#two-part one-shot

[amandaoftherosemire]

Genghis Khan -- Part One

Fandom: Marvel Avengers AU/MCU AU

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X fem!Reader

Characters: Bucky Barnes, OMC Neil

Author: @amandaoftherosemire

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 4,703

Format: Two-Part One-Shot

Warnings: Smut (next part), 18+ only, angst, jealousy, violent impulses, mutual pining

Summary: You and Bucky are neighbors and friends-with-benefits. Neither of you like the arrangement, but neither of you are willing to risk ruining it to ask for more. One night, you both get pushed to your limits.

A/N: This fic was inspired by the song “Genghis Khan” by Miike Snow. Once it was in my head, it wouldn’t stop clamoring until I let it out. I was busy; I’m trying to finish other fics that have sat for far too long, but here I am, still thirsting for Bucky like a slut. I don’t know what I’m doing any more. What a lie. Like I ever knew what I was doing. I split it into two parts when it got over 10,000 words, but it just needs a final pass before I’ll be ready to put the next part up, too, so I’ll have the second part up very shortly. I hope y’all enjoy! 😊

Genghis Khan Part One

 Bucky was pacing again.

With a growl of frustration, he escaped the closing walls of his apartment by taking to the streets, walking the sidewalks of his youth. When he'd moved back to New York, he'd expected to be overwhelmed by too many people, too much movement, but he'd found the familiar press and rush of the city a comfort. Back home in Brooklyn, he’d found a part of himself that could find solace within the traces of the streets he'd run as a boy and another part that found relief that those reminders were few and far between after nearly a century's worth of change.

Whenever he was no longer content to keep to himself, when his apartment started to feel stifling, like he was trapped, he'd walk for blocks and blocks, breathing the air, basking in freedom. Just because he wasn't quite sure what to do with his freedom half the time was neither here nor there. He had choices now. There was nothing more precious.

Still, he'd forgotten the double-edged nature of choosing for oneself. That he had been the one to make his own choices was cold comfort when he still felt the need to escape them. He didn’t want to be home, his need to flee moving him to walk the streets in a frustrated attempt to wear himself out. He knew he couldn't be there when you got back, and he needed to be exhausted before he walked past your door.

His neighbor, his friend, his greatest desire, he'd watched you leave tonight with the same man as last time, and the time before. This was the first time you'd left with the same person more than once. Bucky couldn’t explain why, but it felt momentous that you’d gone on a third date.

Bucky couldn’t decide if he was happy for you that you'd found someone else after he'd fucked it up or if he was infuriated that he’d been so easily replaced. Torn between relief and fury, he fumed as he walked, the battle blinding him to the streets that passed. The relief was cold and empty, the only comfort that the choice would be taken from him and with it the temptation, but the fury was hot and dangerous, ready to bubble over at merely the thought that someone else would share your bed, would touch what his heart insisted was his.

Bucky had no right to be jealous, and he damn well knew it, but that didn't stop the green bile from rising into his throat at the thought of anyone else discovering the taste of your skin, dewed with the sweat of desire, or how it felt to sink into your silken wet clasp. His own choices, his own careful silence had come between you, and he had no right to want to make the other man disappear before he was given the opportunity to find the exact frequency at which you moaned in pleasure.

Bucky didn’t have a problem with this particular person, really. He didn’t know anything about him, had carefully not asked for even a scrap of information. His low-grade urge to find him and smother him with a pillow was nothing personal; there was no way it could be. He simply couldn't help but have a problem with the very concept of anyone but himself sharing your bed.

He'd started to fall for you about a week after he'd moved in. He'd leaned out to grab his paper, the printed word an anachronism he still preferred, at the same time you'd opened your own door. Bleary-eyed and only half-conscious, you'd scooped up your own newspaper as you'd grunted, "Morning," in his general direction, waved the paper, and turned away, cursing absently when you scraped your shoulder against your door frame. Something about the mix of irritable, polite, and confused of a morning made his heart soft, despite his determination to not get close to anyone.

Over the next several months, however, you'd somehow become his friend. Neither of you seemed to seek it out, but you were always friendly without being pushy whenever you ran into one another, and the two of you often fell into casual conversation. One evening, you'd knocked on his door with a wry smile and a plate full of food when you'd made enough for a guest that had cancelled at the last minute.

After licking the plate clean, starved for the taste of homemade, he had washed it properly, returning it with a note offering both his phone number and his stomach for any extra food you wanted to get rid of. Before either of you were expecting it, the two of you were sharing dinner at least once a week. He began spending many of his nights on your couch watching tv and movies, trying to catch up with the world he’d missed while first frozen inside the Soldat, and then again during the Blip. Once you knew his full identity, something you figured out early and ignored almost entirely, you did your best to answer any questions he had about what he'd missed.

Your blasé attitude towards his past confused and delighted him, and he never quite knew what to make of it. Did you truly not care about his past? Did you have an opinion at all? If you did, how did he still never feel judged when he was with you? Something about you let him set down the person he'd been in those lost years, not to forget, but to rest for a moment. When you looked at him, he didn’t feel damned by his multitude of sins. He didn't know what it meant, but he couldn't stay away either.

Bucky had spent countless evenings on your couch before the night you'd ended up in his lap. He couldn’t remember if he'd pulled you on to him or if you’d climbed aboard, but once you were there, he couldn't resist filling himself with everything that tempted him, had been tempting him for months. You were like flame in his arms, warming him to his bones, and the sensation of your skin against his was too much to deny.

He'd left in the gray light of the pre-dawn, forcing himself from the softness of your bed, your arms, but he'd been afraid of how right it had felt to lose himself in you. It would have been terrifyingly easy to stay, to let himself pretend he had no past haunting his present, shaping his future.

Only a few hours later, he'd opened his door to your knock with dread a rock in his stomach, convinced he'd lost his friend because he couldn't keep his hands to himself. You'd stood there, a sardonic smile on your face and the boots you'd brought back to him at your feet. A brusque, "Don't make it weird," was all you’d said as you walked away.

That had led to Bucky asking Sam for help in deciphering what had happened, a thing he hated to do, but he didn't know where else to turn. Sam had made him pay for the requested information in his usual good-natured mockery, but at the end of the conversation Bucky understood that he'd set the boundaries by leaving the way he did. To his surprise, you'd accepted his unspoken limits without comment.

Part of him blessed you for it, grateful that you wouldn't force him to explain how little the likes of him deserved what astonishing kindness you'd already shown him. Another part of him cursed the fact that you'd never confronted him, never told him what you wanted, never forced him to confront himself.

Because he hadn't stopped spending time with you, had he? He hadn't stopped touching you in any way you'd allow, hadn't stopped warming himself at your fire. He kept sharing your meals, occupying your time, monopolizing your attention. The guilt he felt for not offering you what you deserved in return couldn't overwhelm his need to see you, be near you, feel the electric charge of your presence crackling over his skin.

You, however, treated him with the warmth of a friend you occasionally nailed, leaving Bucky at a loss. Bucky couldn't tell if you even wanted more from him; you seemed so at ease with the situation. Sam didn't think the arrangement unusual, even insisting it had its own initialism, FWB, but Bucky often didn't understand what Sam took for granted.

The first time he'd heard you at your door with a date, he'd had to exert all his self-control to not physically assault the man kissing you goodnight. Only the night before, your regular Friday night movie night had ended, as it most often did, with him easing quietly from your bed. This time he'd heard you sigh, sad and forlorn, and he'd paused, but he had not turned back. He would not speak of his feelings for you, his own self-loathing holding his tongue.

He was lucky you'd allowed him to touch you at all; he would not taint you any more than he already had, nor would he risk your rejection. That didn't mean he had any control over the jealous rage that filled his head at the thought that he might lose you, that another might take his place in your bed, in your life. Knowing you'd been out with someone else had driven him mad, and only superhuman control had allowed him to walk away before he found out if you'd invited your date inside.

Such things were none of his business. He'd made sure of that.

That had been a couple months ago. You'd continued to date others, but still you kept coming back to him, still allowed him into your bed. You'd remained his friend throughout, never speaking of the dual nature of your relationship. The friend never acknowledged the lover, the sexual heat between you something separate, held away from everything else. He didn't know what you thought of it, because you never spoke of it. But he never spoke, either, because he lived in terror that to do so would be to invite catastrophe, that he'd lose everything he so highly prized.

Tonight, he had once again escaped his apartment to escape what he'd continued to tell himself he couldn't have. He was walking the streets, no particular destination in mind, his thoughts on the way laughter looked in your deep, warm eyes and on your soft luscious mouth, when he rounded a corner and was smacked in the face with the sight of you.

You and your date were dining al fresco, the warmth of the summer evening making you glow, pretty and passionate in the fading light of the setting sun. You were dressed in more warmth, a deep, rose red that made you look like heat personified. The dress hugged your curves while remaining modest enough to tease the imagination with what couldn’t be seen. Like a moth to your flame, Bucky had yet to figure out how to resist your pull. He had yet to figure out why he wanted to.

Stopping in his tracks, he barely noticed the few blows of people bumping into him before the flow of foot traffic around him adjusted to his sudden halt. His heart kicked into an immediate gallop at the sight of your face, animated with the story on your lips as you gestured with your fork. He hadn't touched you in weeks, since before your first date with the man who sat, enchanted, across from you. The lack hit him suddenly, like a punch to the gut, along with the thought that he may never get to touch you again, all because of his own cowardice.

Unable to watch you bewitch another the same way you'd enthralled him, Bucky turned away, pushing through people in his desperation to get away, his heart heavy and his vision red with fury. If he let himself give in to his baser instincts, he'd be striding through the crowd to pick you up and carry you off like the caveman he felt. Instead, he walked aimlessly for hours, trying to do everything he could to make sure he'd have neither the energy nor the inclination to knock on your door on his way home.

He had no right to interrupt your evening just because jealousy was like an acid burning in his brain. If you were alone, he wanted to change that, impress into your skin that you needed no touch but his. If you weren't alone, he wanted to change that, throw the other man from your bed with every shred of brutality that still burned at his core. That he had no right changed nothing. His muscles were still tensed for a fight, the catharsis of violence calling to him despite his determination to be better than his past, to behave like a civilized human being.

That determination was sorely tested when he heard your voice as he came up the stairs to his apartment floor. He never took the elevator, didn't trust closed places with minimal escape. On top of that, he'd rather make the climb than give any possible ambush advance warning of his arrival. Old habits died hard, and he couldn't, wouldn’t stop watching his back simply because he wasn't on the run anymore.

Those warm and sultry tones that had so easily seduced him dozens of times over echoed into his ultra-sensitive ears, sending shudders over his skin and making his vibranium hand clench at his side. He stopped on the stairs, seven or so feet from the stairwell door, open just a crack, but enough to let your voice through. He was determined to give you as much privacy as he could, no matter that he wanted to ease close enough to make out the words being said.

Before he could blink, his body overrode his integrity and he was already in motion, easing silently up the stairs to close the distance, to eavesdrop on you and your date. He wasn't proud of himself, but he couldn't help himself, either, not when he felt like his entire future hung in the balance.

His heart slowed as his breathing fell into a silent, even rhythm. He moved forward until he was just outside the line of sight for the floor he shared with you. Your door was more than a few steps away from the cracked stairwell door, so Bucky moved until he was behind the door and stuck his ear to the gap to listen to you and your date. He didn't know what, if anything, he would do with the information he was trying to get, but he needed it, nonetheless.

"Hmm," your voice was warm with the soft edge of sensuality, quiet enough that only Bucky's enhanced hearing allowed it to crawl into his ears like spiders, all legs and fangs. "Very nice."

"Nice enough to get me inside?" The man's voice was muffled, and Bucky could hear a shuffling of fabric that told him the likely picture that awaited him on the other side of the door. His muscles locked down in response to the rage that washed through him. He would not give in to the violence that had shaped him, no matter the provocation.

He had no right. He had no right. He had no right.

The mantra kept him calm until he heard a little more shuffling, then a surprising quiet. "I don't think so." Your voice broke the silence with a wry regret that was both firm and yet gentle. You were turning your date down, but you were being careful with him. The hand around Bucky's throat eased as his most immediate fears were relieved.

"Tonight?" Your date asked the question kindly. "Or at all?"

A long pause had Bucky confused, wondering what kind of nonverbal communication he was missing. When you finally answered, you sounded like you were covering your face with your hands.

"Oh god," you answered, your voice strangled. "I'm so sorry. It's really obvious, isn't it?” 

"You very carefully talk around someone," Bucky's rival sounded disappointed, but resigned. He couldn't know that he was putting possibilities in Bucky's brain, making him wonder if he could make things right with you.

Would he, if he could? Would he speak of his feelings if given another chance? Could he find the courage to do so?

In the next moment, you sounded so lost and hurt that Bucky was once again having to exert the same intense amount of self-control to remain still. But this time, it was to stop himself from leaping through the door to take you in his arms and protect you from whatever had made you sad. "I'm hung up." Your voice was thick, and the thought that you might have tears in your eyes made him feel physically ill. "I don't know when I won't be."

"Hey, don't worry about it. Sometimes the timing's off." The man's voice was kind and almost made Bucky feel bad for him. The triumphant crow sounding inside his mind at the thought that you would not sleep with the other man tonight was much louder, however. "Call me when you get off the hook?"

Your soft laugh and warm retort, "You'll be the first," cut off that crow of triumph, giving room for the possessive voice in the back of Bucky's mind to snarl viciously with the same jealousy that had been driving his steps since he'd watched you leave with the other man the second time.

Bucky had realized then that he could bear anything but losing you. Your presence in his life had become necessary to him; he could not stand by and let you walk out of it. He stepped back from the crack in the door when he heard you exchanging your goodbyes with your date. The two of you couldn’t help but be a little awkward, as it was clear that there wouldn't be another date any time soon. Leaning against the concrete wall behind the door, he waited for you to go into your apartment and for the man to leave the building.

Bucky listened to your apartment door open and close as footsteps made their way toward the elevator, but with only half an ear as his mind was mostly on the conversation he'd overheard. He knew he'd spend the next several hours lying on his floor, trying to test the exact weight of the words 'hung up' and wondering whether they were in reference to him. If they were, what, precisely, did they mean?

He heard the elevator doors open and close and pushed away from the wall, determined to get into his apartment as quickly as possible so that he could start parsing the meaning of both your and your date's words in private. Despite himself, he slowed as he neared your door.

To his own shock, he soon found himself facing your door, raising his hand to knock.

On the other side of the door, you slumped in defeat against the wall for a moment before kicking off your heels. You hated that you'd had to do that, but it had only been fair. You'd humiliated yourself because of Bucky Barnes yet again, and you thought you might be at your limit.

To be honest, you'd thought that a number of times at this point, but you couldn't save yourself from the allure he held for you. A hidden sun obscured by shadows, your body craved the dark while your heart craved the light. A beautiful juxtaposition embodied in one insanely sexy man, every part of you was attracted to every part of him, both good and bad, light and dark, peace and violence.

Sometimes he would sit laughing on your couch, his face shining and beautiful in unguarded enjoyment, and the sight would stop your throat with emotion. His happiness was too glorious to risk never seeing again, too precious to risk never inspiring again. A wonderful, charming companion, his warm smiles and dry humor had made him the best friend you'd ever had. Keeping your friend quickly became your highest priority. You'd fallen so deeply in love with Bucky, you'd done whatever you had to do to stay close. 

And when his jaw clenched, the muscle moving in his cheek, the final sign that he'd given in to desire, your body wouldn't say no. Despite every tear you'd shed each time he'd left your bed before he had to look at you in the cold light of day, you couldn't stop, wouldn't stop. The fire in his eyes called to you, no matter how you tried to resist, no matter the damage to your heart. His touch made you weak in ways you'd never known, ways you both loved and hated, but you couldn't walk away of your own volition. 

Which was why you'd gone out with Neil three times when you'd known after the first date that it was hopeless, that you couldn't be with anyone as long as you were still in love with Bucky. You'd fooled yourself for a while that you just needed time and space, that a couple of dates with someone good and sweet would be enough to help you get over this obsessive need.

Tonight, you'd admitted to yourself that you'd been wrong, that you were stringing Neil along for your own needs. You'd been using him to shield yourself from the temptation just down the hall. You'd had to be honest with both yourself and him that you weren't really available, not as long as this thing with Bucky remained unspoken and unresolved. 

When the knock came at your door, you pasted a smile on your face as you turned back around, hoping Neil wasn't going to make it weird.

When you pulled the door open, his head lifted and, even in the dim light of the hallway, Bucky's eyes seemed to burn into yours. He was wearing his usual uniform of black t-shirt and jeans over boots, only the missing leather jacket a concession to the heat of the day. You would swear that his hair was mussed from his own hands dragging through it in frustration; he looked frazzled, something you’d never seen.

"What does 'hung up' mean?" Bucky asked the question in low tones, the rumble of his voice both gentle and dangerous. Goosebumps erupted over your skin as his eyes raked over you with banked heat and you realized he'd overheard your conversation with Neil as you'd sent him away. A cold chill of hot rage swept through you and the words were tumbling from your lips before you had a chance to think them through.

"It means I sent a good guy away because I can't stop thinking about you."

Bucky's left hand clenched into a fist at his side as his entire body clenched in desire. Your eyes flashed to his even as one eyebrow quirked slightly. He deliberately opened his hand, stretching his fingers. "May I come in?" His voice was a rumble even deeper than his first question.

Your core had clenched when his hand had, something about that show of held back passion always made you crazy. You knew that if he came in, you were going to end up in bed, sooner more likely than later.

"Yes," left you in a breath, consequences be damned. You craved him, your body screaming out for the feel of his. To your body's purring delight, assent was barely past your lips before Bucky was pushing upright in a ripple of strength and he was striding forward to take you in his arms. Your body flashed hot as firm muscle and cool vibranium banded around you, lifting you up and carrying you into your apartment as he kicked the door shut behind him.

His lips found yours and you were sinking in with a sigh of relief. You hadn't touched him in weeks, hadn't been wrapped in the feel, the scent of him. The return to his arms felt like coming home, and you knew why you’d tried to escape, understood why you couldn’t.

“So it’s not just me,” he murmured against your mouth, his hands skimming over your sides down to your legs. With seemingly no effort, Bucky’s hands gripped your thighs and lifted. You bounced a little on your calves to help and before you could blink, your legs were wrapped around his waist, his hands were on your ass, and the rest of him was pressing you into the wall at your back as his mouth took yours again.

You kissed him back with all the pent-up emotion inside you. You wanted him until it hurt, but feeding the need also brought pain. You ran your hands frantically over the muscles of his back and arms, your fingertips grazing the back of his neck and making him shiver in your arms, a sensation that always made you feel outrageously powerful. Your hands dived into his hair to drag his head back so that you could fix your mouth on his throat.

So engrossed with the salt of his skin as you scraped your teeth over that perfect jaw, you didn’t understand at first the words tumbling from his mouth in a growling rush of passion. “I don’t want you going out with other people. I don’t want anyone’s hands on you but mine.” The words sent a shudder through you and your hands tightened in his hair as his hands began to skim over your thighs, kneading the muscles and rocking you gently against one another. “I want to hunt down and destroy everyone who knows how soft your lips are,” you knew it was wrong, but the sound of his jealousy made your heart skip and clutch, “because I’m fucked up and violent and you should stay away from me.” Except you were fucked up too because you knew exactly how he felt. “I know I shouldn’t drag you into my fucked up life, but I can’t stop.”

You scoffed and lifted your head to look into his face. Your eyes blazed with the mix of feeling he inspired in you, exasperation, adoration, fury, despair. "I know, Bucky." Your voice was desolate with the pain he'd caused every time he'd walked away and for a moment, you dropped the casual façade and let him see how much you felt for him.

Bucky looked startled for a moment, like he hadn't anticipated the depth of feeling he had uncovered. He'd shown up when you were weak, when you had no defenses, and then had the temerity to look surprised when you were so easily conquered. You wanted to bite him, it made you so mad.

You opened your mouth, whether to bite him literally or just with your words you didn't know, but the surprise on his face melted into one of burning emotion that found its match in you. However infuriating and confusing you found him, he had apparently been feeling the same. His mouth slanted across yours once again and you could taste the complex mix of emotion in his kiss.

You kissed him back, your hands still in his hair holding his mouth to yours with a fervor born of desperation. You wanted to hold back all of this feeling, afraid to show him your heart when you had so little understanding of his, but you were caught on the wave. He seemed equally unable to hold back, and you finally felt like he'd let you see beneath his scowling veneer. He was holding you like you mattered, and you couldn’t pretend he didn't.

Abruptly, Bucky tore his mouth from yours as he pulled away from the wall to carry you the couple of steps down the brief hallway to your bedroom. “I’m taking you to bed," he growled, as though daring you to stop him, though you would swear you saw fear glimmering in his eyes that you would do exactly that.

“Damn right you are.”

Part Two here>>

Taglist:

@hellzzzbelle @cheekygeek05 @lbouvet @diinofayce @bibliophile1773 @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @miraclesoflove @nerdy-bookworm-1998 @irritated-bisexual @peaceinourtime82 @badassbaker @walkingtravesty97 @fashionworld12​ @readermia​

[cosmictheo]

𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋𝐒 | feyd-rautha

(gif credits to @pascow)

— summary: an arranged marriage with feyd-rautha in the name of reconciling your houses was something you were not expecting, neither was the soft and light way he seemed to behave towards you and only you. —pairing: feyd-rautha harkonnen x female!atreides!reader —word count: 3k —warnings: arranged marriage, feyd being gentle and calm because the reader is the love of his life (as it was written), probably ooc!feyd (sorry but i just love to see the most savage and feral men fall on their knees for their s/o)

writer’s note: english is not my mother tongue, so please forgive me if there is a grammatical error. hope you like it!

ᯓ★ part one ── part two ── part three (coming soon)

Your arranged marriage to Feyd-Rautha had been the reason for House Atreides and Harkonnen to strengthen their alliance, ensuring that neither would stab each other in the back, which was most expected from the Baron. Your Houses had been wavering on a faint thread that separated you from a war and this marriage arrangement had pacted a reconciliation. It had been your parents' idea and obeying your parents was the most important thing for you, right after protecting your family and indeed that was what you were doing, guarding your family.

Your twin brother did not like the idea, he was not very fond of Feyd-Rautha and his House, moreover, he found him rather... repulsive. For Feyd was a savage, a ruthless and bloodthirsty man.

However, he had to admit that, next to him, you would be basically untouchable, after all, it was like having a guard dog, the most possessive and protective dog, a dog that was ready to kill and ravage for you if necessary.

“He's scary.” Paul's voice echoed inside your head as together you walked along the vast hallways of the Harkonnen palace, at the end of it, Feyd-Rautha stood, engaged in a conversation with your parents, forever as stiff and somber as he had been since you had first met him.

“Just look at him, you'll have to wake up next to him for the rest of your life.” Your brother insisted, throwing you a knowing and concerned look. “We can fix this without you having to marry that man, sister. There must be something—”

“Enough.” you interrupted him, finally dragging your eyes from your betrothed to your anxious brother pacing beside you, you made an effort to offer him a reassuring, soft smile, grateful that he was always so caring and concerned about you and your well-being. “There's nothing else we can do. You know about my visions and what they foresee. Our House will not endure if I do not accept this offer.”

“We will do whatever it takes to survive for now.” You added, holding Paul's gaze, noting the sadness and pity behind his dark eyes, and like the good sister you were, you sighed softly, leaning closer to him to bring him some kind of reassurance. “Our turn will come to make our move and win, brother.”

“Whatever it takes.” He echoed, nodding his head, fingers brushing your clasped hand around his forearm, as you were accustomed to do when you walked side by side.

“The marriage will take place two weeks from now.” The Duke's voice gave out the news once you were all inside the assembly room, with the Baron at the head of the table, of course, looking uncharacteristically approving and pleased to hear the announcement.

The massive man showed his approval with a hint of a phantom, twisted smile, plump fingers taping the edge of the black table in front of him. “We will have the princess as a guest in our home for a week and then the na-Baron will visit her home for the last week, prior to her coming to live here.”

He planned the whole thing and there was absolutely no one in the room who had the idiotic courage to be against his command, so, it was settled.

Once you said goodbye to your family and gave a tight and emotional hug to your brother, you were left alone in the dark and gigantic planet of the Harkonnen family, feeling like an outsider, like a small prey surrounded by bloodthirsty predators. Although, the place possessed an indescribable and incomparable beauty, the sun was black, and the light that irradiated was whitish, giving it a beautiful contrast with all the black buildings rising majestically. But the place was rather... depressing, quiet and somewhat eerie, it was nothing like your home.

You soon felt out of place, and everyone who looked at you could see it too. It was as if you had some kind of golden aura, glowing among all the darkness and gloom of the place.

Feyd-Rautha watched you attentively, analyzing every expression and emotion you let be shown across your face, catching the look your eyes possessed, that special little gleam that flashed in your orbs as you admired Giedi Prime as if it were one of the most beautiful things you had ever seen in your life, his home.

“Do you like it here, my lady?” His husky, raspy voice managed to snap you out of your trance, and your heart skipped a beat once you trailed your gaze from the horizon beneath the balcony to him, meeting his deep, dark gaze. He always seemed to look at you with those eyes, captivated, as if you were some form of strange spectacle.

And indeed you were, you stood in perfect contrast to the planet, your eyes were bright, lively, your aura was vivacious and hopeful. And because of that, he liked to look at you, study your face, your body language, every little reaction you had in response to something. You were fascinating.

Whenever you entered any room, his deep blue eyes were pulled to you like a magnet, drawn to orbit around you like his planet circling the dark sun.

Feyd noticed out of the corner of his eye how your hands clasped lightly around the balcony fence in front of you, skin contrasting against the blackness of the material. 

You nodded your head very slowly, twisting your body just enough to be able to look him directly in the face, big eyes looking up at him, not with fear, but with expectation. “I do.”

Even your voice was the opposite of his, keeping that soft and delicate tone, as elegant as you.

He seemed satisfied with your positive response, and so, he dared to lean against the balcony fence right next to you, but careful not to cause you to feel too uncomfortable or intruded upon. His eyes never left you for a second and he was quite pleased that you were bold enough to hold his powerful and intimidating gaze.

“Good, it will soon become your home too.” Feyd answered you, in a tone that oscillated between amusement and fascination, you didn't quite know how to decipher the expression on his face either, naturally.

He was very complicated to read, even if you tried extra hard, the many tutoring and lessons with Lady Jessica didn't seem to do much use, with him. Perhaps because he made you feel unnerved, he made your soul tremble like no one could, stepping beyond your walls and standing where none of your senses seemed to work. Where the eye could not see.

“Are you mocking me?” Still, you had the courage to ask him that bold question, one eyebrow rising on your forehead and your head twisting slightly, defiant face and all.

Your bravery made him laugh slightly this time, a noise that was heard almost unnaturally, with a small crooked smile on his lips that looked all too unusual and strange on him. For not even his strongest and most powerful enemies had had the courage to stand in front of him and challenge him like you were doing right now. You were a fierce girl. And he liked that.

“I wouldn't be likely to mock you, my lady.” Feyd-Rautha replied calmly, his tone of voice the exact same, as if you were a spectacle. Your eyes lowered to his hand, which snaked slowly to the edge of the balcony fence, fingers stroking the smooth surface. “I'm just stating the obvious. You'll be living here with me soon. It will be our home and you will reign with me when it's my turn.”

You narrowed your eyes slightly at his response, not yet quite convinced that he would behave so calm and composed with you, when not more than two days ago you had seen him slicing men to pieces in the arena. “You are not bothered by me invading your space?”

You asked that question because you knew how... eccentric men usually behaved, you could see it in basically every man with any power you had ever met, in the so many meetings with the Duke back home. You could see how they treated their wives, how they looked at them and how they talked to them, as if they were dealing with a servant. You feared this marriage was like that too.

Even your parents' marriage was broken, since Duke Leto kept close to his heart another woman who was not Lady Jessica, he did not love her as he loved that unknown woman. You had grown up seeing an empty and cold marriage, merely to fulfill a duty.

You understood that your marriage would also have that basis, and therefore, you knew that duty was the death of love. But for some silly, innocent reason, you wanted to think there might be love here. As the naive, young girl that you were.

Feyd-Rautha shrugged, not taking much interest in the matter of the question, “You'll be my wife, my space is your space.”

A hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips when he saw that his answer pleased you. You could begin to understand that to him the whole arranged marriage thing wasn't as important as it was to you, or maybe it was, but it didn't seem to bother him or disagree.

“Does this marriage bother you?” It was his turn to ask, staring down at you, noticing how beautifully your skin reflected the pale natural light of the black sun. He could see how frustrated you were now, to be there, with him. “Does it bother you to be my wife?”

You sighed heavily, peeling your eyes from Feyd-Rautha and returning them to the beauty of the landscape below, pondering the questions. His dark eyes followed your every movement as your body turned forward again, hands gripping the balcony fence as if your life depended on it.

“Do you care much for my opinion of you?” You decided to answer him with another question and that seemed to annoy him for his frown deepened and his fingers halted on the fence, devoting himself to glaring at you with his azure eyes, mirroring the pallid light of the gloomy sun.

“Woman, I will marry you and live by your side for the rest of my life, of course your opinion is important.” He took a couple of steps closer to you as he spoke, hand closer and closer to yours, managing to make you even more nervous. “Don't speak nonsense, it doesn't suit you. You're a smart girl.”

Seeing the expression on your face, he leaned even closer and out of the corner of your eye you watched as his hand rose to your face, resting on your chin and turning it ever so gently for you to look at him, but your eyes lowered, fleeing from his.

It seemed astonishing to him that you didn't even flinch away when you sensed the approach of his hand to your face, as if it wasn't the same hand that had slaughtered so many and slit so many necks by the same motion.

“Don't take your eyes off me.” He demanded in a low, raspy tone of voice, you could feel his breath brush against your face. “Look at me.”

When he whispered your name in that delicate, nearly pleading tone, you finally summoned the courage to look at him, allowing him to cradle your chin between his fingers and allowing him to be so close to you that you felt suffocated by the warmth of his body against yours.

“You fear me?”

He asked in that tone of voice, whispering, silently asking you to have mercy on him, not to fear him as everyone usually feared him, not to see him as the monster everyone saw, but as your husband, your protector and your lover.

He saw how your eyes watered slightly as fear peered into your usual stoic, cold face, and Feyd-Rautha was used to beholding that face, was used to fear, because it was always the last look of his enemies.

“I'm afraid. Of leaving home, of living on an unknown planet, of marrying someone I don't know.” Then you shook your head softly, looking up at him through your long eyelashes. “But I am not afraid of you, Feyd-Rautha.”

“You're very bold... and emotional.” He whispered in a disapproving but gentle voice, fingers tracing barely a caress along your lower lip before he reached up and dried the couple of tears that had managed to escape from your pretty eyes. At the closeness, you could begin to see through the mask he always carried, hiding his emotions. “You can't let yourself look like this in front of your enemies, it will make you appear weak.”

“I can't let myself look like this in front of my future husband?” his dark eyes lowered to your lips as you modulated the question, pupils dilating slightly. You swallowed as you saw desire and lust darken his orbs even more when you referred to him as your husband. You sniffed, feeling suddenly embarrassed by your outburst of emotions. “I'm s—sorry. You shouldn't see me like this, my lord.”

“Don't apologize.” He again reprimanded you in that passive-aggressive tone of his, like a hiss of a snake, shaking his head a little. Even after he wiped away your little tears, his hands remained in the same place, cupping your face, each of his thumbs resting on your flushed cheekbones.His fingertips were surprisingly gentle against your skin, sending shivers all over your body beneath their path. “You can be like this only with me, you understand? You can trust me, I want you to trust me.” His fingers took a lock of your hair and pulled it away from your face, running it carefully behind your ear. “But I really don't like to see you cry, my wife-to-be.”

After barely a second of silence with his azure eyes again flicking down to your parted lips, he spoke again, muttering, his raspy voice indicating that perhaps it hurt his throat to talk like that. “Pretty girls like you should cry out of pleasure only.”

He studied your face once more, not missing the way you blushed at his open flirtation and suggestive words, how you bit your lower lip, pupils expanding in thick blackness. You weren't used to so much attention, let alone men saying those kinds of words to you, it was evident. You were so innocent that it provoked a rare feeling of tenderness in Feyd-Rautha.

Perhaps it would be the closest thing to an act of consolation you would get from him and it was likely the only time in his life he had ever done that.

Promptly, you managed to make him smile again. “You Atreides are so strange and delicate... but then again, you will soon be Harkonnen, the prettiest na-Baroness, my pretty little wife.”

From his voice, his careful choice of words and the way he was looking at you, you expected him to kiss you right there —perhaps that was what you wanted, amidst all the tumult of emotions that shook your little heart, beating in rumbling noises inside your chest, pumping fiery blood through your veins.

But after a few seconds, he pulled his hands away from your face and backed away from you, taking a few steps back and offering you a look that you managed to perceive as soft rather than harsh. You knew that he was controlling himself well in maintaining a good demeanor, perhaps because his uncle had ordered him to do so; to do his best to make a good impression and not bring shame to the family. And also because he wanted you to have a good image of him, he was a prideful man, he was used to boast of his virtues and his power, and he was above all, protective of his own person and his glory.

He made a short gesture with his head pointing to the open balcony door, his hands clasping together behind his back pragmatically, as if he were presenting himself in front of a superior. “Now come, pretty girl, I'll show you the palace myself. You're future home.”

You walked towards him, a little smile curving your lips, the first smile on your face during the entire conversation, and he admired it in all it's glory.

“You don't have to be all stiff when you're with me, Feyd.” You eyed his posture with light eyes as you passed him and made your way inside the guest room with graceful steps, him following close behind.

He wasn't very fond of being addressed by name directly, of having his name used so freely, but the way you pronounced his name made him so utterly proud to be called that, he suddenly was wishing you would just call him that, in that tone of voice, tongue savoring his name as if it were the most delightful thing to say.

You turned to look at him for a few seconds, your tone of voice becoming reassuring, something he wasn't quite used to, yet he heard and savored it as if it were the sweetest thing in the world.

“If you can see me cry, then I can see you relaxed. It is only fair, no?”

Feyd-Rautha received your words positively, causing him to deepen his breathing into a snorting chuckle, eyes sparkling with amusement now behind your back.

“I'll try for you.” His response made you smile once more.

[feirceangel]

Okay so you’ve written protective/possessive Feyd—what about protective Paul seeing his wife badly hurt or narrowly escaping an attack? I live for the “who did this to you” trope, got me weak at the knees 🥹

I sorta missed the whole wife part, whoops! But I hope you still like it!!

Imagine | Beloved (Paul Atreides)

Word Count: 1,820

Warnings: reader is harassed, I invented an OC to be the antagonist, protective! Paul, hurt/comfort

The halls of Castle Caladan are cold tonight.

Goosebumps are already forming on your arms as you walk through the dark.

Perhaps going for a late night stroll wasn't the best idea, but you just couldn't sleep tonight.

So you stroll instead, peering out of the windows to observe the rain clouds forming.

Castle Caladan has been your home for ages, even though you are not an Atreides. You've lived alongside House Caladan, having come from one of the lesser houses in an attempt to give you a better standing in society.

You're not angry about it.

In fact, you're grateful to live on this oceanic planet. And, you're happy to be alongside your best friend, Paul Atreides.

There weren't any others your age in Castle Caladan, so naturally you sought each other out early on.

Being friends came easily.

Paul has always been sweet, adventurous, friendly - and you are much the same.

Of course, you both had different teachings and priorities, but you always found each other whenever possible.

There was no greater joy than racing through the castle and playing near the waves alongside the boy with dark hair.

And now you're both older.

Life has intruded upon those times of peaceful play and brought forth more schoolings and politics that the young aren't susceptible to.

Although he has a higher standing in society, Paul always manages to remember you, make time for you. He vowed to never abandon you.

And you believe him.

But the subtle glares that Lady Jessica sends your way are not easy to ignore, nor are the signs that others in the castle are uncomfortable with the situation.

You try not to dwell on those things. Because the only thing that matters is being there for Paul. He deserves to have a friend that isn't a mentor or a parental figure.

As you walk though the sleeping palace, your find your mind troubled. Maybe that's why you can't sleep tonight.

Footsteps silent on the stone floor, you arrive before Paul's chambers. You hadn't realized you were walking here. Unconsciously, you sought him out in your time of uncertainty.

Resting your palm on the door, you close your eyes and sigh. You wouldn't disturb him at this hour- you know how bad it would look.

Before you can continue on your way, a voice calls out from the shadows.

"What are you doing here at this hour?"

It's a male's voice, one that you wish was unfamiliar.

"I didn't realize I couldn't roam as I please, Aric," you reply comply to the guard who walks closer.

His grin is wolffish, "I didn't realize you were stupid enough to come to him after dark."

"I was not going to disturb him."

"Oh no, I imagine he'd be excited to see you at this late hour."

"I don't like what you're insinuating," you start to walk away, hearing him continue after you.

He is right beside you, “I meant no insult, I assure you.”

“Your assurances are as empty as your head,” you retort, not even giving him a glance.

You’ve never liked Aric, so you see no reason to be civil with him. He’s always been an ass to you, finding any reason to make your life a bit more miserable.

“That was uncalled for,” he growls, grabbing your arm to stop you from walking away.

You fix him with an unimpressed stare.

“What do you want, Aric? It seems like you’re always following me,” you say calmly as he releases you.

He regains his composure, “I want you.”

You blink at him.

“I’m serious, I want you to stop fawning over Paul and turn to me instead,” his whisper is harsh and grating to your ears. “Be my wife. You’re of age now and I know you have no other offers.”

You can’t help but scoff. Stepping back from him, you cross your arms, “I do not fawn over Paul, and I am certainly not fond of you. I will do is both a favour and pretend you never asked.”

Rage lights up his features, his hand forming a fist at his side.

“I could give you everything you could ask for.”

“And you would take everything from me in the meantime. I know you, Aric. You are not kind,” you hiss, stepping back while he steps forward.

“Kindness gets you nowhere in this life.”

You shake your head, “Your actions in this life determine the outcome. And so far your actions are untoward. Cornering me at this time of night?”

“Paul will never marry you, you know,” he changes tactics.

You roll your eyes, “Admit defeat, Aric. I will never be yours.”

Suddenly, he is right in your face, sneering down at you, “I can take what I want. Like you said, it’s late, no one is here.”

“I will not let you.”

He laughs, grabbing your arm in a bruising grip once again. He wrenches you forward but you twist out of his grip and shove him into the wall.

He groans and recovers quickly, shoving you violently. You hit a corner and collapse on the ground, your arm dripping crimson.

Infuriated, you stand and glare at the smug bastard.

“Leave now,” you command him, using the Voice. You’re not a master at it, by any means, but you’re trained enough to get this brute to back down.

He leaves without a word, and you realize that you should have done that right away.

You grasp your arm and walk back to your chambers. Luckily, the wound isn’t deep and you’re finally able to sleep.

~~~

The next day commences as normal.

That is, until Paul appears next to you as you walk down the beach.

“I was looking for you,” he grins as he approaches.

His smile could brighten the darkest corner of space. His eyes are piercing and perceptive, you fear you could drown in their depths.

You smile back at him, “You found me.”

“I haven’t seen you in a few days, has everything been alright?”

That’s Paul, always so considerate of you and your wellbeing. The reminder of his care brings a softer smile to your face.

“I’m fine, just been tired lately.”

“Why?”

“Sleep’s been evading me,” you chuckle, bending to pick up a stone near your feet. “I’ll catch it eventually.”

A sudden tension fills the air, bringing you upright immediately. You look at Paul and see his gaze fixed on your bandaged arm.

“What happened?” He asks, concern dripping from his words like rain.

You move your arm from his direct view, “Nothing, it was an accident.”

His eyes flicker up to yours.

“You’re lying.”

You curse his Bene Gesserit training which makes it so easy for him to read you.

“I told you it’s nothing.”

“If it was nothing, you would’ve already launched into how it happened,” he points out. “Like that time you scraped your knee when you tripped down the stairs.”

You groan at the reminder, “You said you wouldn’t bring that up again!”

“Tell me what happened,” he reaches out to gently take your arm in his hands.

He examines the clean bandage before beginning to unwrap it. You shake your head but his eyes are pleading.

“Please.”

You sigh, unable to resist. He doesn’t even need to use the Voice on you, he controls you with his words, his eyes, his hands. You would give him everything if he simply asked for it.

He’d do the same for you.

“It was Aric,” you say, as Paul stares at the small cut on your bruised arm. “He got angry that I would never marry him in a million years.”

Paul’s expression goes dark, any mirth he might have had leaving him in an instant.

“Aric asked you to wed him?”

You nod.

“Then he did this?”

“Pushed me into the wall,” you confess. “I had ti use the Voice to get him to leave.”

You watch as Paul tenderly presses his lips to your arm, the contact warm and sweet.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”

“You can’t be with me all the time, silly.”

He shakes his dark hair, “I promise, he won’t do this to you ever again.”

“How-“

Paul turns in a flurry, stalking back towards the castle. You race after him, suddenly unsure.

You knew you shouldn’t have told him what happened. This isn’t the Paul you know, this is someone else.

“Paul!” You shout as you run after him.

He’s too fast, storming to where Aric stands in the hall. Before Aric even notices his presence, Paul has punched him clear across the face.

Stunned, Aric stumbles back with a curse.

Paul doesn’t give him time to recover, kneeing him in the stomach so that he bends over in pain. You watch as Paul kicks him down to the ground, standing over him with a furious expression.

“I heard what you did last night, Aric.”

Aric groans in response.

Paul continues, “I know you tried to harm my beloved, tried to belittle her. Did you think you wouldn’t be punished?”

“Paul, I think he’s learnt his lesson,” you try to calm him.

“No, no he hasn’t.”

Paul watches as Aric rises to his feet, mouth bloodied.

“I should’ve known that whore would snitch.”

You wince, not at the intended insult, but at the fury blazing in Paul’s eyes. This isn’t going to end well.

“Stop talking,” Paul uses the Voice, before punching him once again.

“Get on your knees.”

You watch as Aric drops to the floor.

“Beg for her forgiveness and I’ll let you walk away,” Paul says casually. “If you don’t, I think you know what’ll happen.”

Watching with a flicker of amusement, you incline your head, “Go on.”

Aric grits his teeth, “I’m sorry.”

“That wasn’t good enough,” Paul seethes, “Do it better!”

Aric slams his head on the floor, “Please, please, don’t let him kill me. I won’t ever speak to you again!”

“I know you won’t,” you nod at Paul. “I think all is well now.”

“Get up Aric,” Paul commands. “I don’t want to see your face again, you hear me?”

Aric nods and retreats with a burning face.

You turn to Paul, crossing your arms, “Beloved, huh?”

He rubs the back of his neck, averting his gaze, “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Paul, hearing you call me that fills my heart to the brim. Your my beloved as well, you know.”

Paul bridges the space between you, clasping the back of your head and pressing his forehead against yours.

“I don’t think I could ever be without you. Even the thought of someone trying to take you from me, turn you against me…”

“Don’t worry, Paul,” you ghost your lips across his. “That will never happen, not as long as I have breath in my lungs.”

He wraps his arms around you, “I’ll cherish you always, protect you always.”

“I know.”

[A/n - It’s my first time writing Paul so I hope I did ok!]

[cryptidghostgirl]

hii i read your fic with the humanalastor! x reader where they become like partners in crime (i loved it sm)

and got an idea based off of it

what if Alastor dies first and a few years later Alastor and the reader reunite after she goes to the hotel? thought it would be kinda cute :)

A/N ngl I was thinking of doing something like this so I am very happy it is desired by the people as well. Also, we're gonna pretend that the timeline I created wouldn't make her like over a hundred years old when she died, okay? Okay.

Cover Up Pt. 2 (Alastor x Reader)

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of murder and blood, nothing graphic. Alastor being a depressed little bitch. Also a lot of dead bird metaphors for lost hope. Please let me know if I forgot anything.

Word Count: 1,971

Part One: Cover Up (Human!Alastor x Human!Reader)

Master Lists:

Master Lists 

Hazbin Hotel Master List

When Alastor had died, Y/n had shattered. Their years of holding one another's bloodstained hands had finally drawn to a close. They had a good run, nearly a decade before anyone caught on. His death also came with the added downside of throwing suspicion on Y/n. To say the event changed her life would be an understatement.

When Alastor had first woken up in Hell, he had mourned his loss as if she was the one who had died and not him. The allowance of such a foolish thing was short lived. He quickly realized there was no way Y/n wouldn't end up in Hell as well eventually, with her track record. He refocused his pain, his anguish into making sure he had the perfect world to serve up to her on a platter as soon as she arrived.

As the years ticked on, the little bird fluttering away in his ribcage became more and more despondent. He tried to distract himself by continuing his work, continuing his plans for her. Always for her. It worked to a certain extent but, soon it had been sixty years and she still hadn't made her arrival. It didn't matter how many overlords he killed, how many worthless souls he tortured. There was nothing that could take his mind off that.

Alastor wondered what sort of life Y/n had made for herself after his death. He wondered if she had found love again, held out hope that she hadn't. It was a selfish wish, he knew it. Alastor had always been selfish. It wasn't that he wished for her to be unhappy, just that he knew she was the only person, living or dead, out there for him. There was no hope for Alastor that wasn't Y/n and he wanted her to feel the same way about him. He didn't want to lose, to have been an idiot, to have been the one that loved more. At the same time, he didn't want her to feel that way either. It was complicated and confusing, the twists of his own logic.

Another decade and he began wondering if somehow his beloved wife had gotten into Heaven instead. He knew it was a long shot, after everything she had done but, she had also never killed anyone who didn't deserve it. Maybe there was some exception for women who killed their pursuers, when the pursuers were coming on too intensely or had ulterior motives. He wondered if she'd remarried, if she had kids. If she was still on earth, there would have to be something that was keeping her there and that was the only thing that made sense.

Eighty years, as it turned out, had been all he could take. The bird had died and its corpse had rotted, festering into anger. Not anger at Y/n no, never anger at Y/n but anger at the world, at the system of the afterlife. He became bolder, brasher, more foolish. He got caught in a bad deal.

Coming to the hotel had been a command, yes, but it had also ended up being something of a salvation for the man. In the seven years of his disappearance from the rings of Hell, there had been little to distract him from the growing hole of Y/n's absence. It was a hungry thing, a deep seated want, a controlling desire. The hotel served to fill it. Not completely, but a little. It was better than nothing. Besides, for all her violence, Y/n had always had a way of seeing the best in others, in the world around her. He was certain she would have liked Charlie if she ever got to meet her, certain the hotel would shine in his wife's eyes.

Husk and Nifty were the only two who knew. They had both met him when Alastor's focus had been the creation of a world for Y/n, it was impossible for them not to. They had both noticed how as the years had passed, he had said her name less, how he had become crueler. Not even Charlie had in inkling of an idea that Alastor might be missing something, might be unshakable heartbroken. He hid it well.

Even now as he entered the lobby intent on finding Charlie in order to discuss some of the decor on the upper floors, he made sure his smile was firmly fixed in place. A smile was the strongest weapon a person or demon could have, the strongest disguise. He made sure he was never without one.

"So you just arrived today?" he heard Charlie saying as he began to make his way down the stairs.

He could see her by the door, talking to a demon whom her position obscured from his vision. A new guest. Internally, Alastor sighed. This was throwing a wrench into his plans for the day.

"Yeah I... it's all so confusing here. Wonderful in a way, don't get me wrong but... when I heard about your hotel, it seemed safe."

The unknown demon's voice was soft, it pulled at his heart strings. The corpse of the bird was a puppet at its familiarity. It was a sickening feeling, the dead body of his hope being pulled up and twitched around for another's unknowing amusement. Alastor nearly faltered, hesitating on the last step.

"So are you actually interested in redemption?" Charlie asked, sounding downcast.

"Well, I'm not really sure yet. Is that okay? I mean, I just got here today and... either way, I love the idea of your hotel and I want to help. I could work as a maid? Or I'm a pretty good cook? My husband always said so anyways. I'm sort of trying to find someone too so... What I'm trying to say is that I could work until I've figured it out, if that is alright with you?"

Charlie hummed in thought as Alastor began to cross the room, heading straight for the pair.

"It's a bit unorthodox but, I suppose. We could always use another helping hand."

"Really!?" the stranger exclaimed, "Oh thank you!"

Alastor was over Charlie's shoulder practically now. She shifted on her feet, allowing Alastor to at last see the person she was talking to.

"So, what's your name?"

The demon opened her mouth to speak but, before a word could leave her lips, she was interrupted by a static filled voice. It brought back memories, hurt her heart to hear.

"Y/n."

There was no doubt about it. Even in her new demon form, Alastor knew. It was the curl of her hair, it was the brightness of her eyes, the way she held herself. She looked up at him with wide eyes.

"When did you get here?" Charlie asked in confusion as she turned to the side, turning the pair into a group of three all facing one another, "Also, you know her? Oh my gosh, wait. Are you okay? I don't think I've ever seen you not smiling before."

Neither payed the princess any mind, each absorbed in one another's eyes. Y/n took a sutering half step forwards, her mouth slightly open.

"Alastor?"

It was barley more than a whisper. She took another step towards him, then yet another. Lifting her hand, she gently cupped it around his cheek. Instinctively, the Radio Demon leaned into the touch.

"It really is you... isn't it."

Alastor pulled Y/n into his arms, wrapping her in his frame and resting his chin on the top of her head. Y/n was frozen in shock for a moment before she returned the gesture, balling her fists in to the back of his coat.

"Wow. You guys really know each other." Charlie mumbled to herself, eyes wide.

The pair pulled apart, Alastor still holding Y/n's waist as Y/n held his coat. She looked up at him, disbelief etched into her features, her sentiments reflected back to her in Alastor's own face.

"I thought..." he mumbled, raising a hand and tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, "I thought I'd never see you again."

Y/n laughed tearfully.

"Me too."

"Where have you been? What happened? What... what took you so long?"

"If I had known I was coming to you, I would have died way sooner. I lived, Al. That's what happened. I only just got here today."

"I know, I heard, but what... what kept you?"

Y/n heard the tremor in his voice, the fear. She looked up at him, eyes narrowed.

"Are you jealous?"

Alastor's eyes flicked to the side momentarily. One of his ears twitched. It might have been nearly ninety years since they had last seen one another, they might've looked completely different and had whole lives the other wasn't in, but it felt like they had just seen one another yesterday.

"Oh, you so are!" Y/n teased brightly.

"Y/n."

"Yeah, yeah. It's just dumb is all, especially now I know you've been here all along."

"So tell me."

Y/n had always loved his insistence. It was what kept Alastor to his code, kept him to her, kept him him. She smiled once again.

"Soooo..." Charlie stepped in, her hands behind her back, "Either of you want to explain?"

Both Alastor and Y/n at last turned to look at her. He was smiling again, Charlie noticed. Not the normal ear to ear grin, teeth bared, she was used to. Something smaller, something softer. They released one another, only for Alastor to immediately drape an arm over Y/n's shoulders. It almost seemed like each feared the other would vanish into thin air if they weren't physically touching. She reached a hand up, gently holding his hand where it hung off her shoulder, keeping him to her.

"Charlie, this is my darling, lovely wife."

Y/n shoved him playfully and he smiled down at her.

"You're married!?"

"Yes." Y/n nodded, "We are. Have been for what, like one hundred years now?"

"So what kept you?" Alastor asked again and Y/n sighed.

"You really aren't going to let this go, are you?"

He shook his head. Y/n slipped out from under Alastor's arm, taking both his hands in hers. Her fingers traced his knuckles, the lines of his bones beneath the surface of his skin. Her eyes watched their hands, she sighed.

"After... well, Al, you died burying a body. It was hard for people not to know. I..."

"You got caught? You went to jail?" Alastor interrupted, his smile having fallen once again.

Y/n laughed slightly under her breath.

"No, heart. I stopped my own work but, the whole world knew of yours. I thought that... it was so dumb! I thought that... if I was alive, then so was the real version of you in some way. Not the true crime, vandalized version, but the person I knew."

Alastor lifted her face to his, his hand lingering under her chin.

"You were always secretly quite the romantic, weren't you."

"Oh hush you."

"Make me."

Y/n cheeks suddenly flushed bright red.

"Okay!" Charlie interrupted, laughing nervously, "Okay, well, I'm happy for... this, um, Alastor! Why don't you show Y/n around?"

"With pleasure."

Alastor leaned down, kissing Y/n gently. Her hand was half raised to burry itself in his hair when he pulled away, smirking in response to Y/n's irritated glare. Linking arms with her, he began leading Y/n to the staircase.

"I must say, I rather like this new look of yours." he hummed placidly.

"You're not half bad yourself deer boy, if a little cocky."

"I was always cocky. That's what you liked about me."

"Wrong. It's only one of the things I love about you."

----

Next Part -> Cover Up pt. 3

[sp0o0kylights]

Bullshit.

The word rings obnoxiously in Steve’s ears as he pushes his way out back, not wanting to be anymore of a talking piece at this party than he already was.

He’d just wanted Nancy to stop drinking, take a second, pace herself…

Steve swipes furiously at his eyes, and then curses when it nearly causes him to run into Chrissy Cunnginham, who’s perched in a chair tucked away from the patio door.

���Sorry, sorry.” He apologizes, trying not to sound like he’s upset, trying to keep his cool--only for her to look up and away, brushing off her own tears.

“Oh.” Steve says, a little laugh bubbling out of him. “You too huh?”

Thankfully she correctly interprets that he's not laughing at her, and adds her own giggle to the mix, the sound gentle even if pitched in upset.

"Boy problems?" Steve asks her, sinking down to the vacant chair on Chrissy's right.

She nods, clasping her hands together in her lap.

"Girl problems?" She asks back, and he grimaces a smile.

They sit for a minute, Steve pulling out a cigarette and offering it to her before lighting up. Chrissy shakes her head, and though her nose curls a little at the smoke she doesn’t say anything.

Neither of them do, staring at the few people bringing the party outside in the way only drunk teenagers can.

"Can I tell you something?" Chrissy says finally, as Steve continues to struggle to keep himself breathing evenly (and not spiraling. He still has to go back and try and escort Nancy home, and he needs to keep his temper when he does it.)

She licks her lips. "I keep trying to break up with Jason, but he won't let me."

It takes a second for the words to register, but when they do he leans himself towards chrissy in concern. “What do you mean, he won’t let you?”

“He’s not--it’s not…”She trails off, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. “He talks me out of it is all.”

She’s downplaying it, and Steve’s concern grows tenfold. “Does he argue with you or just…tells you no or something?”

"It's complicated." Chrissy says, refusing to look at him. "He has this vision for me, for us."

Steve watches as she worries at a hangnail.

Feels the need to reach out and take her hand, but keeps his own hands to himself.

If Steve has learned anything, it's that not everyone wants to be touched as much as he does.

"He keeps telling me I'm just being anxious. That I should trust him, and I do, he just expects me to always do what he says? And more and more lately I--"

She huddles down into the little cat costume she's wearing, pulling the thin black sweater around her. "I want different things than he does."

Steve wonders vaguely if Nancy wants different things.

Or a different person entirely.

"That's not fair to you." Steve says, leaning forward and lowering his own voice. "He can't keep you in a relationship you don't want to be in."

A hard thing for him to say, after the bathroom conversation but this is different.

‘Please, let this be different.’ He thinks, before pushing the thought aside.

"He can't force you to do what he wants just because he wants it, or thinks its best. He should be listening to you and what you want too. Relationships are about…compromise right?” It’s what he’s heard anyway, though most of the time “compromise” means “letting the other person get what they want.”

Which is what he thought he’d been doing for Nancy all this time.

“I can help you if you want. Be your," Steve poorly mimes waving a pom pom. "cheer support."

Chrissy looks at him, eyes still wet. "You would?"

"Of course.” He says, before scooting just a smidgen closer. “Might have to ask you to return the favor though. Nancy said some things tonight and I could really use a second--”

A loud curse makes them both startle, interrupting Steve.

Together, they look around before another noise, like bark being scraped, draws both their attention to the large oak that stands in the backyard.”

"Is…is that Eddie Munson?" Chrissy asks.

"I think so."

Chrissy squints a little, as if not quite believing what she's seeing. "Is…he stuck in a tree?"

Steve finds himself staring in his own disbelief, hands moving to his hips as he watches Munsons wriggling, cursing form.

"I think so." He repeats with a shake of his head.

Eddie's foot slips off a branch, once, twice.

"Hey--" Steve calls out in warning, but unfortunately it comes too late.

The branch under his foot gives away with a startling crack! as another branch shreds Munson's jacket as his full weight caches on it.

"Oh!" Chrissy gasps, hand flying to her mouth as Eddie falls right onto his ass with a yelp.

"You good man?" Steve asks, rising from his chair, hesitant to go over but needing to make sure the idiot hasn't cracked his skull open.

Chrissy has no such qualms, popping up to run over to Munson.

"You're bleeding." She tells him worriedly, dropping to her knees to get a better look.

"Well shit." Munson says with a wonky grin. “I’m sorry.”

“What are you apologizing for?” Chrissy asks, as Steve’s newly honed babysitting instincts kick in and drive him to get up and look at Munson’s injury himself.

Chrissy carefully strokes the older teen’s hair out of his face, as Steve bends down to check his head and neck.

"You hurt anywhere?" He asks, spotting the scratch that had Chrissy worried.

It’s on his forehead--the guy must have knocked his face against the tree when he fell. Head injuries always bleed a ton but this one's well contained to a small scrape.

Probably not a concern, though Steve looks at his pupils anyways.

"Nah, I’m pine. I didn't mean to drop in on you guys.” He waves a hand behind him before dropping his voice to a dramatic whisper. “I knew I shouldn’t have trusted that tree, it was pretty shady.”

Steve, long trained by Dustin, narrows his eyes. "Are you making puns right now?"

"Maybe?" Munson hedges, looking delighted to have been called out.

“Uh huh.” Steve puts his hands back on his hips, straightening up from where he’d crouched down. “Your head okay? You remember your name and shit?”

“Edward Edwardian Munson, present and ready for duty!” He gives a mock salute, before dropping Chrissy a wink. “If the duty is drinking and playing games that is.”

“Your middle name cannot be Edwardian.” Chrissy laughs.

"It is!" He defends, at the same time Steve says,

“It's not "

“Oh?” Munson challenges, as if this entire situation isn’t ridiculous. “Then what is my middle name, Sir Steven?”

“No idea, but I know it’s not that.”

Munson blows a raspberry at him. “Well then, maybe you should mind your own beeswax."

"Like you were doing? Up in the tree right above us?" Steve banters back.

The playful look dies a little, Munson beginning the painful process of standing after one falls.

"For the record, I absolutely was not eavesdropping, you guys just happened to be under the tree I climbed and I was there first. " He says it rapidly, like he's used to being accused of such things, and is heading off as many problems as he can.

Steve just ignores it, opting instead to hold his hands out. One to Chrissy and one to Eddie.

Watches surprise cross the older teens face, even as he waits for Chrissy to get up before accepting Steve's hand.

"Why were you up a tree? The family dog run you up there?" Steve grunts as he pulls the metalhead up.

"Funny." Munson quipped sarcastically. "But no. I was up there for reasons."

'Reasons.' Steve mouths, and has to fight himself to keep from grinning.

"Even though I was there first, I did happen to hear some things." He looks at Chrissy, voice turning serious. "If you need any help getting things through Carver's thick skull I'd love to lend a hand."

"You would cheer for me too?"

"Oh absolutely. I'd make a far better cheerleader than Harrington here." He shoots a grin towards Steve to take the edge off the words, before doing a far more enthusiastic mimicry of the cheerleaders pom pom routine.

"But I know how much Carver hates the word no. If you break up with him and he gives you shit after, I'm happy to step in."

Steve hadn't actually thought about that yet, but given what he knew of Jason it makes sense.

He could easily see Chrissy worrying about Jason harassing her after the break up.

"Thank you. Both of you." She sniffs. "Eddie, are you sure you're okay?"

"Right as rain!" Munson gives a rather theatrical thumbs up. "I'll let you in on a family secret, we Munson's have rubber bones."

She gives him another giggle for his efforts, and even Steve can’t fully cover his

Munson, the ass, notices.

“Well call me the court jester, I got both the King and Queen to smile!” He cheers.

Steve rolls his eyes, but doesn't deny it.

"Chrissy!?" Someone barks, loud in the otherwise quiet backyard.

"Speak of the devil." Eddie drops his voice dramatically as Jason strides out of the house.

"I've been looking for you." He chides, two of his friends following close behind.

They're younger members of the basketball team, ones Steve's brain sluggishly attempts to remember.

"Are your knees dirty?" Jason asks Chrissy, disgust tinting his voice as he slowly looks from her to Munson next to her.

His eyes narrow, expression almost offronted.

"You heathen." Jason snarls, stepping forward with a fist clenched.

It was a move right of the sitcoms Steve swore he didn't watch, and it looked just as cheesy in real life as it did on screen.

"Calm down." Steve speaks up, hands going to his hips.

Jason's head jerks as he registers him, so focused on Munson that Steve slipped his notice entirely.

"Harrington?" He asks, as if Steve could be mistaken for anyone else here.

Steve gives him jazz hands in return.

"What are you doing out here?" Jason speaks only to Steve, whole body angling towards him like he's the only person who matters.

It's something Steve's dad does, if there's a businessman he considers to be an equal in the room. Zoning in on them, so he can subtly work in ways to make them feel inferior.

It's narcissism at its core (or so says his mother, when she's blitzed out on too many glasses of wine.)

"Talking to people." Steve deadpans. "If you're looking for beer, you walked past it."

Jason entire face pinches, like he just stepped in dog shit. "No one just talks to Munson."

It's a stupid thing to say, and whatever Hason was trying to imply with it wasn't appreciated.

"Well mark me as the first." Steve's hip cocks, voice frosting over.

Surprise washes across Munson's face, though he remains silent as Steve deals with Jason.

Probably a smart move, given how Jason seems to be eager for a fight.

"Whatever it is you're doing, you can leave Chrissy out of it." He says, and god his voice even sounds like Steve's dad.

"Chrissy," Steve says, with an eyebrow raise he knows looks judgemental, "can speak for herself."

He turns to face her, inviting her to the conversation, in the same way he'd always wished someone would invite his mother to speak against his father.

Watches as the cheerleader bites her lip, trying hard to hide the tears that have sprung to her eyes--but proves that she's stronger than Steve's mother ever was.

She steps forward, taking the opportunity offered to her with a steadying breath. "Jason--"

"You can explain it to me later." Her boyfriend waves her off, like she was a waitress offering water and not his partner.

Uncaring entirely that she's clearly upset.

That she wants to talk.

Munson has come to stand on Chrissy's other side, gone still in a way Steve's never seen him do.

It's downright weird for a guy who's normally always moving, and Steve knows it's defensive.

He's feeling a little defensive himself right now, though he doesn't want to particularly untangle why.

"Jason, listen to me." Chrissy tries again.

In his preffery vision, Steve spots a flash of familiar color. Turns his head automatically, seeking it out--and sees Jonathan hustling Nancy across the room.

The younger man is trying to balance Nancy while opening the front door, and for a second Steve almost beelines for them, except--

Except.

Nancy's whole body moves in what Steve intimately knows is an exhale, leaning her head in the crook of Jonathan's shoulder.

One arm wraps around his waist, as Jonathan finally gets the door open, and Steve watches with a stunned sort of horror as his girlfriend presses a kiss to Jonathan's shoulder.

It's fine.

He's fine.

Nancy was just--drunk. Seeking comfort. She didn't know what she was doing. She didn't mean it like that, she didn't--

"Oh shit Harrington." Jason drawls, a lazy sort of taunt. "I think Byers just stole your girlfriend."

Steve's head snaps back to him, the emotions he was attempting to box up flying to the front of his brain like dogs who slipped their leash.

"Never thought a priss like Nancy would be easy like that, but then, you never were the kind of guy to inspire loyalty." Jason continues, clearly ignoring his own girlfriend and all Steve can see is red.

Munson sucks air between his teeth next to him, nervously eyeing Steve while Chrissy's eyes have gone wide with shock and growing anger.

"Jason!" She admonishes, but he's not even looking towards her.

That too sharp smile is all for Steve.

He thinks of Nancy, the way she'd been so angry with him but so gentle with Jonathan.

He thinks of the monster he faced down in the Byers house, the terror that had shrank down to that same adrenaline soaked focus he had on the basketball court.

He thinks of this asshole Junior in front of him.

Making Chrissy cry just because she'd been kind enough to try to help Eddie, and accept Eddie's kindness in return when the weirdo tried to help her and Steve both.

Steve taps his foot, then switches his stance.

'Plant your feet.' Hargroves voice snarls in his memory and Steve wouldn't be surprised if the asshole abandons the keg long enough to come watch this.

Have his turn at heckling, just because he can.

Steve plants his feet anyway.

"You know what Carver?" He says, hands dropping from his hips.

Jason's face curves into a smile. "What?" He says, tone smarmy.

"You're full of shit."

Hand cocking back of its own accord, Steve puts every bit of himself into his punch.

Feels it reverberate up his arm as his knuckles connect to Jason's cheek.

It's going to hurt later, but right now all he can do is stand over Jason as the asshole's head snaps sideways, legs staggering him backwards until he's falling into his friends.

Chrissy gasps, Jason's boys chanting variations of 'Oh shit!'

Steve just glares him down.

The junior wipes his bloodied mouth, letting his friends push him up before shrugging them off.

"You're going to regret that." Jason snarls, and Steve squares up a second time, expecting to be rushed, when the sharp snickt! of a switchblade freezes them both.

"I think we're done here." Munson says, knife in hand.

The blade he holds is stained a deep, russet red. Crusty flakes fall off it, drifting gently down to the patio floor.

Jason's eyes boggle at it for a moment before he stands up straight.

"Now it makes sense. You're weak, Harrington, letting the Freak get his claws into you." Jason spits bloodstained saliva down at Eddie's feet. "No wonder Coach wants Billy as co-captain!"

Steve just scoffs.

"Chrissy!" Carver barks, making the poor girl jump. "Come here, we're leaving!"

Trembling, but stepping closer to Steve, she shakes her head.

"Chrissy." Jason orders again, and has the audacity to point to his feet, like a man commanding his dog.

"No." Chrissy says it quietly at first, voice a little shaky, before she seems to realize it.

She stands taller, repeats herself in a stronger voice. "No, Jason. We're done."

Jason stares at her, hard. "Chrissy, your mother told me to bring you home. So I'm going to take you home and get you away from this--demon and his lackey!"

It doesn't sound loving.

It sounds like a threat.

He steps forward, hand out to grab her arm and Steve tenses, shifting to step in front of Chrissy.

Eddie beats him there.

The word demon seems to awaken something in him, because his face is now grinning theatrically, voice dipping low in pitch.

"You heard her, Carver. She said no, and even I respect a lady's wish. So run along now," he walks two fingers in the air, from the hand not waving the knife around. "before I decide to make you and her both one of mine, just as I did Harrington!"

Jason actually crosses himself, before making one last attempt for Chrissy.

"That monster is dangerous. if you don't come with me, I'll have to alert your parents." He locks eyes with her. "For the good of your soul."

Steve snorts at that crock of shit, but Eddie lunges forward, slashing the knife in the air.

It's nowhere near Jason, but the guy leaps a foot back anyway.

"Begone!" Eddie booms, and that's all it takes for Jason and his cronies to huff and puff and stride away.

He keeps his arms in the air for a few beats more, before dropping them when it's clear Jason won't be back.

"So I'm yours, huh?" Steve drawls, as Eddie finally puts his hands down and turns to face them.

The guys scary face drops into something almost excited, and Steve can practically see the adrenaline crackling through him.

"Hey it worked. Carver's a religious nut, he goes running anytime you even hint at Satan." Eddie shrugs, grinning wildly. "Put on a little show and poof! Him and his flying monkeys melt away!"

He mimes melting and Steve stares at him for it, until he hears Chrissy laughing next to him.

Eddie grins at her and Steve is hit with the realization that it was for her benefit. To make her feel better about her psycho ex.

Something fond and familiar winds through his chest as the other boy bows.

He refuses to put a name to it.

"Did you paint your knife?" He asks instead, rubbing the hand he hit Jason with.

"What?" Eddie asks, startled out of his court jester act.

Steve nods to his hand holding the switchblade. "That's not blood, it's way too red."

"Ah." Eddie turns the grin back on, and this time it's for Steve. "Yeah, it's uh. Modeling paint. Not like Carver would know the difference."

Unspoken was the fact that he hadn't thought Steve would.

Prior to last year, he'd have been right.

Drunken cheering erupts into wild yells inside, breaking whatever spell the three of them were under.

Hargrove's voice is the loudest among them, and the dude is definitely wasted.

Steve has a feeling Hargrove also knows the difference between paint and blood, rendering Munson's knife trick useless if the dick tried to start something.

"Do you want a ride home, Chrissy?" He asks quietly.

"If it's not a bother." She says, wiping tears shed refused to let fall from her eyes.

Chrissy Cunningham was a lot stronger than people gave her credit for.

"Come on, Munson, I think it's time we all make our exit." Steve says, finding himself weirdly unwilling to leave the older teen behind.

Eddie could hold his own, but given how badly things were playing out Steve figured it was best if they all just called it a day.

"Yeah lemme just…" Munson puts his blade away, fumbling at his pockets for a moment before turning and snatching up a metal lunchbox.

"There! After you, my liege." He says, before opening the lunchbox to make it talk.

"My lady." He makes it say, pitching his voice high.

Chrissy breaks into giggles again and Steve rolls his eyes, but he claps his good hand on Eddie's shoulder as he walks past.

Eddie smiles at him, this one a bit softer than the others, eyes sparkling and Steve chooses not to read into that either.

The three of them walk together, Eddie splitting off to his van after Chrissy thanks him.

Part Two

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Dungeon Meshi: The RPG

[austinbutlerslovers]

🕯️ October Special Fic List 🕯️

(Mystery until released ofc spooky smut but very fun)

🔗 The Chase (Benny Cross) 10.19 available Benny Cross chases you through the streets on his motorcycle but once he catches you the fun really begins.

🔗 Obsession (Feyd Rautha) 10.25 available

Betrothed to Feyd-Rautha, the dark and terrifyingly handsome Na-Baron of Giedi Prime, you should be filled with fear, instead you are obsessed with him.

Harkonnen wedding traditions are brutal and cruel, a series of tests meant to prove your undying obedience yet you find yourself giving everything on your wedding night to ensure you are his one true Baroness.

🔗 Blood Bound (Austin) 10.30 Available It had been this way at every event, hadn’t it? He would watch you, and you would watch him, always at a distance. You told yourself it was just an infatuation, some silly attraction to a movie star, but deep down, you knew it was more than that. There was something about him, something magnetic and dangerous, that had always kept you away.

🎃 BONUS 🎃 🔗 Sweet as Pie 10.31 Available It’s Halloween night, and you surprise Gale with your costume of choice—a seductive black cat, complete with ears, and a tail. He’s so riled up upon seeing you wear it that he affectionately starts calling you kitten, and instead of heading to the party as planned, he tries to keep you as a sweet treat all to himself.

🔗 Master List 🎃

🏷️ Always tag me List @burnthheparaphilia @purejasmine @butdaddyilovehim99 @lindszeppelin @austinbutlerfly @abswifey @ausssbutlershortstories @magicovento @obsessedvibee @austiebuttbutt @faegoddessog @jessica987 @oh-my-front-door @slowsweetlove @hardcoredisneynerd @thegabbyh @thefallofthedamned @buckysteveloki-me @bucking-mustangs-with-wings @shegatsby @darlingisntit @lovereadingfanfic @elvismylove04 @shockercoco @minispice-1 @aust-een@ughdontbeboring @meetmeatyourworst @avidreader73 @jkdaddy01 @xxmandaveexx @mamawiggers1980 @feralgodmothers @finley-08 @imjustheretoreadsmuthaha @majestyjade @gravesdiggergirl @nostalgichoya @umika @ifuckindontknow @kaelatargaryen @omrs-hardy-hunnam-butler @darknightmareobject @psycheetamore

🏍️ Benny Cross Tag List (will tag onfic) @landlockedmermaid77 @jvanilly @oceanablue @12joeywheelerfangirl @autumnleaves1991-blog @presley1992 @rose-deathman @sillylittlethrowaway @lillypink @faephoria @fallout-girl219

⚔️ Feyd Rautha Tag list (will tag on fic) @rougegenshin @maloribarnes1999 @moony-artemis @xxxstormyninixx @prettypinkblogger @thegabbyh @aoi-targaryen @austinswhitewolf @skinny-baby-4eva @mimsie95 @the-wanderer-2022 @jakesullyissopookie @francis-writes @shiranai-atsune @berlinalv @everyonelovesavalet @dacreshoney @caroline334 @szapizzapanda @berlinalv @moonsoulk @sophroniaclark @emeraldsgirl@aaaaaaamond @cooliosthings@mcmisbehaving

[fairene]

one of your girls part two / ln4 sneak peek

sneak peek for a lando x fem!reader part two. read it here

warning: minors dni!!, language, smut (not in this sneak peek, but there will be.) no use of y/n, of course, potentially harsh language, ANGST (SORRY, not sorry(?)), drinking, jealousy!!! toxic, miscommunication.

a/n ⋯ as always, i am open to taking requests. don't be afraid to hit me up hehe 💗 this should be posted within the next few days...!! afterwards, i'm solely devoting to answering requests. all of your ideas are spectacular!!! i can't wait to put them to pen and paper. stay tuned!

raphael is a new character being introduced. for...purposes that this author cannot disclose just yet ;). i hope this will keep everyone fed before the full thing drops! aiming for around. . .. 18k words, hopefully, but i also don't want to drag it on longer than it needs to be, haha.

“don’t do that.” you said, breaking the silence between you two. you seemed to rip him out of his dreamscape with a clearing of his throat. 

“do what?” he feigned innocence. though he knew what he was doing. he missed you, lest he verbalize that. 

“look at me,” you breathed, “like that.” 

his brow lifted, still playing dumb. dumb, as if he didn’t want to take you over this railing, ask you to be his. 

“like what?”

you scoffed. 

“like you’re in love with me.” 

ouch. your words bit harder than he thought they would, blood gushing from an open wound in his heart. he let your words settle before he leaned back in the chair, legs spreading as he fiddled with the skin of his thumbs. 

“i wanted to see you.” 

“i know,” you answered. “you saw me. now what?” 

lando shook his head. “don’t do that.” please don’t do that he wanted to say. 

“do what?” it was your turn to play dumb. your turn to pretend that you weren’t doing the same thing. pushing him away was the easiest way to deal with all of your problems. 

“act so cold.” he turned his head away from you, glancing over towards the lights of the city. “giving me frostbite.” 

“lando, what–”

“i’m sorry.” 

huh? you froze, eyes widening as you straightened upright. did you hear him correctly? it wouldn’t be the first time you’ve heard an apology. but this was a first to hear it in person, not in begging text messages half way across the world. 

“what–?”

“for everything. i’m sorry.” his head fell to his hands as he leaned over, gripping at the curls atop his head. you felt the same urge creeping up your spine, your hands feeling empty. you shifted on your feet, stepping a foot closer. 

“why now?”

he perked up, wondering what you meant. 

“why, now, are you sorry?” 

he was speechless. unable to form the words that could answer such a  vague question. but you had an idea, so you thought you’d share. 

“because i was with someone?” raphael. you know that he saw the two of you talking. chatting. maybe an occasional giggle so you could keep him quiet for the rest of the free practices. 

lando began to shake his head. “no, no–” 

“really?”

you stepped into his space, wedging yourself between his thighs. he stared up at you, lost in the reflection of your eyes beneath the starlit sky. his hands found your hips and you let him keep them there, at least for the moment. 

“really.” he promised you. head leaning forward to rest on your stomach. you felt the perch of his nose dig into your skin. your head leaned back, taking a large breath, feeling tears begin to well. 

“what do you want, then?” you said with a shaky breath. 

you felt his hands tense against your hips. 

“i don’t know.” his words were muffled, but you could make them out. it shattered you to hear the creak in his voice, but it hurt even more knowing that he didn’t know. you wanted something with him. a relationship. but he didn’t feel the same.

your fingers cupped his face, bringing him to look at you. “that’s it, then, huh?” your voice was dangerously soft. 

he was confused. again. 

“that’s all i’ll be?” he still didn’t catch on, too busy staring at your flushed face, reddened eyes. he wanted to fix it– take back his words. he’d do anything to reverse time. would do anything to revoke the words that spilled from your pretty lips. 

“one of your girls.”

my face posting this

[samandcolbyownme]

Can u plz do a part two with Tara and Jakes reactions for the Johnnie snippet you did

Warnings: swearing, Jake and Johnnie being Jake and Johnnie, crying, but all out cute fluff

Enjoy!

Part one

══════════════════

The knock on the door startled you, causing you to lift your head from Johnnie’s shoulder. He gives your hand a squeeze, “Jake and Tara.”

Johnnie gets up to walk over to the door and you kick the blankets away from you as Tara and Jake walk in, cheerful as ever, but then they read the look and immediately settle down.

“What’s going on here?” Tara points between you and Jake and when she looks back at you, she walks over, laying a hand on your cheek, “Sweetie, why are you crying?”

You press your lips together, hoping to keep the tears held back for just long enough, “I’m fine.” You pat her arm and motion to the couch where Johnnie has Jake, “Sit.”

You sit down on the loveseat with Johnnie and just stare between Jake and Tara, “So. Um.” You laugh nervously, “This is nerve racking.”

“What is?” Tara tilts her head and then gasps, pointing at you, “Please, please please don’t tell me you’re breaking up.”

At the same time, you and Johnnie immediately denying it, “No.”

You look over at him, “I’m scared.”

He shakes his head, brushing hair from your face, “Don’t be.”

You look back at the two sitting on the couch, “So I found out today that.. I’m..” you breathe out the last word, “Pregnant.”

Their faces fall immediately as they process what you just said.

“Pregnant? Wait.” Tara point to you, “oh.. my god..” she gets up, eyes filling with tears as her voice is high, “Oh my god!” She walks over to you, taking your hand into hers, “Are we happy about it?”

Tara glances at Johnnie and he nods, “Oh yeah.” Tara smiles and looks back at you, “You’re gonna be such a hot fucking mom.”

Johnnie nods, “Milf Central at the Guilbert household.”

“Oh.. my.. god.” Jake finally breaks his silence, his voice dragging out each word. Jake looks at you, “you let that man do that to you?”

“Fuck off, Jake.” Johnnie laughs and Jake laughs with him, “No I’m kidding. If you’re happy, I’m happy. Congratulations guys.”

You all watch as Jake stands up and raises his arms in the air, yelling very loudly, “I’m gonna be Uncle Jake!”

You all laugh and you look at Tara, “so what do you think we’ll have?”

Tara instantly responds, “Girl dad.” She looks at Johnnie and laughs, “All the way.” You nod, “I agree, little pastel butterfly barrettes in your bangs.”

You reach over, flicking his bands and he laughs sarcastically, “You guys are hilarious.”

“Well Johnnie..” Jake walks over, taking his hand into his, “This only means one thing.”

“I don’t ev-“

Jake cuts a Johnnie off, “Now you can say-“ he deep his voice, “Whatever daddy wants, daddy gets..” he goes back to his regular voice, “And have it actually mean something for you.”

“You’re an asshole, and you can leave now.” Johnnie says while fighting back a laugh.

══════════════════

Let me know how you liked it! Ilysm! 🖤 thank you for reading!

Likes and reblogs are majorly appreciated!

[storiesforallfandoms]

freedom ~ oberyn martell;game of thrones

part one

word count: 2608

request?: a single person asked if there would be a part two so yes?

description: in which she finally gets to enjoy her freedom with the man she loves

pairing: oberyn martell x female!reader

warnings: swearing, use of y/n, lil bit of dirty talk from oberyn teehee

masterlist (one, two, three)

The sun shining in through the open window stirred her from her sleep. She wasn't sure what time it was, but judging by how groggy she felt, she had definitely been asleep for a very long time. It was the first night since the evening before Joffrey's wedding that she had slept in an actual bed.

(Y/N) and Oberyn's plan had gone way better than she was expecting. She did as Oberyn told her and packed one bag of her most essential things. Oberyn had one of his men take it to the carriage so that non of Cersei's servants would catch (Y/N) doing it. She sat through the ceremony with the best fake smile pained on her face the entire time. The second the ceremony ended, (Y/N) slipped away while Cersei was distracted and they started their journey back to Dorne immediately.

It was a long journey spanning a number of days. They only stopped to rest a handful of times as Oberyn insisted on going for as long as the horses could stand so the risk of being caught by the Lannister men that Cersei was undoubtably going to send after them. (Y/N) was tense the entire time and wasn't able to relax until they reached Dorne.

Oberyn's brother, Prince Doran, was waiting for them when their carriage arrived. Oberyn had just stepped out when Doran said, "We received a message from King's Landing about the kidnapped Lannister girl."

"I kidnapped no one," Oberyn said. "She came with me willingly because she was being terribly abused by the Queen."

"The former Queen," (Y/N) corrected as she stepped out beside Oberyn. "Now that Joffrey is wed, Cersei is no longer Queen." She turned to Doran and curtsied. "My Lord."

Doran nodded in response. "Lady (Y/N). We hoped my brother wasn't so stupid as to kidnap a Lannister the day of the young kind's wedding."

"What Oberyn says is true. I have come with him of my own free will to escape my sister. She is claiming my capture so that y ou will send me back to her and will punish Oberyn so he cannot come for me again. I do not wish to go back, not ever. I will attest to this myself to my family back in King's Landing if you wish."

Doran looked between the two of them. He took a deep breath and said, "They will come."

"I will speak to them," (Y/N) insisted. "They cannot take me by force."

"They will not take her by force," Oberyn interjected.

Doran nodded. "I pledge my full support to you. I just hope you know what you are doing, brother."

Oberyn had brought her to a room that would be her own for the time being. He had promised her they would share a bed in due time, but he would not do so until they were properly courted. She would have argued further, but she was so tired and her body was aching from the long carriage ride, so all she wanted was to lay down in a soft bed.

Now that she was waking up from such a long slumber, it took a few moment for her to remember where she was. When she did remember, she smiled to herself. She was so giddy with happiness to finally be free and not feel so stuck and trapped in Westeros anymore.

A knock came at the door. She beckoned for them to come in, thinking (or rather hoping) that it was Oberyn. she was surprised when a lady she did not recognize stepped into her room.

"I am sorry for the intrusion, my lady," the woman said, bowing to (Y/N). "My name is Kenziah. I will be your handmaiden. I was told to come prepare you for a meeting in the Prince's throne room."

"Has something happened?" (Y/N) asked.

"Your father arrived early this morning, my lady. He requested a meeting with you and both Princes."

(Y/N) was quick to get out of bed and allow Kenziah to dress her. She tried to keep a brave face as she was led to Prince Doran's throne room. Doran was sat on his own throne while Oberyn was stood next to him. A tall figure was back on to (Y/N) as she walked in, but she didn't need him to turn around to recognize who it was.

Tywin Lannister looked down at his daughter as she entered the room. "My daughter, you have caused quite a disturbance."

"So I have heard," (Y/N) said. "I apologize if I disrupted Joffrey's wedding day. That was not my plan. Truthfully, I did not think Cersei would even notice my absence."

"You severely underestimate your sister then."

(Y/N) brushed past her father to stand next to Oberyn. She held her head high as she addressed Tywin, "I know what Cersei has tried to say about my disappearance. I am saying to you, father, that I willingly left with Oberyn to come to Dorne. I am not under any sort of duress, and I will not be returning to King's Landing with you."

Tywin raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?" (Y/N) nodded. "King Joffrey could order for your return."

"He would have to come take her himself," Doran cut in. "But he would have to go through the Dorne army."

"Are you threatening the king?" Tywin asked.

"No, I am protecting one of my own."

(Y/N) glanced between Tywin and Doran. Oberyn was silent beside her, but he had moved closer, protectively. For the first time in her life, (Y/N) actually felt cared for and safe.

Tywin's gaze moved to his daughter. "Is this truly your wish, my child? To stay in Dorne with the young prince?"

"I cannot go back to that palace, father. It was my prison, and I have finally escaped from it. I will not return to King's Landing willingly, and if you try to force me, I will fight back to the best of my abilities."

Tywin nodded. "I cannot force you to do anything against your will, (Y/N)."

"Will you tell Cersei that?"

To her surprise, Tywin nodded again. "If this is what you truly want, then no one else shall bother you while you're here."

(Y/N) bowed her head. "Thank you father."

Tywin paused a moment as he started to leave. (Y/N) wondered if he would say anything more. But he merely nodded to Doran and Oberyn before turning to leave the room. When he was gone, (Y/N) finally allowed her body to relax. Oberyn took her into his arms and kissed the top of her head.

"You are officially free, little lion."

~~~~~~

(Y/N) was sat in front of a mirror as Kenziah braided her hair. It had been a full day since she had arrived and she was already feeling more at home than she ever had in King's Landing. Oberyn had sent Dornish clothes for her to wear, and she was currently wearing one that was a similar color to the robe Oberyn had been wearing when they first met.

Now that she had been able to properly settle in after their long journey and Twyin's visit, Oberyn had called for (Y/N) to meet him outside of Water Gardens, their palace. She had a feeling she knew what this meeting was about, and the thought alone made her very giddy.

"You are trembling, my lady," Kenziah said. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, Kenziah, thank you," (Y/N) said. "I am just feeling nervous to see Oberyn is all."

"Nervous? But you seemed very fond of him before."

"I am fond of him! I guess nervous may be the wrong word. I feel a number of things about seeing him, because I know he will likely ask me to be his wife today. He said when we returned to Dorne that he would court me and make me his wife."

Kenziah smiled. "He does seem to feel very strongly for you, my lady. I see the way he looks at you."

(Y/N) smiled to herself as well. She had noticed the ways in which Oberyn looked at her, and every time it made her melt a little. She had never felt so infatuated with anyone before. The thought of being so close to him asking her to marry him made her insides feel fuzzy and warm.

When Kenziah finished braiding her hair, she placed a few flowers in the braids. "There, all finished."

(Y/N) moved to look at her hair in the mirror. She was almost surprised by the reflection looking back at her. She looked so beautiful, and she felt it, too. It was almost as if she was meant to be in Dorne, she just had to find a way to get there.

"Thank you, Kenziah," she said.

"You're welcome, my lady."

When she was sure she was ready, Kenziah brought (Y/N) to where Oberyn was waiting for her. He looked just as handsome as ever, almost glowing under the Dornish sun as he looked out at a pond below them. When she approached, he turned to her and smiled.

"You look beautiful, my little lion," he said. He took her hand in his and raised it to his lips, pressing a light kiss on her knuckles. It sent a spark through her entire body and made her hand feel like it was tingling.

"Thank you," she said. "I really love the clothes you sent for me. Dorian wear is so much nicer than what I had back in the palace."

"It suits you better, too. Like you were meant to wear it."

(Y/N) was smiling so much her cheeks were hurting. Oberyn beckoned for her to come closer. She did, moving as close to him as she could dare. She gasped when he put his hands on her hips and moved her so that she was stood right in front of him. His body was pressing against her backside, and she felt like she was weak in the knees from the feeling.

"I wanted to show you what I was looking at," he told her, his mouth dangerously close to her ear. He pointed towards the pond. "Just down there."

She was having a hard time concentrating on what it was he was trying to show her. His closeness was making her very dizzy. But she tried her best and managed to make her eyes focus on the pond. It was full of children, splashing around and laughing. She wasn't quite sure what he was trying to show her, until she spotted a familiar young girl with a head full of blonde hair.

She gasped. "Myrcella."

Myrcella was Cersei's middle child, and only daughter. Cersei adored Myrcella more than (Y/N) had seen her adore anyone in her life. When she had been sent away to Dorne to be a bride to Doran's son, Trystane, Cersei was practically inconsolable. It was the only time (Y/N) had ever seen weakness from her sister.

But Myrcella was also much different than her mother, or her older brother for that matter. She had a heart of gold and she cared very much for the people around her. That included (Y/N), much to Cersei's displeasure. (Y/N) loved her niece dearly. She had almost abandoned hope of ever seeing her again.

"She has been taken care of here," Oberyn assured (Y/N). "We will wait until she and my nephew come of age before they wed. Until then, she gets to live the life of a child."

"Why are you telling me this?" (Y/N) asked. While she was definitely glad to see her niece, this was not where she expected this conversation to go.

"She spoke very highly of you. Ever since she arrived, she has voiced how much she has missed her mother and her aunt. I can tell she is not like her mother, so I figured seeing her would be a welcome surprise."

With his hands still on her waist, Oberyn spun (Y/N) around so that she was facing him. Instinctively, she wrapped her arms around his neck. Their bodies were still pressed so close together. (Y/N) found herself feeling something she had never felt before; a tingling sensation between her legs. Looking up into Oberyn's eyes, she wanted nothing more than to start kissing him, and to beg for him to touch her and make the feeling go away.

She had a feeling that he would know exactly how to pleasure her, and that thought made her feel even more weak.

"I want you to be happy here," he told her.

"I am happy," she assured him. "As long as I am with you, I can't be happier. You have saved me, Oberyn. Truly."

He smiled. "And I am glad that I have."

When he lowered his head towards her, (Y/N) wasted no time in closing the space between them. She kissed him so deeply that she made herself dizzy by doing it. His hands had moved from her waist to the small of her back, holding her to him. She could've stayed like this forever if that were possible.

When he broke away, she inadvertently let out a whine. He chuckled at her desperate sound. "I will kiss you as much as you wish, my little lion. But first, I do have a promise to keep."

He stepped away from her. Her body suddenly felt cold without him so close. He held her hands in his and looked deeply into her eyes as he spoke, "I told you that when we arrived to Dorne, I would properly court you and wed you. I believe I have successfully courted you already, so that just leaves us with one last step."

"Yes," (Y/N) blurted. Oberyn was amused by her outburst. "If it was not obvious, I very much want to marry you, Oberyn."

"I had a feeling," he teased. "I spoke with my brother already to get his blessing as well. We will have the wedding in a few days time."

"Can we do it now instead?"

Oberyn shook his head, an amused smile on his face. "My dear, sweet little lion. You must have patience. You must know what it takes to put a wedding together, especially one for people of royal blood such as us. Besides, I do not think you should wish to rush into marriage this quickly."

(Y/N) furrowed her brows at him. "Why?"

He stepped closer to her again. He leaned into her ear and dropped his voice to say, "Because once we are wed, I no longer have to worry about defiling your innocence. I may keep you in my bed for many days and nights before I decide to let you have a break from me, and even then I may only decide that because you are carrying my child."

(Y/N) stumbled a little and Oberyn was quick to catch her.

"You are mistaken, my love," she told him. "That only makes me wish for us to be married much sooner."

Oberyn cupped her face and pulled her for a kiss.

"I promise, my little lion, I will make the wait worth it," he said. "For now, you will just have to settle for stolen kisses."

"I will take anything as long as it is from you."

They kissed once more, and (Y/N) finally got to revel in the fact that she was finally getting her own happy ending.

[mysunshinetemptress]

2014 part two

Leah Williamson x Reader Warnings: Short

Your buzzing, quit literally vibrating in your seat as your family pull into medow park. "God Y/n will you stop moving." You nod "Sorry im just really excited this is all shes ever wanted." Leah's making her debut, Leah's making her debut for Arsenal. Something you will achive in three years, you wont be able to contain your nerves then, but for now you stop moving as you get out of the car and wait impatinelty for your fmily to follow suit.

Amanda had called last letting you guys know that they were coming back from london early as Leah had been chosen for todays senior squad, Leah, your leah was going to make her senior debut. Countless hours spent kicking a ball around the garden, imaginary crowds cheering her name, had culminated in this very moment.

You stay antsy the entire way through the match until the fourth offical holds up number fourteen and you watch as Leah shakes out her legs on the sideline, shes nervous you know that, your sure have the stadium knows that but what they don't know, what you don't know is that when she looks to the stand, when she sees you there absolute vibrating in your seat with excitement, the widest smile shes ever seen her nerves disappear, you belive in her, you have told her over and over again and the look on your face right now tells her ypu believe in her now and so she lets out a breath and makes her way onto the pitch for the first time for the Arsenal, for the senior squad.

You stand down at the barrier at the end of the match and wait for Leah to come over, you watch as she hugs her parents and Gran, her cousins, aunties and uncles and the Jacob and you stand beside him ready to tell her how amazing she was, how amazing she always has been, only you don't get to. "Leah." Alex Scott is standing behind Leah pulling on her jersey slightly "Come on you want that photo don't you." And with that shes gone.

You expect to see her at the party the willamsons through for her later that night but shes a very popular person, she's always been a very popular person. You watch as she mingles with her friends, family and teamates old and new, you watch as her cheeks reden and she picks at her hands as she talks to a girl, a girl who's face you cant see, a girl who will sweep leah off her feet as you get sweeped off your own by him, a girl who will replace you on the Williamson family holiday as they clash with his family holiday.

You leave shortly after saying goodbye to Jacob and the rest of the Williamson family, not Leah though, now you cant find her at all, not like she seemed to notice you were there in the first place. You have training tomorrow and if you want to follow her to the senior squad of Arsenal (three years, you'll make it in three years), of any team, you have to practice, to train, to go to bed early to get up early to repeat it all again and again to make it.

Your proud of her even if you never got to tell her, the same way she won't get to tell you when you finally make it, you'll be to wrapped up in him, around him.

[cosmictheo]

𝐎𝐁𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐘 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐒 | 𝐟𝐞𝐲𝐝-𝐫𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐚 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐧

(gif credits to @pascow)

— summary: feyd-rautha was used to have whatever he wanted, it was well known, but so were you; what you desired, was already yours. and what you crave right now, is him. —pairing: feyd-rautha harkonnen x female!reader —word count: 1.5k —warnings: death, mentions of killing, blood, fighting (yk the usual feyd), just the reader and feyd-rautha being horny and a slut for each other.

writer’s note: english is not my mother tongue, so please forgive me if there is a grammatical error. hope you like it!

yes, i'm finally back!! dune part 2 has dragged me out of my cave and has given me inspiration like never before.

Feyd-Rautha was psychotic. Everyone knew it, perhaps the whole galaxy was aware of his very eccentric... preferences and appetites. He was well known for his immaculate and animalistic way of fighting, of destroying anyone who dared to present themselves as his enemy, of anyone who would dare to challenge him. But he was also honorable, proud and loyal to his beliefs, perhaps too self-confident for your own liking.

But every strong man had a weakness, a weakness that could bring them to their knees, to yield, to be left vulnerable. You were Feyd's weakness, rather, his strength, his fortitude, the fire in his veins, the beating of his heart. And it was quite strange and utterly unimaginable to think that someone like Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen would have any feelings at all, there were those who firmly believed that he didn't even have a heart, not even a soul, that he was a demon in human form, a ruthless and bloodthirsty beast, the worst of the worst.

But there you were to prove otherwise.

It had been your idea to actually take him as a husband. Your parents disagreed, of course, for they thought you would be better off alone, after all, you were one of the strongest women alive, you didn't need any man or woman by your side. They called you the Golden Dragon, someone with too much power for this world, you had abilities that the world could not really understand yet, connections with the universe that could not even begin to be explained, the last descendant of one of the most ancient Houses, one that had vanished in time, detached from battles and senseless wars for power, a House that was recognized by that flag with the roaring and menacing red dragon on a golden field. That ancient beast that many thought extinct... until you came to Giedi Prime riding one. 

And you had arrived just on his coming of age day, where his favorite ceremony was battles, of course.

You watched him fight the Atreides men from your seat, your mother and father sitting at your sides, watching him as well, all in silence. Your eyes followed his every move, not even pausing for a second to watch the other poor men being annihilated, no, for your attention was solely on Feyd-Rautha, noting the predatory nature of his steps, his precise and powerful movements, eyes darkened with delight, eager for more death and blood. 

"He is a good warrior" Your father commented looking at him in awe as well.

"Too much so, I'd say" Your mother added in a naturally stern voice, distrustful dark eyes, observing the gory spectacle.

"He was born for it" Your father continued to comment, turning his head so he could look at you for a few seconds "For slaughter and death. Only to bring that."

"I think he's cute" you finally stated your opinion, voice low and serene, not even having the audacity to look at your parents, for you didn't have to look at them to know that they were both giving you horrified and scandalized looks now. 

Your father muttered your name in a warning tone of voice.

"He would look good in our home. He's built for fighting and protect, just like us." You explained, finally detaching your eyes from Feyd-Rautha, who had just killed the last Atreides standing, unleashing a wave of applause, praise and cheers from the audience. "Don't you think so, father?"

Your look was almost defiant, and yet composed, and your father took it as a challenge, but he would never be so foolish as to show any disagreement with you, for what the dragon princess desired, she had.

So, after sharing a short glance with your mother, he gave you a short nod of his head.

"I do."

And so it was settled.

Feyd-Rautha, for his own part, saw you and knew you were meant to be his.  He had heard of you, of course, his uncle used to insist that he must behave himself once your family arrived, for you were worthy of having the full respect of House Harkonnen, and that losing you as allies was not an option at all. So behave he did... or at least he tried to.

"I dreamed of you last night." 

Was the first thing he said to you, both found in one of the large, dark halls of his home, just a couple of hours after his victorious fight in the arena. The Baron and your father were in an important and pending meeting in which neither your presence nor Feyd's was required, because the whole focus of it was the two of you, and a possible marriage to ensure the alliance and heritage.

His eyes were barely distinguishable with the all the thick blackness surrounding him, his pupils dilated with desire, hands clasped behind his back, as inflexible as ever. He had put his all into making a good impression, his uncle had ordered him to, and Feyd was quite obedient when it came to the Baron's wishes. He was so loyal to that foul man that you thought it was something no better described than adorable. 

The thing was that, as powerful and menacing as he was, he was just another man, another pawn into this colossal game of power and thrones. And you felt rather pity for him.

"Na-baron." You greeted him somewhat pragmatically, turning fully towards him, golden eyes gleaming even amidst all the darkness through your gold mask. "It was a good dream, I hope."

"(Y/N) Pazuk, princess." He just took the satisfaction of deliciously savoring the name of your House, pronouncing it in that husky, deep voice of his. He also had the courage to move closer to you, rising from the wall and stepping cautiously, holding your gaze, looking down on you as if you were prey, a small helpless animal under his looming shadow. He then reflected, thinking about choosing the most suitable words... and the most appropriate ones "It was a very good dream."

You were in his territory, his planet, you knew it well and so did he, you were walking straight into the mouth of the hungry beast. Everything that was there belonged to him, he controlled it all and saw it all. 

And everything he was seeing now was you. And he was intrigued, captivated even. Because he usually encountered boring and vulgar people, people who were nowhere near his level, people who he liked to torture and make bleed to death. And the thing was, you happened to stand on his level, and even higher.

"Tell me more." You had the courage to order him in a soft tone of voice. He knew instantly that you were testing him, he was smart and knew how to read people well... but you, you were different, he could see it too, you were much more complex than other people. And he was delighted.

A hint of a phantom smile tugged at the corner of his lips just as he stood in front of you, posture rigid and dominant. "You showed me the way. The right way. The way of victory, the way of life."

You swallowed spit slowly and he noticed it, for his eyes descended to your throat for a few moments before rising again to your face, analyzing every expression that passed through your gaze, every gesture of your lips, every sign you allowed him to see.

Then he twisted his head slightly, face turning somewhat mischievous. "You think I'm scary, princess?"

Now it was his turn to test you.

He watched as your lips parted before responding, raising your voice with pure confidence, naturally, holding his dark gaze. "I think you're quite the opposite really, Feyd-Rautha."

He was silent for a few moments, long moments in which he simply gazed at you intently, with his full attention on you, on your body, almost as if he was looking at your pure soul.

"You are my destiny." He finally uttered, you could hear how his voice had wavered more for softness than harshness this time. "Show me the way, my princess."

You managed to feel the warmth of his body against yours. For someone so cold and distant, his body was hot and warm like fire.

"Are you going to ask for my hand?" You ask in a small voice, feeling suddenly intimidated by his closeness. There were very few who dared to stand so close to you, yet there he was, threatening your personal space. "Because here I am, na-Baron."

Before I could answer you anything, you spoke again, twisting your head slightly, barely narrowing your eyes. "You think I'm scary, my lord?"

He had never been so profoundly proud and thrilled by his title as he was at that moment, when you slowly modulated it with your tongue like a purr, your voice tastefully savoring it.

"I think you are beautiful." He immediately responded. "And I want you to be mine."

And so, fate had done it's work.

[anxiouswriter0]

The Voice | Paul Atreides

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Paul and Chani, along with Lady Jessica, were camping in the vast desert of Arrakis, surrounded by golden dunes and the eternal silence that characterizes that arid and desolate world. In the afternoon, as the three of them were in the tent, they were suddenly startled by joyful shouts and laughter echoing in the distance.

Alerted by the noise, they stepped out of the tent and found several Fremen, desert natives, waving their arms in the air with expressions of happiness directed towards a figure standing not far away. Among them stood a young woman unfamiliar to Paul and Lady Jessica, but not to Chani.

Chani, with a smile on her face, joined in the joy of the Fremen, while Paul and Lady Jessica watched with confusion. They didn't understand what was happening, but they could still feel the joy radiating from the group.

When she finally reached the group, the Fremen surrounded her with joy and warm hugs, while that person received those gestures with affection. Paul observed how Chani wrapped her arms around that person, not wanting to let go. Paul understood how that person had somehow managed to connect with the very essence of the desert and its people.

—you must be exhausted from the journey. why don't you rest?— Chani suggested, catching the attention of Paul and Jessica.

—Yeah, maybe a little rest sounds good —she replied, following chani.

As they approached the tent, Paul and Jessica called out to them, grabbing both their attention.

—I'm sorry, the excitement of the moment almost made me forget —chani smiled, while the girl also smiled. —(y/n), these are lady jessica and paul atreides —chani introduced them, —they are one of us.

from his position, paul watched (y/n) attentively as she removed her cloak, revealing sparkling eyes and a serene presence that took his breath away. her (h/c) hair gently waving in the desert breeze.

—It's an honor to meet you, (y/n), —Lady Jessica speak.

—A pleasure to meet you —Paul said.

(y/n) responded with a respectful nod.

—The honor and pleasure are all mine, Lady Jessica, —she said, looking at the named person and then moving her look to the young man, —Paul.

Paul, surprised, looked up at her in disbelief. Lately, he had been dreaming of a similar voice calling out his name.

a voice that was now in front of him.

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↳ Note: Hey, this is my first attempt at writing fanfiction... sooo... I have several unfinished drafts. Maybe with this one, I'll make a sequel... Maybe... I don't know ↳ p.s: this was something quick that came out of my head, while I was watching the new Dune movie

[chrisbangs]

Bang Chan .:. 락 (LALALALA) Inkigayo [231112]

[mentally-a-slut]

Three Days (Arthur Morgan x Fem! Reader) (SMUT)

Anddddd here we are! Part two of 'Staring Problem'! This can be read as a stand alone, but if you want a suggestive lead up, then go read part one! I tried my best with this one, but I haven't written explicit smut like this in a long time, so go easy on me! Writing this also reminded me that I loathe writing in second person, so from here on out I think I'll either do first or third. I won't bore you with details here, but I'll put up a separate post updating y'all on some stuff. Anyway, enjoy, and please leave feedback! Silent readers are appreciated but leaving comments helps me get motivated to continue! Even just a one word comment or an emoji helps! - Azi >:)

Summary: Arthur's been gone on a job for three days, which isn't a new development. However, a new development in your relationship just before he left leave you wanting. But fear not, as your troubles will be soon solved!

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: unprotected PinV sex, smut, oral (f receiving), overall filth, reader is female, unedited (sorry), probably OOC Arthur but we're here for dick not character analysis!

You had always hated when Arthur went away on jobs, but ever since he left you hanging, your distaste for his long absences had grown.

You hadn't seen the man in three days, only getting a parting kiss and a heavy, heated promise as a farewell. The first day he was gone, you were mostly in awe of what had happened, wistfully going about your day and daydreaming of things to come.

The second day left you a little frustrated, the ache for him only growing with his absence. The other girls had noticed too, only making you more irritable as they teased you relentlessly for your obvious attitude change.

The third day was when you started to get worried. He'd been gone on longer jobs than this before, but you still couldn't help the nervous bouncing of your leg as you sat across from Tilly, trying to busy yourself with patching up some clothes.

"I'm sure he's fine. He's been gone much longer than this before."

Your lips contorted into a line, eyebrows knitted as you shook off the pain of the needle piercing the soft pad of your thumb. "I know. Just miss him, I guess."

Tilly just smiled and let you work in silence alongside her.

Arthur had gone to rob some stagecoach close to Emerald Ranch, along with Javier and Micah. You trusted Javier to help bring him back safely, but the addition of Micah made you nervous. He had a reputation of losing his cool and endangering the lives of everyone in a five mile radius.

Abigail had been very helpful the last couple of days. She understood every minor shift in your demeanor in the time he was gone. John was no stranger to long jobs, so Abigail knew exactly how it felt to sit idle while the men were out in danger.

John tried to be helpful, saying things about how Arthur had been bled half to death before and still made it back alive, but that only made things worse. You appreciated the effort, though.

It was getting close to evening now, the light of the sun slowly disappearing behind the horizon. You tried not to feel disappointed, knowing that if they were on the way back, they would likely stop and make camp for another night before arriving. Riding at night was never good unless they were on the way to a job. Riding back during the day was safer, and helped them keep an eye out for any witnesses or general hinderances along the way.

Just as you were about to resign yourself to your lonely bedroll for the night, the sound of rumbling hooves shook the ground under your feet.

You whipped your head around to see three healthy horses slowing to a walk near the hitch posts, each one carrying an upright, unharmed figure. You silently cursed the fact that Micah had made it back alive, but figured it was too much to hope that you'd get Arthur back and get rid of Micah in one day.

You didn't care what it looked like to the others, throwing all cares out as you rushed over to greet the man that had been haunting your thoughts for the last three days. He was just finishing up tying his big black shire to the post, taking the weight off his horse for the night, when you tackled him into a hug.

He stumbled slightly, your arms wrapping tightly around his waist as he snaked an arm around yours to steady himself. His breath tickled the top of your head as he chuckled. "Miss me?"

You scoffed and pulled your head from his chest, still gripping the sides of his jacket as you looked up at him. "You were gone three days!"

He smiled down at you and pulled you back against him, settling his other hand to cradle your head against his chest. "I missed you too, sweetheart."

All of a sudden, he withdrew, his eyes landing on the man a few feet away that was tending to his horse. "Javier!"

He turned. "Yeah, Arthur?"

"Tell Dutch me and my lady are goin' on a little vacation for a while, will ya?"

Javier nodded with a smirk, and you shrieked as Arthur lifted you onto his horse without warning. He followed shortly after, kicking his horse into a fast walk as a few wolf whistles resounded from camp.

You held onto his waist tightly as he sped up. "Where are we goin'?"

"Just into town."

"What are we gonna do there so late at night?"

You felt more than heard his responding chuckle. "Get a room."

"Oh. Oh."

The excitement that tingled through your body was electric, buzzing the whole ride there.

~~~~~~

You would have flustered at the knowing look on the hotel receptionist's face if you had been at all aware of anything but Arthur.

Arthur thanked the man before leading you up the stairs to the room, his large hand gripping yours the whole way there. You expected him to jump straight into action the second the door closed behind you, but instead his strong arms pulled you into a hug.

His arms encircled you and pressed you against him as he nestled his face into your neck. The vibration of his words against your neck sent sparks through your body straight to your core. "Thought about you the whole time."

You sighed into him, holding onto his as if he would disintegrate upon letting go. He only pulled back to gently tilt your chin up, pressing a sweet kiss against your lips.

The kiss was so soft, so filled with emotion, his fingers brushing lovingly across your cheek as your lips molded together. You were the one to lean into it, chapped lips parting and teeth nipping lightly at him.

The responding noise from him fueled your desire more, the desperate groan making your whole body ache for his touch. His hands moved from your waist to your hips, fingers bunching up in the fabric of your shirt as he fought your tongue with his.

When his rough fingers brushed against the bare skin of your waist, you whined into the kiss, arching into him. He chuckled against your lips, brushing his hands even further up your shirt and coming to a stop just under your tits.

You broke the kiss just for a moment to lift your shirt over your head, discarding it wildly behind you. You yelped as he lifted you and spun you around, walking you backwards towards the bed. You tugged him down on top of you, slipping a hand under his shirt to feel to ripples of muscle on his chest and stomach.

"Arthur," you whined, tugging at his shirt. He got the hint, discarding his shirt before meeting your lips again. His kiss was rougher this time, wet and messy as he took in the feeling of your body against his. You brought your legs up to circle around his waist, and you whimpered when he pressed his hips forward against yours, his hardened cock straining against his pants.

You tangled your hands in his hair, tugging lightly. He squeezed your hips in response, kissing down your neck and nipping at the skin on your chest.

His hands snaked around your back, undoing your bra without even pausing. He broke the kiss only when he pulled the straps down, revealing your chest to the open air. Your first instinct was to cover yourself, but he didn't even give you the chance.

You didn't have the brain capacity to be embarrassed at the sound that came out of you when he took a nipple into his mouth, gripping the other with his large hand. He groaned against you, his erection brushing against you. He was growing harder by the second, the mere sight of you arousing him intensely.

His unoccupied hand stroked down your stomach, slipping two fingers in the waistband of your pants. You nodded and begged desperately, writhing against him. "Please! Please, Arthur..."

He moved his lips to your other nipple, quickly unbuttoning your pants and ridding you of both them and your panties in one movement. His lips separated from your chest as he moved up to you, staring into your eyes with intense lust. "I'm gonna get you ready, baby, that okay?"

Your heart swelled with emotion, only intensifying your desire. Even when he was desperate with lust, he looks at you with such caring, always making sure your okay. "Yes, yes, please!"

He smiled at you before kissing you sweetly, slowly kissing down your body. You whined as his hot breath brushed your core, your head tilting up to look at him between your legs.

His eyes glittered with amusement as they met yours, a teasing finger brushing your inner thigh. It was so close to where you needed it, but so far. "You're a tease."

He chuckled, "Can't help it when you look so pretty beggin' for me."

You threw your head back and groaned, half in frustration and half in arousal. Your noise quickly shifted to a whine when he suddenly slid a finger across you folds, head fuzzy with pleasure. "So wet already. All for me, sweetheart?"

You groaned and nodded, hips shifting towards him in an attempt to get him to do it again. "Ah, use your words."

Your words were half whimpered. "Yes! All for you, only for you, please!"

"Good girl."

He swiped his finger through your folds again, this time teasing his fingertip around your aching entrance. You bucked against him when his thumb brushed against your clit, breathing coming out in short, whiny sighs. "Please."

"Whatever you say, baby."

You moaned as a finger slid into you, his thumb pressing harder against your clit. Before you could complain at the lose of stimulation when he removed his thumb, his lips connected and sucked harshly. Your moans were surely loud enough to be heard, but the pleasure that wracked your body was so overwhelming you couldn't bring yourself to care.

His finger slowly moved in and out, brushing against your sensitive walls as his tongue assaulted your clit. You tangled a hand in his hair, tugging harder than you intended. He groaned against you, making a jolt of pleasure shoot through you.

The stretch of another finger was added, making you cry out. It wasn't enough to be painful, just enough to make you stretch around him so deliciously. He pulled his lips off of you and looked down at you, eyes hungrily watching as your cunt swallowed up his fingers. You looked down at him, lips parted with pleasure as he worked his fingers inside you. "More."

He glanced up at you with a smirk, slipping in a third finger. It sent a small jolt of discomfort through you, but it was quickly overwhelmed with pleasure as the third finger pressed against the most sensitive parts of your walls. "Oh, fuck, Arthur!"

"Feel good, huh?"

"Yes! Please, please, I'm gonna cum!"

He sped up, his fingers pumping in and out of your relentlessly. He leaned back in to swirl his tongue against your clit, which made you walls start spasming around him. Your thighs tensed, threatening to close around him, but he pulled back and held your legs open.

"Go on, baby, I wanna see your pretty face when you cum."

You couldn't form any words as his fingertips curled inside you and prodded against you in a way that made you see stars. His encouraging words only pushed you closer and closer.

"Good girl, doin' so good for me." You moaned and clenched around his fingers, muscles spasming as the dam broke. Your eyes rolled back into your head as you came, short, whiny moans escaping your lips as he fingered you through it.

With a gentle kiss against your clit that made you twitch, he pulled his fingers out of you and rose to look at you. You forced your eyes open, smiling breathlessly up at him. "You okay?"

You couldn't help but laugh, pulling him in for a passionate kiss. "More than okay. That was amazing."

He smiled and kissed you again, slow and loving. You knew you could tell him you were done for the night and he would agree in a heartbeat, not even caring about his own unresolved desires. But his sweet kiss only fueled another spark, already tingling through your body. His moaned against your lips as you arched against him, legs moving to wrap around his waist and pull him against you.

He pulled away with a raised eyebrow. "You're a needy one, aren't you?"

"Only for you."

You pulled him back down, kissing him roughly and pressing your hands all over his bare skin. His hips bucked forward when you tugged at his waistband, his desperation shining through even when he tried to stifle it.

You pushed him back, catching him off guard and shoving him onto the bed. He chuckled and shifted further back, letting you swing your leg across his hips and straddle him. You leaned down to kiss down his neck, smiling at the soft murmurs of content as you nipped at his collarbone.

You reached between the two of you, unbuttoning his jeans and shoving them down. He helped you and kicked them the rest of the way off, leaving him in only his boxers. You stared down at the bulge that strained against the white fabric, a wet spot of pre cum soaking a part of it. You looked down at him with a proud smile. "I do that to you?"

His hands slid up your thighs and caressed you hips. "You do so much to me. More than you could ever imagine."

You leaned down to kiss him, pouring all your emotions of admiration and lust into it. His hands moved to your ass, squeezing as he groaned against your lips. Your hips pressed down against his. sending a shock of pleasure through you as your clit brushed against his clothed bulge.

He would have been content to kiss you like that forever, but you were growing more and more desperate with each touch. You slid your fingers into his boxers without breaking the kiss, gently stroking his cock. His reaction spurred you on, and you pushed his boxer down to release him.

You marveled at his size as he helped you discard his underwear, leaving him fully bare underneath you. He was thick, and longer than anyone else you'd ever had. Your hand continued to slowly stroke up and down his shaft, thumb smearing the beads of precum around him. You were transfixed on him, lost in the feeling of his soft skin against your palm.

"Fuck, baby, as pretty as you look doin' that, I don't wanna cum just yet."

You slowed your movements to a stop and looked up at him with a soft smile. The admiration you felt for the man beneath you was overwhelming, and you didn't know if you could ever truly explain to him how much he meant to you.

You slowly moved to kiss him again, soft and sweet. You let your hips relax against his, smirking as his hips shifted under you to gain friction. You moved your hips against his shaft, your cunt dragging against him. You continued grinding on him, breathing growing heavier as the tip of his cock teased at your entrance with each movement.

After a few more seconds of torturing him, you lifted your hips and gripped his cock, prodding him against you entrance. Before you moved, you pulled away from his kiss, sitting up and placing a hand on his chest for balance. He groaned as he looked up at you, poised above his cock, cunt dripping with anticipation.

Emotion shone in his eyes, gaze still so loving even when clouded with lust. With a sigh, you lowered yourself slightly, taking his tip inside. You knew it was going to be a stretch, so you had to restrain yourself and take it slow.

He groaned at the sight of your cunt swallowing him, even just the tip of him. You held his gaze as you lowered another two inches, fingers gripping his chest at the slight stretch. Soon, his hands gripped your hips tightly as he helped you sink down all the way, clit brushing against him as you were finally fully seated against his pelvis.

Your eyes were dark with lust, cunt clenching around his cock as you adjusted. His eyes flickered over you, rapidly moving between your joined bodies, your heaving chest, and your face. "So perfect. Take me so well."

His words spurred you to move, lifting your hips slightly and moaning sweetly as you sank back down. The pain of the stretch had completely disappeared, replaced with a blinding pleasure. You rolled your hips a few more times before rising further, speeding up.

His hands held your hips tightly, his thighs tensing as he tried to hold himself back. "Fuck, sweetheart, look at you. Swallowing me up like that."

His words only increased your desire, your hips rising and falling faster, legs lifting you further off his cock. His moaned as he stuttered out praises, hands tightening on your hips as you rose fully off him and slammed back down again. Your pace increased, his length filling you up perfectly and brushing against the sensitive spots within you.

You struggled to hold yourself as you got closer and closer, pace faltering. You whined, every breath coming out as a soft moan. "You're doin' so good baby, want me to take over?"

You managed a messy nod, and his hips immediately rose up to meet yours, hands moving your hips up and down on him. You threw your head back as your cunt spasmed, orgasm coming down hard and fast. "I'm- fuck! Gonna cum!"

"Go 'head baby, I've got you."

With his words, you moaned with your release, his cock still pounding into you as you rode it out. Your senses were fuzzy, everything covered in a blanket of pleasure. You didn't even realize he had flipped you over, your head against the soft pillow. As your vision cleared, you looked up at him, blissful smile on your face.

"You did so good, honey, think you can gimme another?"

You nodded blearily, spreading your legs further as he continued thrusting into at a ruthless pace. You were building up to another one fast, barely even recovered from your previous one. His hand rested against your throat, grounding you but not squeezing. "So gorgeous, my pretty girl. Look so good stuffed full of my cock."

You moaned pathetically, hands going up to hold his face and grip his hair. "You feel so good, Arthur, I- I love how you make me feel."

He groaned in response, slamming into your cunt even faster. "So tight for me, gonna make me cum. Where d'ya want me?" He struggled to get the question out, his voice stammering through moans.

"Inside. Fill me up, Arthur."

His hand tightened around your throat for a moment at your words, and he moaned loudly. "Fuck, you're gonna kill me."

His movements grew sloppier, fingers pressing against your throat as he pressed his lips to yours in a messy kiss. With a few more thrusts, your own orgasm came to a head, only slightly preceding his.

His groaned against your lips and your walls clenched around him, his cum painting your insides as you milked him. He fucked you through it, kiss growing softer as he slowed to a stop. He stilled inside you, pulling back to look in your eyes.

You looked back at him, lips curled into a soft smile as he rested his forehead against yours. He pulled out carefully, planting a sweet kiss on your lips to distract you from any discomfort.

He shifted to lay next to you, turning his head to look at you. "You okay?"

You smiled and looked at him. "With you? Always."

[heartpascal]

joel’s place

▹— joel miller x platonic!reader, hints of jesse x reader

▹— summary: you visit the cemetery

▹— a/n: this is inspired by the song robert’s place, simon robert french. i think it fits the situation perfectly :( — also i wrote this over many months so it may read a bit inconsistent, sorry! it also isn’t proofread, and by the end might’ve turned into just a string of consciousness idk

▹— warnings: major character death, grief and all that follows, mentions of scars & previous injuries, TLOU 2 SPOILERS, once again MAJOR CHARACTER DEATHS, lots of angst, talk of canon typical violence, abby mentioned, ellie and dina mentioned, also can be read as platonic for jesse i think, long lasting injury effects (please add if there’s more! i’m rusty)

▹— taglist: @rhymingtree @sleepygraves @wnstice (everything!) @auggiesolovey @just-kaylaa @evyiione @lemonlaides @fariylixie0915  @faceache111 @randomhoex @canpillowscry @pedropascalsrealgf @star-wars-lover @coolchick333 @soobsdior @rvjaa  @sunflowersdrop @definitely-not-a-seagull-i-swear @miss-celestial-being @hqkon (pedro!)

MASTERLIST if you can click on my masterlist, you can also do your daily clicks!

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

Eventually, the snow bled into summer.

Time tumbled and warped, moved on, the world spinning, seasons changing and months passing by like nothing had ever happened. Sometimes, when you wake up, the sun shining in your eyes from a gap between curtains, the world feeling warm, you could pretend that nothing had. That the world was as it had once been.

And in the moments of waking, that’s easy. It’s second nature to slip into the past, into better times, where autumn fell and so did you. Where everything felt right in the world.

That, unsurprisingly, didn’t last very long.

But still.

You’re here, your house in Jackson unchanged, despite the year passing by unrelentingly. The only difference being the bloom of flowers at your doorstep, colours bright in the warm sun.

And you, of course.

If you’re honest, it’s probably you that changed the most.

With scars in new places, still aching with a pain that you were certain would never go away. Hair cut shorter, choppier, done by you in the middle of the night some time in the spring. Then there’s the shakiness to your hands, the tremors that linger despite the warmth. A slight limp when you would inevitably tread wrong on your ankle. And a new age to your face, a new hardship reflected in the bags that continue to weigh you down, after all this time.

You’re not sure that the people who were lost that winter would recognise you, had they been here now. There was a whole new air about you, too, lingering in every space you stepped into.

But still. You try not to think too much about it.

Instead, you gather a handful of flowers from your doorstep, bunched together into a makeshift bouquet that you tie with twine. The remaining blooms get a splash of water before you’re setting off from your house, stepping on soft grass until you reach the road.

From there, you wander along the path you know so well, that you have walked so many times. Gravel crunches underneath your soles with every step, unearthing the split second longer it takes for you to put weight on your ankle. It still hurts, but you don’t mind so much anymore. It allows some of your pain to be physical, rather than emotional. It’s a small mercy, really.

People used to call out to you when you walked this route, but they know better now, and don’t bother you when you carry flowers. That, you think, is a small mercy, too.

If you were to glance to your left, you’d see his house. Instead, you focus on your feet, ensuring you don’t roll your ankle again. As much as you try, you can’t accept that there’s someone other than him living there now. You don’t want to see his name pried off of the mailbox, Miller outlined from the five years that the sun bleached the uncovered wood around it.

You like to think that he’s still in there, somewhere, just down the hall. So long as you don’t look, Joel lives on in that house.

You could almost pretend that you weren’t going to his new home. His final home. His resting place, Tommy had called it once. But if you knew anything about Joel, you knew that the man couldn’t rest, not even in Jackson. Not fully. You’ve resigned to calling it Joel’s place.

It comes into view quickly, a mere stone’s throw from his house, and like every other time, you feel dread.

A wave of it crashes over you, leaving you gaping for air. It sinks down your throat and fills your lungs, your stomach, your very being. It’s an all consuming thing. You know his name is going to be carved upon a stone, instead of the mailbox where it should be, and every time you come here, it shatters the illusion. Each time, you have to pick up the pieces, and painstakingly put it back together again.

The flowers sit nicely, giving his place a burst of colour. It makes that pit in your throat open up again, and threaten to swallow your tongue. You know Joel wasn’t really a flower guy, but there’s not much else you can do. If he was here, you’d give him the bag of coffee that still sat useless in your cupboard. But he’s not.

“Hi,” You say into the still air, because you still can’t bring yourself to say his name here. There’s a part of you that refuses to believe it’s him, even after all this time. You practically fall to the floor as you lower yourself, and huff at the inconvenience your old injury still caused you. “It’s been a while.”

And it’s true — it’s been long enough that Zahir, the man who took care of the graves on a more regular basis, had removed the flowers from the last visit. They must have died quickly, which you found to be quite ironic. Still, you hoped these ones lasted longer.

“Dina’s going to have her baby in a few weeks, we reckon. She said that if it’s a girl, she’ll name her Talia. But if it’s a boy…” You smile faintly, just imagining what Joel would look like if he was truly here. “She said JJ. Jesse-Joel. I hope it’s a boy, if I’m honest. I think he’d have Jesse’s smile.”

A breeze shifts the air around you, and you fidget with the tongue of your shoe for a moment.

“Her and Ellie are still living up at that farm, with a whole bunch of sheep. It’s not far, but I don’t see them too often. Ellie doesn’t really show her face around here, much. I think she avoids it because of Tommy, and Jesse’s parents. I don’t blame her.” You continue, breathing in the warm air and hoping it’ll soothe some of the pain in your chest. “Jesse’s parents have tried to visit me, a few times. You would think I’m so stupid for avoiding them like this, I just know it.”

You swallow roughly, trying to push down the lump in your throat. More than anything, you just wish that he could answer you, wish that he could confirm your suspicions on what he would think.

“It’s just… it’s been hard, here. Since we got back. Everything just feels so different.” You scoffed. “Probably because everything is different. You should see Mike and Astrid trying to lead the patrols. Without you and Jesse…” You shook your head, trailing off.

The breeze shook some leaves free from their branches, and sent them swirling down to the ground, where Zahir would sweep them away later. You liked the man. He had been kind and respectful every time you had seen him here, and you appreciated how much care he put into the upkeep of graves of people he hadn’t even known.

Sometimes when you were here, it felt like you were the only person in the world. As if when Joel died, everybody else died with him. And in some ways, you think that might be true. Jesse died right after him, and Tommy was almost right behind him. And Ellie… she lost a part of herself in that basement. After Seattle, you were surprised there was anything left of her.

It was why you always felt relieved when Zahir showed up. He allowed you to realise that there were still people around you, that not everybody was buried with Joel. Zahir reminded you that other people were grieving, too. It helped to know that you weren’t actually alone in this experience, even if it felt like it.

You wanted to tell him how much you missed the two of them, how your life felt incomplete without them in it. You wanted to let the words fall from your mouth, wanted to observe as the breeze caught them and swept them away to somewhere that Joel just might have heard them. But you already felt silly, doing this. Speaking to him, knowing that he couldn’t hear a word of it.

What else could you do, though? Where else were you meant to put all of these unrelenting thoughts? What else could you do with the grief that threatened to bury you right beside the people you missed most?

“So much has changed here. It doesn’t feel like home, the way it used to.” You admitted to the open air, trying not to let regret or embarrassment consume you. The breeze could be comforting, if you allowed it to be.

It’s been a long time since you’ve allowed yourself to be comforted. Maybe too long.

All you can think is haven’t you suffered enough? Do you have to continue the seemingly endless cycle of pain that you have been trapped in for years? Shouldn’t you, after everything, be allowed some comfort?

“If I’m honest, I don’t think it’ll ever feel like home again. Not really. I guess that’s why Ellie doesn’t really visit.” You said, listening to the rustle of leaves, watching the petals on the flowers you’d brought shift. You believe it, too. You believe that Ellie refuses to visit because Jackson has lost its spark. Its livelihood. That, and you’re pretty sure she can’t bring herself to visit Joel’s place, or Jesse’s.

You don’t blame her. It had been one of the hardest things you’d ever done, coming here after returning from Seattle. You felt like some sort of sorry animal, failing to come home with the prey it was supposed to. Despite your best efforts, your jaws remained empty of prey. Your hunt had failed, had turned sideways, had left you feeling more sorrow than before.

How could you come here knowing that Abby was still alive out there? Knowing that, while Joel had been rotting underground, she had a life.

It had taken you a long time to accept that fact. To let it go.

Ellie was still holding on.

You suppose that you have always been better at knowing what went through Joel’s head. At rationalising things. You knew that going after her was never what Joel would’ve wanted for the two of you. But Ellie had always struggled with seeing his point of view. With seeing anyone’s perspective but her own, really. She could never understand Abby, just like she had never understood Joel after what he did to the Fireflies.

Joel would want the two of you here, not on some cross country journey for revenge. And you understand why — because that trip had caused you even more loss. It hadn’t fixed a thing, and at the end of it all, Abby was still alive.

Going after her wasn’t worth Jesse’s life.

If you had known the cost of that journey before you had left Jackson in search of it, you don’t think you would’ve gone. Not if it meant losing him, too.

A glance across the cemetery had your eyes locking onto another familiar headstone. It was still hard for you to face that one, knowing that you were the direct cause of Jesse’s death. Would he had left the safety of Jackson, if you hadn’t joined Ellie on her quest for vengeance? Would Abby have felt the need to defend herself, the kid with her, if you and Ellie hadn’t been so intent on killing her?

One of the worst parts about his death is that you could understand. Had you, Ellie and Joel not killed many people, defending those you cared about? Hell, hadn’t you killed WLFs to protect Jesse? You’d caused people this loss, too. Perhaps his death was just karma, finally catching up to you. But to reduce Jesse to that felt… wrong. He was more than that. So much more.

He should’ve been here. At your side, grieving Joel right alongside you.

Had you chosen to just grieve, rather than avenge, you wouldn’t have to do it all alone. If you had remained in Jackson while Tommy, Ellie and Dina left, you could’ve asked Jesse to stay. You’re almost confident that he would have.

But then you would’ve lost the others, too.

Either way, Jackson would’ve lost its spark of life.

“I think that, maybe, you guys were my home. And that’s why it feels like this.” You look away from the stone with Jesse’s name carved upon it. Admitting it just makes it feel more real, and you know that you will never feel at home again. Not like you did with them.

Your eyes water before you can do anything about it, trailing saltwater down your cheek. It crawls across the scar underneath your eye, and you feel the phantom pain of Abby’s fists upon your face once more. Everything in you aches, particles of loss and decay floating through your veins until it feels like it’s all you are.

But it’s not.

There’s still life within you, waiting to be let out.

Joel and Jesse don’t have that luxury. Which is why you feel like you have to honour them, like you have to actually live, instead of sitting here, wallowing in the pain of it all.

“I miss you.”

The wind brushes against your hair, your face.

“I’ll come back soon,” You promise, resting your palms against the ground to help you stand without aggravating your injury. “Maybe next time I’ll bring your guitar, show you what I’ve learned since we lost you.”

There’s a lump in your throat, and you can’t seem to swallow it. Your goodbye can’t get past it, and you know it will only worsen if you go across to Jesse’s place. You turn, swearing that you will have something more hopeful to tell the open air next time you come.