downfall with even the minimum amount of respect it deserves, if solely from the perspective of not leaving a gaping plothole bigger than the cavern in Gabriel's basement in the middle of their storyline! I know I already brought up me having an aneurysm once because of these crappy writing decisions, but we are well past the point of a mental breakdown and headed directly to a freakin' heart attack!

Why? Why??? How do you even manage to disrespect your own character to the point where you ruin two villains simultaniously, and the new heroine you're introducing??? Thomas Astruc! Have you ever taken a Writing 101 class before? Do I need to borrow Nathalie's crossbow and force you into one? Yeah okay, we get you don't like Chloe, but I honestly cannot accept that her botched downfall would spiral into the utter butchering of two more characters with unlimited potential, one of whom is supposed to be the villainess for your protagonist's personal life and the new Hawkmoth! I am well aware that Thomas doesn't even know I exist, but the sheer amount of beef I have with this man solely for being incompetent it honestly starting to become too much! I'm sitting over here desperately trying to retcon and re-write his characters in my head to at least make logical sense! And he just adds even more steaming-hot garbage to the pile of inconsistency, insanity and bad writing decisions! Meanwhile, we're missing 100% of logical sense, character respect, or at the very least some kind of way for the audience to understand what you're trying to communicate! Just tell us in a twitter post at this point! Please, be clear with your writing!

Okay...I'm sorry, this post has gotten way too long. Ridiculously long. Including this paragraph, it's actually almost 7.5k words in total. Hence why I've split it into so many parts. I sincerely hope you got the point. To summarize, regardless of if Chloe was redeemed or not, there were incredible oppurtunities for storytelling, and Thomas missed the wide side of a barn with this one. If you ask me I can go into way more detail, and yes that's despite the 7.4 thousand words in this series of posts. Anyway, I am now going to cool off, and quite possibly (maybe) sleep. I'll see you all next time (when I wake up from my coma), but until then, Stay Miraculous everyone!

< previous post >

[scarltzwitch]

CROSSING WORLDS, MEETING HEARTS — LOGAN HOWLETT.

❥ Summary: On what seemed like an ordinary night, Logan Howlett and Elena Stark meet by chance in a bar. After Logan steps in to protect Elena from a stranger, an unexpected connection forms between them. As they start seeing each other more often, their relationship catches the attention of the Avengers, who are surprised to learn that Logan is not only from another universe but also has extraordinary abilities and has won the heart of Tony Stark's daughter.

❥ Genre: Logan Howlett x Elena Stark ( Fem!OC )

The bar was full of life on a Saturday night, with laughter and the sound of clinking glasses filling the air. Logan was in a corner, his gaze fixed on the drink in front of him when everything changed. It wasn't the first time Wade had convinced him to go out with his group of friends to places like this, but this time, fate had something in store for him.

Elena was a beautiful young woman, of medium height, with her chestnut hair cascading down her back. Her oval face, delicate jawline, and defined cheekbones were on display. The young Stark was looking for a breather with her friends and her father after a day full of chaos. The world had been hard to recover after Thanos' attack, but it wasn’t impossible, and the Avengers deserved a great rest after saving the Planet and the Universe. Wade Wilson and his group of friends also needed a break after their exhausting battle against Cassandra.

After a few drinks, the Avengers, along with Tony and Pepper—Elena’s mother and now Tony's wife, also known as Morgan's mother, who was Elena’s younger sister—had decided to retire to their respective rooms, leaving the brunette alone, as she had decided to stay a little longer. She loved the place her father had chosen.

Half an hour later, the young Stark decided it was time to go home. She got up from her seat to head to the counter and pay, but unexpectedly, a man approached her with the intention of bothering her and ruining her evening. After trying to make the guy leave, Elena felt cornered. She had drunk a bit too much, but she was still aware of what was happening. Logan, without hesitation, decided to intervene and with his characteristic growl, managed to pull the young woman away from the man who was harassing her.

“She said to back off,” Logan warned as he grabbed the man by the neck, but that didn’t stop him from throwing a punch at the guy's face, scaring him off.

Elena, moved by the situation, clutched her purse tightly and looked at the man who had helped her. She decided to make the first move. “Thank you, you didn’t have to do that, but thank you,” she said with a slight smile, admiring the man who had come to her rescue. He was quite attractive, almost too good to be true. Logan merely nodded in response. After that silent exchange, Logan started to leave, but Elena stopped him.

“Would you like to stay a little longer?” Elena asked with a sincere smile. “I don’t usually invite strangers, but you just saved me from a pretty uncomfortable situation, and I feel like I owe you. So, what do you say?” she asked hopefully. Logan looked at her for a moment, as if weighing whether he should accept the offer. He usually didn’t get involved with others, especially someone much younger than him and from a world so different from his own. They returned to the bar, where Elena ordered some beers and a few snacks to accompany them. The atmosphere of the place was still lively, but now, with the company of the man who had saved her, everything seemed much calmer for her. They sat together at a table, and while they drank what the young woman had ordered, Elena couldn’t help but study him discreetly. He seemed tough, with an imposing presence, but there was a softness in his eyes that intrigued her.

“So... Do you come to places like this often?” Elena asked, trying to start a conversation. Logan took a sip of his beer while watching Elena, noticing the interest in her eyes. “Not much,” he replied in his characteristic gruff tone. “Only when Wade convinces me to go out.”

Elena smiled, surprised by the simplicity of his answer. “Wade? The weird guy I saw you come in with earlier?”

Logan shrugged. “Just needed a change of scenery. What about you? What made you stay after your family left?” Elena took a sip of her drink before answering. “I love this place. My father used to bring me here, and it brings back good memories. After everything we’ve been through, I needed a moment of peace.”

They shared a comfortable silence, interrupted only by the noise of the bar. Elena noticed how Logan’s hardened expression softened slightly. “Thanks again for stepping in,” Elena finally said. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t been there.” Logan looked up and, for the first time that night, gave a faint smile. “It’s nothing. I’m glad I could help.”

Elena leaned forward a bit, showing genuine interest. “Would you like to tell me more about yourself? I have a feeling you have some interesting stories to tell.” Logan looked at her, considering whether he should open up a bit more. The sincerity in her eyes and the warmth of her smile made him feel more at ease. “Maybe. Though I won’t make a habit of it.” Elena smiled broadly, accepting the challenge. “That’s fine. Sometimes, it’s nice to have an unexpected conversation with someone new.”

As Logan and Elena started to see each other more often, it wasn’t long before the news reached Tony. Although Elena tried to keep their relationship discreet, her father always had a way of finding things out, and soon, the word that she was dating someone began to circulate among the Avengers.

One day, while the group was gathered in Stark Tower, Tony, with his characteristic flair, casually mentioned, “So, it seems Elena has a new friend... a certain Logan Howlett.” The mention of the name caught everyone’s attention in the room. Natasha raised an eyebrow, Steve stopped reviewing his reports, and Thor, with his hammer in hand, let out a hearty laugh: “And who is this bold man who dares to court Stark’s daughter?”

Tony, with a mischievous smile, responded, “That’s the interesting part. Apparently, he’s not from our universe according to her. And... he has metal claws. He’s some sort of mutant, I think, like Wanda and Pietro.”

The room fell silent. Wanda was the first to speak, her tone one of genuine surprise: “Metal claws? You mean like a mutant?” Tony nodded, and before they could delve further into the matter, Wade Wilson, who had apparently been eavesdropping on the conversation from the hallway, burst into the room with a mischievous grin. “Oh, this is going to be fun! I’ve been waiting for this moment since I found out.”

Before anyone could comment further, the young Stark walked in with Logan, who was hooked to her, his arm linked with hers as the rest of her friends followed. “Sorry, sorry. He can be a bit... odd,” Elena apologized with a smile. Wanda didn’t hesitate to be the first to hug her, but the rest of the room’s attention turned to the man accompanying her, surprised.

“Excuse me? Who are you, and what are you doing with my daughter?” Tony asked, surprised, with a glass of whiskey in his right hand and his other arm around Pepper.

“Tony, honey. Let him introduce himself, please? You’re Logan, right?” Pepper asked with a slight smile, trying to lighten the tension. Elena murmured a thank you in gratitude, to which the blonde nodded.

Logan nodded without saying much, standing firm. Thor was the first to break the tension by approaching them and giving the mutant a friendly slap on the back. “So... I’ve heard you’re a warrior from another world with much more experience. It seems I have competition—and with claws, I hear. Strange, but interesting. I think you and I will get along well.” Logan barely reacted, but Elena noticed how his lips curved slightly upward.

Steve, for his part, crossed his arms and looked at Logan with a mixture of respect and curiosity. “So, you’re a veteran? Not many can say that in this room.”

Feeling a bit nervous, Elena stepped forward, holding Logan’s hand. “He’s different, but I think he’ll fit in well with us. And well, he’s... important to me.”

Before anyone could respond, Wade interjected with his usual humor: “Of course he’ll fit in! Plus, it was about time this team had someone with a bit more claw—and, by the way, a delightful loudmouth mercenary like me!” Everyone, even Logan, couldn’t help but laugh at the comment.

With the tension now eased, the Avengers, along with Elena and Logan’s group, sat down to chat and get to know each other better, sharing stories and jokes. The initial surprise quickly faded, and while they knew Logan wasn’t what they expected for Elena, they also recognized that he was someone they could trust, especially if he shared a close relationship with Tony’s daughter.

@welcometochilis585

Hi! I'm so sorry for the delay, but I wanted to do my best with this one-shot. It's a way for me to practice with writing, thank you so much for trusting me with your idea. I loved it. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

— Lily. 💜

[samkerrworshipper]

The Last Time (exile pt.2) | Alexia Putellas x Reader

part 2 to exile

summary: Alexia tries to apologise to r after what happened at the club… another songfic based off the song the last time by taylor swift

warnings: none besides a whole lot of angst :(

Alexia knows a lot of things. 

She knows how to play soccer, she knows how to speak English, Spanish and Catalan, she knows how to make some of the best paella in Barcelona thanks to her mother, she knows how to dance, she knows how to have some fun. 

She also knows that you are the best thing that has ever happened to her. 

It’s a fact, because Alexia was a mess before you, fresh out of a break up with Jenni, who she never really saw herself staying with but also never saw herself breaking up with. 

There are some people like Alexia thinks, people that you love, but they aren’t your person. Sometimes those relationships are the ones that hurt the most. 

Alexia knows that she’s fucked up more than she ever has before, she’s stripped you of your dignity and the respect in your relationship. 

Eli told her as much, her mother taking your side as Alexia sobbed into her phone explaining just how badly she had messed up and how she had to fix it. 

Alexia knew she was right, but she was also frightfully aware that she was fairly intoxicated, and she didn’t want to ruin your night anymore by showing up at your doorstep. 

So, she timidly stepped back into the bar, taking in how a lot of the team had exited the dance floor, Jenni appeared to be gone, something Alexia was grateful for. 

Before she could properly step into the space, Mapi was coming out of nowhere and clutching onto Alexia’s forearm, dragging her out of the club as quickly as humanly possible. 

Before Alexia could ask any questions, all the air was exiting her lungs as she was slammed up against the brick wall of the outside of the club. 

Mapi’s arm had come to rest flat against her chest, pressing her directly into the cold concrete. 

“What the actual fuck was that.”

Mapi’s voice is seething, and sure, she’s Alexia’s best friend in the entire world, but you are also Ingrid and Mapi’s adoptive daughter, when it comes to protecting you they do it fiercely. 

Alexia can’t do much besides burst into tears, she feels weak, stupidly weak, she doesn’t deserve to be crying, not after what she just did to you, but she can’t help herself, everything is too much. 

Mapi eases up a little bit, her arm falling from Alexia’s chest, down to her stomach and bringing her in for a hug, it’s clear that Alexia is pretty tipsy, and she decides she’ll save the yelling for when she can fully appreciate it. 

“C’mon, let’s get you home, Ingrid’s sober, she’ll drive.”

Alexia looks behind Mapi, to find her girlfriend lingering behind the two of them, a deep frown of anger and disappointment on her face. 

It makes Alexia sick to her stomach, like she’s been punched in the gut repetitively, she probably deserves it, especially after what she just did to you. 

She allows Mapi to lead her to a car, her body crumpling into the backseat, the thoughts of the last hour circling in her mind repetitively, like a record stuck on replay. 

Drunken, heartbroken Alexia forces herself to make a promise in the back of Mapi’s car, this is the last time. 

The last time she puts her feelings above yours, the last time she thinks without acting, the last time she disregards your relationship with such ease. 

If for some miracle, she can manage to claw her way back into your life, then she promises herself she will never let this happen again, this will be the first and only time that she goes behind your back, this will be the last time that she treats you like you aren’t enough, this is the last night she will lie to you. 

It seems empty, in the context, but Alexia doesn’t care, as far as she’s concerned this is rock bottom, this is the worst thing that has ever happened to her, and she’ll be damned if she lets you slip out of her hands without putting up a fight. 

Never again will she allow you to push your feelings under the rug, she is never going to hide all of your problems away like they don’t matter. 

When they do make it back to Ingrid and Mapi’s apartment, it’s clear Ingrid is fuming, Alexia can’t really blame her. 

So Mapi is on clean up, dragging a zoned out Alexia into the apartment, throwing her into the guest bedroom with some Advil and water on her bedside. 

It’s the bare minimum, it’s what Alexia deserves, Mapi doesn’t comfort her, she just gives her the look, the ‘you’ve seriously fucked up and I won’t lie to you about it’ look, it’s a look that previously Alexia had used on Mapi, before Ingrid, before Mapi got her shit together. 

She leaves Alexia to wallow in her hangover and depression, deep down Mapi knows it’s what's best, even if it hurts her, she knows from personal experience that sometimes it’s best to hold yourself accountable for your actions, and she knows Alexia will. 

Alexia manages to tug her clothes off, the items harbouring memories that make Alexia gag, she manages to crawl into the unfamiliar sheets of the bed and tumble into an alcohol induced sleep. 

It’s not a good sleep, the kind of sleep where no matter how long you stay unconscious for, you seem like you are teetering on the edge of waking up again. 

It’s why Alexia can’t sleep anything past 6am, which is her normal wake up time, on every day but a Monday, Monday’s are the one day of the week where Alexia allows herself to sleep in, because typically the only thing that happens on a Monday is video review in the afternoon, but that had been cancelled because Jona had some family commitment. 

She crawls out of bed, finding a spare hoodie and shorts on the dresser in the room and tugging them on before walking into the living room. 

To her surprise, Ingrid is already sitting at the kitchen table, a steaming mug of coffee in her hands, Bagheera in her lap and a laptop sitting on the counter in front of her. 

“There is coffee in the pot.”

Ingrid’s voice is stiff, something so unusual for the brunette, normally she is all things warm and kind, it’s why Alexia believes she compliments Maria so well, she mellows out all of Mapi’s bluntness and contradictiveness. 

Alexia tiptoes over to the pot, pouring herself a cup and then tentatively taking a seat at the table after Ingrid eyeballed the seat beside her. 

She closes the laptop once Alexia has sat down, all of the Norwegians attention turning to Alexia, unfortunately. 

“What you did last night was quite frankly disgusting. Your wife, my best friend, has put seven years of her life into you, you fall on her for anything you like, everything in your relationship is her problem, and for whatever reason she puts up with it, I know if it was me I wouldn’t put up with an inch of it, but she does, because that's who she is. She was holding on to one thing, you give away every single part of you, but she had something, a little piece of hope and last night you took it away from her. In fact, you practically stomped on that hope right in front of her. You don’t deserve her, you don’t deserve to walk on the ground that she does. I don’t care if you're my captain, or that you are La Reina or Alexia Putellas,  you do not get to treat the person that loves you very most in the world like a piece of lint on a sweater. You dust her off at every single opportunity you can, and she just sits by, allowing you to, because she loves you, a lot more than you deserve.”

Alexia tries to say something, agree with Ingrid, because she does agree, everything Ingrid is saying is true, Ingrid stops her though, continuing her rant. 

“For whatever reason, one I do not understand, she loves you, she talks about you like you created the moon and the stars, you make her happier than anybody else. That is why I am telling you that you have to make this right. Fuck Jenni, fuck you, fuck your fucked up ways. You need to fix this because she is going to be broken if you just give up. If anyone deserves to have their heart broken it’s you, so I don’t care if you have to die for her, you owe her that for all of the shit that you’ve forced her to put up with over the years. Last night might have been the straw that broke the camel's back, but you’ve been disloyal in every single way besides cheating up until last night, and if you love her at all, you will make it right. Nobody deserves to be loved more than she does, and if you don’t prove to her that you love her then she will spend every minute left of her life on earth gutted about it.”

Ingrid’s words are cut throat, so brutal that it takes Alexia a few seconds to absorb them all. 

“Ingrid, she told me that she wanted a divorce, that she didn’t want to be married to a woman who broke vows, I can’t blatantly disregard her wants.”

Ingrid just rolled her eyes.

“Of course she doesn’t, so prove to her that you aren’t that woman, that it was a mistake and that it will never happen again, and I swear to every single god that exists that if it ever happens again, mark my words, you will be six feet under and nobody will be finding your body, understood?”

It’s a threat that normally Alexia would find humorous, but the way Ingrid says it makes Alexia fairly certain that the Norwegian is fairly serious. Ingrid is innocent, Ingrid is a sweetheart, Ingrid is kittens and all things sweet and nice, apparently until you hurt someone she loves. 

“Do you know where she is?”

Ingrid takes a deep sip from her coffee. 

“I talked to Keira and Lucy last night, they took her back to their apartment, said she was practically catatonic and refused to speak to them, just cried and sat on their couch with Narla.”

It’s a sad image, the pit of guilt in Alexia’s stomach only seems to continue to grow the more information she’s fed.

“They live two blocks away from here, right?”

Ingrid nods hesitantly, with the confirmation Alexia is shooting out of her seat, rushing towards the door of Mapi and Ingrid’s apartment, Ingrid is far to tired and fed up with the whole situation to try and stop her, even with the negative feeling that’s pooling up in her gut, she figures Alexia is a big girl though, and if she’s going to make time to atone for her sins there's no time like the present. 

Alexia’s fast paced walk is fueled by one thing: fear. 

Fear she’s lost you forever, fear she’s made the biggest mistake in her life, fear that one stupid fucking kiss could be the end of her life as she knows it. 

It doesn’t take her very long to navigate her way through the Barcelona streets to Lucy’s apartment, Alexia and Barcelona are practically synonymous. 

She grew up on these streets, she knows them better than anything in the world, she knows them better than she knows you.

Which almost makes her hurl, at what point did her wife, her lover, her heart become somebody that she doesn’t know, when did you stop becoming her priority?

Find myself at your door

Just like all those times before

I’m not sure how I got here

All roads, they lead me here

I imagine you are home

In your room, all alone

And you open your eyes into mine

Everything feels better

Alexia somehow finds her way to Keira and Lucy’s apartment, she’s been her hundreds of times, team bonding, dinners, movie nights, coffee catch ups. Lucy and Keira are also two people who you heavily rely on, often Alexia’s innately grateful for the two of them, because she can always trust that whilst the two of you are separated for national duties that you are in good company. 

She knocks on the door, powerful, unyielding, confident. All things that Alexia is definitely not feeling. 

She waits a maximum of three seconds, before she’s met with a frazzled looking Keira, who is still dressed in her pyjamas and looks like she hasn’t slept a single bit. 

“Leave.”

Keira’s voice is scratchy, dry and weirdly fearful. 

“I need to talk to my wife.”

Alexia doesn’t know why she uses the honorific, she hardly ever refers to you as anything but your name, but it's some sort of safety blanket for herself, a reminder that technically, according to a piece of paper the two of you are still married. 

“Alexia, leave, she doesn’t want to see you and I don’t want you to get hurt when my girlfriend finds out you are here.”

Alexia grimaces at the thought of Lucy, who she knows will have far less restraint then Ingrid and Maria when it comes to defending your honour. 

She relents though, Alexia has walked out the door one too many times, she knows it, and she won’t allow this time to be just another time that Alexia’s failed to show up for you. 

“Keira, I won’t leave until I get to see her.”

Keira rakes her hand through the roots of her hair. 

“Look, she’s been torn up about what happened all night, didn’t catch a wink of sleep, neither did Luce or I because we were so worried that if we left her she’d jump off our balcony or do something stupid. I’m sure you didn’t sleep well either, so how about you come back tomorrow or something, when she’s feeling up to it.”

Alexia pities Keira just a little bit, it’s Alexia’s fault that she looks like shit, everything is Alexia’s fault. 

“Keira, please, I just need to see her, I know I fucked up, trust me, nobody knows it more than I do, I just need to see her, and apologise. You can kick me out afterwards, just please, let me say my peace.”

Keira’s jaw sets, and for a moment Alexia sees a different side to Keira, it scares her just a little bit. 

“I hardly think you deserve any of her time, you don’t deserve her time or forgiveness.”

Alexia is about to agree with Keira, but the both of them are silenced by a voice. 

“Kei, let her say what she has to say.��

And right before your eyes 

I’m breaking

No past, no reasons

Just you and I

Just the sight of you brings tears to Alexia’s eyes. 

There are big, puffy, red bags underneath your eyes, your makeup from the previous night smeared and mixed all over yourself.

You look so incredibly raw, like a piece of art, and it pains Alexia so much that she’s the reason for all of your pain, that her fucked up decisions have made you so broken. 

“We’re waiting.”

Alexia’s brain snaps into order, all of her thoughts circulating as she tries to articulate what she needs to say to you. 

This is the last time I’m asking you this

Put my name at the top of your list

This is the last time I’m asking you why

You break my heart in the blink of an eye, eye, eye 

You find yourself at my door

Like all those times before

“Please, I know I fucked up last night. And it’s not the first time that I’ve put myself above you in the last little while, and you deserve better, you deserve so much better. But I do love you, I loved you enough to marry you, I loved you enough to make you a Putellas and I don’t regret that. I don’t love Jenni, I don’t want her, I don’t think about her like I think about you. I know, I broke your heart, a heart that I promised I would protect, that I’d care for. I know that I’ve asked too much of you, asked for you to forgive me of too much, you deserve better. Please, let this be the last time, I promise, I swear on my mothers life, that if you give me a chance, I will make this the last time. I know we’ve been here hundreds of times, and you have no reason to trust me, but please, give me a chance.”

Your facial expression doesn’t change, it’s spacey, sort of like you’re on a different wavelength.

Alexia’s toes are scuffing against the doormat, her hand resting on the door frame as she looks at you, with tears and desperation in her eyes. 

“Little while? Alexia the last time you told me you loved me when it wasn’t for cameras or show was two years ago. When we took the trip to Ibiza before your break out season started, as soon as the award started rolling in, I didn’t matter, how could I? I didn’t marry La Reina, I married Alexia Putellas Segura, the woman who loved me, you aren’t that person anymore.”

You wear your best apology

But I was there to watch you leave

And all the times I let you in

Just for you to go again

Disappear when you come back 

Everything is better

“Please, Y/n/n.”

Your face is unwavering, and for once Alexia doesn’t feel weak for being the one breaking down, it feels deserved, considering how many times the tables have been turned and you’ve broken down in front of Alexia because of her words and actions. 

“No, you do not get to show up here with some perfect fucking apology to try and worm your way back into my life. It’s not fair Alexia Putellas, because you know I love you, you know that I would follow you to the ends of the earth, you know that I would give up every single part of myself for you. But I have watched you walk out the door so many times, and every single time I’ve let you back in, I’ve let you disappear whenever its been most convenient for you and act like everything is fine when you return. I put up with that, because I am a good fucking wife and I love you, more than is healthy. You are my everything, you are my world, and I would have died knowing you didn’t love me as much, because loving you was enough for me. But knowing that you loved Jenni enough to give her something so sacred to me, it felt like you ripped my heart out of my chest and cut it to pieces in front of my eyes. The worst part is, I still fucking love you, you could kill a hundred people or move to Antarctica and it wouldn’t matter, because I love you, unconditionally and it hurts. So please, for me, walk away, because if you don’t I’ll forgive you, and then you’ll worm your way back into my life, and it’ll hurt even more because I’ll be going against my beliefs and wishes.”

And right before your eyes

I’m aching 

Run fast, nowhere to hide

Just you and me

Suddenly, tears are dripping down Alexia’s face, it hurts so bad to hear what you are saying, it feels like she’s being stabbed. 

Having you hate Alexia is one thing, but having you love her but ask her to leave is the worst possible thing. 

Alexia wants to runa way from the door, to leave you, leave this awkward fucking situation which Keira is directly in the middle of, but she can’t, not when your staring at Alexia like it’s physically hurting you to do so. 

This is the last time I’m asking you this

Put my name at the top of your list

This is the last time I’m asking you why

You break my heart in the blink of an eye, eye, eye 

“Please just let this be the last time, let it be the last time I fuck up, let this be the last time I hurt you.”

Alexia’s voice is pleading, begging, hoping. 

“Sure, this is the last time you hurt me, this is the last time, because there won’t be any more times between us, we’re done Alexia.”

This is the last time you tell me I've got it wrong

This is the last time I say it's been you all along

This is the last time I let you in my door

This is the last time, I won't hurt you anymore

Alexia is balling now, big, wet, fat tears sloppily falling down her face as she processes the emotions and current conversation. 

“Alexia, it’s been you all along for me, and I was okay with that, even if it was painful, even if you could never reciprocate. But this is the last time I open my door to you, this is the last time you hurt me. So leave, please, don’t make this any harder than it has to be.”

Alexia’s feet feel rooted to the floor, her toes curling into the doormat below her feet. 

“Alexia, leave, before we call security.”

It’s Lucy’s bigger body, now shielding you from Alexia that sends the order, and before Alexia can say anything more, the door of the apartment is slammed in her face, and she’s left standing in front of a white door, with tears streaming down her face as she mourns her marriage that’s slipped out from under her, all because she was fucking stupid. 

[nadvs]

can u do them getting married in the swte au but like max or someone shows up and tries to do something...

ohhh i love wedding drama 👀

based on this fic

» au masterlist

at this point, rafe’s career has taken off to a level he never even dreamed of. he’s been playing professionally for six years and he’s so famous that even people who don’t follow sports know who he is.

men want to be him, women want to be with him. yet all he wants is to play ball and live a good, comfortable life with his girl and their kids.

it’s tough, but she’s gotten used to it. the press know her at this point, too, so she’s not able to really go anywhere without being followed.

so, after he proposes, they tell family and their closest friends only, keeping the engagement a secret. she doesn’t even risk wearing her ring out.

they plan a small, private wedding, with only twenty guests. it’s a reprieve from the chaos that has become their lives.

rafe is grateful for his career, but he resents that the fame has taken away their chance at a normal life. his fiancée assures him she’s okay with it, but even though he has all the money he could ever dream of, he wishes he could somehow buy her peace and quiet and anonymity.

he does his best for their wedding. he hires security to surround the venue. the ceremony is intimate. no problems, no hitches.

but at the reception, late into the night, he notices a waiter snapping a photo of them on his phone. rafe doesn’t want to ruin the atmosphere for his bride’s sake, so he quietly motions for one of the security guards to follow him and corners the waiter.

rafe looks back to see his wife dancing with the twins to make sure she doesn’t see. he doesn’t want any stress on their day.

“delete that,” rafe warns. he’s livid. he made sure the venue manager told the service staff they weren’t allowed to take photos or tell anyone whose wedding they were working.

“i’m just a big fan,” the waiter says nervously.

“then you’d respect what we asked for,” he mutters. his fists are clenched. it’s taking everything in him not to lose it. he’s just as temperamental as he was when he was playing in college, but now, he actually has something to lose, so he keeps his cool for his family’s sake. “did you send it to anyone? or post it?”

the man’s eyes go wide.

“no,” he says. but the lie is obvious.

“how many people?”

“just my…” he looks away. “i’ll delete it.”

rafe watches the guy scrambling on his phone. he scoffs once he realizes it was on his story. he takes the phone out of his hand and taps to see that it’s been seen by 14 people. that’s more than enough for a story to spread.

“please don’t tell my boss,” he says.

“you’re fuckin’ dreaming,” rafe mutters.

he assures the story gets taken down. he watches the guy delete the photo, then delete it from his deleted folder. and then, rafe finds his boss.

he doesn’t want the public to take a piece of something as sacred as their wedding day. the photos, these memories, are just for them and their loved ones.

rafe finds his wife on the dance floor, their kids hopping around her to the music. once his daughter sees him, she stretches her arms out for him pick her up. he crouches to hold her.

“everything okay?” his wife asks him. rafe must be wearing his concern on his face.

he kisses his daughter’s cheek.

“yeah,” he says, although he’s not sure. paparazzi could be on their way now. but he doesn’t want to worry her. “did i tell you how pretty you are?”

she cocks her head, beaming at him.

“only a million times,” she says.

“how about me?” his daughter asks.

“oh, you’re the prettiest,” her mom coos.

rafe eventually manages to get back into the enjoyment of the night. the twins are eventually taken home by family for bedtime.

but then, close to one a.m., one of the guards he hires finds him to tell him they stopped press at the door.

“for fuck’s sake,” rafe mutters. his wife looks up at him with sad eyes. she didn’t need to hear what security said. she knows. “just keep them out, alright?”

because she loves rafe so much, she swallows her sorrow and takes his hand, guiding him to lean close to her so he can hear her over the music.

“you’ve given me a perfect day,” she says, “and a perfect life. don’t stress about it. they’ll leave. and if they don’t, we’ll find another way out. the kids are home safe. that’s what matters.”

rafe tightens his jaw. and he realizes she’s grown just as much as he has. they used to be just two impulsive, stubborn, short-tempered kids, but now they have almost endless patience and understanding for each other.

at some point, they really did become their own little team, protecting each other, growing into better people for each other.

“i’m sorry,” he says, guilt consuming him.

“not your fault,” she tells him. “just dance with your wife, okay? for once, we don’t have kids demanding we pick them up or give them snacks. let’s enjoy it.”

they get drunk. and even though they leave an hour later, the paps catch them darting out of the back of the banquet hall, camers shuttering as they’re held back by a wall of security as they dip into the limousine.

the photos hit the public the next day, the story of their secret wedding all over social media.

even though rafe worried it ruined their wedding, the next morning, she holds her phone up to him as they eat breakfast as a family. the photo of them drunkenly laughing as they scrambled into the limo last night is on her screen. it’s a captured moment of pure bliss.

“is it crazy that i want this one added to the album?” she says.

“what? what?” her son demands to see.

she leans to show her kids the photo and all rafe can do is stare at her. it’s so like her, finding a positive in something that he thought put a blemish on the night.

perfect. that’s the word she used last night. a perfect life. as he sits at the table with the three people he loves most, a ring on his hand, he can’t think of a better word to describe it.

[heylittleriotact]

𝓐𝓵𝓰𝓸𝓻 𝓜𝓸𝓻𝓽𝓲𝓼:

The normal cooling of a body after death as it equilibrates with the ambient temperature.

Takes place immediately following the ending of Act 3 and features Emmrich and Amina taking a moment to themselves after all is said and done. Emmrich takes care of his beloved Reaper, and following a brief discussion about their respective plans for the future, she returns the favour.

Rating: Explicit

Under the cut or on ao3:

The roar of victory was a dull thrum that followed them through the ruined streets of Minrathous, part elation that the Elvhen threat had been bested, and partly devastation for the many lives their success had cost. Amina acknowledged every single person she passed by: hugs and handshakes were reciprocated without question, and condolences were extended to the bereaved with all of the dignified sincerity of a Watcher. It took them nearly two hours to make their way to a damaged but still structurally sound estate secured for them by the Shadow Dragons but if asked, Amina would do it all again 

The ornate doors of the manor closed behind them and the cacophony outside was muffled. Amina took two steps into the manor, bent at the waist, and splattered the floor with the contents of her stomach. 

Emmrich was on her in an instant, holding her long black hair aside with one hand and running the other comfortingly down her back.

“What’s happening? What’s wrong with her?” Taash demanded, taking a step forward. Their voice was distant - drowned out by the screeching whine in Amina’s ears.

She felt her legs wobble and give out, her armoured knees colliding roughly with the ground as she threw out a hand to steady herself, barely registering that it landed right in her sick. Everything was too much. Too loud. Too bright. Too… real. It felt like she was being driven out of her own body like a wayward spirit, her essence clinging desperately to whatever it could hold onto that would tether her here. 

Just as distantly, Amina could hear Emmrich respond to Taash but his words were lost on her as she wiped her mouth with the back of her arm and lurched clumsily to her feet.

“Harding - I need to go to her mother–” Her voice broke: she hadn’t had time… she had intended to visit Harding’s mother in person to check in on her in the days following her daughter’s death, but Elgar’nan - and Solas - had made that impossible.

She clenched her teeth at the sensation of hot tears cutting through the accumulation of grime and gore and sweat on her face, snarling defiantly through the deluge of agony crashing through her, breaking her from the inside. 

There’s still work to be done…

She was pulling away from Emmrich, her course uncharted but steadfast as she attempted to draw strength from that agony as she always had: she needed to go. Somewhere. Anywhere. It didn’t matter, as long as she was doing something… as long as she was helping. But no matter how she pulled and tugged, he wouldn’t let her go: slender as Emmrich was, he wasn’t weak by any stretch.

With some effort he managed to put himself in front of her, gold rings clinking against silverite where he gripped her shoulders before pulling her tight against him. 

“Breathe, darling.” He instructed, enshrouding her diminutive frame in his own. “I need you to breathe… can you do that for me?”

She managed an anguished sob in reply but nothing more: any attempt to draw breath was met with unforgiving resistance as her airways slammed shut in seeming rebellion against life itself.

Arrangements need to be made - things need to be taken care of, and I’m the only one left to take care of them… 

“I’ve got you: you’re safe with me.”

More tears rolled down her cheeks as her eyes clenched shut and she forced a thin, ragged inhalation into her lungs.

“Well done, darling.” Emmrich encouraged, ever calm, ever heartening. “Now let’s try for another one, shall we? I’ll do it with you. Let out your breath on the count of three: one… two… three…” 

She felt Emmrich contract against her as he slowly exhaled with her. None of this was new to her: Nevarran breathing techniques were required learning for Watchers. Claustrophobia could present unpredictably, and if one found themselves turned around or overwhelmed in the Necropolis, being able to stay calm was vital to survival.

“Perfect. Now another breath in…” He waited while Amina drew another shaky breath then loosened his hold on her to gently cup her cheek. Within moments she could feel the familiar soothing tingle of Emmrich’s magic coursing intimately through her, seeping through her overloaded nervous system and providing some relief until another horror blundered into her mind with nauseating insistence. 

“Shit.” Her eyes went wide. “Manfred… Emmrich, wh-where is Manfred?!”

“Manfred is perfectly safe,” he soothed, “He’s in the abundantly capable hands of Myrna and Vorgoth for the moment. In fact, before I left, I overheard Myrna explaining to him Karloff’s Five Principles of Ethical Reanimation.”

“Emmrich,” she rasped, clutching at his chest. “I… I need to–”

“Do absolutely nothing.” He interjected sternly, his voice absent of any playful familiarity or scholarly flair, though it softened almost reflexively as he continued. “You’ve overextended yourself, Amina. You’ve been overextended for some time, but you’ve pushed through to see this to the end - and you have - but my love, you can’t evade the reality of what you’ve been through indefinitely… you need to rest and take time to come to terms with things.” He drew his thumb over her cheek, speaking to her like she was the only person in the room.

“But–”

“It’s so incredibly kind of you to want to give your condolences to Lace’s mother in person, but it need not happen this instant. The… actions of the Inquisitor will be communicated to the south in due course.” He hung on the word ‘actions’ seemingly unsure of its accuracy but ultimately too focused on Amina to care enough to select a different one. “You need to rest,” he repeated.

She opened her mouth to argue, but likely having anticipated this from her, Emmrich spoke first.

“You’ve done so much and helped so many without asking for anything in return - please let me be the one to help you now?”

His eyes searched hers, soft and pleading, and she studied the face of the man she loved: each pleasing curve and angle that she had committed to memory etched on her heart. The crinkled lines at the corners of his eyes, and the creases around his familiar mouth spoke of years of smiles offered to comfort and soothe. 

He was filthy too, and his hair was limp and dishevelled, strands of it hanging into his face… but oh Maker how she loved him…

“I love you…” he whispered for her ears alone, his lips ghosting over hers, “And I so look forward to reminding you of that fact every day for the rest of our lives… so let me begin now: let me take care of you.”

She couldn’t bring herself to speak: emotions overwhelmed her capacity for words. The immeasurable highs and lows had won out, capped off on the highest of highs by Emmrich’s solemn declaration: she would never face anything alone again. The fight left her as she closed her eyes and nodded, and this time Emmrich caught her tears and wiped them away. He pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead before turning to the others. 

“She’s in no danger,” he assured them. “The gifts of a Reaper are channelled through a place of deep sorrow and grief where one should not dwell indefinitely: she is merely exhausted, and in light of this ordeal coming to an end, her body and mind are insisting upon rest and recuperation for a time. I shall go with her to find a room and get her settled in.” 

“I’ll scour the pantry.” Lucanis announced without hesitation, already shedding his gore-slicked coat. “A house like this will have a well stocked larder: I cannot do much else to assist, but I will see to it that Rook gets a good meal.” 

“And I’ll find something strong to drink -  I think we could all use one - especially Rook,” Taash volunteered grimly. 

Davrin finished checking over a cut under Assan’s eye, deeming it to be harmless. “Assan can keep her company after I find him something to eat. I’m sure he’d love to cuddle up with his favourite person after a day like today.”

“I’ll make sure word gets around that she’s not to be disturbed under any circumstances - Maker knows there’ll be all kinds of people at the door wanting her attention.” Neve remarked. “She’s in good hands with you, Emmrich. We’ll take care of everything else: you take care of her.” 

Their words echoed in Amina’s mind as Emmrich started to lead her away towards the carpeted stairs. It wasn’t long ago that she would have fought tooth and nail to avoid accepting their help for fear that she didn’t actually deserve it - that she had somehow tricked good-hearted people into thinking that she was worth any amount of concern. But now with this aching, vacuous hole in her chest threatening to devour her from the inside, knowing that she had many sets of arms to fall back into… it meant everything. 

“I love you too,” she said as they walked, the gold rings tied to her boots to alert any nearby spirits of her presence chiming with each tired step. “I love you so much Emmrich, I - I…” Her voice wavered and broke again.

He shushed her gently as they rose the stairs and took her hand in his, bringing it to his lips to place comforting kisses to bloodied and dented metal. “It’s alright, darling. I know… I know.” 

They made it to the landing at the top of the stairs and Emmrich loosened his hand from hers only long enough to gesture through the air, causing the lamps lining the long hallway to illuminate with the familiar and consoling green light of veilfire - it reminded her so much of home… their home.

Meandering down the hallway, they apraised a few rooms - a study and a nursery among them - before finding a well-appointed bedroom near the end of the hall. 

The same veilfire that illuminated the hallway flooded the room with a self-assured wave of Emmrich’s fingers through the air, revealing the gilded frame of the largest four-poster bed Amina had ever seen. 

A modestly sized house would have fit comfortably within the textured red walls of the room, and every square inch was bedecked with glittering opulence and expensive furniture.

What had happened to the people who called this place home? She thought of the nursery, silent and dark, her heart sinking further.

“I know…” Emmrich’s sigh was put-upon. “It’s practically a hovel isn’t it? But our only option currently, I’m afraid.” The corner of his mouth twitched upwards in a wry smile and despite everything, she couldn’t help but smile a little too if only for the fact that his dry humour was at its most uplifting when things seemed bleakest: it was a rarely praised trait of a good Watcher to be able to maintain a sense of humour - sometimes being able to laugh was the only thing that could keep said Watcher sane.

He closed the heavy cherry door behind them softly and turned the latch, his definition of ‘recuperation’ clearly non-negotiable to anyone who found themselves outside of the bedchamber wanting to talk to her.  

The silence was inescapable now, contrasting strongly to the overwhelming chorus of sound she’d been subjected to for hours. It filled her head - made it feel full of cotton - and she frowned, standing perfectly still, observing Emmrich as he hung his staff from the rack by the door and shed his bloodied and tattered coat, hanging it with care before turning to Amina. 

“We need to get you out of that armour.” 

He set his gloves on a nearby console table and rolled up his sleeves, agile fingers performing the task with an ease that suggested he hadn’t personally assisted with the culling of a tyrannical elvhen god today. Amina felt her mouth go dry under his perceiving gaze - she’d taken direct blows from Hurlocks that winded her less than the intensity of those eyes. Overwhelmed and at her wit’s end or not, he was capable of sending something in her soul aflutter even at a time like this… that could only mean that she was still alive, right? That she hadn’t laid the last shred of her own mortal conscience on the pyre in the name of saving what little of Thedas remained to be saved?

She swallowed thickly. “I’m experiencing some sort of deja vu, I think,” she murmured, as he closed the distance between them and began loosening her baldric. “Because I feel like we’ve had this conversation before.”

An amused smile visited his face, his eyes downcast and focused on his task. “We have, haven’t we? I recall that convincing you to allow me to stitch you up on that occasion was also similar to pulling teeth.”

He kissed her again and went back to work, stripping away pieces of moulded metal in silence, shucking away the intimidating, unrelenting shell of a Reaper and exposing the soft, vulnerable person underneath. 

He had made it all the way down to her greaves when she emitted a sharp gasp and clapped a hand over her mouth. 

“My shield! Where’s my shield?!” She twisted in his grasp as if to look around the room for the worn and dented buckler she famously refused to part with. 

Emmrich’s brow furrowed and he worked another strap loose. “It was broken, darling, remember? By Elgar’nan.” 

At his words, the memory rushed back to her: massive fingers curling over the edge of her shield as she held it aloft in the darkness, determined to stand her ground, her body protesting with the sheer effort of keeping her defence up in the looming shadow of her ancient enemy… the sound of metal whining as it bent in that ungodly strong grip and finally shattered…

I dropped it and finished the fight with only my sword and the dagger…

“Oh, right… how silly of me to forget…” she said distantly as Emmrich finished with the greave and rose with a gingerness that at last indicated his own fatigue.

“Details will likely come and go in a disconcerting haze over the coming days.” He parted from her and peered into a secondary room off the one they were in and disappeared into it when it seemed to contain what he was looking for. The sound of running water soon followed and he re-emerged. “Try not to concern yourself with them: they are of little importance right now. You have no need for a shield or sword - we are safe.” He ran a hand down her shoulder affectionately. “I understand that contradicts a large part of your vocational education, but you must trust me. Now if you’ll follow me, we’ll take care of all of that… debris in your hair.”

‘Debris’ was hardly what she would call the grisly amalgamation of fluids and various clumped tissues that would make even the most decay-happy embalmers back home feel squeamish, but Amina took Emmrich’s hand and followed him without complaint.

A gigantic clawfoot tub was filling with water in the middle of the cavernous bathroom, and judging by the calming aroma diffusing through the air, Emmrich had helped himself to some of the scented bath oils that belonged to whomever owned the manor. 

He brought her to the sink and pulled over an upholstered stool from the nearby vanity, placing it in front of the sink and gently directing her to sit, his hand on her lower back guiding her. “The bath will be more relaxing if at least your hair is clean before you get in,” he explained, turning the taps and motioning for her to lean back. 

“Is this supposed to fix things?” Her voice was so quiet and insubstantial over the rushing water - she was surprised Emmrich even heard her as she settled the base of her skull at the rim of the sink basin and he began sweeping her long hair into his hands, wetting it and carefully picking out pieces of marble and bone and viscera as he found them. 

“There is nothing to be fixed, my darling - least of all you, if that’s your primary concern. You know as well as I that our work can be exhausting - mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. It’s why we are well compensated and encouraged to take time away from the Necropolis when we feel we need it. A lesson was learned at some point over the untold years that the Necropolis has existed and people have vowed to serve its departed souls, and that is: one cannot effectively fill the cups of others when their own is dry.” He reached over her and Amina looked up at him, hanging onto his every word. She did know all of this - in fact she’d dispensed similar advice to other Watchers and mourners alike in the past, but… hearing it from someone else… being told that it was alright and that she didn’t have to be strong right now was deeply comforting. “It is not demonstrative of carelessness to the plight of others to think of oneself. I’m of the mind that it’s one of the more selfless virtues a person can aspire to.” 

Amina closed her eyes and sighed, her nose filling with the delicate floral scent of the soap that Emmrich had started methodically working through her hair. “You always know just what to say, don’t you?” 

A tender caress passed over her temple. “I do try. Are you feeling a little bit better? It looks as though some colour has returned to your face.” 

“Now you’re just laying it on thick by implying that my face had any colour to begin with, but yes… I feel steadier, more grounded.” 

“That’s music to my ears, darling,” and indeed Emmrich seemed to sag in relief, his shoulders visibly relaxing as he rinsed away the lathered soap, his touch unerringly mild. Washing the hair of the deceased required a gentle hand - the follicles on the scalp dilated as the skin began to dehydrate in the hours after death, making it easy to accidentally pull out clumps of a decedent’s hair if one handled it too roughly.

So much of the world thought their calling was one of macabre vulgarity when it was actually an ineffable devotion of love and tenderness when it came to the handling of all things… alive or dead.

Excess water trickled down the drain as he wrung out her hair and gestured for her to sit upright with a light touch of his fingers on her shoulder - he was so good at that - so confident in his ability to impart instructions that he didn’t even need words to make his expectation clear. She turned on the seat, putting her back to him so it was easier for him to weave her damp hair into a braid.

She closed her eyes again and a satisfied hum resonated in her chest as slender fingers stroked through her hair, separating it and passing the strands from hand to hand. 

When he was done, he took her hand and helped her to her feet. “I’ll leave you to the privacy of your bath, but I will remain close by: if you require anything at all, my dearest love, just call.” He bowed his head respectfully, his thumb tracing the soft skin at the inside of her wrist before he turned to depart.

“Please stay,” she entreated, locking her fingers between his before he could step out of reach. He halted. “I… I would rather not be alone right now, if it’s alright with you.” 

He lifted their entwined hands and kissed the back of hers. “Of course. In that case, I’ll step out while you make yourself comfortable and will return when you’re ready for me.” 

Ever the gentleman. He clearly wasn’t going to let their passion in the Necropolis the night before get the better of decades of deeply ingrained propriety. She felt her pulse quicken slightly at the fresh memory of their night together and wondered if the invitation to keep her company while she sat naked in a bathtub made his heart pound too, but a wave of shame crashed through her just as quickly, smothering the heat that had started to smoulder in her belly: people were dead, and now was not the time for such thoughts. 

When the door closed behind Emmrich, Amina clambored out of her stiff, smelly clothing, grimacing as she peeled sticky fabric from her skin. She left everything in a heap and nudged it to the other side of the room with her bare foot, wanting to be as far away from the stench as possible. When she was satisfied, she sank into the bathtub, a purely reflexive moan slipping from her lips at the feeling of relief as warm water enfolded aching muscles. The water was almost instantly dirtied, but she didn’t care - it felt amazing. 

“You can come in.” She drew her braid over her shoulder and folded her arms on the porcelain edge of the tub, resting her chin on her hands. Even if it mattered to her there was no need to fear for her modesty: whatever Emmrich had added to the water made it semi-opaque and it looked very pretty in the light of the veilfire.

Emmrich sat on the vanity stool. “How is it, darling?” 

“It’s perfect.” She found his hand with hers again - it seemed she couldn’t bear to be parted from him for long… not when they’d come so close to losing one another.

“You have no idea what a relief that is to hear.” 

Her lips curved into a smile as she studied him silently, turning thoughts and feelings over in her mind. Her heart was heavy, and her body was spent. People had indeed died - tragedy and victory apportioned in equal measure, but Emmrich was right: she had given as much of herself to the cause as she was capable of giving… and then some. There was still work to be done - the restoration of Thedas would be long and difficult. But it was time to rest and take a hard-earned moment of peace for what it was, even though a persistent voice in the back of her mind screamed at her to cease dallying in the bath and get back to work. 

No.

“Would you like to join me?” 

The question was posed such that it caught Emmrich off guard, causing his eyes to widen and a flush of colour to creep over his pallid skin. His mouth hung open slightly.

“J-join you? I can wait until you’re done - that is to say: finished - I would hate to impose, you see–” 

She listened to him stumble over his words, enchanted by his flustered demeanour until she decided it was time to rescue him, and said, “It’s no imposition at all. Besides, if you’re in the same state as I am underneath all those clothes, I suspect you’ve got bits of darkspawn in places where even your flexible limbs can’t reach: a collaborative approach to bathing would serve us best in this situation.” 

Emmrich’s mouth worked soundlessly for a moment. “You make a compelling argument, I admit, but–” 

“We had sex in a coffin under the Necropolis last night because we knew the world might end in the morning, Emmrich - I think it’s fair to say that any notion that this is in any way a traditional courtship has gone out the window.” She reached out and popped loose the topmost button of his shirt. “Besides, the idea of having to wait through an entire courtship before I can have you sounds torturous…” her thumb and forefinger found another button, and he didn’t move to stop her. “I think I prefer our abridged approach, if I’m being honest…” she smirked and went for the third button but he intercepted her, graceful fingers catching her wrist.

“That may be the case, dearest, but I still intend to treat you with the veneration you are owed as my beloved.” 

A shiver ran up her spine - it might have been the sentiment - my beloved - or the fact that it was delivered in a tone half an octave lower than usual. She couldn’t settle on a conclusion, but she felt emboldened regardless.

“Then you can start by getting into this ridiculously large bathtub with me,” she whispered coquettishly, and she followed the path of his hand with her eyes as it released her wrist and drifted to that third button, slipping it free with a practised twist.

She felt herself smile properly for the first time that day as Emmrich disrobed and lowered himself into the water across from her: it was real - he was real - and he wanted her. Wanted her enough to occupy dirty bathwater with her without complaint. 

His legs brushed against hers under the water and she resisted the very compelling urge to launch herself at him just to feel his skin on hers as she had the night before. Instead, she grabbed a bar of soap and a sponge off the tray on the side of the tub and held them up. 

Emmrich tilted his head inquisitively but said nothing: the amused curl of his lips said it all. He turned his back to her and slotted himself between her legs and Amina wet the soap and began wiping away the worst of the dirt from his shoulders and back with the sponge. She took her time, relishing the warmth of him under her fingers as she washed away the remains of the day. 

“So… about those plans you mentioned earlier: care to expand on them?” She ventured. 

She didn’t want to think about today anymore, didn’t want to linger on thoughts of Varric and Harding… those would insist on themselves enough over the coming months as she grieved them, she knew that for certain. Right now turning her mind to thoughts of a future that was almost lost seemed like a better distraction.

Emmrich chuckled warmly, the comforting lilt reverberating around the room. “It’s an extensive list, I’m afraid, too lengthy and detailed to summarise neatly in a few breaths.” She squeezed the sponge and sent a stream of water and suds meandering down his arm, tracing the shape of his sharp angles and lissom composition. “Truth be told, I was actually hoping you might render some assistance.” 

“Oh?”

“As you know, I have pupils awaiting my return to the Necropolis: their studies have been regrettably delayed in my absence, not to mention Manfred will require oversight as he embarks on his own educational journey.” 

“But…”

“I’ve rather enjoyed my time beyond the walls of the Necropolis, and now that I’m not… now that I will most certainly…” He seemed unable to settle on a palatable way to say ‘die’. 

“It’s alright,” she squeezed his shoulder softly. “Go on.” 

“Thank you, dear - it’s only that my priorities have been somewhat reorganised given the revised trajectory of my life: I no longer have a theoretically unlimited amount of time in which to see the world, and I find myself wondering if it would be terribly selfish of me to defer the date of my return for a while longer - take a sabbatical of sorts so that I may continue to experience the wonders of the continent without the looming threat of annihilation… with you, should you wish to accompany me.” He looked over his shoulder at her and Amina wasn’t ignorant of the fleeting glance that wandered down to her soapy breasts, nor the desire that shadowed his eyes at the sight of her pale nipples just peeking over the surface of the water. Oh dear, he was getting distracted…

“Don’t know how much of the continent there is left to see after everything.” She wrung the sponge, making a subtle but very deliberate show of pushing her breasts together with the insides of her arms. Emmrich’s throat bobbed and he seemed to win some inner struggle after a moment and looked forward again. “But yeah… I think a break would do us both some good. Besides, ‘seeing the world’ was what I was supposed to be doing anyway before this nightmare started. I’ll go anywhere with you, Emmrich,” she smiled. “Especially if there’s a beach involved.” 

She scooted closer to him, bracketing him between her thighs, finding his skin with hers as she reached around him to start soaping up his chest. Spurred on by the breathy little gasp he made, Amina continued to wash him, kissing up the line of his neck as she did. 

“What other plans would you like to make with me, darling?” She whispered, softly catching his earlobe between her teeth and earning a tantalising whine for her trouble. 

“At the moment, none that are fit for polite company…”

“Good thing it’s just the two of us then.” She let go of the sponge and dipped her hand beneath the surface of the fragrant water, unable to see, but able to feel her way, fingers dancing over his abdomen, following the neatly tended to strip of hair that started at his navel, down, down, down until she found him - and she found him to be rock hard. 

He moaned in earnest now, his head falling back against her shoulder, hand rising to cup the side of her face as she slowly stroked the length of him, humming contentedly, unable to help herself: she wanted him in her, on her, and around her at all times.

“Care to hear about my plans?” She pressed a kiss to the expanse of skin under his ear. “We can compare notes after.”

“Please,” he breathed, eyes closed, a contented smile spreading across his face - the very definition of the cat that got the cream. 

She drew nondescript shapes on his chest with her fingers, lingering on the patch of hair at his sternum, the bar of soap forgotten and lost to the bottom of the tub. “First on my list when we get out of this bath: I’m going to make love to you - slowly… sweetly.” She drew her lower lip through her teeth at the throb of his cock under her fingers and the shudder she coaxed from him when she ran the tip of her thumb over his slit, feeling the slick texture of his anticipation even in the water. “... and after that, I’m going to do it again, and Maker-willing, a third time after that if I have my way…” 

His eyebrows rose, but his eyes remained shut, one corner of his mouth quirked upwards. “Aren’t we ambitious?” He purred, arcing up into her touch a little. “One can’t help but wonder what you’ll do after that…”

“Oh, find something to eat.” She answered matter-of-factly, entirely at the mercy of the rising heat between her thighs. “I expect I will have worked up quite an appetite, you see.” 

“It’s important to stay nourished,” Emmrich agreed, exhaling deeply as she continued to fondle him under the water. “That feels so good, darling…” 

“Good.” She smiled against his skin and kissed his temple. “Because that’s also part of my plan, broadly speaking: I’m going to make you feel amazing for the rest of our lives, Emmrich. Not a single sun will set on a day where you feel alone: your joys will be my joys, your sorrows my sorrows.”

His eyes opened at that and he regarded her with that soft look of utter adoration that he was so adept at. He stroked her cheek and she nuzzled into his long fingered hand. “My dear… that was quite possibly the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me.” 

“Delivered whilst pleasuring you no less.”

“You are beyond compare, darling Amina.” He sighed and lazily thrust up into her hand again. “And I daresay our respective plans indeed bear many similarities. I would even go so far as to say they align perfectly.” He sat forward and turned so he was face to face with her again, collecting her arms and drawing her close so their noses were almost touching. 

“Lucky me.” 

He traced each vertebrae of her spine with lithe fingers, bangles clinking together as they slipped down his arm one after the other, his hand finding the curve of her rear and drawing their centres even closer together. She positively ached with need for him as he cradled her face and kissed her deeply, unabashedly exploring her mouth and tasting her with a dominance she was not anticipating. When they parted her lips and cheeks were flushed, her pupils blown wide. 

“I’m going to make a home with you, Rook - that is my plan.” 

Amina considered him - his intelligent bottle green eyes inches from hers, their breath shared, their bodies practically flush. Despite how lust-addled her exhausted brain was, tears returned to her, driven by the sheer depth of Emmrich’s ambitions for them: A home. A life together and all that could come with it if she only dared to dream it - her: the Necropolis foundling who never felt like she truly belonged anywhere or mattered to anyone beyond the basic charity of some.

“We need to hurry up and finish with this bath,” she rasped, her voice low to keep it steady. “I need you. I need you now.” She crushed her lips to his hungrily and breathed, “I love you.” 

What immediately followed was a frenzy of soap and bubbles and water splashing over the tile floor as they finished scrubbing each other down with much less sensual flair than before. The plunger was pulled from the bottom of the tub and they towelled off as it drained, pausing intermittently to passionately embrace. 

“I never thought I could be this happy,” she panted, rising on her tip-toes to pepper his jawline with kisses. 

“Nor I,” Emmrich concurred. He turned her head and buried his nose in her neck, sucking a rosy mark onto her skin, unable to help himself as her hands roamed. He snaked his arm around her waist and hoisted her aloft, racing for the bedroom, her legs tight around him, her entire being coursing with the anticipatory thrill of their imminent union. 

He placed her on the bed with a tenderness that contrasted heavily with the urgency of their flight from the bathroom and prowled over the bed towards her, the inherent grace of his body setting her heart aflame as he splayed one hand over her lower belly and slid her leg aside with the other, opening her like the cherished pages of a beloved tome. He looked positively sinful between her legs, his hair dishevelled and dripping rivulets of water down his neck and shoulders. 

Her breath hitched at the feeling of his lips against her, the soft tickle of his moustache over the sensitive skin at the peak of her thighs. “Ohhh…”

His eyes were locked on hers. He parted her with his fingers, dipped his head, and —

Thump-thump-thump.

Of course there was someone at the door. 

Amina heaved a massive sigh and dragged her hands through her hair in exasperation. She’d seen Emmrich annoyed before - or at least she thought she had - but the look on his face now was one of primly murderous intent: the face of a man whose nearly boundless patience was being sorely tested in this moment. The expression softened, though, when he looked back to her and said, “I’ll see to it, darling - I shan’t take long.” He placed his lips sweetly against her swollen bud - a parting kiss - before sliding from the bed. 

He quickly donned an elegant paisley dressing gown that he snatched from the wardrobe, and Amina knew he would never have considered helping himself to someone else’s things under normal circumstances, but his clothes were in a filthy heap on the bathroom floor, and while they had all grown quite close during their time together, Emmrich preferred to keep some things private. 

She propped her head on her hand and stifled a giggle as he walked past a shelf, flung out an arm, grabbed a book without looking, and arranged it in front of him in such a way that it concealed his prominent arousal. She couldn’t tell who was outside as he opened the door and stepped out into the hallway, so she let her head fall to the pillow and rolled onto her back. It was a very comfortable bed: soft pillows, expensive linens.

Terribly comfortable. 

Weeks of broken sleep caught up with her all at once as she fought to keep her eyes open: she was so tired all of a sudden. 

So incredibly, inescapably tired…

If Lucanis had drawn any conclusions about the reason for his state of dress or his wet hair, he kept them to himself but for the briefest arching of a brow as he handed Emmrich the tray of toasted cheese sandwiches and bid him a long and restful night of sleep. Emmrich wished him the same and watched the Crow disappear back down the stairs before retreating into the room and locking the door again.

“Lucanis managed to scrape together–” he looked towards the bed and paused: Amina was sleeping soundly on top of the comforter, her face peaceful and unvexed: a rare sight indeed. Something in his chest pulled as he watched her even, deep breaths, her mouth slightly open as she slumbered. 

He set down the sandwiches and the book very carefully on the console table, not daring to make any noise that might startle her awake before making his way over to the bed and positioning her under the blankets with the same amount of care, manoeuvring her battered and scarred legs so she was covered and warm.

She had such plans for the evening, but as he shed the dressing gown and slipped into the bed alongside her, he was grateful that she had found rest at last: they had the rest of their lives to make love.

The veilfire light in the room was snuffed with a wave, and as he curled around her in the dark, losing himself in the scent of her, he found his own respite in the rhythm of her heart beneath his hand and the unpromised gift of tomorrow. 

[ronwestbreeze]

becoming jake sully's mate

pairing: jake sully x fem!reader

warnings: nothing but fluff and longing from both sides

you had already been a botanist and biologist and had a slowly developed friendship with mo’at there when jake first arrived. you had a hand in creating grace’s school and had sadly watched it fail after the incident with mo’at’s daughter sylwanin. you felt awful about it and always resented the rda for ruining something that could’ve been good for both the sky people and the na’vi. thankfully, you and mo’at still retained a respectful relationship, although now it was a lot more strained since you, like the rda that killed her daughter, were human.

when coming back from another plant research journey, you meet jake right after grace was done snapping at him and stalking off to talk to the higher ups about him replacing tom sully. knowing how grace can be, you offered a more pleasant and warmer welcome as you had no issue with the other sully brother.

“i wouldn’t let what she says get to you. somewhere in that icicle heart in her there’s a heater. i managed to only crack it just a bit.” you joked.

“jake sully, this is dr. y/n l/n. one of our best biologists here.”

jake nodded toward her and offered you his hand which you shook it happily. he gestured toward your hair, “i like the hair color. very bright.”

you had nearly forgotten your terrible dye job which unfortunately turned it into a fiery orange. you remembered grace laughing at you for hours when she first saw it. “yeah, i keep forgetting to shave it all off.”

“don’t. i think it’ pretty cool.” jake grinned.

you smiled back, “thanks, sully. welcome to pandora. hope you enjoy your stay.”

“i think i will.” he gave you a charming smirk in return.

it was one of those moments you realized you had a crush on him.

and it was way too fast for your liking. it was stupid how fast you had fallen for his boyish charm, his sarcastic nature especially around grace.

you didn’t have anyone really. your parents were dead, you had no siblings. all you had was grace and mo’at, who only reluctantly kept you around despite her dislike for humans. and now jake could be added to that.

he was a lot more outgoing then you were while you always kept to yourself most of the time, studying plants. that was your safe haven.

one day you found yourself at the avatar compound having a discussion with grace about some of the trees you had been studying that day when jake comes barreling through the compound, in his new avatar form.

jake had spotted you first and grinned, “hey, cheetos! check this out!” he was jumping around in his new body excitedly. “crazy isn’t it?”

despite you wanting to grin back, you couldn’t help but raise your brow, “cheetos? wait do you mean—that’s not gonna be a new thing sully—”

“already is, cheetos.” grace smirked playfully, standing over you in her avatar body. “s’not as good as carrots! colonel came up with that one.”

“fuck him.” you roll your eyes while jake continued to laugh. you tried hiding your face as it grew warm. it’s a good thing your face was dark enough for people not to notice the blushing.

when jake got lost in the jungle and met the omaticaya clan, surprisingly enough you were one of the first people he told.

“what you did was reckless, skxawng. but somehow your ass is lucky, i don’t know how, but i’m impressed.” you sighed sitting at the table as he rolled up next to it.

jake looked at you with furrowed brows, “skxawng? that’s what the female na’vi called me. the one i met.”

you cringed, “ah right, sorry, i’m too used to the language here, sometimes it slips out.”

“no, no, it’s fine. maybe you can teach me.”

you try not to smile, “maybe.”

“at least tell me what that word means.”

“uh, i don’t think you want to know.”

jake narrowed his eyes playfully but let it go for now, “next time you should bring your avatar and come out with me.”

you tried ignoring the fluttering in your chest. a delusional part of you thought he really wanted to spend time with you. while the other more rational and professional part of you knew it was probably so she could help him understand the species more.

“maybe another time. i can’t get too distracted.”

you neve realized then how closely jake always watched you. when you weren’t looking or even when you were having a simple conversation. somehow you always missed the certain fondness and affection. and he certainly wasn’t good at hiding it. “nothin’ wrong with distractions.”

again, you smiled stupidly, “just find me some plants while you’re out there.”

jake nodded instantly, “will do.”

you ignored the fluttering again. because the next time you met up again, your mind would be clear when you learned that he was going to be the colonel’s spy and gain information from the people. grace was on board with it of course, always trying to search for the diplomatic way. but you hated every bit of it.

this was the first time jake had ever seen you mad and it especially startled him when it was directed at him. he was so used to your smile, your lighthearted and soft spoken personality. he never expected a woman to get so angry at him so fast. new record.

“tell me what other way there is to get out of this peacefully! i’m all ears, y/n!”

“how about not forcing them to give us their resources! this isn’t our world! we don’t have a fucking right to any of it!”

“we’re trying to maintain the peace here, y/n.” grace added. “if we don’t do this, then you know what the rda is going to do.”

“and you think lying to them will make it any better?!” you fumed hotly.

“not if they don’t find out.” jake reasoned.

now you were beyond angry. so angry you couldn’t even get anymore words out without wanting to scream even more at the both of them.

“you know what, do what you want. i want no part of it.” you hissed before storming out of the room.

it hurt because you loved the na’vi people. it hurt because jake was going to be in on it and possibly cause harm to them. it jut because you actually thought…

no. why else was he here? why else did he take his brother’s place? at the end of the day he was just like the rest of them.

it had been a week since jake had seen you and started becoming one of the people. jake had decided then that he didn’t like you being mad at him and he would do whatever he could to have you smile at him again.

so when he had time to sneak away from the training, in his avatar body, he found your lab deep within the forest. he had gotten a flower that he was sure you would like and brought it to you at your lab.

you were shocked to see him to say the least. but still pissed at him.

“i don’t want you to be angry.” he’d say while looking down at you. there was a heavy look across his face that you couldn’t interpret. but at the time you didn’t care much for it.

you took the flower, “a flower won’t fix it, jake.”

“what can i do to fix it, y/n? just tell me and i’ll do it.”

you didn’t understand why he was persistent, or why he even cared about what you thought at all.

“you know what i want, jake.”

another look crossed his face. “and what if i can’t give it to you? i want this to end just as peacefully as you want it to.”

“i don’t want this at all!” you snapped. “this isn’t right and you know it, jake!”

“i can convince them to relocate!”

“why should they be forced to move from their home because of an outsider’s greed?”

jake of course didn’t have an answer for that. he knew you were right, he knew they wouldn’t peacefully relocate. he just wanted to hold on, find a way. for them. for you. he wanted to make this right. he wanted...

he wanted so many things he couldn’t have right now.

instead, he invites you to his ceremony.

“i want you to be there. please.”

you, despite how stubborn you wanted to be, ended up going. the flower he gave you was still clutched in your hand as you watched him become one of the people. but you studied the culture long enough to know what it meant. you knew long enough it meant that after this he would be able to choose a mate if he wanted to or not, depended on his so-called mission he was given by the colonel.

but your question was answered when you saw him go off with neytiri.

you knew he had made a choice.

when the rda attacked the forest, jake was panicked. for the omaticaya people and for you. he couldn’t find you anywhere. jake wouldn’t know what to do if something had happened to you in all of this mess. and things got even worse when he revealed to the clan that he had known about the attack and they had him tied up next to grace. more destruction came. the hometree was destroyed and he still has yet to find you.

then he got pulled out of his avatar and arrested for treason. for the short time in the cell, he couldn’t stop thinking about you, worrying about you. you were still out there while they were here. you could be gone by now and he wouldn’t even know.

you had been in your lab when the attack on pandora happened. you rushed out of your small lab to take in all of the damage with tearful eyes. you had never hated the rda so much until then. seeing the na’vi die, seeing the nature being destroyed by missiles. it made your heart burn.

mo’at had found you and brought you back to the tree of souls with all the other surviving omaticaya people. you, of course were worried for jake, especially when you hadn’t seen him among the surviving people. you even asked neytiri where he was but she wouldn’t say, clearly too angered at the mere mention of his name. you put together that they must’ve found out about jake. and as much as you wanted to say “i told you so” whenever you saw him, you were still worried that he wouldn’t show up.

it wasn’t until jake had rode in on toruk did you feel immense relief and awe when you saw him. and because of the toruk he had rode on, the people knew he was now the toruk makto, and he had gained their trust once more.

but when he reveals that grace is hurt and that he needed their help, the relief was gone and instead replaced with more worry for your friend.

jake had come straight toward you after, asking if you were okay.

but instead you were rambling.

“what happened to grace? how bad is it?”

“y/n, are you okay?”

“is she dying? you wouldn’t be asking for help if it wasn’t bad, jake, how bad is it?!”

“y/n!” his larger hands cupped your face gently, making you focus on him. he was breathless, you realized. eyes staring at her desperately. “are you okay?”

shocked by this, all you did was respond quietly. “yes, i’m fine.”

mo’at attempted to transfer grace’s spirit to her avatar body permanently, but it was too late. you grieved quietly as jake gave his speech to the people about fighting back against the sky people. days go by and jake recruits many more tribes to join the fight. he had come back when you were back at the tree of souls, hoping to talk to grace’s spirit if she was listening.

he stood close at your side. the height difference between you two was ghastly but you had grown used to the na’vi towering over you. although it was different when it was jake.

“will you fight?” he asked you.

“of course.” you said without hesitation.

jake frowns, “do you have an avatar?”

“yes.”

“will you use it?”

“no.”

“then how can you say you will fight?”

you frown back at him, “it’s my decision, sully. i rather die as a human rather than someone i’m not meant to be.”

“but i do not want you to die.” he hissed, grasping your shoulders. the intense look had fallen on him once more. and this time it overwhelmed you. “if you will fight, fine. but promise me you won’t die, l/n. please.”

you didn’t make any promises but you said you would try. you knew that wasn’t enough for him and he knew he couldn’t stop you from defending the na’vi. because that was what you had always done from the beginning. and you weren’t going to stop now.

you didn’t see jake after that. instead you were alone. after stealing a ship, you had taken down at least two of the rda’s machines before your ship had been hit. right before you crashed, you used your gun to bring one final blow to the colonel’s, making his fall as well.

unfortunately, you were badly injured. and it didn’t look too good, especially when you crawled your way out of the ship and rested against the tree in your final moments. you never imagined dying alone and in the middle of a war. your parents were already long dead, you had no siblings, no children, no lover. regret couldn’t even describe what you felt in that moment.

mo’at had found you before you passed out. she held your face gently and whispered something in her language.

and she said something you never thought you’d ever hear.

“i see you, y/n.” she whispered to you quietly.

the chaos around you had gone silent when she had said those words to you. those familiar words that was only used between their people. and here she was, saying it to you like a mother would a daughter.

“your death will not be in vein.”

you shake your head weakly, “i don’t want to die yet.” but it seemed the world was only darkening as you spoke. it’s as if the more you talked the more energy you wasted. “j-just tell jake…”

“ssh, little one.” mo’at gently patted your head. “rest. he will be okay.”

that’s what you hoped. that’s what you wished.

and before you knew it, darkness enveloped you.

technically, you hadn’t expected to wake up. you hadn’t expected to good as new or have blue skin when you did.

and you certainly didn’t expect to see your dead human body next to you.

mo’at stood next you, saying you were now apart of the na’vi. after risking your life to save her people, she believed you deserved a second chance.

she had pulled you away to the celebration for winning the war. it wa strange being in a whole new body but you were glad. you were happy.

there was just one thing you wanted.

“where’s jake?”

mo’at raised her brows, “jakesully? he should be back soon from meeting.”

so you stayed next to mo’at for most of the day, learning the basics of what to expect now that you were na’vi.

jake had returned later that night and found your body at the tree of souls. he saw the blood, the loss of color in your face. you had been dead for a while. but under the tree of souls?

“y/n!” he called.

he went searching for you. it wasn’t until he reached the camp where the celebration was did he finally see you. the new you.

both your eyes locked. jake came to you first and pulled you in a tight and long hug.

“i told you not to die, skxawng.”

you grinned into his shoulder, ”ah, so you know what that means now.”

he frowned at you though the amused glint in his eyes wasn’t missed. “y/n.”

“next time i’ll pinky promise.”

knowing he couldn’t stay mad at you, he just pulls you into another hug. this one lasting longer than the other. he just couldn’t find himself letting you go any time soon.

a bit of time goes by. you train to officially become one of the people. then you arrived at your ceremony. you officially become a part of the na’vi.

after the ceremony, you go and ride off with jake and his new banshee to a private spot for just the two of you and have a lighthearted chat about how you both were excited for your new lives.

then the topic of mates comes up.

“have you chosen one?” you ask despite already knowing the answer.

jake nods, “yes.”

of course.

you try not to frown as you looked away and said halfheartedly, “it might take awhile to choose mine. tsu’tey doesn’t seem too bad. he could make a good mate just as neytiri is for you.”

suddenly his strong grip wrapped around your arm and pulled you closer to him, surprising you.

“i never said i wanted neytiri.” then he smirked amusingly, “nor did i say who it was.”

you pouted, “you’re being mean.”

he nestled his nose into your shoulder as he mumbled against your skin, “i’m still wondering if she would accept me.”

it could be too good to be true. you wanted to believe it.

almost as if jake read your mind, he cupped your face with his larger hands and pulled her face closer to his.

“will you have me? as yours?”

without hesitation you nod, “yes. i will have you if you choose to have me.”

he smiled then, “i wouldn’t have it any other way.”

then your lips touched. then your heart melted. then your skin was no longer cold.

he was yours. and you were his.

[piratefishmama]

Fake it 'Till You Make It | Part 3

“Alright so, how long has this throwing men at you thing been happening?” Not a sentence Eddie Munson ever expected to be saying out loud, especially not to Steve Harrington, but there they were, sat in the back of his van, which Eddie had parked just off of Cornwallis, his van hidden among the trees, safe from prying eyes.

They had to get their story straight, even if nothing about what they were doing was straight, that had to be straight. Especially straight enough to fool a goddamn lawyer like Lynda Harrington.

Eddie was just glad he’d left the pillows and blankets in there from the other week when he’d claimed he had a love nest in his van to a particularly horrified set of parents.

Nothing quite like the mental image of your barely legal precious daughter getting down an dirty in the back of a beat up old van. Fabulous.

It was actually quite nice though, he even put fairy lights up in there.

“The whole shebang, just over a month. But the men… that’s new. They haven’t managed to actually introduce me to anyone yet, one of the joys of queer shit being so frowned upon, they cant find a willing guy to come forward.” No-one daring enough to take the risk, not even for a Harrington.

“Can’t say I blame em, you’re having to pay me to out my own ass to your parents, they’re well respected, people expect them to be on the ‘right’ side of history” ‘right’ said with very sarcastic air quotes and matching tone.

“People are gonna be surprised then.” About as surprised as Steve was, probably. “So… are you… I mean… outing yourself? It’s… you don’t have to tell me but—I just… if they want proof i—I don’t wanna make you—” Steve was staring into his lap, awkward, cheeks flushed, adorable. Fucking… adorable… not a term of endearment he ever thought he’d throw at Steve Harrington.

So many unexpected turns for a Sunday morning.

“Mnhm, I’m ah… like you I suppose. Only I think I’m more of a five on the Kinsey scale…” at Steve’s raised brow and adorable puppy head tilt, Eddie smiled sheepishly, of course the King of the Jocks wouldn’t know what the damn Kinsey scale was. “That’s uh… it kinda measures bisexuality? It’s rarely an exact 50/50 split between liking guys and girls, most lean one way or the other, with an interest in more… I uh… I lean more towards men… you…”

“Girls… I think.” Eddie nodded, it was what he expected. “But—what’s the scale?”

“Zero to six, six being gay and zero being straight. I’m pretty solidly a five I think…” five made sense to him. He’d found girls attractive before, maybe even had a crush on one once, a pretty cheerleader who’d made his palms sweaty and his heart beat fast enough to make him turn tail and run in terror, but boys were his go to. “It’s not an exact science though, I mean shit, you don’t have to label anything.”

“… I feel like a three.”

“A three?” Higher than he expected but, as of that morning he’d thought Steve was a zero. No clue what so ever that he’d ever even entertained the idea of boys.

“Mn… I’ve… I’ve definitely been attracted to men before, a few men actually… some ruined it immediately by being assholes” Eddie didn’t want to guess, but a few jocks did come to mind “but… I’ve never tried anything, y’know?” Aww, never touched a boy, cute. “And telling my parents? That was recent, like, really recent, and impulsive. I just didn’t expect them to pull this whole ‘we can throw men at you now!’ Schtick so… to answer your original question, about two weeks now. Why?”

“Building a believable timeframe so we can have an idea as to where they might expect us to be in our ‘relationship.’ Your mom’s a lawyer right? Shits not gonna be as easy as telling them we’re dating and have that be that she’s gonna want the when’s, the how’s, the details, normal moms do, yours is a lawyer dude, we have to be spot on with everythin or this will be a total waste of time, and money on your part cause obviously, no refunds.” He may not be dealing as much as he used to be once he realised he had other more valuable services to offer,

And the party king stopped throwing parties??

But his policies were still pretty iron tight.

Steve just nodded his head, he understood, Eddie couldn’t get his time back so, however many days he spent there, he’d be paid for each one regardless of the outcome. “Alright… what do you normally do with these dates then?”

“Freak the fuck out of their parents usually. Be vulgar, insinuate things, the Gillespie’s hate being called by their first names?? No idea why, but that was an easy spot to poke at, I’ll talk about my band, offer weed to chill out, y’know, typical things that’d make a parent in rural Indiana pale at the thought that their sweet daughters had only skimmed the surface of the dating pool, finding just the scum the pool boy hadn’t cleaned out and settling with it.”

It could have been self-deprecating, in fact Steve almost told him not to think of himself like that but Eddie seemed genuinely amused by the whole thing, it was all an act.

He was a mischievous gremlin, he was making himself the worst of the worst in front of these people, he didn’t think he was that person, he just acted the part like some kind of drama club performance.

Oh god, wasn’t he in drama? “…That’s uhm… that’s a mental image.”

“I’m a storyteller” Eddie shrugged “sometimes I talk about DnD too, and—”

“I mean how do you prepare for them?”

“Oh… not much to prepare for on those ones, it’s usually just one night and the main goal is to fuck it up so bad that the girls’ parents don’t want their daughter going anywhere near that stupid pool out of the fear that she’ll settle for scum again, this is the first long term relationship I’ve had to fake! And you want me to fake it properly, not just fuck it up, I mean… It can’t be a surprise to you that I’ve never been in a relationship, right?”

Steve wanted to be polite, he really did! But no, it wasn’t a surprise.

Not because Eddie wasn’t attractive, it’d be a lie to claim that. Eddie Munson was… a special kind of attractive to Steve. The oh god what? Kind of attractive that only existed when a polo-wearing jock type like Steve, found someone like Eddie attractive.

That kind of attractive.

He had a nice, soft face, framed perfectly by a mass of badly maintained curls. Not badly in the way that they were dirty, just… it was clear he had no idea how to tame them, how to enhance them, how to do anything with them other than apparently put a brush through them and make himself look like he’d been dragged through a bush. Twice.

He had those big brown eyes, expressive, could easily find himself stuck in them if he looked for too long.

The smile with the dimples? Gold star on that one.

He didn’t have acne, or pimples, he didn’t stink, he clearly cared about basic hygiene, but that was all surface level stuff.

He was also expressive about his interests, which was an attractive trait, he was sneaky smart.

Sure teachers had all but written him off as an imbecile and he’d heard a few saying that over the years to the poor guys face, but Steve had seen Eddie do difficult multiplications on the fly.

He’d seen Eddie recite Shakespeare off the top of his head, prattle off verse after verse, sometimes free styling in perfect iambic pentameter if the teachers dropped jaw was enough of a sign.

He'd seen Eddie climb a rope in gym. Dude was squirrelly, he had muscle in those arms, and nobody in that gym knew where he’d built it. Maybe he wasn’t gifted at dodgeball, but he could sure as hell climb shit.

He’d seen Eddie be an effective businessman. Tommy had bought from him a few times, and he’d seen Eddie dealing at his parties. The guy knew his shit when it came to drugs, he didn’t just deal and bail, he stuck around and made sure people were safe. Could always answer questions if people had them, so he could retain knowledge just fine, it just had to align with his interests.

School didn’t work for him, that didn’t make him unintelligent. Steve could respect that. Steve could relate to that. Except he did feel like he was kind of an idiot.

But no… it wasn’t a surprise that Eddie hadn’t been in a relationship.

People looked at him warily in school, he put up a shield around himself made of barbs shot at every clique the school had, he fired off pastor at a megachurch worthy sermons about being against conformity and capitalism from atop school lunch tables.

He was in band, drama club, AV club, the dude was a nerd of the highest order, the ‘image conscious’ girls of Hawkins High didn’t wanna be seen with that.

So even if he did sort of like girls, stupid high school girls wouldn’t like him. Wouldn’t appreciate him the way he should be appreciated.

“…No, I guess it’s not a surprise… high school sucks though, man. There’s no permanence in high school flings.”

“Would have at least liked a fling though, that would have been cool.” Would he though? No. As much as it didn’t align with the whole rockstar life he had thought up for himself, he wanted something… bulkier. Something with more to it than surfing strangers beds. He wanted permanence.

Wanted someone to come home to, arms he knew, a garden he could fuck around in, maybe a tree to sit in and write songs on warm summer days.

A fireplace to snuggle up in front of with a special someone.

Maybe a kid, or three.

“It’s not all it’s cracked up to be, Eddie. Trust me. You had fun doing what you did, I got my heart stomped on over and over again, not fun.” It didn’t sound fun. Eddie wanted to reach out, it wasn’t far, they were in a small van, two pretty tall guys, there wasn’t much space there, he could have reached out but… the space between them still felt too vast.

“…Guess it’s a tend to your own field kind of thing then eh?” Steve looked at him with a small frown, a question in his expression “y’know… the grass is always greener on the other side? Just tend to your own field, the grass will grow. Do your own thing, it’ll be better for you…? That kind of thing.”

“Ah… then yeah, it’s a tend to your own field kind of thing.” Eddie smiled and gently bopped his head in agreement. A surprisingly comfortable silence stretched for a moment until “I think… a week would be best. Say we’ve been dating a week, but met at one of your gigs a few weeks back maybe? It’d explain why I’ve been less than enthused about any of their choices. I was already into someone.”

“…You know about my gigs?” Oh could those brown eyes get any bigger?

“Yeah? Tuesdays at The Hideout right? Dustin keeps trying to bribe me into taking him…” Eddie’s smile turned a little softer, warmer, prettier, he had such a soft spot for that kid it wasn’t even fair. “I could say Robin an I decided to check it out to see if it was ‘kid friendly’ enough to take him, Robin introduced us since she’d know you from band, you teased me about being there, but not in a mean way cause beneath all those barbs at us poor jocks, you’re actually really nice, and we just hit it off? Took us a bit of time to feel each other out cause it’s dangerous to be like us but once we did it was like… bam. Stars collided or some shit.”

“…You’re… surprisingly in tune with this queer shit, Harrington…”

“I’ve known I was bisexual for a while, Eddie… it’s not new to me, I know it’s dangerous, I’ve seen what jocks like me do to people like me… even when there’s no proof only rumour or because you look it… I know how dangerous it is to be like us… but do you think it’d work though?”

“…The barebones story is there, we can world-build. Now let’s talk boundaries.”

Part 5

[lesbiansforboromir]

But yeah currently Earien has 100% of my sympathy. I have no idea why anyone could believe she has any reason to trust her father's convictions, especially in regards to her brother. Elendil has a 100% success rate at alienating his children, sometimes to the extent of driving them to the other side of the continent, and considering his one and only tactic for communicating with them is Shout, I can see why!

Like clearly neither Earien nor Isildur feel comfortable being open with their father about the things they are struggling with, so they became each other's confidante. Earien listens to Isildur when he's struggling with indecision over his place in the world, and it was Isildur Earien went too and who encouraged her when she failed to get into the Builders guild the first time. She didn't even tell Elendil that she tried again! Isildur was the only person in her family who listened to her, and then he went away to war in order to prove himself to his father and he never came back!

Elendil came back though, and predictably never spoke to Earien over their shared grief, never even said Isildur's name to her, and in fact seems far more preoccupied with his VERY newly-reclaimed faith and the Queen who lead them all to war and ruin in the first place. And Earien tried to tell him about the Palantir and her failing faith in the Queen! But by this point, clearly, she knew she wouldn't be listened too, no wonder she felt more comfortable putting her faith in a set of men who valued what she had to say. I mean, say what you want about Kemen, he's clearly nice to Earien isn't he! And Pharazon has accepted her presence with a friendliness her own father does not seem eager to display.

And when she actually tries to help him, when she is the voice in the kings-men's court advocating for less harsh treatment of the faithful and actually manages to save them all from jailtime, when she tries YET AGAIN to have a calm and honest conversation with her father, when she expresses her concern for him!! WHAT is her reward? More shouting! And a veiled threat extremely reminiscent of how her actual mother died. Imagine if Elendil had been able to, for a second, not see his own daughter as just some difficult rebellious child who SHOULD be following his every order unquestioningly, and realised he needed to earn her trust and respect. Imagine!!!

[bethanydelleman]

do you have any theories on why wickham turned out the way he did? his background sounds humble but not dirt poor as i know steward was a really valued job at the time. and as the elder mr. darcy liked him, he probably had a better life than plenty of boys. correct me if i'm wrong but i don't recall any mention of a mom or siblings, so darcy was probably his main childhood companion. it's just horrible to think that over the years he went from seeing darcy as a friend to someone he could ruin. and he was prepared to ruin georgiana's life, not just take all her money but cause a scandal so she might not ever get married again. and if darcy hadn't found lydia he'd probably just leave her where she was with no way of getting home and destroyed the bennets. like why? everyone was nothing but nice to him his whole life and all he does is hurt them and enjoy doing it. when you think about it kind of sounds evil.

From what I understand, Wickham was a failure of a system whereby a rich person would choose someone poorer to patronize. We can see other examples of this in Emma (Jane Fairfax & Harriet Smith) and especially Mansfield Park (Fanny & William Price).

The idea was that the rich would find someone worthy of improvement, sponsor their education, and give them the ability to raise into the gentry class. This sounds like what Mr. Darcy Sr. tried with Wickham, but in this case it was a failure. What ended up happening isn't that Wickham was grateful, but he ended up feeling entitled to the life of a Darcy. The novel's implication is that Wickham had a bad character, which education could not improve, and that Mr. Darcy Sr. was deceived in because Wickham had a veneer of decency.

From Darcy's Letter:

Mr. Wickham is the son of a very respectable man, who had for many years the management of all the Pemberley estates, and whose good conduct in the discharge of his trust naturally inclined my father to be of service to him; and on George Wickham, who was his godson, his kindness was therefore liberally bestowed. My father supported him at school, and afterwards at Cambridge; most important assistance, as his own father, always poor from the extravagance of his wife, would have been unable to give him a gentleman’s education. My father was not only fond of this young man’s society, whose manners were always engaging, he had also the highest opinion of him, and hoping the church would be his profession, intended to provide for him in it. As for myself, it is many, many years since I first began to think of him in a very different manner. The vicious propensities, the want of principle, which he was careful to guard from the knowledge of his best friend, could not escape the observation of a young man of nearly the same age with himself, and who had opportunities of seeing him in unguarded moments, which Mr. Darcy could not have.

Wickham's account:

“We were born in the same parish, within the same park; the greatest part of our youth was passed together: inmates of the same house, sharing the same amusements, objects of the same parental care."

In Mansfield Park, Sir Thomas talks about how difficult it will be to maintain the distinction between his daughters and Fanny, their adopted niece, and when I think about how Wickham turned out, I think this is meant to be taken seriously (even though Sir Thomas and Mrs. Norris screwed up massively):

“There will be some difficulty in our way, Mrs. Norris,” observed Sir Thomas, “as to the distinction proper to be made between the girls as they grow up: how to preserve in the minds of my daughters the consciousness of what they are, without making them think too lowly of their cousin; and how, without depressing her spirits too far, to make her remember that she is not a Miss Bertram. I should wish to see them very good friends, and would, on no account, authorise in my girls the smallest degree of arrogance towards their relation; but still they cannot be equals. Their rank, fortune, rights, and expectations will always be different. It is a point of great delicacy, and you must assist us in our endeavours to choose exactly the right line of conduct.”

Fanny feels grateful for what the Bertrams give her, even though it's scraps of a real education. Wickham ends up feeling entitled, even though he is "liberally bestowed" and that may have been the problem. He was treated too similarly to Darcy and felt that he was a Darcy, only to find out the patronage didn't go as far as he wanted.

Wickham comes off to me as one of those people who is ALWAYS innocent in his own mind, someone else is always the cause of his misfortunes (he's like Willoughby in that respect). So when he tells Elizabeth about how he lost his inheritance, I think he believes what he is saying. He does think Darcy cheated him somehow even though he was in the wrong. Darcy becomes the tyrant because Wickham refuses to be the villain of his own story.

In addition, I don't know if he would have seen Darcy as a friend. Darcy is one of the few people who can see through Wickham and a con man would hate that. Wickham's dislike of Darcy may well have started because he hates that Darcy can perceive and judge the real him.

[aqua-the-smiter]

@kit-williams @egrets-not-regrets Alright kids, ask and ye shall receive. NSFW under the cut Breeding kink, semi-public sex, ruining Roboute's hardwood table Lion El'Johnson x female reader. Getting down and dirty with you on one of his brother's library tables. How rude. Divider by the lovely @squishyowl

"What is someone catches us?" You whine quietly, trying to keep your voice down.

"They won't if you're quiet." Lion reassured you from between your legs with a purr, before shoving his tongue back between them

He was eating you out like a tiger licking the meat off a bone while you were spread like a banquet over a table in one of Roboute Guilliman's numerous libraries. And judging by the little noises he was making, thoroughly enjoying himself. Thankfully, Guilliman, Horus, Lorgar, and Vulkan were all chattering away in another room.

Not that you weren't either, if your issues with volume were anything to go by.

His behavior still caught you off guard sometimes. He had been so proper when he was courting you. So...chivalrous. It sounded silly, but that was truly the best word you could use for it. Chivalrous.

Maybe it was because you were a knight pilot. Your family's history with the machines went back millennia, and you were damn proud of it too. That might of been it. He had wanted you to see him as a gentleman while he tried to win your heart (and you his, truth be told), so he treated you like a lady. It looked good in front of your family too. Your father was a wonderful man, but you had been his only daughter in a sea of sons.

Lion hadn't been anything other than perfectly respectful, to both your family and you. Whenever the two of you met up he would get on one knee and kiss the back of your hand in greeting. He did his best to kneel down whenever you spoke to him as well. He would always walk you back home after an outing, and never pushed you for anything more than kissing while you were still dating.

Although he had been more than pleased to finally have you on your wedding night. And on one of his brother's tables.

He was no knight now, that's for sure. You could feel his tongue slithering between your legs, licking and pressing at just the right spot underneath all the folds to have you cumming over and over again. Like he was holding down a button inside of you. Leaving you and overstimulated, quivering mess, and him lapping up your fluids like a cat with stolen cream.

Then his tongue was abruptly replaced with something rather bigger, and it took all your willpower not to squeal.

You wrapped your thighs around his hips as he sheathed himself fully in your, stretching you open with his huge cock. You were more than wet enough to make up for any lack of lubrication on his end. Before you'd gotten with him you had seen some of the other Primarchs with their wives and wondered how in the world they bedded their husbands. What you didn't expect was getting your answer first hand.

With great enthusiasm.

Lion leaned over you, nestling his face between your neck and shoulder. Sinking his teeth into the tender flesh there. Your legs tightened around his hips, yours bucking up to meet his thrusts as he hilted himself in your slick cunt again.

You almost enjoyed the thought of someone catching you. Seeing how good Lion fucked you. How a primarch took his bride. "It's about time-" He whispered in your ear again. Holding your hips in a vice to his while he filled you up with his seed. "-that we started making cubs anyway."

"No time like the present?" You managed to slur out.

"Exactly."

[echobx]

not my type 3 - Rafe Cameron x plus size!fem!reader

summary: y/n is trying to reconcile with her feelings towards Rafe

warnings: angsty, swearing, Rafe being a bit of an ass

word count: 3.1k

author's note: I don't really know what happened. I'm sorry /gen

masterlist part 2

“What's he doing here?” you hiss at your best friend when you watch Rafe walk in, a blonde girl on his arm as he is greeted by your father.  “Your dad invited all the partners, you signed up on that, remember,” Claire reminds you and you groan. If you had remembered that he'd be there, you would've worn something else. Something more revealing.  “He doesn't look like-” Claire mumbles as you turn and drag her with you towards the bar. “I know he doesn't. And he's not my type. And I hate him,” you list, and she lifts her eyebrows at you.  “But?”  “I haven’t- I tried everything okay, literally everything. But I can't cum,” you whisper. “The only time I manage to even get close to it, is on my own picturing him. And I hate it. I don't like it at all. It's disgusting and shouldn't be happening. Especially not to me.”  “I think we should get drunk. Hammered, actually. Like in college,” she smiles and orders two shots of tequila for each of you. You down the shots and turn back around to watch the mass of people in front of you. Everyone is mingling but no matter how much you try to not pay any attention to him, your eyes seem to be stuck.  He looks good. Too good. The loose suit shirt half unbuttoned, giving view to his abs just enough to make you wanna rip the fabric off. 

It had been three whole months. Three months since he had left you wanting more. Three months since you had made him sleep on your couch, denying him the pleasure to sleep in your bed after what he had pulled at the restaurant and when you had woken up he had been gone. No note. No goodbye. Nothing.  It was a clean cut. The same thing you did the first time round. Just that he managed to make you cave, and you can't let it happen again. You have too much self-respect to let him get to you, again. Too much resentment towards him. Too much of all of it for him to ruin you. And besides, you can always hold onto the fact that he really isn't your type, he'd never be. 

“Abort. Abort! Move, y/n/n! They are on their way over,” Clair pushes against you, but it feels like you're stuck. “And they're here.”  “Mr. Cameron, you remember my daughter,” your dad smiles politely, and you do your best to mirror it, but refusing to actually look at Rafe. To meet his gaze and get lost in it. Too scared that it'll remind you of that day.  You hold out your hand to shake his, but instead of giving it a proper shake, Rafe takes your hand softly into his own. He leans down and kisses your knuckles, staring right into your eyes, and you can swear your heart is about to stop. And there you are again, mentally trapped under the weight of his hot body, his eyes never leaving yours as he pounds into, nearly splitting you in half.  You could swear he thinks of it too when your eyes linger before you harshly pull your hand away.  “I remember him well. Please, do enjoy the party,” you say and quickly excuse yourself to the restroom. 

You lock yourself in a stall, sitting down on the toilet and trying to keep yourself from crying.  “Are you okay?” Claire asks and you let out a choked cry.  “No. I don't think so, no.” You shake your head. It's unfair that you feel like this while he's perfect and not at all having any issues with it.  “If you cry, bend over, so the tears fall on the floor and don't ruin your makeup,” she suggests, and you stand to follow her instructions, just in case.  “Please tell me she's an escort. I can't deal with this if she isn't,” you press out. You don't know what exactly is wrong with you, never having been in a situation like this before.  “I don't think so. But I can do some research on it and get back to you,” you hear her stilettos on the marble as she walks away.  “He's no one. You don't care. You hate him. He's an asshole. A complete asshole,” you tell yourself, and it seems to help at first, but when you close your eyes he's there again. Brushing sweaty strands of hair from your face and telling you that you're his. And it all starts anew. 

“Y/n? Are you still in there?” you hear Claire ask and reply with a quick “yes.” “So, not an escort, but they just met at a bar. I guess he just brought her along to mess with you.”  “I think I'm having a heart attack,” your breath hitches, and you hold yourself up with a hand pressed to the stall door, still standing bent over like she had suggested earlier.  “Okay, tell me your symptoms, and I'll look it up. I'm not gonna call an ambulance if it's not real,” she replies, and you hate that you love her for being so pragmatic. “I can't breathe, and my chest feels narrow and at the same time as if it's about to burst and I wanna rip his head off,” you cry out.  “Yeah, no, WebMD says- Actually, you're probably right, it's probably just a heart attack,” your best friend doubles down quickly. Lifting your head you unlock the door and step out, snatching the phone from her hands to read the screen.  “What the fuck does WebMD know about heartache? How am I supposed to even have gotten that? I don't even like anyone. Especially not Rafe Cameron!” you sneer.  “Okay, let's just calm down and then go back out there and not make a scene. You think we can do that?” Claire slowly pulls her phone out of your claws, and you glare at yourself in the mirror.  “Of course we can.” It takes you a second to switch up your face, back to smiling and pretending like your life was just as good as everyone thought it to be. “Who cares about some small town asshole, right?”

You manage to spend the rest of the night without much drama, always making sure to not be close enough to him so he couldn't share another look with you or even get close enough to pull you away. 

And when you get home you pull off your heels and throw them to the side while stepping out of the elevator.  It takes some time to peel yourself out of the outfit you had forced yourself into, and even longer to free your hair from all the fixing gel the stylist had put in it.  In the end you find yourself curled up on your couch, sweats on and a blanket drawn over you while eating ice cream and watching your favorite movie, just to make it easier on your heart. 

You really want to avoid going to the office the next day, but after your dad announced to open another office down in Florida, you didn't expect him to put so much of the work on you to make up for it.  That's how you find yourself buried in paperwork and working through the night, making it 4am when you finally get back home.  And you're exhausted, drained and moody and not at all able to rejoice. The job you once loved is reduced to a dull day to day bullshit that you can only imagine being the worst you have ever felt. And all of it was because of him. 

“You need to look at the Cameron account. He says we gave him a bad deal. Fix it,” your dad orders the next day, and you grit your teeth, but you can't just not do it. This was professional, nothing personal should've ever gotten in the way of that. “I'll fly down next thing tomorrow morning,” you tell him and hang up the phone. But getting back to the paperwork seems impossible. 

The jet lands and you smell the salty air, so clean compared to New York.  “Do you want to go to the hotel to freshen up first, miss?” your driver asks.  “No, take me to the office. I want to be off this island again, as fast as possible.” 

“Mr. Cameron isn't available right now,” his assistant tells you and you scoff.  “He’s not getting a better deal unless he gets his ass over here in the next five minutes. Do you understand that?” you stare her down, and she nods before getting on the phone.  “He's on his way, Miss,” she says shyly after hanging up, and you smile at her. “Thank you.” 

“Didn't think you'd actually come down here for it,” Rafe mocks a laugh as he walks into the building, pulling his glasses off.  “I take my job rather seriously, Mr. Cameron.” You look him up and down, there is no mistaking. He had been out golfing.  “Let's go to my office,” he starts walking, and you follow, clenching your jaw because your eyes keep darting down to his ass, that looks so delicious in the tight pants. 

“What's the issue with the contract?” you ask flatly, whilst taking the seat opposite of him.  “Oh, there's no issue with the contract. Not that I don't think it's a perfect contract, but it's giving good enough profit on my end, so I shouldn't care too much about it,” he waves it off and you can feel your blood boiling.  “Why did you make me fly all the way down here for nothing!” You spit out and stand, harshly pushing your chair back as you do.  “That's it, that's the issue. There's nowhere in there where it says ‘Miss y/l/n has to come and check in on Mr. Cameron every once a month.’ We missed that little line, I'm afraid,” he's cocky. Too cocky. And for once you don't find it charming.  “I'm your boss, remember?” Your eyes narrow and he smirks deeply.  “You wouldn't be if I dropped you. I can always just do that. Unless you don't want me to. We wouldn't wanna disappoint daddy, right?” he mocks and you swallow hard. But he's bluffing, he has to be.  “He'll understand after I tell him how you took advantage of me. Two can play this game, Rafe,” you say his name with so much disgust in your voice that he's pretending to be offended by it.  “If anything, you were the one taking advantage of me. I mean, you are my superior after all. And I'm just a young man, who lost his father and is struggling to keep his company afloat.”  “You're a real asshole, you know that?”  “Been told before,” he grins. 

“What do you really want?” you finally cave and ask the question that had been lying on your tongue since landing on the island.  “You,” he looks at you, no hint of a lie in his eyes.  “I don't want you, though,” you lie nonchalantly. But your heart is racing, and the heat has been puddling in your pants for some time.  “Why not?”  “I don't need to give a reason for that. At least I didn't go around hiring escorts or whatever for events that no one even wanted me to be at,” you huff.  “Your dad invited me personally. He called, telling me about how much of a Debbie Downer you are. He actually tried to apologize for your behavior that day,” Rafe laughs and your eye starts twitching, nostrils flaring and jaw clenching in anger.  “Listen, I know it's partially my fault, but I was the only one there who was actually prepared to teach you a lesson. I don't know if you've learned it yet, but I'd be more than happy to give you a refresher on it.”  “You're fucked in the head, Rafe,” you mutter before going to walk out.  “Yeah, ‘cause I'm the one with the unresolved issues here,” he calls after you as you storm out. 

You know you can't go home already, it'd be too suspicious, so you take the room at the dumb hotel and at least try to relax a little. 

The next morning your dad calls just to tell you to check out on the properties, make sure that Rafe wasn't selling undervalue.  You make your way to the construction sites, your jeans and skimpy shirt are the only thing covering your body as you fight the heat.  “The best Italian marble, Miss,” the site manager tells you while walking you through what would later be the master-bathroom.  “Looks good. Will you be able to stick to the schedule?” you ask and hear a familiar laugh behind you.  “Of course they will, we've got only the best men down here, Miss.” Rafe walks over and you roll your eyes.  “I care about numbers and about making my clients happy. The rest is not on my level of expertise, especially the quality of men down here,” you tell him before looking back at the manager. “Thank you so much for the tour.” 

You turn in your heels and walk out to what will one day be a beautiful garden. “Walk with me, Cameron.”  “Are you suddenly interested again, or?”  “Keep it in your pants, asshole. No, and I'll never be ever again.”  “You say that now,” he smirks, and you roll your eyes again.  “I'm not a puppet for anyone. Not for my dad, and especially not for you. Do you understand?” you urge, and he runs his hand over the light stubble on his chin.  “I was just like that, then my shit father died and some therapy later, and now we're better than ever.”  “You're wrong. I'm not like you, and I'll never be. Wanna know why?” you lean in and he swallows.  “Pretty sure you're about to tell me, sugar.”  “Because I actually chose this life because I wanted it, not because I felt guilty or like I needed some praise. My life is perfect as is. Understood?”  “Sure you are,” he laughs.  “I am!”  Rafe leans in and whispers, “is that what you tell yourself, late at night when you can't cum unless you think of me. The way I made you beg, and you could only finish ‘cause I let you. Because at the end of the day, you'll always be my good girl.”  You push him away from you, watching him stumble backwards, before stomping back to the house, through it and getting into your car. 

You can't help it, it feels like he's jinxed you. And when you're back at the hotel and try to get off, you once again can't. It's frustrating to say the least and the worst part of it is that he knows, and you don't know how he found out, but it's too late for that. 

You didn't intend to find yourself knocking on his door. But here you are, standing in your sweats and hoodie, hammering on the windowpane until you can see him run down the stairs, and you wrap your arms around yourself.  “What are you doing here?” Rafe asks but lets you in, anyway.  “I had a nice life. I was content with it all. I was happy. I could go to clubs and hook up in a dirty bathroom and get off whenever I liked. I was free!” you yell at him, but it's hard to stay focused the way he's standing in front of you. Bare chest and gray sweatpants that never could've tried to hide the outline of his massive dick even if he had wanted to.  “I understand,” he tries his best to not smile as he wets his lips.  “You owe me one. That's for fucking sure. So, I came to cash it in so we can go back to pretending neither of us exist or have any interest in each other in any way. Ever. Good?” you tilt your head to the side before storming past him upstairs into his bedroom.  “That's a really bad idea!” Rafe calls after you, but he's also not actively stopping you. And when you open the door to his bedroom you know why. Or better who. 

“Are you coming back to bed?” His assistant is lying there, face pressed into his pillow and completely naked.  “Oh, you gotta be fucking kidding me,” you huff a laugh, pushing past him just as he made it up the stairs.  “Y/n, I can explain,” he tries, but you're filled with rage.  “Why would you need to explain anything? You're free to do what you like, or in this case who. I just don't know if HR would like to know about this arrangement,” you scream, not giving a single fuck about the girl.  “We don't have HR,” Rafe reminds you.  “Fine. You're fired.” Your voice has reached a pitch that you had never heard of yourself before and breathing got harder by the second.  “You can't fire me.” “I can do whatever the fuck I want, Rafe! I can do anything I want!” ‘Apart from getting what I want, what I need,’ you think, but you don't tell him that.  “I would've kicked her out if I'd known,” he tries to console you while following you back downstairs.  “Oh, that's really soothing. Thank you, Rafe,” you scoff.  “You're acting a little crazy right now, sugar.”  “Says the guy who made up an emergency, so I would have to come down here in the hopes that I'd jump his bones? And the fact that it would've nearly worked if you weren't so fucking selfish. You're such a selfish asshole!” You don't even realize that you're crying until you rip the door open and the cold wind makes your teary face feel frozen.  “And you're a bitch,” he snaps back, finally actually fighting.  “You left without saying goodbye!”  “You made me sleep on the fucking couch!”  “I should've kicked you out on the street!”  “Why the fuck are you suddenly pretending to care so much about what I think or do? I'm not even your type, remember?” he sneers and your walls, the perfectly built walls inside of you start crumbling. 

“I don't have a fucking type, Rafe! I don't get to have a type! I get to take any hot guy that thinks it'd be fun to fuck a fat chick, because they are high or have to get a dare out of the way. And you don't get to hurt me. You don't get to tell me how to feel about myself. Do you get that? This is my game, I'm the queen, and I thought that maybe, just maybe, you could be different. But you're not. You're just who I thought you'd be. No disappointment there.” Your rant calms you down a bit, and you get quieter with each sentence. “I'm going home. Don't even think about ever stepping foot into my city again.” 

please don't copy and/or post my work onto other platforms! ~e©ho

taglist: @ijustwantttoread @spideysimpossiblegirl @redhead1180@drwstarkeyy@notdxbya @sublimepenguinpeach-blog

part 4

[nayziiz]

Shadows | LN4

Summary: [Mafia] In the face of dire financial troubles, Lando receives a desperate plea from his father to unearth a lucrative solution within the family business. Fueled by the pressure to rescue his family from ruin, Lando stumbles upon a seemingly perfect venture—using luxury cars as a facade for the clandestine world of drug trafficking. With the unexpected partnership of Amelia Rossi, his father's best friend's daughter, Lando believes he has found the ideal accomplice. However, as the Norris family collides with the ambitious Russells in a ruthless bid to establish their dominance, the perilous path Lando has chosen places not only his newfound enterprise at stake but also entangles Amelia in the dangerous crossfire that unfolds.

Warning: Violence, drugs, blood, smut, fluff, guns

Pairing: Lando Norris x OC (Amelia Rossi) - appearances from other drivers

Masterlist

Chapter 11

As Lando mulled over his options, one course of action emerged as the most direct and potentially effective: confronting Harold Rossi directly. Despite the risks and the emotional turmoil it might unleash, Lando believed that confronting Harold face-to-face was the only way to uncover the truth once and for all.

Harold Rossi had been a prominent figure in Lando's life for as long as he could remember. From childhood to adulthood, Harold had been a fixture in the Norris family's orbit, a respected businessman with a reputation for integrity and success. But now, faced with the shocking revelation of Harold's involvement in Clyde Mitchells' murder and the kidnapping of a baby, Lando's perception of the man had been shattered.

The thought of confronting Harold filled Lando with a mixture of anger and frustration. How could someone he had known and trusted for so long be capable of such heinous acts? The betrayal cut deep, and Lando struggled to reconcile the image of the man he had once looked up to with the reality of his actions.

But despite his anger, Lando knew that he needed answers. He needed to confront Harold and demand the truth, no matter how painful it might be. With a steely resolve, Lando made preparations to confront Harold, steeling himself for whatever revelations might come to light.

As Lando approached the familiar Rossi home, a wave of conflicting emotions washed over him. The house, once a second home where he had spent countless hours with Amelia and her family, now felt like unfamiliar territory, fraught with tension and uncertainty.

Parking his car in front of the house, Lando took a moment to collect his thoughts before stepping out onto the familiar path leading to the front door. Each step felt heavy with the weight of the impending confrontation, the air thick with anticipation.

With a deep breath, Lando ascended the steps to the front door and reached out to knock. The sound reverberated through the silent house, echoing off the walls and sending a shiver down Lando's spine. He waited, his heart pounding in his chest, for a response.

After what felt like an eternity, the door swung open, revealing the imposing figure of Harold Rossi standing on the threshold. His expression was unreadable, his eyes betraying no hint of emotion as he regarded Lando with a cool detachment.

“Ah, Lando! What a surprise. It's been a minute since I last saw you.” Harold enthusiastically greeted Lando.

“Hi, Mr Rossi.” Lando managed to greet Harold, feigning a small smile.

“Are you here for business or looking for Amelia?” Harold chuckled as he studied the twenty-four year old at his doorstep.

“Business, actually. Do you have a minute?” Lando enquired, suddenly sounding serious.

“Sure, come through to the study.” Harold agreed and gestured for Lando to follow him to the study.

The door clicked softly shut behind Lando, enclosing them in the dimly lit study. Harold motioned for Lando to take a seat across from him, and Lando complied, though his nerves were wound tight. The familiar surroundings of the study, once comforting, now felt suffocating as Lando prepared to broach a topic he had never imagined confronting Harold about.

“I wanted your advice on something.” Lando began, his voice steady despite the turmoil within him.

“Yes?” Harold leaned forward slightly, his expression curious yet composed. 

Lando listened intently to Harold's response, his mind whirling with a mix of frustration and disbelief. The calm demeanour Harold projected only served to deepen Lando's sense of unease.

“How have you managed to keep your business clean for so long? I'm finding it quite difficult at the moment to not get my hands dirty.” Lando pressed, unable to shake the feeling of betrayal that simmered beneath the surface. 

Harold leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on Lando with a measured intensity. 

“Patience.” He replied, his tone deliberate. “And knowing the right people.”

There was a pause as Lando absorbed Harold's words, a bitter taste settling in his mouth. The realisation dawned on him that Harold's definition of "knowing the right people" likely extended far beyond mere acquaintanceship. He couldn't help but feel a sense of disillusionment at the revelation that the man he had respected and looked up to for so long was not the paragon of integrity he had believed him to be.

“Like the Russells?” Lando's question hung in the air, heavy with implication.

Harold's expression remained stoic, but a flicker of tension betrayed his facade of composure.

“I beg your pardon?” He echoed, his tone sharp with feigned innocence. Lando leaned forward slightly, his gaze unwavering.

“Would you ever ask the Russells to clean up a mess for you?” He repeated, his voice steady despite the rising tension in the room.

“Lando, I'm not sure what mess you find yourself in, but keep clear of the Russells. They are notorious for blackmail and bribery. Trust me, I know.” Harold warned.

Lando's eyebrows lifted in surprise at Harold's admission.

“So you're aware of their methods?” He asked, his tone tinged with scepticism. Harold sighed heavily, his shoulders sagging as if under a great weight.

“Unfortunately, yes. They've approached me on more than one occasion, offering their 'services' in exchange for favours.” Harold admitted, his voice heavy with resignation.

“And did you accept?” Lando inquired, his gaze unwavering as he watched Harold closely. Harold hesitated for a moment before responding.

“I won't deny that I've entertained their proposals in the past.” He admitted, his tone tinged with regret. “But I've since realised the dangers of getting involved with such individuals. They're a liability, Lando, and I advise you to steer clear of them at all costs.”

“Is that what happened with Clyde Mitchells?” Lando suddenly asked. Harold's eyes widened in shock at Lando's accusation, his expression quickly morphing into one of guarded composure.

“I have no idea what you're talking about, Lando.” He replied, his voice steady despite the underlying tension in the air.

“Don't play dumb with me, Harold.” Lando pressed, his tone sharp and accusatory. “I know about Clyde Mitchells and what happened to him in those woods.”

Harold's facade faltered for a moment, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features before he regained his composure.

“I think you're mistaken, Lando. I had nothing to do with whatever happened to Mr. Mitchells.” He countered, his voice tinged with defensiveness.

Harold's jaw clenched visibly, his gaze hardening as he regarded Lando with a steely resolve.

A knock at the study door abruptly halted their conversation before the door creaked open and Amelia popped her head in.

“Hey, I thought I heard your voice.” Amelia stated as she entered her father's study, her eyes landing on Lando’s frustrated expression. “What's going on?”

“Oh, nothing, dear. Lando just needed some business advice.” Harold quickly interjected before Lando could say anything, but Amelia noticed that Lando wanted to say something.

“Lando?” Amelia pressed, her tone tinged with concern.

“Boy, I am warning you.” Harold threatened Lando as Lando rose from his seat.

“Okay, seriously, what is happening? You’re scaring me.” Amelia insisted, stepping closer to Lando.

Lando took a deep breath, steeling himself for what he was about to reveal.

“Your father... he's not who you think he is.” Lando began, his voice grave. Amelia's eyes widened in disbelief.

“What are you talking about, Lando?” She asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Lando, I suggest you choose your next words very carefully.” Harold interjected, his tone icy. But Lando ignored him, his gaze locked with Amelia's.

“Your father... he was involved in something years ago. Something... dark.” Lando continued, his voice faltering slightly as he spoke.

“Involved in what?” Amelia's brow furrowed in confusion. 

Lando hesitated, struggling to find the right words to convey the gravity of the situation. 

“Amelia, your father was involved in the death of Clyde Mitchells.” He finally admitted, his voice barely audible.

“Who’s Clyde Mitchells?” Amelia asked, confused, as her gaze shifted between Lando and her father.

Lando took a deep breath, his gaze shifting between Amelia and her father, Harold.

“Clyde Mitchells was your biological father.” He repeated, his voice steady despite the weight of his words. Amelia's eyes widened in shock, her mind struggling to process the revelation.

“But... that makes no sense, Lando…” She stammered, unable to form coherent thoughts.

Harold remained silent, his expression unreadable as he watched the scene unfold before him.

“Lando, what are you saying?” Amelia asked, her voice tinged with desperation. Lando took a step closer to her, his eyes filled with empathy.

“Your father - Harold - he's been lying to you, Amelia. He's been hiding the truth from you for years.” He explained, his voice soft yet firm.

Amelia's breath caught in her throat as she turned to face her father, searching his eyes for any sign of denial or explanation. Harold remained stoic, his features composed as he met his daughter's gaze. But there was a flicker of unease in his eyes, a subtle hint of guilt that Lando couldn't ignore.

“Amelia, listen to me.” Harold began, his voice strained. “There are things you don't understand.”

Amelia's voice trembled with disbelief as she turned to face her father, her eyes pleading for an explanation.

“Dad, is this true?” She repeated, her voice cracking with emotion. Harold's jaw tightened as he finally met her gaze.

“Amelia, there's more to the story than you know.” He admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

“But why? Why would you do something like that? And, why would you kill him?” Amelia demanded, her voice rising with anger and hurt.

“Your biological father found you and before he could make contact, your father here had him killed. You remember the night out in the woods, when we saw that man get shot?” Lando asked, reigniting a painful memory.

“We saw my father get shot?” Amelia choked as she replayed the visual in her mind.

Harold watched as the tears streamed down his daughter’s face as she grabbed hold of Lando’s bicep to keep herself steady.

“Your mother was broken after the baby died. And, I needed her to be happy, so I did what I had to do. And, we've only given you the very best life.” Harold attempted to explain his decisions.

Amelia recoiled at her father's words, the gravity of his actions hitting her like a ton of bricks. The revelation left her feeling hollow and betrayed, her sense of security shattered in an instant.

“You... You sacrificed someone's life for your own happiness?” She whispered, her voice trembling with disbelief and anger.

“Amelia, I know it sounds unforgivable, but I thought I was protecting your mother. I thought I was doing what was best for our family.” Harold continued.

Amelia's eyes burned with unshed tears as she struggled to comprehend the depth of her father's deception. The man she had always looked up to, the man she had trusted implicitly, had been keeping a dark and devastating secret from her for her entire life.

“How could you?” She whispered, her voice breaking with emotion. “How could you lie to me, to everyone?”

Harold's shoulders slumped with the weight of his guilt as he met her gaze, his eyes brimming with tears.

“I'm sorry, Amelia.” He choked out, his voice thick with emotion. “I never wanted to hurt you. I never wanted any of this to come to light.”

But his words offered little comfort to Amelia, who felt as though her entire world had been turned upside down. The man she had once idolized was now a stranger to her, his actions unforgivable in her eyes.

“You didn't have to kill him.” Amelia sneered, seeing Harold a completely different light.

“He wouldn't take money for his silence.” Harold countered.

“Because you stole his daughter from him! You're more awful than I thought.” She argued, her voice strained as she got the words out.

“You see what you've done, Norris. You've disrupted everything.” Harold remarked, slumping back in his chair.

“Oh, no. You keep Lando out of this. It's thanks to him that I know the truth, and fuck, it's thanks to him I'm still alive today. You can take your money, your cars, everything, Harold, but I want nothing to do with you.” Amelia shrugged, her disappointment and anger weaving a web in her words.

“Amelia, let's just be rational.” Harold urged her, causing her to scoff at his audacity.

“What is my real name?” Amelia enquired. “The name Clyde and his wife gave me.’

“Catherine.” Lando informed her.

But his words offered little solace to Amelia, who felt as though she had been robbed of the chance to know her true identity. The name Catherine echoed in her mind, a constant reminder of the lies that had shaped her life.

“I need some time.” She whispered, her voice choked with emotion. “I need to figure things out.”

Harold nodded, his own grief mirroring hers as he watched his daughter retreat into herself. The rift between them seemed insurmountable, a gaping chasm that threatened to swallow them both whole.

As she left her father's study, Amelia couldn't shake the feeling of emptiness that consumed her. The truth had set her free, but it had also left her adrift in a sea of uncertainty, unsure of who she was or where she belonged. All she knew was that her life would never be the same again.

Lando's heart felt heavy as he watched Amelia leave her father's study, her world shattered by the revelations that had been laid bare. He had known that confronting Harold Rossi would unravel the fabric of their lives, but he hadn't anticipated the extent of the devastation it would wreak.

“I hope you're happy, Norris. You've torn my family apart.” Harold's voice cut through the silence, filled with bitterness and resentment. Lando met Harold's gaze, his expression unreadable as he processed the weight of his words.

“She deserves more than being lied to.” He finally replied, his voice tinged with regret.

“And who are you to decide what she deserves? You've always had a way of meddling in things that don't concern you.” Harold's eyes narrowed as he regarded Lando, his features twisted with anger. 

“This does concern me. That’s the woman I love, Harold.” Lando insisted, his tone firm as he met Harold's gaze head-on. Harold's jaw clenched as he absorbed Lando's words, his expression hardening with resolve.

“You may think you're doing what's best for her, Norris, but mark my words – you'll only bring her more pain.” Harold warned Lando.

“At least I won’t be kidnapping children to keep my wife happy. I’ll be sure to take the adoption route instead.” Lando countered and with that left Harold’s study to find Amelia.

Lando found her standing outside by his McLaren.

“Let’s get out of here.” She told Lando as she got into the passenger seat.

As Lando drove, the silence between them was heavy with unspoken words, each lost in their own thoughts. Amelia's mind was a whirlwind of confusion and disbelief, her heart weighed down by the weight of the truth she had just learned. Beside her, Lando's grip on the steering wheel was tight, his jaw set with determination as he navigated the familiar streets.

Finally, they arrived at Lando's home, a sanctuary where they could escape the chaos of the outside world and find solace in each other's company. Amelia stepped out of the car, the cool night air brushing against her skin as she followed Lando inside.

As the weight of everything she had learned began to bear down on her, Amelia felt her chest tighten, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps. Panic clawed at the edges of her consciousness, threatening to overwhelm her as her heart pounded erratically in her chest.

Lando sensed the shift in her demeanor immediately, his gaze softening with concern as he reached out to gently place a hand on her shoulder.

“Amelia, hey, it's okay.” He murmured, his voice a soothing balm against the rising tide of panic. “Just focus on your breathing, okay? In and out, nice and slow.”

But the walls of her mind seemed to close in around her, suffocating her with their oppressive weight. Her thoughts spiraled out of control, a chaotic whirlwind of fear and uncertainty threatening to consume her whole.

“Amelia, look at me.” Lando urged, his voice cutting through the fog of her panic. Slowly, she turned to meet his gaze, the warmth and reassurance in his eyes anchoring her to the present moment.

“You're safe here.” He continued, his words a lifeline in the storm. “I'm right here with you. Just keep breathing, okay? You're stronger than you think.”

Lando gently takes Amelia's hand and places it on her chest, encouraging her to feel the rise and fall of her breath.

“Focus on your breath, Amelia.” He encouraged her, his voice gentle. “Feel your hands on your chest, okay?”

As Lando continues to hold her hands against her chest, Amelia gradually feels the tension easing from her body. With each passing moment, his steady presence and comforting touch serve as an anchor, grounding her in the present and offering a sense of security. As her racing heart begins to slow its frantic pace, Amelia's breathing steadies, deepening into a calm and rhythmic pattern.

She leaned against him and he instinctively wrapped his arms around her in a warm embrace. The warmth of his embrace envelops her, offering solace and reassurance in the midst of her turmoil. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the tightness in her chest begins to loosen, replaced by a sense of peace and serenity.

“Thank you.” She whispered, her voice barely above a breath as she turned to look at Lando. “I don't know what I would do without you.”

Lando offered her a warm smile, his eyes reflecting the depth of his affection and concern. 

“You don't have to do anything alone, Amelia. I'll always be here for you, no matter what. You can trust me.” He replied softly before placing a kiss on the top of her head.

“I need the world to know what he did.” Amelia's voice, though steady, carried the weight of determination and resolve as she spoke. Her words hung in the air with a sense of conviction, echoing the strength of her newfound resolve.

“Are you sure about that? What about your career, your business?” Lando asked, worried about her sudden conviction.

“A man lost his life looking for his daughter, there is no plausible reason why the world shouldn’t know. The dealership is mine, so regardless of what happens to Harold, my business should be fine. And, if I have to change my name, then I’ll do that too.” Amelia responded, shrugging.

“Are you sure?” Lando asked, wanting to make sure that she was confident in her plan.

“Would you still love me if I was named Catherine?” Amelia wondered, diverting the conversation slightly.

“Amelia, Catherine, a name doesn’t change the person you are. So, yeah. I would love you if your name was Catherine.” Lando replied, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“You really do love me, don’t you?” Amelia realised as she studied him.

“I would go through hell for you, baby, yeah. I love you so much.” He assured her before kissing her lightly.

“I love you, Lan.” She told him and kissed him again.

[seventeenpins]

violet pairing: older qz!joel x f!reader

word count: 5.8k

summary: follow-up to forget-me-not. it's been seven years since you last saw joel in the boston qz, and a lot has changed. you find yourselves reunited in jackson.

warnings: smut, actually contains a lot of plot (sorry), tommy, maria & ellie all exist, allusions to/discussion of abortion, reader has a kid, joel is insecure about being an old man (you're only 63, it's ok buddy), reader is mid-thirties to early 40s, lil bit of daddy kink, face sitting, multiple orgasms.

a/n: okay first -- header or no header? like, it's a bit ridiculous but i also kinda love it? instead of packing up for a move, i've been writing this 🤷 thanks for all the continued love on my fics, it's so sweet and means a whole lot. working on a few other stories, and i hope to have more out soon!

this chapter is dedicated to the dumbass at the club who didn't quite manage to ruin a first date i was on by asking us what we thought about gay rights (as two fem-perceived folks caught smoochin) and then telling us "you're clearly so in love, i respect that" before yeeting off in the moonlight.

you could have sworn the terrain had been totally empty only moments before, but now in the blink of an eye, you’re surrounded by a small group of riders, armed, their horses huffing down at you. 

“shit,” you gasp, trying to shield your girl, but realising there was little use. can’t put your body in front of hers when there’s people on every side of you. instead, your hands grip tighter on the shoulders of your daughter and you take a breath, trying to steady your breathing.

“you been near infected?” a man calls down at you, and his accent reminds you of joel, so much so that your heart flutters for a moment at the memory. you’ve met lots of people on your travels, a few of them from austin, too, and every time you think of him.

“no,” you call back, “last we saw them was back in the dakotas and there weren’t many there. that was weeks ago, haven’t encountered any since.”

the man nods, and you’re not sure what he’s thinking under his stetson, but the fact you’re not shot yet seems like a good sign. hopefully.

"frankly, we've had much more trouble from people than from infected on our way. but we've been able to take care of ourselves," you say, and you're hoping your words have an underlying edge of danger, but you're pretty sure you just come off as scared and defensive.

the man nods, and looks you up and down. “well, we've gotta make sure,” he says, almost apologetic, and you tense. it takes a moment before you see the dog, but then a dark blur comes bounding towards you, snarling. You tense and pull your girl close, but after a few moments of incredibly stressful sniffing, the dog leaves you alone and trods back to his owner, panting happily.

“good,” the man says, “now we've got that cleared up, what’s your business here?”

it's a good fuckin question, but not one you have a direct answer to.

"we came from boston," you tell him, "it was okay for a while, but the qz changed--got worse. more bombings. more hangings. if it was just me i might have stayed put, but i have my daughter."

there's so much you could say, but you're pretty sure you're advocating for your own life right now, so you keep it short and simple.

"we're just trying to find... somewhere better. travelling through all the places i've ever known people, to see if there's somewhere safe out there at all."

he nods, and the group surrounding you seems to back down a little.

"come with us. i think we might have what you're looking for," he tells you, and then one rider jumps down from their horse, mounts another, and the first man helps you and your daughter onto the vacated horse.

you follow the group, cantering along, and the man keeps an eye on you, and a woman in the group rides up next to you.

"so, you're from the boston qz? that's quite a journey," the man says, and nods his head towards the young woman, "she and i both travelled here from boston, years ago. i left back in, oof, '13? remind me, when did you leave?"

the woman nods, "left when i was fourteen, in '23."

"oh wow," you say, "i honestly didn't expect to meet anyone from boston round here"

there's a pause.

"what did you say your name was?" he asks, and you tell him.

"and this is violet," you say, giving your daughter's shoulder a squeeze, and she nestles back into your chest, ever shy around strangers.

"nice to meet you both," the woman grins, "i'm ellie"

"and i'm tommy," the man says. you're sure it's just a weird coincidence, a common name, just cos he happens to share the same name as joel's brother it doesn't mean anything, but you can't help but ask-

"this is probably silly, but you're not tommy miller are you?"

both tommy and ellie halt, so you do to, as they communicate something through quick glances and furrowed brows.

"wait," you say, "are you? tommy miller?"

he stares you down, and all of a sudden, you see it in his eyes. joel's eyes. violet's eyes.

"i-" your heart is pounding now with the realisation, "i knew your brother. i knew joel. he was a-" you hesitate for only a split second, "friend."

"well shit," tommy says. he caught the hesitation when you landed on friend, and he's looking at you, brows furrowed. "when was the last time you saw him?"

you shrug. "guess it was seven years ago." you look at your daughter, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear, and then back up at tommy. "it was when he'd stopped hearing from you, actually. he came out to find you. did... did he find you?"

tommy doesn't answer, his eyes widening, and you can see him put the pieces together as he looks at you and then at your daughter, to you, and to her again.

"how old did you say she was?" he nods at violet but keeps his gaze fixed on you.

"i didn't."

"humor me."

"she's six."

"huh," he says, and ellie's looking between you two now and you can see realisation dawning on her, too.

"wait a second--holy shit," ellie cackles, "joel's gonna lose his fuckin' mind."

a sudden flare of panic and excitement floods through you. "wait, you know him too? he's nearby? i'm sorry- he lives around here? he made it?"

ellie snorts and tommy lets out a noise that's almost like a cross between a deep exhale and a strangled moan.

"yep, he lives in town. made it here with ellie a few years back. been living here a while now."

you don't know if you're thrilled or terrified. to be honest, your brain suddenly feels like it's filled to the brim with bees that were muffling out any thought more complex than AAAAHHHHHHHH.. you'd always hoped you might see joel again, but it wasn't till now you realised you never really believed you would.

he's alive. he actually made it.

as if sensing your racing thoughts, tommy pulls up beside you and claps a strong hand on your shoulder.

"one step at a time, sweetheart. seems like y'all have a whole lotta catchin' up to do."

after you're brought through the gate and finish up at the dining hall for a bite to eat, tommy and ellie take you both on a tour of jackson. you'd seen lots of things in the time you'd travelled, but this is the first real community you'd seen. it made you think of the old days, or rather, your ideas of the old days. you were too young when the world ended, but the idea of people living together and supporting one another without bombs going off on street corners and scheduled hangings was something else.

"we've been workin' on makin' a functioning society here. we get energy from the dam, so actual, non-fedra electricity." tommy points along the main street at the street lighting (actual street lighting!!)

"most of the shops are along here," he continues, pointing out each place as he lists them off, "necessities, like a cobbler and a tailor over in that space. greenhouses and farms over in that direction as well as a clinic. we've got a bar, a couple o' bakeries, house of worship, stables back that way- couple fellas opening a barbershop in that space over there pretty soon. and, of course, the residential area just down here. we've got a lotta houses, and we're working on refurbishing a whole lot, too. most families have their own homes. you're welcome to take some time to decide if you would like to stay here, but y'all seem like decent people and at the very least, we can put you up in some of our temporary housing 'til we have a better grasp on what you need. we got families of all configurations here. we did that a whole lot better after the world ended. and this is a home for a lotta people."

"oh-!" ellie says, suddenly excited, "and the school's over there, if you guys wanna stay. fedra school fucking sucked but this one was actually pretty cool. we actually got to learn stuff!"

violet giggles a little, and ellie shoots her a bright smile that makes her giggle little more. it feels safe here. you don't remember the last time things have felt safe. you're trying to take it all in, memorise every storefront, every person, every moment, when the aroma of fresh-baked pastries suddenly assaults your nostrils and you let out an involuntary moan.

"been a while, huh?" ellie asks and snorts, and you nod. "i grew up in the qz so i never had one of these till the shop opened up a couple years ago. but i hear it's just like the old days!"

"mama, it smells really good," violet says, and it's the first thing she's said since you've come through the gates.

"it does, doesn't it?" you ask her, "and look at all these shops. see those clothes in the window there?"

her eyes are as wide as saucers, and you're so overwhelmed with joy that she gets to experience this that you don't notice ellie bounding up the steps to the bakery and running back a minute later with a paper wrapped something in hand.

she holds it out to you and you take it from her gingerly. you kneel down to let violet unwrap the paper and inside is a perfect strawberry danish. you're stunned.

"that's cream cheese and butter from our cows," tommy tells you, "strawberries and wheat grown here, too. all fresh. all cordyceps free. we don't risk using any of the old stuff that might be contaminated"

that's amazing. that's fucking amazing.

"here, baby," you tear off a piece for violet, and she clutches it carefully and sniffs at it warily before popping it into her mouth, chewing with furrowed brows, and breaking out into a grin.

"welcome to jackson," ellie says, and now you're laughing too.

by the evening, tommy's given you a tour of the whole settlement and left you, ellie, and violet at the tipsy bison with an invitation to join him and his family for dinner. there was a strong likelihood that joel would be there and you were shitting bricks.

what if he's totally different from how you remember him? what if he isn't?

what if he wants nothing to do with you? what if he wants nothing to do with violet?

what if he's forgotten you?

you pinch yourself to pull out of your spiral. ellie winks at violet, who's sipping at her juice, and clinks her glass against yours. together, you take large swigs of your beer.

she tells you a bit about herself. she's vague about how she and joel met, and you're not sure if it's because she doesn't want to talk about it or if she's trying to spare the gory details around violet, but she speaks of him fondly and blushed a little when she mentioned i've kinda become, like, a surrogate daughter to him. and he's my old man.

before you could gather your thoughts and ask any follow-ups, she's already blowing through different topics, grinning as she tells you about her girlfriend, about her tattoo and how she wants another one, about her favorite horse, and the way patrols worked around here, and you relax into the conversation. into the peace. into taking a break.

before you know it, the three of you are walking towards tommy's house and right as you're about to knock at the door, ellie barrels past and swings the door open with a bellowed "we're here!" reverberating off the walls.

as you step through the door, delicious food smells waft through the hallway and you hear laughter and music coming from the kitchen. ellie makes a beeline through the door on your right and you take it all in for a moment.

"you coming?" ellie calls, and you follow her.

and stop dead in your tracks.

illuminated in the light of an antique shaded lamp, sat on a rocking chair, was joel.

he's greyer and more tired, but he also looks- happy? and he's got reading glasses on as he peers at what looks to be a picture book as he points out the illustrations to the kid on his lap. your jaw drops.

the kid's probably around the same age as violet.

ellie is stood in the corner of the room, half-heartedly pretending to examine a bookshelf while she blatantly eavesdrops.

joel looks up and smiles in a way that you've only seen a few times before. it's... unguarded. he extends a hand, "hi there, you must be our guests, i'm jo-"

and then recognition flickers over his face and he stops. stares at you, wide eyed, and then his eyes flick over to violet, and back to you.

"hi joel," you say.

if you're honest, you're expecting him to be the asshole you remember. grouchy. closed off. sweet only in private, intimate, brief moments.

what you don't expect is for him to gently call over to ellie with a "we need a minute here, could you take your cousin and see if tommy and maria need a hand?"

cousin, he'd said, and you can feel your heart slow down a notch, calming down a little. oof. one step at a time, you remind yourself, one step at a time.

"sure thing," ellie nods and helps the kid down from joel's lap, holding his hand as they walk through to the kitchen.

you're stood, frozen, as joel takes off his readers, rubs his eyes, and stands up. you've forgotten how imposing he can be, but even now, he just feels like a big shield between you and the rest of the world. you stare at each other for just a moment, and then strong arms are wrapping around you and joel is laughing?

"fuck," he snorts, "i can't believe it's you. after all this time!"

he pulls back but keeps his hands on your shoulders, looking you up and down, studying you.

and then he looks back down at violet and you see his face contort from joy to something almost like fear. maybe dread, even? or anticipation.

"mama, who is this man?" violet asks, tugging at your sleeve, and you kneel down to her.

you meet eyes with joel one more time before answering her, and you see building panic behind them.

this was, admittedly, a lot. one step at a time. "his name is joel, he was a friend of mine. i knew him before you were born!"

violet extends her little hand out towards joel. "my name is violet, it's a kind of flower. i like your hair. it's sooo silvery."

you snort involuntarily, and joel gulps audibly, wide-eyed, before taking her small hand in his large palm, cradling it as if holding something precious, and shakes it. "i'm joel. it's nice to meet you."

you all have dinner and it's actually a pretty good time, as long as you don't make too much eye contact with joel, who looks as though he has an electric current running through him, keeping him wide eyed and twitchy. he's clearly trying to appear unfazed, but he's jumpy and not at all subtle, to the point that the kid who'd been on joel's lap earlier, rowan you'd learned, prods at joel at one point in the meal. joel jumps a mile and rowan furrows his brow asking why are you being so weird, uncle joel?

despite the tension, it's so domestic. this was a joel who folded his napkin on his lap before starting to eat, who minded his manners, and obviously pressed ellie to mind hers, too. the joel you patched up when he came to you bloodied and bruised felt like a shadow long since past.

after dinner, when you've made it through unscathed, tommy's watching the little ones as they conk out on the couch. maria's going over paperwork, and ellie's tuning a guitar.

joel pops his head into the room and makes a vague gesture indicating outside. "wanna chat on the porch?" he asks, and you nod and follow him.

there are a pair of handsome adirondack chairs and you each take a seat. you don't say anything, don't even look at one another. you just sit there in comfortable silence.

but then joel takes a deep breath and you know the question that's coming.

"violet?" he asks, "is she mine?"

you smile sadly.

"yeah," you say, "you're her daddy."

he chokes out a strangled noise and tries to cover it with a cough, badly.

he doesn't seem like he's gonna say anything, and you reckon he's not gonna, so you try and breeze past it.

"i know- i know it wasn't part of the plan." you exhale, "but it's okay, joel. she's only known one parent her whole life and it's common enough these days that she doesn't think it's strange. and i don't know if you ever want her to know that you're her dad, but i'm not ready for her to know. i'll tell her, but i want her to settle in here before any big life revelations come up for her. jackson's enough of a change as it is."

he nods slowly, coughs out a low "i understand. and i respect it. i just never thought-"

"neither did i," you cut him off, "and when i realized i was pregnant i didn't intend to keep it, but fedra had raided the last underground clinics that i knew about. most of the staff got hanged, and i was out of options."

he lets out a sharp exhale.

you're silent for another minute before joel speaks again.

"i'm sorry-" he says, "i'm sorry that your choice was taken from you. and i'm so sorry i wasn't there for you."

he still doesn't look at you, but he rests a hand on your knee.

"i can't believe- all this time and i have another daughter and i had no idea."

"she's such a cool kid," you tell him, "and don't get me wrong, i felt like the worst person in the world, bringing a kid into that fuckin'- fedra plague world," you admit, "but she's so funny, shy when you first meet her, but she has so much personality. every day, she's more and more of a tiny person! and she's just started doing this thing where i'll tell her something and she'll just scowl at me and she looks just like you-"

"hey, i don't scowl that much-" joel argues, scowling, and there's the joel you remember. all of a sudden you're hysterical with laughter, and then joel cracks too and he's laughing with you.

after a while, you fall into another comfortable silence. it gets later and later, and then joel's standing up and offering you a hand.

"'fraid i've got patrol in the morning, so i'd best be going to bed soon, and i'm guessing y'all are exhausted?"

you nod, feeling as if acknowledgement of it suddenly made it true. good god you were tired.

"you know what house you're staying in tonight?" he asked, and you tell him the number.

"sounds good," he nods, "can i walk ya home?"

"sure," you smile.

you head back inside, scoop up violet, and then the three of you are heading towards your temporary lodgings.

when you arrive, joel bids you goodnight at your doorstep and bobs his head a little as though he was about to lean in to kiss your cheek but then thought better of it, and instead takes your hand for a moment and mutters without looking directly at you, "it's really great to see you, baby. glad you made it here safe."

you go to bed. an actual bed, mind you.

you dreamed of joel miller.

you'd pretty much decided you and violet would stay here in jackson from the first minute you walked down the main street, but you gave it a few days before letting the council know. this is what you've been looking for, though. a home. a community. safety.

violet starts going to school. she's in the same year as rowan and apparently thrilled about it, so you're at tommy and maria's home more often than you'd imagined. you start patrolling, too. just short routes to begin with, but you didn't make it through this much without knowing how to survive, and you're good at it.

and then there's joel.

he's different.

he's aged, but he still looks great. the salt and pepper of his hair has turned more salt than pepper, and the crinkles by his eyes are deeper. you're still attracted to him, so attracted to him, but you don't wanna make any rash decisions. he seems lighter, clearly taken by ellie, and cautiously friendly towards you and violet.

he's made it clear he'd like to get to know her, but is happy to take his time, waiting until you're more comfortable with it. which is so beautifully, frustratingly thoughtful.

you never expected that cold, angry joel could be so warm and open, but he seems like such a doting family man, keeping an eye out for ellie, always there for tommy, being a good uncle for rowan. there was clearly some tension between him and his sister-in-law, too, but one evening you walked in on them doing dishes together, singing along to some old dolly parton cd. you slipped out the door before either of them saw you'd seen.

one night, violet and rowan are having a sleepover, supervised by tommy, and you have a rare night to yourself. you make your way over to the tipsy bison and relax at the bar, letting the whiskey warm you.

you chat with the bartender, and decide to put a song on the jukebox, but as you get up from your stool you knock the whiskey bottle over and watch tumble seemingly in slow motion before being caught by- "joel?"

"easy now," joel smiles, "don't want a repeat of last time."

it takes you aback for a moment, and then your face is burning with the memory.

"can't believe you remember that," you say, and he snorts.

"course i do. that was the last night i saw you."

he pulls out a stool and sits down next to you. gestures at the bartender for a glass, and pours himself a healthy finger of whiskey.

"how do you remember that night going?" you ask.

joel scratches at his cheek for a moment, pondering, and smiles, sipping his whiskey. "i was gonna be leavin' town, and i wanted to say goodbye so i checked out all your usual spots. walked in to see you smash a bottle and then try and flirt your way out of it with that weedy little bartender."

"i remember that bit, too," you say, "though on my end, i'll remind you, i was drinking because i was preemptively missing you and didn't realise you were leaving so soon."

"i do remember you saying that," joel nods, "and i was so mad because i'd spent so much time that night trying to find you, and that was time we wouldn't get back."

your eyes widen at his words. you didn't know this part. suddenly, you feel a warmth rising in you that you hadn't expected.

"do you remember what happened next?" he asks.

you nod. "yeah, you yelled at me a little, implied i was a whore, yelled at me more, and then told me you were leaving in the morning."

"jesus, i'm an asshole," joel says, and you smile.

"yeah, you are. neither of us were at our best though. but then we had one last night."

"one last night," he echoes.

neither of you say anything for a minute, and then joel breaks the silence.

"i'd be lying if i said i hadn't replayed that night over and over again in my head."

you smile. "me too," you admit, "it's honestly been a while since i've been with anyone, and when it's just me and my hand, that night's the first thing that i think of."

joel inadvertently chokes and splutters, dabbing at his mouth as he tries to collect himself. he's flushed a beautiful shade of pink and it makes you giggle.

"shit, girl, i forgot how blunt you can be."

"i think this might be the first wholly honest conversation we've had since i got to town," you ponder, still smiling, "we're always dancing around each other. in orbit but never colliding."

he looks at you with a curious expression on his face, like he's enjoying the task of trying to parse you almost as much as he's seeking an understanding.

you pour yourself another glass of whiskey and knock it back in one. you're gathering your courage. you're plotting plots now, and sure it's been a long time, but you figure it's worth a shot.

"i've been thinking, joel," you tell him, and his eyes are so focused on you, "i wanna say up front i don't have any expectations, and i won't be offended if you'd rather not-"

he raises an eyebrow at you and you could swear you see flirtation behind it.

"but, if you wanted-"

"spit it out"

"that last night doesn't have to be the last night."

your eyes are locked and don't speak, don't move, don't breathe.

and then joel miller's lips are crashing into yours, and you moan into him, one hand clutching at your shoulders, the other cupping your chin, and you melt into it.

"my place," you tell him, "violet's with her cousin tonight."

you realise that's the first time you said those words like that, so casual and normal, and you know you'll need to unpack that later but joel, shockingly, takes it in stride.

before you know it, you're walking up the porch steps with joel right on your heels and unlocking the front door.

you've barely gotten the door open before you're on the other side of it and it's slamming shut, joel pressing you against the threshold and kissing you deeply. one of his thighs presses between your legs and without thinking you rub up against it.

"shit, i've missed you baby," he says, and you're moaning against him as he helps you pull off your shirt, and you start to unbutton his. he continues, bashful, "didn't think you'd want an old man like me, anymore."

you scoff, "you've aged well, joel, and more than that, you've aged. you're still here and i can't even begin to tell you how much that means."

you tug the flannel from his shoulders, letting it drop to the floor behind him before you pull off his undershirt.

"besides," you tell him, "you're the best lay i've ever had and i don't believe for a minute you've lost your touch."

he snorts, but then he's kissing on your neck again and you know you'll need to talk about things properly at some point. for now, though, you'll get lost in the feeling of him.

you're lost in the dizzy haze of touch. joel's hands are all over you, grabbing, stroking, caressing. you stumble to your bedroom, stepping out of your jeans and helping him shuck off his pants along the way. then he's laid out on your bed, bare except for his boxer shorts, chest heaving and cock straining.

you yank off your panties and climb on top of him, straddling him so your bare pussy rubs up against his hardness. he groans and grabs you by the hips, rocking you up and down his length.

"feel so good, baby," he breathes, and his eyes are fluttering closed in pleasure. "come here," he tells you, and he pulls you down for a kiss.

you take him in. look at his body. his chest hair has greyed, and he's got more scars than you remember including a nasty-looking one that must've been a close call. you run a thumb over the one on the side of his chest, still pearly but less pink these days, from the time you patched him up.

joel watches you watch him. "i never thanked you properly for that, sweetheart," he says, "but thank you. you saved my ass that night."

"of course," you tell him, as you dip down and lick a stripe up from his happy trail, all the way to his throat.

"fuck," he whines, and you shut him up with a kiss.

when you finally break, he strokes your cheek. "sit on my face," he tells you, and you don't need him to ask you twice.

you hobble up on your knees and then rest your cunt on his open mouth. he lets out a strangled moan and hmmms into you, the vibrations hitting your clit deliciously, before grabbing onto your hips and eating you like a man starved.

his clever tongue finds your aching clit and flicks against it, hard. once you're nearly overstimulated, he senses it and starts to lick long strokes, back and forth, dipping into your drooling pussy with each pass.

it's heavenly. addictive. you've hooked with old flames before, years after you'd slept with them last, and not only does joel not disappoint? he blows your fucking mind.

you come on his tongue and instead of pulling away, he pulls you closer. licks you deep. takes a breath and tells you "one more, baby, gimme another one."

you do, using his face to get yourself off, taking your time to build back up, rocking your hips over him, his nose covered with your slick, his cheeks, lips, and chin glistening so pretty when you finally shudder and spasm all over him.

"taste so good, baby," he tells you, "i wanna make you come on my tongue all night long."

"as much as i'd love that," you say, "i need that cock in me right fucking now. it's been seven years, joel."

he smirks, but doesn't need persuading.

he flips you over and presses his cock head at your entrance. before he slides in, though, he takes a moment to look you over.

you know you look older, and your hair has a few grey strands throughout. you've got more wrinkles, and stretch marks, and more than a few new scars.

before you can second-guess yourself, though, joel is stroking a hand along all of your perceived imperfections, adoring.

"so fuckin' beautiful", he whispers, "after all this time- i can't believe-"

you let your hand lace through the hair at his nape and give it a gentle tug. he closes his eyes, focusing only on the sensation, before opening them again. looking directly at you.

you're already so wet and worked up, he slides into you easily in one stroke, making you both gasp, and he just rests there for a moment, fully sheathed in you.

you clutch one another as he starts to thrust into you, pressing you open in a delicious stretch.

he fucks into you and then pauses and readjusts. moves your legs so they're on his shoulders, rather than wrapped round his waist. then he presses into you again, tentative, and your eyes practically roll back. it's the deepest thing you've felt.

"takin' me so good," he praises, "i feel how wet and ready you are, you've been needing this a while, huh?"

you can barely speak, only enough to breath out a whiny uh-huh that makes him chuckle.

"touch me", you beg, and he does, rubbing his thumbs over your nipples, gripping your waist, your hips. he grabs at your ass and jiggles it before giving it a swat that makes you giggle, but he looks positively feral.

"this fuckin' body," he groans, and you squeak as you take a particularly deep thrust and he eases up just a little.

you reach up to grab his jaw and kiss him, and he kisses you back, deep and lovely. you drag your tongue along his jawline and pepper kisses down his neck, trace your fingertips along his pearlescent scars.

"god, joel," you moan, "so fuckin big, you feel so good."

"you even feel better than i remember, too."

"don't you dare stop, don't you dare stop fucking me-"

"never, baby. wanna have you like this always."

you can feel your eyes fill with tears, overwhelmed with the sensation, with the tenderness and the care and the big cock fucking deep into you, it's all so good.

"yes baby," he grunts, "keep it open for me, good girl, letting me fuck you so nice."

you can see how his eyes are glittering and know he's emotional, too. he's staring at you with reverential awe that might embarrass you if it didn't feel so right. this isn't the rough, hair pulling, choking, biting sex you remember from him. he presses a hand over your belly and rubs gentle circles against it. his touch is electric.

"can't believe you made it," joel whispers, "made it all the way here, and you still want me. we've got a kid, and i left you all alone, and you still want me."

"always, joel," you tell him, and you realise it's the truth. whatever life you make for yourself, you want joel miller in it.

he lets out a growl and starts fucking you harder, deeper.

your orgasm builds quickly and soon you're clutching at his shoulder, leaving half moon crescents in his skin where your nails dig in, holding on for dear life.

"i'm gonna come," you tell him, and he holds you through it, his pace steady as your walls clench around his cock.

his hips begin to stutter as he loses his rhythm, nearing his own climax. he chokes out, "where do you want it?"

"my chest," you say, "come all over my tits."

he pulls out and strokes himself twice before spilling out on your chest, his cum landing on you in hot ropes.

after you catch your breath, he gently cleans you up and then pulls you into the crook of his arm, holding you close. you lay there together, just breathing.

"so gorgeous, momma," he says.

"not too bad yourself, daddy," you tell him, and he snorts.

you know you have a lot of things to talk about. the past seven years. the future. loss and love. violet getting to know her father.

for now, though, joel miller is in your bed and you're going to cherish every minute of it. it's more than enough.

[poorlittleyaoyao]

I mean, premarital sex is only really a problem if the parties don't get married. And the reason premarital sex was life ruining for JGY and Qin Su is uh, not the standard reason it ruins lives lol. The risk for Xuanli is fairly minimal because there's very little reason for Zixuan to drop dead before the wedding, and the match is wanted and approved of by both families. JC respects Yanli enough not to go ballistic about Zixuan knocking ber up before the wedding. Even if Zixuan had gotten gored on a nighthunt two days before the wedding, it's in both the Jiang and the Jin's best interests to claim that Xuanli had a secret wedding ceremony in private no for realsies and so the Jin heir she's carrying is totes legitimate!! Like JGS is not going to want to waste having an heir with ties to two great sects and Madam Jin loves Yanli like her own daughter. And the cultivation world as a whole will probably accept this polite fiction.

This is all very true! It's not so much "why do THEY get to do premarital sex while we, The Incest Couple--" because yeah, QS's high-risk high-reward gambit to force a shotgun wedding did indeed all go according to keikaku except for the part where oops! they're siblings.

It's more like... Xuanli didn't even have to do a high-risk high-reward shotgun wedding gambit. Everything was handed to them! Both sets of parents enthusiastically betrothed them! JZX didn't need to overcome any stigma to convince JFM and YZY that he was worthy of their daughter's hand. Yeah, he had to overcome WWX's dislike, but 1.) WWX's dislike (while disproportionate and uncompromising) is in response to JZX's personal words and actions re: JYL, not his background, and 2.) WWX has no real authority here. He can make JZX's life stressful, but his approval of the union is immaterial, especially one he and the Jiang sect have publicly severed ties. JC approves the union and that's that.

Granted, JZX didn't want to be married to JYL initially, but that almost makes it more galling from JGY's perspective? JZX publicly complains about his parents' choice of a bride for him, leading to fisticuffs with the Jiang head disciple that in turn lead to JFM cancelling the match despite JGS's objections... and JZX isn't punished for this at all! In fact, JGS tries to reboot the match again later on! JC, meanwhile, defers to his sister's wishes and is willing to accept that JZX has changed. The betrothal is ready to go the second JZX catches feelings and manages to hold one (1) functional conversation with JYL! And everyone who matters is so into the match that yes, they could get away with a fair bit of scandal.

Meanwhile, JGY's out here fighting tooth and nail to persuade both fathers to allow his chosen match, which is saying something given that he's so desperate to maintain JGS's approval that he's willing to orchestrate and conceal murders for him. And even the risk he takes on its own isn't enough! QS has to choose the nuclear option of "let me marry him or I disgrace us all" in order to strongarm her father! Qinyao have to assume a level of risk that Xuanli simply doesn't, and then they're punished for it by factors they couldn't have known.

(Of course, in actuality, out-of-wedlock pregnancy shouldn't be a problem for either couple, because abortifacients exist and both JYL and QS as noblewomen who are also cultivators would have had the means to safely procure them if needed, but shh.)

[preet-01]

Maxiel Political AU

Word Count: 864

Summary: Max Verstappen only had one goal - to be President. It's all he's wanted since he was just seven years old and all that he's worked towards. But bachelors don't get elected as Presidents, for the most part. Enter Daniel Ricciardo. Daniel's the ideal candidate for the country's most prominent and stressful unpaid job: the President's loving partner, a pretty bauble for the country to fall in love with and look towards. In secret meetings, contracts are signed and a marriage is arranged. Max and Daniel must convince the American people that they are a loving couple and perfect for the White House

<< Prev ||| Next >>

Chapter Three

Jos Verstappen didn’t often breach the boundaries that Max had set once he left New York for the House in DC. He attended the big events, posed for pictures, and didn’t run his mouth in the press – despite how much he wanted to talk about his difference in opinions with the current President or the Senate Majority Leader. It was a compromise they had found after many arguments over Max’s politics. 

However, he’d heard from Victoria, by no fault of her own Jos was just nosy when it came to his son’s political career, that his new campaign manager for 2028 was suggesting a political arrangement of sorts. While Jos was no politician, he was a blue-collar working man who unlike his neighbors in the city had gotten no handouts from the government, he did understand how things in the world worked.  A political arrangement of sorts was just fancy speak for marriage. Max’s lot loved their fancy speak when it came to everything, nothing was what they said in that swamp city. 

He would have to make his way down to the hellscape they called their great nation’s capital to ensure his son doesn’t do something stupid and ruin everything before he even got to put his name in the running. Some hussy chosen by another political elite wasn’t going to be the answer. No, his son needed a good, normal American woman, not another political Jezebel more focused on her own career than Max’s. 

The trip from Manhattan to DC is just four hours by bus. A handful of buses leave from Penn Station and head straight to Union Station in DC. Just perfect for his travels. No need to inform his son about his arrival or tell his daughter that he won’t be in the city. 

_______

In California, however, Joe Ricciardo was cursing his father. 

Joseph Snr. had great hopes for their family, just as his father before him had, and his father before him, and so on it went stemming from when their ancestors resided in Australia. Each man wanted more than the previous. Joseph Snr. had made himself a national figure and was one of the most respected men when it came to politics, but he had never made it to the White House. 

Nor had his son, much to his displeasure. Joseph Jr. or just Joe as he preferred to go by in silent rebellion to his over-involved father, had only made it as governor of California. His presidential hopes had been lost when the children were still young. Sometime around Daniel’s eighth birthday, Joe thinks. 

When Daniel was a child, Joseph had turned his attention to him in an effort to make a Ricciardo that would finally take the family to the White House. He had high hopes for  Daniel, more than Joe would’ve ever put on his young son. And when Daniel’s carrier status had been confirmed, Joseph had pulled away that attention as if it were something small and irrelevant. Luckily for them, Daniel was more capable and mature than most men his age had taken his grandfather’s snub as well as one could by moving across the country and only returning home every other holiday. 

But now, Joe thinks his father has gone too far. It was one thing to make a careless remark during dinner while his son was vulnerable, it was another to foist some strange man onto him in the hopes that said man would be President one day. Joe hadn’t meant to hear the conversation between Daniel and Grace – a weekly occurrence ever since Daniel had said he would be building a life for himself in DC and its surrounding suburbs instead of sunny California where the rest of the family resided. 

Joe had never blamed Daniel for doing as such or held it against him, he had understood the desire to not be so close to the rest of the Ricciardos and their various political dreams of varying concerns about the state of the county. Grace hadn’t taken it as well. While she understood why Daniel wanted to live in DC, she did not like that her baby was so far away and demanded weekly calls to make sure that he took care of himself. 

So Joe had not been the intended audience when Daniel said, “Grandfather has suggested another man.” Joe hadn’t even known that there was a first. “He is not bad from the looks of it and Seb seems to like him. I’m thinking of meeting him,” Daniel continued, relaying his thoughts to his mother. 

So yes, Joe Ricciardo was cursing his father for being so focused on the family legacy and a tie to the Oval Office. Daniel shouldn’t be the one with the weight of generations on his shoulders where Joseph Snr. and Joe Jr. had both failed 

But Joe also knew his son. Daniel was the pragmatist of the family. He was just like Grace in that regard. Daniel would meet with this man that Joseph Snr. thought would be President in a few years. Joe just hoped that Daniel wouldn’t share his grandfather’s opinion and would say no to the match. 

________

This was technically supposed to be the chapter where Daniel and Max had their first meeting, but the dads needed their POVs. So the next chapter will be the first meeting now