#scorch x ofc

[vodika-vibes]

Here Comes The General

Summary: Scorch is not having a good time. Sev is missing and presumed dead. Boss is on Coruscant. Fixer is on Naboo. And he’s here, playing flying monkey for a man he’s been planning on killing since the day they met. Unfortunately for Scorch, Hemlock has well and truly bound his hands.

Pairing: Clone Commando Scorch x General Rynn (OFC), mentions of Delta Squad x OFC

Word Count: 1218

Warnings: None

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly @kimiheartblade @mire-draws-things

A/N: I have Rynn on the mind, so you get a Rynn and Scorch story. Wherein I fix what happened to Scorch at the end of TBB. Yes, I have requests, but I need a break from requests for a little bit. Sorry.

Scorch slams his fist against the panel next to the stark metal door separating him from Rynn. He only gets an hour each week to spend time with her, and he knows he should be grateful, but he’s not.

Every time he comes to see his Rynn, he leaves angrier.

The door slides open, and she looks up, a small smile crossing her pretty face, though it does little to draw his attention away from the stark bruises marring her face and arms.

“Scorch,” She still smiles when she sees him, and his heart swoops affectionately. 

“Rynn,” He steps into the room, and the door slams shut behind him, not that he minds in the slightest. Scorch tugs off his gloves and tosses them to the side, along with his helmet, as Rynn stands and steps towards him.

His hands immediately move to cup her face, gently tilting her head so that he’s able to examine the dark brown bruises better, “I’m okay,” She reassures.

“They hit you.”

“Hemlock hit me,” She corrects, her own hands coming up to press against his cheeks, “You’ve lost weight.”

“Yeah, well—” Scorch scoffs, “It’s not like anyone here cares about the health of a clone.”

“Oh, Scorch,” She sounds so heartbroken that Scorch wants to cry.

He smiles at her, and leans in to press his forehead against hers, “There’s no need to say my name like that.”

“You deserve better,”

“We both deserve better,” He corrects quietly. Scorch moves his hand so that it’s brushing through her short hair, “I tried to talk Emerie into letting you have a headscarf, cyare. But they won’t allow it.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not.” He brushes his lips against a bruise, gently enough that she doesn’t even flinch, “Your religion is a huge part of who you are.”

“My religion is more than a headscarf, Scorch.” Her voice is soft, “My religion is just as strong here in prison as it was on the Nightwing. Stronger, even.”

He sighs softly, “I know that. I do. It just feels wrong.”

“Well, they don’t exactly have the moral high ground here, no.” She replies with a small smile.

Scorch’s fingers move to the collar around her neck, thick and clunky, with a flashing red light on the front, indicating that the bomb is active. “I wish…”

“I know, Scorch. It’s going to be okay.”

“How do you know?”

“Because,” She stands on her toes and glides her lips against his, “I have faith. Faith enough for the both of us.”

“But…Sev—”

“Is alive. I know. And Boss and Fixer are just playing by the rules until we can be together again. This bomb,” She taps the collar with a short fingernail, “ensures the cooperation not only of you, my love.”

Scorch makes a face, “When we reunite, I’m not going to be allowed to touch you for days.” He bitches quietly, “I can already hear Fixer saying ‘Well, you had her all to yourself for months, so deal with it’.”

She laughs softly and presses her forehead against his chest.

Slowly, he smoothes his hand down her back, but before he can say anything, the cell door slams open, and he sighs quietly, “Times up.”

“Just for now, Scorch.” She lightly pulls herself from his embrace, and she walks over to pick up his gloves and helmet, “Back to work.”

“Back to slavery, you mean.” Still, Scorch slowly pulls his gear back on, until he’s fully kitted out again. 

Rynn smiles at him. Soft, warm, and loving, and he rolls his shoulders. It’s all for her. He will do anything to keep her safe and alive, even if it means working with the enemy. 

“Love you, Rynn.”

“Love you too, Scorch. I’ll see you in a week.”

He turns on his heel and heads out the open cell door. “Yeah.” It’s not enough. It will never be enough. But he’ll make do. He has to.

Scorch watches, amused, as his younger brothers from Clone Force 99 raid Mount Taniss. He watches as Hemlock confronts them, and he watches the oldest of them…Hunter, he believes his name is, punches Hemlock.

And then something interesting happens.

A small device, roughly the size of his palm, falls out of Hemlock’s pocket and slides across the floor.

Hemlock scrambles for the device, but Scorch gets there first. He picks up the device and examines it, uncaring of the blasters aimed at him from his younger brothers.

“Scorch!” Hemlock shouts, “Return that at once!”

He knows what this device is. This is the device that controls the bomb around Rynn’s neck. He’s seen it enough times to recognize it on sight.

Scorch meets Hemlock’s gaze, and quickly destroys the device before dropping the pieces on the floor.

“You—”

Scorch doesn’t allow him to finish as he curls his hand into a fist and slams all of his weight into the punch. Hemlock staggers back, his hand flying to his face. Scorch doesn’t think twice before shooting Hemlock twice in the head.

Execution style, Rynn used to call it.

His younger brothers hesitate and lower their weapons, “I thought you were working with him,” One of them, the one with goggles, says accusingly.

“Believe it or not, vod’ika, there are many ways to force someone to do something,” Scorch absently examines his blaster, “ways that have nothing to do with the damn chip they put in our heads.”

“So nothing has forced you to work for him?” The biggest member of the squad demands.

“Did I say that?” Scorch turns his head when there’s a rumble and the ground splits open on the other side of the room. He straightens and pulls his helmet off, hooking it to his belt, as Rynn lifts herself out of the hole she made.

She lowers herself to the ground and looks around for a moment, a bright smile crossing her face as she sees Scorch, “Have you seen my lightsaber?”

“Fraid they destroyed it, cyare.”

“Well, that’s rude of them. I guess I’ll have to make do with my spare.” She steps around some broken pieces of metal and allows Scorch to swing her into his arms, and press a light kiss against her lips.

“The Empire and rudeness go hand in hand, cyare. You should do something about that.”

Her smile is vibrant, “Oh, I intend to. As soon as I have all of my boys back. I assume the Nightwing is here somewhere?”

“Hidden. Safe and sound. Just like you ordered.”

She beams at him and presses her hands against his cheeks, “You follow my orders so well!”

“When I want to.”

“Of course.” Her smile softens, “Let’s get out of here, hm? We need to get to Sev.”

“Yes ma’am,” Scorch sets her down and motions towards the exit, allowing Rynn to take the lead. He pauses before he leaves and sends a comm code to Tech, “Here. It’ll connect you to the Nightwing. If you should need it for any reason.”

And then he’s gone too, following Rynn out the hanger door.

Scorch has no idea what comes next. Though, based on the small smile on Rynn’s face, she not only has an idea, she even knows how to pull it off. They just need the rest of their family back.

[maddie0101]

Skinny Love Series (Thomas TMR x FEM OFC)

Summary: Blake introduces herself to the greenie, but suddenly she gets a memory back. She’s never had one till now. Why now and why does it involve the greenie?

Warnings: underage drinking, cussing

Word Count: 2,425k

➭ Previous Chapter ➭ Series Masterlist ➭ Next Chapter

Blake slaps her hands down on her thighs, pushing herself up as she lets out a breath. "I'm gonna go watch the fights—wanna come with?" The brunette girl stands, looking to her best friend.

Minho scoffs as he turns his head to the fighting. "To watch these shanks get their asses beat? Hell yeah." He says excitedly, pushing his own hands onto his knees to stand.

As Blake and Minho approach the circle, her emerald eyes spot Newt and the greenie walking their way. "No...no one wants to be a runner." Blake hears Newt say to the newbie.

Blake rolls her eyes as a smile spreads across her lips. "Aw—come on, Newty—it's not that bad..."

The blonde and the greenie turn their heads to Blake walking in front of them, raising a jar of Gally's moonshine to her lips as she smirks at the two. The greenie watches the girl intently as she strides over.

"Yeah, but It's dangerous." Newt throws the girl a slight smile.

"Someone has to do it." Blake says with a shrug.

Newt rolls his eyes in response as his hands settle on his hips.

"Hey, you voted for me to be a runner, you shank!"

"Yeah, because you're faster than almost everyone here!" The blonde exclaims with a smile, pausing for a second as he brings his finger up to his chin, thinking. "Well, except for Minho."

Blake rolls her eyes at his playful banter.

"Hey, if it weren't for Minho—you would've run straight into the maze on your first day."

"Yeah, but I was almost there."

Blake and Newt laugh as they remember the girl's first day in the maze. The greenie stands off to the side, shifting his feet as he stands beside the two.

Newt's eyes flicker over to the greenie, which he forgot was standing right next to him. Quickly, the blonde clears his throat. "Oh—Blake, this is the new greenie."

Blake's eyes flicker to the boy—getting an even better look at him up close; he's even more attractive from a few feet away.

The small girl shakes out of her thoughts as she throws her hand out for the greenie. "Hey, I'm Blake."

The greenie seems to snap out of whatever daze he is in also—quickly reaching to shake her hand, "I—uh.. don't know my name yet."

As their hands make contact, both brunettes feel a jolt of electricity shoot throughout them—making the two slightly jump.What the hell was that?

"T-that's —okay, we know you as greenie for now." Blake says, offering a small smile.

Awkwardness fills the air as the two gaze into each other's eyes. The girl quickly clears her throat again—attempting to get rid of the tension. Newt stands off to the side with his hands on his hips and a smile plastered across his face in amusement.

Newt has never seen Blake act this nervous before. Ever. She had been nervous and scared the first day she came up the box, but nobody had made her this nervous.

"You'll get your name back—"

Blake flickers her eyes to the side of the computer to see a boy sitting at a desk in front of her. His face is a bit blurry at first, but she can make out his facial expressions.

His lips tug into a smile as he notices the girl's eyes landing on him. Her own lips pull into a smile of her own as she quickly smiles back before turning her head back towards the computer—hiding the heat on her cheeks.

"Hey, Blake?" She hears him say. His voice is soft toward the girl as she looks back up to the boy. Their eyes connect as Blake sees the familiar brown her emerald had landed on.

But, their moment is quickly interrupted by guards storming into the room right towards her.

The girl jumps in her seat, frantically looking around—frightened. The guards stop at the girl, reaching to grab her arm and dragging her up—and out from her desk. The boy across from her stands up suddenly, pushing his chair back as it rolls behind him, not caring if it hits anyone on the way. Worry and terror flash across his features as he tries to push his way to her. The guards catch onto his shoulders, holding him back as he screams at them angrily.

"Hey!" He pushes the guard, but the guard's grip strengthens on the boy, holding him into place.

"Blake. Come with us." The guard orders, grabbing Blake's upper arm and dragging her away.

As the girl stumbles in his grip, she turns back to see the boy. His face finally becomes clear.

The greenie.

"Thomas!" Blake screams, trying to break free of the guard's grasp.

Jolting out of her weird daydream, Blake returns to reality—seeing 'Thomas' and Newt watching her with their eyebrows raised.

"Blake, you okay?" Newt quizzes with a worried expression plastered on his features.

"Sorry—I-I just got a little dizzy..." Blake says as she gestures to the jar in her hand, "Gally's moonshine has me feeling a bit queasy today."

So that’s where I’ve seen the greenie from—I knew him? Should I tell him his name? Wait—that would be awkward and weird...he’ll get it back in a few days.

"I gotta find Min. See you later, Newt." Blake says awkwardly as she quickly walks past the two boys still standing there.

Blake briskly makes her way over to Minho, grabbing onto his wrist as she leads him away from the other runners.

"I need to talk to you." Blake's voice says in a serious tone.

Minho's eyebrows furrow in confusion, following the girl to the edge of the tree line. As they near the edge, Blake halts them as she lets his wrist go, turning around to face the boy.

"Min, I had a memory come back." Blake's voice came out shaky and serious, causing Minho to only further his brows at her in concern.

Her bright green eyes scanned the boy's face before following behind the boy— making sure nobody had followed them.

"It was of the greenie... I— apparently knew him..." Blake finally reveals.

A brief moment of silence follows.

"What do you mean— 'you knew him'? Who is he?" Minho asks as his eyes scan Blake's concerned features.

The boy's hands plant on his hips as his frame leans toward the girl, keeping their conversation as low as possible.

"I don't know, Min...Look—all I can remember was sitting across from him at some desk...one minute he was about to say something—and the next guards dragged me away—probably to this hell hole."

"So you think y'all were—" Minho starts to conclude her theory.

"No!— at least—I don't think we were. " Blake trails off before returning her focus, shaking her head

"Anyways, that's not the point. As I introduced myself to him, I shook his hand—and suddenly, I get the memory back for some odd reason!" Blake exclaimed.

Her eyes hold onto Minho's as his expression mirrors hers.

The boy lets out a sigh. "I don't know... maybe...y'all knew each other, and it kickstarted your memories."

"Minho. I'm serious. I have a feeling he is the reason I am in this place—and I don't know how or why, but—" Blake's eyes flick over Minho's shoulder, glancing at the attractive boy.

The greenie stands beside Newt, still conversing with the blonde as his head turns to the two runners. His honey-colored eyes connect to hers as Blake's heart jumps a beat at his gaze.

"In my memory—he went to tell me something or say something but was stopped by the guards that started dragging me away. He looked guilty and sad." Blake said as her eyes glanced back to Minho, nodding her head over Minho's shoulder to the greenie.

Just as the runner's eyes flick back over to the boy—Gally sends a boy flying into him, knocking the greenie over. The irritated greenie pushes off of the ground to stand as Blake watches Gally taunt him.

Blake lets out a huff of annoyance as her hand grabs Minho's wrist to pull him with her as she walks.

"We will talk about this later. Gally's about to beat the holy shuck out of this kid."

As the two near the growing crowd, Blake releases her grip on Minho to push past the boys—seeing the newbie standing awkwardly in the middle as everyone chants— "greenie, greenie, greenie!"

Blake rolls her eyes at the crowd's antics, stepping next to Newt, who also isn't amused. The greenie's stance stiffens as his head turns back to Gally, nodding hesitantly at the taller boy's invitation.

"All right," Gally says, fixing his wristband. "The rules are simple, greenie—I try to push you out of the circle; you try to last more than five seconds."

The greenie's eyes scan the crowd formed around the circle— landing on Blake, who stands beside Newt with her arms crossed.

"Easy on the greenie, Gally" a boy from the crowd shouts, earning a chorus of laughs sounding from the crowd.

"Ready?" Gally asks, snapping the greenie out of his gaze. The boy's brown eyes shift from a gaze to a glare as they narrow at the tall builder.

Suddenly, the greenie charges Gally—diving forward.  His hands fling onto Gally's arms, trying to push him back, but the taller boy flings the greenie backward into the crowd.

The greenie lands on his side as his anger rises to his chest. Pushing himself up, his eyes land on the girl who stands on the edge of the circle, smirking.

"Come on, greenie!" One of the boys shout from the other side of the crowd.

The greenie turns his head back to the circle as he rushes towards Gally again, but Gally shoves the greenie back down into the sand.

The newbie coughs up sand as he slowly pushes himself up again, regaining his stance.

"Come on, greenie." Gally taunts, "We're not done yet."

The greenie stands back up—glaring at Gally, "Stop calling me greenie." The boy shouts

"Stop calling you that?" Gally questions, "What do you want to be called?—Shank?"

The crowd laughs as the greenie glares around the circle, growing angrier.

"What do you think, boys?" Gally asks the crowd as he spins around with his arms outstretched.

"Shank! Shank! Shank!" The crowd's chants echo

"Does he look like a shank?" Gally questions again but is cut short when the greenie tackles him. The two boys grunt and spin as they try to throw each other out, but Gally throws the greenie onto the ground again.

"You know what? I think I've settled on shank."

Laughter erupts from the crowd as the greenie circles the edge of the ring—grunting, the greenie charges Gally again, knocking the undefeated champ to the ground.

"Yeah! There you go, greenie!" Someone yells through the crowd's cheers.

Blake and Minho stand beside Newt, watching the scene with their eyebrows raised. Laughter erupts in the girl's chest. "Oh, come on, Gal—thought you were undefeated!" The girl taunts

The boy growls at the girl from the ground, pointing his finger. "Shut it, shuck face."

The greenie strolls closer to Gally with a proud smile plastering his face, "Not bad for a greenie, huh?"

The builder's nostrils flare with anger as the greenie reaches the builder. Gally takes the greenie off guard as he turns around, swiping the greenie off his feet.

The newbie's head slams against the ground with a thud as a chorus of hisses sound from the crowd.

"Ooooohhh, that's gotta hurt." Blake hisses

The greenie lays on the ground coughing as the pounding in his head was almost washed away—remembering something.

—"Thomas." He mutters.

"Thomas. Hey!" The boy repeats louder, rising from his position on the ground to stand.

"I remember my name! My name is Thomas!" He yells with excitement.

Alby is the first to react, pointing to the brunette boy, smiling, "Thomas!" He yells out

The whole crowd cheers for the greenie as they crowd around the newest glader. Frypan lifts a jar of Gally's moonshine to the greenie as he celebrates with the others, "Welcome home, Thomas!"

Minho turns his head to Blake with a lifted eyebrow as the two stand off to the side. Blake's eyes connect to Minho's as they watch the others celebrate.

The girl shrugs her shoulders in response to Minho's expression. Her suspicions about the boy are confirmed, well, most of them.

Pushing the anger and fear down her throat, she swallows a hard gulp before turning on her heels and heading back to the sleeping quarters. From the middle of the crowd, Thomas celebrates with the others as he turns his head back to where Blake stood. He had wanted to talk to her before—and get to know her some more, because she seemed familiar for some reason. Especially the little jolt of electricity he felt when they shook hands.

Thomas' eyes scan the crowd, searching for the girl before he sees her silhouette walking back towards the homestead.

His face drops from a smile to a frown as he watches the girl walk away alone.

"She'll warm up to you." A British voice sounds from behind the boy, making him jump.

Newt's hand lands on Thomas' shoulder as they watch the girl disappear. "She usually isn't like this, but I guess you've managed to get on her list."

Thomas turns around to face Newt as his eyebrows furrow in confusion—something he's been prone to lately.

"What list?" Thomas asks as the blonde raises the jar of moonshine to Thomas, gesturing for him to take it.

Newt laughs dryly. "The 'I don't like you' list. Whatever you did—"

"But I didn't do anything?—not that I know of..."

Newt shrugs as Thomas takes a sip from the jar, cringing at the burn.

"She doesn't take greenies all that well—considering she's been waiting for another girl to come up. I don't think it's you personally."

"Well, I don't know why she's taking it out on me."

"It's because you're new; everyone takes it out on the greenies. You'll get used to it... just prove yourself useful and make friends."

Thomas gulps another sip before handing the glass back to the blonde—turning back to where the small girl disappeared.

What did I do?

➭ Next Chapter

Author’s Note:

This series is complete. I am transferring it from Wattpad to Tumblr. If you would like to read the fic without having to wait on me to post the chapters, my Wattpad is: @Maddie5139

Also, if you would like to be tagged lmk!

[taeslarityy]

outage ༄ joel miller one shot (18+)

-> pairing: no-outbreak joel miller au x female curvy reader

-> word count: 4.3k

-> summary: after a citywide power outage, you're left to deal with the scorching texas heat. until, the well-respected neighborhood dilf — joel miller — lends you a more than generous hand.

-> warnings/tags: sarah is 10/11 so joel had her a bit older, power outage, texas heat, yes this is a warning because its not a joke, reader has a cat!!!, age gap (reader is 24, joel is late 40s), curvy/mid/plus size reader, brief fatphobia, reader has self-image/parent issues + is a lonely gal, fluff, SMUT (18+), unprotected piv, creampie, oral + fingering (f!recieving), squirting, body worship, brief ass play, daddy kink, big ole tits, spanking, spit kink, praise kink, a bit of belly bulge, cockwarming, pet names galore (darlin, sweetheart, baby, _ girl), joel has a huge dick (not canon!)

-> a/n: hi hi! i have been so anxious to begin writing again and currently have some wips that i am just not confident with. so when i saw the lovely @hellishjoel post her #hotdilfsummerchallenge, i was positive i wanted to join in! such a pleasure to be involved in this — thank you kylee for creating such a fun way for this community to get involved! as a curvier woman, i wanted reader to reflect that. because... joel miller is a handsy mf and loves to just grab himself some wide hips, thick thighs and phat tits <3 but ofc, this is can be for various body types. please please please, leave your thoughts and even constructive criticism! <3 DILF NEIGHBOR JOEL, YOU WILL ALWAYS BE FAMOUS!!!!

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. 

You release a groan of annoyance as the visual of your TV, coffee table lamp and humming of the refrigerator all flicker off into silence. The frills on your throw-blanket settle, as the ceiling fan no longer produces the small gusts of wind that have caused you to be rather chilly on this hot, humid and rainy summer night. 

When you made the courageous decision of moving across the country for a new teaching opportunity in Austin — you were never informed on the true brutality summertime unleashed onto Texas residents. More-so, you really had nothing to do but be caged up in the comfortable AC of your home. You’ve been here for roughly 14 months and the only "friends" you’ve made have been the 28 fourth graders you had the pleasure of teaching last school year. Tragic. 

Your coworkers, did not handle your arrival pleasantly. Young, beautiful, freshly-educated and determined. That’s what your grandmother referred to you as when you called her sobbing after your first week. Informing her that the seasoned teachers won’t even bat an eye at you, and when they do it’s a look of disgust. Whispering amongst one another. Like you were in middle school again, trying to befriend the popular girls. 

“I was foolish to think things could be different for me down here, so stupid of me.”

“Now listen to me, you are the most intelligent woman I know. More than anyone in this family. Bullies like that, it stems from an unknown jealousy and overbearing insecurity. Don’t let a few sour grapes ruin this outstanding career for you. Your students adore you already, and so do I. Just continue to be yourself and if that isn’t enough for them, so be it.”

Your grandmother always knew how to make you feel better. She had been instilling your own sense of confidence since you were a little girl. The only adult in your life to do so. If only her words were enough. Your coworkers just never let up. After overhearing them gossip about you during lunch break, you gave up your attempts indefinitely. 

“She really thinks she deserves a place here?”

“Look at her back rolls in that shirt…”

“She really needs to put that sandwich down.”

“Why is she so quiet? It’s freaky, honestly. No wonder she’s always alone.”

You’re not a stranger to being alone. You practically have been your entire life. Your parents never really bothered to form a genuine relationship with you, always so focused on your younger sister. She was the prettier, thinner, more impressive version of you. You have only had one best friend throughout your long 24 years on this earth. She was smarter than you and moved away from the timid small town you shared in Northern Maine, choosing an out-of-state university. So, being alone was a familiarity. You have made peace with it. But being lonely — that’s a whole other ball-park. 

The booming thwack of thunder startles you from your thoughts. Your sweet calico boy leaps from your warm lap and scurries under the dining table — tail puffed in fear. “Milo... it’s okay,” you whisper. He just gleams at you with his jet-black saucer eyes. Even you don’t believe your own words. You are not used to storms like this, and you didn’t really prepare. You read some articles online about stocking up: having plently of batteries, candles, non-perishable foods. Yet, you didn’t do any of that. 

Rubbing away the moisture from your damp upper lip — the heat inside your home already becoming unbearable. Deciding on a whim, you can head to a nearby hotel for the night. Unsure how long you will be without power and don’t wish to succumb yourself or your cat to the searing temperatures of the night. 

The rain has slowed down, as you feel the soft patter on your umbrella. Throwing your purse and water bottle in the front seat, you begin to dread unpacking all this stuff when you get to the hotel. Bags, cat litter, cage — scrutinizing yourself mentally and deciding you better fucking prepare for the next storm. 

“Where ya headin’ sweetheart?”

Your heart jumps at the deep smooth Southern voice that fills your thoughts at night. When your hands would find their way in between your quivering legs. Throughout the day. Pretty much all the time.

Joel Miller is the only person in this town that has ever filled the lonely void you can never seem to fill. When you moved to the quiet suburban street, he was the first to come greet you as you struggled to pull your mattress out of the U-Haul. Immediately lending a hand, and proceeding to lug all of your remaining boxes, furniture, miscellaneous items into your new home. 

“Pretty lady like you, shouldn’t have to lift a single finger.” He remarked when you blushed and assured him you could handle the rest, not wanting to be a burden. Even though the sweat dripping down your back was apparent and 5 minutes prior you had no idea how you’d be able to unpack the remainder of the truck. He then assured you — there was no way in hell you were being a burden. Words that were a rarity. 

Later that afternoon, he invited you for dinner at his home. You met his lovely daughter, Sarah. Where everyone learned that you were her new school teacher. What were the odds? 

Following that, seeing Joel was frequent. From parent-teacher conferences, backyard barbecues for the neighborhood, or even small intimate dinners with Sarah at each others homes. Sarah would even spend the night at yours on occasion. When Joel had a late night at the construction site, or when she just needed some girl time. You adored that little girl, and vice versa. 

You also adored the fuck out of Joel. 

So when you looked up at his porch, finding him in nothing but a pair of plaid pajama pants.. your throat went dry. His tanned skin gleamed softly from the street light — little speckled freckles adorned his waist in various spots. And that darkish grey hair on his chest and fat of his lower tummy that flowed underneath his pants. Your brain fuzzy at the thought of your face pressed against it as you swallow his cock. 

But you were not a fool. Joel would never express an attraction towards you. A man like that? He deserved the perfect woman. 

“Darlin’?” He speaks again, a bit louder. Disturbing your wandering thoughts. 

“I- I was gonna head to a hotel for the night, my house is too hot already. And I don’t want Milo to be uncomfortable.” 

Joel’s eyes wander down your body as you explain — the plush jiggle of your tits in that small tank. Nearly spilling out. Slightly damp from the rain or humidity. The chub of your tummy spills slightly from your leggings. A sight that makes his cock swell unbearingly. An act that occurs more often than not when he sees you or even thinks of you for the countless minutes of his day. 

“No way. Not gonna let ya drive in this weather. Plus, most hotels nearby are gonna be overbooked. I got the generator up n’ working, got the spare room too. You’re stayin’ over.” 

“No! No, Joel. I can’t.”

“N’ why not?” His hands have found his way to his hips, popping a knee out and giving you that classic dad glare. Not angry, but confused as to why you’re even protesting when he’s already decided. 

“I don’t want to intrude and I have Milo. You and Sarah are allergic.”

“Sarah left yesterday to stay with her mom in California for the rest of the summer. Besides, Milo loves me. I can handle a runny nose as long as I know the two of ya are safe.” 

To this, your stomach nearly flips inward on itself. You’ve never been alone with Joel in his home. Not for this long. The few times you’ve come over to help him with dinner before Sarah got home from soccer practice, have always been excruciating. Staring at him without worry. Watching his muscles flex through his t-shirts. Big hands chopping vegetables and plating food. His hand lightly touching your waist when scooting by. 

There’s no possible way you can survive a night in Joel’s home. 

But, he’s already grabbing his umbrella and walking over to you. He grabs your stuff from the car and tells you to go grab Milo. So, you do.

Joel slips on a t-shirt after he put your stuff in the spare room, disappointedly enough. You nearly told him to keep it off, but held your tongue. You made yourself comfortable at the island barstool as you typed up some early lesson plans, Milo at your feet. 

He patters over to Joel who is now leaning against the counter, brushing against his leg. He then leaps onto the granite and purrs against Joel’s arm. 

“Psst! Milo get do-“ you beg, embarrassment coloring your cheeks. 

“S’ okay, sweetheart. He’s not botherin’ me,” Joel attempts to settle your nerves. Petting Milo’s soft fur and scratching under his chin, that special spot all cats love. “Can I get you anythin’ to drink?” He nods towards the coffee he’s brewing. 

“Coffee would be nice, thank you.” You beam at him. Joel’s heart skips a beat every time your cheeks puff up ever so slightly when you smile at him. It’s something he swears is the most endearing thing about you. Of course, he’s only ever shared that with his daughter. Who begs her father to just take her favorite teacher on a date already. 

Joel grabs some sugar and oat milk from the fridge, your favorite. He learned from the few breakfasts you guys had shared. A bit of sugar and a nice gulp of milk softens the dark roast color in the mug, he slides it over to you as he grabs his plain black coffee. 

“You remembered!” You giggle slightly at the Number 1 Dad title that adorns the mug, taking a sip. You moan at the taste, exactly how you like it. 

“Of course I did, darlin’.” You almost hate how easily those pet names roll of his tongue. You summed it up as his southern hospitality, figured he calls any woman those special names. “So, you ready for this new school year?”

An icky feeling settles in your stomach. The thought of returning to the painful and toxic work environment you can only escape when you’re with your students.

“Not without my Sarah girl,” you swiftly change the subject towards the one person he can talk hours about.

He smiles proudly at her name. 

“Ya know, she still all mad that you wouldn’t flunk her so she could have another year with ya.” Both your laughs quickly fill the empty house. 

“Well, even if I tried to, that girl is too smart for her own good. She should skip a grade in my opinion.” You state, and you’re truthful at that. Sarah Miller is as intelligent as she is quick-witted. 

“Yeah, she gets it from me.” At that you roll your eyes playfully. Typing something up before closing your computer and taking another sip of coffee. “Although I love boastin’ over her, I guess I meant are you excited to go back? They treat ya good there?” 

Joel watches the color drain from your soft skin. Realizing he touched somewhere that might be too personal. Too raw. “M’ sorry sweetheart, shouldn’t have asked.”

“No- no uh, you’re fine. Um, honestly? No. I’m not excited. The staff there aren’t exactly the kindest bunch.” You confess, slight unease crawling over you. 

Joel’s eyes scrunch in confusion. Mind blank on how the kindest soul he knows, could be surrounded by complete opposite. “Whatcha mean?”

You sigh letting the anxiousness settle a bit before speaking again, “they hate me. I don’t even know why, really? I have tried my hardest to get them to accept me but nothing seems to work. Whether it’s jabs at my appearance, teaching style, they’re never satisfied.” Your eyes are burning slightly, haven’t confessed this burden you constantly carry to anyone. “If it wasn’t for your daughter and my class, and… you.. well, I think I wouldn’t have made it through. I try to be strong, I try to be everything that people expect from me but it’s just so hard, Joel.” At that, the fat tears begin to stream down your face.

Joel was frozen in shock. Or maybe anger. Protectiveness. He wanted to hurt the people who made you feel like this. The least deserving of any pain. He sets his mug down and snatches you in his embrace. Holding your head with his hand, stroking your back with the other. He lets you sob almost uncontrollably into his firm chest. 

“I just hate being so alone.” You whisper, clutching onto him. You can’t even be embarrassed anymore, you’re so overthrown by his scent, his comfort. Comfort you’ve not felt in so so long. 

Joel kisses your temple softly, "promise you're not alone, sweet girl." He nudges your head to look up at his own sorrowful expression. His thumb running over your full lips, a bit swollen from your teeth biting down on them in an attempt to muffle your sobs. "So beautiful." He murmurs as he leans down to place a kiss on your left cheek, his lips skim over yours before he places another on your right.

Joel just barely hears the whimper from the back of your throat when that feather light skim happened. He leans back half an inch, staring into your glossy eyes. "Tell me not to, and I'll let you go upstairs and get some rest. Tell me, sweetheart."

It feels like a whole minute passes by. The soft patter of the rain, the smell of coffee beans from each others breath, the same slow breathing that overwhelms the little space between you both.

Desperation.

Your fingers tighten on his shirt, "don't let me go upstairs, Joel."

Joel smashes his mouth into yours, his guttural groan flying into your soft whimpers. The softness Joel expressed a moment ago is long gone. This kiss is messy, teeth-clanking, tongue inside your mouth. Like he wants to devour you from the outside in. He releases your lip with a pop.

He threads his thick fingers through the base of your hair and yanks it back gently, tongue on your neck. Biting the skin there. "You're so soft, baby. Just need me to mark ya up, is that right?"

You nod as hard as you can despite his harsh grip on your locks.

"I need you to use your words, sweet girl. Let me know what you're thinkin'."

"Everything you do is okay. I want more. I need it all. Please."

"Oh baby, cm'ere," he wraps your lavish thighs around his waist and hoists you into his arms. Easily. Like you're just the most delicate thing he's ever held.

As he walks to his bedroom, you smile into his neck. Arms wrapped over his shoulders, hand rubbing ever so softly at his greying curls. You bite at the skin under his ear and he gives your ass a huge squeeze. Groaning at how his big hands barely hold all the meat there. He couldn't wait to touch and gnaw at this body he loved.

At the foot of his bed, he taps your leg as if telling you to get down. You stand in front of his massive overbearing figure, staring up at him lustfully. You grab the bottom of your compression tank top and pull it over your head, revealing your unsupported chest. Your heavy tits fall a bit.

"My god," Joel falls to his knees in front of you, face nearly level with your pebbled nipples. Both his hands grab a fistful of each, rolling them in his palm. Your sweet noises fill the room and he swears he might've just came in his pajama pants right there. He takes his teeth and bite at the fat above your leggings, licking and sucking at a sensitive part of you. Literally and figuratively.

Joel abandons your chest to yank your leggings and panties down in one move, coming face-to-face with your prickly oozing pussy. He can't restrain himself much longer, spinning you around he pushes you down into his mattress.

He spreads your ass open with both hands, the chub of your lips open ever so slightly as the slick between them strings together.

"Perfect cunt." That's when you feel the chill of liquid spat right onto your puckered hole, dripping down to your clit. He leans in, tongue catching the tangy mixture of your slick and his saliva, right on your throbbing clit.

You screech into the sheets, so turned on from his actions. As he licks up to dip his tongue into your hole, one hand that's holding you open sneaks up your back, to your neck and yanks your head up.

"Nu-uh, let me hear you, baby girl." He demands as he pauses to throw his shirt off as fast as possible — not wanting to leave your cunt for too long without the warmth of his mouth.

He sloppily makes out with your cunt as it clenches and unclenches under his tongue, his beard prickling at your skin. Like he wants your scent all over him for as long as possible.

"Ohh daddy, more more," you whisper hazily, hand reaching back to grab his head desperate to have him as deep as possible.

Joel stops as he processes your choice of title. "What was that, darlin'?"

You freeze at his serious tone. Just now realizing what you've called the man. "Oh my god, I'm s-" Joel grabs your wrist and pins it against your lower back — thick middle and ring finger hooking into you with no warning. Your wetness aiding in the rapid slide of them.

He spits on your puckered hole again and abandons your wrist to land a harsh smack against your ass.

"Only dirty girls say that word, baby. Are you daddy's dirty girl?" He edges you on as he spanks you again on the opposite side. Hard. Unsparing. A side of Joel you've never seen. And oh, does it make you feel that coil tightening within you.

"Mmmm yes yes 'm your dirty girl, daddy!" You groan loudly, eyes swelling with fresh tears. But not tears of pain from earlier, pleasure.

Joel's fingers fuck into you harder, thumb now rubbing at your clit as he leans forward to prod his tongue at your asshole. "Cum for me, my nasty sweet girl. Drench my face. Let me taste you even more." He halts his fingers knuckle deep, hooked inside your cunt as he presses into that spot on repeat. Like he's stroking it out of you.

That's all it takes for you to silently scream as you squirt all over his lower beard covered face and your thick inner thighs, that nearly squish his head from how hard you're coming. Joel just keeps himself situated, never letting up. Allowing you to completely let go and rut back into him, telling him you need more.

"Thaaat's it, my good fuckin' girl.” He praises as he kisses your cunt and ass, he leans over your face capturing your lips in a kiss so messy and depraved. “Open that mouth.” Spitting roughly onto your tongue with a groan as you taste your sweetness that he knows he will forever be addicted to. No chance of recovery.

He ruts his thick bulge into your ass as you whine needly.

"Really want you to fuck my face, now." You beg, hand reaching down to grope him through his loose pjs.

"Mmmmm," he murmurs as his hips keep rutting into you. "Tonight is about you, baby. M' gonna stuff your tight cunt so fuckin' deep you'll feel it in your throat, don't worry." And with that promise, he releases himself, throbbing cock slapping against his lower tummy. You flip onto your back just to see it and your eyes widen at the sight before you.

You always knew it was huge just from perception, but god. It's thicker than your wrist, and looks like it would prod into your cervix. Painful even. Joel senses the worry on your face as he pushes your legs back against your chest. Admiring the way your stomach folds into itself, soft roll after roll. And the thickness of your inner thighs lays heavy. He just wants to get down and feast on you again but he might die if he doesn't feel you wrapped around him.

"You're in charge here, sweetheart. Understood?" He explains as he rubs his fat cock head up and down your swollen slit — notching on your opening with every downward stroke.

You nod slowly, peeking down at the monster between your legs once more. He squeezes your ankle, subtly reminding you to vocalize.

"Yes daddy, I understand."

"Good." And with that, he pushes into your fluttering hole. Your eyes roll back immediately, head thumping onto the soft duvet. He pushes in deeper, barely halfway in and he sees your feet and eyes scrunch a bit. It almost feels like he could rip you apart. Maybe it's because you haven't been fucked in a hot minute — or maybe it's just that Joel is so fucking hung. More than any guy you've slept with.

“Deep breath for me, sweetheart.” He soothes you, as soon as he sees your chest fall — he slams the rest of the way in. Hips flush with the back of your thighs. Cock fully sheathed in your warm soaked cunt. Heavy brimming balls pressed against your little puckered hole. “You feel so damn good. Dripping for me.” Joel’s eyes close at the feeling of you hugging him so tight. He suddenly forgets the feeling of any other woman he’s pleased. Utterly devoted to you from here on out.

When he pulls out all the way to his fat tip — it notches on your opening. Like he has to put in that extra effort to fully remove himself from you. But he doesn’t, and starts fucking into you fully. Never half way, never pulling completely out.. but always making sure he reaches the end of you.

“Da- daddy oh, harder please.” You plead, squeezing his forearm at the overwhelming feel of him nudging your cervix with every thrust.

That confirmation of pleasure is all Joel needs to push your legs back even more — ankles by your head — and began a brutal relentless pace. Grabbing a fistful of your jiggling tit and messy hair, he pulls your head up so you can watch how he ruins you for anyone else.

“Ya see that, see how swollen your gettin’ already?” Joel questions as he holds your head perfectly to observe the slight lifted pudge on your tummy. Paired with the way his coarse hair rubs against your swelled clit — it’s a drool worthy sight.

“Cus’ your so big, Joel.” You sigh, eyes fluttering from the primal force he’s using on your body.

A smug grin flicks across his face at the view. Mind consumed by the most perfect woman. Eyebrows turning inward, the little lines between them deepening as you try to comprehend all the emotions in this moment. Removing his hand from your head, he finds your clit and swipes it upward. Over and over. Leaning down, he sucks as much of your breast into his mouth as humanely possible. Tongue flicking the pebbled area, coercing your orgasm from you. “Cum with me, baby.” His muffled command shoots straight to your filled core.

As he feels you spasm around his thickness, he stills balls deep. “There it is, baby…” Spilling his cum inside your warmth. Plugging you, keeping you full of him. Joel relaxes his body against yours, finding your mouth to kiss you gently. Sweaty foreheads against one another. Joel goes to push off of you, his comforting body heat about to be ripped away.

"No! Wanna feel you longer, please."

Your protest makes Joel's heart surge. "Of course, sweet girl." Wrapping his large arms around you, he flips you both so that your soft plush body lays above him. The new angle makes his spent cock nudge a bit deeper, you both moan at the faint squelch of his cum overflowing your cunt. "You're so perfect," he mutters.

Smiling into his full chest, you leave a swift kiss. "So are you. Thank you for this. For.. everything."

Joel's hands finds your back as he begins gentle strokes onto your supple skin, his head resting atop your own. "Thank you, darlin'. I want you to understand something, you might just be the finest thing that ever happened to Sarah and I. Y'know, she didn't really want to see her mom. Never had the best relationship with her. She just wanted to spend the remainder of the summer havin' ya over everyday to swim and all. That girl admires you more than anyone."

Eyes foggy, you shift to gaze up at him. "And what does her father think?"

Joel pauses briefly, rich brown orbs beaming into yours. "Think she's damn right. She didn't want me to tell you this, but she left so I could have some alone time with you — take ya out. Scolded me sayin' by the time she's back, we better be together." He laughs at the thought, you join him. Picturing that 4'9 ball of fire lecturing her father on the rules of dating.

"So, you're asking me out Miller?" You question with a heavy hopeful heart.

"Should've done it forever ago, darlin'." He confesses, placing a delicate kiss on your temple.

And with that, you place your head back onto the warm chest of the man you've craved your entire life. Realizing, ever since that day where he first greeted you with that sultry gentleman voice — you were never truly alone.

thank you truly for reading! let me know your thoughts below or in asks!! reblogs are greatly appreciated <3

[hoshigray]

Hey 🫶🏻 Can I request having sex with Sukuna when he is extremely jealous? Like reader is kinda popular and other guys always tryna flirt with her and shit (she is not interested ofc) So when Sukuna saw another man shooting his shot he needs to blow off steam by fucking you dumb 🤕 and he saying shit like “what a good little cocksucker, maybe I should record you and send this video to all those bastards, so they would know who’s dick you’re gagging on” 😭 I’m so sorry if this is too specific, feel free to ignore 😭

Love your works 🥰

𝐚. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: ofc ofccc !! and ty for loving my stuff~

⊹ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: Sukuna x fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - modern setting; you and Sukuna are college seniors - rough sex - fingering (f! receiving) - impact play (spanking + pussy slaps) - oral (m! receiving) - dumbification - choking - backshots + legs-up positions - degradation (cocksucker, dumb bitch, slut, whore) - overstimulation - clitoral play (pinching and swiping) - pet names (dove, little girl, princess, woman) - possessive behavior (it's sukuna, duh) - use of a phone; sexual photography and videography - heavy depictions of a blowjob - mention of tears and spit.

⊹ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.5k

“—Khaahh, oohhh!! Sukuna, pleasee, it hurts—Ahhhnn...!”

“Who said you’re in any position to tell me how to handle you, woman?… Fucking shit, you’re tight as hell…”

Everyone knows that you are off-limits. Knowledge of this fact is the bare minimum when dealing with the one known as “Sukuna’s girl” — no one should dare lay a finger or bat an eye on his woman. And yet, somehow, Sukuna continues to find strays that think this rule doesn’t apply to all. 

He saw it not too long ago today when a guy came your direction at the hall, concealing himself in the shadows to eavesdrop. The junior was dumb enough to invite you to some get-together, foolish enough to think he should even be speaking to the partner of the cold and intimidating Ryōmen Sukuna. 

You were the most popular girl in the class year — expected as Sukuna wouldn’t deal with someone who wasn’t [barely] on equal footing as him. However, unlike him, you carried a much kinder cadence. You greet others with sweet words, converse with professors in a mutual light, and engage with everyone with a compassionate and tranquil soul. — the complete opposite compared to your boyfriend. So, of course, it would be hard for you to turn away people when they come to you for guidance or opinions. 

In this case, you had expressed to the junior that you weren’t interested and had plans to study at your boyfriend’s apartment later. It wasn’t a complete lie, yet a respectful diversion that was expected of you and pleased Sukuna observing.

However, the dull-witted brat put his hand on your shoulder and continued to press on, emphasizing that you’d miss out on people wanting to have a good time with you. A ballsy thing to remark as if saying your boyfriend holds no priority over some boring party. Besides, the man had to stop the itch of coming out of the shadows to strangle the kid for laying his hands on you.

Nonetheless, you gracefully pushed his hand aside and apologized again for declining his offer before heading on your way. The situation was disentangled, both parties carrying on with their days. But that wasn’t enough to calm the salmon-haired man. 

Especially when you were in his apartment, protected under his gaze the entire time; you were sitting across from him at the coffee table while sorting through your coursework, unaware of the fixed look of his red eyes on your frame. Because all he could do was look at you, replaying the interaction from earlier today. 

It all angered him deeply — how the junior said your name so casually, the laughs you shared with him, and the touch on your shoulder. Everything from that moment added fuel to the fire scorching in his gut. He couldn’t relax, knowing there were still imbeciles who had the gall to act so familiar with you, his princess. 

The twitch of his brow couldn’t cease, same with the bounce of his knee – his nerves having an inner battle of maintaining a low profile. And being the caring piece in this relationship, you noticed. You blinked up to where he sat, “Is everything okay?” 

Of course not, woman. As much as he wants to put all the blame on the guy, Sukuna felt that you also played a part in this charade. To him, you were just as worse as that fucker. How could you, his precious dove, allow such trash to be so close to you? Allowing that thing to touch you was such an insult to him, downright disrespectful to the man you call your boyfriend. And the fact that you didn’t think of telling him — believing that you could keep this as a small matter insignificant to his awareness — left a sour taste in his mouth.

In his philosophy, Sukuna knew you were in the wrong as well. And for that, you would also have to be dealt with by him, to be reminded of your place in all this.

“Ohoooo! Ooof!! ‘kunaaaa, your fingersss…! Too fast, please slow—Daaahhh!!”

He’d smack your wet cunt, forcing you to grip his satin sheets. You’d instantly try to close your legs, but Sukuna wasn’t having any of that, quick to pinch the skin of your inner thigh to correct you. 

“Dumb bitch,” he throws insults, void of caring that you were on the brink of tears. He brings a hand to your throat, resulting in you gagging from your circulation being cut off. “I told you to keep those legs open. First, you let some fucker touch you, and now you can’t obey me when necessary? Do you enjoy disrespecting me like this?”

“Ahck! I–hic–I’m sorryyy,” he could feel you clench on his fingers, gripping them as if you refused to let them go.

It humored Sukuna, who effortlessly removed his digits to give your slit another harsh slap that made you gasp for air. An action proved difficult with his whole right hand constricting your airways. “Are you? How can you be sorry when you’re latching onto my fingers like a slut?” His hold on your neck goes tighter; your hands claw at his forearm, a desperate plea that doesn’t sway him. “Say it like you mean it, Y/n.”

“Khh..Ahh—Please, forgive me, Sukuna…!” Your apology came through wheezes, tears now welling up to fall on your pretty face, yet you knew it wasn’t enough. “I should have…Never let that junior tou—Mmmph! …Touch me… I’m your princess, only yours.”

A pink brow is lifted, but his expression remains unchanged. With one last slap to your leaking chasm, Sukuna lets go of your throat for you to cough and gasp as much air as you can. While you do that, he removes his turtleneck and unbuttons his dark jeans, bringing his briefs down to spring his erection out before lying back onto the pillows against the bed headboard. “Prove it then,” his voice has you turn to listen. “Suck me off the way I like it.” 

You are in no position to resent him, crawling towards him on all fours and immediately going to work. Your tongue greets his reddish-pink glans with swirls, licking his frenulum and nibbling on the skin before taking the head to your mouth. You lather his cock with your spit as you bob your head, hallowing your cheeks to take in every inch while your hand glides up and down his shaft. 

“Nnmph, fuck,” Sukuna groans at the feeling of your feverish sucks of his cockhead, your hand stroking him while you tend to him with your mouth feels too good. He peers down to watch you suck hard on his tip, and you return his gaze with a hooded look while sucking on his balls, causing him to hum. You then bring the tip back into your lips, making raunchy noises as you take his girth and lick his precum. 

“Heh, what a nasty little girl,” he comments after you exude a trail of spit onto his dick before hurriedly slurping him back inside your warm mouth. “I outta take a picture of you…No, a video is better.” He’s pleased to see your watery eyes twinkle with dread when he pulls out his phone from his jean pocket. He slides to open the camera application, “Maybe I should show that fool how such a good cocksucker you are for me.”

“S–Sukuna, please, anything but—Mmmm!” Again, no one said you were in a position to speak out of turn. Hence why, your boyfriend grabs your cheeks roughly with a single hand. Crimson eyes pierce through your fragile skin, and your figure fills with fright within milliseconds. 

“What did I say about giving me orders?” His tone is enough to send shivers down your spine, his nails denting your cheeks. “Does my woman want me to expose them for the filthy whore they are? Cause I couldn’t care less if I one day start leaking these shits and have your reputation crumble in seconds as a lesson.”

A tiny bit of you wants to believe he wasn’t serious; however, the single tear shed from your unblinking eyes tells a different conscience. You reply with a shaky breath and a quivering lip. “No, Sukuna...Please forgive me.”

He releases your chin with a push of the thumb. “Then get back to it, dove.” The sweetness of that pet name wasn’t present as he smacked your cheek with his length. You listen to him, taking him back into your throat with a euphoric mewl while cupping and kneading his balls. He sneers and presses the record button, “Just like that, princess.”

And don’t think that it ends there — because it doesn’t. 

“Ahhhnn! Oooooh, my God, ‘Kuna..’kunaaaa, I can’t—Ahahnn!”

“—Nngh, that’s right, Y/n; scream for me…Fuck, this tight ass pussy…”

Sukuna now has your face down ass up, pinning you to the satin mattress by the shoulders and hammering his bare cock right into your messy cunt. Your cries are muffled by the sheets you bite into, tears streaming down hot cheeks as your boyfriend plows himself deep side your core. The commotion coming between your sexes fills his bedroom outside of the squeals that bounce against the walls.

Your figure jolts with every thrust, Sukuna’s pelvis smacking on your ass that stings with hot skin after taking onslaughts of slaps from his hands. Your clitoris, exhausted from the constant tweaks and pinches, rests with the cool air treating the sore button. Sweat is covered all over your nude body, evidence that you and your boyfriend have been going about this for a long while, and of course, you’re getting a bit fatigued and overly sensitive to his every touch. But you know he doesn’t care; this is all for your punishment.

Sukuna throws your butt another smack, having your vaginal walls instinctively contract around his girth. He hisses with a grin, “Damn, I love seein’ you like this.” His eyes trail down from your sweaty shoulders, following your spine and hips, down to your ass, where he sees the insertion of his dick being swallowed by you. Seeing the white, soapy ring shielded around his cock makes him bite his lip. “All sore and dirty for me…Mmmph, gripping on me like a slut, going dumb on my cock.”

His hips then propel erratically, having your howl with eyes shooting up. You were too far gone to think of proper thought, with your brain churned into mush and your head pounding nonstop. The heat on your face is just as unbearable as the throbbing sensation down south. Your trembling legs try so hard not to give in and slump, yet you can’t lie; you’re tired, sore, and sticky all over. 

“Nmaahh! OhhhJesussss, ‘kuna, pleaseeee, lemme cummm—Mmaahh!” Another smash to your ass, followed by a pinch to your clitoris to juxtapose with the slow strokes he uses to massage the delicate spots of your walls.

“Why do you think I should let you cum, woman?” He swipes on your clit, listening intently to the whines that climb higher with the brush of his finger. 

Your words come out in slurs, yet you must answer to him. “I’m shorryy, I didn’t mean to—oh, fuck…do you wrong. Yer the only man who can touch me, wound me,” You peer over your shoulder to see Sukuna, an action that has him release your clit and hear what you have to say. “And love me…just as I love you, and only you. No one else can have me like you…Hahhh, I’m yours, both in mind and body…” Salmon brows furrow as you continue. “I love only you and want only you to touch me, ‘Kuna..Please forgive me, I won’t do it again…”

He was already sold once you turned to look at him, you little minx. Your watery eyes suddenly struck his heart — you are the only thing in the world that could do that, his little dove. He can tell by your heaves and pants that you wish to rest, that you had enough of his lesson and want to be in his embrace. 

However, no unpleasant deed shouldn’t go unpunished. Within a second, Sukuna has you flipped on your back with your legs brought up to his left shoulder. He brings out his phone once again, swiping to put on the camera after inserting his length back inside you.  “Hey, princess,” he calls to you. “Why don’t you say hello to the camera for me? Want something to look back to.”

You gulp with a dry throat, sheepishly smiling at the camera phone. “Hello, I’m Y/n—Ooohh!!” He surprises you with more ruts to your chasm, clamping onto him as if your life depended on it. 

“Who do you belong to, Y/n?” He calls out to you with a steady breath, as if his pelvis wasn’t poisoning deep to grind your insides to evoke pretty moans to escape puffy lips. 

“Hahaaa!! I—Hnnph..I belong to Sukuna Ryō–hic…men…”

“Who does this pussy belong to, Y/n?” Ruts become harsher with every word.

“—Mmoohhh, fuuuhuck, it’s yours, only yoursss,” you voluntarily take up your legs and hold them from behind your knees, bringing them to your chest. “Me and this pussy belong to only Sukuna, no one else can touch me…!”

Sukuna pans the phone down to the union of his dick, moving to and fro from your slit. The white essence painting both sexes was making an erotic mess, strings of his come covering his girth with every push and pull. He chuckles to himself. “This right here is all mine, ya hear?” He looks at you to see you nod your head hurriedly. “Don’t you ever forget that, understand?” You nod again, clenching around him when he drops the phone and leans towards you to place his hands on yours.

It’s here that he finally finishes with you, pounding his hips into you as hard as he can. Your voice gets higher and higher, your headache getting intense with the ruts on your cunt. And with how he stretches and grazes your walls? Jesus, it was terrible to control yourself, your orgasm increasing by the second. “I wanna cumm, ‘kunaaa, let me cum on you, pleaseee….!!”

“Heh, desperate to tighten some more for me, huh.” He adds more weight onto you, forcing you to submit to him. You shudder under his bow, “You may now cum, dove.” 

As if on command, you let yourself loose and allow the climax to finally be free, wailing during yet another crescendo as your vagina flutters around him for the fourth time that night. And Sukuna relishes the feeling of you tightening on him, doing excruciating slow strokes to enjoy the moment. 

“Hmmm, that’s it, just like that…Remember this, princess,” He bends down to lick the tears on your cheeks before kissing them. “Know your place.” He then brings the phone back up to close this session.

“Now smile for me.”

requests/thirsts are open hehe~ 🧸

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2024 – reblogs and comments are wholeheartedly appreciated ☆ header edit done by me, dividers by @/benkeibear.

[slaytheusurper]

⭑ Redamancy ⭑

Masterlist

Pairing: Aegon II Targaryen x Sister!reader

A/N: Based of scene in Domina if ykyk, also don't know if I like this one yet because it was written in the middle of the night :)

Warning: NSFW, 18+ mdni, making out, catching aegon getting sucked, oral (f receiving), vaginal and creampie (ofc).

Summary: During a brief walk at night you catch your eldest brother in a comprimising position with one of the servants. He obviously has to be a good brother and show you what that pleasure feels like.

Word count: 2K

It was a cold, breezy summer night. The temperature finally had dropped after such a scorching day. You twisted and turned in your bed, sleep didn’t come easily to you lately and it was affecting your daily duties. After a while you gave up, throwing the sheets of your body, your long silvery hair fell down your side. Your feet touched the cold stone floor beneath you and you walked over to your chaise, where your robe was draped over.

Maybe a walk would clear your mind. Now clad in your thin white nightgown and robe you slipped in some shoes and opened the door of your chamber. Your personal guard Ser Arryck immediately stood straight and asked where you were heading off to at such a late hour. You explained your insomnia and told him you’d go for a walk around the Red Keep. Nothing to worry about, you wouldn't go out or leave without guards. So you started your walk, shivering slightly at every breeze that flowed through the hallways. 

Deep in thought you didn’t notice you had wandered close to your eldest brother’s quarters, your mind on if you should perhaps alert the maesters of your troubles. But you quickly snapped back to reality when you noticed there were no guards around. How could they possibly leave Aegon’s chambers unguarded at night? Maybe you should check up on him, usually he is quite the night owl and you often went to him when you couldn’t find sleep, sharing some wine and a laugh with him.

You always had a good relationship with your brother, you were the youngest daughter of the King and Queen and one year older than Aemond. He always told you you were his favourite despite his sister-wife Helaena. But you knew Helaena didn’t have much interest in Aegon either. But what you didn’t know was how much Aegon liked you. He always knew he shouldn’t act on his desires, instead taking them out on servant girls and whores at brothels but every time he finished with them it was your name he muttered as he came.Your name he moaned and whined as he fisted his cock at night. 

Tonight was no different, it seemed his desire for you was worse in the summer, when you wore thinner, more exposing dresses to fight off the heat. As you approached his door with your fist raised, ready to knock you stopped at the sounds of soft moaning coming from his chamber. It didn’t sound like he was in trouble or pain but he was clearly awake. Curiosity took hold of you and you opened the door as silently as possible, you didn’t want him to know you were here just yet. Peeking inside you could see Aegon lying on his bed with a servant girl between his legs.

You could hear his soft moaning and groaning as well as the sucking noises of the servant girl. Clearly she was pleasing him, you could feel the jealousy as his panting became more frequent. You don’t know what came over you but you silently opened the door to fully reveal yourself. Aegon's eyes snapped to your barely clothed frame and made eye contact with you. Sitting up straighter his hand held the servant girl in place. The erotic sight of him, getting pleased while looking at you made you pant along with him. Your breath shortening as his mouth opened to speak, but he didn’t. 

Only moans left his pretty lips and they grew louder the longer he looked at you. Your chest heaving as you could feel the pleasure yourself. Thighs becoming wet, pressing them together for relief. Never had you felt this way. Aegon started to almost choke on air as he gave out some final groans. Then stammered out your name as he finished inside the girl’s mouth.

You finally realised what was happening and turned on your heels to run back to your chamber. The amount of times your mother had warned you about the sins of pleasure whirling through your mind. When you had reached your chamber Ser Arryck bid you goodnight as you went to sleep that night with an ache between your thighs. 

The next couple of days were filled with tension and shame. You felt like everyone knew what happened, what you had witnessed. Of course this wasn’t true but you were terrified of what Aegon was thinking. It also didn’t help that your mind uncontrollably went back to that night. The sounds he was making sounded so heavenly. And you couldn’t help but picture yourself in the servant's place.

Four days later it was another cool summer night. You were reading in bed with some candles still lit so you could make out what was written on the pages. You stopped mid sentence as you could hear chattering outside your door. Oh no, Aegon…and? Ser Arryk? This couldn’t go well. Your heart skipped a beat at the sound of some soft knocks on your door. “Come in.” You softly called out. 

Aegon stepped inside your chamber, a chalice of wine in one hand and two cups in his other with of course a big grin on his face. Like he always had when wine was nearby. “What did you say to Ser Arryk?” You were too curious not to ask. “Nothing to worry about sister, just if he could leave us a private moment. For some well needed…sibling time.” Aegon smiled as he put the cups down on your side table and immediately filled them. 

A content sigh leaving his lips as he brought a cup over to you. Grabbing his own as well, he joined you on your bed. Of course your mind instantly had to go back to that night. “Aegon I-” He cut you off before you could say more. “Don’t.” He looked hungrily at your chest. “You know what you saw- and heard. And I know what I saw, I saw how you looked at me, how it turned you on.” He smiled and took a big chug of his wine. 

It encouraged you to drink some as well. Knowing that the alcohol would make this easier. It always seemed to be for Aegon. “However I would be willing to bet you don’t even know what that means. But you know what pleasure means, don't you sweet sister?” He put his cup on the side table and went to sit closer to you. Putting your wine cup aside yourself, you also closed the book laying in your lap. “I guess I do. But it is a sin, mother said so. Septa Luelle said so.” 

You didn’t even look at him. Book now on the side table as well. “Did they now? And what would they know about us Targaryens? We don’t answer to gods nor men. We do whatever we want. So if we want to give each other pleasure, we will.” He pulled the covers of your legs and moved next to you. His hand grazing your lips as he made you look at him. Both of your breathing getting heavier.

Finally he gave in and forced his lips on yours. Both drunk on wine and desire. You tried to keep up with his movements but after a while you could feel his wet tongue sliding across your bottom lip. Not quite catching up on what he wanted, he caressed your breast through your thin nightgown. And as expected, you gasped which gave him a perfect excuse to entwine his tongue with yours.

With some time you got a better grip on how he wanted you to kiss him. How to mimic his movements and find your own rhythm. His hands were starting to wander more, getting more impatient by the minute. He parted his lips from yours, allowing the both of you to catch your breath. “Do you know how many times I had to pay extra to get a silver haired whore. Just so I could pretend I was fucking you? But now, you are finally mine to ruin.” He rasped.

He positioned you to lay down as he himself got on top of you. You could feel something hard poke your thighs. Aegon mouthed and nipped at your neck, desperate to touch every inch of you. “Let me show you exactly what it felt like, let me show you true pleasure.” He groaned in your neck, hands already busying themselves with hiking up your nightgown and removing your smallclothes.

Aegon's lips went down and as he got closer to your already slick cunt, the more you felt like you were about to explode. The effect this man had on you was beyond words. No man could ever make you feel this euphoric and he knew it too. He wasted no time in devouring your cunt, lapping and sucking at your core. Making you gasp in shock, this new sensation was so mind numbing and electric, that you couldn’t even think about who could hear you outside your door.

“Aeg- please- it feels so weird-” You panted out as Aegon had no intention of stopping. He flicked his tongue faster over your clit and you had to grip the sheets beneath you to feel some type of control. The only things coming out of your mouth now were chants of your brother's name and moans. 

Mere moments later, he added a finger inside you. Your tight cunt sucking him in deliciously, making him groan at the thought of putting his cock inside you. With his expert finger and tongue he had you screaming his name in a final plea and made you see the heavens themselves. 

You were trying to calm down, to process what just happened. But Aegon was ever impatient and removed his clothes as fast as he possibly could. When he had also removed his small clothes, you finally really laid your eyes upon him. His chest was a perfect mix of muscled with a little belly from all the wine. But what made your eyes widen was what hung between his legs- or rather stood. 

“That is my cock, my love. And it will make you and me both feel so much pleasure.” Aegon grinned as he saw your lips curl into a smile. It was thick and veiny, precum dribbling from the tip. “Please Aegon, take me. I can’t wait any longer.” He captured your lips with his as he held his cock by the base so he could guide it inside you.

His tip sliding through your folds to find your entrance. He groaned at the sensation, his tip entering your tight hole. You grimaced at the feeling, it wasn’t extremely painful but wasn’t pleasant either. “It will feel better in a moment, I promise. I would never hurt you.” He kissed your lips at that and slowly slid deeper inside you. Not being able to control his own moans. 

He stilled at the hilt and waited for your cunt to accustom to his thick size. He never stopped kissing and assuring you. For such a lust filled, drunken prince he was awfully kind to his favourite sister. Once he got the okay from you he started to slowly move, hissing at the feeling of your walls around him. He had never felt more blessed and happy in his life.

As your moans grew as well he started to lose composure, pounding into you faster and harder. Chanting your name while he buried his face in your neck. Your own arms wrapped around his back as your legs wrapped around his lower back and ass. Letting out stuttered moans and gasps yourself. “I’m not going to last long in your perfect cunt sister-” He groaned. The vibration of his voice against your neck adding to the sensation. 

And he was right, mere moments after his movements faltered and he filled you with his cum with one last moan of your name. The white spend filling you up. He gave two more soft thrusts to really empty himself and then rolled off of you. Letting out a content sigh, he looked at you. Your silver hair splayed out, still a fucked out expression on your face. And he never thought you more beautiful.

[milliumizoomi]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐇𝐄...

☆彡SUMMARY.; Things I believe he would do in a relationship that you’d (us.. all of us..😭) would find attractive

☆彡FEATURED.; ARMANDO ARETAS x READER

☆彡TROPE.; Established Relationship

☆彡FORMAT.; HEADCANON

☆彡GENRE.; FLUFF + SUGGESTION + A TINY BIT OF ANGST

☆彡WARNINGS.; mature language, mature actions, a lil bit of Armando’s toxicity shining thru, brief mentions of choking (not in like he’s gonna kill u type of way😭) brief mentions of violence, a little bit of spoilers ahead.

☆彡NOTES.; heyyyy thank u guys SAURRRR much for the love on the last Armando work I posted, I’m glad so many of yall liked it and I will continue to post and write about him 🫶🏽. (And yeah I took that picture on the middle so be free to save.. cause whew lord..). I hope you guys enjoy this one😛💕.

REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED🫶🏽.

[IN PUBLIC]

✬ Armando would keep an eye on you, especially since he’s not a very trusting person to most

✬ He’s like very aware of the space you’re both in so he’d keep you at least within arms reach of him if it’s just a regular kind of day

✬ And he’d also do that thing where if he wants you to move, he’ll grab your waist and either shift you to where he wants you to do, or he’ll do that just to pass behind you

✬ And he a quiet person so instead of using many words, he just stares and expects you to know what he’s thinking

✬ If a situation arises where you’re doing something that he thinks you shouldn’t be doing, he’ll simply clear his throat and stare and he knows you should know what he’s thinking

✬ also this man has no filter whatsoever, so if you’re talking, it doesn’t even have to be to him, you could be taking to his dad or something and he’ll just blurt out some of the most insane stuff in either Spanish or English

✬ (like he did to that girl when he called her fine)

✬ like if you say “im so hot” on a day when it’s scorching outside he’d def say stuff like “I definitely agree” or some shit like that just to embarrass you

✬ He’d also stare at your lips while you’re talking to him, especially if you’re mad at him

✬ and openly stare at your body too

[ON CASES || MISSIONS]

✬ you don’t even have to be in a relationship for this one but just watching him fight

✬ Each movement of his is so effortless and he just looks good each and every time

✬ He’d also probably see you staring and raise an eyebrow at you and tell you to pay attention

✬ would tease you on missions definitely

✬ especially if it’s a mission together

✬ only a bit tho cause he’s very focused on missions

✬ makes you be his backpack on his motorcycle

✬ he’d adjust your hand to where he wants it when riding the motorcycle

✬ drives it with one hand and occasionally taps at your leg with the other

✬ and if he has time, he’ll teach you to fight like he does

[IN PRIVATE]

✬ in private he’s definitely an attitude fixer

✬ if you do something to piss him off he’ll probably just stop talking all together until you apologize

✬ when that happens tho he furrows and raises his eyebrows a lot while clenching his jaw as a way to not get too annoyed with you

✬ curses in Spanish a lottttt

✬ and when you’re being bratty or rude to him, he’ll literally grab you by the neck and bring you real close to his face then say in your ear “arregla tu actitud antes de que yo la arregle por ti..” (fix your attitude before i fix it for you..)

✬ ofc he’d do that in public too

✬ I feel like he’d be a bit clingy when alone because he doesn’t like pda, so he waits until it’s private and will literally grab all over you

✬ he cooks shirtless (idc it’s true and yes he can cook🤚🏽)

✬ has told you the most mundane every day things in the sexiest voice ever

✬whistles when you walk in a room

✬ and slaps your butt regularly (sue me ik he does🤚🏽)

✬if you’re sleeping in the same bed there’s only two places he’ll sleep, on your butt or on your stomach (no in between 🤷🏽‍♀️)

✬ uses that same condescending voice on you to tell you what to do, when you’re wrong, or to stop acting up

eugh I love him sm🥹

[knight-hiccup]

𝐌𝐀𝐄𝐋𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐌 | Hiccup x Fem!Reader

This is the prologue to this Hiccup series -> Masterlist here. Previous Chapter : Next Chapter Summary: After a deadly tempest rage against Berk, a maelstrom in the sea claims your parents—Where you were then eventually passed into the gruff, tender care of Gobber as his adopted niece. Help raising you beneath the clang of his forge alongside his own godson, Hiccup, a boy destined to defy the world. Hiccup and you stand through many hardships as childhood friends, and awkward occasions as two misfits against the world—a fierce baker of breads and a dreamer craving Viking glory. Pairing: Hiccup x fem!reader Genre: romance, fantasy, suspense, drama, angst, dark, vioIence, friends to lovers, dark themes, Viking lore, Norse mythology, canon divergence, slow burn Word count: 1.2k Warnings: This will have the lore of the films + shows but with much darker themes. Gore/blood, mentions of death, Norse mythology, some realistic dragon themes, more realistic scenarios, and mature themes starting at the point httyd 2 ark comes in, so, ofc NSFW. Any other warnings will be properly tagged upon story progression. A/N: Reader descriptions are not described besides the clothing, true to Viking/httyd fashion from time to time. Gifs/edits, dividers + template credit to #uservampyr my co-writer + beta reader ♡

The storm that battered Berk that night when you were born was a beast unlike any the village had faced in years, a tempest so fierce it seemed to claw its way up from the depths of legend itself, as if Thor, in a fit of divine wrath, had hurled his hammer into the sky and shattered it into a thousand jagged shards of wind and rain.

The sea, a roiling black maw, roared with a fury that sent waves crashing over the rocky cliffs, splintering the sturdy timber of homes perched too close to the edge; boards groaned and snapped, tumbling into the churning abyss below where a maelstrom swirled angrily, swallowed by depths so dark they might have been the gates to Hel itself.

Stoick’s voice, a thunderclap of its own, had bellowed across the chaos, ordering every soul to retreat inland as the village crumbled under the onslaught—storms were usually a mere itch to the Vikings of Berk, a flea bite compared to the dragons that scorched their skies or the snows that buried their paths, but this was no ordinary squall; whispers of Ragnarök slithered through the crowd, their faces pale as they wondered what sin had roused the gods to such vengeance.

The people stumbled toward the Great Hall, their sanctuary of stone and firelight, boots slipping on rain-slick paths as the wind howled like a pack of starved wolves; brave souls darted back into the fray—men and women with determination and grit in their eyes—hauling the stragglers to safety, their silhouettes flickering against the lightning’s glare, risking all yet losing none, thank the fates, as the last of Berk’s battered flock squeezed inside. Or so they thought.

Stoick, broad as an oak and twice as unyielding, stood at the hall’s heart with Valka at his side, their voices cutting through the din as they counted heads—Until Gobber’s gruff shouts mingling with the clank of his hammer-hand, pointed outward.

“Wait! There’s still some out there!” Gobber bellowed from the shadowed throng near the Great Hall’s towering doors.

Stoick had whipped his head toward him. His bearded jaw tightening as he’d stalked forward, boots pounding the stone like war drums competing against the thunder; shoving the one unclosed door aside, he’d peered into the chaos, his eyes narrowing at the sight of distant figures—mere smudges against the storm’s black veil—struggling inland, their forms buckling under winds that shrieked chaos around them.

As chief, and the unyielding shield of his people, Stoick had steeled himself and plunged into the gale, his voice booming over the tumult with a command for all to stay put, the doors slamming behind him with a groan. He’d fought his way toward the figures, rain lashing his broad frame, until their shapes had sharpened into a young man and woman, her arms clutching a screaming bundle—their newborn child, a fragile spark amid the tempest’s rage—her face a mask of terror as the wind tore at her cloak, her husband’s hands steadying her against the onslaught.

Stoick had pressed forward, each step a battle against the storm’s might, when the earth beneath them had shuddered and split, a crack racing through the ground like a serpent’s strike; a landslide had erupted, morphing swiftly into a sinkhole that gaped wide where they’d stood, as if the island itself had conspired to claim them.

With a warrior’s reflex, Stoick had seized a frayed rope lashed to one of Berk’s ancient pillars—its weathered carvings whispering of forgotten ages—and shouted for them to run, his arm outstretched, a lifeline in the dark; they’d been mere inches from his grasp, the woman shielding her babe tight against her chest, her husband gripping them both in a desperate embrace, when the cliff had given way, the ground collapsing beneath their feet, their screams swallowed by the wind’s merciless howl.

In a heartbeat, the man had thrust the bundle into Stoick’s hands, his eyes locking with the chief’s in a fleeting, wordless plea—then he and his wife had tumbled with the shattered earth, vanishing into the churning abyss below, claimed by the storm’s insatiable hunger as Stoick failed to grab onto them.

Stoick had clung to the rope with a warrior’s tenacity, the infant’s wails slicing through the night like a blade forged in grief, a tiny life wrested from the jaws of a love it would never know; as the winds had raged on, howling like the spirits of the lost, he’d squeezed his eyes shut, a curse slipping beneath his breath as a sharp pang gripped his chest—not just from the strain, but from the weight of those he couldn’t save.

Tucking the wee babe close, her soaked form trembling against his broad frame, he’d gripped the rope tighter, waiting for the storm to shift; the moment the gale faltered, veering inland, he’d seized his chance and bolted toward the Great Hall, his boots pounding the earth as rain lashed his face, the child’s cries urging him on like a battle hymn.

Inside, the hall had held its breath, a sea of faces pressed to the cracks in the doors, their eyes straining against the dark until Stoick’s towering silhouette had emerged from the tempest’s shroud; Valka, his wife, clutching their fragile son Hiccup to her chest, had gasped in relief, her voice mingling with Gobber’s gruff shout as he’d flung the doors wide, his peg leg thudding against the stone.

All eyes had fallen on Stoick then, and on the small bundle cradled beneath his arm—soaked, shivering, impossibly small—its wails softening to whimpers as the warmth of the hall crept in; Gobber’s weathered face had twisted with worry, his eyes asking a question his tongue couldn’t bear to voice, but Stoick’s sad frown and the slight shake of his head had answered it—the parents were gone, claimed by the storm’s cruel embrace.

A hush had fallen over the hall, heads bowing in silent mourning, the crackle of the hearth the only sound until the men behind had heaved the doors shut, their locks clanking like a final decree; Stoick had crossed the floor to Valka, her tear-streaked gaze flitting from the babe in his arms to Hiccup, nestled against her, only imagining Hiccup in that situation, which brought tears to her eyes.

“She’ll catch her death if we don’t get her fresh clothes and warmth soon,” Stoick had declared, his voice steady despite the tremor in his soul, and Gobber had stepped forward, his calloused hands gentle as he’d taken the babe from his friend’s arms, cradling her with a tenderness that belied his rough exterior.

The hall, once still, had erupted into motion—Vikings bustling to stoke fires, fetch blankets, and brace for the storm’s duration—as the tempest that had descended upon Berk that night, a titan of nature’s wrath, etched its fury into the village’s history with claws of wind and teeth of rain, the sea roaring with a rage that mirrored the fire it stole; it had claimed lives, shattered homes, yet it hadn’t broken the spirit of Berk’s people, nor the fierce spark of the little bundle Stoick had saved—a girl who would grow to be as fierce and unyielding as the storm she was birthed into.

This is the prologue to this Hiccup series -> Masterlist here. Previous Chapter : Next Chapter

[stellar-solar-flare]

S T E V E R O G E R S

This list has all my Steve Rogers works, sorted by length (longfic, oneshot, drabble/headcanon). I have noted down which ones have an AU version of Steve - works with just 'Steve' are about the Avenger we know and love. All my work is for 18+ only but stories have ratings based on their specific content.

MAIN MASTERLIST | AO3

Beautiful star dividers by @steviebbboi, thank you.

L O N G F I C S:

A Fairytale Of A Disaster | Steve x Doctor!Reader | Explicit

Reader has been stood up by her Valentine's Date. Or has she? Romance, fluff, meet-cute, hurt/comfort. COMPLETE, 4/4.

Brilliant Steel (AO3) | Steve Rogers x OFC, platonic Bucky & OFC | Explicit

The AI Head Strategist, Captain Steve Rogers's world implodes as a wave of inexplicable, supernatural events washes over the globe. The problem: the brilliant mind that might be the key to solving all this belongs to a woman Steve once scorned, and she won’t be happy to find him standing at her doorstep. In an effort to save the world, Steve and Bucky team up with a woman that Steve once thought would be much more than a teammate. In a universe much more vast and stranger than anyone ever thought, they’ll have to learn to rely on each other — wits and gifts and weirdness and all — to keep said world on its rails. WIP - 5/x chapters published.

For Centuries (AO3)| emperor!Steve x Stark!princess!Reader | Explicit

As you, the only daughter of King Howard Stark, arrive at the court of Emperor Steven the Righteous to be wedded and crowned the Empress of the Centurial Empire, your husband-to-be is not what you expected. This is a 'From Political Marriage to Love Marriage' story, featuring lots of romantasy elements, court politics, and protective, righteous Emperor Steve Rogers. The slowest of burns. WIP - 19/x chapters published.

Equinox (AO3)| soft dark!mob boss!Steve x superpowered!Reader | Explicit

When you’re caught in the crossfires of a war brewing underground, Steve does what he has to. And as you get pulled deeper into his world, it may very well turn out that starlight can scorch, too. A dark romance story about a woman scorned and a man who is so much more than he seems. WIP, 10/x chapters published.

Volatile | Steve x scientist!Avenger!Reader | Explicit

Reader has been subjected to an aphrodisiac while on a mission. Steve and the medical team attempt to find a solution. Smut with feelings, eventual fluff, eventual happy ending. COMPLETE, 3/3.

O N E S H O T S:

Cinderella Magic | Steve Rogers x Reader | T+

The entire thing had been like something out of a movie, starting from how Steve – to you just Steve, one of the regulars at the bookshop you ran – had barged into the store yesterday and blurted out that he desperately needed a date. Fluff, romance, friends-to-lovers. 828 words.

Every Bit As Magical | Steve x Avenger!Reader | G

When the car stopped, and Steve went round to open the door for you and help you out, you were practically bursting with curiosity. Tumblr Prompt: "Steve Rogers + a day at Disneyland?" Fluff, romance, established relationship. 567 words.

Malogranatum | soft dark!Avenger!Steve Rogers x mob boss!Reader | Explicit

“You know there are lines I do not cross,” you said. Tumblr prompt: "Steve + Mob AU + ”Would you really do that for me?” + nefarious." Dark romance with themes of obsessive love. AU - canon divergence & mob themes. 2,417 words.

Warmth | Steve x chronically ill!Reader | Mature

Steve is the most caring husband and the best heating pad in the world. Even on the bad days when you don't feel easy to love. Hurt/comfort, established relationship, protective Steve Rogers. 1,771 words.

Worthy | Steve Rogers x Reader | Mature

You and Steve Rogers have been dating for a year. When a journalist is out to get you, you will have to stand together and come out stronger. Romance, angst with a happy ending, fluff & hurt/comfort, protective Steve Rogers. Reader has past trauma and unspecified mental health issues. 2,045 words.

H E A D C A N O N S & D R A B B L E S

kink headcanons for different versions of Steve | Explicit

fall-themed dates with Steve headcanons | Mature

getting ready for a Halloween Party with Steve | T+

coming home to Steve after a long day | G

tempting Steve at a Halloween Party | T+

a 3-sentence fic about Steve being a good dad | G

[foundtherightwords]

Fallen Empires - Chapter 2

Pairing: Geta x OFC

Summary: Having done the unthinkable to secure his throne, Emperor Geta rules with ruthlessness and paranoia. Now, after escaping an assassination attempt, a badly injured Geta is saved by Daphne, a young widow, who takes him back to her remote village without knowing his true identity. As Daphne nurses the former emperor back to health, attraction blooms between them, and Geta discovers a soft side he didn't know he possessed. But can their love survive his thirst for revenge and his desire to reclaim power?

Chapter warnings: none

Chapter word count: 4.2k

Prologue + Chapter 1

Chapter 2

He was burning up. He had gone through the Styx, so this must be Phlegethon, the river of fire that coils around the Earth and flows into the depths of Tartarus. Would that he was in the Lethe, so he could forget all this pain. The twin blades in his shoulder and his ribs were back, and the awkward position of his body only exacerbated them. He was face down, sprawled across some sort of chair or saddle, which lurched and jolted underneath him like a boat over a fierce river. This confused him, for there was no boat across the Phlegethon, only the fiery current that burned the souls of sinners.

And he could spy those souls now, dark shapes that emerged from the flames and rushed at him, trying to drag him down with them. He thought he recognized one of them, a young man who struck him as particularly familiar, even in silhouette. And behind this young man, thousands and thousands more. His victims. But that made no sense. If his victims were here, that meant they were sinners and he had done right to kill them. So why was he here as well? Why were the flames licking at his head and his neck and his body, burning, scorching? And if he belonged here, why were his victims suffering along with him? Who was the righteous?

A jolt of pain shot through his torso, taking his breath away, and he came back to reality. Light was shining into his eyes, hurting them, though it was firelight or sunlight he could not tell. He couldn't lift a hand to shield himself or turn his head away from it. His limbs and even his eyelids appeared to be made of stone, so heavy they were, and a fog had settled over his brain, blurring everything and robbing him of any control over his mind and body. More than anything, it was this loss of control that frightened him. He had always been in full command of himself, and to be unable to speak or move was a terrifying form of torture he wouldn't wish even on his worst enemy.

Then the lurching stopped, and after some violent jolting, he found himself lying on hard ground, on his side, which made breathing less painful. He opened his eyes and saw flames. This really was the Phlegethon then. A dark figure crouched by the fire. One of those lost souls? Charon? No, there was no Charon. No Phlegethon. Only the stream. A horse. And a woman. And those green, green eyes. He couldn't see the eyes of the dark figure, whose face was hidden under a cowl.

The figure moved toward him. An arm slipped under his shoulder, lifting him, which hurt, and he felt a cup pressed to his lips. He closed his teeth against it and turned away, instinctively. He never drank or ate anything without having his taster test it first. But the cup followed his mouth.

"Drink it," a soft voice said. "It will make you feel better."

Better, meaning he would be well again, or better, meaning he would be dead and no longer in pain? He wasn't sure which would be preferable. That terrible burn of anger during his flight had been replaced by a creeping, nagging fear, brought on by his vision of the Phlegethon, and he was afraid that, should he recover, those ghosts in his dream would become too tangible, too real.

"Drink it," the voice repeated, a touch more impatient now. "I haven't gone through all the trouble to rescue you only to poison you. Drink."

He couldn't argue with that. And either way, he was too weak to fight off the cup. He unclenched his teeth, a bitter dose was poured into his mouth, and soon, darkness obscured everything.

But even in this darkness, the ghosts, the lemures, refused to leave him be. The darkness splintered into a million pieces, and each piece became a shadowy spirit that circled him, howling in his ears, clawing at him with their sharp talons and teeth, like a swarm of harpies, and he was too weak to drive them away. Some pieces of darkness coagulated into a bigger, human shape. It was the same figure of the young man he'd seen in the river of fire, now moving toward him with deliberate, inexorable steps. He curled up, trying to shield his eyes from its vengeful stares, but as it often happened in dreams, he found himself unable to move. It moved closer to the fire. Now there was nothing to prevent him from seeing its face—only there was no face. Above the neck, there was just a blank slab of skin, no eyes, no nose, no mouth, nothing at all. Yet somehow, as this abomination bent over him, Geta could still feel hatred radiating from it, like a heat wave over the desert.

He lashed out his arm with a feeble cry.

Something—or rather, someone—caught his arm. A hand slipped into his, a small, cool hand, soft of skin but firm of touch, and a gentle voice murmured something in his ears. The lemures and the shades were driven back, faded away. The dark became as it used to be in his childhood, friendly and restful, and he slept.

That was how it went for the next few days, though in truth he didn't know how much time had passed. Things happened in flashes and flickers, like shadows surrounding a campfire. He would open his eyes and see the dark figure stirring the fire, and a cup would be pressed against his lips, sometimes containing the bitter drink, sometimes containing something else, more palatable. Then sunlight would be hurting his eyes and he would feel coarse hair under his cheek and an animal smell in his nose. The pain in his shoulder and his chest was back, but he was grateful, for it helped him stay awake and avoid the realm of Hades in his dreams. But sometimes the pain was too much and he would slip into the world of darkness and ghosts and fire again, until that soft hand, that gentle voice, and occasionally those green eyes as well, brought him back.

He thought it would never end, this torturous journey with the brief rests that didn't bring much reprieve at all and only worsened the misery. Perhaps this was his punishment in Tartarus, just an endless, painful journey in a guttering dark that led nowhere at all.

At some point, the jolting worsened, and he felt himself sliding off the saddle, until someone caught him and righted him, wrenching a groan of pain out of him. They were going uphill. Then he was half-dragged, half-carried into a thicker darkness, and, thank Jupiter, there was no more bumping or jostling after that.

The journey was over, though the fire in his body, the pain, and the ghosts remained. More liquids were poured down his throat, something slightly sweet, something savory, like a broth. He felt better and then he felt worse. When the fire threatened to burn him, the bitter drink was brought out again, which sent him into a heavy, dreamless state of unconsciousness that was worse than even the ghosts. If he had been able to talk, he would have told whoever was looking after him to stop, to find him those hands and those eyes, which could help him much more effectively than a thousand bitter doses, but the mysterious Hippocrates remained inexorable, and the medicining continued.

Things swam into his view and took shape—a rough wall, a crudely made table, a small window, and a dark, scurrying shape. His mind knew them to be real, even that dark figure, who moved in a human way that was far different than the lemures of his nightmares. But before he could grasp them and form a picture of his surroundings, they were gone again, slipped back into the fire and the darkness. They came back though, more and more often, until one day, the fire finally cooled and the darkness receded. He opened his eyes and saw, clearly, not Hades, but a small, bare room—little more than a cell, really. He searched himself. He was dressed in a linen undertunic, coarse but clean, and there were bandages, smelling pungently of vinegar and some sort of herb, around his torso. His shoulder and ribs still ached, dully, and then sharply when he tried to move, and he was still lightheaded, but his mind was clear for the first time in days.

He sat up, stifling a groan, and discovered that he was lying in a low bed, on a lumpy mattress and pillow stuffed with what felt like raw sheep's wool, and covered with linen sheets. A tiny window gave the room its only source of light. The wooden shutters were closed, so only a few scattered rays came through, but they were enough to show him mud-brick walls with a door set into the far end, earthen floor smoothed by years of footsteps, and all the furniture, which consisted of the bed, a table, and a trunk. His cloak and belt were hung on a nail on the wall, and his boots stood underneath, but there was no sign of his tunic or his dagger. An earthenware jug and cup sat on the table.

So this was where he was. The picture he'd only seen in snatches and fragments was now whole at last.

The sight of the jug made him realize how thirsty he was. He reached for the cup, but his arm was weak as a newborn's and fell short. His hand dropped onto the table, rocking it, and the cup fell over with a clatter.

The door opened. Light poured into the room, momentarily blinding him. A hooded figure stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the light. Geta's heart seized as the old superstitious fear came creeping back. Was it Thanatos, coming to claim him at last? Then the figure moved into the room, and he breathed more easily. It was a woman. He peered at her, trying to see if she was his guardian spirit with the green eyes. She lifted a hand to pull down her dark mantle, revealing a long, thin face with sharp features, accentuated by dark hair smoothed back over her brow into a simple knot at the back of her head. Her eyes were green, but they were a muted, pale green, nothing like the brilliant, calming green that had saved him from his nightmares. Could she be the same woman?

"You're awake," the woman said in Greek. Her accent was strange, though it was Syrian or Arabic, he couldn't tell. "Feeling better, I hope?" He tried to match her voice to the murmurs he'd heard in his sleep, but couldn't remember what it had sounded like. He only remembered being soothed by it.

"Who are you?" he asked. His voice only came out as an incoherent rasp. Seeing him struggle to swallow, the woman rushed forward, picked up the fallen cup, poured some water from the jug into it, and held it to his lips. The water was cool and sweet. He gulped mouthful after mouthful, almost without stopping to swallow. As the water slid down his throat, his chest unexpectedly tightened in pain, and he spluttered, spilling water and spit everywhere.

"Slow down," the woman said unnecessarily. "Your wounds are not yet healed."

He coughed and coughed, feeling as though his torso may tear open. It was a long time before the coughing subsided and he lay back on the bed, exhausted. By Jupiter, had he been reduced to such a weakling that a sip of water could hurt him so?

The woman put the cup to his lips again. He took smaller sips this time, letting the water cool his parched mouth and throat.

"Who are you?" he repeated. His voice was still faint, but at least it was audible. "Where am I?"

"My name is Daphne, I'm a healer," the woman said. "This is my hut. I found you floating on a stream in the Balikh Valley and brought you back to my village."

The Balikh! That was near the border between Osroene and Syria! By Jupiter, how long had he floated in that stream? But at least they spoke Greek here, that meant he was still within the Empire and hadn't strayed over to the Parthian side.

"My knife?" he demanded, not caring how brusque he sounded. His chest hurt so much he could only speak in short sentences, politeness be damned.

"I put it away, so you won't injure yourself or others." She glanced at the door, and that was when he noticed a strip of linen tied around her face, covering what looked like a cut. Had he done that?

"Give it back," he said.

"You've no business wielding a knife in your condition."

"Give me my knife!" he growled, and fell into another fit of coughing.

The woman looked at him critically for a moment, then she heaved a sigh of resignation and went into the front room. She returned a moment later with the dagger, still in its sheath, holding it strangely, like one would a kitchen knife, not a weapon. She handed it to him and quickly moved away, as if afraid he would spring out of bed and attack her.

"There," she said, "though I must say there is absolutely no need for it here. You're safe."

Safe? He was far from safe. Even as his body writhed and trembled from pain, his mind was clearing up fast, and memories came flooding back, vivid without the nightmarish haze that had veiled everything during his fever.

He remembered everything now. The march from Edessa to Carrhae to visit the temple of Sin, the Babylonian moon god, to pray for victory in the upcoming war with Parthia. The stop by the side of the road, overlooking a ridge, so he could relieve himself. The sound of furtive footsteps on the gravel behind him. "I've told you men not to follow," he'd grumbled, not bothering to turn around. "I need no attendant just to take a piss." Then the white-hot explosion of pain across his shoulder, spinning him around. The face of his attacker swam in front of his eyes, twisted in hatred. Martialis. One of his most trusted guards. Martialis had been pestering Geta to grant him a centurion position, but Geta had refused, preferring to keep a man he could trust close by. That had been his fatal mistake... or near fatal.

In the shock of the moment, somehow, Geta had had the presence of mind to pull out his own dagger and bury it Martialis's neck with one hand, while with the other hand, he'd grabbed at Martialis's knife as it stabbed into his chest, toward his heart. He had stumbled backward, rolled down the ridge, and then there was a dark, blank space in his mind, only broken up by snatches of memories like an unfinished mosaic—the painful staggering across a rocky landscape, the stream, Charon, the fire, and that hellish trip... He tried not to think of the ghosts.

"What happened to you?" the woman asked. "Was there a battle?"

Clearly, she believed he was a soldier. Good. He had no intention of persuading her otherwise. How lucky it was that he now preferred the simple clothes of a soldier to the elaborate imperial garb he'd once been used to. His intaglio ring, carved with the eagle and wreath that symbolized his power, was still on his finger, but the woman didn't recognize the image. No one would, save for those who were privy to seeing it on the seals of official documents.

"No battle," he said. "I was—attacked."

"By whom?"

He gripped the knife, finding comfort in its weight in his hand, thinking how ironic it was that the dagger that had meant to kill him was now his only weapon. How much should he tell her? He thought of Martialis again. The man couldn't have acted alone. The journey to Carrhae had been spontaneous, suggested by Macrinus, the praetorian prefect, who believed such a visit would bolster the army's failing morale and prepare them for the renewal of their campaign against Parthia. Whoever wanted Geta dead would have had to plan the assassination for a long time in order to seize this opportunity. Martialis didn't—hadn't had it in him—to seize such an opportunity, much less to plan and scheme. That was another reason why Geta hadn't wanted to make him a centurion. He didn't think Martialis would have made a good commander. A soldier through and through, a follower. Then who could have whispered poison in Martialis's ears and turned him against Geta, against his own Emperor?

He motioned to the cup, and the woman obligingly put it to his lips again, before retreating a safe distance away. "How far—are we—from Carrhae?" he asked.

"Five or six days' walk, over the hills. Is that where you came from?"

He shook his head. "Going there," he said. "From Edessa." It was a known fact that the army had been wintering in Edessa; it should be safe to tell her that much.

"Why were you marching on Carrhae?" the woman inquired. "Those two soldiers said the Parthians weren't going to attack us, but I don't like the looks of them. And they mentioned nothing about Carrhae."

This was new. He lifted his head. "What soldiers?"

"They were asking around for you," she said. "The day after I found you. But you said to hide you, so I told them I've seen nothing." She peered at him closely. "Was that wrong?"

So they had been searching for him. But why only two? Why weren't they tearing up the entire province to find him?

"What do they—look like?"

She described them, a rat-faced blonde and a dark-haired one with a scar. "To own the truth, they didn't seem too concerned about finding you," she added.

Geta didn't remember such men from his retinue. That raised his suspicion. He believed the army was loyal to him, but sending only two, seedy-looking and apparently incompetent men to search for him didn't inspire much confidence.

"Did they say anything else?"

"They mentioned someone called Martialis."

So they knew. Of course they had to know; the knife to the neck was enough to kill the traitor, and once they saw Martialis's corpse and discovered the Emperor missing, they should come to the right conclusion immediately. And yet—

"What's the date?" he asked.

"Three days past the ides of April," the woman said, and again he felt a shock. It had been eight days past the calends of April when they set out from Edessa. So for ten days he had been missing, yet there had been no widespread search, no outcry. It confirmed his suspicion that there was a conspiracy.

Who could it be? Could it be Artabanus IV, the Parthian king, wanting to dispatch him by subterfuge rather than facing him on the battlefield? Could it be someone hired by a disgruntled Senator, or by the entire Senate, who was tired of emptying the Empire's coffer for his wars? Could it even be a follower of his brother, someone he'd missed? He had too many enemies to count, and thinking of them made his head pound and his chest hurt. He dropped back on the mattress with labored breaths. One thing was clear: regardless of who was behind this conspiracy, he was in no condition to do anything about it.

The woman, the healer—he hadn't caught her name—was still peering at him. "I understand if you do not wish to tell me what happened to you," she said stiffly. He could tell she was not used to formal speeches. "But I cannot in good conscience let you perish here if there is help and better care elsewhere. If there is anyone you wish to send words to, let me know. The commander of your legion, perhaps, or a magistrate?"

There were only two people he trusted—Macrinus in Edessa, and his mother, currently in Antioch. But before he knew who wanted him dead, it would be too risky to contact them, lest the missive fell into the wrong hands. No doubt Macrinus was even now rousing all forces for a search, and Macrinus would know to proceed with the utmost caution. If the Parthians or any enemy of Rome got wind that the Emperor was missing, it would be the end of the Empire. 

"No," he said at last. "It's best that no one knows I'm here. But if you hear of any talk in your village, you are to inform me immediately." He heard the commanding note in his voice, and realized a simple soldier shouldn't be speaking thus. "I mean, I would be obliged if you let me know of any news or rumors," he corrected himself.

The woman still hesitated, and he thought he understood her concern. "See me through this," he said, "and you'll be handsomely repaid for your trouble."

"I don't need your payment," she said, sounding offended.

He snorted. "Do you heal people out of the goodness of your heart then?"

She ignored his jab. "All I need to know is, will I be in danger for taking you in?" she asked. "Either from you, or the men looking for you?"

He lifted himself up, with difficulty, to look at her. Seeing him struggle, she rushed forward and put her hands under his arms to help him. Her hands were strong, capable. He remembered how they had reached for him through the darkness and the fire and brought him out of hell itself. She had saved his life. And no matter what people called him, tyrant and murderer and worse, let no one say that Publius Septimius Geta was an ingrate.

"You won't come to harm," he said. "I swear it, by Jupiter and Minerva and—"

She shook her head. "I don't need your vow, just your word."

"Then you shall have it."

The woman fixed her gaze on him, her eyes piercing and inquisitive, with none of the softness he remembered from his dreams. But it had to be the same woman; who else could it be? All that nonsense about her eyes being greener than the hills of Caledonia must be the imagination of his fevered brain, no more. And it was nonsense. The hills of Caledonia were a hostile place, cold and craggy and full of hiding Picts waiting to drop boulders onto his men and bury axes in their skulls, not the place of rest and peace he'd dreamed of at all.

The woman weighed his word and seemed to decide that it was good enough. She eased him onto the pillow and got to her feet. "Can you tell me your name, at least?" she asked.

A simple question. He could have given her any name, any at all. Yet the question nagged at him. He had been born Publius Septimius Geta. He had become Severus Antoninus upon his father's ascent to the throne. He had been Caesar and Augustus and Domine. He had been called, both in friendly jest and in sneering mockery, Tarautas, after a famously violent gladiator. Now, he had no idea who he was.

"Romulus," he said eventually, thinking of the first king of Rome. The one who had struck down his brother and built an empire. The one who survived. "You may call me Romulus."

The woman frowned slightly. He held his breath. It was a common enough name, with no connection to his own. Did she suspect something? He put his hand under the pillow, closing his fingers around the hilt of the dagger.

"Just Romulus?" she asked.

"Romulus Publius," he said before he could stop himself. Perhaps it was foolish of him to use his praenomen, but then again, he thought to himself, it was common enough.

Thankfully, the woman raised no further questions or comments about his name. She merely nodded and turned to the door. Geta let out a small, almost imperceptible breath of relief, and released the dagger. 

"I didn't catch your name," he called after her.

"It's Daphne," she said.

"Like the tree?" he asked, puzzled.

She smiled. "My true name is Nysa, after my grandmother, but she called me Daphne because I was always climbing her laurel tree as a child." Her face softened at the memory, and for a moment, Geta could almost recognize the guardian spirit from his dreams.

"Rest," she said. "If you need anything, I'm right outside." She went out, closing the door behind her.

Geta put his head on the pillow and tried to relax. Rest, yes. That was what he needed. Revenge would have to wait.

Chapter 3

Again, I'm sticking with historical facts by keeping Macrinus's office as praetorian prefect, which he held during Caracalla's reign.

Taglist: @sheneedsrocknroll92, @justnobodynothingmore, @barcelonaloverf1life, @myotakureprieve (if you want to be tagged, let me know!)

[toska-writes]

Clone commandos request if possible. 😁 Could you do delta squad. where on a mission they get captured along with the Padawan, and get protective when they try to separate them or interrogate them.

So i thought about writing a fic based on todays bad batch episode (but I need to get some of the requests done- if you wanna request some Wolffe *wink wink* that’s ok)

“Got your back”

Summary: a mission goes south with the delta squad but they have your back

Paring: The delta Squad/ republic commandos x padawan!reader (PLATONIC OFC)

Warning: slight mentions of injury and imprisonment nothing too bad… the most scary- not proofread

Word count: 1688

Notes: Delta Squad fics are not my “most popular” but ones I always do so much for and I don’t know why

Also I swear to god someone asked to join the Taglist but I can’t remember nor find it so let me know!

"Can you focus for one second Scorch? EVER?" Fixed screamed through the comms, you could see his tense movements from a mile away as the squad ducked once again behind a wall.

Boss could only nod this head, he quickly spun around from where you, Sev and him were hiding to shoot an incoming droid.

"Sorry Scorch I can't defend you this time it's not looking good." You spoke between gasp of your own breath, the adrenaline from the long hours fighting wearing on you and the whole group.

Sev leaned heavily on Fixer from where you could see him, though Scorch as of now was doing a good job covering them.

"Boss," You yelled over the hiss of a smoke bomb going off- the contents of which were going in your eyes and making you cough. "I'm all out of ideas here."

The comando spared you a glance for a second, you feared what his face would have looked like if his helmet was discarded.

Boss looked down at the padawan for a moment. A thin cut ran along their cheek way too close to their eye for Boss’s comfort. He watched their head whip around looking through the fog desperately before a huge bang went off.

After a moment of slight ringing Boss felt the bump of another person against his side. The padawan looked around frantically for the force of the bomb before looking up to the comando.

In a more solemn voice they asked. “Boss what are we gonna do?”

Boss thought about their options then. Backed into the corner of what should have been an abandoned outpost, on of their men injured and the rest ready to collapse from exhaustion. He as a leader thought he was better than this but Boss felt as if he walked his squad right into this trap.

“The missions easy enough for us.” Boss had said only hours before. A knot sat in his stomach but the team needed an easy mission, a break from their last fiasco with the bugs.

He’s never been more wrong in his life.

While he was lost in thought, Boss nearly missed Scorch sliding up next to their leader, his panicked voice tried to fill Boss’s ears.

For a moment the other comando didn’t realize the trooper in yellow was talking until Scorch made a shhh gesture with his hand.

That’s when you noticed it too, the complete lack of noise. No more clanker chatter or blaster bullets from each side. Just the low hiss of the fog that didn’t seem to die down.

You opened your mouth to say something before the unmistakable scraping of metals filled your ears.

“Rollies! get down!” Scorch shouted pulling you and Boss to the floor with him. About 5 Droidekas emerged from the smoke…. Lucky you guys.

“Scorch handle them.” Boss yelled using his hands to signal something at Fixer and Sev at the speed of light. His gruff tone scratched your ears but you all seemed pretty fed up at the situation.

Blaster bullets were blocked by your lightsaber left and right until the next words made your heart drop all together. “Out of hand grenades sir.” Scorch ripped his blaster out now but the shields were too strong on the droids.

“Down the hall!” Fixer yelled as both He and Sev passed the 3 of you, a way out hopefully planned.

You felt them before you saw them, you tried skidding to a stop before turning into the next hall as a hand shot out to grab Boss.

“Shit.” Was the only thing you could say, before they could question what you meant a group of comando droids emerged with guns drawn.

“You’ve got to be joking me.” Sev rasped out, his arm shook while he tried to lift his blaster up and fire. The tiredness leaked off of him though you were sure it did for everyone.

A ring of blue light hit the wall behind you. It didn’t make sense though, comando droids weren’t the type to show mercy.

Your lightsaber flashed along the darkened walls trying to keep the nimble droids away, why couldn’t the separatists just send the normal clankers.

Once again the hall was engulfed in a think smoke. You heard more blasters going off but you feared you were getting more and more disoriented. After a moment you heard a sickening thunk next to you and you assumed the worst.

In the blink of an eye you felt the blast hit its mark and half your body go limp. Unlike the bulking clones you were with it only took about 2 hits before you were out.

•✩•

Boss was the first one to awaken. His head bobbed around and his eyes fluttered open. Boss reached his hand up only to finally realize that his armor was gone.

He laid there for a moment, confusion laced his face. What had happened to him? To them….

In a split second Boss shot up to a sitting position , which his head greatly protested, and looked for the rest of his squad.

Relief was one of the best things in the galaxy in this moment. In the dim light of the ray shield keeping them in Boss could count the 3 other comandos and the form of their padawan knocked out next to Scorch.

Sev still looked bad as now Boss could get the full view of his gash along his side- the blacks on all of the men seemed to be tattered.

Boss observed their surroundings for a moment before giving a light tap to Fixer on the foot. When that didn’t work the first time a much hard kick was implemented.

Fixer gasped awake along with Scorch after a “friendly” tap from the clone comando.

I didn’t take Scorch long before he leaned back against the wall and groaned, clearly he knew the situation at hand.

Boss could only stare for another second at Sev, guilt rummaged through his insides as he helped his injured brother up ultimately waking him as well. This was his fault and Boss couldn’t shake that.

“Fixer start working on those bindings.” Boss ordered unable to keep his gaze on the unconscious padawan. Clearly to the eyes of their captors the Jedi was the bigger threat.

Sev hissed for a moment now finding a new brother to lean on.

You came to with the feeling of someone’s exposed hands brushing against your arms. The pounding in your head was present but the blanket of confusion was much scarier.

“Thanks for joinin’ us.” The unmistakable voice of scorch chimed in. Your eyes strained against the darkness but you could tell what the problem was.

The cool metal hurt your wrists as Fixer fiddled with them muttering a small apology every once in a while.

Boss’ low voice filled the cell, plans of just how they would get out to fight another day. Your eyes scanned the worrisome group.

Scorch sat fidgeting with his hands trying desperately to listen but you could see the worry in his eyes as clear as day.

Fixer sat in front of you cursing and apologizing but he just couldn’t seem to do anything useful without his tools and data pad.

Sev’s eyes closed everyone once in a while and you could see the fight to remain in the moment, though his scowl never seemed to be wiped off.

And finally Boss. His voice was level and low just like the countless other times you heard him give directions, however this time was different. He knew this wasn’t in their favor and he was worried beyond belief.

Someone had to stay strong for them all.

Your heartbeat beat out of your chest, a dull throb started in your temples the feeling seemed vaguely familiar.

“I think someone’s coming.” For the first time you were unsure in the force. Fixer faltered for a moment before meeting your eyes. “It’s probably these. Messing with you.” He shook the bindings.

Though to your surprise, and relief in a way, someone did make their way down the hall. Boss spoke out quickly as you averted your gaze, sweat started to form on your brow.

“We need a medic.” It was hard to call it pleading despite where Boss said it from his position on the floor, but it was definitely more of a demand.

2 masked figures approached though they seemed to ignore Boss all together.

“We need the Jedi.” The cool voice stated only once.

Everyone seemed to freeze for a moment unsure about which group would make the first move.

“Get up.” Was demanded at you and you glanced around meeting Boss’ eyes for only a moment before you gripped onto the sleeve of Fixer.

The ray shield was down now and the larger figure stepped in. “I’m not asking again”

“Like kriff they’re going with you.” Scorch stood in front of you now. His full height filled up their line of sight.

“Move clone.” For a second Scorch was pushed back that was until Boss stood as well and shoved their captor away from his brother.

Before the other could react with their blaster Scorch was all over them. Fixer taking the hint that their time was now scrambled to get their other brother still on the floor.

Your eyes were blown wide with the loud alarm that was set off. You felt someone grab your arm as you were still in a little daze.

“I hope you didn’t think we were really gonna let them take ya.” Scorch said as the group rushed down the halls.

You thought about that for a moment, had there truly been something to worry about while you were surrounded but the Delta Squad, your brothers?

A smile broke out of your face and Scorch seemed to get your reply.

“I hope you know.” Scorch called over his shoulder. “You’re never picking the missions by yourself again Boss.”

An angry yell was heard from somewhere behind you replacing the fear in your body with a laugh. “You were the one to pick the bug mission Scorch!”

______________________________

Taglist:

@arctrooper69 @thereforepizza @padawancat97 @pb-jellybeans @floffytofu @verybadatwriting @solstraalaa @ray-rook @gregorsmissingarmor

[intheorangebedroom]

Tonight you belong to me, a drabble

Summary: He comes to you every Friday, in a shady motel on the outskirts of town. Set before chapter 2. A sliver of those early days in room number 2.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x fem!Reader (OFC)

Rating: Explicit 🔞 see series masterlist for extensive tw.

A/N: Happy Frankie Friday, Orange besties 🧡 Nonnie this is for you 🧡 Unhinged but not unbeta-ed thanks to @frannyzooey who is the angel that watches over my gothic ass with her kind heart and genius brain. My anatomical heart beats for you, Kelli 🧡

Word count: 3.6k

[prev] * [series masterlist] * [next]

Drabble: Wrecked

“I’m gonna fuck your ass, now. Stop me.”

Before you lost count, there was a first time. And a second. And a third.  

And before all of it, there was this one time. Nothing short of a humiliation. A suggestion you’d offered, a shy and clumsy attempt at understanding Adrian’s perfunctory physical contacts with you. Not exactly a lack of interest, more of a tepid enthusiasm. Intercourse performed in the dark, his body clinically clean, his ministrations dejectedly proper. 

You’d been dating for a little over two years. Adrian being five years your elder, and a well-traveled man; you were acutely aware of your inexperience and had thought your lack of practice was to blame.  

You’d searched for ideas, for clues, in loud and colorful magazines, descending into a tunnel of shame catered to you on the internet in private windows. 

You’d gathered your strength and all of your courage, and you’d asked him if he’d like to try something else, something different. 

His cold answer sliced through your chest, scorching your skin from the neck up. 

The glaring horror in his eyes, the disgust curling down his thin lips. 

“Don’t be crass, Lee. Women like you don’t do these sorts of things.”

Women like you. 

This had been your first clue, perhaps. If women like you didn’t perform such acts, then other women had to. 

And then, then there was him. 

“I’m gonna fuck your ass, now. Stop me.”

Wrists bound to the headboard, black zip ties biting into your flesh, your fists balled the dirty bedspread.  You gasped into the pillow, a strangled moan, in a stranger’s voice. The voice of the woman you were allowed to be in room number 2. 

You were exhausted. Exhausted and sore from coming too hard and too many times, with your arms outstretched in front of you, your shoulders bent at an odd angle, and your ass perked up. And you struggled to make sense of his own endurance as he kept you in this position, kneeled behind you, eating you up, relentless, insatiable. 

You could have asked for a reprieve. You could have simply said, Stop. When you were not mewling through another release, that is. 

But you were high, high on pleasure, all lightheaded and weighed limbs, only coming down to soar through another orgasm. High on his unrelenting hunger for you, on the way he used you, on his commanding desire and his obscene irreverence. 

The vibrations from his primal grunts rippled from your core to your neck, and whenever your breathing slowed down, you could hear the slick sound of his thick fingers sliding along his stiff cock. 

The wet glide of his tongue, licking you from clit to hole in broad, pointed stripes. His plush lips wrapped around your swollen bud, sucking harshly. The tip of his tongue flickered and, dipped into your cunt to lap at your walls, his face buried between your cheeks, the sharp ridge of his nose a dangerous tease over your tight ring. 

Another release violently quaked through you and you lost balance, and his large hand caught you, splayed fingers furrowing into the swell of your ass to keep you upright.

The mattress moved as he straightened up, smacking his lips. His large palm crashed over your cheek with a loud crack. 

“I’m gonna fuck your ass now. Stop me.”

He bent down again, and sucked hard on your asshole, working saliva into you, as your guttural moans poured into the pillow. 

You felt him move behind you, and he spat on your asshole, once, twice, thrice, smearing his spit around it, pushing his finger in to the knuckle, quickly adding a second. Your cunt clenched at the pleasure-pain sensation. You pushed back into it with renewed strength, and your flesh gushed through his splayed grip on your cheek as he drew you in. 

His fingers slid out of you, quickly replaced by the blunt tip of his cock, and you heard him groan as he sucked on the digit. 

“Fucking taste good all over.”

The obscenity of it all sent a powerful wave that shook your body, uprooting your whole world. The transgression felt like a vengeance. 

He pushed in, slowly, with a low and drawn out grunt, and he stayed there, stilled, deliberate, throbbing inside your tight hole. He let you and your body and your entire life adjust, to the impossible size and meaning of him. 

—

The second time, you begged him for it. 

The room was plunged in darkness. The rectangle of sky beyond the curtains a friendly pitch black. 

Resting prone on your stomach over the rumpled sheet, your head tilted to the side and your arms a loose curl around the pillow, you were lost in the contemplation of the dramatic ridges of his sharp profile, the steady rise and fall of his chest, as he laid on his back next to you, eyes opened, facing the ceiling. 

What thoughts lived inside of his head?

He turned to face you, hard cold stare, soft sad eyes. Glaring crease and silent questions. Are you real? What’s your name? How did you think this was gonna be? How do you think these things go?

Between your lungs, the wild creature stirred, stretching its paws, clawing at your rib cage. 

Your eyes glimmered, a wanton, wanting glow, a fever and a fire. The need to feel alive underneath him. You could tell. You could see their light reflected on his face. 

He moved over you, covering your body with his, forcing the air out of your chest with his weight. 

Your grip on the pillow tightened as his face dived into your neck, warm breath fanning over your thin skin, a welcome constraint, the musky smell of him everywhere around you. 

Like a tidal surge, like a rippling ocean, his body began moving, a steady pace, an hypnotic rhythm, undulating over yours. Skin on skin, sweat to sweat, scent to scent. His hardening cock slotted in the cleft of your cheeks, as he snaked a strong arm between your stomach and the mattress. Nimble fingers parting your folds, where they found you soaked. 

He huffed smugly into your neck, rippling body, tidal ocean, submerging waves. 

“What do you want?”

The question painted your vision crimson. Crimson like blood, like a revolution. 

A grating sound scraped your throat raw, a gasp, or a sob, a life’s worth of apologies and hesitation. 

“Tell me what you want”, he asked again, tapping into the strength of his rippling motion to arch your back into him.

“I want– I want you,” you blurted.

“Where do you want me?”

Clenching your eyelids, you pressed your face into the pillow, for fear of crying. For fear of saying it, and being granted it. For fear of opening a breach. 

Holding your breath, you bucked again, and his low, husky chuckle grazed your ear. 

“You can’t even say it, can you?”

“Please, Frankie,” you begged, “please, I can’t–”

“‘S okay, I’m gonna give it to you anyway,” he said, spreading you open with a shove of his knee behind your thigh. 

—

The third time, he wrecked you. 

He’d walked into the room in a different kind of rush, something in the way his lips latched to your skin that had you thinking that, maybe, what moved him tonight was sheer desire for you. 

He got you naked before you had a chance to draw the yellow curtains closed, and laid you sideways across the bed, over the bedspread. Assertive movements, arranging your docile body with ease and deftness. 

He undressed leisurely under your gaze. The diffuse amber hues of the quaint side lamps drew dancing shadows of gold on his shifting body, highlighting his breadth, the dip in his collarbone, the plane of his chest, the strong round of his shoulders. Saliva pooled into your mouth when he slid his denim down, revealing the thickness of his thighs, the telling tenting of his underwear. Unhurried, he watched you watch him, pulling himself out of the black boxer briefs, stiff and thick and ready for you. He walked to the side of the bed, readjusting your position, so your head hung a little from the edge, and you caught yourself licking your lips in anticipation. 

In a teasing glide, he traced your parted lips with the round tip of his cock. Eyes drifting shut, your tongue peeked out, catching the dribbling stickiness of his arousal. You moaned, head spinning, dizzied by your hunger, and reached back with both hands to anchor yourself to his body, skimming your hands to the back of his thighs, palms brushing along his hair. 

Tipping your head back, you opened your mouth, his dense muscles twitching. 

He breathed hard, through his nose, and there was that word again, that one word in Spanish that you’ve never quite caught. 

He thrust into your mouth, slowly, trembling muscles under your palms, and you squirmed on the slippery fabric of the bedspread, brain buzzed out with the heady scent of his sex. Wrapping your tongue around his cock, you took it all in, his taste, his girth, his warmth, his weight. The throbbing stiffness, the impressive length. 

He dragged his cock over your tongue, in and out, and your cheeks hollowed around it, greedy and eager. 

He paused at the close of your throat, nudging tentatively, with unusual gentleness, and you breathed in deep before tilting your head further back, urging him in. Fingernails sinking in, nearly breaking his skin. 

“Alright, then,” he gritted, curling a hand on your nape, and he pushed inside your throat down to his base, brisk and sudden.

So much. He’s always been so much. Yet never quite a match for just how much you want him, everywhere inside you. Your grip tightened as he started fucking your throat in earnest, a relentless, punishing pace, the wet, explicit sounds of your pooling spit filling the room. Eyes watering, you eased your throat, staving off the reflexive caving of your chest, breathing in through your nose, and took the unrelenting shove of his cock. 

He bent down over you, his large hand a loose wrap over your neck.

“Shit,” he groaned, feeling your neck full to bursting with his cock, “fucking shit, you feel so fucking good.”

His words stirred something heavy down your core, something coiling hot and slow, swirling like lava, and your hips swirled along with the searing stream of it, as it flowed down your walls.

A few more strokes and he pulled out, a thick string of saliva threading your lips to his cock. You gulped loudly for air, before you could let out a disgruntled moan. Chest heaving violently, you made to sit up on your elbows before his voice halted you.

“Don’t move. Stay like this.”

He rounded the bed. You watched him with glassy, teary eyes, eyelashes glued with clumps of mascara, as he stood at your feet, prompting your legs open with a tap of his hand on your ankles. Climbing on his knees onto the mattress, he settled his massive figure between your parted legs. 

At his back, the dark rectangle of the window enhanced the breadth of his chest in chiaroscuro. Your eyes grew wide at the sight of him, sitting straight on his knees, erect and mighty before you. His skin painted gold by the tangerine light, a shin of sweat glinting all over him. His tousled curls a mass of dark waves, the depthless black oceans of his eyes. 

A pagan idol, a sacrificial offering at his feet. 

The reptilian rippling of his lean muscles as he skimmed his hands along the back of your legs tore something open inside your chest. The wild creature hissed and spat, fierce and untamed, and white noise filled your ears. 

“Oh god,” you whispered, no more than a faint thread of a voice, laced with lust, in the still silence of the room.

His gaze found yours, stern and threatening under his creased brow, and for one terrifying instant, you thought he might ask you again, What do you want?

The corner of his plush lips pulled to the side, a predatory grin, and you felt bound to him, forever and beyond, with no will to escape, and no intention to leave. Your heart swelled within your chest and inside your mind, the clear vision of its anatomical shape and design as it thumped loud and frantic, pumping blood of crimson through your veins, vessels, and arteries. Your eyes widened as his trailed down to your pulse point, down to the valley between your breasts, and you knew, you knew with unsettling certitude that he could see it too, he could see it through your flesh and skin. Your swollen heart in its anatomical shape, your coursing blood, your pumping veins. 

He pressed down on your knees, spreading your folds with a lewd sound. His eyes traveled back up to your face, you might have been crying, for you felt stray tears rolling down your temples. 

Your mouth parted, and you smiled around a silent plea, a soundless invite. The crease in his brow shifted, ever so slightly, a pleading arch mirroring your need.

He ran his knuckles along your seam, and a quivering breath rushed past your lips. 

“Stop me,” a murmur, and you shook your head No over the dirty bedspread, your hair catching at the synthetic fabric. 

He sunk a finger inside your heat, pumping in rhythm with your pounding blood, and you tried chasing it with your hips, but behind your rib cage, your swollen heart was too heavy. 

Thick, sticky slick leaked down your folds, dripping into the cleft of your ass, onto the bedding. Straightening up, he used it to coat his length and lined himself up at your entrance. Slowly, he thrust in and you watched, subdued, unable to move, his dark, feverish gaze trained on your cunt, fixed on where he was splitting you open, his thick cock a snug glide along your walls. 

His fingers dug into the soft flesh of your thighs as he drew you in over his lap, your hair sprawled out above your head over the bed. He kept you there, hips tilted up, as he rocked into you steady and slow, sinking in deeper and deeper with each deliberate stroke, seemingly entranced by the motion, just like you were transfixed by his eyes, until he reached so deep the pleasure turned to pain. 

You moaned with discomfort, with relief, too, and at last, his eyes flickered back to your face. His fingers burrowed into your flesh as he pulled you in closer, grinding against your spread hips, letting you feel every vein and ridge of his cock, the nudging of his head at your cervix, the coarse hair at his base scraping the tender flesh of your lips. 

Another teardrop spilled down into your hairline, and this time, you voiced it. 

“Wreck me.”

Rebuild me anew. 

For a fleeting moment, the pleading arch of his brow lingered on his face, before his carnivorous grin obliterated it. 

He released the grasp on your thighs, just enough to nudge you away and pull out of your heat, before his clutching hold over you tightened again, the blunt head of his cock pressing against your tight ring. 

“Frankie,” you moaned, nodding.  

Arching off the mattress, you linked your ankles over the small of his back and his answer was immediate. He drove himself forward, brutally breaching you there, nearly doubling over with the strength of his shove and you whimpered loudly, wincing, head thrashing back, fingers frantically scrabbling for purchase. 

His groan tore through the white noise scrambling your brain and you lifted your head to see him. 

He was still, an eerie kind of stillness, like a wild beast locked on its prey, a testimony to a practiced self-restraint, his forehead beaded with sweat, and his teeth painfully clenched, lips curled over them. 

You willed yourself to relax, for your body to relent and your mind to let go, but he was too much, too thick and too stiff and too fucking gorgeous, a beaming god of gold, blinding, breathtaking, dangerous to behold. 

He pulled out just a little, before pushing in again with a louder grunt, a droplet of sweat rolling down his temple into his sideburns. A slow rocking motion he repeated, again and again, hips swaying into you, readjusting his hold, an arm hooked under your thigh. 

Pleasure surprised you, flooded you through every sense. Full with him, slack under his gripping touch, the coppery smell of his sex filling your nostrils, his taste on your tongue and his grunts in your ears. The vision of his shifting, gleaming chest. 

“Touch yourself,” he said. 

A demand, but you were already torn open for him and what more could you do? What more could you give? Your mind couldn’t comply. But your body, your body sent a tremor down your spine, raised the thin hair on your arms, slick leaking down your seam.  

“You can do as I say or you can stop me, but I won’t be repeating myself,” he husked. 

You swallowed thickly, limbs like lead. 

His gaze softened imperceptibly, as did his voice when he added, “Gonna give you everything you want.”

At first, it was a tentative touch. A shy and shallow reenactment of what you would sometimes do in the dark, behind the secrecy of the locked bathroom door, until shame would take over, and you’d have to stop yourself.

The pad of your middle finger glided over the swollen bud of your clit and you clenched your eyes shut. There was too much light, and Frankie’s boring gaze on your face, and you were so wet, wet and still leaking, and the embarrassment had your skin burning and your chest constricted. 

The rolling of his hips resumed, sending jolting waves of pleasure radiating to the confines of your body. Of their own volition, your fingers started stroking, drawing circles in rhythm with his movements as he picked up the pace. 

Women like you don’t do these sorts of things.

Adrian’s voice rang out in your ears and your eyelids flew open to Frankie’s silhouette towering over you, shifting shadows of gold, predatory grin. A beacon and an anchor.

You plunged a finger inside your heat, and his grin widened when you gasped.

“I feel you,” you breathed out, “I feel you inside me.”

“Oh fuck, yea,” he groaned, darkening eyes and stretching lips. 

Releasing your thigh, he knocked your hand off and thrust two thick fingers where yours had been, overwhelming you instantly. He stayed there, fucking into your ass harder, reveling in the snug drag of his cock, eyes locked on your face. You were a fever, cheeks, neck and chest on fire, beads of sweat mixing with tears of pleasure, and your fingers reached for your clit again, pressing fast, shameless circles over it.

“Look at you, fucking look at you,” he panted. 

Women like you don’t do these sorts of things.

“So fucking beautiful. Fucking look at you.” 

Women like you. 

“Gonna watch you make yourself come while I fuck your tight ass.”

Women like you. 

He thrust in hard, down to his base. 

“Oh god,” you keened, cunt fluttering, walls collapsing around his fingers, a high like no other seizing your every nerve, a powerful swell, a blinding shock. Your body lifted and crashed, eyes rolling to the back of your head, legs trembling, slick pooling down thick and sticky onto his hand. 

“Oh shit, I can feel you coming, you’re gonna make me come, shit.”

He pulled out with a pained groan, clutching your hip to a bruising point, pearly ropes of come spurting onto your spread cunt, and you sunk into the mattress, landing somewhere beyond contentment, beyond rapture. 

His ragged breathing echoed in the room, reminding you to take in some air. With half-lidded eyes, you tried focusing on his anchoring figure. You wished for his body to cover yours, for the reassurance of his skin, for a wrapping embrace. You blinked away more tears, grinding your teeth, chewing down on your pathetic needs and emotions.

Women like you. 

He looked up at you and your transparency was unbearable. You retreated, folding your arms over your quivering chest, shutting your eyelids, your swollen heart and all of your hopes, burying your face into the dirty bedspread.

Women like you. 

He jerked your body back into the room when he slid a finger inside your cunt, soft sad eyes, hard cold stare trained on your face. Pushing his come into you, lacing his spend with yours. Leaning forward, he propped his hand onto the mattress next to your head, and brought his finger to your lips. 

There was a beat, before you could open up. An endless stretch of time during which you stared back at him, tore between need and pride. 

Gonna give you everything you want.

A bead of sweat dripped from the pebbled skin of his neck into the dip at the base of yours. Your lips parted, tongue curling around the sweet and tangy taste of your release and his. Reaching back, he collected some more, bringing his fingers to his plush lips. His eyes on yours throughout all of it, the thrusting, the licking, the working of his throat. 

It was over in an instant. 

He got up, cold air hitting your body, and started gathering his clothes. You lied there, sprawled, silent and limp, on the rumpled bedding. With your combined taste on your lips, your aching, swollen heart, and the wild creature lapping blood between your lungs. 

Wrecked.

****

[mrsevans90]

Puppy Love

Captain Syverson x OFC Emma Miller Part 1

Summary: Austin Syverson has returned to Texas after retiring from the military and starts his own contracting business. Syverson is used to being alone and thinks he prefers it that way. While at work he stumbles upon an injured and abused puppy. When he meets the new veterinarian in town, Emma Miller, he is immediately smitten with her. It turns out Emma has some baggage of her own. Will they be able to make it work? Or is it just a case of fleeting puppy love?

Pairing: Henry Cavill as Captain Austin Syverson x OFC Emma Miller 

Word Count: 3,502

Warnings: Abused animal, domestic violence, stalker ex-boyfriend, mention of nightmares/PTSD, smut in future chapters.

MINORS DNI! Must be 18+

I do not authorize any copying/pasting, stealing of my work, or using my words as your own. 

This story is not beta��d. All mistakes are my own.

A big thanks to @shellyshellshell for encouraging me to write this story!

A/N: I am an imperfect person who makes mistakes. All that I ask is to please be kind and if you enjoy it then please comment and REPOST! I appreciate any love, comments, and reposts more than you could know. Thank you for reading! 

*Syverson POV*

It’s certainly difficult to leave the cool air conditioning of the house to head to work when the weather forecast predicts another scorching Texas summer day where the humidity makes your clothes immediately stick to your skin. It’s nothing I’m not familiar with having grown up in Texas my whole life and then spending two tours in the desert before returning home. You’d think I would move somewhere cold, but the south is all I know. I certainly couldn’t leave Nana and Pawpaw either. After finishing my last tour, I came home and bought an empty house in disrepair and spent the better part of a year ripping it to studs and rebuilding. I was really struggling with returning to civvy life after spending the majority last ten years in the sand pit. Originally, I had just planned to fix up my house so that it was comfortable and hell, livable, until I discovered what I wanted to do outside of the army. Remodeling my house taught me that I really enjoyed working with my hands and building things. I guess you could say taking a broken, outdated home and making it beautiful and functional again really resonated with me on a deeper level. I was lucky to leave the army with only some mild PTSD and nightmares. Hell, I had all of my limbs and was alive which is more that I can say I deserve. Staying busy helped me cope so after working towards getting my contractor’s license, I decided to start my own company, Syverson Contracting. It was still a small operation with only about seven employees including my cousin Alex, but we got by just fine.

After getting ready for the day and sipping on my cup of coffee on the porch with my German Shepard, Aika, I put my boots on and headed to the truck for the first day on a new worksite. Like usual, I called Nana on the way to work to check in. My grandparents lived about fifteen minutes away from me, but I still called to check on them every morning and make sure they’re doing alright. As I drive, Nana starts chattering all about how her friend’s granddaughter is single and I should be looking for a good woman to marry and settle down with. We’ve had this conversation umpteen times before but I can’t seem to get it through my stubborn grandmother’s head that it’s useless. I’ve been burned by too many women in the past as a young and naïve man and I just don’t want to bring someone into all of my problems. Yes, I go to therapy at the VA to help with my PTSD but it still doesn’t stop the sleepless nights and nightmares that immediately send me back to wartime in the desert. As much as I’ve always wanted a partner in life; a beautiful wife to come home to, a couple of kids and the proverbial picket fence, I just don’t see how it could be in the cards for me now. I’m too fucked up. Nana of course would never understand and I certainly don’t want to drag her into it so I just listen to her drone on and on about some chick named Susanne and then tell her that I’ve got to go.

After speaking with my team and giving instructions for the job, I went to Alex’s flatbed truck and we all started unloading the materials. The home we were working on was owned by a young couple expecting their first child. It was a simple job, replacing the flooring throughout the house, building a shed in the backyard for lawnmowers and other garden tools, and repairing some dry rotting siding near the fireplace. The great thing about my team is that I could get them started and didn’t have to micromanage them. After several hours in the walloping sun, we all broke for lunch. After cooling off and reenergizing at the local Wendy’s, we all headed back to the house to continue our work. Since I was used to being in these weather conditions, I decided to head out toward the edge of the woods in the backyard and start building the garden shed. When I went to lift up some of the plywood, I was beyond shocked to find a shaking and filthy little tan dog who appeared to be injured and terrified.

“Shit. Heya buddy, I ain’t gonna hurt you. It’s alright pal. Let me take a look atcha.”

As a true animal lover, I was immediately enraged. Someone had intentionally abused this poor defenseless animal and either abandoned it or it was able to limp off to the woods. The little male pup, couldn’t be older than a year was bleeding from four different wounds on the side of his sand colored body. The second I scooped him up, he was whining and cowering in fear.

“You’re alright little man. I’m gonna take care of ya. Let’s see if we can getcha to a vet.” I call Aika’s vet office and unfortunately there is no answer. Janet must still be taking her lunch break.

I see Alex walking outside to grab some of the flooring to bring inside and yell for him to come here.

“What’s up, Sy?”

“Just found this little guy beat to hell by the woods.”

“Jesus. What kind of bastards do that to an animal?” Alex ponders as he was looking at the injured and sick animal. 

“I’m gonna see if Dr. Robinson’s in. Hopefully I can get the little feller in today but I need you to run the site until I get back.”

“No problem, Sy. Didn’t she just have another kid? I’m not sure if she’ll be there but I know Jessica said something about them hiring a new vet so I’m sure someone will be around.”

The veterinarian’s office was only a fifteen-minute drive from the site so after giving the poor thing some water, I loaded him up and drove there.

On the ride over, he seemed to relax a bit and not shake as bad as he had been and I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

“Oh Austin! How good to see you! Did your Aika have an appointment?”

“Hey Ms. Janet, is Dr. Robinson in? It’s not for Aika. I found this guy by the woods and he’s been hurt something awful.”

“Heavens to Betsy! Poor little angel! Elizabeth is out on maternity leave but we’ve hired a new vet. You'll like her. Let me check with her and see if she can work you in.”

“Yes ma’am.”

A few moments later, Janet scurries back and directs me to an exam room with the little guy. I guess I could have just dropped him off and went back to work but my heart just couldn’t stand it. Hell, I fought to bring back Aika from Afghanistan because of how quickly I fell in love with her and she’s been the best dog ever. I can’t imagine leaving this little guy to potentially die from his injuries without a friendly face nearby.

*Knock Knock!*

The door opens and my heart stops at the same time. The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen enters while carrying a clipboard and a stethoscope. She’s a petite little thing only reaching to my shoulders with long blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, and crystal blue eyes that feel like they see straight to my soul.

“Hi, I’m Dr. Emma Miller. I hear you found this little guy in the woods?”

“Uh, yes ma’am. Hello there, I’m Austin Syverson. Yeah, I uh, I found him and he looks like he’s been abused.”

She smiles brightly and shakes my hand when I introduce myself and the moment I touch her soft skin, I can hardly think straight. Why the hell do I feel so jittery? It’s just a beautiful woman Sy. Get ahold of yourself. I tell her exactly what I found and she quickly starts examining him while speaking to him in a sweet voice.

“Hi sweet boy. You poor thing! I’m so sorry someone has been treating you so horribly. We’re going to take care of you, yes we are. You’re going to be good as new! I’m going to give you some fluids because you’re dehydrated little guy. Once we get some fluids in you, I’ll try giving you some food. How about that little man?”

I can’t help but smile as she baby talks to him while inserting an IV in his tiny arm and starting him on fluids. She examines the wounds more carefully before retrieving a pair of things that look like tweezers.

“If I had to guess, I would say this guy is about 10-12 months old. I suspect these wounds on his side are from a BB gun. Would you mind holding his head? I’m going to give him some pain relief in his IV to help him relax and then try and clean the area and see if I can remove them. We’re a bit short staffed at the moment with Dr. Robinson out and two of our techs calling in sick so I’ll need your help if that’s okay?”

“Fucking BB guns.” I murmur under my breath. Damn some people are just the worst.

“I’m happy to help.” I tell her quickly and take up residence next to the puppy’s head to hold him still.

“Thank you.” She replies quietly while concentrating on rubbing some brown cleaner across each wound.

I can’t help but watch her as she focuses on removing all four bb’s and placing them into a metal bowl. She’s so effortlessly beautiful and incredibly adorable as she works on the dog who seems to be feeling so much better with the medication and fluids that he has received. She sews up each wound quickly and efficiently. The pup seems to be almost as captivated by her as I am. When she’s done, he even attempts to wag his tail for her. Dr. Miller explains that he will need a flea and tick bath before she can dress the wounds because he has several fleas on him and she doesn’t want them getting into the incisions.

“Mr. Syverson, I hate to keep you from your day. Would you want to just come back for him in a little while? I have to do an exam on a yorkie with diabetes but then I’ll bathe him on my break and get his wounds dressed.”

“Sugar?” I ask.

“I’m sorry, pardon?” She responds a bit flustered.

I smirk as I see the blush tinting her cheeks. “The yorkie. Is it named Sugar?”

“Oh! Yes! Someone you know?”

“My grandma’s neighbor, Mrs. Clayton, has a yappy little yorkie named Sugar and I believe I overheard that it has diabetes.”

“Yes, well that would be her.” She smirks back.

“I don’t mind waiting with the little guy. Is it alright if I stay and help you bathe him? Since your short staffed and all?” I ask with my most charming smile.

Her beaming grin tells me all I need to know. “Sure, Mr. Syverson. Can you give me about twenty minutes?”

“Only if you’ll call me Austin or Sy. Mr. Syverson is my pawpaw.” I say with a grin.

“Alright Austin. I’m going to leave you with some wet food on the table for this little fellow, but can I trust you to only give him small amounts slowly? We don’t know when his last meal was so we don’t want to overwhelm his belly.”

“Yes ma’am.” I mock salute at her with two fingers and she giggles when she leaves the exam room. I swear the moment she did I was a goner. I need to find a way to hear that giggle more.

“Well little guy, it looks as though we are helping each other out, huh? You ain’t the only one broken and battered.” I say as I give the dog a small plastic spoonful of wet dog food that he almost swallows hole.

“What should I call you?” I hypothesize aloud while the pup continues eating sloppily from the spoon I’m holding.

“Since Dr. Miller here patched you up, how about Miller? We can call you Mills for short. What do you think about that? I like it.”

Emma finally returns to the exam room and is happy to see that the Mills has eaten the food I gave him and kept it all down. Due to the food, medications, and fluids he received you can already tell a slight difference in his demeanor.

“Let’s get you all cleaned up, shall we?” She says while carefully picking him up and carrying him to the back of the building before pausing. “You coming, Austin?” She asks.

God, I hope I will be soon. I think before I rush over to open the exam door for her and follow her to the back.

“You know, I’m breaking rules by letting you back here so don’t make me regret it.” She says to me teasingly as she carefully sets Mills into a large stainless-steel sink and begins to bathe him with medicated shampoo.

“You don’t have to worry about me, Dr. Miller.”

“No, if I have to call you Austin, you have to call me Emma. It’s only fair.”

“Well, Emma is a beautiful name so that will be easy. If you don’t mind my asking, where are you from? We haven’t had a new vet in town since Dr. Robinson came and that was probably ten years ago.” I watch as Emma carefully removes three ticks from his fur and want to outwardly cringe. Ticks are the devil’s bug.

“I’m from Alabama. I’ve only been in Texas for about a month but just started working in the office this last week.” She tells me as she very carefully continues to clean Mills.

“What brought you all the way out here? Did your husband get transferred out here or something?”

She side eyes my question with a smirk. “Nope, just the job. No husband or kids. No boyfriend either in case that was your next question.” She remarks sarcastically.

My stomach flips with excitement even though she caught on to what I was really fishing for.

“Well, I’m certainly glad you’re here. For Mills’ health needs of course.” I add quickly while gesturing to the pup.

“Mills?”

“Yup. Short for Miller, after the doctor who’s taking care of him.”

Her cheeks blush bright red as she runs a flea comb gently through his fur. “Well aren’t you just the charmer. I’m surprised Janet didn’t warn me about you. She’s been clueing me in on pretty much the entire town.”

“Ah, good ole’ Janet. She knows there’s no need to warn you about me. She’s known me since I was in diapers so that should tell you enough about my character if she didn’t warn you off.”

“That’s good to know. So, are you planning on keeping little Mills? Or are you wanting us to adopt him out once he’s all healed?”

“Oh, I plan on keeping him if that’s alright. As long as my girl, Aika, is okay with it I’ll keep him. Can’t imagine sending him off to a stranger after what he’s already been through.”

“Well, if your girlfriend isn’t on board with keeping him just let us know and we can see about arranging a foster for him until he’s able to be put up for adoption.” She says while stepping a little further away from me.

Girlfriend? Oh dumbass, you made her think Aika is your girlfriend.

“Aika’s my German Shepard. I don’t have a wife, kids, or a girlfriend either.” I said poking fun at her sarcastic comment from earlier.

Emma grins but just continues to rinse Mills off. She notices that one of his paws looks a bit swollen but she can’t find any cuts or wounds so she thinks it may just be bruised from trying to run from his abuser.

Once we get him dried off, I hold his head again for her to clean and dress the wounds on his side and I’m dreading leaving.

“So, I’ll need to see little Mills in 3 days to check his wounds and remove the stitches. I need you to clean and redress the wounds one time a day like I’ve shown you. I’ve got his medication and antibiotics here and a couple of cans of that wet food that you fed him earlier. I recommend continuing to feed it to him slowly so that his tummy doesn’t get upset. Nobody likes waking up to a dog throwing up or having diarrhea in the house. If he does okay with that food we can discuss increasing his food intake at the next appointment. Do you have any questions, Austin?”

“Just one. Can I get your number, Emma? You know, in case I have questions about your prodigy, Little Mills, here.” I add with a smirk.

“I’m sure you have the number for the vet’s office.” She smirks.

“That I do, but I’d like yours as well, please.” I ask with my most convincing smile.

“Alright, alright. Just don’t advertise it. The last thing I need is people like Mrs. Clayton calling me after hours.” She concedes with a giggle and I can’t help my boisterous laughter at the last part.

“Nobody wants someone like Mrs. Clayton calling them all the time. That woman would talk to a wall just to hear her own voice.” I hand her my phone and she quickly types her number and I save it under “Mills’ Future Mama” and smirk to myself.

I pay and make the next appointment for Mills and then head to the local pet store for a collar, leash, dog bed, and more dog food. Luckily, Mills sleeps on the ride home and I can’t decide if he’s finally realized I’m not going to hurt him or if he’s still drowsy from the effects of the meds he received. I head home and send Alex an update that I’ll be back at the site tomorrow.

When I get home, I bring everything inside before carrying Mills over to Aika and carefully introducing him. After the initial excitement wears off, Aika heads outside to the backyard and I’m relieved that she seems to accept him. She’s always been such a good dog so hopefully I can rely on her to show our little rookie around and teach him our routines.

I go about showering and eating dinner, but I can’t seem to get my mind off Emma. I obviously want to play it cool but she has infiltrated my mind to the point where I just can’t think of anything else. I know this is a bad idea but I can't stop myself. I decide to take a picture of Mills in his little bed and text it to her.

Sy: <attached image>

Mills’ Future Mama: I’m glad to see my namesake is adjusting to his new life. I take it that his sibling accepts him?

Mills’ Future Mama: Also, you’re lucky I opened that picture text. Typically receiving a picture from an unknown number is never a good thing 😖

Sy: Sounds like your mind is in the gutter or you have some seriously unhinged acquaintances, darlin. Aika has accepted him into the pack without hesitation.

Mills’ Future Mama: More like, men are nasty and will take any opportunity to send an unsolicited dick pic to even the most unwilling recipients. Glad you found the little guy. He seems right at home.

Sy: He is. You should come visit him sometime.

Mills’ Future Mama: Why would I do that when he’ll be in my office in three days?

Sy: Maybe to see his owner?

Mills’ Future Mama: I’d imagine his daddy will be the one bringing him back to my office though?

Sy: Alright then, how about I make you some dinner at my place? Say tomorrow at 5pm?

Mills’ Future Mama: Make it 5:30 and I’ll be there. Just know I’ll be sending your information to my best friend in case you try and murder me.

Sy: What type of people were you surrounded by in Alabama? 🤨

Mills’ Future Mama: I was actually in a super safe town. Just watch too many crime shows to make careless mistakes.

Sy: Smart lady. You can tell whoever you want, darlin’. I’ve got nothing to hide and I appreciate a woman who has some self-preservation skills.

Mills’ Future Mama: Trust me, I’m very skilled at many things. 😜

Sy: Damn woman, I’m trying my best to be a gentleman here. It’s not fair to tease me.

Mills’ Future Mama: Not teasing. Just stating facts. 🙃

Sy: Tomorrow can’t get here soon enough. Here’s my address. Any food allergies?

Mills’ Future Mama: Nope! I’ll bring dessert. I’m interested to test your cooking prowess.

Sy: You’re killing me.

Mills’ Future Mama: See you tomorrow!

Part 2

Taglist: @shellyshellshell @henryownsme @caramariehurst @beck07990 @mollymal

[huramuna]

banshee's lament - chapter 3.

aemond targaryen x stark ofc minor jacaerys velaryon x stark ofc masterlist prev | next

a former ward of alicent hightower and aemond's childhood companion, shera stark, returns to king's landing after ten years. ten years after the incident at driftmark that left her and aemond permanently disfigured. after so many years apart, shera and aemond are almost strangers. almost.

shera's voice sounds like blue diamond in this clip. a soft, dreamy whisper.

wordcount: 4.3k

@huramuna-fics - follow & turn on notifications for just my fic postings! no taglists right now, sorry.

content: smut, angst, fluff, disabled ofc, aemond being delulu & obsessive, major canon divergence, ofc has a service direwolf, i'm taking canon rules and putting them in a blender and taking a shot, arranged marriage, graphic depictions of violence

story playlist

Shera didn’t waste much time getting back to her chambers. She was overwhelmed, confused and overall exhausted— and the day wasn’t even over yet. She chewed on the inside of her cheek as she padded the stone to her rooms, hoping to the Gods, the old and the new, that someone wouldn’t stop and speak to her. 

“A bath, please,” Shera asked the chambermaids hastily once she reached her solar. “Scorching, as hot as possible. And… my oils, from my chest— if you please…”

They brought in the large copper tub and filled it with hot water, all the way near the top until Shera could see the wisps of steam billowing from it. The maids poured in vials of oil that she brought with her from Winterfell— lavender oil, rosemary oil and sweet honeysuckle oil. The concoction swirled into a lovely light purple color. 

“Will you need help undressing, miss?” one of the maids asked. 

“N-no,” she murmured. “Thank you— you may go. Return just before sunset.” 

Then she was alone. She could finally breathe. Wasting no time undressing, she shed her veil and choker and outer layers until she met the hard exterior of her corset. Fuck. Mayhaps she should’ve asked for help. Unwilling to call them back in, she grabbed a cheese knife from the small dining table near the balcony, slitting through the bindings of the corset like a lovely aged bleu. 

Moongeist nosed the latch to the balcony, prompting Shera to open it and let in the breeze from the sea. Nude at last, she all but jumped into the bath, which to her delight, was still scorching. She watched as the wolf sat on the terrace, nose poking out through the stone barrier. He took in the scent of the sea, the salty spray and lingering aroma of toiling waves— and of course, barked at a few seagulls. 

Her bones relaxed as she unpinned her hair, tossing the pins astray into the room— to either be stepped on later, or never found again. Shera let out an audible sigh, feeling her skin soften from the oils. This was the pinnacle of her days— she was very fond of baths and made her own bath oils. She loved the warmth, the enveloping heat of the water soothing her worry. It was like the most comfortable of blankets and she loved to get clean, to be clean. It was a ritual and a must for her to have a bath at least every other day. 

Her love for baths started because of Helaena, she supposed. When Shera arrived in King’s Landing all those years ago for the first time, she was a grimy and dirty child, wild to the bone, and detested baths. The maids didn’t know what to do with her, until they bathed Helaena and Shera together. They weren’t far apart in age at the time, Helaena being the polar opposite of Shera— but somehow she reeled her into normalcy. The princess would bring her wooden toys into the bath, much to the chagrin of her mother, and play with Shera, blow bubbles and tell stories. It was odd to everyone around them, as the two seemingly switched personalities when they bathed together. Helaena, usually a quiet child, would tell grandiose stories, while Shera would sit quietly, giving her complete and rapt attention to the princess. 

The girls bathed together until they were both eight and ten years of age respectively, but even then, they would be in the room with one another while they did— reading books out loud, gossiping, or just sitting in silence, enjoying one another’s presence. 

Shera’s undoubted companion in the Keep was Aemond, but she had a very close and special friendship with Helaena— a friendship that the both of them very much missed, subconsciously. It wasn’t as huge of a blow to Shera as losing Aemond, as the Lady of Winterfell and the Princess frequently wrote one another throughout the ten years apart. It was one of the only reasons Shera wasn’t completely mad. But, even so, letters can only do so much, can’t they? 

As much as she loathed this marriage and the ramifications of it… she would still be closer to her family, her real family, upon Dragonstone than in Winterfell. She laid in the bath until the water went cool, her mind wandering back to the encounter in the Godswood. Why would Daemon speak to her and with such a… driven attitude? What did he want? 

Her thoughts continued to flow, a finger tracing patterns in the mingling oils that lived atop the water. Did Helaena still like baths? If she so asked, would they be able to bathe together like old times? 

No– that would require… forgoing her veil and choker. Even if it was Helaena– she doesn’t know if she could truly bare herself to her– to anyone.

—

The hours stretched on until dinner, Shera pacing back and forth, working herself up to a point where Moongeist tugged on her sleeve with his teeth as an indication to calm down.

The maids who’d been assigned to her flittered around her like a flock of ptarmigan hens, pleading with her to let them dress her. She shied away from their touch, only allowing them to dress her in a new corset and skirts. 

She stayed in her veil, accentuating it with a few strings of pearls so mayhaps she wouldn’t look so haunting– a hope that always went unfounded, people found her so very terrifying either way.

Shera preferred to wear dark, muted colors and always had on some item of fur upon her; tonight’s being a gorgeous black and white mink stole, which Cregan had gifted her for her seventeenth name day four years ago. It was accompanied with one of her newly tailored dresses, one she sewed herself just a few moons ago and making some last minute alterations on the journey to King’s Landing. It was black lace, falling down to her feet and dragging behind her like a ghostly shadow. Coupled with a laced black veil, she looked in the mirror. 

The maid behind her glanced at her warily. “Are… are you in mourning, Lady Stark?” she asked timidly. 

“... no?” Shera blinked, taking in her appearance from her reflection. Ah. So, this is why people consist with the ‘Banshee’ title. Shrugging her shoulders, she wrapped the stole around her snugly

Letting Moongeist guide her to the dining hall, to which he followed the smell of roasting meats, she mentally prepared herself. Princess Rhaenyra was to attend, and with Rhaenyra was her brood of children and her rogue husband and the extended clutch of hatchlings– Baela and Rhaena amongst them. She felt sickly at the fact that she would be seeing the twins again, the former of whom was who disfigured her.

Walking into the chamber, the music was in full swing and everyone was already seated. Had she really been so late? All eyes turned to her and Shera scanned them with a bowed head, the tips of her fingers shaking as she locked gazes with Baela. A reminder of the pain that she’d caused, how she wielded the knife that cut Shera’s throat and blinded her in one eye. 

The wolf to Shera’s side let out the tiniest of whines, pushing Shera towards the table, and her seat between Helaena and Alicent– thank the Gods for small mercies. Although, she was directly across from Aemond, who hadn’t even blinked since she entered the room. 

“Oh, it's so good to have you here again, my dear,” Alicent hummed, taking one of Shera’s hands into her own. The queen was so warm, where Shera was cold. “It is just like old times, hm?”

“Beautiful pup, Shera,” Helaena whispered to her, a hand outstretched to Moongeist. “You see so well through him.” she cooed, a smile plastering upon her lips as the wolf licked her open palm.

“Yes… old times,” Shera responded softly, adjusting her veil. She looked to Helaena, who returned with a knowing gaze. “Hel?” she murmured, lower than usual. 

“Yes, dovey?” 

“… I’ve missed you dearly.” Shera whispered, offering her hand to the princess— to which they interlocked fingers. The two separately were considered touch-averse, with Shera shying away from touch and Helaena cringing at it. But the two had a deeper understanding of one another, it seemed. They always had, their bond only outshined by Shera and Aemond’s. 

But now, it’d be different, wouldn’t it? Aemond was a hot and cold mess to Shera— but Helaena welcomed her like no time had passed. It made her chest ache in a nostalgic way, tears threatening to spill. The good thing about her veil is that no one could see her cry. The whole day had been terribly overwhelming, taut with too many people wanting something from her, needing her to be someone she didn’t wish to be— is this how Helaena felt when she was married to Aegon? 

Tears did fall and Shera let them drip down her face, sinking and sliding from the mink stole to her legs. Helaena tugged on her hand. “Don’t cry, dragonfly,” she hummed. “Dance with me?” 

Shera blinked the tears away, even though they were replaced by new ones right away. “I… would love to. I will not be the most coordinated, though— will you guide me?” 

“Always.” the princess replied, pulling Shera from her chair and guiding her with a gentle hand to the space in the hall set aside for dancing. The music was lively and jaunty, with a lovely tune strummed from a fiddle, accompanied with a wooden flute. Helaena placed a hand on Shera’s waist, then kept their other hands interlocked. “Put your hand on my shoulder. I will lead— you can pretend I’m a gallant knight.” 

Shera snorted a giggle. “I do not want to dance with a gallant knight,” she mused as they began to sway. Helaena kept her upright and indeed took the lead, allowing Shera to stay close and follow her movements. “I want to dance with the butterfly princess.” 

“Ah, the butterfly princess!” Helaena cooed. “I suppose that can be arranged. What will that make you? Oh— my little wolf spider.” she giggled in return. 

It was the first time the entire day, mayhaps the entire fortnight, that Shera felt… happy. She felt weightless dancing with Helaena and felt like crying again— damn the emotions. “Please don’t leave me, Hela,” she murmured, almost silently through garbled tears. “I’ve been so alone.” 

Helaena led the dance off to the further corner of the room where they would have more privacy to speak, still swaying. “I wouldn’t leave you, Shera. The wolf spider’s been so alone— so alone in the cold,” she hushed. “Now you’ve come back to play with the dragonflies and the butterflies— but we must watch out for the birds, the black tailed magpies, and oh, the hawks and gulls, my sweet.”

“May I steal Lady Stark for a dance, sister?” Aemond suddenly cut in, so silent in his approach that Shera hadn’t even heard him at all.

“I don’t know,” Helaena looked to Shera. “Say the word, and I shall release a clutch of spiders into his bedchamber.” she whispered lowly, as if telling a secret. 

Shera cracked a smile. “It’s alright, Hela. If he is untoward, Moongeist shall bite him.” 

Helaena embraced her once more before giving her brother a mock threatening glance. Aemond swiftly replaced her, putting his hands on Shera’s waist. It felt… different. Different from how Helaena had them, and how Daemon had touched her earlier in the Godswood. It wasn’t friendly, nor slimy— it made her want to turn tail and run away, but it also made her chest warm, heart thumping like a rabbit’s. 

“My lady.” he greeted, putting one hand on her lower back to help her posture. “I do hope you won’t sic your dog upon me– yet.”

“My prince,” Shera responded, looking up at him. “Mayhaps I won’t, we shall see.”

“Does it haunt you? That they’re all here in one room?” he leaned down to whisper, swaying back and forth to the music, albeit a bit rigidly. He wasn’t nearly as good of a dancer as Helaena.

“I am always haunted,” she echoed, blinking slowly. She wondered if he could really see her face under her veil. He was looking so intensely at her and she was unsure if he was putting her together or picking her apart in his mind. “Are you?” 

“It’s an agitation, like a brood of mosquitoes.” Aemond answered gruffly, looking away from her now. He wasn’t telling the whole truth, she noted. His lone pupil wavered, looking everywhere but at her.

“Do you have nightmares about it?” she asked, fingers prickling under one of the buckles of his doublet absentmindedly. “I haven’t outgrown them. Not even after this long.” 

He scoffed. “Nightmares? I’m not a child.” 

Liar. Liar. Liar.

The servers interrupted as they began to serve the first course— Aemond helped guide Shera back to her seat. 

“Thank you for the dance.” she murmured as he pushed in her seat. 

“Hm.” 

The dinner continued, Shera staying quiet while she prodded at her food. She preferred to eat alone and only ate enough, slipping it under her veil to not seem rude. Cregan was having a jolly time down the table, talking the ear off of Jacaerys. Baela and Rhaena were whispering to one another, as were Rhaenyra and Daemon. Shera’s skin crawled as she stole looks at the four of them– the twins hadn’t said a word to her, nor did it seem they would, merely whispering like mice. Aegon had excused himself after the first course was served and did not return. Aemond remained staring at Shera the entire time.

Blinking, Shera stared back at him finally, raising her head to lock gazes with him. The subtle shift of her veil indicated she had cocked her brow, as if to say ‘Why are you staring?’

The motion wasn’t lost on Aemond, as they fell back into their own silent communications that they were so well versed in as children. He cracked his knuckles and rolled his shoulders, responding in kind, ‘You know why.’

Alicent stood up, “I would like to propose a toast– to the return of our beloved Shera, as well as the visit of her brother and warden of the North, Cregan Stark. I cannot imagine it was an easy journey, but we are so blessed that you’ve made it, especially to finalize something that has… been in the making for a few years,” she held up her cup of wine, to which everyone else held up theirs, including Aemond. “Princess Rhaenyra, Cregan and I have been in much talk of betrothals and the like. I would like to announce, formally, the betrothal of Shera Stark,” she paused, taking a breath, “And Jacaerys Velaryon.”

Shera’s breath caught in her throat, her nails sinking into the soft of her palm. She focused solely on Alicent, even if she could feel the searing brand of Aemond’s stare on her. She refused to look, she couldn’t— 

But her sole eye betrayed her, her head turning ever so slightly to gauge Aemond’s reaction. He looked like a statue, his lone pupil narrowed to a slit, like a dragon’s. His hands were placed together dutifully, but the veins near his knuckles were bulging with strain, the fervor of what could only be described as fury coursed through him. The look in his violet iris scared the hells out of Shera. ‘Twas only a moment they locked gazes, but she felt, she saw the barely contained rage, the burning of the city and beyond from Vhagar’s back— 

And then it was gone, as if the candle of ferocity had been snuffed out. He sat up straight, giving Shera one last eyebrow raise before turning his attention solely to his mother. It terrified her how quickly he was able to turn it off, to bury deep as if it never existed at all. 

Perhaps she had imagined it. Surely she did– he didn’t have such a volatile temper as a child, if she could remember correctly.

Clearing her throat, she raised her glass higher as Alicent finished the announcement, gesturing in Jacaerys’ direction, who did the same in return to her. She wasn’t thrilled about the prospect of living upon Dragonstone, nor did she feel she was fit to be the wife of Rhaenyra’s heir. But, ‘twas the way of things. 

She thought Jace, as he had insisted she call him, was well and fine. He was a bit taller than she with a boyish charm and curled brown locks. Their few meetings as adults, where he had so gallantly rode all the way up to Winterfell upon his dragon, he always kissed her hand and smiled at her. It was easy to forget that he was a part of her and Aemond’s maiming when she turned her mind off and became the little puppet Lady that she was supposed to be— but then she would wake up crying in the middle of the night, begging for them not to kill her—

“I would like to propose a toast,” Aemond’s voice cut through Shera’s thoughts like a sharpened blade, the horrid screeching of his swiftly kicked out chair causing her to cringe. “A toast— to our lovely banshee, and her strong husband-to-be. I do hope that Jacaerys is keen on sleeping on the floor whilst a dog warms his wife’s furs– and let us pray for Shera’s health once they ruminate over Dragonstone. Do you still get sea sick, my lady? I cannot imagine a wolf gaining sea legs any time soon.” 

“It’s none of your business, uncle–,” Jace countered, pushing back from his chair to stand.

“Aemond, don’t,” Alicent hissed quietly, gripping her goblet with an iron fist. 

“I’m merely expressing my joy for their coming union, mother. Seems the issue is a bit touchy, hm, Jacaerys?” Aemond’s mouth twitched into a toothy smile, but it was nothing of joy. It was like the open maw of a dragon, daring anyone to walk near, lest they be snapped into smithereens. 

Jacaerys walked a bit closer to Aemond, his hackles equally raised in a challenge. Shera’s observation of the two was quickly surmised; Jace was soft where Aemond was razor-edged. A fight between them would be of little challenge. The underlying rage in Aemond was apparent once more, simmering and bubbling in the pot, threatening to boil over and scald everyone within his reach. His words didn’t sound like he was about to fly off the handle– he was in complete control of every carefully placed barb, every pause in his speech was intentional for added dramatics, to piss off Jace– and Shera, it seemed.

“Do you really expect your nuptials to be fruitful, nephew? Have you ever seen her without her veil? I must say,” Aemond nodded his head toward Shera’s direction as he got closer to Jace, whispering in his ear as if not to let anyone else in on their conversation– Shera heard, though. “I’m quite curious myself– do you think that our dear cousin’s blade,” his lone eye looked to Baela, who was arm-in-arm with Rhaena, Daemon looming behind them like the Dragonmont itself, “Was sharp enough, for a clean cut? Mayhaps it’s a mangled mess under there. Best to keep the covering on for your wedding night, hm?”

“I dare you to say that again,” Jacaerys growled, his hand itching as he flexed and unflexed his fist. “You can say what you’d like about me, but you shall hold your tongue before my betrothed.” 

“Jace,” Shera murmured lowly, feeling for Moongeist as she got up from her own chair, shaking. The wolf pressed to her leg, guiding her to where Jacaerys was at arm's length. She put a gentle hand on his shoulder, whilst trying to quell the quiver of her bones, while keeping her eye upon Aemond. “‘Twas merely a jest– in poor taste… but a jest.” she had her head lowered diminutively, biting the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood. Sure, the ‘jest’, as it was, hurt immensely to her already fragile psyche– but she had to keep a level head, especially here. 

Still holding his own goblet, Aemond’s nostrils flared as he watched Shera caress Jace, as if they were truly close. The tip of his brow twitched as he hardened his jaw, lowering his cup and proverbial feathers, remembering himself, remembering where he was. “A jest— of course. Though, I never was the jester of our group, was I? Once upon a time, it’d been you, Jacaerys.” the second son exhaled, eye still trained on Shera. But he approached Jace, hand outstretched. “Congratulations.” he said, his voice clipped. Once again, the rage had been shoved deep down and quelled for the time being.

Jace tentatively took his hand, nodding slowly. “Thank you, uncle,” he squeezed Aemond’s hand before pulling back. “You’re better with a blade than a joke, that is for certain.”

“Mayhaps we shall spar sometime, then?” Aemond suggested. Everyone in the room knew it was a chance for him to kick Jace into the dirt like he desperately wished to do presently. 

“Yes– on the morrow, uncle,” Jacaerys nodded. “Lord Stark should join us, yes? Let’s make a proper gauntlet out of it, then.”

Shera’s hand, in turn, retreated from Jace’s shoulder as she rested a hand on Moongeist’s head. Turning to Alicent, who looked on the edge of an anxious breakdown. “Thank you for the dinner, your grace. I am… feeling quite faint, so I fear I must retire,” Shera whispered, curtsying as best she could. Turning to Rhaenyra and Daemon, she bowed her head. “Princess, prince.” 

Rhaenyra gave a wry smile. “Feel better soon, dear.” 

Daemon said nothing, just nodding his head as his finger traced the rim of his cup. 

“Allow me to escort you, sister,” Cregan was at her side in an instant. 

“It’s not nec—,” 

“I insist.” 

It wasn’t a lie— Shera did feel quite faint from the events and excitement. Letting Moongeist guide her, she escaped the dining hall mostly unscathed, despite feeling a gnawing pain in the pit of her stomach. 

Keep the covering on during your wedding night– mayhaps it's a mangled mess under there.

“O-okay,” she responded monotonously, as if she wasn’t even in control of her own body, her own words. 

Cregan held her in his steady grip, guiding her out of the hall. He was quiet until they entered Maegor’s holdfast. “Dragons are quite tempestuous, aren’t they?” he began.

“… yes.” 

“Your childhood companion— the prince— he certainly had a lot of great things to say about you, didn’t he?” 

“… Cregan.” 

“Listen to me, Shera,” he said as they entered her chambers. “They’re not your friends— not anymore. They’re strangers to you.” 

“But—,” 

“They don’t know you anymore, they only knew who you used to be.” 

And you’re a shell of who you used to be. But that was left unsaid. 

“You shan’t waste your tears any longer on them, on him,” he continued. “And do not give me that look, don’t think I don’t hear you crying at night.” 

“Mayhaps I cry at night because you shoved me into something I am unfit for!” Shera shouted, her voice cracking, followed by a hiss of pain. Something I do not wish for. Jacaerys helped make me this way, Cregan. Don’t you care? Does it matter more than your fucking oath?

Cregan wanted to bite back, but instead furrowed his brow. “Are you alright? Shall I fetch a maester?” 

“N-no…” she whimpered, her voice broken and full of gravel. She pressed a hand to her throat, swallowing a cough. “… tea.” 

“Of course,” Cregan murmured, guiding his sister to sit on the loveseat near the fire. “I’ll get a maid… and… and the tea.” 

Shera nodded, watching him leave. She didn’t care for the pain, even if it felt like someone was dragging a brush of thorns inside of her throat— she felt like she was falling apart at the seams mentally, akin to her old mended dresses, the threads wilting and falling away. 

She felt lost. Lost in the fact that… she wasn’t sure she belonged anywhere. They thought her not cut out for Northern life from her delicate sensibilities— and she wasn’t cut out for King’s Landing for the same reason, except it wasn’t the physical environment, but the barbed tongues, the venomed words, the games of the mind. 

She didn’t belong. 

Would it even matter if she wasn’t part of the equation? Rhaenyra would get her alliance with the North somehow, Cregan would fulfill his oath, Jacaerys would have a number of other betrothal options. 

It mattered not that she was here. 

Didn’t it?

Keep the covering on during your wedding night– mayhaps it's a mangled mess under there.

Her jaw clenched all night as she nursed her tea to soothe her throat– but every other part of her was purely on fire. The one person in the entirety of this Gods forsaken world who knew what she felt, what she went through– the one other person who was there, who was on her side, who she… she lost everything for– was keen to jest at her disfigurement. 

She stood up from her chair, hours after Cregan had left her, throwing the porcelain at the wall. The teacup smashed into bits and pieces and she sunk her teeth into her own lip until she tasted copper. The kettle was next, hocked upon the mantle of the fireplace as it too, split apart. 

I want to go home. I want to go home. I want to go home.

Her damaged vocal cords mustered her wails they best they could, forlorn and haunting and low– 

Where was home? She wanted to go home, home– but she didn’t belong anywhere. Where was her home? 

The banshee yowled like a creature with a broken leg, echoing against the walls, ever enclosing.

[skyfallslayer]

Scorched Earth || Masterlist

-John Wick x Daughter!OFC-

Main Masterlist

❤️‍🔥 Summary: Legendary Assassin, John Wick, has retired from his violent career, and married the love of his life. From that love came a child, and then from that love came death. Now, a sadistic mobster, Losef Tarasov, and his thugs steal John’s prized car, kill his dog, and kidnap his daughter, Analiah. From there is the tipping point that draws John back into a vengeful killing machine. While all this is going on, Losef’s father, and John’s former colleague, puts a bounty on his head.

❤️‍🔥 Pairings: John Wick x Daughter!OFC

❤️‍🔥 Rating: Mature

❤️‍🔥 Warnings: At the beginning of each chapter

❤️‍🔥 Word Count: N/A

❤️‍🔥 Start Date: N/A

❤️‍🔥 End Date: N/A

❤️‍🔥 A/N: This story's been on the backburner for a while. Hopefully this turns out better than I expected, but will see. Enjoy my rewrite of all the John Wick movies :)

-INDEX-

✏️ Movie 1 -

✏️ Chapter 1: No Rhyme or Reason (Coming Soon)

✏️ Chapter 2: One Way Ticket To Death (Coming Soon)

✏️ Chapter 3: The Boogeyman (Coming Soon)

✏️ Chapter 4: Hotel In The Shadows (Coming Soon)

✏️ Chapter 5: Escape The Circle (Coming Soon)

✏️ Chapter 6: An Eye For An Eye (Coming Soon)

✏️ Chapter 7: Reunion (Coming Soon)

✏️ Chapter 8: Unfinished Business (Coming Soon)

🐶 Movie 2 -

⏱️Movie 3 -

🔪Movie 4 -

-Taglist is open-

@si1versamurai @scream-queen-25 @girlypopsiclcentral @thereeallink

[mementos-of-me]

Evermore

Chapter 20. Cherry

Previous chapter

Masterlist

Hi friends! Apologies for the wait on this chapter but I hope you enjoy nonetheless <33

pairing: Pietro Maximoff x OFC

warnings: tooth-rotting fluff, Pietro and Nadia being Pietro and Nadia, some spice (only a little: like half a chili pepper), cursing, jealous Pietro.

The sound of running water filled my ears before I turned off the bathroom tap, drying my hands and face. When I put the towel down Pietro was leaning against the doorframe signature smirk across his lips.

“What?”

He shook his head, pushing off the wall to approach me. His hands braced on the counter, and he pulled us both forward so that I was pressed between him and the vanity. I could feel his breath on the side of my face as he leaned down toward me. He pressed a kiss to my cheekbone before turning my face by the chin to look at him. “This is all I can think about.” Before I could respond he was planting a scorching kiss against my lips, pressing me more firmly to the bench. The warmth that was always emanating from his body pressed into my back through the fabric of our clothes as he kissed down my neck, nipping at my shoulder. I leaned my head to the side giving him better access. Pietro’s hands squeezed my hips, one moving to the front to fiddle with the hemline of my t-shirt. My heart was racing as his hand slipped beneath the fabric, smoothing across my stomach and up my ribs to rest just below my bra. “Is this what you want?” He murmured against my ear as I threw my head back. “You want me to touch you?” I felt incapable of words then. Pietro turned me to face him swiftly before lifting me and slipping me onto the bench behind us, his body pressed to mine as he stood between my legs. “Tell me what you want, Prinţesă.” In a moment of confidence, I lifted my shirt over my head, tossing it across the room and grabbing his hand to place it over my heart that was thrumming in my chest. He moved impossibly closer, his hand sliding to cup my breast over my bra, his lips were on me again almost instantly, trailing wet kisses down my collarbone and sternum.

“I want- I want…” He spread my legs, falling to his knees between them and that was when I woke up, launching upright in bed and clenching the duvet to my chest. “What the fuck?” I muttered to myself running a hand through my hair. I could not believe I had just dreamed that I must have been going insane. Try as I might it seemed impossible to part with the images that had invaded my slumber, a cold shower didn’t even do the trick.

I resolved that perhaps a run was in order to clear my head. Dressed and prepared to head off, I yanked the door to my room open rushing swiftly into the hall only to walk directly into someone. The collision almost had me stumbling but two warm hands holding my upper arms righted me. Pietro smiled sweetly at me and apparently that was enough to set my heart racing. “Good morning, Nadia, wherever are you off to in such a rush?” I swallowed hard as I looked at him, his hair was damp as though he’d just gotten out of the shower, he wore a blue and white crewneck sweatshirt, and it was enough to make me lightheaded. I was irritated, to say the least at my body’s ridiculous reaction to him.

“I… was going to go for a run.” It was quiet and didn’t sound anything like me. He furrowed his eyebrows a little.

“Is everything alright?” I nodded quickly, side-stepping him with a clenched jaw. The soft look in his eyes was too much to bear right now. “Liar.” He snickered, following closely behind me. “What’s wrong?”

I shrugged, not looking back at him but apparently that wouldn’t fly with him. He took ahold of my wrist gently, spinning me to face him and taking a step closer. I sighed exasperatedly. “Nothing’s wrong, really, I’m just tired.” I managed a little smile to appease him, though it came easier than I’d expected. It faltered, however, when he moved ever closer. He reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, the corner of his lips upturned in the whisper of an earnest smile. He leaned down and kissed me softly, just once before pulling away. I leaned up, chasing his lips with my own and kissing him again.

“So, I’m assuming we’re still on the same page about the boyfriend, girlfriend thing?” My smile returned, brighter now as I nodded at him. “Good, glad we cleared that up.” His lips were on mine once again and I breathed a laugh against them. “You’re going for a run?”

I said yes.

He hummed. “Okay, I’ll come with you.” I tensed slightly, images of him pressed against me flickered through my mind. “… Or I don’t have to if you don’t want?”

God why was he so fucking considerate?!

“No, I do want you to!” I almost cringed at my words. Pietro raised an eyebrow at me. “I do want you to come with me.”

“You’re being very strange.” He hadn’t let up on me. From the door of my bedroom and the duration of our run he’d pestered me, encouraging me to tell him what was bothering me. “Please, draga mea.” My darling. I only ran faster. A streak whirled past me before stopping in my path. Pietro crossed his arms over his chest, watching me expectantly. I raised an eyebrow at him. “Tell me what’s going on.” He spoke firmly.

My hands fell over my hips, and I narrowed my eyes at the man before me. “I told you nothing is going on.”

That little smart-ass smirk made a home on his lips, and he took a step closer to me. “And I think you’re full of shit, so let’s try it again.”

“Or what?” I bit back. “What will you do?”

My sass had his smirk doubling in size, his eyes narrowing for a moment, before flickering down to my hands that remained settled on my hips. He crossed the space between us, stopping right in front of me. “What would you like me to do, Prinţesă?”

The moment he spoke that word my heart skipped, mind unable to stop thinking about his lips all over me. I dug my fingers into my sides, attempting to steel myself.

“You’re pissing me off.”

“Par for the course at this point, and you’re the one who wanted to be my girlfriend so...” He shrugged, eyes dipping to my lips momentarily. I couldn’t handle this proximity. There was the slightest sheen of sweat on his forehead and his hair had become tousled by the wind, falling a little messily around his eyes. “Tell me.” He urged yet again.

“Jesus Christ, Pietro! I just had a strange dream, alright?!”

He looked indescribably pleased with himself. “Okay.” He nodded. “Was it about me?” The tone he took was nothing if not teasing, an attempt to rile me up, lighten the tension but my brain seemed content to short-circuit the moment he’d spoken those words. My unwitting hesitation certainly did not go unnoticed by him and before I could defend myself, he was speaking again. “Oh my god, it absolutely was!” He was positively beaming at me then.

“No! No, it had nothing to do with you, idiot!”

“Was it dirty? What was I doing in the dream? Was I as handsome as I am in real life?” I groaned, pushing past him and picking up my pace again. “You’re going to have to run faster than that.” He appeared before me again, running backward so he could continue to taunt me. “Walk me through it, play-by-play, spare no detail. Was it the first time you’d dreamt of me? It must have been some dream for you to be acting so weird after.”

I shook my head, settling on ignoring him now. This only seemed to please him though, there was no winning here. He put his hands out to stop me once more. I rolled my eyes heavily, crossing my arms over my chest. “I’m getting sick of this conversation very quickly.”

“Okay, okay, just one more question and I’ll drop it.”

“Fine! What?” I asked exasperatedly.

“What were we doing in your dream?”

His voice dropped as he spoke; I swallowed heavily feeling a little light-headed. This was not okay, I wasn’t about to let him have all the power so I shifted gears, letting my weight fall to one hip and closing the distance between us, moving to my tip toes so I could brush my lips over his. His breathing stuttered a little and I could feel his heart racing as my hand landed on his chest. “I could tell you. Or…” I placed one small peck on his lips, pulling back just a little to see his eyes closed, lips chasing mine. “I could show you.” His lips parted and his hands found my hips.

“Nadia.” He leaned forward to kiss me, but I pulled back out of reach, prompting his eyes to open. He furrowed his eyebrows at me. “What-”

“One more question and you’ll drop it, right? Isn’t that what you said?” A look of utter betrayal and indignation crossed his features then, but I was running off before he could utter anything else.

I was laughing the whole way back to the compound, ignoring the streak the shot passed me partway back. When I arrived, Pietro stood on the grass, waiting with his arms crossed. “That was not very nice.”

“Well, you were the one who wanted to be my boyfriend.” I taunted, feigning a pouty face at him as I walked by.

“Oh, I see, you think you’re very funny.”

I walked into the kitchen with Pietro hot on my tail. The smell of cinnamon and freshly baked goods overtook me the moment I stepped into the room. Vision stood behind the counter, a baking tray in his hands. “Good morning, Nadia and Pietro.” He placed the tray down to reveal cinnamon rolls as he poured frosting over. I furrowed my eyebrows watching the strange man intently. “Would you like to try one?” He offered, looking back up at me and placing one of the desserts on a plate which he inched toward me.

“These are insanely good, Vis,” Sam spoke from the table, throwing the last bite of his roll into his mouth. I hesitantly approached the counter, inspecting the food before picking it up. It smelled divine but the idea of eating something baked by the peculiar humanoid creature before me was a little off putting. Before I could take a bite Pietro leaned over me, demolishing half the roll in a single mouthful. I narrowed my eyes at him as he grinned back, licking the icing from his lips slowly.

“You are pushing it,” I warned the silver-haired man who merely snorted in response.

“Ah, young love.” Tony sighed entering the room and stealing a cinnamon roll from the tray.

I bit into mine soon after, shocked by the explosion of flavor on my tastebuds. “Jesus that’s good.” I stuffed the cinnamon roll into my mouth before Pietro could steal anymore. “Do you even eat; how do you know how to bake?”

“I have no need to consume nutrients in the way humans do, though, I can simulate the ‘eating’ action if it would make you more comfortable.” There was silence between us for a moment as I stared blankly at him, unmoving. “And I used the internet to learn the recipe for these.”

“Okay.”

I turned around stiffly, wandering over to the table where Natasha sat, Pietro heading off to pester his sister. Approximately the second I sat down Nat was laying out possible options for what I would wear to the gala.

“There’s a strip of boutiques about a 30-minute drive from here, we can head over later today to have a look.” I nodded, taking a sip of my juice. “Also, I invited Wanda,” Natasha spoke so quickly that her words almost jumbled into one. I choked on my drink, coughing violently, and taking another sip to ease the discomfort. The look I gave her would have had a lesser woman cowering, but she didn’t even flinch under my glower. “Oh, do not even act like that, Nadia. I know you too well to be fooled by this whole act, you don’t hate her and I’ve had enough of the division, the girls need to stick together.”

I rolled my eyes, letting my head fall back with an exasperated sigh. “Why must you force the high road on me so often.”

…

The dress I selected was crisp white satin, one shoulder, with a slit that rose up to the apex of my thigh. Natasha shoved a pair of matching elbow-length gloves into my hands and would not hear any protest on the matter. Wanda and I had exchanged barely a sentence with one another on the drive here, it was strange. I didn’t really know what to say to her, how does one begin the journey to the high road? She fiddled with a sage green slip still on a hanger as I took a seat on the plush round ottoman that sat by the fitting rooms. I had felt her glancing at me from time to time as we waited for Nat to finish trying on her pile of dresses.

“Full disclosure, I know about you and Pietro.” I looked over at her then. “He didn’t tell me; I just know him too well and I might have dug around in his head a little to confirm my suspicions. Anyway, the point is, I know that you don’t exactly like me, but I think you’re good for him and his happiness is the only thing that matters to me, so I just wanted to say I’m really happy you have each other.”

“Trust is not something that comes particularly easy to me, and we did not start on a very positive foot. I don’t dislike you, Wanda, but I also don’t trust you.”

She nodded a merciful look in her eyes. “I understand, and I don’t blame you.”

“But… I am willing to start anew. What is the expression? A clean slate?” Her eyes lit up at my words, the corners of her lips upturning. “I cannot promise that I will ever trust you,” I added. “But we can try to start over if that’s what you want.”

Her expression was soft, gratitude and relief shining in her eyes. “Hi, I’m Wanda.”

I almost laughed at the gesture. This was pretty ridiculous, and I could not help but think back to the day in the shipyard. The debilitatingly traumatic memories she’d forced me to relive, the feeling of the cold concrete against my palms as I begged to leave the mind prison, she’d locked me in. The thought made me hesitate, a voice in the back of my head screaming at me to turn my back and continue the cold shoulder routine. She’d proven she couldn’t be trusted, why should I give her another chance? However, despite that, despite my reservations and distrust I silenced the voice, swallowing heavily and meeting her eyes once more. “Nice to meet you, Wanda, I’m Nadia.”

“Oh my god, you guys have got to see this dress!” Natasha called from the fitting room.

Some of us elected to stay in the city for the gala, rather than travel from the compound on the night of the event. I had no strong opinion on either option as long as we got this night over quickly and as painlessly as possible. I’d attended these fundraisers before, the cause was good and completely not what I took issue with. The part that I loathed was being forced to schmooze with the New York elite as they pretended to care about the poor and disenfranchised. The whole thing felt disingenuous, and I’d rather steer clear of it altogether, but I would have no such luck. Unfortunately for me being a public figure came as a package deal with this whole Avenger thing. I’d managed to mostly avoid it until now.

I sighed exasperatedly as I sipped from the champagne that Natasha had poured for me whilst she did my hair. “Don’t be so dramatic, it’ll be nice to have a night out, and you love the city.” I met her eyes in the mirror before rolling mine heavily.

“Why are you so set on this?”

“Because I think it will be a nice change of pace for us all. A chance to let our hair down and have a moment of normalcy.”

“In other words, you’re doing this to avoid thinking about something else… someone else?”

She pulled my hair a little harder than necessary, causing me to scowl at her reflection. She didn’t even pretend to be innocent as she glanced up to meet my eyes for a split second. Her face pulled into an expression of distaste. “And I thought you didn’t understand people.”

The corners of my lips upturned, and I shrugged a little. “I don’t, I just know you.”

She shook her head, remaining quiet for a long while. I watched her as she continued pinning and fiddling with strands of my hair. “Fury said they got a ping off the quinjet. It gives a radius of where its last location was. It could be a lead.”

“But?”

“He left for a reason, Nads, I’m not sure going after him wouldn’t be purely selfish.” I nodded slowly, taking a beat to process her words. I didn’t really know what the solution was, what would make her happiest in the long term because part of me wanted to tell her to throw logic to the side and go after him but the other part of me agreed with what she was saying. Going to find him when he obviously wanted to be alone may not have been the best course of action, but in the same breath I didn’t want her to get stuck in time; unable to move forward because she was too caught up. “So maybe we just wait him out? Circle a date some time from now and if there’s still no word from him by then we go find him.” She placed a hand on my shoulder for a second, still looking down at my hair, but I knew she’d heard me. “I heard you and Wanda talking at the boutique.” She unraveled the strand of hair she’d been curling. “It was nice what you did, very unlike you, but nice.”

“You don’t think I’m nice?” A cheeky grin spread across my lips as I met her eye in the mirror.

She breathed a laugh. “Truthfully, I think that you’re a little sweetheart who likes people to think she’s heartless. That being said, clean slates aren’t really you’re thing.”

“No, they’re not.” I watched her as she began to pin strands of hair back into a curly updo. “Perhaps I’m going soft.” I teased.

“Or someone has proven to you that it is okay to be a little more open.”

I rolled my eyes at her. “Okay, enough of the mushy, deep, and meaningful shit I beg it’s beginning to make me sick.”

“Yeah, definitely not getting soft.” She hummed gesturing that she was done with my hair. I checked her handy work in the mirror nodding approvingly at the hairstyle. “Jesus, you look good, it’s really very difficult to get ready around you when you look like that.”

“Oh, shut up, look at yourself, woman.” She glanced in the mirror nodding as if she saw my point and smoothing her hands down her black dress. I giggled at her antics, adjusting the buckle of my shoe and doing one final check of my outfit before approaching the door.

When the elevator doors opened the first thing I saw was the back of his head, silver hair neatly styled atop. The second my heels clicked against the ground he spun around to face me, stiffening almost instantly. My heart rate spiked as his eyes traveled down to my feet before dragging ever so slowly back up my form, before finally meeting my gaze, eyebrows raised, and lips parted. He looked like something out of a dream; literally. He was in a midnight blue tuxedo that fit him like a glove. I’d never seen him so dressed up before I realized. I liked it… a lot. Words did not come easily to me as I watched him approach at a glacial pace.

“I don’t think I should kiss you right now.”

“Why?” The word was out before I could stop it, breathy and quiet.

His lips upturned at my tone, though that glint remained present in his eyes. “Because if I do, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.”

I couldn’t bite back the smile that was forming across my lips. My fingertips slid down his forearm, intertwining with his as I moved to kiss the corner of his mouth. “I like you’re suit.”

The drive to the venue consisted of both of us stealing glances at each other and smiling at our laps like school children. As much as I found it absurdly childish behavior – I couldn’t seem to stop. “So, what exactly is a gala?” He finally spoke up.

I rolled my eyes at the reminder. “It’s like a charity, fundraiser thing.”

“Is that not a good thing?” I shrugged at his words. “Why do you hate the idea so much.”

“In theory, yes, it’s a good thing. In practice, it’s an antiquated ceremony for the wealthy to talk about how good of people they are.” One side of his mouth lifted with amusement. “And besides, I hate most things, so it’s not exactly a high bar.”

“Not me though.” He teased, rolling his head on the headrest to face me. I raised an eyebrow at him. “You don’t hate me… you like me too much.” My eyes rolled again, though a little smile broke out across my lips.

The chandelier hung in the center of the room painted the walls in a yellow glow. Pietro scanned the quickly filling room as we entered, though he seemed more interested in the art that hung from the walls rather than the company. I turned to him then. “If I’m going to get through this, I’m going to need hard liquor.”

He laughed at my words. “I’m going to use the toilet; I want to know if it’s as fancy as the rest of this place.”

I shook my head, breathing a laugh as I split from his side and approached the bar. “Scotch on the rocks please.”

The bartender nodded, beginning to pour ice into a crystal glass.

“I just worry about the detriment to the city, isn’t giving the money just encouraging laziness that leads to homelessness in the first place.” I scanned the men who stood just a few paces from me. Balding, middle-aged, Rolex on their wrists.

I sighed heavily, turning back to the bartender. “Actually, could you make it a double?”

A breathy laugh filled my ears, prompting me to glance toward the man who’d just stepped up to the bar, placing his drink down beside me. “My sentiments exactly.” He added, beginning to fold up the long cane that was in his hands. I didn’t recognize the dark-haired man peering in my direction from dark red lenses. Well, likely not actually looking, I realized putting together the context clues. I chose to hum dismissively in place of an actual response. He smiled toward the ground, evidently not put off by my cold countenance. “Not a fan of these events I take it?”

“Oh, no, I love nothing more than listening to self-important old men speak.”

The man laughed again. “I’m guessing you’re Nadia?” I narrowed my eyes at him, leaning back a little in my seat and crossing my arms. “I know Tony Stark.” He clarified. “He told me to look out for you. Well, not look, but you know what I mean.”

The corners of my lips tugged upward just slightly, a very minuscule laugh falling from me. “Oh, so he warned you about me?”

“Not exactly, he might have mentioned you were something of a cynic.”

I rolled my eyes, thanking the bartender when he placed my drink before me. “Some say cynic, I say realist.”

His smile brightened. “I’m Matt, by the way.”

“Good for you.”

Truthfully, I was expecting him to walk away at that, yet he only laughed again. I did not understand what it was about me that made others think I was interested in chit-chatting. Perhaps it was my sunny disposition, or perhaps I smiled too much. “Okay, so Tony wasn’t bluffing.” He sat down beside me. “So, realist, why are you here if you hate it so much?”

“Because I was told by a very scary redhead that I didn’t have a choice.” He snickered at my answer. “I don’t exactly hear you jumping to the defense of this particularly cruel breed of torture, so why are you here?”

“I guess you could call it networking. My law partner and I are here on behalf of our firm.”

I huffed, crossing my arms over my chest and turning in my seat to face him. “Why are you still talking to me?”

His eyebrows rose slightly, and a startled chuckle fell from his lips. “Maybe I’m a masochist… or maybe I just like the sound of your voice.”

“Yes, she has a very nice voice.” Pietro appeared beside me, eyeing Matt, with a tight smile across his lips.

Matt tilted his head in Pietro’s direction, lips upturned as he sipped his drink. “I don’t believe we’ve met, I’m Matthew Murdock.” He held his hand toward a very tense man at my side. Pietro reached across me, his cologne overtaking my senses along with the warmth radiating from him, our eyes met for just a moment as he took my drink and downed it before turning back to Matt and finally shaking his hand. I looked between the two, mildly amused by the bizarre interaction.

“Pietro Maximoff.”

I raised an eyebrow at the way his voice sounded but he ignored the look. “Nice to meet you, Pietro. Nadia and I were just discussing our shared dislike of these events.” Matt said, gesturing around the room.

“Is that right?” Pietro’s hand moved to grip the back of my chair. “Well, apologies for interrupting such a fascinating conversation but I need to borrow Nadia.” Before Matt could respond, Pietro was heading toward the staircase.

I excused myself, attempting to contain my amusement as I followed the silver-haired man. He continued walking ahead of me until he reached a room off the hall of the second floor, where he pushed the door open and waited for me to enter. The room appeared to be a small lounge of some kind, with book-lined walls and a sitting area consisting of a chaise lounge and armchairs. I walked into the room, turning to watch him enter and close the door behind himself.

When he looked at me again his eyebrows were raised, and his mouth was drawn into a tight frown.

“What?”

“Are you serious?”

I sat on the arm of one of the armchairs. Easily one of the worst parts of this whole human empathy thing was caring so much what other people were upset about. I couldn’t deny though that when it was Pietro, I couldn’t stop caring. “Why are you acting strange?”

“Oh, I’m sorry were we not just in the same room? I leave you alone for 5 minutes and you’ve already got yourself an admirer.”

“Are you jealous?”

“Obviously. He was clearly flirting with you!”

I rolled my eyes at his words. “So?” I shrugged.

“So?!”

“I wasn’t flirting with him so what does it matter.”

Pietro’s jaw clenched and he paced before me. “It matters.” He shook his head; I could practically see the steam emanating from his ears. It made the tingling that was present in my belly intensify. “And you know what? It’s because of this damn dress! You look fucking devastating, of course, he’d flirt with you.”

I breathed a laugh. “Something tells me the way I look didn’t have much to do with it.”

He sent a sharp glare my way, evidently not amused. “You think this is funny?” He raised an eyebrow, stopping before me.

“Yes. Very.”

The air between us was electric as he moved closer, the corners of his lips quirking upward. “I don’t think it is.”

“Who knows Pietro, maybe it’s my dazzling personality, or innate approachability, it’s one of life’s mysteries I suppose.” I knew I was pissing him off, but that only made me want to keep going. “Why are you so mad?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because you’re my girlfriend so I don’t particularly like the idea of some guy thinking about you in that way.”

“And what way is that?”

His chest grazed mine as he took a step forward. “The way I think about you.”

“It doesn’t matter how he thinks of me, Pietro.” The muscle in his jaw feathered but I continued before he had the chance to protest. “It doesn’t matter because I don’t think of him in that way. I don’t think of him in any way.” He didn’t seem completely satisfied with this, so I decided to give a little more of myself, lay myself slightly barer before him. “How could I? when you already occupy so much space in my brain. It’s hard to even consider other men when I’m already completely obsessed with you.”

My thumb brushed over his cheekbone, bringing him down to press my lips against his, punctuating my words, branding us both with them. We were sharing the same air as we stood there, bodies not completely flush yet warmth travelled across my flesh. “You drive me insane, Nadia.” He clenched his hands at his sides, taking a step back from me.

I asked him what he meant.

“Don’t you understand that what you just said is exactly how I feel about you? Do you know what it does to me when you tell me that you feel the same way?” He shook his head. “It’s maddening.” I swallowed heavily, watching him run a hand through his hair before turning back to face me. “And don’t think that I’m completely over the flirting thing, I’m still annoyed.”

“Oh my god, Pietro.” My hands fell to my hips. “Grow up.” The moment I’d spoken I could practically feel the band of tension begin to snap, his eyes narrowed slightly, and he moved toward me once again.

He scoffed. “Say that again.” My heart was racing, lips curving upward a little. A quiet laugh fell from me.

I repeated myself and the air between us was pure electricity.

“You know what, Nadia? I might feel better if you told me about your dream.” It all happened very quickly, I moved to shove him in the chest, a vexed expression on my face. However, before my palms made contact, he’d snatched my wrists up and pressed them against the wall above my head. My back was flush with the cold surface, the air momentarily knocked out of me. His maneuver was not particularly forceful, but the underlying context had my chest rising and falling a little faster. I glanced up at our hands, watching his fingers intertwine with mine. His lips ghosted over mine and I found myself unwittingly arching toward him, bringing a soft smirk to his lips. “Is it still funny?”

“A little.” I breathed out, still taunting even when my body felt as though it was burning up. The laugh that left him was dry, frustration evident in his tone.

When he kissed me, it felt like life or death. Like my air supply was his as well and we both needed it to survive. I pushed my body toward his and soon he got the message, moving closer, using his chest to press me flush to the wall once more. I gasped slightly against his mouth as our bodies melded together. It was bizarre, the way I felt like I was melting into him so easily, but my muscles still stiffened, my body was defensive at the touches even when they weren’t ones that I disliked. My heart was racing, thumping so hard against my chest I could feel it in my ears. The first real tug of my arms against his grip had Pietro loosening his hold and setting my hands free. One went to the back of his head, threading through his soft, silver locks, the other gripped his shoulder. I could feel one of his hands at my ribs, sliding down to my hip. It was like everything shut off for a second when his fingers slid into the slit of my dress, grazing over my thigh. I tensed so completely that Pietro pulled back, for a second the air felt too thick to swallow. He whispered an apology to me, attempting to move his hand from my leg but I caught it before he could, placing my own over his and bringing it back to my thigh. I clenched my jaw, forcing my eyes to open and let the light in once more. He was the first thing I saw. I pressed my forehead further against his, gazing into his eyes and reminding myself that I wasn’t in danger, he wouldn’t hurt me. My heart returned to the pace it had been earlier, one of keen anticipation rather than discomfort. The tension in my muscles eased and he was waiting patiently for me to make a move, an indescribable softness in his blue eyes and then it was Pietro, and I was still a little afraid, but I was okay.

“I meant it the other day when I said that I wanted you to touch me.” I dragged his hand higher up my leg, the silky, white fabric of my dress sliding upwards, revealing more of my flesh to him.

“Fucking hell.” He breathed, head dipping toward the crook of my neck, not quite touching it though. He lifted my leg to sit over his hip and I wrapped my arm around the back of his neck. When he lifted his head, his nose grazed my cheek before he planted a small kiss against my lips again. He pulled away to gaze into my eyes, leaning against me. I looked right back, seeing myself reflected in his bright, beautiful eyes. It was there; right there, that I realized it. I was completely and utterly fucked.

[middleearthpixie]

I'll See You in My Dreams ~ Chapter Thirteen

Summary: Noelle James knows soul mates exist, the trouble is, she just can’t seem to find hers. Especially since hers seemed to have existed only in the world of cinema and The Hobbit movies. No one believes she actually spent time in Tolkien’s Middle Earth and even fewer believe Thorin Oakenshield existed in her world, either. 

So when she finds herself unexpectedly alone on yet another Christmas, she has no way of knowing exactly what the universe has in store for her this time.The trouble is, this man claiming to be Thorin can’t possibly be him, for he died at the hands of Azog the Defiler at Ravenhill. She saw him die with her own eyes.

So, it can’t be him.

Or can it?

Pairing: Thorin x ofc Noelle James

Warnings: None

Rating: T

Word Count: 4.6k

Read on AO3

Erebor had greatly changed in the three years since she’d last seen it. Back then, the kingdom was mostly in ruin thanks to Smaug and his fire breath. Scorched, cracked, broken stone had been repaired and polished until it gleamed like glass. The façade, which had been split open by Smaug before his ascension on Esgaroth and made worse by the dwarves when they went to join the Battle of the Five Armies, looked brand new, glinting in the late afternoon sun.

Without thinking, Noelle tightened her fingers about Thorin’s as they passed beneath the portcullis and into the city itself. Along the black obsidian walls, torches flickered, the flames behind frosted glass globes to light their way as Thorin guided her down toward the Great Hall. 

Daylight faded, but her eyes adjusted relatively quickly and some of her apprehension eased as she heard familiar voices rolling out from the Great Hall. Thorin’s thumb grazed along hers, which also helped.

But nothing could have prepared her for the moment they stepped into the Great Hall. It had been completely renovated and now, instead of housing thirteen dwarves and a single Hobbit (she wondered how Bilbo Baggins was doing these days and made a mental note to ask Thorin when they were alone) there far more dwarves now and she only recognized the twelve she’d known when they were Thorin’s Company. 

“Uncle?”

The sound of Fíli’s voice brought unexpected tears to Noelle’s eyes, for she remembered all too clearly when Azog had run him through at Ravenhill and simply tossed him from the tower. He looked older now, and not only because three years had passed, as he limped toward them. When she’d known him, Fíli was still boyishly handsome. Now, he was still handsome, of course, but his past trauma showed in the new lines and hollows of his face. His blue eyes no longer danced with playful mischief, but were far more serious than a man of his age should be.

Still, he smiled as he drew near and embraced his uncle warmly. “We thought you must have drowned in the river,” he said with no little scolding in his deep voice. “We looked everywhere for you, you know.”

“I’d explain, but I doubt you’d believe me,” Thorin told him, clapping him gently on the back. 

Noelle swallowed hard as Fíli stepped back and his pale blue eyes alit on her. “Welcome to Erebor,” he said, although his expression was one of confusion. “I beg your pardon, of course, but have we met? You seem familiar to me.”

Before she could reply, Thorin said, “This is Noelle James, of a place called New York. You have met, but you will not remember it.”

“What?”

“She was with us when we first returned to Erebor. We crossed paths in Mirkwood and she traveled with us.”

“Did she?” 

Thorin nodded. “I hope that, in time, you’ll come to remember her, but if not, new memories shall be made and I daresay they will hopefully be brighter.”

Fíli turned to her, his smile friendly but puzzled. “I beg your pardon, Miss James, but much of that time is a blur to me. Either way, it is my pleasure to make your acquaintance. Or your reacquaintance, is it might be.”

“It’s good to see you again, Fíli.”

“Thorin?”

Noelle didn't miss the way Thorin stiffened at the most definitely female voice that called his name. She stiffened as well when she saw the woman to whom the voice belonged. She tried hard not to stare, but it wasn't easy, since she’d never really seen a bearded woman before, and it didn't help that this bearded woman was also stunningly beautiful besides. She was Thorin’s height, with long, almost-black hair and deep blue eyes. Those eyes, like Fíli’s, were equal parts happy and confused as they alit on her.

“Who is this, Thorin?” 

A hint of color rose above his beard as he said, “Dís, this is Noelle James. Noelle, this is my  sister, Dís.” 

Dís. Thorin’s younger sister. A hint of relief swept through Noelle. 

It didn't last, however, as Dís eyed her with no little curiosity. “How do you do?”

“I’m good, thanks. Thorin’s spoken of you so often, I feel as if I already know you.”

Dís’ blue eyes widened briefly. “He’s spoken of me? When did you see him for him to do such a thing?”

Of course Dís would have no idea about her, or about how Thorin might know her. Forcing a laugh to her lips, she said, “We met several years ago, actually. In—ah—Mirkwood.”

Not a total lie. They had met there. 

Nonetheless, Dís’ eyes narrowed once more. “You are of the Mirkwood elves, then?”

“Ah, no,” Noelle shook her head. “Not quite.”

“Thorin,” Dís turned to him, “what is going on here?”

Thorin offered up a smile. “Worry not, Dís. I will explain it all later. For now, just be polite and welcome Miss James, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”

“Well, of course it isn’t,” Dís told him, then she turned her smile back to Noelle, “but I am curious.”

“As am I, Thorin. Who is this?”

Noelle swallowed hard as another woman, also bearded, came up alongside Dís. Her pewter gray eyes held the same look of confusion as Dís’ had, and she looked first at Thorin, then at Noelle, and Noelle knew her name at once, even before Thorin said, “Thalia… this is—that is, I’d like you to meet Noelle James. Noelle, this is Thalia of—of Ered Luin.”

“Now of Erebor,” Thalia relied with a smile as she turned to Noelle. “How do you know Thorin, Miss James, if you don't mind my asking? As he’s never mentioned a Noelle James before and I’m fairly certain I would remember that. Are you from Dale, perhaps?”

Just as she had done moments earlier, Noelle smiled as she shook her head. “I don’t mind at all. Thorin and I have been friends for years. But,” she hesitated slightly, “I’m not from Dale. The last time I saw Dale, it was in ruins. Has it been restored?”

“Well, if you’re not from Dale, how come you to be in his company? As I said, he’s made no mention of you before now, and yet somehow, you’re here. Did you, perhaps, step out of thin air at Ravenhill? Or are you a water sprite of sorts, emerged from the river?” Thalia’s voice remained somewhat warm, but there was definite a chill about the edges of her words. She wasn't fooled. 

“Well, I don't know what to tell you, except we’ve been friends for quite a while,” Noelle replied, casting a sidelong glance at Thorin, who tightened his grip on her hand in response. For a moment, she considered telling Thalia just how close to right she was about appearing from thin air, but thought better of it. For now, anyway.

Thalia’s gaze lowered then and Noelle did not miss the slight tension in the dwarf’s jaw, nor did she miss the way the brightly colored wooden beads woven into her mustache softly clacked together with the movement. “Friends, you say? Tell me, Thorin,” she offered up the most mirthless smile Noelle had ever seen, “is strolling hand in hand with a woman a common thing in Mirkwood? Or in Dale? Or wherever it is you’re from, Miss James?”

“Thalia,” Dís broke in smoothly, looking from Thalia to Thorin and back, “this is neither the time nor the place. Now, why don’t you see your guest is settled in and then perhaps we might discuss this.”

Thalia glared at them both, but Thorin bobbed his head. “I think that is fine idea, Dís. Thalia, if you will excuse us then, I’ll see Miss James is settled.”

“In guests’ quarters, I assume,” Thalia replied.

“Of course,” Thorin replied without hesitation.

Noelle shot him a look, but said nothing as Thorin offered her his arm. “Shall we?”

“Sure. Lead on, MacDuff.” Noelle slipped her hand through his arm and allowed him to lead her through the Great Hall to the doorway on the far side of the room. As they made their way toward it, she was all-too cognizant of Thalia’s eyes boring into her back and judging by the shiver that ran through her, there was nothing warm or friendly about that stare.

“Thorin, you have to tell her the truth,” she whispered, although the odds of being overheard in that crowd were slim to none. Still. She took no chances. She knew better. 

“And I plan to.”

“Thorin.”

“What? I do and I will, but first, I want to get you settled.”

She stopped and stared at him. “In guest quarters?”

He grinned. “What do you think, mesmel?”

“Thorin.”

“What? I want you near me.”

“Thorin! Your girlfriend’s eyes are burning holes in my back and you think I’m going to fool around with you once we’re out of her line of sight?”

“I said nothing about fooling around.”

“Like you even understood what I meant by that.”

He waited until they rounded the corner before tugging her close and whispering, “Sweeping you into my bed and not letting you out until your eyes cross, your fingernails dig into my back, and your throat is raw from screaming my name.”

Despite her irritation, his words sent a shiver through her as she pulled away. “You were paying attention.”

He smiled. “Worry not, Noelle. I will tell Thalia the truth and then we need to decide where we go from here as well.”

She sank back against the cool stone wall. “Thorin, what if, every time we decide to have sex, we end up in one place or the other? That could get complicated.”

“And what if we stay in one place?” He leaned over and brushed her lips with his, then added, “There will be one way to know for sure, and that’s to try it.”

She rolled her eyes. “You just want to get laid.”

“I’ll assume that’s another one of your slang words for lovemaking.”

“Yes, you got me, Thorin. It is.”

“Then you should probably know that not everything I do or say is with the intention of having sex with you.” A hint of mischief shone in his eyes, one that made her want to both laugh and throttle him as he added, “Although, to be completely honest, this time? You are right.”

“Thorin!”

“What? It is also the only way to find out.” He stepped back and held out one hand. “And to be honest once more, I don't mind being in your world when I know I can return to mine. You might find you feel the same way.”

She said nothing as they descended a wide, green marble staircase to the landing that overlooked what was once a sea of treasure. Now, it was mostly cleared away, the room itself still in a state of renovation, but with only a few scattered piles of gold and silver and gemstones here and there. The marble railing there had been repaired, as had the staircases leading down from each side of the landing to that cavernous room. “I wouldn’t, but what if one of us remained in one world while the other didn’t? How would we find one another again?”

He came up to stand behind her, his hands coming to rest on the railing on either side of hers. “I cannot explain it, but I don't think that will happen. I feel Mahal has us right where we are meant to be.”

As he spoke, he bent toward her and gently nuzzled her and for a moment, she wondered if maybe he was right. He was always so out of place in her world, but she didn't exactly feel that way about his. The last time around, she was determined to make him remember her, but at the same time, she was also rather comfortable in his less-modern world. 

She smiled as he brushed a kiss along her ear, and without thinking, leaned back against him. “Is it always this cold in Erebor? I’ve only ever been here when there’s been snow on the ground.”

“No. Our summers are glorious—warm and sunny, and when the heat gets to be too much, you’ll find it’s always comfortable cool here, under the mountain.” He lifted his hands from the railing to slip his arms about her waist, tugging her back against his chest and she shivered when he whispered, “Well, there’s another dance, honey. All you gotta do is say yes.”

“You remember?”

“I do now. So, try not to worry, mesmel. Trust Mahal. Everything will be fine.”

“I hope so.”

“Come and let’s get you settled and then I will go and speak with Thalia. You haven’t seen Erebor since the renovations began, so this evening, after supper, I will give you the tour.”

The last time she was in Erebor, Noelle didn't so much as catch a glimpse of what would have been Prince Thorin’s apartment. She assumed at the time it was in as great a state of disrepair as the rest of Erebor, but she had no way of knowing. Smaug had wrought plenty of havoc and created destruction beyond destruction in Erebor when he’d claimed it for himself, but she’d never gone lower than the treasure hoard that had since been mostly removed. 

She didn't know what she’d expected the King of Erebor’s private apartment to look like, but she chided herself when she saw how simply furnished it was. She knew Thorin. Had he not ever told her about being Erebor’s king, she never would have guessed it for herself, for he did not behave as she’d imagine a king would. He had the regal bearing, just not the regal I can take what I want because I’m the king attitude. She’d met guys barely making ends meet with more entitlement than a true king.

His apartment reflected that part of his nature, of his personality. It was a spacious apartment, with a large kitchen, a sitting room, and a hallway that led back to an enormous bathing chamber (she was fairly certain she could actually swim in the black marble tub) and three rooms that he explained were his bedroom (the largest of the three) a smaller one right next to it, and the one on the far side of that middle room, connected via a door—a nursemaid’s room adjoined to what would be a nursery, should he and his future wife be blessed with children, he’d explained. 

It had taken no little effort to convince him she’d be fine on her own, before he left to go find Thalia and as she stretched out on his large, comfortable bed, Noelle sighed softly. This was a far cry from the last time she’d been in Erebor, no doubt. 

A single lamp flickered on the bedside table, the semi-darkness comforting even if it left her wondering what time it was. She glanced down at her watch, it was not quite eight o’clock and yet she felt if she’d been awake for days, she was that tired.

She wondered if it was eight o’clock in New Jersey as well and as she did, a hint of guilt flashed through her. Her mother and father would have no idea what happened to her. All they would know was that she’d gone out for a walk with Thorin, a man they’d only just met, and never returned.

At least, that was what she thought might happen. But, for all she knew, Mahal played with that timeline as well and she’d been erased from existence in her time. She had no way of knowing, but if she was given the choice, she would hope her parents didn't remember her. The last thing she wished to do was worry them. If only there was a way for her to know for certain, perhaps then she wouldn’t worry about them.

But as far as she knew, there was no way to check. There was no way to see from one world into the next. And she hated that. The last thing she wanted was for her parents to worry about her. 

The knock at the door startled her, since Thorin hadn’t told her to expect anyone, and her apprehension grew when she heard Dís call, “Miss James? Are you in there?”

At first, Noelle thought she’d just ignore Thorin’s sister, just pretend she was asleep and hadn’t heard Dís knock or call out. But the knocking grew louder and Dís’ voice held more concern. “Miss James? Please, if you’re there, would you mind opening the door?”

Noelle rose and hurried toward the door. “I’m coming!”

She pulled it open, smiling as she said, “I’m sorry, I was just lying down.”

“Oh, then I also apologize, for I did not mean to disturb you.” Dís’ blue eyes were guarded, her expression neutral as she gestured into the apartment. “May I?”

“Oh, yeah, of course.” Noelle stepped aside to allow her room to pass, closing the door as Dís came completely inside. “What can I do for you?”

“I confess to being nosy, mostly. My brother disappears for several hours and when he returns, you’re with him? All the way from Mirkwood?” Dís turned toward her, the beads in her braided beard and mustache clacking with her motion. “You’ll forgive me if I’ve questions.”

Noelle smiled, sinking onto the arm of the sofa. “From what Thorin has said about you, I’d be surprised if you didn't have any. So, ask away, but be warned, I think you’ll have more questions than answers when all is said and done.”

“I do hope you don't mind my bluntness, but what are you doing with my brother? Did you accost him up at the river? Threaten him?”

“I’d laugh, but I think you’re serious.” Noelle, gestured to the sofa. “Sit down and I’ll explain all of it to you, but be warned, you are not going to believe me at first.”

Thorin paused in the doorway of the Great Hall and he caught sight of Thalia in the far corner, a book in her hand. Taking a deep breath, he crossed into the Hall and over to her. “Thalia, a word?”

She looked up, but her usual smile was nowhere to be found as she slipped a marker into her book and closed it. “Thorin, I was wondering when you would come in search of me. And I’ve the feeling this has everything to do with the trollop you supposedly found near Ravenhill.”

He slipped into the chair across from her. “If you’re referring to Miss James, I’ll ask you not speak of her in such derogatory terms.”

“Oh, will you?”

“Aye, I will. I know you were not expecting this and to be honest, neither was I, as I thought I’d never see Miss James again. But, circumstances have changed and so—”

“Who is she?”

“She is…” He sat back, tapping his fingers against the table softly as he tried to come up with the gentlest way to break the truth to her. Judging by the fury in Thalia’s blue eyes, that might not be possible. “That is, she is—”

“Do not even think to lie to me.”

“No, I’m not, Thalia. But it’s not quite as simple as I just happened to meet her, either. In fact, it is anything but simple to explain.”

“Of course it is. But what I—”

“No, because that isn’t exactly how it happened. I met her three years ago, when she fell into Mirkwood.”

Thalia stared at him as if he’d lost his mind. “I beg your pardon, of course, but when she fell into Mirkwood? Whatever do you mean by that? How does one fall into a place such as Mirkwood?”

He nodded. “It sounds mad, but it’s true. I had fallen into her world several weeks earlier and she helped me find my way back and then, she found her way here.”

“I understand you had dragon sickness,” she replied drolly, “so perhaps that is coming into play here and—”

“This is how it happened, Thalia. There is no other way to describe it, otherwise I would. So, yes, I fell in to her world. And in that time, she and I—” he drew in a deep breath, slowly let it out, and said, “I fell in love with her, but then we were parted and I thought forever. In time, her memory faded. But, when I left your flat that night—”

“Last eve, you mean?”

“Was it only last eve? Time is different between the worlds, Thalia. For me, it was nearly a week ago.”

“For me, you were gone but four or five hours. Not nearly enough time to meet and fall in love with anyone you weren’t paying.”

He almost chuckled at that. Almost. “This will be the last time I ask you show less disdain, Thalia, for I’ll not tolerate it where Miss James is concerned.”

She didn't look at all contrite. “Go on.”

“I fell back into her world and found her again. And this time, Mahal saw fit to keep her with me.”

“Are you suggesting that that woman, that trollop, is a gift from Mahal? Because if so, do not make me laugh.”

“Thalia, I know I’ve hurt you, but know I would never have done so intentionally. Had I but known what Mahal had planned for me, I would have never—”

“Led me on? Allowed me to believe I’d be Queen of Erebor? Lied to me? Made a fool of me?” Her voice rose with each word and her eyes narrowed. “You are despicable, King Thorin! Despicable and an utter coward, besides!”

“A coward? For telling you the first chance I had?” He shook his head slowly. “I know I’ve hurt you, Thalia, and for that, I am truly sorry, but had I known Noelle and I would ever be reunited, I promise you, I would have never allowed you to believe—”

“That you cared for me,” she finished bitterly.

“I do care about you, Thalia,” he replied, “but not in the way a husband should care about his wife.”

“And you do care about her that way.”

It wasn't a question, but he nodded just the same. “I do, Thalia.”

“You love her.”

Another nod. “I love her.”

Thalia pressed her lips together until they disappeared into a thin, white line. He reached across the table to cover her hand with his, only to have her recoil as if his touch stung. “You have some nerve, Thorin, thinking you can simply shove me aside when the mood strikes. You told me I’d be queen. I gave up my life in Ered Luin to be your queen.”

“I did no such thing,” he told her, shaking his head. “And you know I did no such thing.”

“Your sister—”

“Does not make my decisions for me and she had no business even intimating that you and I were marriage bound. And either way, it matters not, for I will choose my queen.”

“And it’s that kunbûna?”

“Thalia.”

“Do not Thalia me. You chose her over me? You go against your own kind and choose an elf?”

“She is no elf, Thalia. She is not from Mirkwood, but is of Man and from a place called New York City. And I am sorry if I’ve hurt you, for that was never my intention and you must know that.” 

She just stared at him for a long moment, then rose from her chair and leaned over the table to snarl, “You are a beast and I wish I’d never laid eyes upon you.”

Before he could respond, she swept by him and stalked out of the Great Hall. He turned in his chair to see as she even shoved by Dís, who scowled in his direction. With a muttered oath, he turned back, sinking lower in his chair.

“Thorin, a word?”

Dís didn't wait for him to answer, but settled into Thalia’s vacated chair as she said, “Guess where I’ve just come from?”

“I’m going to go out on a limb and say my flat.”

“Yes and I’ve just had the most interesting conversation with your Miss James.”

“Dis, might we not do this now? I’m not in the mood.”

“Yes, I saw Thalia on the way out. She seems upset.”

“You don't say.”

“Thorin… tell me true, how do you know that woman?”

“Thalia? We’ve known—”

“You are not at all funny, you know. And you know full well I mean your Miss James.”

He sighed. “I met her in New York, three years ago, when I toppled into an enchanted stream in Mirkwood and landed in Central Park. She helped me find my way back.”

“And how did you manage that?”

He held her gaze easily, smiling as he said, “I slept with her.”

“Thorin.”

“What? I did. And she somehow found her way here, and you will never guess how she returned to her own world before the Battle of the Five Armies ended.”

“Thorin!”

“I am serious, Dís. And in the aftermath of the Battle of the Five Armies, her memory faded until only a few weeks ago, when I began having dreams about her.”

“Dreams? And do not tell me about them.”

“I won’t, but I had them and I found myself with a certain song running through my mind. It was only a melody at first, but little by little, I could hear the entire thing. And then last eve, whilst having supper with Thalia, I just needed to get some air, so I went for a walk.”

“Let me guess, you went to Ravenhill, where you fell into the water and landed once more in that Central Park. Only this time, your Miss James didn't believe you’d come back to her and so you went to see someone named Ian.”

“Science Man, but how did you know?”

Dís let out a soft sigh. “Your Miss James told me the same story, although she had the decency to leave out the part about sleeping with you.”

He chuckled. “She has more discretion than I do.”

“I didn't believe her, though, and was about to order her from Erebor, but then I thought I should speak with you first.”

“Wise choice.”

“Thorin, all joking aside, do you mean to tell me you plan to marry your Miss James?”

“First off, stop calling her my Miss James. She is Noelle. And secondly, I do plan to ask her, yes.”

“And how do you plan to manage that?”

“I beg your pardon?”

She held his gaze easily, and her stare was one that was all too familiar, as was the sense of idiocy that surged through him, which was more often than not the result of one of her stares. “Are you certain it is even possible to resist her once she is your wife? You apparently couldn’t when she wasn’t, after all.”

“I honestly don’t know, Dís. I’m not even certain she’d say yes, were I to ask her. She’s quite independent in New York.”

“And that is the only reason?”

He sighed softly, rubbing his forehead with one hand. “Dís, let me handle this matter, if you don’t mind.”

“I have no desire to manage your affairs, you know. I actually found myself liking your Miss—I mean, Noelle. I just do not want to see either of you hurt and from the sounds of it, that is a very distinct possibility.”

“It is. But then again, it might not be. So, as I said, let me handle it.”

“Of course. I promise not to interfere.”

Thorin managed a grin despite his somewhat heavy thoughts. “Why do I think that is a promise you will struggle with keeping?”

“Very funny.”

Tag List: @mrsdurin @exhausted-humxn-being @notlostgnome @quiall321 @evenstaredits

@sazzlep @kmc1989 @enchantingkryptoniteheart-blog  @louk419 @dianakc

@scepticaltardigrade @i-did-not-mean-to @kibleedibleedoo @lathalea  @legolasbadass 

@xxbyimm @lyl1pad @mistresskayla-blog1 @sherala007 @ruthoakenshield 

If you'd like to be added or removed from the tag list, please let me know!