#something she's always wanted but never had. a safe place to sit by a fire that she doesn't have to tend and do her work...

[alullinchaos]

wait off topic if I change Cinder's semblance for my rwby canon-adjacent au.... would this be controversial editing to warn people that the tags are novel length but that i love them and also @graythegreyt pls read them when u have a chance

[cherriesncinnamon]

forgive me / father charlie x fem!reader

synopsis: after recently becoming involved with the catholic church, you soon start having inappropriate fantasies about your priest. desperately wanting to atone, you confess your sins.

warnings/tags: handjob, unprotected sex (don't try this at home), mentions of self harm/repentance, priest x reader (i mean no harm to the catholic community, this is just fiction).

word count: 1.3k.

a/n: sooooo🥰 i'm obsessed with nicholas chavez. i'm not gonna lie, i haven't seen grotesquerie fully, but after seeing his scenes i had to write a one shot about father charlie. this is completely and utterly feral. me when i need him biblically.

link to another father charlie piece i've done due to popular demand!!

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

I've never been a religious person. I've always believed that a higher power is unprovable, leading to my agnosticism. My mother is a devout Catholic, but she's never particularly pushed her beliefs onto me. That was until recently when she threatened to disown me if I refused to come to church for another Sunday.

The people are insufferable, the sermons are unstimulating, and I cannot bear knowing I could be doing something much more exciting with my morning. I sit at the very end of the pew, arms crossed in anguish, awaiting a middle aged, balding priest to appear and preach for an hour. But to my surprise, a much younger version emerges instead. Dark thick hair, darling brown eyes, and a charming smile. My eyes widen with intrigue at the strikingly handsome man before me. He begins to speak, walking up and down the rows of people, truly passionate about what he's saying. I'm paying attention to the words, but not so much the message. After the communion and the drinking of the wine, my mother and I mingle for a bit, chatting uselessness to the bored housewives. Church is the only liberating part of their week, and now I know why.

As if by a miracle of God, I become Catholic overnight. My mother is shocked at my interest in coming to church the following week, and the week after that, and that week after that. Each time I see him, my desire intensifies. Knowing that he has taken a vow of celibacy only entices me more. I imagine him bending me over the pews, his singular ring leaving an indent in my upper thigh. I need to confess. I need to release this demon that is plaguing my thoughts.

On a stormy Friday evening, I make my way to the back of the church, placing three hesitant knocks on his office door. The rest of the building is vacant, candle light being my only source of sight. His voices seeps through the door, permitting me to enter.

"Ah, Miss Y/L/N, to what do I owe the pleasure?" He welcomes me in with a warm smile, putting down the pen he was holding to usher me to sit.

"Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. I- I've come to confess." I swallow, stuttering my words in fear. Father Charlie cocks his head in question.

"I see. Anything you say should be in confidence, your confession will be safe with me." He replies, nodding in reassurance. I fiddle with the hem of my skirt in anticipation, heat rising to my cheeks from simply being alone with him. I drape my long hair over my shoulder and clear my throat.

"I've been having impure thoughts, Father."

"Okay. And what do these thoughts detail?" He probes, clasping his hands together on the wooden desk. The Bible sits closed next to him; I can feel it judging me.

"Sexual thoughts. I want to pleasure myself, but I know I can't." I grip at my throat which has become tight, my stomach tingling with the remembrance of my fantasies. Charlie loosens his Roman collar, eyes searching the room for anything to look at besides me.

"I think about you, Father. You punishing me for my sins, taking me, sliding yourself into me." I spill, cheeks on fire and wine red. Father Charlie is quick to stand up from his chair, pacing to the other side of the room.

"I have taken a vow. Please do not seduce me." He begs, reaching for the door handle.

I stand in front of him, his tall frame towering over me, eyes fixated on mine. His chest is heaving, lips slightly parted as he breathes. Standing on the tips of my toes, I whisper.

"Don't you want to know what it feels like, Father? Just once?" My bottom lip lightly grazes his ear lobe, increasing his breathing pace. Our faces are mere centimetres apart, and I'm using all of my might to stop myself tasting him.

"I cannot abandon my faith, I mustn't." He insists, expression pained and frustrated. His brow is furrowed, forehead glazed in sweat. I can tell he is holding himself back with all his strength, and I'm feeling brave.

I take my fingertips and slide them over his clothed cock, smiling as it hardens under my gentle touch. Charlie goes to remove my hand, but quickly retracts when I speed up, using my palm to add pressure. I slowly undo his leather belt, lifting the waistband of his black pants. Taking him in my grasp, I stroke his thick length, watching in euphoria as his head tips back in bliss. His hands seek the stability of the doorframe for support, his knees weakening more every second.

"Feel me." Slipping my panties to the side, I guide his fingers to my pussy, slick with my arousal, begging for contact.

"Oh, forgive me Lord." He cries out, teasing my entrance with his digits while I excite his tip dripping pre-cum with my thumb. He stares at me in awe when I lick myself off his fingers, cock throbbing, veins pulsing blood into him until he's unbearably hard.

Hungry for my kiss, he devours my lips, biting my bottom lip playfully. Our tongues slide across one another, his hands gripping the sides of my face. He tastes like the Merlot we have at communion; sweet and fruity. My hands snake around his neck, twirling the thick locks of hair at the nape. His lips take interest elsewhere, peppering erotic pecks across my jaw, to my neck, and to my chest. I unbutton my white dress shirt, revealing my braless breasts. His eyes widen, immediately manhandling and kissing the supple skin.

"I want to feel you inside of me. Please, Father." I moan, perching myself on the edge of his desk, skirt hiked up to my hips. I spread my legs wide, fully revealing myself to him. He exhales in defeat, slotting himself between me.

Charlie rests his hands on either side of me on the desk while I line up his cock to my entrance, pushing my hips towards him. Grabbing my waist, he enters me, his length filling my walls like a glove. His voice groans deeply against my neck, his hand pressed on my lower back for support. His thrusts start off slow and juvenile, but quickly speed up to a pace we both can't take for long. I wrap my legs around him, pulling him in deeper. I moan sweet noises with every movement and caress, realising that this is better than I could've imagined.

"You feel so good, this feels so good." He sobs, nails digging into my hips so hard they leave streaks of blood. The cross around his neck swings in my face, reminding me of how sin can feel so good.

Waves of pleasure wash over me, the coil inside of me tightening by the second. I pull the back of his head close to me as my climax arrives. I bite his lip hard in satisfaction, tasting his blood on my tongue. It's not long before he follows in a moaning mess, burying his head into my chest, grabbing my breast as his warm cum fills me.

It takes a minute of getting our breaths back to move. I use a tissue to wipe his seed off my thighs. Father Charlie hastily redresses, fixing his collar and clutching his necklace.

"Lord, forgive me. Forgive me for this cardinal sin. Forgive me for enjoying it." He prays on his knees, staring up at a portrait of God. I place my hand on his back, feeling some guilt.

"I need to repent. You need to punish me." He says, picking up his leather belt from the floor and placing it in my hands.

"How can something that feels like this be a sin?" He asks me, tears in his eyes. I shake my head, not knowing the answer myself. He takes his shirt off, showing me his scarred back.

"Punish me, please."

[bluebellhairpin]

Cregan Stark X Wife!Reader

Summary: Preparation to leave to Castle Black for the winter months is well under way, and you're reluctant to be left alone in Winterfell. Cregan, having had the same worry, provides what could be a solution. A solution with a name. And fur. (wc. 2.3k>)

Warnings: Reader has she/her pronouns + fem bodied. Pregnancy. Assassination attempt. Unnamed character death. Blood + gore. Cregan wants to be a girl dad. Unedited (lol).

Listening to: 'Wolf at Your Door' by Chole x Halle - "When you're laying in your bed at night, when the air's just a little too quiet, better hope that you're saying your prayers."

Series Masterlist || Masterlist || Ko-Fi || AO3 link

Winterfell was a somber place when the cold rolled down from the north. 

Although only ten men were sent to the wall every winter, everyone left behind knew someone who was sent away. No matter how short of a life you lived, you also always knew someone who died there. Indeed, life on the wall was as harsh as the force it existence kept at bay. 

For you though, the man you lost always returned. The last three winters had you spend upwards of three months without your husband - and in turn rising to take his place as custodian of Winterfell. No matter how busy the role kept you, it never helped you miss Cregan Stark any less. 

With winter approaching once more, each moment with him seemed to not be enough. Yes, the Wall was dangerous, and even Cregan was never guaranteed to return, but this year there was something else that willed you to want him to stay. Something else that made him want to stay too. 

“Each day my resolve seems to crack,” he told you one night, fire cracked in its hearth as you both lay under blankets of fur. His hand rested protectively over your belly. “Already now I can see our babe grow, and I know I’ll not only be missing you but her too.”

“‘Her’?” you hummed, head turning to nose his cheek. “Such a confident tone, my lord.” 

“I am confident.” he replied, turning to press a soft kiss to your lips as his hand idlily rubbed along your stomach. 

“And if you needed an heir at the end of this cold winter, what then?” 

“If my lady wife deems me worthy, we might try for one again.” he said, sedating what could’ve been the start of your mood change with words almost too sweet to be coming from the frosty king in the north. “But that is something we can decide once all three of us are safe together when summer rises.” 

Cregan’s soft words and warm breath on your cheeks made your mind wandered to a time not so far away where you wouldn’t have his heat so close. A time when his comfort was going to be gone. 

“I’m going to miss you.” you said, turning into his hold more, and he let you snuggle into his chest. “This time will feel longer than all the others.”

“I doubt that will be the case for you.” he said, lips moving from their place pressed into your hair. “Winterfell will keep you busy, between that and resting for the babe’s sake, you won’t have time on your hands for much else.” 

“I may not want to rest.”

“You will. The Lord of Winterfell commands it.” 

“The Lord of Winterfell won’t be here, he cannot have a for sure say in what I do or do not do.” You felt him smile into your hair, and you pulled away with a twitch of your own mouth. “What?”

He pulled away a little too, shyly smiling down at where you still laid. He was acting far too coy to be considered normal. 

“I might not be leaving you completely alone.” 

“... Cregan.” you started, sitting up on our elbow. 

“I was going to show you on the morrow, but since you’ve forced my hand -”

“-I? Forcing your hand?”

“- Since you forced my hand,” he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he slipped out from the bedcovers, “I will be right back.”

“What…” You tried, but your voice tempered out as he swiftly made his way from your bedchambers. 

Sighing, you sat back in your pillows, arms folded, and refraining from pouting. It wasn’t long into your settled position of guessing what in the seven kingdoms your husband was doing before he was back. 

Cregan had clearly gone outside, snow settled on the top of his hair and along the shoulders of the fur cloak he snatched before leaving. In his arms was something squirming. You frowned, eyeing the movement under the cloak as he strode over. 

“What is that?” you asked. 

“A protector for the Lady of Winterfell, as per the orders of her lord husband.” Cregan said, and let the squirming mass break free from his hold onto the bed. 

It was a… pup? No not possible, it was too big. From how it acted it was a few months surely, but it was just so big. Then you thought some more. Could it really be? 

“A direwolf?” 

“Not any direwolf. Yours.” Cregan said, rounding the bed and settling back at your side. “A protector to be at your side when I cannot. I’ve been training him and he follows commands well already. By the time I leave he should be grown to the size of any regular dog - then at least twice that when I return.” 

While he spoke, the pup sniffed around your bed covers, curiously wandering on unsteady feet. You had to admit, he looked gorgeous, all black fur, with green eyes, and you didn’t doubt he would grow to be a fierce thing. But sometimes that wasn’t always good. 

“Cregan, are you sure about this?” you asked. “It’s… he’s a direwolf, not a dog.” 

“I’m sure,” he said, lending his arm out. The pup stepped closer, licking Cregan’s fingers and settling on its belly with its nose on Cregan’s knee. “They’re our house symbol. The direwolf are as Stark as I am, they know who we are, and they can be as loyal as they are fierce. That’s why I wanted to introduce you before I left. He’s going to be yours, loyal to you.” 

His arm wrapped around your shoulder, and like second nature you made yourself comfortable by his side. The pup shifted too, now his nose was itching closer to you, wanting to know who this new person was. 

“I supposed you ought to tell me what I'm going to be calling him then.”

“You can call him anything you like,” Cregan said, “But I’ve been calling him Striker.”

Five months passed, and Cregan was right. You were never without anything to do. 

The babe growing inside you made mornings rough, and you often weren’t seen before noon, especially in the earlier months. The rest of your day was spent catching up on what you’d missed while resting, and then catching up on what you missed while catching up. Then the evenings were spent with Striker. 

He had grown on you, just as he had grown physically. Cregan was still able to lift the wolf when he left, but now you doubted it. He was already well on his way to rivalling a regular wolf in size. Despite how intimidating that might’ve been, you couldn’t be more fond of Striker even if you tried. 

Your belly swelled, and with it so did the direwolf’s protectiveness. Your handmaids were tolerated, your guards struggled to be in the same room, and when the maesters dared tough you Striker had to be sent out of the room. Walks around Winterfell were soon out of the question, at least if you were to bring the direwolf along, since he took to growling at everyone who stood too close. 

Cregan really picked well, Striker surely was serving his purpose, and soon he earned his namesake. 

Word came from Castle Black that Cregan was going to return, that the Winter had been fended off once more. That brought joy foremost to you, but really all in Winterfell knew what that meant, even if Westeros didn’t. It was cause for celebration when they returned. 

It also gave a false sense of security. Winter was gone, and so was the evil - but evil didn’t just come from the north. It could come from anywhere. 

You’d settled into bed for the night, Striker laid beside you, head facing towards the door, and your hand rested on his flank as you looked over one last paper. He growled, and you petted his fur, silently reassuring him that it was just a guard passing outside - but then his head lifted, and turned toward your window. His sudden, still alertness put you on edge. 

He’d been hostile before, but this was aggressive. 

Candle flames flickered, Striker’s fur stood on end beneath your palm, the latch on your window clicked open, creaked open, and you could hear your heartbeat in your ears. A cloaked figure slipped into your room, and you couldn’t even bring yourself to cry for help - nor to remember anything Cregan had taught you. But you didn’t have to.

The figure, a man, unsheathed a knife, and with the glint of steel in the candlelight Striker struck. He surged off the bed with a vicious bark and bit into the man’s arm, snarling all the while and all but went to tearing the man to shreds. 

The commotion had people coming in through the door, and the sight had you still rendered motionless and speechless. 

The man’s cloak was torn away, and by now he was pinned to the floor, blood pooling on the stone as he fruitlessly tried to get Striker off him. You barely registered your guard, Gunther, asking you what was happening.

“He came in the window. He had a knife.” was all you could say. You could guess he was saying things to calm you down as he pried your fingers off your bedsheets that covered your swollen belly - he was probably trying to get you out of the room so you didn’t see the mess. It was too late for that. The man was a whimpering, bloodied mess on the floor by now, and no one had yet been brave enough to pry Striker’s jaw off his shoulder. 

Gunther had an arm around you with your hand in his, guiding you away. Others attempted to move closer, either to help the man or take him away - but Striker was still growling. 

“Striker, here.” you called, just finding your voice enough for it to carry over the commotion. The direwolf looked up, and seeing you being led away, he relented, fitting into your side with ease. 

The three of you walked away. Now you were away from the scene you could think again and guess you were going down the hall to another room, one you decided you’d stay in until Cregan returned. 

You looked down at Striker, threading your fingers though the fur at his neck. 

“Good boy.” you said, stroking between his ears. 

“He sure is, my lady.” Gunther said, “Who knows what could’ve happened if he didn’t act so fast.” 

You smiled a little at that, at how right Cregan was in leaving the direwolf for you. He was meant to be company, a protector second - but tonight he proved to be as good, as loyal as any of your guards. He proved to be the real sigil of House Stark - just as Cregan told you he was. 

You reached the door of your new room, and as your hand lifted off Striker’s back you noticed it chill with the cold night air. Turning your palm over, you saw red - and Striker’s nose made home in your fingers, licking away every drop as if it wasn’t ever there to begin with.

A week later, Cregan returned. 

You had been in a foul mood for the past three days, since the maester had put you on strict bed rest because of the babe. Therefore you had been deemed unfit to greet your husband at the gate as he finally came home. In your defense, it definitely seemed like a good reason to be sour. 

So you waited, sat on a chaise, with Striker’s head in your lap pressed to your stomach. 

You could hear a commotion outsider, which only made your face scrunch in annoyance - not just at missing out but also at the pity looked you knew your handmaiden would be giving you. She offered to go fetch Cregan, and you nodded her leave with a wave of your hand. 

“He will be here soon.” you said, cradling Striker’s muzzle in your palms. 

“Indeed he will.” Cregan said. 

“Oh, Lord Stark!” your handmaid said, startled. Your head turned, and you saw him standing in the doorway. 

“Cregan!” you said, grin covering your face - and even after such a long time away, Striker seemed to recognize him, for he didn’t growl, and his tail started thumping against the rug. 

“My love,” he said, shedding his great sword carelessly, and sunk to the floor beside where you sat. You heard your handmaid mumble a goodbye before stepping out and closing the door behind you. “Are you alright?” 

“I couldn’t be better now.” you replied, feeling tears welling in your eyes as you took in your husband's face for the first time in months. He looked tired, older, but as you took his face in your hands his cheeks felt exactly the same as they were when he left. “I missed you so much.” 

“I heard about what happened the other night. I -” he said, mouth hanging open in what could’ve been shock, in his eyes there could’ve been anger. Vengeance would do nothing now, the man was dead, he bled out before anyone could decide to give him mercy - undeserved or otherwise. But as Cregan leant forward to hold you into his arms, his warmth felt like nothing else except fear. “I can’t believe I could’ve lost you.” 

“You didn’t.” you said, taking an arm away from being wrapped around his shoulders to pull his face away from your chest. “You provided the means for me to stay safe long before you left. Striker was better than any guard. He was fearless when I was frozen. I owe him my life, all because of you.” 

Cregan’s face turned soft, and he smiled at you. He leant forward and kissed you. For the first time in too long, his lips move against yours. You felt his jaw move beneath your palm as his fingers grazed your neck and held onto your hip. When he pulled away, he kept your head cradled close to his. 

“I love you.” he said. 

“I love you too.” you replied, and he smiled, pressing another kiss to your lips, then your cheek. 

“Now tell me all about how my little girl is growing.”

[darnell-la]

Logan in a rut has me brain rotted. I’d love if you could write something about this. I think he would try and isolate himself not matter what but it gets to the point where he can’t hold back anymore and needs relief. Idk if he would be more possessive and rough or if he would end up whiny and desperate almost subby.

note: this is a younger Logan Howlett who ends up a bit subby. he would 100% beg the reader to help him because he would be too embarrassed and shy to just man up and dominate her (we have different thoughts of Logan almost every day).

we will be worrying more rut!logan once we get caught up with our college work. we wanna make bro nasty…

———

Logan’s time has come. He hoped it wouldn’t show, but every day that passed, it gets worse. The first day, all he had to do was rub one out, but after the second, he knew he was fucked.

He couldn’t help himself. He fucked his pillow. The man was beyond fucked up that night. He had ripped his pillow open with his claws and buried his cock inside, moaning the girl's name like he’s never before.

Y/n and Logan had been friends for years. A little flirting here and there happens. They might even get a bit touchy but never have they sat and talked about what they were. Especially since the man was known for keeping his flirt up with Jean.

Logan wasn’t surprised when the only person he could think of was y/n. She was pretty, her body always sent a shock through his own, her eyes would have him lost in seconds, and she was the only one around here with common sense.

At times, he hated all those good things about her. Like now. He’s sitting across from her in the kitchen, watching her sip on her drink and watch YouTube on her phone.

All the innocent things she does, makes him so damn hard. He can’t help himself. “G-Goodnight,” Logan said as he got up to leave. He needed to rub one out again. Maybe he’d sneak into her room and cum on her sheets. He needed something that was close enough to her.

“Aw, I was gonna ask if you could walk and get some wood with me, but I’ll get it myself. Goodnight, Logan!” She smiled at the man before he turned the corner, needing to get out of there.

He hoped he could get himself to go upstairs without struggling. Without turning back around to beg Y/n, he couldn’t hold it after her thought of her saying she’d be getting wood tonight.

It’s been almost an hour, and Logan is sitting on the stairs, cock pulsing through his thick jeans. He swore his balls were blue already.

He almost got up to get this over with and grab y/n, pulling her somewhere to at least cum on her face, but he heard the lights cut off in the kitchen.

He peaked around the corner, seeing y/n walk down the hallway and out of the mansion to do her night walk for some wood.

“Fuck,” the man groaned, already thinking of how good he’ll be feeling once he gets his hands on her. He needed to touch her. It’s only been a few short days, but he can’t control it anymore.

The man stalked behind y/n, making sure she wouldn’t sense anything behind her as she walked through the woods with a huge bag to carry back a few dry sticks.

Logan shook his head at the sight of her headphones, knowing she couldn’t hear a thing around her. This was a safe place, but now that he was going through this feeling from hell, it wasn’t anymore. At least for her.

Y/n placed her bag down and took her headphones out before picking up thick and dry wood that she could use for the fire tomorrow night. The way she sang, only made the man want her more. He needed her now.

“Hey, y/n?” Logan spoke, making y/n jump from the unexpected presence of someone else. “Oh, god! Hey, Logan,” the girl smiled up at him as he walked towards her, looking down.

“I-I know this is kind of a weird time, but I need to ask you a question,” Logan said, feeling nervous now that she’s right here. “Yes, ask me anything,” she smiled as she shifted her body towards him.

“Fuck, I — Y/n, I’m going rough a rut,” the man blurted out. This was not a part of his plan. He was going to turn y/n around and shove his cock in her mouth before carrying her back to the mansion, but now he’s stuck.

“Oh — I-I don’t really know what that means, but I can still help you,” she said. “Y/n, it hurts,” the man spoke. His voice came off as a beg which made y/n feel sad for him, even though she had no idea what hurt.

“What is it, Lo? Tell me, and I’ll help you,” she went to get up, but Logan stepped towards her and placed a hand on her head, softly pushing her back down. “It hurts,” the man shifted her head just a little, making her realize his print was right in front of her face.

“Logan,” she said, loss of words at the sight of how hard his cock tried fighting through his jeans. “I-I don’t know what to do about that. Maybe take some pills. Cool it down?” She suggested, but he shook his head.

“Need you, y/n. I need you,” the man said low, needing her to touch him. “I-“ the girl cut herself off, taking a deep dive into her thoughts. The man sounded like he was in horrible pain. He was a friend, so this wouldn’t be bad, right?

“Okay, but I don’t know if it’ll help,” she said, not knowing that this would be more than enough. Y/n slowly reached up to unbuckle his belt. She could see his legs shaking a little from how nervous he was.

He had no idea what came over him. At first, he was going to get what he wanted. Use her like an animal, but now — Seeing her like this and willing to help him, made him feel better. She was going to take care of him.

“P-Please hurry,” the man begged as her hands slid down his clothes cock through his boxers after his shorts fell to his knees. “Did you cum?” Y/n asked, confused but the wet patch was only pre cum. A lot of pre cum.

“P-Please, y/n, fuck,” the man balled his fists, trying to keep himself from crumbling right then and there. He needed to leak in her mouth. No place else. Only her mouth.

“Okay, okay,” y/n worried as she finally pulled his cock out, and god, was he hurting. The veins that covered his cock, showed like crazy. His tip was sticky. His balls were stiff and ready to explode.

“Baby, please!” The man begged louder. Y/n quickly wrapped her lips around his cock and sunk down to take him all in. Well, as much as she could. He was very big.

“G-God,” the man breathed out as his head tilted back. “Oh my god, thank you. Thank you so fuckin’ much, baby,” Logan covered his face with his hands as his heart raised, feeling himself close.

“Oh, fuck, baby — yes,” the man moaned as she quickens her paste, slurping and coating his cock with her spit as she sucked a big roughly.

“Baby, please, let me cum. P-Please, I need to cum,” the man begged, wanting her to decide what he could do. Y/n nodded her head, not knowing what else to do, but she wanted him to cum. Have wanted to make him feel better.

“T-Thank you,” Logan moans loudly as his col twitched, spilling down the girl's throat. Y/n continued, sucking the man as his eyes crossed from the feeling of her emptying his sack.

“G-God,” he couldn’t keep himself together. She was so good at this. He wished he could have this every night before he went to bed.

“S-So good, y/n. So fuckin’ good,” the man let the woman know how great she was. Y/n’s glossy eyes looked up at him, feeling herself grow wet, but she knew she could deal with it herself.

“Get up, baby. Needa takes you back to my room,” Logan pulled y/n to her feet. Confused, the young lady allowed him to throw her over his shoulders.

“I can smell you, and I don’t want to leave you leaking for the night,” Logan said as he walked back towards the mansion. “I’ll be fine, Logan. I-I need to head to bed,” y/n spoke, a bit nervous about this all.

She thought that after she did him this small favor, that would be it. He had other plans. He wasn’t letting her go.

“You’ll sleep with me tonight. Tomorrow we’ll move your stuff to my room so you can sleep there every night,” the man thought way further than she thought.

“I don’t know if we can do that. We’ll have to tell Charles about our shared room, meaning everyone has to know, and I don’t know-“ she tried saying, but he cut her off.

“Baby, please. I’m fine with everyone knowing about what happened tonight. I can’t ignore how much I need you anymore,” Logan admitted.

“What if this happened again? What if I couldn’t walk to you from how hard I was? You do this to me, baby, so I need your help — I need you,”

Y/n sighed to herself then accepted what he wanted. Logan gave the girl a small peck on her side as he continued walking towards the mansion.

[beloveds-embrace]

Angst duke au where reader ends up running away on her own accord. She’s got a wild spirit on the inside and it can’t be contained any longer. They already pay her no attention, nobody notices she’s left until half a month passes.

She finds a small, small village eventually and lives a cottagecore life collecting mushrooms and being showered in attention by a fellow villager (König) that spoils her rotten

Dukedom au masterlist

It happens without ceremony, just as quietly as you’ve lived these past months. You’ve given it enough thought to know this is what you want, but not so much as to paralyze yourself with doubt. There’s nothing left for you here- no affection, no companionship, no purpose. You’ve tried everything, haven’t you? Every word unsaid, every gesture rebuffed, every quiet hope dashed. If there’s nothing here but loneliness, then it’s time to seek something else. If you stay here any longer, you know you will rot away, unloved and unwanted.

And so, you leave with only a satchel. A plain cloak, a coin pouch, and a few essentials- the duchy’s wealth was never truly yours, and you feel no guilt leaving it behind. The manor is dark when you pass through its cold halls one last time, its silence now strangely soothing.

No one stirs as you open one of the less used back doors, no one watches as you step out into the cool night air. The gravel crunches beneath your feet as you make your way down the long road leading away from the estate, and you don’t look back. Not once.

You don’t keep track of how long you walk, only that the world seems to grow softer, warmer, with every step you take. You hadn’t even noticed how much life had been sucked out of you until you’ve left.

The grand estates and meticulous gardens of the duchy fade into rolling hills and dense forests. Villages dot the landscape here and there, but you don’t linger in any of them. You’re not looking for a crowd or a bustling town. You want quiet. Solitude. A place where you can breathe and exist without being watched or judged or resented.

It’s tiresome weeks before you find it: a tiny village nestled at the foot of a forest. It’s so small you almost miss it, hidden away among the trees and wildflowers, but when you step onto the dirt path leading into the cluster of cottages, you feel something you haven’t felt in years-

Peace.

The villagers are kind in a way that catches you off guard. They greet you with smiles even despite your messy appearance, not because they’re obligated to, but because they seem genuinely pleased to see you.

An older woman tuts at the state of you and offers you warm, fresh bread from her oven, sitting you down in her home. A farmer waves as you pass by. No one stares too long or whispers behind their hands. No one asks intrusive questions. It’s such a sharp contrast to the stifling scrutiny of the duchy, and it makes you realize how much you’ve craved this simplicity.

And so, you finally decide to stay.

You find work with the herbalist, a quiet, weathered man who doesn’t seem to mind your silence. He gives you tasks to complete- gathering herbs, organizing his jars- and pays you a small wage that’s enough to rent a modest little cottage at the edge of the woods. It’s a humble place with a thatched roof and a creaky wooden floor, but it feels like yours. It is yours.

You spend your mornings walking through the forest, learning which mushrooms are safe to pick and which plants have medicinal properties, books always ready to be cracked open, and your evenings curled up in front of the fire, your legs tucked beneath you as the light flickers across the walls. The herbalist and the old woman are friends, unsurprisingly for such a cozy village, and they tell you stories of their lives. Simple lives, yet so precious and fulfilling.

Your body, too, begins to change. The gaunt, hollow look you wore in the duchy fades as your cheeks fill out again, as your muscles grow stronger from the work. Your skin takes on a golden hue from the sun, and your eyes, once dull and lifeless, begin to sparkle with something new- contentment. The old woman even pats your cheeks, priding herself on constantly doing her best to fatten you up.

It’s a lovely life, you truly. And then something quite unexpected happens.

You meet König on one of your forest walks.

You had only heard of him- everyone told you he isn’t one to socialize much even if he is the forester of the village, simply does his job and prefers his solitude. Yet, you still end up meeting him.

He’s crouched among the trees, examining a patch of wildflowers when you almost stumble over him. You let out a startled yelp, and he rises so quickly you take a step back, craning your neck to meet his gaze. He’s huge- taller than any man you’ve ever met, even Duke Riley- with broad shoulders and an intensity that makes him seem more a part of the forest than a mere visitor.

Though perhaps, you think, that could be because of his work?

He speaks softly, his voice low, as he apologizes for startling you. His accent is unfamiliar, his words slightly awkward, as though he’s unused to speaking at all but you don’t mind.

You smile to reassure him, your heart still fluttering in your chest, and the way his blue eyes soften makes something inside you twist. How silly of you, such ridiculous thoughts.

König offers to walk you back to the village as an apology, insists on it, and though you’ve been perfectly fine on your own, you accept. There’s something… soothing about his presence, about the way he towers beside you but keeps a careful distance as if afraid to overwhelm you. When you part ways, you (dejectedly) think it’s the last you’ll see of him, but you’re wrong.

König starts appearing more and more often.

At first, it’s small things: helping you carry a heavy basket, pointing out a hidden patch of mushrooms you might have missed, but it quickly becomes clear to everyone except you that he’s seeking you out on purpose. He’s awkward about it, clearly unused to conversation, but he tries. And every time you see him, he brings something with him.

Never before have you had such attention dotted on you, and you… love it. You adore König, truly, and all the little gifts he brings with him.

A carved figurine of a fox, whittled from wood with painstaking care that you place on your bedside. A bundle of freshly picked berries, their juices staining his hands, a day after you told him you quite like berries. A bouquet of wildflowers that matches your favorites so perfectly you wonder if he’s been watching you.

If he is, you don’t mind.

Truthfully, you tell yourself it’s nothing at first. Just a kind villager being neighborly. But König doesn’t treat anyone else like this and even the herbalist and the old lady say so, hiding their smiles.

It’s only you who he looks at with those soft, steady eyes. Only you he lingers near, his massive frame somehow gentle as he helps you with whatever task you’re doing.

And so to no one’s surprise, over time, the relationship between you deepens into something far more precious and tender:

König listens to you in a way no one ever has. He hangs onto every word as if you’ve hung the stars, his gaze fixed on you as though you’re the most important thing in the world, in his world. He asks about your day, about your thoughts, and eventually, about your life; and when you tell him about the life you left behind, his jaw tightens, and his hands curl into fists. When they loosen, his hands hover for a few seconds before he gently cups your face, callouses thumbs rubbing the soft skin under your eyes.

“You deserve better,” he tells you, his voice quiet but firm. “I hope this… village gives you happiness.”

You don’t respond, but your heart aches with a feeling you can’t quite name. You give me happiness, König. More than anyone ever has.

He spoils you in ways you never thought possible, and gives you the steady, unwavering presence of someone who genuinely cares. It’s overwhelming at first, this constant, undivided attention, but you find yourself softening to it, leaning into it, _craving_ it.

For the first time in years, you feel seen. You feel wanted.

The life you’ve built here is nothing like the one you left behind. It’s smaller, quieter, but it’s yours. You wake each morning to the chirping of birds and fall asleep each night to the distant rustle of trees, and both times, you have warm and secure arms that wrap around you in the coziest embrace. Kisses trailing up the nape of your neck, a soft voice whispering vows of adoration into you skin.

The duchy, John, Kyle, Johnny, Simon- they feel like ghosts now, distant figures from a life that doesn’t belong to you anymore. You don’t know if they’ve noticed your absence, if they’ve felt the sting of your silence, but…

You don’t care. Let them wonder. Let them regret. You’ve found your freedom, your happiness, and you’re never looking back.

To be loved is to exist, and you understand that now.

[lady-ashfade]

Matching flames

Percy Jackson x Soulmate!Reader

-£ Ask: Percy x reader who's his soul mate and he only finds out when she almost dies (could be trying to save him or just because life as a demigod is hard) @poemfreak306

-£ words: 2k

-£ Warnings: Reader being injured, soulmate au, blood & cuts, reader almost dying, angsty, comfort at the end, cursing?? (You can also imagine any Percy you want in this)

Could you count all the stars in the sky?

It was almost peaceful looking up at the stars, mind going blank and your body numb. they looked so beautiful and you realize you’ve never quite looked closely at them. burning rocks floating in space that somehow was the cause of so many poems and love stories. if only you had noticed it sooner.

Blood leaked out of your side and the hand you placed over it started to give up trying to put pressure on the wound. The monster who chased you for miles had finally got to you after being so close to camp, to being safe and sound, when it’s claws finally got ahold of you. Its sharp nails dragged into your skin ripping your clothes and stained them with the blood immediately pouring out. thankfully you had one stroke of luck when your dagger pierced its heart and it was quick to fall.

Not much time has passed since then, however it was enough time for you to loss too much blood.

Had the stars always been that pretty? Just a thought as your eyes blur and the only thing left to feel was the thoughts in your head. The sweet smile of your moral parent’s smile, how it felt to laugh with friends and how some part of you still felt on fire. The shore of the camp’s lake appeared in your mind, and sand beneath your feet as you look at someone’s figure. The smile on their face was so familiar…Maybe it was death being nice to you.

you tried to keep your eyes open but they were just too heavy. maybe you could just rest for a few minutes. there was a sense of warmth that took over your body once more as your eyes fade closed.

“He’s coming, not long little one.”

the campfire wasn’t his focus at the moment but he found himself staring into it as his thoughts ran wild. he had just back to camp but this year was so much different. there was so much on his mind that he just couldn’t focus on one thing. about his mother, his father and how he still couldn’t believe he was a Demi god. even after a long time it just wasn’t normal to him.

then a hiss leaves his lips as he clings to his side in pain. it was stinging and felt on fire. he knew how being wounded felt like all to well but nothing happened, he was just sitting. then his finger felt funny like pins and needles stabbed him all at once. from his left annabeth looks at him worried and looking of his confused face.

“What’s wrong?” But the boy just stared at himself as the pain faded away but his hand became numb and weird. He spun it around a few times to look over it, checking for anything causing it but found nothing. not even a bug.

it was your smile that popped in his head. the warm shoulder he always laid on, he could hear the laugh you had ringing in his ears. why? his name was called from your soft lips but it wasn’t like normal, he saw your lips with blood from the corner. reaching out to him like he was your only hope.

“Y/n.” He stood up immediately at the image in his head. looking around for you in the crowd of campers he didn’t find you with your siblings or around your friends. annebeth looked at him worried and stood up with him, “what is it?”

he knew those trees. he’s seen then a million times. percy knew the grass, but this was different from actually knowing where you were. something was tugging his body and he didn’t need ask where you were. he knew.

his feet moved on their own and he practically ran where they took him and only thought of you. Annebeth stayed behind and told Mr.d that something might be wrong. Percy felt off and not the normal kind he always did. his body felt weaker like it was losing its life. his chest felt off and his heart filled with sorrow.

so when he found you laying in a pool of your own blood he was quick to fall next to you. “y/n” he called out. he checked for a pulse but couldn’t do it right so he leaned next to your nose and listened for your breathing and thankfully he felt some. his heart was pounding when he saw the cuts on your body making his mind wonder to what could have done it. the camp was just a few feet away and you could have been safe.

“Don’t die,” he begged and places his arm under your head, “this isn’t how it’s supposed to be.” his words didn’t make sense to him when he spoke. how was it supposed to be? what was he talking about.

the new light in the sky made him look up to a shooting star shoot cross the sky. it was truly beautiful. something around his finger pulled again and he felt the small feeling of string so when he looked down it was red and tied around him. following the line he found it connected to you. The string of fate.

his string was tied to yours. you were his soulmate.

“no, no” he wrapped another arm under your legs and left you up slightly. he was staring at your face with tears pooling themselves in his eyes. for the first time he was finally seeing you as what you were. his. but how could the gods be so cruel to take you way from him. Percy wouldn’t let that happen. he’d fight hades himself for you back.

“just stay with me.” there he was carrying you passed the camp line to get you to the infirmary. even in the near death you looked stunning as you away did. he was just to stupid to see it before. 

when they took you away from him he was quiet and stood outside the door and refused to leave. percy even refused to leave the room at first but was yelled at and pushed out, so he had no choice but to leave your side. how could he just stay outside when he could lose the one person that was supposedly to stay with him, to love him, and who was supposed to be with him always? how could he just sit still when he was going to lose it all?

his friends came to sit with him and offered him some kind words and reassurance but not much helped. he just sat down on a chair with his legs bouncing and hands fiddling with themselves as all he could think is about you. about the cuts on your skin and all the blood.

luckily they had gotten you somewhat healed, making you stable and fine. just had to wait for your body to heal.

“Percy,” annabeth poked his shoulder as he stared at the floor. they had left and he could go in now but he didn’t notice. “you can go in now.” Percy turn quickly to her and then at the door wide open now. so he sprinted up and inside to find you laying on the bed peacefully sleeping. annabeth didn’t follow him in because he needed a moment alone. she’d let him have his moment

Percy sat beside your bed the whole time you slept. he’d fed you. he’d brushed your hair out of your face and watched you closely as if someone was out to get you. his hand was always ready to pull out riptide in case but nothing dangerous ever came. his hand stayed in yours while he whispered for you to wake up and how much he was sorry.

“Should have realized it before,” he whispered as he leaned near you. “gosh, I’m such a idiot.” he sighed to himself and ran his eyes over you.

His hands rubbed your own, “Just wake up and I’ll make up for it. For all the time we lost, just let me love you.” His lips pressed to your head as you continued to sleep unknowing to his words but your body healing by having him close.

two days of not getting much sleep himself you’d waken up. his head resting next to your leg as he sat in a chair with his hand on yours, his hair messy. you didn’t remember coming to the infirmary or how you got here. and not percy holding your hand. but you couldn’t let go off it because it was to comfortable like it was made to fit in yours.

when you moved your body since it felt so stiff from probably not moving in days you’d accidentally woke him up. you felt bad as he shot up quickly and looked around panicked with his hand going to his side, probably reaching for riptide. once his eyes found yours it made your heart sink into your lower stomach. under his eyes were black circles and his eyes looked so painful that it broke you, like he’d been crying. he was paler then normal.

A sad smile broke onto his face, he was relieved to see you awake. He let out a small chuckle as his eyes almost filled with tears when he jumped forward you take your head into his chest as a small hug. “Welcome back,” you froze at his hug but let him have his moment. of course you smiled and wrapped your arms around him too. It was nice.

“Percy, how long was I out…How did I get here?” Pulling himself back with a red tint in his chest he sat back down.

“I found you outside the barrier. Y/n, I thought you were dead, you were barely breathing.” his voice broke. “but I got you here and now you’re awake. not dead,” there was that damn smiling again that pained you, like he was convincing his demons something.

humming and nodding your head along you look at your side to see it healed, lifting up your shirt just a little and saw a scar on your skin. it made you frown knowing how big it would be. “If it means anything, I think you’d look badass.” you put your shirt back down and look at him.

he was trying to make you feel better. “Percy when I was- When I closed my eyes I heard something and my body, well it felt different. Do you know anything about that?” his heart skipped a beat and his eyes slightly going wide.

was it obvious how fluster he was? was his skin as red as a tomato, did he look like a fool? “I have to tell you something.” Percy played with his own hands again and looked away for a second. you swing your legs to the side of the bed to stretch.

“Go ahead.”

You watched him closely and you could see he was working himself up to speak. how his body bounced and twitched, he was turning redder by the second. he was cute. and you yourself found your own cheeks turning hot when you looked at him.

“I saw you at the campfire in my mind. I could feel the pain you felt, or somewhat, like I was dying. my body was pulling me to you and I knew exactly where to find you without having to look.” As he explained you listened carefully and tilted your head to the side.

“then I saw it. The red string of fate tied to my finger. I saw a shooting star, then I saw your string tied to my. And for the first time I saw you for the first time, as my soulmate.”

“Oh.” Damnit. That was bad.

Percy nodded and now started to shut down as he watched you, your brain moving to figure out what to say. he just ruined everything. you wished to not be his soulmate, that was it. he didn’t blame you. Percy brought danger whereever he went.

But that wasn’t it. you had been thinking something else. everything made sense to you now. why you looked at him when no one else was looking. why he made you feel high in the clouds when he was near. and how he just fit so well in your life without trying. “Percy,” you call out to him again and move closer and scoot to the end of the bed with your feet hitting the floor.

you should have known from his eyes. as they look at you now it just hit you like bricks, how they were so powerful. as you take his cheek in your hands his breath hitches and holds in his chest. “i’m glad you’re my soulmate.”

he pulled you close to him and held you so tight in how arms as you giggled at how happy he seemed. his laugh made your stomach fill with butterflies. “I’ll make you happy.” And that you had no doubt about. you pulled back from his grasp and looked at his lips. you needed to kiss him. and Percy knew what you were thinking and wanted the same.

his face moved forward as his kiss captured yours in a soft but passive kiss, his hands moving to wrap themselves around your body as yours wrapped around his neck. it was nice but didn’t end short. after all you both waited for a long time to feel the love of a soulmate and you didn’t know that you craved it this badly.

The stars never lied when it comes to love. And now you knew that he was the burning fire within you.

[starogeorgina]

𝐌𝐚𝐝𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬

Paring: Jacaerys Targaryen x reader

Warnings: Swearing, smut

1.01

“His heart beats for blood. Blood and fire.”

Jacaerys stares at his betrothed from across the room, watching as she mumbles to herself while flicking through the same book he’s seen her read many times, her heavy-looking eyes often fixated on the same page for a long period of time. He was informed the library and Sept were the only places she would visit outside her private chambers since Aemond killed his brother.

The last time Jace’s family were all together, in King’s landing, King Viserys declared his youngest daughter and eldest grandson were to be wed, with the intention of mending the rift between House Targaryen once and for all.

But that wasn’t what happened.

His betrothed was visibly happy and very vocal about how excited she was to start planning the wedding with his mother. Then his grandsire died, his mother’s throne was usurped, and his unborn sister died. Since returning from Winterfell Jacaerys, the princess hasn’t even glanced in his direction; she was avoiding him, which stung. Jace had never felt so alone; he always had Lucerys by his side before. Perhaps the princess was hiding herself away out of fear of being treated badly for what her brothers, mother, and grandsire had done to his family.

Not that he thought of her any differently; if anything, the young prince pitted her.

Jacaerys watches her for a few moments longer then decides it’s best to leave the princess be; no point in disturbing someone who is seeking isolation.

—

You stop making alterations to the tunic you were embroidering when you hear the door to the chambers you were currently occupying being opened; without looking back, you know who it is. When the footsteps don’t go any further than the doorway, you start threading the needle again.

Every corner you turn, you feel dark eyes burning a hole into you. Nothing that you could say would undo the pain inflicted already. Your mind begins to wonder again, and you don’t notice Jace moving until he’s sitting next to you at the wooden desk. He was looking directly at you, but you avoided meeting his gaze.

“My Prince.”

He takes a sharp intake of breath, “I hold no ill will towards you.”

The funeral for Lucerys was held earlier that day, just before the sun began to set. You watched from afar as Rhaenyra crumpled to pieces, and the rest of her family sobbed, mourning the loss of such a sweet boy. It would have been wrong for you to join them when someone you cared for dearly caused them so much pain.

“How can you not? My twin is the reason you won’t get to see Luke again.”

Jacaerys says nothing to your response. What could he say? You sit in silence, watching Jace’s finger trace over the outline of a dragon on the tunic. “It’s unfinished; it was meant to be a gift for after the wedding.”

A small smile pulls on his lips. “It’s Vermax.”

Regardless of the awful things that had happened, you wanted to remain on Dragonstone but doubted you’d be able to stay long. You were nothing but a reminder of what Aemond had done.

“What’s on your mind?”

You finally looked up and met his eyes, which are glossy from holding back tears. In comparison, your own issues seem minuscule, but you share what’s bothering you anyway. “I don’t want to go back home.”

“This is your home.”

“I’m afraid.”

Giving you a sympathetic look, Jace uses the pad of his thumb to rub circles on the back of your hand. Comforting touches weren’t something you were familiar with, but you liked the warmth coming from his hand.

“You’re safe inside these walls. I won’t let anybody come in here and hurt you.”

“I’m afraid of Dae—”

You’re cut off when there’s a knock at the door and Rhaenyra’s handmaiden, Elinda, walks into the room. You expected Jace to remove his thumb, but instead he squeezed your hand.

Elinda greets you both, “Princess, the queen wishes to speak with you.”

—

Staring into Rhaenyra's eyes was like staring down a dragon. Her fury was evident the moment you entered her quarters; you had seen Daemon storming in the opposite direction and presumed he had something to do with the queen's foul mood. You were thankful when she went to stand by the window.

“I believe my son was in your bedchamber when I sent for you. Is that correct?”

“No, I mean—“ you begin to stumble over your words. “Yes, he was there, Prince Jacaerys came to speak with me.”

“Nothing that could have waited until the morrow, I’m sure.”

Her expression was hard to read. Although she didn’t say anything else, you felt the need to explain further. “I told him I didn’t want to go back to King's Landing, and he told me this was my home. He said, I'm safe here.”

“Why would you believe any differently?”

“Nowhere is safe.”

Rhaenyra uncrosses her arms, her expression softening. “Nobody under my rule will harm you, but I must share this with you.”

Elinda hands you a scroll. Confused, you take it from her, “I don’t understand why someone would write to me.”

You open it nervously and read it. Your lips parted slightly; Rhaenyra asks what it says, but you’re unable to answer her. Elinda looks at it and lets out a small gasp, “It’s from Aegon. He’s demanding the princess return to King’s Landing at once.”

You take the scroll and toss it into the fireplace. “It may have my brother’s signature, but that is my grandsire and mother talking.”

“Elinda, leave us for a moment.” Rhaenyra lets out a frustrated sigh. When it’s just the two of you, she asks, “Do you wish to stay here, on Dragonstone?”

“Yes,” you say, taking a step towards her. “I understand if you want me to leave, but please don’t make me go back to them.”

Seeing the desperation in your eyes, she nods. “We may not be close, but you are my youngest sister. I know you are innocent.”

“I miss Helaena and her sweet children.” You begin to sob, “I was so quick to leave with you for Dragonstone that I never went and saw father before I left. I never said goodbye to him.”

“Neither of us knew what would happen.” Rhaenyra caresses your cheek in a motherly manner. “Jacaerys is right, you are safe here.”

—

Dragonstone was much darker and colder than what you were used to; your hair always feels damp even when it’s dry. You found the sounds of waves crashing around the island comforting.

But not as comforting as being held by Jacaerys.

You expected the prince to have returned to his own quarters, but he was waiting on you to return. You were sitting on the edge of the table with your legs dangling over the edge, Jacaerys forehead pressed against your own while he held you close.

The both of you were lonely, hurt, and scared.

“Won’t you get in trouble for being here so late?”

“We will be married soon,” Jacaerys says, stepping back. “Will we share a room when we are married?”

“I was told that women only lay with their husbands for a couple of nights a month, but everyone who I know who does it seems unhappy. Would you want us to always share a bedchamber?”

“Yes.”

Smiling, you peck him on the lips. “Sorry, that was inappropriate of me.”

“It’s okay.” He closes his eyes. “I hope the war ends soon so my mother can sit on her throne, and you can be my wife.”

You chuckle slightly. “As happy as I am to be your wife, I’m scared for our wedding night. My mother told me sex is painful for a woman.”

“It’s not always.”

“Wait, have you...” You don’t finish the question; the thought of him bedding someone else made you feel sick.

“No, but my stepfather is Daemon Targaryen,” he chuckles. “He always told me it was important for everyone involved to feel pleasure.”

“I was just told to grip the sheets while waiting for it to be over and that only men feel good.”

Jace’s lips ghost your own, his breath warm on your face. “Have you ever felt pleasure before?”

“Yes… kind of, have you.”

Jacaerys cheeks flush red as he nods.

“I touched myself once, but I didn’t put my fingers inside.”

“Why not?”

“It’s a sin for a woman to touch themselves for desire. I went to the sept immediately afterwards and didn’t do it again.”

“Sweet girl,” Jace kisses your cheek. “I’ll never touch you anymore than you want me to.”

You hug again, but this time Jace’s head is pressed against the side of your neck. You still like that in a comfortable silence until you feel him lightly kissing your neck. He pauses waiting for your reaction; a moan slips from your mouth, and you tighten your grip, going around Jace’s back, encouraging him. “Do it again, please.”

Jacaerys starts kissing up your neck until he reaches your jawline. Lifting his head, your noses brush together, “Can I make you feel good now?”

You take Jacaerys hand and guide it underneath your skirts, helping him find the sensitive spot that brings you such pleasure.

“Oh fuck!”

Jace shushes you with a kiss, “We need to be quiet.”

You hold onto his shoulders tightly as he rubs circles on your clit until you climax.

Smiling Jacaerys kisses you again, “It’s late; we should get some rest; the morrow will come soon enough.”

“Can you stay a little longer?”

He takes your hand and helps you off the table. “Yes, but I’ll need to go before the handmaidens come in the morning.”

[rebelliousstories]

Rightful Spot

Relationship: Remy LeBeau/Gambit x Reader

Fandom: X-Men

Request: Yes by Anon

Warnings: Fluff, Brief Angst, Mentions of Fighting

Word Count: 1,521

Main Masterlist: Here

X-Men Masterlist: Here

Summary: After coming back to his timeline and finally joining in on missions, Remy underestimated how powerful cuddles could be.

Consider Donating: Here

Looking back on it now, he could have stuck that landing better. However, the circumstances leading to him having to stick a landing were a bit unforgiving, so it should not have been terribly surprising. Still, falling from the sky and rolling into a dark alleyway was not how Remy wanted his welcome home to be.

He could not complain though. Remy was home. He was back in his own universe, and now had a renewed sense of purpose. Stumbling out into where he could see lights, familiar sights and sounds greeted him like old friends. New Orleans, Louisiana; home sweet home. Gambit was on Bourbon Street, which was always hustling and bustling.

His feet began the trek to who knows where. All he knew was that they were going some place familiar and safe. The man ducked and weaved, making his way effortlessly through the crowds. In his hands, a card was always there, just in case. Further and further from the crowds, his feet took him. Down to where there were some apartment buildings, his brain finally started catching up with his feet. Taking over, Remy bolted up to the top, and began to run across the rooftops to his destination.

Dropping onto the fire escape, he thanked whatever was out there that he managed to keep mostly quiet. Peaking inside the window, he was shocked to see someone was still awake. In fact, multiple someone’s had been awake and moving about the apartment. Remy could not hear what was being said, but he knew those faces. Scott with his red glasses, and Jean with her matching red hair, Storm with her flowing white locks, and her. His cher was sitting there entertaining them all.

She looked like she was exhausted. Not from sleep, but mentally and emotionally tired. She looked like how Remy felt being in the Void. In her hands was a mug of something warm, probably that tea she likes to drink, and one of Gambit’s jackets around her. His heart tugged at the sight, and his lips curled in a smile. She never did do well with the cold.

Picking the lock on the window, Remy silently creeped into the apartment. Their eyes had not noticed the new person in the apartment, but he noticed how quiet it had gotten. Before he could speak, his body was suspended in the air as Jean turned to face the man. But she gasped in shock and let the man go almost immediately. The rest of the party was just a second behind her.

“Now, that ain’t no way to treat da Gambit, no?” His hands began massaging his body as the other people finally reacted to the new arrival. He heard her voice whisper out his name as he stood once more.

“Cher, I’m home. I’m so sorry.” But before he got any closer, Scott stepped in front of the ladies.

“If you really are Gambit, what’s something only he would know, huh? What was the last thing he said to me?” Scott pressed, worried that this might be an imposter.

“Cyclops, really? I just got back, mon ami. We really gonna have us an inquisition right now?” But the man was not swayed.

“What was the last thing Gambit told me?”

The Cajun was looked around for someone to support him not doing this, and just wanted to lay his eyes on his girl again. But he groaned, and wiped a hand over his face in frustration.

“Gambit told ya, ‘I’ll go on the mission. Jean needs ya here. Tell my cher dat I love her.’ That was the last thing I told ya before leaving for that damn mission to go so some recon on the brotherhood.” Everyone stood down. But Scott was still unimpressed.

“Where have you been all this time? And why only come back now?” He continued, even though Jean was tugging at his sleeve.

“Went on dat mission, and touched down in da forest. Didn’t find no brotherhood, but instead some people called da TVA takin’ bunch o’ dem out. Next thing I know, I wake up in da desert in some place called the Void. Been der evea’ since. Den a Deadpool and a Wolverine fought to leave the Void, and bargained for my freedom to come back as well as others. Believe me now, Scott?” Remy was getting fed up with answering questions. All he wanted was to get her in his arms.

Before anyone could speak again, he was nearly knocked over by the weight and force of something hitting him hard and fast. Remy regained his balance and looked down to see his girl squeezing him tight. Closing his eyes, he wrapped his arms around her and held her close. Hands landed on his arms, and he found Scott and Jean there on one side, with Storm on the other. Remy pulled the rest of the gang close as he relished this moment he never expected to have again.

After a few months of training, flying back to New York to go live at the school again, and a brief adjustment period to not always being on edge about who or what was going to find him, Gambit was back in the field. He did not do solo missions anymore, but he was excelling in team exercises again. This last one had kicked everyone’s butt though.

What was meant to be a simple mission of going down to help stop a mutant riot in the city, turned into a full scale brawl with the Brotherhood. In the end, they had eventually stopped the riot, but not without acquiring some scratches and bumps. The flight back to the school was a silent one; one where everyone that was not navigating the plane just wanted to rest with their eyes closed, and their brain off.

It was a smooth landing, which was a blessing. But having to walk back up was a curse. Every bone felt ten times heavier, and their feet felt like they were made of lead, but they did it. Bidding his teammates adieu, Remy continued his climb to where their room was. Thankfully, she had moved back into the mansion, having left when Remy disappeared, and was staying in their old room together. It was just like no time had passed.

Creaking the door open, he was delighted to see that she was folding some laundry with music playing somewhere in the background. Upon hearing the footsteps, she looked up, smiled, and abandoned her task.

“Remy, you’re home! Are you alright?” Her arms wrapped around him in a tight hug that made him groan.

“Ease up, cher. Ol’ Gambit done had the card house dropped on him.” Pulling away, she saw that a bruise was starting to form right underneath his chin. She traced a feather light touch over it, and furrowed her brows.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” She pleaded, worried to see what other marks he had gained in the afternoon that he had been gone.

“Non, cher. Just finish wit’ dem clothes so we can lay down, yeah? Gonna go get out of my suit now.” Gambit pressed a kiss to her lips, but was careful over the split he felt in the corner. While he went to the bathroom to change, she resumed her task of getting the laundry done.

Her mind was distracted, and worried about her lover that was just on the other side of the door. She could hear his groans and hisses, especially once the water started and he was underneath the stream. Setting out a loose shirt, and an equally loose pair of pajama pants, she went to work putting the rest of the clothes away while waiting for him to come out.

The door opened, and she just had to turn to see. Bruises started darkening already, and there were some minor scrapes, but that seemed to be the brunt of his injuries. With a towel loose around his hips, he grabbed the clothes from the bed, and sent his lover a wink. Not a seductive or even teasing wink, but rather a way to say thank you. He disappeared back into the bathroom, and she changed herself to something a bit more comfortable. As she was pulling the covers back from the bed, Remy emerged once more, with damp hair, and a fresh set of clothes on.

Gambit crawled into the plush bed, and sunk into it with a groan. She giggled, but crawled in beside her lover all the same. His arms, no matter how bruised or sore, opened wide to accept her right where she was supposed to be. They were facing each other, and her hands were tucked up against his chest to keep her close. One arm under her neck, and one around her waist, Remy kept her as close as humanly possible.

“Je t’aime, cher.” Remy whispered, pressing a kiss to her hairline as they began to drift off.

“I love you too, Remy.” She replied, feeling perfectly at peace in her spot with her lover.

[azrielstaylorsversion]

Scars to match mine - Part 2

Azriel x reader

Part 1

Warnings: burns, bad thoughts

After being brought home safely by Azriel, Y/N has to heal. Her mate makes sure she makes it through.

I wince, pulling my hands back. I was being stubborn again. I wasn't even supposed to pick things up yet, but everyone was out of the house, so no one would be able to tell me not to do it.

I sigh to myself, feeling helpless. But most of all, I felt worthless. I try not to show Azriel my true feelings about my hands, being scared I might hurt his feelings in the progress.

While I love his scars, I hate my own.

I had only seen them once. That was last week. It's been three weeks since it happened.

Madja has changed my bandages a few times now, but I refused to look. When I watched her do it last week I immediately regretted it.

When the kind healer had left, I locked myself in the bathroom for hours. Crying until there were no tears left.

Luckily for me, Azriel wasn't home that day. I didn't want him to see me like that.

He comforted me every evening, telling me how beautiful I looked and how lovely I am. I always accepted his kind words, but something inside of me told me not to believe him.

Every time I had to remind myself to look at his scars. His beautiful scars. That I could love my own like I loved his, but a second later that thought would disappear, a bad one replacing it.

I hadn't really been out of the house in the last few weeks. I enjoyed the quiet around our small home. It was far enough away from the busy streets of Velaris to never be bothered by any sounds.

My head was pounding from all the thoughts when my mind came back to reality. My eyes fell on the book that had fallen to the ground.

I put my bandaged hands over my face, groaning loudly.

I wasn't even able to pick up a book. I wanted to scream, to break things, but instead I chose to sit down in front of the fire place. Without a book.

Or anything to drink or eat. I had tried to get something for myself, but it hurt too much, and I didn't really enjoy the thought of grabbing things with my arms or mouth. Even the thought of picking something up with my feet had crossed my mind.

I felt a comforting brush through the bond, letting me know Azriel was near. He always did that.

I had blocked the bond enough for the last few weeks to make it pass as normal so he wouldn't question all my weird thoughts and feelings.

The front door of our house opened and closed softly. A few seconds later Azriel appeared in the doorway, smiling at me as he made his way over.

I tried to return the smile as best as possible, but I could already see and feel his confusion grow as he saw me sitting helplessly on the couch.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his eyes scanning around the room and landing on the book on the ground.

He didn't give me time to answer. "You should've called for me." he spoke softly.

I swallowed. "I know."

He picked up the book, handing it to me. I awkwardly tried to take it before he pulled it away from me.

"I don't care what you tell me. I can tell that you've been hiding from me and telling me half truths." he said, his voice firm but soft.

I tried to speak, but I couldn't find the right words. My mouth opened and closed. He was totally right. I sighed in defeat.

"How are your hands feeling?" he asked again. "And don't tell me 'fine' or 'better'. I need a real answer." he walked over to the couch, sitting down next to me. He placed a hand on my shoulder, making me look at him.

I hesitated, but moved over to his side. He wrapped his arms around me, being careful with my hands.

"It's not fine. Or better." I spoke softly.

"Tell me about it." he placed a kiss against my temple, moving his hand up and down my arm.

I sighed. "The feeling is weird, but it hurts. I can't pick anything up. I feel helpless all the time. I feel worthless. I hate all of it." the words spilled out of my mouth.

Azriel stiffened, his hand stopping for a few seconds before continuing. "And why do you feel helpless? Why do you feel worthless?"

I regretted my words now. "I... I can't do anything." I was talking to my mate. I could tell him anything. "I hate myself for letting this happen. I hate myself for the scars it will leave." I immediately turned ny head around. "I mean.. my scars. Not yours. Yours are beautiful. I just-, I just feel so weird and different and I don't really want to talk about it, but I need to. I can't just shut you out. I am so sorry." I was just rambling at this point, but Azriel kept his eyes on me, listening to every word.

After I stopped myself from talking more I turned my head away from Azriel, feeling too embarrassed. I really didn't want to hurt him with my own insecurities.

"Your words don't hurt me. I know you think that." he said softly.

He knew me better than anyone else.

He put one hand on my side, the other on my cheek. "I can't fix your hands. But I can help you with the healing process." he told me softly. "Everything will be okay. We'll get through this together."

I leaned into his touch, blinking away the tears at his kind words. I nodded in agreement.

He gently kissed both my bandaged hands before pecking my lips.

"Now tell me what book I can help you pick up."

[bullet-prooflove]

Christmas Bingo Card 2024: Closure - Leroy Jethro Gibbs x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @ilovemark1951 @love-affair-with-fandoms @clarasmoon @andthevillainshallrises

Companion piece to:

Companion piece to:

The Ice Queen - Gibbs meets The Ice Queen for the first time.

Break The Ice - A act of decency helps Gibbs to break the ice.

Grave - You and Gibbs bump into each other in an unexpected place.

Safe - You and Gibbs work through your grief in different ways.

Check In - Gibbs checks in with you after the night before.

Wait It Out - You and Gibbs wait out a threat to your saftey.

All Dressed Up - You and Gibbs have a frank conversation about an office event.

Right Here - You come home to find Gibbs waiting for you on your doorstep.

Revelations - Gibbs is surprised to discover a connection between you and Mike Franks.

Haunted (ft: Mike Franks) - Mike reflects on your prior history.

Lilies - Gibbs knows you're not ok.

There’s a fire burning in the hearth, it casts a warm glow across the living room as the two of you sit curled up on the couch, music playing in the background. Your head is resting on Gibb’s chest, his fingers combing lightly through your hair. It’s something that soothes you, he’s learned over the past couple of hours, that and the sounds of Bruce Springsteen.

You’d fallen asleep about an hour ago, tucked in close against him and he hadn’t had the heart to move you. You’d been exhausted after the call from Frank’s, overwrought and upset.

They’d arrested David at his home in front of his wife and children. Randy had found Violet’s engagement ring, stashed in a wall safe along with photographs from around the time. Most of them were group shots, Mike's face scratched out from every single one of them.

David crumbled when presented with the evidence and then the real story had emerged. How he’d had been in love with Violet for years. How the engagement to that foulmouthed Texan had tipped him over the edge. He’d intercepted her on her run that evening, tried to make his case, it had gotten into a fight and before he knew it he had lost control completely.

All of that trauma you’ve spent years shoving down had risen to the surface at that point. You’d dropped the phone, become inconsolable. It’s something that happens when you live with a nightmare like this for so long, it becomes a part of you and now that it’s gone…

There’s just this void.

Gibbs had gathered you up into his arms and cradled you against him, rocking you the same way he used to when Kelly had a nightmare. He’d held you like that for hours, sheltering you from the storm outside until you’d cried yourself to sleep. He wonders what happens after this, what moving on looks like to you. He hopes that you can find a way to let go, to be happy again.

You stir against him, nestling even closer and his lips brush the top of your head, shushing you. You seem to settle after that, relaxing into him and Gibbs can’t express how good this feels, being here with you. He knows it should feel like a betrayal but it doesn’t and it makes him wonder if maybe he’s moving on too, if he’s just been too thick headed to notice.

Him and Shannon, they’d never talked about what would happen if she’d been the one to go first, they’d always thought that it would be him, dying out there on some unforsaken battlefield.

“I want you to live your life.” He’d told her one night at the kitchen table before he shipped out. “If I die, I don’t want you stuck here mourning my loss, I want you to get out there and do all the things you want to do. I want you to live the life you’re supposed to.”

He’d meant every single word of it. He thinks if he’d asked her she would have shared the sentiment but she hadn’t wanted to talk about that, she’d taken him to bed instead, reminded him what he was coming home to.

That was the last time he’d made love to another person, his last taste of intimacy. He wants that again, he has for a while, he just…

He isn’t ready for the type of connection that comes with loving someone like that, not yet, but he hopes one day he will be and that someone…

He hopes it’s you.

Love Gibbs? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[catsukiiee]

# GIRLFRIEND?

౨ৎ prohero! tenya iida x black fem!reader

readers quirk ; bunny [ can do anything a bunny can do ]

readers appearance prompt ; waist length curly raven haired, dark skin, sharp almond shaped eyes, red eyes.

tenya iida has been aged up to 27.

Tenya Iida, being the man he is, has never been possessive or obsessive in a romantic manner. But when he saw you, shoulders hunched and bunny ears pinned to your head, staring up at him with wide, fear-stricken eyes after being saved from a villain who used his quirk to rob you and your friends, he wanted nothing more than to keep you safe from the crime-riddled world.

It slowly became a habit for him to visit where you worked to see how you were doing, ignoring the hushed whispers and curious glances from your coworkers and regular customers who began noticing his frequent visits and his devoted attention that never wavered from you.

"Oh! Hello Ingenium!" The cheerful tone of your coworker speaking caught your attention, large bunny ears twitching at the sound, you tried your best to ignore the way your heart skipped a beat at the name she spoke.

Iida had visited you so much that you recognized his footsteps, your sensitive nose catching the expensive cologne and soap he always used. "Hello." He spoke so calmly, yet his red gaze was always so intense. He was always so intense.

"Good morning, Iida." You began sitting up from your chair to give him a bow, but he stopped you, smiling so softly at you—the same soft smile he gave you the day he rescued you.

You didn't bother asking why he was here like you did the first few times; you knew he wanted nothing from the shop. He simply sat down and idly chatted with you while you worked, getting up here and there to help you restock or grab something that was out of your reach or that he deemed too heavy, his hands and arms brushing against yours every single time. It was on purpose, and you knew it.

Softly, you thanked him, avoiding his gaze each time, and each time he replied with a soft "Mhm." Before going back to his seat, it wasn't even his seat; it was just a spot he came and sat in so much that no one sat in it except for him.

You hated and loved how fast your heart would beat around him, like a hectic prey animal. It was irritating and exhilarating at the same time.

There was one thing you loved about his visits, a dirty secret that was the cause of your rapid heart beats and the sly brushes of skin between you two.

In the middle of Iida talking about a recent interview he had done, you got up from your seat, his babbling ending in a instant. He eyed you with curiosity, like he didn't know what exactly you were doing. "I need to go grab some things from back, I'll be back." You answered his silent question.

Of course, he followed you to the back like he always did, heavy on your footsteps.

As soon as the soft click of the door reached your ears your lips were captured in a slow kiss that left you on fire. Iida was a respectful man, everyone knew that, even as he touched you and kissed your breath away he was still respectful, silently asking if he could continue with his eyes.

You never denied his touch, his kisses, the way he whispered how good you smelt into your ear or the way his hands cupped and squeezed your body as his lips explored your collarbones and shoulders, leaving faint bite marks and hickeys where he could see but no one else would.

Wordlessly, you turned around and pulled up your dress till it was bunched up around your hips with the help of Iida's larger hands holding the cloth in place. "Beautiful." He whispered into the back of your neck, the faint feeling of his teeth sliding against your skin leaving goosebumps along your skin.

You couldn't help the breathy moan that escaped you at the feeling of his tongue and lips against your thigh as he kneeled down behind you, sliding your panties down till they pooled around your ankles. The rack of supplies shaking as your hands grabbed at it, another moan slipping away as Iida pressed his tongue against your slit, burying his face into your pussy from the back.

He ate you so well, pressing you closer even as you squirmed against his mouth. You had been with plenty of men that went down on you, but never had one be so eager to taste what was his. The low throaty groans that left him as he did it drove you insane.

"Iida." You gasped out, reaching one hand out to grab a higher rack, making the metal shelves of supplies rattle again but you didn't care, purely focused on his tongue switching from your pussy to your ass till you were shaking with release.

Your whispering plead was met with a sharp slap on your ass, the chilly air of the room hitting your pussy causing you to tense up as Iida stood up, running his hand up the valley of your back until it reached your hair, pulling your head back to kiss him, making your back arch slightly. "May I?" He murmured into the kiss, leaning back just enough to look into your pleading eyes, already knowing the answer yet asking again.

"Please," you whimpered, pushing back against his erection through his jeans. His glasses rested on his face lopsided, the crooked smile he gave you made your legs tremble. "Turn around, I want to see your face."

You immediately obeyed, holding the back of his neck, pressing your lips to his, savoring the taste of yourself with a moan as he effortlessly lifted you up into his arms.

You struggled to keep quiet at the feeling of his cock against your pussy, running your fingers through his hair as the kiss intensified. "Please fuck me," you murmured, your breath catching in a moan as he gently guided you onto it in a instant.

There was no need for a pause, as you gasped and moaned softly into the kiss while he lifted you up and down on his dick. Both of you panting heavily and moaning into each other's mouths, trying to stifle each other's sounds.

He knew exactly how to push your buttons, whispering filthy things and praising you every time you tightened around him in anticipation of an orgasm. "You're such a good little bunny," he'd murmur, his red eyes filled with desire, grinning wildly as you came around him again and again.

"Fuck me, Iida," you breathed into his ear, feeling his nails digging into your skin as he thrust harder, his deep grunts and moans becoming louder. The way Iida talked to you though, the respect he was known for had shriveled up the moment he felt your pussy swallow his dick whole; whispering degrading things and praising you till you both were cumming, biting down on his shoulder to muffle your moans.

After cleaning up, you both shared soft whispers and gentle kisses before heading out one by one. Normally, Iida would say his goodbyes to you and the rest of the shop before leaving. But this time, he surprised everyone by kissing you in front of everyone, loudly proclaiming you as his "Lovely Girlfriend" before walking out, leaving you standing there shocked and flustered.

"Girlfriend?"

tenya iida being a certified munch is very much on my bingo card 🤭

[criticallyinneedofadar]

A Life Lost in Time

A/N: I'm so sorry in advance. This is a sad one. I just can't get over the 'he promised me children' bit.

Pairing: Adar x Reader

Warnings: Main character death, childloss, infertility,

*This could be read in connection to Beyond Hope if you want a happy ending for this couple.

____________________________________________________________

Adar stood alone, cloaked in the deepening twilight, staring into the darkness of the rivers surrounding the elvish city. The winds carried a faint whisper, almost like a distant echo of voices long dead, warning him of what was to come. 

Eregion.

It’s fall was imminent, and he would be the one to see it burn- Sauron with it. Yet, even with the grim satisfaction of his enemies broken and his children safe, a heaviness hung in the air that he could not shake. He had fought for so long, carved his paths of pain through the centuries, yet the weight of a memory far more agonizing than any battle weighed on his mind. 

Aruvian. 

The name stirred within him like a half-remembered song. She had been the last one to use that name for him. Before he had become Adar. Before everything had changed. 

The present seemed to slip away as his thoughts drifted to a time when his heart had still known the light. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

You were sitting by the fire, staring into the flickering flames, pensive and deep in thought. You felt it before you heard his steps. The familiar presence within your fae, that of your husband Aruvian, approaching from behind. He sat beside you, his dark eyes filled with the same sorrow that had haunted you both for centuries. 

“I spoke to her again today,” you say quietly, your voice barely above a whisper, “The healer.” 

Aruvian’s hand gently found yours, his grip firm and warm “And?”

You turn your gaze to him, eyes brimming with tears. “There is nothing to be done meleth nin. She said it would take a miracle for us to bear a child,” 

A heavy silence filled the air. You had spent centuries trying to fill that silence- trying and failing to bring the life you both longed for into the world. 

You could feel Aruvian’s heart clench as he saw the weariness in your eyes, the shadow that had settled over you like a shadow. 

He knelt beside you, taking your hand in his. “We’ll find a way,” he said, though his voice lacked the conviction it once held. He had said those words too many times and both of you knew it. 

“We’ve tried everything,” you whispered, shaking your head. “There’s no hope left.”

Aruvian’s jaw tightened, but he forced a small smile. “There is always hope. I’ve heard talk of someone- a great sorcerer. They say he can do what no other can.” 

You looked at him, your eyes widening slightly. “A sorcerer? Aruvian you can’t mean-” 

“He is different,” he interrupted gently. “They say he can perform miracles. He can give us what we have always yearned for.”

You hesitate, glancing into the fire again. “What would he ask in return? Sorcerers… they never grant anything without asking something in return.” 

Aruvian’s hand tightened over yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Let me worry about that. You’ve suffered enough, and I can’t bear to see you in pain any longer. Please, my love, trust me.” 

Your gaze softened and after a long moment, you nodded. “I trust you,” you whispered, resting your forehead against his. 

The journey had been long, taking you both to the edge of the world, to a place where the stars seemed to dim and the air grew colder with every step. The tower loomed before you like a jagged tooth against the darkened sky. As you stood before it, unease crept into your heart. 

Aruvian had been calm, resolute. He had always been your strength. He had always known what to do. 

When the sorcerer- Sauron, though at the time he did not reveal his name, appeared his presence was overwhelming. His eyes gleaned with ancient power and his red hair seemed to emit it’s own light. You felt small under his gaze, but Aruvian stood firm. 

“My wife and I seek your aid,” he said, his voice steady. “We desire a child. We have tried everything but none have succeeded.” 

Sauron’s eyes flickered toward you, lingering for a moment before looking back at Aruvian. “And you are prepared to continue, knowing my price?” 

Aruvian hesitated for only a second, though you did not see it- too busy working out what the price could be and how your husband would have already agreed to it. You did not hear the unspoken exchange between the two males- the one in which Aruvian silently offered his servitude, his loyalty, in exchange for the one thing you both desired above all else. 

“I know the cost,” he said, his voice low but firm. 

Sauron smiled- a cold, cruel smile that made your skin prickle. “Very well. You shall have what you seek.” 

The sorcerer’s magic had woven through the air like tendrils of ice touched shadows, creeping into your body and warping you from within. You felt it immediately- the dark energy coiling around your soul, reshaping you, twisting your flesh in ways that felt unnatural and wrong. But Aruvian had held you, whispering words of comfort in your ear, words of love and strength. 

And for a time, you believed him. 

________________________________

Adar snapped back to the present, his breath catching in his throat as the memory tore through him like a blade. His hands clenched into fists, and he forced himself to look once again toward Eregion. But the pain lingered, gnawing at him like a warg with a bone. 

You had trusted him. He had convinced you that it would all be worth it, that the suffering would pass, and soon you would hold your child in your arms. But the sorcerer’s magic had not been a blessing; it had been a curse. 

As the months passed, your body had weakened, twisted by the dark power that had been forced into you. You grew frail, sickly, and still, you clung to hope. But Adar had known, even then, that something was terribly wrong. He had seen the price you were paying and yet he said nothing. He had remained silent, too afraid to lose the chance he had bargained for. 

When the time came for the child to be born, your body had been too fragile to survive. Your screams of agony echoing through the cold, empty halls. You died there in that tower. Your final breath slipping away as the child- the one you so longed for- took its first and last.  

Adar had held your lifeless bodies in his arms, his heart shattered and soul broken. He had traded everything for a child, and in doing so, he had lost the one person who had meant the most to him. The one person who had trusted him, even when she shouldn’t have. 

_____________________________

The winds howled around him as Adar stood at the edge of the battlefield, his eyes cold and empty. Eregion would fall, and with it, the last remnants of the world he once knew. His servitude to Sauron had begun with a lie, and now, centuries later, he would finally end it for good. 

There were no more promises, no more bargains to be made. Only darkness remained. And Adar would see it through to the very end.

[eff4freddie]

After She Left | Seven

Words: 7k Minors DNI

As it becomes increasingly clear Sarah's mom is here to stay in Jackson, you realise whatever's going on with you and Joel needs to stop. It's fine, because you've already decided you're not that sad about it. Telling Ellie you can't tutor her anymore, though...that one's going to be tough.

Chapter warnings: Finally get to some of the SMUT team! Oral (f receiving), tiny little bit of dirty talk

A/N: Things are still a little bit crap for me but writing has actually been a nice release (heh). I know some people aren't feeling super safe around here at the moment, but I want to reiterate you will always be safe with me. And in the meantime I will just keep writing my angsty smut for my own amusement, and suggest ya'll do, too.

Six | Series Masterlist | Eight

The new arrivals cleared quarantine in 48 hours. The two men, Wren and Steven, were put up in a share house with a few of the other men around town but Shauna was given her own place, a studio out the back of Tommy’s, nothing much more than a converted garage. Joel didn’t understand why Tommy wanted her so close, and also understood exactly, seeing as how he wanted to both crawl out of his skin when he thought of her, and also into her chest.

He waited exactly a day and a half after she settled into her studio before knocking on her door. The evening was just settling in, and it had been a warm day, the kind of day that gives you a warning of the summer about to descend. She wasn’t even surprised when she opened the door to him. Just beckoned him inside, pushed some old blankets off a chair and pulled it out for him.

The place had a long window running up near the ceiling to let the light in, but other than that it was cool, dark.

‘You’ll need heat in the winter,’ he said, smelling mildew. He wondered how long it had been since anyone had been back here. Tommy didn’t even use it to store his tools.

‘You got any suggestions?’ Shauna asked, smiling thinly at him.

‘Move into a better place,’ he replied.

She snorted. ‘Figure I got a couple of months to figure that out I guess,’ she replied.

‘So you’re stayin’? You settlin’ in?’ Joel asked her, firing questions at her like an interrogation, hearing it in his voice, the sadness and the fear and the sound of something tinkling at the bottom of a well.

‘Don’t know, Joel,’ she replied, sitting heavy on the bed while he stood up, took three or four paces before he had to turn around and pace back again. There was a bare bulb hanging in the middle of the room. He checked for outlets, found a few where you could set up a nice lamp. He had one she could borrow, over by the bed, so she could read of a nighttime.

‘Fuck, Shauna,’ he started, and she shrugged at him. ‘You had no idea I was here?’

‘How could I have, Joel?’ she asked. In the half-light the curls of her hair glowed around her head like a crown. He could remember the smell of Sarah’s shampoo, the first time he’d been able to recall it in years.

‘Twenty-five years and you happen to head here?’

‘Of all the gin-joints…’ she started, but he raised his hand to stop her. He couldn’t do jokes right now. He couldn’t do much but gawp at her and try and get his brain to stay with him, here in this moment, in this little garage at the end of the Earth.

‘I just…I never thought I’d see you again.’

‘I know, baby,’ she said, and he winced a little at the nickname. She caught it, cheeks red at the habit. ‘Sorry,’ she said, when he glared at her. ‘Mistake.’

‘What do we do now? How do we do this?’ he asked, turning to her. She had always been good with the decisions. Had made him eat healthy, not stay out too late, had filled his head with ambitions of owning his own business, of bringing Tommy on with him, showing him the ropes. He remembered then that she didn’t know he’d done it, that she’d been right, and he’d never let her have that. He opened his mouth to tell her, catching himself just in time.

‘I don’t know, Joel. Wren and Steve are here, and we’ve been a pretty tight crew for a while…’

‘You with one of them?’ he asked, and she smiled.

When she’d been pregnant, properly pregnant, her bump finally poking out from beneath her ribcage, Joel had developed a habit of resting his hand on it in supermarkets, out for dinner with Tommy and her parents, would follow her to the bar and rest his chin on her shoulder as she ordered a seltzer and a beer for him. Even then, barely out of school and struggling to grow into his limbs he was protective of her, possessive of her and the baby in her belly. There were times she could practically hear him chanting ‘my girls, my girls, mine,’ as she walked beside him.

‘It’s complicated,’ she said, after a while. ‘They’re brothers. I met them coming out of the QZ in Kansas, and its...well, y’know how brothers share.’

She watched as he reared back, his shoulders rising so fast he nearly knocked into his earlobes.

‘You’re with both of them?’ he asked, and he could hear how panicked he sounded, and couldn’t be certain what was behind it, but he didn’t like it, didn’t like Wren or Steven, didn’t trust ‘em.

‘Technically, Joel, I’m not with either of them. Not with with. Just…it gets cold on the sides of mountains. It gets hard to keep going. It’s about…securing the bond. Loyalty.’

‘Jesus Christ,’ he said, cocking a knee and wresting his hands on his hips. ‘Are you…in some kind of sex cult with those men?’

‘Joel, you can not be this naïve. Not after twenty years in the apocalypse. You know women have to…we gotta survive.’

Thoughts of you popped up in his head, instant and unbidden. You hadn’t done any of that stuff, he was sure of it. He wouldn’t allow himself to imagine any different. He knew you’d been in a QZ for a while, but you’d been FEDRA, and that would have afforded you some kind of luxuries. Security. Fuckin’ loyalty.

He swallowed. He knew FEDRA were as bad as all the others, possibly even worse since they were armed. He knew what women had to do to curry favour with them. But not you, he decided. Not you, because you would have talked your way out of it, would have charmed them with your smile and your sweet, pretty face hiding your enormous, glorious brain. You would have figured out a way around it. You would have…you wouldn’t have…

‘Joel?’ Shauna called him out of his panic, and he swallowed down.

‘Ain’t judgin’ ya,’ he said, and she scoffed a little.

‘You sure about that?’

‘I can’t…imagine…’ he said, and he felt the heat on his cheeks now. He could imagine. He just didn’t want to.

‘Yeah, well…things were bad in Kanas. They got me out. I guess I was grateful to them.’

‘You ain’t movin’ in with ‘em?’

‘It served a purpose and maybe now it’s done? Besides, not sure Maria really understands, or endorses…’

Joel nodded, grunting his understanding. Jackson ran on family values, and scorching gossip. Maria would have done it to protect Shauna as much as to keep up appearances.

‘Joel, can we talk about her?’ Shauna asked, and he found himself shaking his head.

‘Can’t,’ he said.

‘Please, Joel, I just want to know how-’

Joel felt the switch flip in his brain, the one that meant he could talk about her while he slipped himself out of the way to let the facts through.

‘Army, military, the first night. I was gettin’ her out, me and Tommy, if we could just find a road. She was hurt but I had her. They…’

‘No, no,’ Shauna said, stopping him because she could see he had fallen into the vortex, that he was miles away now, years away, bleeding and scared and holding their girl in his arms. ‘No, I…I meant, I wanted to know how she grew up. What was she like, when she was a teenager?’

Joel swallowed, felt the tears in the back of his eyes, the strain across the back of his throat.

‘She was…’ he didn’t know how to describe her. Shauna had left when Sarah was 9. 10 years they’d spent together after they’d found out she was pregnant, trying to save a marriage that had barely been more than a high school romance. He’d known it wasn’t working, had known that he was hurting her by making her stay, but he couldn’t imagine a world where Sarah would choose him if her parents split, couldn’t bear the idea of his little girl splitting her time between two houses, two Christmases, two sets of books, two sets of school bags dropped by two different doors.

He'd underestimated them both. Shauna for her ability to just outright abandon them. Sarah for her ability to know that loving her mom meant setting her free.

‘She was brilliant,’ he said, after a while. ‘So smart, basically ran the household, kept me and Tommy in line. N’she was capable, could handle her own shit. I guess…she had to grow up pretty fast, but she did it, and she was sweet about it too. Made me drink my juice in the morning,’ at this Joel smiled, tears threatening to spill, Shauna’s eyes wet as she watched him. ‘She was a brilliant little girl, and she was turning into a beautiful woman.’

He cleared his throat, letting himself remember her head on his shoulder as he all but forced her to watch some shitty Western on TV. Carrying her to bed, tucking her in, praying she never got so big he couldn’t lift her anymore, then after she was gone praying one day, somehow, she would.

Shauna wiped the tear from her cheek. ‘I figured when she was older, when I had my life back together, maybe we could…reconnect,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry, Joel, I know I left you both, left you the most, but…’

‘You were already gone,’ Joel said. ‘All those years, you were never really in it.’

Shauna let out a quiet little sob. ‘I wanted to be,’ she said, and he could tell that she meant it, and also he didn’t care, could never really care, when he saw the chunk she took out of their daughter when she left them, watched as that brave little girl grew out of the scar.

‘She never asked about you,’ he said, and he wanted it to be comforting and he wanted it to be cruel. He wanted to hurt her, and he wanted to hold her, wanted her to know that he’d long given up on her, even before she left them, but that he had been holding on anyway, because he thought that was what you did when you had a kid.

Shauna gasped, letting out a little hiccup of sadness.

‘Is that true?’ she asked, and she fixed him then with a hurt on her face unlike anything he’d seen in a long while. No one walked around that sad for the world to see in a place that would kill you for any weakness. He swallowed down the bile burning at the back of his throat.

‘No,’ he said, because she had written letters every week for a year to her mother that he had never sent. Because each Christmas she wrapped up a little gift for her mother that she hid behind the tree down by the corner, where she thought he couldn’t see. Because each year on her birthday she waited for the mailman, sat with a book on her lap she was pretending to read while she watched out the window, and he had to see her face fall when all that got delivered was just bills and a lottery ticket from Uncle Tommy. She never said the fuckin’ words, but she asked for her mother every day.

He had hated Shauna for it. Had burned up all the energy he had left in him working to hide his fury from his little girl.

Looking at her now, sad and folded up against herself on the end of the bed he wondered what for. All those feelings, so hot and so bright and so sharp at the time now faded, now boxed up. He wasn’t even sure if this was the same person in front of him, the one who started taking shards of his heart the moment he met her, who stranded him with the weight of her absence over years.

He wasn’t sure if he hated her anymore for it. He wasn’t sure if he felt anything at all.

‘Don’t cry,’ he said, because she was still snuffling.

‘I thought I was making it better for her, that she could finally be herself if I stopped crowding her. You know when two vines are planted in the same pot either one of them will strangle the other to survive? Only way to save them both is to get ‘em out.’  

Joel watched her, understanding, not wanting to.

‘I didn’t want to…pull the life out of her anymore, Joel. I had to break the pot.’

He felt the creak in his knees, the old scar on his abdomen starting to ache from standing too long. He crossed his arms over his chest, looked down at his shoes to assure himself he was still on solid ground.

‘Yeah, well, you broke it,’ he said. Shauna nodded, pulling at her sling and wincing slightly. ‘You hurtin’?’ Joel asked, and she sighed.

‘Yeah, but Wren said he’d try and get me something from the infirmary. I told him not to bother. Don’t feel like I can ask for anything when we just got here.’

‘The town’ll be suspicious,’ he informed her, plainly. ‘Three of you in one go, s’a lot.’

‘I figured I could tell them I’m a Miller,’ she said, watching his face, the way it fell. He swallowed. ‘I mean, technically I still am.’

‘You ain’t been a Miller for years, even when we were still together,’ he said, and this time he didn’t want to hurt her so much as state the plain truth.

‘I know, but…could be useful in a place like this.’  Out of the corner of his eye he saw Sarah, aged 9, at the doorway, peeking in at her separating parents, wondering out of her room for all the shouting. He blinked her away. ‘I won’t do it if you don’t want me to,’ Shauna continued.

He thought of you. Your warm classroom, the little wood figurines he’d carved for you lined up on the edge of your desk.

‘Don’t,’ he said, grim and firm and honest.

‘Ok, Ok,’ she said, raising her hands in defeat. She sighed, dramatic and maybe just a little for effect. ‘I’ll let the town hate me.’

He remembered what it was like to argue with her. How she’d end up bursting into tears and he’d rush to comfort her, always wrap his arms around her even if he still seethed, and afterwards he’d always wonder if she was actually sad or if it was only ever just to win a point. Worse, when he realised he didn’t care, didn’t feel anything, either way.

‘They might hate ya,’ he agreed. ‘But just until they discover your winnin’ personality.’ She examined his face, searching it for anger, for hurt. He grinned at her. Let her off the hook.

--

It wasn’t that you were sad, exactly, although some part of you knew that you were. It wasn’t that you were mourning, because you knew what that felt like, and besides which, you hadn’t lost anything, not really. It wasn’t that you were lonely, because you’d already decided not to be. It was just that for a second there, things had been different. There had been the prospect of something, and now it was gone.

You watched as Joel sat with Ellie, Tommy, Maria and now Shauna. Maria bouncing Robin, growing like a weed despite barely more than a newborn, on her knee while Ellie cooed at him, tried to spoon feed him stew. You couldn’t help noticing the way Shauna ignored him, the way she almost turned her back to the infant, to instead lean in close to the adults at the table. You were probably missing it. You were only stealing glances, after all.

Word had spread that the three were staying, and you knew that Wren was already out on patrols because you’d seen him go out with the morning group to check the perimeter. The other one, Steven, was apparently good with animals so he had been placed on stable duty. Shauna was helping out with the town council, doing admin and filing and things. It made sense, and it was easy work, and you wondered how she’d survived so long on her own without apparently being able to shoot or ride worth a damn, but it didn’t matter because it didn’t involve you, anyway, unless Shauna happened to decide she needed to redo grade school.

Joel didn’t look at you, and you didn’t want him to, you really didn’t, not at all. A few times Ellie waved you over and you had to pretend you hadn’t seen her. You should have brought a book with you to try and make it even vaguely plausible. You would remember, next time.

You just weren’t sure how you were going to tell Ellie that you couldn’t tutor her anymore. It didn’t feel fair that she had to lose out, but at the same time you knew you didn’t have it in you. The idea of sitting at Joel’s kitchen table, remembering his lips on yours, his arms holding you to his chest, his little gasp as he consumed you. Rose would have been able to carry on. You weren’t Rose.

You weren’t sure why you came down to the mess for breakfast. Normally you just grabbed an apple and ate it at your desk. As you left, you noticed some of Ellie’s stars were still strung up along the walls. You wondered if they would ever come down.

--

‘Didn’t you see me?’ Ellie asked, bounding up to at the end of the school day as you wiped the chalk from the board.

‘Pretty sure I’ve been seeing you all day,’ you said, and she made a face.

‘No, I mean this morning. You came by and then you sat on your own?’

‘Oh, you were there? Sorry, I had my mind on…the eggs. Just hadn’t had them in a while. Must have been craving it.’

‘Are you ovulating?’ Ellie asked, in that unnerving way she had of cutting you directly to the quick.

You paused, considering your answer for a moment.

‘I’m not sure why you ask,’ you said, eventually, settling for truth.

‘Craving eggs,’ Ellie shrugged, as if this was the most obvious explanation.

‘I don’t think that’s how it works,’ you said, and then you paused, because to be honest your sex education also stopped around the end of the world. ‘I don’t think that’s how it works,’ you clarified.

‘Well, whatever, I just wanted to ask you what time you wanted me for tutoring today. You didn’t tell me last time.’

You felt your heart rate pick up. Part of you had wondered if you just said nothing maybe she would forget.

‘Hey, I’ve been thinking about that,’ you said, smiling like you were about to bestow her with good news. ‘You’ve been doing some really great work, really strong, and I can see that you’ve come along so much.’

You paused for a moment, watching the pride break like a dawn over her face, wanted to take a mental photo of it, laminate it and stick it in your memory for eternity.

‘So yeah, I don’t think you need me anymore,’ you said, the smile feeling forced across your cheeks now, the strain in the muscle pulling across the back of your scalp.

You watched as her face collapsed, the light immediately shuttering away from it. You swallowed. ‘Tutoring, I mean…I don’t think you need tutoring,’ you said.

You knew Ellie was doing better socially, you could see she was more talkative in class, that she and Dina were edging their way towards friendship. But you knew, too, how much of a comfort it was to have routine after so long of living through chaos. That the two of you in the dying light of the evening waiting for Joel to finish cooking dinner so you could stop pretending that you were doing any work and take yourselves in to him, that there was a gift in that, that there was a prize in it, and that you were taking it back from her now, snatching it from her arms. You swallowed, heavy and tired and wondering if you were doing the right thing and knowing that you were. That it was necessity. That it was choice.

‘Oh,’ she said, and you nodded at her, smiling still, trying to keep her energy up, trying to dull the blow.

‘You really are doing so well, I’m super proud,’ you said, and then you felt wrong, like you were her mother when really, you realised, you had become her friend.

‘Is this because of Joel being a shithead?’ she asked, and you shook your head to hard and so fast you could hear your neck creak in protest.

‘No,’ you said, tightly, trying to regain your composure enough to get the girl over you and out the door. ‘No, it really is just that you’re…a superstar.’

‘So why don’t you want to keep going, then?’ she asked. ‘It’s not like I know everything.’

You had thought of this question, and had prepared an answer, and even though it wasn’t even remotely true you knew it would appeal to Ellie’s better nature, that it would work on her, and you hated yourself for it even as your mouth started to form the words.

‘It wouldn’t be fair on the other kids,’ you said, and she nodded her head, immediately understanding, immediately agreeing, immediately nailing the last of your self-worth to the floor beneath your feet.

‘Right,’ she said, but she was quiet, and she was backing away, and you saw that her face was closed off, and that she was turning inwards again, just like she had been when she first got here. You stepped towards her, but she was already out the door.

‘Thank you for everything,’ you called after her, and you realised at the same moment that you said it how final it sounded, and how trite. You had dismissed her, thoroughly. Had slammed the door behind her as she left.

For a long while after you stood in your classroom and surveyed the tables in front of you, the pictures on the wall, the photos you’d pulled from old, half-rotten Encyclopaedias and taped to the walls. You couldn’t bring yourself to turn, to see the wooden figurines lined up along the edge of your desk. You stood, instead, facing where Ellie had been minutes ago, half an hour ago, an hour ago.

You wondered if you could unspool time around you, just wind it down to a stop so that you didn’t have to move into the next moments, into the ones without her, without you at their kitchen table, without Joel’s warm eyes on your face as he spooned mac and cheese into your bowl.

--

Joel didn’t like that Wren guy, and he wasn’t too sure about Steven, either. He didn’t like the way Steven eyed off the women in the town, like he was figuring out how best to herd them, seeing as how he was apparently a cattleman. Wren, well he just got on too well with the rest of them, had fit right in with Guillaume, and he fuckin’ hated Guillaume. That was too strong, maybe. He just didn’t trust any of ‘em, when it came down to it. Preferred to be defending himself and his loved ones if it ever came down to it, if he had somehow failed to get them all far, far away.

He found himself turning over what Shauna had said as he surveyed them now, coming to the end of his shift on the wall. He wondered if that was really something women out there were doing, having to do, to keep themselves alive and he knew that of course they were, knew that as much as he had seen it in the raider camps he’d had the unfortunate luck to come across, but now Joel was wondering what kind of man would let a woman do it. What kind of man would let her make the offer, let alone accept it. He knew the answer to that one, too.

As his shift ended, he decided he’d go talk to Tommy about it. Tommy had a good read for things like this. Would have the sense Joel didn’t to see it straight.

Except that it wasn’t just Tommy when Joel got back to his little office, the room crowded again with half of the town council, Maria and Shauna sitting perched on Tommy’s desk.

‘Seems risky,’ Tommy was saying, and at this Shauna rolled her eyes.

‘Course it’s risky, but show me something that isn’t,’ she huffed. Joel recognised that tone, had it imprinted somewhere along his spinal column.

‘Don’t see why its necessary, we have everything we need here,’ Robert was saying. Joel liked Robert. Robert was steady and had survived the fifteen-some years on his own by living off the same ranch he always had with his wife of thirty-years. He only came off it when she died, and he found himself unable to justify working land that size for one man. Joel could respect that.

‘If we don’t keep pushing out, we won’t have everything we need for much longer. We need to…keep up,’ Shauna was saying. Joel caught Tommy’s eye, who was looking at him as if this was somehow his fault.

‘What’s goin’ on?’ Joel asked, stepping forward and trying to ignore the way Shauna brightened when she saw him.

‘Town council meetin’,’ Robert said, ‘though as far as I can see it’s only half of us here.’

‘Not everyone was available at short notice,’ Shauna said, and he grunted at her.

‘That so?’ he asked. Joel watched his face carefully, as the older man gave absolutely nothing away.

‘I’ve got plans to expand, just an idea, really,’ Shauna said, backtracking when she saw Joel’s eyebrows shoot up. ‘Thought I should bring it in for…consideration.’

‘You ain’t been here five minutes,’ Tommy started, but Joel waved his hand and the younger brother immediately stopped. He wasn’t happy, Joel saw the way he rolled his shoulders, the little tic in his jaw Joel was fairly sure his little brother had learnt from him, but he quietened down, just the same.

‘Not for me to say,’ Joel said, trying his hand at post-apocalyptic diplomacy, ‘but that feels like something…if the town council thinks it has merit, mind…seems like something the whole of Jackson should get a vote on.’

He watched as Shauna’s smile faltered, for just a second, and Joel was surprised to find none of her tells had eroded over time. It wasn’t the answer she had hoped for, he could see that. What he couldn’t see was why.

‘We’ll call a proper meeting, with all the council, to consider it first,’ Maria said, definitively. ‘Now it’s dinner time, and some of us got family we need to get to. G’night, all.’

Joel saw Shauna move towards him, darting off Tommy’s desk and over to his side, but he was quicker than her, pulling away through the side door and out onto the street before she could get to him. He didn’t know why he did it, just that his brain stem had told him to get out of there. He felt a little bit sorry about it, but not enough to change his mind.

At home, he slipped his feet from his boots and left them by the door, calling out for Ellie as he stepped inside. She wasn’t at the table doing her homework, wasn’t on the couch reading her comics. He felt a little shiver of hope in his belly as he walked out the back, hoping to maybe catch a glimpse of the two of you before it got too dark to work.

‘Am I interrupting?’ he asked, only a little bit hoping that he was, as he rounded the corner to the back porch. He stopped when he saw her, folded up against herself with her head resting on her knee. It took her a moment to notice him, so she didn’t turn her gaze to him right away. When she finally did he stuttered, saw that her eyes were red-rimmed as she furiously tried to wipe the evidence away.

--

Later that evening you dozed on your couch, finding yourself deserving of the strain in your neck and the ache in your lower back. You would eventually take yourself off to bed but for right now you had your blanket and some pulpy murder mystery you were starting to realise you’d read two summers ago.

The pounding on your door startled you, jolting you up and off the couch. You could feel your pulse roaring up your neck as you looked down at your trembling hands. You allowed yourself a second to catch your breath, another second to wonder if there was ever a future for you where you didn’t startle at the slightest sound. This wasn’t slight, though, and it was still coming from your front porch.

‘Hello?’ you called out, willing the panic to evaporate from your voice such that whatever burglar or murderer was trying to get in would immediately reconsider his actions and retreat.

‘Teach!’ Joel bellowed, and you took a step back, his anger striking genuine fear in your belly. ‘Open the damn door,’ he followed up when you didn’t reply.

‘It’s late, Joel,’ you said, not moving, and you heard his grunt of frustration.

‘Open!’ he demanded again, and you wondered how far he’d go if you let him, if he’d splinter the wood. You tried to shake the tremor from your hands as you moved towards the door, bracing yourself against the frame as you pulled it open.

‘What the hell is the matter with you?’ Joel asked, his eyes crackling with barely restrained fury.

You knew. Of course you knew, although you hadn’t expected him to be so angry about it.  ‘She’s really doing so great…’ you started, but he wasn’t there to hear you out, wasn’t there to do anything other than chew your face off, it seemed.

‘Why…she’s barely talkin’. She’s over there all quiet at the kitchen table, won’t even swear or nothin’, tells me you said she don’t need you anymore?’

‘She doesn’t…’ you tried again, your voice feeble.

‘Ah, that’s bullshit,’ Joel said, and you faltered, casting your eyes down, unable to look at him. ‘You know it was more’n that.’

‘Joel, she’s a bright girl.’

‘You know what it’s like to lose someone?’ he asked you, and you reared back like he’d slapped you. ‘Because you actin’ an awful lot like you don’t.’

You could hear Rose in your ear, whispering at you to think for a second, reminding you that he was hurting, that he was worried for his girl.

‘You can’t fucking come here and ask me that,’ you said, instead, drowning Rose out. ‘On my fucking front porch? Fuck you.’

‘Fuck you,’ Joel shot back, shouldering his way further into the doorway while you planted your heels, squared your shoulders. You were furious now too, angry and hurt and wanting to tear his stupid gorgeous face off his stupid beautiful head. ‘She’s only ever had like…three people in her life she trusted, one she had to shoot, and the others is you and me.’

You didn’t hear him, not at first, priming an insult on the tip of your tongue, getting ready to spit venom and bile such that Rose had to scream over your shoulder to get your attention.

‘Wait…’ you said, faltering, ‘she had to what?’

But it was too late, now, Joel was too far gone, too angry, too hurt, too confused why he was telling you to fuck yourself when all he wanted was to carry you up to your bedroom and do it himself. Too surprised he was sitting at the table at the mess hall with fucking Shauna as if she hadn’t abandoned her daughter and him, as if Sarah didn’t matter, as if the loss could be erased just by her mother resurfacing. Too hurt for Ellie, too aware that it was hurt you had every right to inflict, that he had been the source of it, that you were just protecting yourself. Too sad and too old and too fucking tired for any of it. For parenting a teenager. For reparenting his daughter’s ghost.

‘You gonna stand there and tell me you don’t care about her?’ he was seething, barely hearing his own thoughts. ‘You gonna tell me you don’t care you’re ripping out her heart?’

For having you and not having you. For missing you and having to try so hard to look away from you in the mess hall.

‘Joel,’ you said, and suddenly your voice was so small, so far away. He looked down at you, saw that your eyes were wet. ‘What did she have to do?’

‘Let her tell you herself, if she’ll talk to you,’ he said, and he watched as your shoulders slumped.

Guilt, then. Already he could see he was snuffing out your light, your warmth. Not two minutes talking to him and you were drawn, pinched, folding in on yourself. He couldn’t keep doing this. Couldn’t keep going to you just to push you away. ‘M’sorry,’ he said, all the adrenaline retreating to leave him woozy and sick. ‘That wasn’t fair.’

‘No, I get it,’ you said, sniffling.

‘She just…she’d been doing so well.’

‘She still will,’ you said. ‘She’s so tough, tougher than I ever…’

‘F’you could find your way to still work with her…’

‘…but I just can’t…it can’t be where…’

He was nodding, too, the two of you nodding at each other so neither would have to say the words, talking over each other so you didn’t have to hear your own thoughts let alone the other person’s.

‘It’s different, now,’ you said, and he knew it, agreed immediately, tasted bitter across his throat that told him just how much he didn’t want it to be true.

‘She has her eyes,’ Joel blurted, surprising you both. ‘Shauna. Has Sarah’s eyes.’

He looked at you from under his brows like he was asking you a question, and you supposed in a way he was. Asking you to understand that he had this piece of her, this fragment, that he couldn’t turn away. Asking you to hold it for him, the brightness and the heat of it, that part of himself still reverberating with the spark of her, with the love of her pierced through it, hold it for him lest it scorch him. Asking you to forgive him, to let him go.

‘Oh, Joel,’ you said, and you wanted to throw your arms around his neck and bury your face in his shirt, hold him as he shook with it, with the love and the loss and the grief of it, as it wrung him dry. 

You took a step forward, holding out your hands to him. Without a second thought, he stepped away.

‘OK,’ you said, retracting your arms and wrapping them instead around your middle. ‘I’ll work something out with Ellie.’

‘Want us to still be friends,’ he said, barely scratching the surface of the things he wanted and knew he could never have.

You paused for a second, considering this.

‘We’ve always been friends, Joel,’ you said, after a while. You smiled at him, that same fixed grin you’d deployed on Ellie not six hours before.

You supposed it worked about as well as it did, then. In the circumstances, it would have to do.

--

Joel was cold. It was late, and it was dark, but his room had no business being cold like it was the dead of winter. He rugged himself up, put his jacket on over his old woollen pyjamas, blew hot air into his fingertips. Ellie had gone to bed after he’d got back, even if she’d been a little happier knowing you’d still agreed to work with her. He could read it on her face, knew Ellie better’n she knew herself in a lot of ways. It didn’t feel great that her Dad’d needed to go over and beg you to stay with her. He knew that, just as he knew the alternative was worse.

After she’d gone to bed he’d found himself wondering the house, trying to tread as light as he could so as not to disturb her, but still unable to still his hands. He considered going down to work the wall for a while, see if he could be of use, but coupled with his inability to stand still was also a bone-weary fatigue that would have made him dangerous up there. A herd of elephants with dynamite strapped to their bellies could have sidled up to the gate and he probably wouldn’t have clocked ‘em.

Up in his room he checked the window seals, looked for any lifting of the wall from the floor, checked the cornices for any gaps that could explain the cold. It made it impossible for him to settle, his bones jangling with the sharpness of the chill, his knee pulling him up to standing to try and shake some of the tightness out of the joint.

He felt like he might be going crazy. More than a few times he went and stood on the porch to try and figure if it was colder inside the house than outside of it, but each time he forgot exactly how vicious the chill had been. He worried, then, about a gas leak, that the town wasn’t getting any heat, that people would freeze in their beds even though it being a late Spring night, and he was walking, then, down the familiar path only because he’d taken it so many times in his head, right back to your front door.

Your lights were still on. For the second time that night he wrapped on your door, and when you pulled it open, he knew you hadn’t been sleeping either.

‘I just got so cold,’ he confessed, and you blinked up at him. He could feel the heat on his face radiating out from behind you, knew that if he lifted his fingertips to your cheek he would find it warm, welcoming.

He pulled you to him, snug into his body, and put his icy lips on yours.

Warm honey, slow and calming, seeping over the tip of his tongue.  

It’s hands, then, up under your shirt and onto your warm skin, backing you into your hallway and up against the wall, your head knocking with a thud into the plaster and neither of you noticing. Joel’s mind, finally quiet, just seeking out your warmth, driven by the want to have all of your skin mapped by his fingers, driven by the want to have all of you, take you apart in his hands. You hitched your thigh over his hip, felt him lift you and carry you over to your worn-out couch, leather and patchy and somehow now always reminding you of Joel.

Just a quiet huff as you both landed, Joel’s mouth seeking out yours again to latch to you, keeping his arms tight around your back, pulling you down onto him, grinding you onto his cock, already straining under the flimsy twenty-year old material of his sleep pants. You gasped into his mouth, the ache in your core screaming for attention as you shivered against him.

‘So fuckin’ beautiful,’ he muttered, almost too himself, as he lifted you, one arm on the back of the sofa to steady you both as he deposited you down onto the cushion beneath him, shucking off your own pyjamas as he slid down onto the floor beneath you. You mewled, wanting him back on top of you, wanting his heat and his muscles rippling under his soft skin, his broad chest pushing hard into yours as he hovered over you, the press of him into the seat of the couch.

He sensed you needing him, lifting one hand and running it up over your belly, coming to rest, palm up just below your breast where you grabbed it, held it in yours, let him anchor you to him while you threw your head back and hooked your ankles over his shoulders.

‘Fuck, Joel, fuck…’ you whimpered, needy and breathy and already so wet you could feel it trickling down between your cheeks to the leather. Joel, rearing back on his heels, took a moment to admire the view, his eyes dark and wolfish as he surveyed his prey.

‘I need to taste it,’ he grunted, palming himself through his pants as you glistened in front of him, warm skin glowing in the lamplight as he spread you, reached down with his hand and slid his fingers up the inside of your thigh, inching towards your drooling cunt.

You couldn’t speak, the back of your throat so dry you could only swallow and gasp, nodding your head at him, the thundering of your centre so encompassing now, so deafening, you could barely hear his high, gentle whimper as he descended, sliding his lips over you, his tongue licking a fat and not at all tentative stripe at your slit before pulling up, opening you, descending on your clit like he had a homing beacon, every nerve ending screaming for him as he sucked the fraught bud between his teeth.

Joel felt it, your warm nectar, sweet and scorching, sliding down his throat and he swallowed it down, consumed it, drank from you, felt the heat pooling in his belly where it would sustain him for another day. Still gripping your hand in his right, he slid his left further up to tease at your slit, the slick of you collecting on his skin as he hooked his fingers, spreading you further open again, unfolding you, fastening you to him as he reached high and forward, found that spongey spot that made your breath hitch.

He wasn’t even sure he was doing it for you, just needing it for himself, greedy and desperate, hunting for your heat. You were enlivening him, emboldening him, giving him something to shield and something to shield with. He muttered against you, little whimpered praises neither of you could make out, as he felt your cunt tighten around him, left your hand go to steady your hips, pull you harder onto his face as you bucked against him.

He wanted you to come. Wanted to hear you scream, feel your hands in his hair, wring you out with his tongue and his fingers, wanted to be the one that made it happen. He wanted you for his own, to consume you, keep you tucked away inside himself for crisp afternoons and chilly midnights. Wanted you, always wanted you, here like this, split open and writhing for him, always wet and dripping on his skin and his floor, open and needy and crying for him, grasping him to you, calling his name.

And when you did, when you finally released around him, when he swallowed down your come and your cries, with your hips in his hand and your cunt in his teeth he knew, then, this was it for him, that he’d never feel a heat like it again, that the wanting would be all the worse for having finally held it, for just a moment here in your living room, while you gasped and writhed and trembled, your breath the only sound as you fought to catch it.

Taglist (as always lemme know if you wanna jump on):

@harriedandharassed

@vickie5446

@kaseyconnour

@orcasoul

@missladym1981

@spacesoutdaydreamer

@tangled-tumbler-blog-blog

@fancyyoouu

@anoverwhelmingdin

@millersamour

@delicatetrashtree

@wand-erer5

[luxaofhesperides]

Ghostlights cuddling for comfort, but also they're oblivious idiots who are pining over each other but thinks its unrequited

“Ugh,” Duke says, dropping down onto the bench besides Danny.

Danny nudges him with his shoulder. “Rough night?”

“Slept for like an hour,” Duke mutters, “This sucks. My head’s going to burst like balloon and my eyes are about to fall out.”

“Yikes. You know, you could have just canceled for today. I wouldn’t have minded.”

Duke sighs and presses the heel of his palms against his eyes. “Maybe, but I would have minded. We barely see each other anymore, man. I’ve missed you.”

“Oh.” Danny bites his lip, trying and failing to stop from smiling. Something soft in his chest glows at the words, a growing spark of happiness in knowing that for this, at least, the feeling is requited. It’s nice to hear that he was missed, and it would be even nicer if Duke wasn’t in pain, pushing himself just because he didn’t want to cancel. Carefully, Danny reaches for him and pulls his hands away from his face. “Here,” he says, “Let me.”

His hands are always cold. Most of him is cold, really — side effect of having an ice core. Sam told him once that his hands were better than an ice pack, and he’s hoping she’s right or this is going to be weird. 

Danny gently presses his fingers against Duke’s temples, his hands cradling Duke’s face. Duke is tense for a few seconds, then abruptly relaxes, leaning into Danny’s hands. 

“Is this helping?” he asks, voice hushed to keep from aggravating Duke’s migraine.

“Mhm. Yeah, it feels great. Thanks, Danny.”

Duke goes completely limp, leaning against Danny. They sit there for a minute in silence, the rest of the world feeling far away. As nice as it is to just exist together, he knows what Duke needs most right now is quiet and stillness. Gotham is very much not that, and every honking car that passes by makes Duke wince, trying to turn away from the road even more.

“Hey, let’s head back to my place. It’s close by, and a lot quieter than out here.”

“Are you sure? I know we planned to go to the arcade today…”

“The arcade can wait. You’re more important.”

Duke blinks open his eyes and looks at Danny with something soft in his gaze. Being so close together, barely any space between them, with Duke looking at him like that makes Danny’s cheeks flush red, unable to think anything but please kiss me.

Which is never going to happen. Duke is his friend, and just his friend, no matter how much Danny wishes they could be something more. It’s a pipe dream, something so impossible it’s almost laughable. 

Duke likes being friends with normal human Danny. He doesn’t want to imagine how he would react if he found out about Danny being half ghost, assuming this imaginary reveal happens without Danny being hunted down and cut open by GIW agents. 

He’s still in hiding, always waiting for the worst as he stays in the apartment his friends (living and dead) had set up for him. The building is for ghosts so it technically doesn’t exists, which means it’s the safest place for Danny while he’s actively being hunted by the US government. 

He can’t be honest with Duke. Can’t be as close to him as he wants to be. Duke deserves more than to be dragged into Danny’s problems and put in danger.

Even so, Danny can’t help but want him around, pushing his luck each time they hang out.

“Come on,” Danny urges, standing up. He pulls his hands away and Duke’s brow immediately furrows, his pain returning. “It’s only a few streets away.”

Duke sighs, then visibly braces himself before he stands up. Danny tucks himself into Duke’s side, taking as much of his weight as he can as he walks them down the street. It’s times like these that he wishes he could reveal his powers safely and just fly them to his apartment. But even without the GIW gunning for his head, showing off powers in Gotham is a sure fire way to get a target painted on his back.

“Almost there,” he says as they turn a corner. 

His apartment doesn’t have a fixed address. It doesn’t have a fixed location at all, drifting around, but it likes this street the most, so this is where it usually is. Danny takes them halfway down the street, then turns into an alley, following his ghost sense. 

Where there’s usually a dead end is instead a building, looking as if it’s always been tucked away in this alley. Danny keeps a tight grip on Duke as they climb the front steps, silently asking for the building to let him stay while he’s with Danny. The door opens easily, which is as good as an agreement, and they’re inside without anything going wrong. The small entrance lobby is empty, with an area for packages filled with clearly magical artifacts carelessly wrapped in bubble wrap. 

Danny drags them past that quickly, hoping Duke doesn’t notice, and calls the elevator down. It arrives silently, the doors opening to let another tenant out. Carefully, Danny positions himself in front of Duke, making sure he doesn’t see how the tenant, who nods at Danny, has a still bleeding wound in his stomach that has him nearly split in half. 

“Alright,” he says, ushering Duke into the elevator, “Just a little ride up and then you can lay down.” He hits the button for the fourth floor and they ride up in silence, Duke dropping his head down to onto Danny’s shoulder again, wrapping his arms around his waist as he stands behind Danny. He’s glad Duke can’t see his face; there’s no doubt that he’s blushing like crazy and if that doesn’t give away his feelings, he doesn’t know what will.

Thankfully the elevator ride isn’t long. If Danny had to go for more than a minute with Duke breathing softly against his neck, his warm hands on his stomach, Danny would have collapsed into a pile of flustered goo.

He opens the door to his apartment and kicks his shoes off. Duke follows in suit, still plastered onto Danny’s back, refusing to let go. 

“Come on,” Danny says, leading him to the couch, “Sit down and I’ll grad you some water and painkillers.”

Duke nods against his shoulder, then slowly detaches himself from Danny and makes his way to the couch. He drops onto it gracelessly, pressing his face into a cushion. 

Danny winces. He must be feeling really bad. He knows how bad migraines can be with sleep deprivation, having suffered through high school with only a few hours of sleep at night, if he got to sleep at all. Frankly, it’s a testament to Duke’s strength that he lasted the entire walk to Danny’s apartment without complaint. 

He returns to the living room with a full glass of water and a bottle of Advil, setting them on the coffee table to crouch next to the couch and place a cold hand on Duke’s cheek. “Hey,” he says softly when Duke turns to look at him, “Is Advil alright? It’s all I had.”

“Yeah, that’s fine. Thanks, Danny.”

Duke sits up and shakes out three pills, then washes them down with water. He drains the rest of the cup quickly, then falls back against the couch with his eyes squeezed shut.

“Is there anything else I can do to make you feel better?”

Duke immediately reaches a hand out for him.

“Um?”

“Sit next to me. I feel better when I’m next to you.”

“Oh! Alright. Bet you’re only saying that because my hands are cold.”

“You caught me,” Duke laughs, pulling Danny onto the couch. He goes easily, tucking his legs beneath himself, and places his hands on Duke’s temples again. “Man, I owe you my life.”

“I don’t think my cold hands are worth quite that much.”

Duke hums, but doesn’t say anything else, so Danny settles in and focuses on keeping his hands a little colder than normal. 

The apartment is quiet. No sound from outside can reach them, one of the few ways the building looks after its tenants. Danny and Duke fall against each other, at ease with each other. There’s no need to fill in the silence, and with Duke’s eyes closed, Danny doesn’t have to carefully shove down his feelings and act normal. He indulges in the warmth of Duke’s body pressed against his, a hand on his knee and an arm around his waist. 

He keeps his hands as steady as possible as he looks over Duke, adoring all the little details he can see; a small scar on his chin, the fullness of his lips, the way his hair falls into his face now that it’s long enough to keep in braids.

“I can practically hear you thinking,” Duke murmurs, “What’s on your mind?”

You’re cute, he thinks, I feel safe with you. I want to kiss you. I wish I could be brave enough to be honest.

I wish I was brave. I wish I was brave. I wish I was brave.

“Nothing,” he says. “Feeling better?”

“Yeah. I might fall asleep though.”

“That’s fine. You know I would never say no to a nap.”

“Come here, then,” Duke says, and before Danny can do anything, Duke gets a stronger grip on his waist and pulls Danny down on top of him as he falls back towards the arm rest and gets his legs on the couch.

“Duke!”

Duke laughs underneath him, and Danny can feel it roll through him. Okay! This is definitely something he’s going to think about… forever. Wow, he can feel Duke’s abs tense up as he laughs, and has he always been ripped? Unfair. Also unfairly hot. 

“Is this alright?” Duke asks, voice soft and quiet. There’s a hesitancy around his words that Danny doesn’t like hearing, and he brings his hands down to sweep his thumbs soothingly over Duke’s cheeks.

“Of course it is, man. I’d never refuse cuddles.”

“Okay. I’m gonna pass out now. Wake me in an hour?”

Danny moves his hands back up to his temples and says, “Sure. Get some rest, Duke. You really need it.”

He feels Duke relax beneath him, breaths slowing down as he begins to fall asleep. It’s peaceful and quiet and Duke is warm in a way Danny never can be with his ice core. He doesn’t mean to fall asleep, but curled up on the couch with Duke in the safety of an apartment that only barely exists has him drifting off in no time at all.

. . .

(Duke wakes up before Danny. Their legs are tangled together and Duke has moved during his sleep, turning so Danny is held tightly to his chest, his back to the cushions, while Duke is balancing very carefully at the edge of the couch. 

It’s been hours, and he should be heading home soon, but he stays as he is, enjoying this quiet moment for as long as he can have it. Danny is in his arms, safe and content with him, his head no longer hurts beyond a residual ache he can easily ignore, and he can admire how pretty Danny is without being worried about Danny catching his lingering stares. 

These moments are precious to him, rare as they are, and he wants nothing more than to kiss Danny once he’s awake and let his feelings be known.

But the Signal has lots of dangerous people after him, and Gnomon has started causing problems in Gotham again. So he’ll bite his tongue and keep his less platonic feelings buried under lock and key until it’s safe enough for Danny to be around him more often.

And when that time comes, he can only hope that Danny will feel the same way.

That’s all far away from the stillness of Danny’s apartment. All that matters is that he has Danny in his arms. Everything else can wait. 

For now, this is more than enough.)

[jakegasm]

again.  | jake sully 

genre: angst ♧ (sorry but i’m a whore for angst) 

pairing: jake sully x omatikaya!reader (mentions of neytiri) 

word count: 2.5k

warnings: a few swear words(maybe), betrayal (if you want to count that as a warning), and just pure heartbreak 

brief info: you are the younger sister of neytiri, always living in her shadow. your parents glorifying the things she accomplished, leaving you in the dust. until a certain dream walker comes along making you feel like you were living a dream, but sadly all dreams do not come true. 

notes: i’ve been obsessed with sad songs and I thought why not start off with some broken hearts. enjoy! :) 

part 2!

Maite: my daughter

Laughter. 

That’s all you heard as you found yourself lost in your thoughts again, your heart sinking deeper and deeper into your stomach as you watched them. The way they laughed with one another, the way their hands landed on top of the other's thigh when one said something funny, or the way he looked in awe as she laughed. Your stomach twisted at the sight. 

“Maite, you are quiet.” your head snapped towards the sound of your mother, Mo’at, blinking back into reality, scanning your parents' hut as you all ate dinner together your eyes stopping briefly on him. “Yes, you have been very quiet since we started dinner.” your older sister, Neytiri, interjected sharing the same concerned look as your mother. 

“I am fine.” you said softly making sure you shot your mother a sad but convincing smile before dropping your head down towards your hands that rested in your lap, your fingers suddenly becoming very interesting. “I am just not hungry tonight.” you added on as your head still hung low, swallowing hard as a familiar lump started to form in your throat. 

“You did not eat this morning either, child. Are you feeling unwell?” Yes. Yes, you were. Your heart was feeling unwell. You had to sit with your family watching as the man who saved you from the shadows of your sister…fall in love with her and not you. It was never you. As much as you were used to it, you still couldn’t get over the fire that started in your chest or the way you could feel your heart break little by little any time he was around. 

“No. No mother I am fine.” you cleared your throat to cover up the quiver that shook your voice a little as you spoke. Blinking rapidly you tried your best to get rid of the tears that threatened to spill. “Mother? May I be excused?” the quiver in your voice much clearer than before, causing your mothers’ interest to rise in your sudden sadness. “Yes, you may.” you wasted no time rising to your feet, slightly bowing toward your mother and the couple across from you. “Thank you for dinner mother. I will see you in the morning.” you rushed out before darting your way out of your mothers’ hut just quick enough before she noticed the tears that had formed in your eyes. 

Tears blurred your vision, yet you still tried to blink them away as much as possible. Carefully you hopped from one tree branch to the other, safely climbing down to the one place you truly felt like you belonged. The tree of voices. 

The purple hue illuminated brightly as you walked through, hands brushing against the vines as you made your way to your usual spot. Slowly you sat down, closing your eyes you took a deep breath taking note of the crispy air that surrounded you. You felt it. The silence consumed you and you felt something in you finally break, sending the tears that had threatened to spill finally overflowing onto your face. Your body slightly shook as you sobbed, your mind racing with the images of your sister and the man you were in love with. Their smiles at each other, the small exchanges they’d give each other their eyes filled with adoration, it was all too much. Too much to bear. 

“Oh great mother, please.” you sharply took in a breath as you spoke, “Please stop this pain. I do not wish to be in pain anymore.” you cried out, you clamped your hand down on your mouth to prevent the loud sobs that started to leak past your lips, hoping to drown out how loud you actually were. What did you do in your life to be caused so much heartache? Was Eywa punishing you? Haven’t you been punished enough? You lived in your sister's shadow, always being pushed to the back as your sister was praised for all her accomplishments. You understood though. Your sister has always been the golden child. She had the beauty, the brains, the empathy, all of the things to be a perfect daughter. And you? Oh, you were just her younger sister, training to be a tsahik like their mother. Though that was never praised upon when it came to you. You were never in the eye of praise. 

Crunching leaves quickly broke you out of your fits of sobs, snapping your head towards the sound. Your breathing struggled to steady as you carefully observed the area of the noise, eyes moving frantically until they stopped on a tall figure approaching closer. The figure became clearer as they stepped into the purple hue of the tree causing that sickening feeling in your stomach to return. “You okay?” he spoke to you, his voice soft and concerned. You said nothing, turning your attention toward the small stream that rushed in front of you. With a grunt, he sat down next to you his attention was also on the stream, neither of you spoke. The quietness surrounding you turned awkward, scrunching his eyebrows he searched for something to talk about. 

“Why are you here?” your voice broke out, sounding so dry yet filled with so much emotion. He opened his mouth to speak but quickly closed it as he realized he didn’t know why. “Did my sister send you?” again your voice spoke, only this time he noticed the hint of sadness that lingered on every word. Shaking his head, he let out a soft sigh, “No. No she didn’t. I came here all on my own.” he pushed out finally turning his head towards you only to find you already looking at him. Your eyes are slightly puffy with the evidence of dried-up tears on your face, they looked at him full of sadness. Full of pain. Though a small smile broke out on your face snapping him away from your eyes. “My hero. Coming to save the day once again.” you joked turning your eyes away from him once more leaving him to stare at the side of your face, watching as he saw your face fall once more. Your ears pointed downwards pressing against your head, your tail swatting softly among the grass underneath you both. Knees brought up to your chest, you rested your chin upon your knees. 

He watched you. Closely this time. The cool night air blew gently, blowing your hair away from your face, leaving the two braids that resided on the side of your face untouched. He found himself admiring the way your hair looked as the wind blew, your hair cascading down your arms hanging loosely with a few braids thrown here and there decorated with colorful beads. He always noticed how your hair was rarely braided, your reasoning being that your mother was too rough and Neytiri always took too long so you always opted out of the braiding process. Watching attentively he noticed one of your braids had fallen into your face, before allowing you to realize the fallen hair he quickly found himself reaching a hand out, gently pushing and locking the braid behind your drooped ear. The sudden gesture shocked you, your eyes widened snapping to his expecting the same reaction you held, though you were met with different ones. 

His eyes were soft, just as soft as the smile he wore on his lips his teeth just barely showing. “You know…your hair is really beautiful.” your heart picked up its pace, your eyes desperately searching his waiting for him to admit he was joking, though it never came. You couldn’t form any words to say back, only his were rapidly repeated through your mind. 

Beautiful. 

Though it was a small gesture it still made your heart flutter, but as quickly it fluttered it turned into a sharp pain as you remembered him and your sister. You shook your head as if you were trying to shake his recent words out of your mind. You looked towards the sky this time, watching the stars as they glistened and twinkled so tenderly. 

“You shouldn’t say that to someone who is not your mate.” Your statement confused him, furrowing his eyebrows he looked off to the side. Did he say something wrong? He didn’t think he did. Your voice brought him out of his thoughts and back to you, though you were still looking up toward the sky. 

“You must return home. My sister must be worried about you.” 

“She’s a big girl. She’ll be fine…You know…” he started waiting for your eyes to land on his, and when they did he continued. “You never answered my question.” Though you thought the sudden hitch in your breathing wasn’t that loud, he heard it. He heard how shaky it was as you inhaled and exhaled, controlling the familiar feeling of tightness in your chest.

“I am fine.” Your answer irritated him a bit. You were lying and he knew it. You bit your lip to stop it from quivering and showing him that you were about to crumble all over again by the small question. 

“The truth. I want to know how you’re really feeling.” He pushed, his body now turned fully towards you. His hand came to rest gently atop your shoulder,  you felt like your body had been engulfed in flames when he touched you, you even contemplated throwing yourself into the stream to cool off. Instead, you shrugged off his hand standing. 

“I told you. I am fine.” He shook his head not believing you. Not even a little bit. 

“Nah, someone who is “fine” doesn’t cry the way you just were a few moments ago.” 

You were caught and you knew it. He knew he caught you in your lie as well, noticing how you bit onto your lip harder, your hands balled up at your sides. Your face contorted, and that's when he saw it clear as day. He saw the way gravity drove down your shoulders painting a picture of your heart as if neither it nor your soul would welcome a beat. He saw it in your eyes that your brain has built some new walls with you so lonely on the other side. Wondering if you'll give him a chance to help you take them down brick by brick. 

“That is none of your concern.” Your voice spoke harshly, though he knew you were trying to prevent yourself from crying again. He stood along with you his body towering over your smaller one he approached you cautiously, something he had learned to do in fear of getting hit like the many times he had been by Neytiri. His hands were out in front of him reaching to rest a comforting hand on you once again until you jerked away from him. 

“Hey, hey I mean no harm. I just want to know what’s wrong.” He defended himself by throwing his hands in a surrender position. 

“You! You are what is wrong Jake Sully!” You snapped. And like before, he was confused. You were upset because of him? His mind raced with all the possible reasons why you were upset with him. Was it because he was taking your sister away from you? Yeah. Yeah, that had to be the reason. 

Clearing his throat he spoke, “Okay…Okay, I get it. This is about my relationship with your sister.” You felt like time had stopped. He knew?  He knew and he let you suffer for so long? The sadness that once rested within you quickly turned into anger, your breathing picking up. 

“I know. I get it. And I'm sorry about the way things are going but-”

“You knew?”

“Yes. I–I mean no. No, I just realized it now. I haven’t always known this and please listen to me when I say that I, deeply and greatly do apologize for any pain that I have caused you. And that I can understand why you are so upset with me.”

Sorry? He was sorry? He watched you suffer every day and yet did nothing to help mend your heart. Yes, this was very selfish of you to think but you didn’t care.

“You. Are not sorry. If you were, you would have helped me. Helped me to understand this heartbreak and how I could get over this—this stupid feeling.” You spoke, your accent leaking through certain words. 

“You do not care for me like I thought you did. Your heart is strong yet it is ill. So ill.” 

What in the world were you going on about? He thought. He thought this was about Neytiri and him. He brought his gaze to the ground searching it hoping an answer would be written into the glowing grass where they stood. 

And then it hit him. Hard. His eyes widened at the realization, his mouth a gape, quickly looking into yours that had welled up with thick tears. You were breaking, your knees threatening to give out beneath you. 

“No…No, no that can’t be.” Was all he could manage to get out of his mouth, his mind now racing rapidly. It was now all making sense. Your early dismissal from the dinners he shared with your family, the sad look in your eyes whenever he caught you looking at him, avoiding your sister when asked to tag along on an outing only to turn down the offer when his name was mentioned. It all made sense now. 

Your heart was breaking by the second. This was a moment you’ve always wanted to happen, though it wasn’t going how you hoped and imagined. There were no hugs filled with so much warmth, no kisses that were shared, and no feelings that were reciprocated. All you were met with was a blank stare and eyes that pitied you, he was trying to figure out how to let you down gently, you thought. 

You weren’t about to stand here and wait for that though. You were hurting enough. 

You rushed past him, your feet moving quickly enough to get away from him. You didn’t make it far though. His hand gripped your arm firmly but not hard enough to hurt you, he waited for your eyes but they never came. 

“I can’t do this to your sister.” His voice came out as much as a whisper. You chewed on your lip, your lip probably raw by now with how much you gnawed on it tonight. “I know. That is why I am not asking anything of you.” You swallowed down a sob that dared to escape your lips. 

“You are not mine, Jake. You never will be. I understand that.” Peering ever so slightly over your shoulder you gave him the best smile you could muster up, “Besides, Eywa makes no mistakes.” his grip loosened slightly hearing that his own ears now drooping flushing against his head. You slipped your arm out of his hold continuing your original route daring not to look back, finally letting the tears that threatened to escape go. It was settled. He will never be yours nor you his. 

Your sister won. 

Again. 

_______________________________________

WOO, that was a doozy. It hurt but like I said im a whore for this kind of stuff lol, so its a good hurt. I hope you all enjoyed and hurt just as much as I did! Much love !

angel <3

[casualhedonists]

into the mist, into the clouds

pairing: lucy gray x fem!reader

words: 3.5k

warnings: very few; fluff, angst, mystery and intrigue etc, post tbosas lucy gray

playlist for this fic • main masterlist

a/n: my first non-smut fic on here! title from carolina by taylor swift, which this fic is very much based on. this is one of my favorite things i've written in a very long time. enjoy 🤍

i do not give permission for my work to be reposted/translated anywhere, under any circumstances.

“You didn’t see me here.”

Whispered words fill the space between you. Your head rests in her lap, dress crisp and clean and smelling like you, like your home. She looks at you with a sense of urgency, one you’ve seen all too many times before.

“What? Lucy Gray, you’re not…”

She can’t be leaving again. She only just arrived. The morning had brought dew and her muddied boots on your porch for the first time in months. Your mother was gone for the day, it was almost like Lucy Gray had known. Her dress was covered in dirt and grass stains. You piled it into a hamper, washed it in the fresh water of the creek down the hill from your house, scrubbing away while she collected firewood.

“I am. Tomorrow. Dawn.”

“Let me come with you.”

“It’s not safe, my love. I can keep myself protected if I’m alone. I’m startin’ to get real good at it.”

You don’t ask if she’d come back. Neither of you ever know the answer to that.

“Will you do something for me, Lucy Gray?”

Your voice drops. The fire crackles, the pine cones you’d collected together popping as they burn. She likes the sound, she told you. It was safe, comforting. Homely. You’d wondered if she was really talking about the fire, or you, the girl who sat with her in its warmth.

“Anything. You know I will.”

“Would you leave before I wake up? I’m not sure I can say goodbye to you again.”

She smiles, soft and sad, and gazes at you like you’re a song, or something she wants to memorise.

“Of course I will. It’ll be like I never came back here at all.”

The glow of the flames dance across her face.

“I don’t want that.” You whisper. “I hate feeling like you’re slipping away from me.”

She lowers her head to yours, your foreheads touch. You hear the smile in her voice.

“I’m here now, aren’t I?”

You’ve learned not to waste your time in tears, when she’s going to leave. There are better ways to spend those last moments, eyes dry and focused on tracing the lines of her face, committing it to memory for the last time in who knows how long. You sit up, curling into her, pressing your lips to hers, her hair still damp and smelling like the bar of soap you’d lent her when you fixed her a bath, your pruned fingertips massaging her scalp as the water began to cool. You make it to bed, sleeping soundly with her arms around you.

True to her word, she leaves in the morning. Leaving no trace, no proof she was ever there in the first place. But you feel the warmth of the sheets next to you, and you know.

She finds you the next summer.

“Don’t move.”

You freeze, long grass up to your knees, long skirt swishing as you wade through the field, sun blaring down on you.

A pair of warm hands press softly over your eyes.

“You’re back.” You beam, spinning around, taking her head in your hands, eyes shut, just listening to her breathing. You press your lips to hers.

“I sure am.” When you break away to take her in, look at her sunkissed face, you’re not sure you’ve ever seen her smile wider. If you didn’t know better, you’d say she got more beautiful every time you saw her.

You lie sun-drunk in the shade of the tall grass, lazing against each other as you go over your birthday, the village gossip, and she listens. Always listening, drinking up your words like she’s parched.

You’ve learned not to ask Lucy Gray where she’s been hiding, you both know it’s safer the less gets said. But she presses on, ever gentle, asking you for details when you fill her in on your life.

You jump at a movement in the grass beside you, but she just laughs. Picks up the snake, humming as it wraps and twists itself around her hand.

“These ones won’t hurt you, darlin’. They’re docile, see? Wouldn’t harm a fly.”

She lifts the snake to you slowly.

“You’re sure?”

“Do you trust me?”

“Always.” You reply instantly, like you’ve waited your whole life to hear the question.

“Then hold out your hand.”

You reach out.

“Close your eyes.”

You do. After a second, you feel hers, pressing into your palm, and an oddly warm sensation, smooth.

“It feels… dry.”

You open your eyes. The snake twists and drapes between the two of you, loosely binding your hand with Lucy Gray’s, holding you together.

She laughs, bright and sweet, like music.

“Well, what were you expecting?”

“I don’t know.” You confess. “Maybe for it to be wet? Slippery?”

Her laughter chimes through the field, a low gust of winding carrying it away. You stay like that for a few more hours, until night begins to fall, and the summer wind carries her away, too.

A year passes. Then another half.

Your mother gets older; she gets sick. You venture outside the bounds in twelve, slipping under the rusted wire fence with a basket, collecting herbs you’d started to read about but couldn’t afford. You make tinctures, teas, you light incense and fill the house with sprigs of rosemary and thyme. It slows down the sickness that tore through her like wildfire. When she passes, it’s beautifully peaceful, like a candle being blown out. You carry her ashes to the lake and you spread them, lingering by the Covey’s cabin. Hoping.

She doesn’t come. You walk home, humming something you think you remember her singing years ago. You start to wonder if she was just something you dreamt up, an old folk song you sing to yourself each night before you fell asleep.

Spring rolls around, and your empty house gathers dust. Your way with herbs and remedies gets around, starting with a few bottles gifted to a neighbour with influenza. Her granddaughter comes to your doorstep with the empty vial and a bag of potatoes. You smile and thank her.

“Are you a witch?” She asks, barely ten years old and looking up at you with dark, mistrusting eyes. You laugh.

“I’m not too sure about that, hon. Did the herbs help?”

She nods, a frown etched along her features.

“Then perhaps I’m a good one.”

Before you know it, word gets around that you cured the old woman. You make a living collecting herbs, crushing them down, and people line up outside your door most days. You find a slice of peace in it, in the routine.

But winter is cruel, and the house turns cold. The house that was once the perfect size for you and your mother now feels like too much money and work to heat, and things start breaking, and leaking. You hear from your cousin in Seven, you’ve inherited a log cabin and a slice of land on the edge of some woods from a great-aunt you never met.

You weigh your options. You go to the lake and skim stones in the icy water, mulling it over.

To leave Twelve is everyone’s dream. But Lucy Gray. The gentle ghost who lingers over your shoulder. How will she find you, if she ever comes back? You can’t stay here waiting forever. One bad frost kills your crops, the chill sets into your bones, and you make up your mind. You pack up your herbs and bottles, your books and your clothes, the pinecone you keep beneath your pillow, the silver snake bracelet she gave you many years ago, and you leave. A simple, smudged note sits under the plant pot on the porch, your old hiding place for the spare house key where she’ll know to look:

I’m in the trees. Come find me.

District Seven has more trees than you’ve ever seen. Twelve is known for it’s forests and fields, but these woods are expansive, spanning over miles, trees lined up perfectly, the smell of freshly chopped wood filling your senses.

Every step you took made you wonder if Lucy Gray been here, if the birds in these trees had heard her saccharine voice.

Your herbs sell a lot better in Seven. It’s enough to buy new clothes, and the village is better kept. The people are kind, warm and friendly. You can finally afford to eat your fill. Your cabin at the edge of the woods stays warm and comfortable, the wood is plentiful, you chop your own from the land that’s now yours.

Sometimes when your head spins from the weight of the axe you see movement in the woods, and you wonder. Sometimes you peer inside, certain that it’s her. But she feels so far away from you now, that you can’t help but feel you’ve abandoned her.

You take walks through the forests; you whistle to the birds and listen for the ones who might sing back. You hear nothing. One day, in the town, you walk by a window display with an old, beat-up guitar. It looks well-loved, and something draws you to it. Faded gold paint around the sound hole, strings messy but you go inside and barter, and take it home with you.

You hum some of the old songs she used to sing, try to piece together chords on the strings that aren’t snapped. It sounds like a mess but you play anyway. It feels like a piece of her that you want to keep close to you. You’ve learned to become a collector of sorts.

You’re kept warm through winter, and spring fades into summer. You take the little fishing boat that came with the cabin out on the river, and hike through the forest. You take your guitar with you, and one day, finally, you hear it.

A mockingjay.

It sings your broken tune back to you, bouncing through the pines. A smooth voice cuts through the birdsong.

“Did you miss me?”

Lucy Gray.

Your head spins around. And there she is, smiling, and you fall into her arms.

“I was so scared. I thought you weren’t coming back.”

“I know. I’ll be honest, I didn’t think I would either.”

“But you’re here, you found me! My note, I didn’t know if…”

“The trees.” She grins. “District Seven. It made perfect sense, my love.”

“I can’t believe you’re here. Lucy Gray, you don’t know how happy I am to see you.”

“Oh, I think I do. If you think for a second you’re alone in that, you couldn’t be more wrong. Now,” she adds, nodding at the guitar, “what do we have here?”

You take her onto the river, safer in Seven than you’d ever been in Twelve. She watches as you grind up lavender, the smell filling up the cabin, fascinated as you explain the hobby that you’d turned into work. She fixes your guitar strings, teaches you some simple chords. You sit on the porch, playing while she sings.

“It suits you here, you know.”

“You think so?”

“I do.” She pauses. “I was so sorry to hear about your ma. She was a good woman. She was always kind to me. To everyone.”

“Thank you. I’m okay now, really. I like it here. It’s quiet, peaceful. I think that’s what she’d want for me.”

When she stares up at the sky, birds soaring up above, the rush of the wind through the trees, you can’t help but ask. This is all so perfect, and after so long you can’t bear the thought of her leaving again.

“Do you know how long…”

She smiles.

“Maybe a day or two? If that’s okay.”

You can’t hide your grin. You nod, and she glances up at you.

“Of course that’s okay. More than okay.”

Her fingers press over yours as she demonstrates a final chord. She sits behind you as you strum, grinning at her, head spinning around and she’s so close, it’s almost surreal.

“You did it!” She’s beautiful. Vivid like a daydream, all technicolor.

“That’s all of it?”

“That’s all of it. Just play those four over again and you’ve got yourself a song.”

Your fingers intertwine, hand slipping from the guitar.

“Thank you for teaching me.” You whisper with a smile.

“You’ll remember it, won’t you?” There’s a solemness to it.

You frown.

“Of course I will. I’ll practice all the time.”

“You promise?” Her voice is desperate.

You slide the guitar to the floor and take her hand in yours, clasping it to your chest. Eyes making a silent oath.

“I won’t forget, Lucy Gray. I promise you.”

She nods, corners of her mouth turning up into a smile. You sigh.  

“You know I’ve kept everything, don’t you? All of it. Everything I have that reminds me of you.”

“I saw the pinecone on the mantelpiece. Was that from-”

“The time we made the fire in 12? Yeah.”

She lights up.

“You’re such a romantic. I love it. You-”

Your lips press to hers, suddenly overcome with emotion. When you pull away, she sees the tears on your cheeks.

“I’m sorry. I… I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.” You cry. “I really didn’t, and… I don’t want you to leave, I-”

Her wide eyes fill with apology.

“I know. I wish I didn’t have to leave, sugar. I’m sorry it took me so long this time. I wish I could tell you how much it hurts to be away. It feels like I never really rest, until I’m back with you. Does that make sense?”

You nod, blinking away your tears.

“Will you do something for me, my love?” She presses, soft hands brushing away your tears.

“Anything.”

“Until tomorrow, can we pretend I’m not leaving? Pretend like this is our normal. Like we’ve got all the time in the world.”

You close your eyes, then look at her again, just as quickly, not wanting to waste a precious second.

“All the time in the world.” You whisper back.

True to your word, you make the most of it. She leaves you the next morning. You say a proper goodbye this time, holding her like you’ll never let go. But you do.

Weeks stretch on and you can feel her slipping away again. The birds ease the pain, singing her pretty melodies back to you, like a worn-out record you’ve played on repeat. You throw the windows and doors open, filling the house with summer’s balmy air and the sound of her voice bouncing through the rooms as if she was still there. But soon enough, they forget her dulcet notes, and you’re alone with yourself again.

You track the time through seasons, like you always have. The summer draws to a bittersweet close, and you miss it before it’s fully gone.

You slip back into your routine. You take the boat out alone. The schoolchildren sneak up to your door at times, you hear them whispering. The witch rumours are back in full swing but you don’t mind them. You think it rather suits you. You open the door, much to their horror, and offer them some cookies. They come dutifully back for more on Saturdays, and you appreciate the bit of company.

You keep your promise, and it keeps her alive. You practice the chords she taught you, rough calluses starting to form on your fingers. You trace them at night when the world gets too quiet, and as winter closes in again it gets quieter still. The birds fly away to escape the cold, and you wonder if out there somewhere, she might see them. You find yourself praying the winter isn’t being too cruel to her, wherever she is.

One day, at the market, you’re sat at your stall selling chamomile and sage tea, and you hear her name, like a question in someone’s voice. They remember. They remember her. Your heart swells. You want to scream at the top of your lungs, it’s her. She is the girl you love.

She appears more and more in your dreams, some nights you’re restless, dreaming of her scared, running from something in a dark forest, sometimes you’re there by her side. Other times you wake with a start thinking she’s knocking at your door. You sprint outside into the darkness, barefoot on the damp grass, turning in circles before you catch your breath.

You could make yourself some valerian root tea as a remedy, but you don’t. You don’t mind her living on through your dreams. In fact, it’s quite the opposite.

You’re comforted by this haunting.

She finds you again. She always does.

“I saw the Covey a few months ago.” You tell her, the first night you spend together, lay in your bed, arms and legs a tangled mess, her hand in your hair.

Her eyes light up.

“Did you really? Close to here?”

You nod.

“They weren’t here for long. I’m not sure they recognised me, I was at the back of the room. It was pretty dark.”

Her eyes are wistful, filled with something you think you understand now.

“It all feels like so long ago, doesn’t it? I forget sometimes, just how long it’s been.” She looks to the floor. “And Maude Ivory – was she there? How’d she look?”

“She was.” You grin. “She looked happy. Healthy. She was smiling and dancing the whole night, like she always used to.”

You pause for a second, wondering if you should go back, mention that she, much like you, must still have an emptiness, a gap in her life even after all these years, but it’s like Lucy Gray reads your mind. Always one step ahead.

“That’s good.” She says decidedly. “It’s all I ever wanted for her. To be happy. Free. Thank you for telling me. I… I think about them a lot. About all of it. But I always hoped they’d move on without me.”

You’re quiet when you speak again.

“Lucy Gray, I don’t think anyone could ever move on from you.”

It lingers in the air. You speak up again.

“Can I tell you something?”

“Of course you can.”

“When I saw them that night, I stayed for the whole set, because… well, it’s silly,” you confess, “I couldn’t stop watching. I kept thinking that you’d show up. Like they’d just announce your name and they’d all cheer like they did in Twelve. Like you would get up there and sing, and see me in the crowd, and just… smile. Like you’d asked me to be there that night.”

It’s back again, that wistful look of hers.

“I sure wish I had been, sugar. But I think I’d rather be here with you than up on that stage, these days.”

Warmth fills your chest. “Yeah?”

She takes a breath.

“It’s important that people forget me. It’s safer this way. I don’t know what they’d do if they found me, but I know for certain I don’t plan to find out. Maybe one day… well, we’ll have to see. But for now, I could stay a little longer. Would that be okay? If I stayed until the week ends?”

Stay forever, you want to say. But you nod, holding her like she’s already gone.

When she leaves, it’s too soon. Always too soon. You stand in front of the cabin, wishing you could mold your hand around hers and never let go. You kiss her goodbye.

“You didn’t see me here.” She whispers against your lips.

“Not sure I know what you’re talking about.” You respond, and her lips turn into a half-smile.

“Now. Close your eyes.”

You press them shut, feeling her hands slip from yours. When you open them, she’s gone again.

As the years go by, you stop hearing the name Lucy Gray altogether. She starts to feel more like a folk tale; a messy, ink splashed cursive on old parchment. You yearn to speak of her, to keep her legacy alive, but you can’t. You don’t. You remember, though. The world could forget about Lucy Gray Baird, but your memory of her lived on like a still-beating heart, and in turn it kept her alive. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t keep you alive, too.

You make quite the name for yourself, your apothecary bringing in customers from across Seven, sometimes further. So much so, that sometimes you wonder if when she passes through Twelve or Seven, she hears about you and remembers, counting down the days until she gets to come home.

She still haunts your dreams, slipping away as soon as you wake up. But she’ll come back. No matter how many times she leaves. Wherever you go, she’ll find you. She could go anywhere in the world, but she’ll always come back home to you. And you’ll be waiting for her, even if the world curses her name, even if the Covey forgets her too. You understand now. She’s as much yours as you are hers. And when she comes home, it’ll always feel like she never left. And that’s enough for you. It was always enough.

You leave your porch light on.

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