#being herself was a fate worse than death

[legitalicat]

Forged From Death - Sihtric Kjartansson x Widow!Reader

An: Thank you so much @foxyanon for the request and officially turning me into a Sihtric girl. I hope this is everything you wanted. And @zaldritzosrose thank you for creating the header you are amazing!

Masterlist here!

Separate from the normal CW section for a special attention. This is going to be dark as reader thinks cruelty of her husband, Sigefrid, and her father towards those around them. No explicit examples of violence or abuse. I really was just trying to capture emotions without talking of direct acts.

CW: Language, political marriage really, Sigefrid is not a good man, neither was reader's father, warlord husband and father, scared child, character death, P IN V sex, fingering, dirty talk, gets quite dirty lots of smut, breeding kink, vague talks of pregnancy kink, she/her pronouns, use of you, reader not really described or named, FLUFFY, Stepdad!Sihtric, found family trope, soulmates trope kinda, love and lust and first sight

Pairing: Sihtric Kjartansson x reader

Word Count: 6.2k

You knew what you were. A bargaining chip, a prize. Something akin to a crown, symbolizing power. With your own father being a man who bargained in fear rather than respect, you weren’t surprised when your husband was the same.

Sigefrid Thurglison, rather quickly upon marrying you, decided his family’s wealth and power would be found in England. So, you sailed along with him and his brother to find this for yourselves. You, the dutiful wife, who knows your fate would be worse had you denied your father’s arrangement. You, who disappointed your father from birth by just being a daughter, who he could only use as a piece in his games but never actually respect. You, who married a man just like him.

You remained silent throughout. You played your part well, perhaps too well. Your name was used as a way to remind men of the force your husband could bring upon England. Even if they weren’t directly familiar with your father, they remembered the tales their fathers spoke to them, and they bowed at Sigefrid and Erik’s feet.

Until they met a man by the name of Uhtred. You couldn’t tell if he wanted to die or if he was just too stupid to realize that death was a very real possibility. But he was quick to anger your husband and his brother through way of opposition. And, apparently, Uhtred did not heed warnings well. He was unconcerned with the possibility of your father showing up.

“If he wanted England, he would be here,” said a voice from behind Uhtred upon your first meeting. You looked for the source. When you saw the man, you were certain your heart stopped for a moment.

You had seen beauty before. Land, sky, men, women, all of which held a certain captivating air about them. And yet there had been nothing as beautiful as the man who stood before you. You heard Uhtred refer to him as Sihtric, and your eyes made their way over his form. From his brown hair, to his striking yet mismatched eyes, over the angles of his face, and the swell of his muscles that already could be seen straining against the silver bands he wore, there was no part of him you felt was not hand crafted by Freyja herself to be the perfect embodiment of everything she represented.

And Sihtric noticed you. By the gods, did he notice you. You were pretty, prettier than any woman he had ever seen. He couldn’t tell what started swelling faster when he saw you looking back at him and smile: his cock or his heart.

That was the day he swore he would have you.

When he saw you again, it had been over three years. He hadn’t gone a day without thinking of you if he were honest. He was waiting so he could have his chance with you. Those few moments of seeing you was what carried him through the years. You were the face he saw with every victory and every stroke of his cock.

He only wishes it were under better circumstances.

You still resided in the fortress after Sigefrid laid dead on the ground. You knew the only way any of this would end would be if Sigefrid died. And you knew, as you listened to the herd of feet approach the room you were hidden in, that he had.

Sihtric was the first in the room. He knew that Sigefrid would never leave you far behind. It was unfortunate such a man had the honor of being your first husband. Sihtric, though, was perfectly fine being your last.

A feeling that did not waver when he saw you holding a small child close to your body. There was a fear in both of you, but you had the rage of a mother in your eyes. He could see it, and he wanted you more for it.

“He is dead?” you asked Sihtric as others, Uhtred and another you vaguely recognized, came into the room.

Despite having only seen him once, you knew Sihtric could be trusted. You couldn’t explain why. Maybe it was lust clouding your judgement. Perhaps it was a sign. Or maybe you were being stupid and crazy and you would only end up right back where you have been your whole life.

But, his eyes made you feel like that would never be the case again.

“Aye,” he said to you. “How old?” He nodded towards your child, your daughter, who looked at him in fear. He held up his arm, wordlessly keeping Uhtred and the other man from coming any closer.

“Four. She was born here, before we were sent away,” you told him truthfully.

“Her name?” he asked you. He continuously looked between your faces, barely capable of holding himself in place and not taking you in his arms.

“Astra.”

He said nothing else to you for the moment, instead crouching down to be on the same level as your daughter. She clung to you tightly.

“Hello, Astra. Are you hurt?” he said quietly to her. In silence, she shook her head. “Is your mother?”

“Mama is safe, I am safe,” she whispered.

It caused your heart to ache when you heard her repeat the words you told her when everything got quiet. Had you never left England, you would’ve been able to leave Sigefrid. You knew you would have had somewhere to take Astra to keep her safe from him. But when your husband was banished, he swore he would return with your father, and you knew better than to wait around for that. Your only saving grace now was that your father had died before you got back to Norway.

“Would you like to leave here? You and your ma can come with me, if you would like.”

Astra looked up at you, tears in her eyes as they had been all day. You knew that while Sigefrid had never touched either of you, he had given you both more than enough reason to be fearful. And you wanted so badly to make sure she never had to live with this fear again.

Your daughter looked to him and nodded silently. He extended his arms towards her slowly.

“Come then, little one. I will get you out of here,” he said softly. Astra, who had never trusted anyone but you, walked directly into his arms.

The sight of his arms wrapping themselves around her small body caused your heart to ache. It was something you had never thought to wish for, your daughter being in the arms of someone but you. Now you could only pray that this was her new normal.

“I’ve got you little one,” he whispered and stood up, holding her close. “I want you to close your eyes tight and put your forehead against my cheek until I tell you. Can you do that for me?”

She nodded. You watched as she squeezed her eyes shut, her whole face squinting up. Her forehead rested perfectly against his cheek, her brown hair matching his in a shocking way. It almost felt as she was made of him.

“You are as pretty as your ma, brave just like her too,” he told her. You were surprised when you heard her giggle. He looked to you. “Take my arm, Lady. “

You did as he said, stepping closer to him and holding tightly to his arm. He made sure you were not questioned or stopped as he led you out of the fortress. He already had stepped in as your protector and you barely knew him.

When you were outside the walls and far from the carnage, Sihtric finally stopped. You watched as he sat Astra down to stand on her own. He told her it was safe to open her eyes, and she looked relieved when she opened them and saw you.

“Lord,” Sihtric said as he saw Uhtred approach. He instinctually moved to stand between you both.

“Are more men following him?” Uhtred asked you, looking at you over Sihtric’s shoulder. His hand remained on his axe, though he did not unsheathe it.

“He was the last of them,” you told him. And that was the truth. Any men that hadn’t abandoned him before this battle laid dead.

“Do you have anywhere to go?” he asked.

You knew the truth of what he was asking. You were a widow now. Your husband’s family were meant to take care of you now, and your daughter. But Sigefrid was the last of his family, having killed his own brother during his last rampage. Their father had long since been dead and had no living brothers.

“No, Lord,” you told him. “He had no surviving family. And my own father died two winters ago. I was the only child.”

He looked past you to Astra. You could see in his eyes he did not trust you. And you did not trust him. You could not find it in you to trust anyone but Sihtric. But good men, which you ultimately believed Uhtred to be, did not harm little girls.

“You may come with me and my men, then. Until you find other…arrangements,” he said gruffly.

It was three and a half months when you began to worry about your future. You thought of Astra and worried endlessly for her. Her father’s reputation would stain her future forever, you feared. You had no way to provide for her truly. Should your fears be proven true, you wouldn’t even be able to arrange a proper marriage for her when the time would come.

But, you thought perhaps you were worrying too much for Astra. You stood in Uhtred’s hall, watching as Sihtric, Osferth, Finan, and Uhtred spoke, Astra settled peacefully on Sihtric’s lap. She was loved so deeply by Sihtric, and by extension the men he fought beside, one could be forgiven for thinking he was her father. Interestingly enough, she looked more like Sihtric than she ever did Sigefrid.

Uhtred looked to you and nodded, having noticed your presence for the first time. You two had a somewhat uneasy trust in each other now. Well, trust that if either of you betrayed Sihtric, or the others, the other would respond with a blade. And that seemed to make you friends.

Sihtric noticed you, immediately lighting up when he looked at you. He beckoned you to him, to Astra, the both of them holding your whole heart.

You were insane, you knew it. But from the moment you saw him those years ago, you loved him. He was obvious. You would burn down all of England for him if he were to ask.

He had never done anything but protected you and Astra from the very first moment. The day Sigefrid died, it could’ve been so much worse for her. But Sihtric was the one to make sure that no bad ever touched her since he met her.

It was one of many ways that everyone knew you two would find your way to each other. Sihtric would give everything for and to you. As far as he was concerned, the universe began and ended in you and at your feet he would worship. And there had never been a moment in which you doubted his devotion to you or Astra.

“Go say hello to your ma, little one,” Sihtric said softly to Astra.

“Okay, papa,” she giggled as she crawled off his lap while you knelt down.

It was not the first time she had referred to him as such, but it touched your soul every time you heard it. Sihtric looked to you immediately to make sure you did not think to correct her. He was not deluding himself into thinking his presence in Astra’s life could erase all the bad. But he knew, without a doubt, that she was his. From the moment he first held her in his arms, she was his girl and there was no argument he would listen to.

Your darling girl ran into your waiting arms. She was giggling, as she had done since your arrival in Coccham. She was happier than she had ever been. She felt more peaceful.

“Mama, mama, papa is making me an axe,” she told you excitedly.

“Oh is he?” you asked, raising an eyebrow as you looked up to Sihtric. He blushed brightly, especially when Uhtred and Finan began to tease him for being in trouble.

“M-my love, I only,” he said, beginning to attempt an explanation.

“She will need an axe if she is going to be on my shield wall one day,” Uhtred told you, grinning from ear to ear. He stood from his seat, drumming a bit on the table, before he jogged over to you and Astra. “And if there is one thing my Little Star will be it is an excellent warrior.”

You watched as Uhtred picked her up and put her on his shoulders. She squealed and giggled until she was settled on her perch.

“If you are teaching her, then I consider myself lucky to have such a warrior in my home,” you said, standing, while grinning ear to ear. “Perhaps she will be knowledgeable enough to teach our next child.” You looked directly at Sihtric as you said ‘our’.

“Our next ten,” he said back to you. He was still blushing a bit, but he enjoyed these moments.

“And you shall birth them all? If it is up to me, you get five,” you said to him.

“You would give me five more children?” he asked excitedly. You could practically see him buzzing.

“Should you decide to take me as your wife,” you said nonchalantly, shrugging to him as you walked over to the table he sat at.

Once you were in his reach, his arm wrapped around you, hand resting on your hip. There was no hesitation from either of you as Sihtric pulled you onto his lap and you wrapped your arms around him.

At first, you had withheld from such public affection. You were only a few months a widow, you felt as though there was some need to respect your loss. But, when your husband had been so cruel to everyone around him and Sihtric was such a soft presence, you lasted perhaps a week before you made your affections clear.

“You honor me, my love,” he said softly. “To think you have already blessed me with one, and are willing to bless me with more. One would be a fool to deny the chance to be your husband.”

You kissed his cheek. It was truly simple with him. There was no darkness. Only love and warmth flowed between you both.

“You will make sure she is careful?” you asked him, bringing the conversation back to the idea of Astra getting an axe.

“Of course, my love,” he confirmed to you. “You know nothing means more to me than the safety of my girls.”

It was less than a month later that you were married. Sihtric made sure it was everything you dreamt of it, everything you were not afforded the first time around. He was watching as you danced with Astra. He loved both of you more than anyone had loved two people.

“Congratulations,” Uhtred said as he sat next to Sihtric. “You will make a fine husband.”

“Thank you, Lord,” he said, smiling. His eyes went between you and Uhtred rapidly, wanting to make sure you never disappeared.

“I see our Little Star got a hold of your hair,” Uhtred smirked as he grabbed a drink. Sihtric’s hand moved to his head, where there was a tiny braid in his hair.

“There is no finer braider in all of England,” he said. “Finan has offered to keep her tonight.”

“Did he tell you Osferth and I were asked to come too?” Uhtred chuckled.

“He did, Lord,” Sihtric laughed, taking a drink of his ale. He sat the cup down, looking to his Lord, his friend. “I want her to be mine.”

“She already is,” Uhtred said. “Nobody will deny that.”

“No, I mean....I want Astra to be just as the children of my blood. I want her to inherit, I want to be responsible for her. Entirely. And should she and my wife allow, I want to give her my name,” Sihtric said.

Uhtred could see a determination on his friend’s face that he had not quite seen before. It shone through in a burning heat. He lived for the family he had with you now. No oath superseded his oath to the two of you, and none ever would.

“Should they wish it, it is done. I will make it known Astra is to be no different than any child of your blood,” he promised his friend. “Now, go dance with your wife. Take her to bed. We will keep our Little Star.”

With a clap on the shoulder, Sihtric stood from the table and began to work his way through crowd to you. You were twirling Astra around, making her laugh and laugh. He could not imagine a more perfect life for himself.

Sihtric chuckled when Astra noticed him and ran into his legs. He knew she was his. She was meant to be his daughter. He could not be bothered by something as trivial as blood. He, of all people, knew family was not limited to blood. Family was created by love, and he loved her enough to create a universe.

Then there was you, his dear wife. He thought you looked stunning in your dress, the deep red color feeling like the physical representation of his love for you. You were more than he could have ever dreamed of. All of his life, he wanted to be what his father wasn’t. A good, honorable man who stayed for his family and loved his wife. A man worthy of love and respect.

And he realized that’s exactly how you saw him.

“Hello, my love,” you said to him when you saw him.

“Are you talking to me?” he asked teasingly, picking Astra up when she stopped dancing.

“Yes, my love. Though, perhaps you would much prefer my husband,” you said, smirking.

“Aye. After all, I will never call you anything but my wife again,” he said and rubbed his nose against Astra’s cheek.

“Hehe papa,” she said as she hugged him tightly. “I love you.”

Sihtric could feel his heart skip a beat. She had called him papa for months at this point, that was no surprise. But, Astra had not told him she loved him. And there was something so precious about hearing it.

“I love you, little one,” he said softly, pressing his lips against her forehead.

You smiled at the two of them. You wanted to hold this moment in your mind for the rest of your life. Capture it, freeze it for all of eternity, something you could hold onto and remember love.

“Now little one, Uncle Finan is excited to start your time together. Your ma and I will see you in the morning,” he told her as he sat her down.

“UNCLE FINAN I AM COMING!” Astra shouted as she ran off through the crowd.

Every person parted to let her through, allowing your eyes to follow her path to Finan. She was loved by most any in town. Her personality was loud and bright enough so that everyone knew her. Of course, it helped that she was always right by your side, and you were always close to Sihtric.

And you knew, at least within the confines of the town walls, she was safe to move about. Most everyone would agree that harming a child is egregious. Everyone agreed that harming your child was the fastest way to ensure a brutal death by the hands of Sihtric, and a quick one by Uhtred and Finan. Even Osferth, sweet Osferth, would pray for his God’s forgiveness as he took the life of anyone who would lay a finger on Astra. She was loved, she was safe. For the first time in her life she did not flinch when she was more than an inch from your skirts.

“Being my wife suits you,” Sihtric told you, drawing your eyes from Finan and Astra to him.

He looked at you with pure adoration. He worshipped you. Made certain that he loved you enough to make the bad parts of your life feel like another lifetime.

“Just as being my husband suits you,” you said to him, wrapping your arms around his neck.

His arms wrapped around your middle, pulling you tightly to him. He breathed you in, feeling overwhelmed by you. Everything about you was intoxicating to him. From your beauty, the way you smelled, the way your body pressed against his own, there was nothing that could dampen his desire of you.

“Then it seems we are in agreement,” he said.

“That it does,” you said softly, leaning forward slightly. Your lips hovered next to his ear. “And I think I would like to feel my husband.”

You felt him shudder with your words, the unmistakable hardness of his erection beginning to dig into you. It had not been difficult to get him excited these last months. Even after both of you had agreed to wait until you were married, you had enjoyed riling him up before he returned to his own home.

“I have dreamt of this night for years,” he muttered to you. “From the moment I first saw you, I knew you were mine. I dreamt of my cock sinking deep into you for hours on end.”

It was your turn now for a shiver down your spine. There was no part of you that could deny dreaming of the same thing for just as long. In the years trying to exist outside of England, the nights where you went to bed amidst yells and cheers during another fight to the death for Sigefrid’s amusement, you dreamt of his mismatched eyes. Of his sharp beauty. Of a life you now got to share with him.

You weren’t sure who broke away first between the two of you, but it wasn’t long before you were walking down the streets to his, no your, home. The home you would grow old together in, gods be good. And the two of you couldn’t keep from stopping every few feet, pulling the other for a deep, passionate kiss.

When you finally arrived at the house, he picked you up and carried you over the threshold. In fact, he did not put you down until he could place you on the bed. You had barely recognized that you were laying on it before he was hovering over you, repeatedly kissing your neck.

“Such a pretty wife,” he muttered with every kiss. You put your head back to expose more of your sensitive skin. “Have been blessed, haven’t I? Blessed by the gods to be given such a pretty wife.”

You placed a hand on the bag of his head and gripped his hair firmly. Despite the pull on his hair, you only brought him closer into you. You could feel him starting to grind himself against your thigh, desperately looking for some relief.

“Fuck, Sihtric,” you moaned out. But when his name left your lips, he nipped at your neck quickly. It took you by surprise, causing a quiet squeak to escape you.

“Be a good, pretty wife and do not use my name tonight,” he whispered in your ear.

“Such a demanding husband I have,” you teased. “So desperate to fuck me he has to rut against me like an animal.”

He groaned into your neck at your words, his right hand beginning to fumble with the fastenings of your dress. You ignored the shaking of your own hands, your need of Sihtric outweighing your nerves. This was meant to be, after all. And you had faith it would be perfect.

“Use your mouth for better things and perhaps I will let you fuck a child into me tonight,” you told him. This time it was not a groan, but a quiet whimper, that left his lips. His fingers struggled with undressing you, the way it was held to your body being more complicated than he had thought.

He pulled back entirely, sitting up on his knees as he began reaching for the knife he carried. He cut the fabric of your dress away from your body. You stared at him, eyes heavy with lust.

“Nothing but a dress, you can replace it,” he told you. You could only nod at him as he helped remove the material away completely. After a moment, the tattered remains of the dress and his knife fell together to the floor, just as quickly forgotten.

He stared at your naked form. He could not help it, truly. Everything about you was perfect for him. He leaned forward and kissed you once more, before his lips started trailing down your body. Along your jawline, down your neck, over your collarbone. He only took pause when he got to your breasts. Sihtric’s left hand began pawing at one while his lips wrapped around your nipple.

You moaned quietly as he sucked while massaging your soft flesh. Your eyes fluttered shut, whimpering every time he decided to graze your nipple with his teeth. You wanted to beg him to give you more, to pleasure your aching cunt.

He groaned to himself before pulling away from your breasts entirely, muttering a promise he would play with them more. You almost started to laugh, only for it to catch in your throat when his fingers found your slick. He smirked down at you.

“You must really enjoy this, wife,” he whispered teasingly. His fingers ran up and down your folds, deliberate in their light touching of your pearl.

“Of course, I have only dreamt of you as my husband a few dozen times now,” you told him. Your thighs trembled a bit as you resisted the urge to buck your hips into his hand.

He hummed quietly as he allowed his finger to sink into you. While you became a whimpering mess, he just slowly thrust his finger in and out. Never had you known such bliss. His finger felt thicker than you had anticipated.

“What is it, pretty wife? Cannot think through your pleasure?” he asked you, looking directly into your eyes.

Your resolve finally broke. With a moan, you allowed your hips to move to meet his hand. All you could think of was chasing your pleasure with him.

“You say I am demanding, but you are so needy,” he cooed. He pushed another finger into you, curling his fingers slightly with every thrust of them. His touch was perfectly focused on the spongy spot inside you.

“Love, my love, please, fuck, please,” you moaned. You couldn’t finish a single thought as you felt a band tightening behind your navel.

You had only experienced such a feeling with yourself. Pleasure had never been at the forefront of your life. Until now, at least, since Sihtric seemed determined to make you reach that point. He increased the speed of his fingers movements.

“Cum for me,” he practically demanded of you. His voice was quiet, meant only for your ears, but forceful in nature. “And then I’ll give you my cock. Such a good girl, you deserve it. Don’t you, my love?”

“Y-yes,” you whispered. You gripped the furs under you tightly, the edges of your vision going fuzzy.

“Deserve my cock, deserve my love. You have both, entirely, you understand?” he asked you, his thumb barely ghosting against your pearl.

“Yes, fuck, my love, my husband,” you whined pathetically. It seemed to please him, at least enough.

His thumb finally rested against the bundle of nerves, rubbing circles in time with every thrust of his fingers. The band finally snapped as you cried out, back arching off the bed. A jumbled mess of his name, husband, love, and expletives left your tongue.

You were able to watch as Sihtric removed his touch from you entirely. He brought his fingers to his lips before he sucked them clean, earning another whimper from you. And then you got to watch him undress, his shirt and pants being flung away in a matter of moments.

You weren’t entirely sure which of the gods had blessed you, but you thanked everyone of them when Sihtric stood naked before you. His toned chest and stomach was near flawless, save for a few scars earned in battle. The Thor’s hammer pendant rested against his taut chest. Your gaze washed over the grooves of his form, able to count each muscle, until they finally landed on his cock.

He was blessed even then. His heavy cock bobbed with need. When his eyes caught yours, he smirked at your hungry gaze. He was long and thick enough to make you question just how exactly you were meant to take him in entirely.

Sihtric couldn’t hide his smirk when he grabbed you by the hips and pulled your body closer to his. He groaned softly as his cock now rested against you, already collecting your slick.

“I love you,” he said to you, his voice softer than the cocky look etched on his face would have you expect.

You tried to stutter out some response before he started rubbing himself against you. Anytime the head brushed against your pearl, the feeling stole your words and sent shockwaves through your body. There was a pride he felt at already having you responding like this before having even fucked you.

“I love…fuck, fuck me, fuck I love you,” you finally managed to get out.

“Good girl, using your words,” he cooed. He moved his cock to start pressing against your entrance. “Are you going to keep being a good girl, love?”

“Yes,” you said weakly and nodded

He smiled at you. He grabbed your leg gently, hooking it on his arm, as he leaned down to bring his face closer to you. Your knee pressed against your chest while he kissed you. You melted into his kiss, your hands releasing the furs you laid up on to hold his face gently.

Your kiss only ended on account of the way he couldn’t hold back his whines and whimpers when he pushed into you. He couldn’t help the way your name left him when you took half of him without issue.

He pulled himself away to look down at your face. After a moment, he looked between your bodies and groaned when he saw you impaled on his cock.

“Fuck, such a pretty wife I have,” he muttered. “You ready for more, my love?” he asked when he reconnected your gaze.

“Yes,” you told him, nodding eagerly.

He groaned as he moved his hips forward. It was pure bliss for both of you. His cock throbbed with every thrust, your walls clenching tightly around him. Every nerve ending in both of you felt like it was on fire as your connection only grew. Sihtric watched you every second, trying to make sure it was as mind blowing for you as it was for him.

His speed increased desperately. He needed more, you needed more. Your hands roamed his body, your moans filling his ears like a beautiful song. The head of his cock kept moving against the spongy spot inside, making your thighs tremble once again.

You watched him as he thrust into you. His pendant and your breasts moved in time with his thrusts, captivating him. You could see him teetering the line of control and instinct. He wanted this to be sweet for you, to be perfect, everything you deserved. He has heard enough stories of your life to know you deserved more than to once again be used for someone else’s pleasure.

“Such a good husband already,” you told him, gripping his biceps. His gaze softened when you spoke, his hips stuttering a bit. “We have all our lives for you to make me scream your name in pleasure, do we not? “

He nodded wordlessly. His cock never once stilled in you as he watched you. He kept grunting under his breath, every noise ending in what sounded like a whine.

“Then I say tonight, I want you to finish inside of me until there is no doubt that come morning I am carrying your child,” you commanded.

His mouth hung open, his hips slowing a bit as he stared down at you. You could see him searching for any uncertainty on your face. Yet, he could search for his entire life and never find in you any doubt of him.

You couldn’t help yourself. You leaned up and took his pendant of Thor’s hammer in between your teeth before looking directly into his eyes. His thrusts picked up in speed, going harder and deeper than before.

He closed the gap between you, his lips coming next to your ear as he finally released your leg. On one side all you could hear a symphony of skin slapping against skin as he fucked you at an almost bruising intensity. In the other, he began to whimper and whine for you.

“Pretty wife, amazing mother,” he whispered in your ear, punctuating each word with a thrust of his hips. He was throbbing inside you and you could feel just how close he was. The way he twitched and pushed against you, his weight pressing into your chest, the band started to tighten again.

“Already a desperate man for you,” he grunted. You were incapable of getting any sound to leave your mouth. All you could do was focus on his word, his sounds, his movements. He was all you knew to be true in this moment.

“Can’t wait to see you pregnant. Probably prettier, round with child and tits swollen with milk. Fuck,” he said to you as his hips started stuttering more frequently.

Your orgasm overcame you finally, causing you to cry out his name. You were barely aware of his whisperings still in your ear.

“That’s a good girl, fuck, yes, my pretty wife,” he practically growled in your ear. Finally, his thrusts stopped, his cock buried inside you as he released ropes of hot cum into you. Sihtric let out a sound with every throb.

You were trembling when he pulled himself from you, breathing heavily. Carefully, he maneuvered the furs out from under your body before carefully covering you both. You moved closer to him and laid your head on his chest. His arm wrapped around you, holding you as though he was terrified of you walking out the door.

You laid there in silence for several moments, basking in the way you felt. With being given from your father to Sigefrid, you had never known much of love or safety. You had never really known kindness. You had feared for so long that the violence and chaos both of them had brought into their lives and halls would haunt you forever.

Yet, laying here in Sihtric’s arms, you almost couldn’t remember how they made you feel. He made you feel so powerful, so loved, so worshipped beyond belief that you would now go days without thinking of the horrors of your past. Even Astra seemed to feel nothing but safety and love.

You turned your face to look at him. He was looking happily down at you, a cheesy, lazy little grin splashed on his face. You were certain nothing could get better than this.

“I love you,” you said softly. “Especially your eyes.”

He rolled them, yet the smile never faded. “Which is your favorite?” he asked.

“Oh no, that is like trying to choose a favorite mountain, or snowflake. Each so unique, so special, one would be an ignorant fool to pick a favorite,” you told him, smiling up at him. “Luckily, I do not have to. I get to enjoy them until I die.”

“Oh? And if I die before you?” he teased, kissing your forehead.

“You are not allowed. I cannot let you walk into Valhalla without me there to greet you, even if that means I will need to pick up an axe again,” you said simply. It was your truth. “I have spent my entire life waiting for the love you give me. You are not allowed to ever make me live without it again, husband.”

Sihtric tried to hide it, but you could see him wiggle just a bit, his smile spread further, when you addressed him as husband. In the moments past, he was too distracted by lust. But now it was sinking in, for both of you, and you felt just as joyful as him.

“Of course, wife. I would not dare leave you to raise our ten children alone,” he said, smirking as you laughed.

“I believe I said five more,” you told him, raising an eyebrow.

“I believe Freyja will bless us with a small army, as much as I plan to bury my cock in you,” he told you, kissing your forehead. “Speaking of.”

Sihtric smirked before kissing you again, pulling you on top of him. You felt your laugh rumble in your chest as you couldn’t help but kiss him back.

You were finally no longer a bargaining chip.

Taglist: @sihtricfedaraaahvicius @gemini-mama @alexagirlie

[ministarfruit]

day 23: copycat ♡

(femslashfeb prompt list)

[coffeecatcraze]

It is not lost on me that Charlie and Vaggie were initially not doing great against Adam and Lute...and then proved Carmilla was so fucking right.

Vaggie is absolutely FUCKED here. She's been in this position before, with Lute looming over her spitting vitriolic judgment, Vaggie's blood on the ground. Back then, she couldn't stop Lute from taking away her wings, her eye, her home, and her purpose. But now? She has more than that; she has love, because she has Charlie.

When Lute threatens Charlie, everything changes. Vaggie fucks her up immediately...and shows "mercy" knowing that being forced to live with part of herself gone (her arm was CRUSHED, no way was she getting it back), the shame of defeat, and the knowledge that someone she's been looking down on so completely is responsible for it all is a fate MUCH worse than death for Lute.

And Charlie? Charlie's insanely powerful but has no clue how to use her power to its full potential because she's never had a reason or desire to fight until now. Even when she's being strangled, when she's pissed-off and vengeful, she can't really tap into that power. But then Adam comes at her dad and is about to catch him off-guard.

He's about to hurt—possibly kill—her dad, who she's finally building a good relationship with; her dad, who just showed up to protect her despite the risk of politically turning this battle from an act of defiance by a willful princess to an act of full-on rebellion by the King of Hell himself. She reacts on instinct to protect her father and stops a hit that destroyed Alastor's shield. And she does it effortlessly.

Carmilla was right. For these ladies, at least, the need to protect someone they love, no matter what kind of love it is, is exactly what rallies them to come at enemies who were just kicking their asses and absolutely dominate.

[shisurus]

okay but did you think about the fact laios already feels responsible for taking her last breath... this story started with falin sacrificing her life for him, dying in front of his eyes- so that "worst case scenario" already happened. at the beginning he thought all he had to do to fix things is simply bring her back to life like they had done before, but then it was his decision that led her to a fate arguably even worse than death; a reality where the very reason he wanted to save her was erased from her mind, with her becoming a chimera puppet. a reality where he is forced to fight a monster in the form of his sister.

for that reason, his choice to kill falin on his own isn't about saving everyone else from the horror of this "possible" outcome as much as it is him finally facing his own guilt for all he had done: from abandoning her during their childhood to bringing her with him to the island and living a life of hunger and danger at the cost of the safe future she could've had without him, eventually resulting in her dying while being all alone. but unlike his choice to leave their village, this time she was the one forcing him to leave her behind- an act that was not only done out of pure love but was also the result of a lifetime of internalizing the notion that everyone she loves always takes priority over herself.

so when it came to that point in chapter 67, killing her was his way of not abandoning her anymore. taking her last breath to carry alone, so he can never let go of her again. even if they wouldn't have succeeded in resurrecting her, then at least he gave her one last precious memory, at least he didn't let her sleep starving again- which is in direct contrast with her death at the beginning of the series that was caused by their hunger and its effects. but more, or perhaps even most importantly, at least he didn't let her die alone this time- having her most beloved person experiencing the horrors of her death with her while her dear friends are witnessing her suffering that she was trying so hard to shield them from until now.

and in those moments, it was without a doubt falin struggling against him along with the dragon. because of her brother forcing her to make a choice once more, she finally revealed her most raw, selfish and intrinsic side by fighting him back, scratching and pushing and screaming and harming the person she always put first instead of quietly giving up her own life. dying by the hands of love instead of dying for love. in choosing herself this time, it might be what gave her soul the strength to choose living by the end of the series- living a life of her own. and for laios, this was just as essential to his personal growth as well as the first step in his atonement: redoing it "the right way".

[phoward89]

Banner by me. Dividers by @saradika

Summary: When Coriolanus signs you out of the hospital to bring you to his Corso penthouse, you see a glimpse of his dark side. Will that glimpse make you run away from him or to him?

Pairing: Coriolanus Snow x Reader (Y/N)

Warnings: Coriolanus Snow is his own warning! Possessive!Coriolanus, Obsessive!Coriolanus, DelusionalCoriolanus, Dark!Coriolanus, Soft Dark!Coriolanus?, Head Gamemaker!Coriolanus, Mentions of death, Mentions of planning murder, Mentions of cheating/infidelity (not on reader), Mentions of poison, Large age gap/difference (Coriolanus is 33 while reader is 18), Manipulation, Groping, Slapping, um...trying to think of anything else.

Here's the 2nd part of Forever & Ever, My Darling Rose. I gave the Reader a last name, Halvir, in this just to make some scenarios etc a bit easier to write. But the Readers first name is up to you lovely and wonderful readers to come up with.

Story Masterlist

Chapter 2:

Coriolanus marched towards the nurses’ station with a haughty airs to him. He gave off an entitled, but dangerous aurora that had the nurses shaking in their white nursing hats. He'd threatened to kill every single one of their loved ones (friends, family, pets, estranged family, etc) if something happened to you and the nurses were terrified that he'd make good on that promise. Considering you went out of your mind with a nightmare and cornered yourself into your room, resulting in him being called there to calm you down, the nurses were fearful.

The nurses quickly grabbed their charts and scurried off, excuses that they had to check on patients echoed into the air, as the head gamemaker got closer to the front desk. Patients that are most likely asleep since it was nearly 3 in the morning. Yes, the nurses left their charge nurse behind to deal with the wrath of Coriolanus Snow. The nurse assigned to you was the first to bolt.

“I'm signing Y/N Halvir out since your staff is too incompetent to properly care for a victor.” Coriolanus firminly told the charge nurse as he came to a stop right at the desk she was sitting behind, all by herself since the staff abandoned her to face a fate worse than death alone.

The charge nurse refused to meet Coriolanus’ eye while tentatively informing him, “Head Gamemaker Snow, sir, it's ill advised to sign her out. She hasn't been checked by a doctor and she seems to be dealing with some post traumatic stress.”

Wrong Answer. Coriolanus was outraged that some old nurse had the gall to tell him that he couldn't do what he felt best for his, HIS, darling rose. What did that old hag know? If it wasn't for her calling him, you would've hyperventilated and passed out from sheer fear in the corner of your room.

A private room that he was footing the bill for, by the way.

Well, looks like he'll just have to make the charge nurse’s loved ones disappear for her lack of skills tending to you. He'll also find out who was your assigned nurse, make that useless twit disappear along with her loved ones. Well, the Citadel could always use some more lab rats to conduct mutt experiments on.

“It may be ill advised, but I assure you that I am signing Y/N Halvir out of this hospital and taking her with me, where she'll be properly cared for.” He calmly told the nurse as his cold blue eyes cut her down. Leaning down over the desk, causing him to be face to face with the old nurse, Coriolanus hissed, “Your insubordination has won your son, a doctor, and his family a transfer to District 6. Seems like the hospitals there are in need of more doctors due to the rise in morphling addiction amongst the district citizens. It's such a shame that both of your grandchildren, a boy and a girl, will now be eligible for the Hunger Games as District 6 citizens.”

The charge nurse shook with fear as she pleaded, “Please, Head Gamemaker Snow, don't do that. Please, don't be so harsh.” Quickly, she worked on her computer while adding in, “I'm printing out the discharge paperwork now, just don't send my family away to District 6.”

Coriolanus just stood up straight, his full height of 6’0 towering over the charge nurse as she sat at the desk, typing and clicking away at the computer. He didn't say a word to her, just stared her down with cold, dead, blue eyes. 

The charge nurse swallowed down a sick feeling that was welling up while rising from her seat to scurry over to the printer. She silently prayed to the printer, which was growling louder than a feral animal, to hurry up and spit out the paperwork for your discharge. 

Coriolanus grew bored waiting for the necessary paperwork for your release. So bored that he was tapping his shiny black shoes against the linoleum floor. 

Click, click, click. Click, click, click. Click, click, click. Click, click, click. Click, click-

“Here’s that paperwork for you to sign.” The charge nurse told Coriolanus while hurrying over to him. Quickly she placed the paperwork on the desk before grabbing a pen from the cup on top of the desk. “And here's a pen, sir.” She practically threw the pen at him.

“Thank you, but your family's still headed to 6.” He simply said while signing and initialing the stack of paperwork he was given. It seemed a bit of an overkill in his opinion.

The nurse turned as white as a sheet upon hearing Coriolanus’ words, but she didn't dare try to fight him on it. Her family's fate was sealed by the sadistic head gamemaker, a man whose temperament was worse than his father, the late General Crassus Snow.

Once Coriolanus was finished with your paperwork, he left the front desk without so much as a thank you or a goodnight to the nurse, and returned to your room. You were sitting on the bed watching some late night rerun on Capitol tv whenever he entered your room. Looking between you and the tv, he chuckled, “You like the god awful cooking show where the chef curses out his potential staff?”

“We only get 3 channels on our tv back home in District 12 and this is one of the channels.” You explained to him while he made his way further into the room. Truthfully, you were lucky to even have a tv since you lived in the Seam. Your brother Rein and his girlfriend, Ashlie, had scrimped and saved for years to be able to buy the thing. It was small and second hand; only picked up 3 channels. The Capitol News, Capitol Movie Classics, and Capitol Channel 3. You wished there were more channels, but you were grateful for the ones you had. Most people in the Seam didn't even have that. You know that your neighbor, Corbin, and his Auntie (a mining widow) didn't even have a tv. 

As Coriolanus placed your paperwork down on your side table, you stared right at the tv (as the top chef called one of his potential staff a stupid fucking donkey for burning a risotto) and honestly revealed, “Plus watching all of these chefs get cursed out and treated horribly by their potential boss reminds me that somebody out there has it worse than me. Even though I live in the Seam with my coal miner brother and his girlfriend, who's a local barmaid at the hob, nobody's ever treated me as horribly and rudely as that award winning chef treats the people competing on his show for a job in his restaurant.”

“Hmmm…” Coriolanus hummed. Standing by your side, he tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear while asking, “And what of your mother?”

“I haven't seen her since she ran off when I was 5 and Rein was 15.” You flatly remarked.

“I see.” The platinum blonde man nodded. He felt rage boil in his cold, icy veins. How could somebody leave you as a child? You were so perfect, so innocent. You didn't deserve to be willingly abandoned by your mother. Oh, if he ever got a hold of that useless bitch she was dead. He'd make sure that she died a torturous death too.

“You signed me out AMA?” You asked, glancing over the form that was on your side table 

“Yes, I signed you out against medical advice because the staff here is doing you, my darling rose, more harm then good. They're too incompetent to care for my Victor and you, Y/N, deserve nothing but the best care.” Moving to the wardrobe in the corner of the room, he told you, “I had your reaping dress cleaned and brought here for you when you were admitted. I thought you'd feel more comfortable in that than your uniform from the arena.”

“Thank you, Head Gam-Coriolanus. I appreciate it.” You thanked him, a bit nervous about what name to call him. In the end you decided to just call him Coriolanus, but it still felt heavy and wrong on your tongue.

“Please, just call me Coryo.” He countered while crossing the room with your simple cotton floral dress in hand. “Now let's get you out of your hospital gown and into your pretty dress so we can go home.” He suggested while coming to a stop right at your bedside.

Instead of standing and stripping naked like Coriolanus thought you'd do, you arched a brow at him instead only to ask, “Home? But I thought you were taking me to a penthouse here in the Capitol?” 

“I am taking you to the Corso penthouse which is now your new home, my darling rose.” He slowly explained to you, as if you were a small child, while placing your dress down on the bed. Shaking his head, he grabbed your upper arm and pulled you to stand up. 

“What the hell are you doing, Coriolanus?!” You shrieked, pulling away from him as he started to untie your hospital gown. 

Grabbing you roughly by the upper arms and turning you to look at him, he stared down at you with cold, icy eyes. “I'm tired and want to go home and get some sleep. You will be a good girl and let me help you change.” 

You tried to break his hold while assuring him, “I can get changed myself. You can go wait in the hall, Coriolanus.”

“No, my darling rose, you can't. Now, be a good girl and let me help you so we can get out of here.” He told you in a tone that was sickeningly sweet.

“Corio-” You began to protest, only for him to slap you across the face. 

Tears welled up in your eyes as your hand automatically flew up to cradle your stinging cheek.

“I told you to be a good girl and let me help you, Y/N.” He sighed. 

“You hit me…” You trailed off in shock as tears spilled down your cheeks.

“Oh, my darling rose, I didn't mean to hurt you.” The pretty platinum blonde man cooed while prying your hand away from the cheek that he’d struck in his frustrated anger. His blue eyes raked over your cheek, which was raw and red from the slap. Seeing your tears rolling hotly down your cheeks turned him on, as horrible as that sounded. Brushing his knuckles along your puffy cheekbone, that would surely bruise within an hour or so, he softly said, “I don't like brats and backtalk, Y/N. If only you were a good girl then I wouldn't have slapped you.”

His words left your mind going a mile a minute. So, wait, it was your fault he slapped you? All because you didn't want his help changing? That didn't make sense. Should it make sense?

You were drawn out of your mental musings whenever you felt Coriolanus’ tongue lap up the tears along your cheek. Your breath hitched at the action. Your felt a tightness in your chest and a fluttering in your lower belly as he tilted your face to lick the tears of your untouched cheek. 

As his tongue traced your cheekbone, lapping up the salty tear stains on your skin, you felt a tingle in your core. Oh no. You can't have this reaction to him. It's wrong; he’s a married man and older than you. Hell, he's even older than your older brother.

Even though you knew being turned on by him was wrong, it didn't stop you from rubbing your thighs together.

When he pulled away from you, he gave you a lined smile and suggested, “Now that we have an understanding, let's get you in your pretty dress so we can go home.”

Your head was fuzzy with want and you had a slight ache in between your legs, so you were in no shape to protest or fight back. “Okay.” Your breath was shaky as you nodded. “Okay.”

“Seems like I have quite the effect on you, my darling rose.” Coriolanus smirked as his nose ran along your jawline. Your heartbeat was beating quickly, perhaps too quickly, while you felt heat pool in between your legs. Oh god, you've never felt like this before (yea, you've been turned on before, but not to the point where you felt uncomfortable and wanted to rip your hair out) and it both startled and excited you. 

He licked the shell of your ear, causing a shiver to run down your spine. “I must confess, Y/N, that you also have quite the effect on me.” He whispered into your ear before pulling away and leaving you to stare up at him with shock all over your face. “Don't look so shocked, my darling. You’re very beautiful and you're resilient; a victor.” 

Turning you around, he gently untied your hospital gown as if he was untying the bows to his favorite piece of lingerie. When he was done, he spun you around, nearly knocking you off balance and slid the gown off your shoulders. Your eyes darted to the floor as your breasts were exposed to him. You felt so small under his gaze and towering form as he slid the gown the rest of the way off you. 

“You have such nice tits.” Coriolanus smiled in awe, lust shining in his eyes, as he began to palm your nice tits.

“Coriolanus-” You started, only for him to cut you off with the request of, “Coryo, call me Coryo.”, as he began to run his thumbs over your nipples while cupping your tits in his large, calloused hands.

“Coryo, we can't do this here. We're in my hospital room.” You told him despite his actions causing you to get even wetter then you already were between your legs.

“It's a private room, my darling rose. I paid enough for it, so I don't see the harm in us getting my money's worth.”

What the hell did he mean by that? Did he seriously want to mess around in your hospital room? Oh no. No, no, no. No. You're drawing that line at that. 

Your hands wrapped around his wrist as you told him, “I just want to get out of here, Coryo. You promised to take me home, remember?”

You prayed that your words knocked some sense into him because you didn't want your first time doing sexual things to be in a hospital room, where a nurse could walk in at any time, with him (he was a married man for God's sakes!).

His demeanor deflated and he sighed, “Yes, my darling rose, I did promise you that didn't I?”, while pulling away from you. He grabbed your dress from the bed and motioned for you to lift up your hands.

“What about my underwear?” You asked, feeling a bit exposed as Coryo looked you up and down with a hungry glint in his eye. It was as if he was a starving man and you were a juicy steak ready to eat.

“You don't need them, darling. Once we get to our penthouse you'll be changing into a shirt to sleep in anyways.” He explained while motioning, once again, for you to lift your arms. This time you obeyed him and he pulled your best floral dress over your head. He smoothed it out, only to press a kiss to your forehead and smile. “You're all ready to go, my Victor.”

The car ride to the luxury penthouse seemed to take ages. You were alone with Coriolanus since he was driving and it made you feel a bit uncomfortable. After what happened in your hospital room (him stripping you and groping your boobs) you didn't think it was a good idea to be alone with him. He was married and you didn't want to lose your innocence, all of your firsts, your virginity to a man that would never be yours no matter the chemistry or effect you had on each other.

You were staring aimlessly out the window when Coryo startled you by placing a hand on your thigh. You didn't say a word, just sighed uncomfortably.

Looking over at you with a worried expression, Coriolanus asked, “What's wrong, Y/N? You seem troubled.”

Pulling your eyes off the window, you snapped your head to look at the platinum blonde in the driver's seat and honestly told him how you felt. “You shouldn't be resting your hand on my thigh, Coryo. You’re married.”

The gold ring on his finger mocked him as it shines against the red and cream floral fabric of your dress. He never had anyone turn him down because of that thin gold band he was branded with by saying ‘I do’ to Livia Cardew, well that is until now. Coriolanus knew that you were young and innocent from District 12 so the thought of being a mistress would horrify you. He knew that he had to ease your worries, so he simply told you, “Don't worry about my wife, darling. I’m taking care of everything; she won't be my wife much longer.”

“I wasn't aware ya’ll were having marriage problems. The Capitol gossip rags make it seem like the marriage is a happy one.”

“Things aren't always as they seem here in the Capitol, my darling rose.” He told you before correcting your grammar with a stern, “And it's I wasn't aware that you were having marital problems.” Patting you on the thigh as he switched lanes, he explained, “You're not in District 12 anymore and since you'll be staying here in the Capitol for a while it's best that you learn how to speak properly; like a Capitol citizen.”

You didn't say a word, just numbly nodded. You never thought that staying in the Capitol while Victor’s Village and your house was constructed meant changing how you talked. You never thought you talked strange, well until now. “Do I sound weird when I talk, Coryo?” You asked, staring at the side of his face as he drove.

“No.” He shook his head. “We just need to work on some small grammar errors here and there, but no, darling, you sound just fine when you talk.”

“Oh…” You trailed off, turning your attention back to looking out your window. 

He gave your thigh a gentle squeeze, “You're a rose that just needs some extra pruning and tender care, but fortunately for you I'm an excellent gardener that favors white roses.” His thumb grazed your thigh as he explained, “White roses are the perfect symbol of purity and perfection.” As he pulled up to a large building, his baritone heavily hung in the air with the meaningful words of, “Unblemished; untouched, just like you, my darling rose.”

But how long would you be Unblemished and untouched? Would he take your innocence as soon as you entered the penthouse or would he wait until he was free from his wife? The bigger question was did you even want him to take your innocence? To give you all of your first experiences with a man? Now that was the million dollar question you didn't have an answer for. Or maybe you did, but didn't want to acknowledge it.

AN: Did anyone catch the tv show easter egg I threw in there?

Tags: @kuroosbby001 , @purriteen , @poppyflower-22 , @meetmeatyourworst , @whipwhoops , @bxtchopolis, @readingthingsonhere,@savagenctzen, @ryswritingrecord, @erikasurfer, @tulips2715, @universal-s1ut, @thesmutconnoisseur, @squidscottjeans, @sudek4l, @wearemadeofstardust0, @mashiromochi, @gracieroxzy, @belcalis9503, @shari-berri

[chuluoyi]

UNHOLY MATRIMONY — 10

✩°｡ ⋆ a death wish

- fushiguro megumi x oc/reader - oc/reader's character name is hara sena, pronouns still refer to “you” and i won��t mention it often—just for the sake of aesthetic rather than repeatedly writing "y/n"

in another life, in which fate is still screwing his life over, Fushiguro Megumi finds himself in an arranged marriage―with you.

genre/warnings: arranged marriage au, drama, angst, angst, angst, another gojo cameo (but he is being kinda insufferable?), naoya <- a warning in and of itself

notes: soon, guys, soon. not now... but naoya will meet his end soon and yeah, the end is a timeskip. next chapter would explain how :)

listen to: monster - big bang

✩°｡ ⋆ unholy matrimony (masterlist) | chapter nine : all done <- previous ✩ next -> chapter eleven : transcendent truth

A week later, true to what Naoya said, Megumi still felt like he was the biggest fool out there.

To say that he was simply heartbroken would be an understatement, because it went beyond that. Is there even a word that could adequately explain extent of this betrayal? He was utterly deceived, maneuvered like a chess pawn.

If that day hadn't unfolded as it did, how long would he have remained oblivious to this deception?

And yet, despite that, no matter how searing the pain was, Megumi apparently wasn't heartless enough to drive you out. So he chose to go instead, renting a room at the nearest motel to the headquarters.

He made a conscious effort to avoid you whenever possible—drowning himself in missions so he didn't have to see you in the workplace. And it worked, he hadn't crossed paths with you since last week. The love tucked away in the deepest corner of his heart tugged at him, urging him to at least check on how you were doing, but his wounded pride made him focus on another task at hand.

"Megumi?"

This. Kurusu Hana was calling for him.

"What is it?" he turned to her, who was standing by Tsumiki's bedside, having just finished her enchantments on her. The very least he could get after being dragged into this deceitful marriage with you was Tsumiki being released from her curse.

Hana looked at him curiously. "Are you alright? You seem out of sorts, somehow..."

The past week, all Megumi did outside his workhours was tending to Tsumiki and interacting with Hana in the hospital. After getting to know her a little more, he noticed she was a bit scatterbrained. However, she seemed like a genuinely good person and was pleasant to have around, and before he knew it, he was much more comfortable around her and not exactly holding back his words as he used to.

"Ah, no," he brushed her off. "Just thinking of some things."

"Oh..."

On her side, Hana couldn't help but notice that something seemed different about him. "Is... uh, your wife not coming?"

Megumi almost jerked in his seat. Oh, right. He realized he hadn't mentioned to her that you two weren't on speaking terms anymore. He hadn't felt the need to bring it up.

“No.”

“Uh… I don’t mean to pry, but… did you two have a fight or something?”

“I think that’s what you’d call prying, personally.”

Hana felt like her face would burst into flames out of sheer embarrassment. Come on, you like him but don’t make it that obvious.

"Sometimes talking about it helps, you know," she braved herself. No, she reasoned. She was here as a friend. Not that she was curious.

Or maybe just a bit?

Megumi eyed her sharply. "About what?"

He didn't mean to get snappy. But when you were on the brink of divorce with your wife, you were entitled to, right?

"Your problems," she asserted. "I'm saying, talking to someone can make you feel better."

"To you?"

Hana gulped. "Yeah."

It had been daunting enough to know that he was married. Nothing could be worse than that―certainly not saying that he could rant to her.

Megumi didn't want to have his problem out in the open, much less to someone who was more like a stranger like Hana was. But he had no one to turn to... and truth to be told, he was still in an internal debate with himself regarding everything―what his life had come to.

He scoffed. "Highly doubt it."

"It does! Look, I'm going to start first―"

She then proceeded to ramble about how her landlady was an annoying woman who kept adding extra charges. Her expressions shifted so frequently that it became almost comical.

She was kind of like you, in a way―the expressiveness.

Then again, maybe not really. Evidently, you managed to fool him completely and fully, you were hiding something behind that crafted cheerfulness you showed to him.

"―and haaah! Now I feel much better!" she remarked with a wide smile and twinkling eyes. "See? It's harmless! I won't divulge it to anyone, I promise!"

"Are you an idiot?" Megumi deadpanned, and Hana merely chuckled, abashed at how much she'd gotten worked up over it.

Megumi didn't have much to say, however. He was just grappling with numerous thoughts, and now he started wondering if having someone to listen might offer some relief, even a little. "How would you feel if someone very close to you lied to you?"

"Huh? Someone... close?" Hana was clearly caught off guard. And when he nodded, she tilted her head to the side, seemingly choosing her words carefully. "I'd be upset, of course."

"Would you forgive them?"

"That's a tricky question... I think it depends?"

"On what?"

Hana blinked in confusion. What had happened to Megumi that he pulled this... sad―almost desperate―expression? Who exactly did he want to forgive?

"I'm not an expert on this but..."

At that moment, she had an epiphany―could it be... you?

"If it's truly something that's so unforgivable, then I suppose... no," she decided then, albeit warily, gauging Megumi's reaction. "There's just a limit to what someone can forgive."

"Hmm... A limit, huh?"

Certainly, she wasn't expecting any reaction that would give him away, and Hana wasn't someone who would take an advantage out of someone who was fighting with his wife, anyway. But still, if it was you that he had in mind, then she was... genuinely curious.

Meanwhile, Megumi was left with even more thoughts than before. Thoughts about the whole shit of the ordeal, and you, among everything else. And he thought, he had his answer then.

He still didn't find it in himself to.

You hadn't seen Megumi ever since that day.

You knew he was intentionally avoiding you, given that his work desk in headquarters was always empty whenever you clocked in. And you weren't actively seeking him out either―seeing him would only make you feel shame all over, so no, you were fine with how it was.

It still hurt, but it was more bearable these days.

"Sena-san, are you sure you're alright?" Nobara asked you after both of you finished your mission. You two weren't exactly close, but from a handful of times you were paired with her for missions, you got the gist that she was a fun person.

Glancing at your bandaged arm―an aftermath from your mission earlier, you casually shrugged and remarked, "Oh, this? It's just a scratch, nothing serious."

"Really, Fushiguro should take better care of you," she grumbled. "Why is he still letting his wife taking missions? If I were him, I'd forbid you from this line of work altogether."

Thump!

Your heart squeezed at the mention of Megumi's name, realizing that no one here knew your recent unfortunate circumstances yet. Megumi hadn't told anyone―he was not the type to, to be exact.

"How is he? Is he doing okay?" you looked down, deliberately not meeting Nobara's eyes, because you weren't sure if you would be able to keep this "I'm fine" facade if you look at her in the face while talking about Megumi.

"Hmm? In missions, you mean? Yeah, as always," she blurted nonchalantly. "He's skillful. His talent is enough to bail him out of anything."

Talent. Ha. Now you understand a fraction of what Megumi must have felt, being reduced to just his gift from the so-called Zen'in bloodline.

You let out a sigh, blinking the mist in your eyes away. "Does he get hurt often?"

"Bah. Getting hurt is nothing new. If you ask me, I think he and Itadori just love to race each other to rack up the most bruises, actually."

A frown etched itself across your forehead. "That's not good..."

"Boys will be boys, I suppose. Don't worry too much!" Nobara said with a light chuckle. "I hate to admit it, but Fushiguro knows how to take care of himself far better than anyone here does. You have nothing to worry about."

That gave you some relief. He was fine. And he will be.

"Nobara-san, please keep an eye out for him, yeah?" you muttered with a repressed smile. Keeping tears at bay was tough, but you were determined to stay cool. "I can't always be around for him. He may not seem like it, but someone has to watch over him so he won't overdo himself."

Nobara blinked, obviously taken aback by your simple, heartfelt plea, but she quickly collected herself and barked a laugh. "Leave it to me, Sena-san! I know how to keep those troublemakers by the leash!"

With everything taken care of, you parted ways. Just before heading back to Megumi's apartment―really, one of these days, you were going to move out too because how could you still hog his place?―you found a mail on your desk. A brown, neat envelope.

Driven by curiosity, you swiftly tore it open, only to feel your heart sink to the lowest abyss as you read heading of the pristine paper.

Notice of Divorce by Agreement.

Suddenly, your vision blurred, and you grasped onto the desk, causing the papers to scatter to the floor. A choked whimper escaped your lips, and then it turned into a fit of sobs.

Of course. Of course. Why didn't you expect this? Both of you had to come to a resolution eventually. You couldn't be in a stalemate with Megumi forever―not quite willing to end the marriage but also not entirely wanting to continue it.

And this is how it ends.

A part of you died when you scanned Megumi's formal name and signature, as well as the witness―Kurusu Hana. For fuck's sake. Who was that again? How did the witness to your divorce be someone you never knew?

Suddenly you felt anger coursing through your veins. How was this your life? You never wanted to be embroiled in this shit in the first place. You never wanted to be born in Hara clan in the first place. You never wanted to drag a stranger to your mess in the first place.

And yet you did. And yet you lost everything all the same. You poor mother, how was it fair that she had to pay the price first and now, you too?

...okay, who were you kidding? You had to pay the price because you instigated everything. But still, you couldn't help the pain tearing your chest, the fervent hope that Megumi might understand, the longing that he wouldn't abandon you just like that. Because if the positions were reversed, you would definitely hear him out first.

Alas, fate just didn't favor you. When did it ever, really?

. . .

Oh, the curse breaker.

You finally remembered, right after you furiously scrawled your name and signature on that scrap of paper.

"I'm just saying, if you're going to make her even more miserable, then you should just get a divorce."

It was what Gojo Satoru told him when he somehow got a hold of him and forced his way inside his hostel yesterday.

In a daze, Megumi managed to get hold of the divorce papers and left them on your desk. He knew it wasn't the best move—just as forging someone else's signature wasn't either. But his conversation with Gojo had stirred up a storm of emotions, especially a sense of righteous anger.

"How could you, Gojo-sensei?" he demanded as soon as his mentor stepped into his space, feeling a surge of betrayal coursing through his veins. "What more do you want from me? Is toying with me not enough for you?"

"Megumi," the Six Eyes user began, and unlike all other instances in which he was trying to be funny, now he looked as serious as he could be. "First of all, I apologize for—"

"That means nothing," he bitterly spat. "You have scarred me for life. You and Sena both."

Gojo let out a resigned sigh. "Fair point, but now that we have come to this, you deserve the truth."

And then Megumi heard it all. About how you had no one to turn to, how you came to him to stage everything, how he agreed, and how you dragged Zen'in Ogi into your plans too.

By the end of it all, he was furious. Even more than before.

"You... absolute bastard," Megumi hissed through gritted teeth, glaring squarely at Gojo.

"Yeah, I might be, but you know what, Megumi?" Gojo dauntingly challenged, his eyes gleaming and unwavering with intensity. "For the record, I really thought you could do it."

"Do what?" At this point, he just wanted to rage and not think of anything else, because for the life of him, he couldn't fathom what Gojo Satoru might expect from him or what he himself was capable of doing.

"Taking the Zen'ins to your hands. You have the capability to do so. And with Sena too, she knows what she is doing."

"Is—" Megumi couldn't believe it one bit, the very shit coming from his mouth just now. "Is that kind of reasoning supposed to make me able to forgive you? If you really think so, then get the fuck off!"

He hated it. He hated how he made it sound as if you were just as complicit in this as he was. Even when that was the truth.

"No. Your anger is justified," Gojo stated sharply. "But if you look at it differently, it's actually my acknowledgement of you. Of your strength. All the terrible things you've faced, they hold significance, and reclaiming what's yours from the Zen'in would be the ultimate embodiment of it."

"Don't patronize me! You don't get to fucking choose what I should do! And what's more—I don't need your fucking acknowledgement!"

How arrogant could someone possibly be? Megumi recognized Gojo Satoru as an unparalleled individual, but who did he think he was that he could play with another's fates? A god?

"You may take it however way you wish," Gojo blurted indifferently, seemingly having enough of this too, as he also knew better than anyone that changing Megumi's mind would be a tall order. "And now, what happens?" he scoffed, changing the subject, throwing a glance at the shabby room of his current place to stay. "What do you plant to do now? What about Sena?"

"That's not your business whatsoever—"

"I'm just saying, if you're going to make her even more miserable, then you should just get a divorce."

That was what drove him to do just that. First, the very mention that you might be miserable did something to him, and then second, the feeling of utter betrayal. Maybe cutting you off would make all of this better, somehow.

But now, as Megumi sank on his uncomfortable bed in this cramped space, he had the time to think over Gojo's words in a calmer state of mind. True, what you did was beyond appalling—but it wasn't as if you truly wanted to manipulate him either. You weren't in an ideal situation either, and now, you were just as miserable as he was.

How are you? Have you been eating well? You tend to skip meals when you're upset, and that could take a toll on your health. It reminded him of the time you went on an eating strike before.

"Haah," he grounded out, pulling an arm over his eyes, willing his headache away. How was it that even though you had betrayed him this bad, he was still worried about you?

Two weeks later October 31 Zen'in estate

It is only a matter of time, really.

Naoya could scarcely believe that it had come to this. How his home had shattered in the most grotesque way possible. Brought by his own hands, no less.

But Ogi should have expected it when he insisted on that Fushiguro bastard to keep being in the next line of succession. He should have known that Naoya, the true heir, would have his head.

He had left his daughter with a pretty sound message too. For whoever in his accursed clan still wanted to defy his claim, they were welcome to do so... but only if they were ready to face him and settle it in blood.

As he dawdled inside the barrier that had been pulled down for his supposed duel with Fushiguro Megumi, Naoya mused to himself.

What was taking him so long?

(It just didn't register in his deluded mind that Megumi might have deserted him altogether. He thought everyone and anyone, without a doubt, coveted the position like he was)

Still grumbling to himself, Naoya suddenly noticed a silhouette slipping through the dark curtain, which promptly sealed shut. The curtain was specifically designed for this deadly showdown—it wouldn't dissolve until only one victor remained standing.

Naoya barked a scoff, whirling to face his fated match. "You surely took your sweet time—"

But then his eyes widened as he recognized who stood before him, and then he doubled over in maniacal laughter.

"Hah—ah—what sort of joke is this?" he managed to utter between wheezes, shaking his head in disbelief. "Are you out of your mind? Have you completely lost it?!"

A level-headed gaze met his, and Naoya was convinced, this was indeed his day to win.

"Hara Sena— do you really wish to die?!"

✩°｡ ⋆ next -> chapter eleven : transcendent truth

🏷️ taglist

@moonmalice @hellothere9597 @qtnfer @firstplaidpeachnickel @waddlingwanderer @chilichopsticks @satorus-slut @dcvilxswish @lees-chaotic-brain @tojirin @bluebreadenthusiast @pandabooster @cole-silas @becsmarvel @giuli-in-earth @fuckimgenderfluid @haitanisrarity @kimura-uzuri @bicchaan @lunavixia @stevenknightmarc @rory-cakes @sushisimp @sad-darksoul @iluv-ace @squidalapobre @hopeladybug @beyondmyownlittleworld @mrsyangsikmoa @kasumitenbaz @nothisispatrick300 @angrydaughter @lili-of-the-dream @kiki17483 @abcdenhb @l1n0m3 @darling006 @traacy-lin @akaashisbbgirl

[tomicscomics]

02/14/2024

The dark (chocolate) night of the soul.

___

JOKE-OGRAPHY: Traditionally, on Valentine's Day, couples buy each other gifts and sweets to show their love.  Emo Emi, being chronically unlikable but also a chocoholic, has resorted to buying herself enough chocolate to put her into two consecutive comas.  She's looking forward to those comas until her parents' darned RELIGION gets in the way.  You see, this year, Valentine's Day falls on Ash Wednesday.  For Christians, Ash Wednesday is a day of fasting, which means no meats, and no sweets.  In this cartoon, Emi vents to her friend, Olga, about how having all this chocolate and not being allowed to eat it is the absolute height of Christian suffering.  Olga tries to chasten Emi by reminding her that some Christians suffer far worse fates than a day without chocolate -- some even die for their faith.  However, in her delusional state of grief, Emi would much rather the death.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Oops, I've done it again.  It's another "Tomics Resurrection" where I redraw a cartoon from a few years ago and, like God on the sixth day, take it from GOOD to VERY GOOD.  This one is from 2018, the last time this same combination of holidays occurred.  Back then, Emi's personality was still in flux.  Now that she's become a more defined character (petulant pseudo-intellectual Christian-wanna-not-be), I had to adjust the dialogue a little, but I think I've kept the same spirit.  Also, back in ye olde yeare ofe 2018e, I apparently didn't respect any semblance of character continuity, so Emi's shape and colors change drastically between the first and second panels.  Must've been a rush job.  Poor 2018 Tom.  Such a child.  Anyway, how do YOU think the new compares to the old?

[netherfeildren]

Greener Memories of Better Men

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Best Story of the Day! South Austin elementary school started a “Breakfast With Dads” program but many dads couldn’t make it and several students didn’t have father figures. The school posted fliers at the local YMCA’s for 50 volunteer fathers… 600 different people from all backgrounds showed up…

Joel Miller is one of them. 

-OR- 

Sarah’s gone and Joel wants to feel close to her again. He reconnects with someone he used to know along the way.

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: No outbreak; Grief; Child loss; Emotional hurt/comfort; Angst; Fluff and smut; Unprotected sex; Creampie; Oral Sex (f!receiving); Size Difference; Size kink; Dirty talk; Truck sex; Praise kink

A/N: This was planned for a long time, and then just happened all at once today without prior thought. Enjoy! :)

Word Count: 10.8K

Read on AO3

When she got very sick, towards the end, they used to listen to “The Weight” by The Band all the time. He’d sit at her bedside playing it for her over and over again, and he’d watch her breathe. For hours, he’d sit there and watch the rise and fall of her chest, the slow, weak thrum of her pulse in her neck beneath the wan and clammy skin, listen to the sound of her fight to continue existing. Sometimes, when she was a little more on this side of lucid, when she’d let him look at those gorgeous green eyes, she’d mouth the words at him through cracked, parched lips. Hey, mister, can you tell me where a man might find a bed? The still beautiful sound of her laughter, not made any less lovely despite its weakness now, when she adapted the lyrics to suit herself, take a load off, daddy. 

And sometimes, when she was keen on showing that superior and tremendous wit, that intelligent mind, the eye she had for seeing within and through him, she’d say that Fanny was the friend they’d always needed, but had never had. Like she knew, she knew there were times, only sometimes, where there was something missing, an imaginary figure that would have been nice or helpful, that was sometimes wished for. A mother, a wife, a partner, a friend, something they might have both needed or liked to have, perhaps, even especially, now, at the end. 

It had been a slow crawl towards death, for a long time, and then, suddenly, a mad dash to the finish line she’d seemed desperate to win. 

At times he’d been angry, angry and resentful and so fucking filled with a rage so deep it terrified him at the unfairness of it all. Sometimes there were parts of Joel that wished it was him lying in that bed, rotting away from the inside out by that invisible poison crawling through his little girls veins, but then the idea of Sarah being the one left behind, the one left alone, seemed an equally terrible fate, and he could not discern which was the worse of the two evils. And so he was left with nothing but this terrible impotence warring inside of him against his equally terrible anger. 

If he could have carried the weight of her illness for her, he would have. If he could have bore the pain and suffering of it, he would have. He would have eaten his own heart, cut off his own limb, forsaken everything he’d ever known, to have taken her suffering from her. He’d told her they’d be brave together, that they’d get out of it together. Eventually though, that mad dash had ended, and after it was all done, she’d been the only one to be brave, and he’d been the only one to get out of it. If that’s what it could even be called. Sarah had died and Joel had been left with nothing more than whatever half life he pretended at now. 

It’d been a year and a half since then, five hundred and sixty seven days since he’d put his only child in the ground. Days of living his life as if a thousand raging gladiators screamed and readied for battle in his mind while he lay limp and motionless in their midst. While he lay limp and motionless as the rest of the world went on around him. He failed all the time now, it seemed. Failed at being a father, a man, a brother, in his waking hours and in his dreams. And sometimes he wondered or worried at what she’d think of him now, if she saw what he’d let himself become. A limp and useless thing in the shadow of the memory of what he’d always been or wanted to be. 

But he remembered love, he remembered loving her, and he thought that if he held onto that, perhaps, he could be something again. Certainly not himself, or who or what he’d been before, but he could find the wherewithal or the strength or the conviction to be something, surely, he could be something again. How could death have the ability to touch such perfection? He could not understand. So, if he could no longer be a father, Sarah's father, then he could find it in himself to at least be alive, couldn’t he? For her, at least, for that memory of loving her. 

He sees the flier at the YMCA one evening, after he’s finished his workout. For months he’d gone from work to bed and bed to work. Gotten soft and lazy and horrible, half dead, but he’d had a dream a few weeks ago, a memory of them at Lady Bird Lake when they’d go and feed the ducks. She’d wanted to burst into the water after them, catch one for herself. Skinny little arms and legs flailing as he caught her around the waist, stopping her from rushing in after the poor things as they paddled madly away from the lovely little terror that she was. The thing he was now was not the man, the father, he had been before, not even a fraction. And he’d felt disgusted and ashamed and frightened with himself at the thought of her ever seeing the creature he’d become. He’d gone for a jog that evening after work. As exhausted and beaten down from the day as he’d been, he’d tied on his sneakers and forced his body to move. It had felt terrible and cathartic and he’d thrown up in his front yard afterwards, pathetic, heaving sobs wracking his body as he emptied the contents of his stomach in the overgrown grass and tears dripped down the tip of his nose, right there for the whole world to witness. But he’d gone out again the next day and the next and the next, and then he’d gone and gotten a membership for the Y, paid the thirty dollars and promised himself he’d make it there a few days every week. Pushed himself week after week to exhaustion and tears, even, sometimes. Wilting into bed at the end of the day like a felled weed, but he couldn’t stop. 

Don’t stop to think, don’t interrupt the scream. 

So he tried to not think, and he tried to keep going. 

They used to walk down there all the time before, to the Y, Joel, Sarah and Tommy. She loved to swim, and the three of them would jump in the pool together and play for hours every summer. They were good memories he knew he needed to keep fresh in his mind, like a muscle that needed to be exercised constantly. He couldn’t, didn’t want to lose them. 

The flier called for volunteers to show up for an event at Sarah’s old elementary school, “Breakfast with Dads” requesting fathers who could show up for those children who didn’t have a father figure in their lives. He’d stood still as a statue, reading the poster over and over again for almost ten minutes there, in the middle of the bustle of the busy gym around him. He could still remember the last time he’d picked her up at school with perfect clarity, the way she’d looked, curls bobbing around her, green eyes shining, shooting out the double doors towards him. She’d always been good in school, smart and lovely and friendly. He’d had to make the difficult decision to pull her out almost a year before she’d died, when she’d started getting too weak from the treatments to continue going in person. He’d not been back to the place since. Didn’t know if he was capable of walking through those halls she used to walk through, where she’d been happy, had friends, been a kid. 

He thinks about it for days afterwards, afraid and unsure and awkward with himself. Worried the children will be able to smell the deceit on him, the fact that he isn’t really a father anymore, lying on the soft purple rug of her perfectly preserved bedroom. A mausoleum to her memory that he meticulously cleans every Sunday to maintain exactly as she left it, staring up at the stick-on stars of the ceiling. He thinks that perhaps it would be good for him, that perhaps he would like the chance to feel like a father again, to remember what it is to have some spunky little kid talk at him for hours on end the way Sarah used to. And if nothing else, he thinks that there might be some child out there without the commodity of a father, the way he is without the blessing of his daughter, who would appreciate the fact that he’d shown up. Perhaps, he can make some kid not feel as alone as he always feels now. 

The morning of the breakfast dawns bright and warm, but with the faint scent of impending rain in the ether. She’d died on the same kind of sunny, tremulous day, and Joel’s hands shake as he walks up the steps of the elementary school. Flashes of the memory of her running out of these same double doors, skipping down the steps, curls flopping and gap toothed smile more luminous and sillier than any sight he’d ever beheld before. His heart beats like a hummingbird in his chest, hands clammy and shaking and ridiculous. He cries all the time now, at any and everything and it embarrasses him but is also so strangely freeing. He’d watched that ridiculous, but not really, movie Uptown Girls last night and had wept like a child at the end of it, all throughout it if he’s being honest. Huge mistake for the night before he was supposed to show face bright and early and have some kid inspecting him. Tommy’d shown up this morning with coffee and burritos and told him his face looked swollen, fucking asshole, and he’s once again ridiculous and embarrassed and awkward and shaking with nerves as he takes a few deep, calming breaths, before stepping into the Sarah’s old cafeteria. 

The large room is loud and chaotic, the bright sound of children’s voices and laughter and commotion, and people, there are a lot of fucking people. Two different lines of men, traversing the entire wide room, starting at a long table on one end and snaking through the lunch tables. It seems he wasn’t the only one who’d seen the posters, who had felt the need to come here today. He’s inspecting the lines, deciding which one seems to be moving faster when he hears his name, soft and breathy and incredulous, voice like a fucking angel: “Joel?”

He turns and there you are. “Joel Miller?” You almost stumble towards him, hand almost outstretched, eyes almost swimming. The last time he’d seen you was the last time he’d picked Sarah up here, and there’d been real tears in your eyes that time as you got to your knees, and his daughter buried her face in your neck, your soft hair, as she cried and told you how much she’d miss you, how much she didn’t want to go. You’d been her last teacher before she’d had to leave school – she’d never gotten to finish the year with you, and it had been a painful and difficult parting for the both of you. One he’d not appreciated fully in the moment, but now, looking at your shocked face, like you’ve seen a ghost, the memory rears its head in his mind, the sound of your voice trying to soothe her, trying to remain strong, stifle the sound of your own tears. You’d gone to the hospital once, near the end, the nurses had told him, in the quick hour he allotted himself to go home and shower every day, to say goodbye to her. Had sat at her bedside and laughed with her, brought her a card and a bright bouquet of yellow daisies in a pretty, blown glass vase from her entire class. It had been near the end of the school year, what would have been the end of Sarah’s second grade year, and he’d been glad, after the nurse had gushed about the pretty young woman who’d come in, made Sarah laugh and smile, perked her up for even a few brief moments, he’d been so fucking glad he’d missed you. He hoped he’d never have to see you again, could avoid the memory of his daughter in your care, the way the two of you looked at each other, like you shared a secret, a friendship, a connection, that of pupil and teacher, but also just two girls, something special and sacred. He envied it and resented it and was glad he’d missed you and grateful he’d not had to see you, but he was also grateful for the fact of you, that you’d been able to give her something she’d needed and he could not provide. 

He whispers your name, and you finally reach him, hand fully outstretched now, not an almost anything anymore, and your small, delicate fingers grasp at his thick forearm. The soft touch burns. 

He places his big hand over yours, completely engulfing you, and when he whispers your name back he feels a tremble in your limb. “Joel, I’m so glad to see you,” said with so much sincerity he feels the backs of his eyes pinch. He did not think the hardest part of this day would be seeing you again, a person who’d known and cared for his daughter so deeply. 

“I– I’m glad to be here,” he chokes, coughs, tries to take a steadying breath. “I saw the posters– just thought… I just thought it’d be nice for me to come around.”

“Yes,” you squeeze his arm gently, “Yes, of course. Welcome, please, I’m really so glad to see you here. There are so many great kids here today–” you cut yourself off, and your face does a funny sort of uncertain thing, you shake your head, try and give him a small smile. A deep breath, and then: “There are so many kids here that need someone. It’s a real good thing you came.”

“Yeah, well… I just wanted to– to feel– to remember–” he shakes his head too, unable to continue, but he sees that you understand. You slide that small hand into his, wrapping around two of his thick fingers and pull him around and further into the room. Nodding your head and smiling back at him like you’ve got the best sort of secret you’re about to let him in on. “Of course. Come on, I’ll show you to your seat. I know just the person for you.”

-

“Joel, this is my niece–”

“Who the fuck is this guy?” All the sass in the world and a scarred eyebrow to boot. 

“Ellie,” you say nice and slow, voice soothing as if trying to calm a wild banshee on the verge of revolt, it makes him smile a small smile, “We’re gonna be nice. You promised this morning.”

“Ugh, fine,” she drops her head back on her neck, and he can see the whites of her eyes flash as she rolls them as far back as they can surely go. “Stick me with the dinosaur, what do I care?” Christ, he mutters under his breath, trying to hide his scoff of a laugh with a rough cough. He turns his head to rub his chin against the hill of his shoulder, running a hand over his whiskered face. 

“Ellie– Mom said you can’t go to the sleepover tonight if you aren’t nice. Right?” You try and reason with her. 

“Fine. Whatever – nice.” And she flashes a big old, saccharine grin, wagging her eyebrows at you. 

“Okay,” you turn back to him, bringing your hands together in a soft clap beneath your chin and giving him a small and painfully sweet little smile – worried and probably a little afraid for him. He shakes his head, “It’s alright, we’ll be okay,” he says low, distracted by the sight of your small hands, fine and delicate looking, and the dainty gold necklace that sits at the hollow of your throat, a little golden pendant of your initial. 

You nod your head slowly, turn back to give the kid, Ellie, one more stern look, and then turn to walk away, leaving him to face her alone, and no, he most definitely does not glance at your ass as you walk away from him.

He turns back to look at the kid, and she rolls her eyes again, turning back to flip open the book she’s got infront of her on the lunch table, a one Will Livingston’s No Pun Intended: Volume Too. 

He snorts a little, sighs and settles into the cramped bench made for a child, thick thighs barely squeezing into the space between the table’s edge and the seat, knees bumping the underside. “Well aren’t you a pleasant one.”

“Yeah, a ray of fuckin’ sunshine. What’s your problem?”

“Jesus, kid. How old are you?”

“Thirteen. How old are you?”

“Forty eight.”

“Old.”

“Yeah.”

“So, why'd you get stuck with the leftovers? Where's your kid?”

He clears his throat, “Uh well, she– she’s not here anymore. Or I mean– she doesn’t go to school here anymore. She died. A while ago.”

“Oh, shit.” She’s quiet for a beat, looking down at the open page of the book, It doesn’t matter how much you push the envelope. It’ll still be stationary. “That sucks, man. I'm sorry.”

He supposes the correct response is: “Thank you,” he nods his head awkwardly, still unaccustomed to going through the motions of having to tell people and accept condolences. He doesn’t think it’ll ever be something he gets used to. 

“I think…” she tilts her head side to side, letting the thought slide between her ears, flips to the next page, I walked into my sister’s room and tripped on a bra. It was a booby trap. “That my dad is dead, or at least a dead beat or something,” she snickers. “Don’t know. My mom never talks about him.”

Dead or a dead beat, he mutters, shaking his head, “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s hard– being a parent, right?”

“Yeah. Yeah… hardest thing in the world–”

“Is it like – like weird… to not be one anymore?”

He feels his stomach drop out from under him, coughs roughly, “Dunno… I guess– I guess in ways I still feel like a parent. Think I’ll always feel like that. But in other ways, yes, it’s… weird.”

“Yeah… I guess that makes sense. You don’t forget how stuff feels, right?”

“Yeah, you don’t forget how stuff feels.”

“Do you like space?” she asks suddenly, very seriously, knocking her head to the side, looking up at him with big, baleful, hazel eyes. His heart twists in his chest.

“Sure, yeah. Space is alright.”

And then another seeming one eighty: “If you could do anything you wanted, where would you go? What would you do?”

“Don’t know, never really thought about it. Maybe… an old farmhouse, some land, a ranch.”

“Cool. What kind?”

He shakes his head, Jesus, I don’t know… “Sheep. I would raise sheep.” She nods, doubtful, unimpressed look on her face, and he frowns at the look, “They’re quiet, do what they’re told.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay. So, just you and a bunch of sheep. Romantic,” she says sarcastically. 

“What about you? What would you do?”

She points a single finger up towards the ceiling, ah, space… “Probably because I’ve always been here, never left Austin, single mom and all, ya know– I’ve read everything I could in the school library… Neil Armstrong, Buzz Aldrin, Jim Lovell. But you know who my favorite is?”

He could understand her on this. He felt, too often, like he was still right where she’d left him. “Sally Ride,” he says, of course.

“Sally fuckin’ Ride!” She slaps her hands down on the table, “Best astronaut name ever,” Shakes her head, whistling through her teeth appreciatively. 

He nods his head, yeah, figures. “So, your aunt…” and he feels a hot flush spread over the tops of his cheekbones, real smooth, Joel. At least he’d waited this long. 

“She’s my mom’s sister. She’s great. The three of us live together – kind of like my second mom, I guess. Or like they take turns being mom and dad. We’ve always been together.”

“That’s great, kid. She’s great. She– she was my daughter’s teacher, I’ve known her for a while now.”

“Yeah, she really is. I punched this girl last year,” she says way too excitedly, “Bethany,” rolls her eyes, “For being a huge dick, man, like seriously, she was. And she got me out of it. Backed me up with the principal, Mr. Kwong. No one else would’ve stuck up for me that way.”

“Yeah, I can see that. Seems like her style–”

“Protective,” she snickers.

“Yeah–” 

“And good. Her and my mom, they’re a unit, the three of us. Don’t know, I’ve never seen anyone take care of each other the way they do. Sometimes…” she looks away a little shyly, “I misbehave,” she says slowly, “Like the fighting. For no reason, I guess. And I know it worries them. But I’m trying to be better, not fight as much. My friend Riley, she’s a good influence. She stops me when I get too riled up.”

“I reckon it’s a lot easier said than done, but the fact that you’re trying to be good is what counts, is what I’d say. I’m sure being thirteen is difficult,” he says a little sarcastically, but giving her the approximation of a small, warm smile.

“Fuck you, man,” she laughs, “It’s difficult as shit.” It hits him then, suddenly, that the kid just needs someone to talk to, someone other than perhaps her mother or her aunt who she knows love and worry for her so much. A third, impartial party. Joel had come here today and been able to be that for her, and as inconsequential as it may seem, after all he’s lived through, it’s everything to him. 

The teachers and school administrators begin the process of handing out the breakfast: pancakes and bacon and sausage and fruit, and Ellie tells him about her book, full of terrible puns he pretends to frown at but also can’t really help but laugh at with her, and about a comic she loves Savage Starlight. Endure and survive, she tells him, is the motto, and he can’t help but think the idea is far reaching and significant in its truth. They sit and talk and laugh together, and it’s easy, this surly kid who pretends at being angry, hiding her charm with a potty mouth and a scowl, but who’s really nothing but sweet. It makes his chest ache and his throat go tight. So much so, that after a while he needs to excuse himself. He tells her he’s going to the restroom and runs off like a coward, the devil and his memories on his heels to take a few deep breaths, a moment alone to collect himself. 

He rushes out of the cafeteria, bursting through the double doors and out into the hallway, scurrying to find a lone corner to hide himself and his shame and grief away in. He makes it to a shadowed alcove at the mouth of an empty hallway of classrooms and presses his hands to the concrete blocks of the wall, painted a soft blue color. He stares at the pockets in the aggregate and tries to take deep breaths, feels the air pass through his lungs, inflate his belly, and then back out, transformed into the world as something else. Sometimes he wishes he had the ability to transform his grief into something else – a non-memory, perhaps. Sometimes he wishes he could forget the whole thing, a terrible, selfish, disgusting thought. But pain makes terrible creatures out of us sometimes, and Joel has existed in a pool of such pain these past five hundred and sixty seven days that sometimes it’s difficult to recognize himself anymore, his desires, his goals, if he even has those anymore. Like he’d said to the kid, it’s a lot easier said than done, but the fact that you’re trying to be good is what counts, and he was trying so very hard to be good, better. 

“Joel?” That soft voice again, a shiver claws its way down his spine, and he shakes his head at the wall, letting his hot, pinched eyes fall closed. 

He coughs, trying to clear his throat, “M’fine. Just needed a second–” Coughs again. And then he feels that small hand from before, at the small of his back. You rest there, gifting him that brief, comforting touch, and he reaches behind himself to clasp you around the wrist, keep you there with him, silent for a moment while he tries and fails to collect himself. His fingers wrap entirely around your wrist and something different and hot and alive flutters deep in his belly. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I can’t talk about it. I’m just– It’s overwhelming being here. I’m sorry. I’m okay,” he rambles. 

“It’s okay, Joel. Just take your time.” Your voice is too soft and gentle for a hard and broken thing like him. 

“She’s a good kid,” he tries and fails to keep his voice steady, comes out all hiccupped and cracked instead, and he feels you step closer, not touching him anywhere else, but he can feel the heat of you against his back. 

“She is,” you whisper.

“S’got a fuckin’ mouth on her.”

“Yeah…” You try and laugh, fail.

He cracks and splinters: “I didn’t think it would be like this coming back here… seeing you,” voice breaking, “She was sick for so long, and I knew she didn’t want to leave me. I knew she was so fucking tired, but she kept holding on just for me. And I told her it was okay, I told her to go and that I’d find her again one day, and now I don't know who I am or what I’ve become, and all I can think about every single day is that if she saw me now I worry she wouldn't recognize me anymore.”

“You’re trying, Joel. That's all that matters. I know you are. I can see it now even just here today, you being here–”

“I wish I could see her smile again, just once–” he cuts you off, not really listening. His ears filled with static noise, chest heaving. Your other hand comes to his flank, and it’s too much: this place, your touch, the kid, all of it, all of his memories and all of his grief, and he shouldn’t have come here today. He squeezes his eyes shut tightly, and for a second, right before he pushes you away, he squeezes your wrist tightly, as tight as he can without really hurting you, lets the heat of your skin burn him, and then lets go of you, harshly shaking you off. 

“I’m fine. I shouldn’t have come here today, I’m sorry. This was a mistake.”

“Joel–”

“Tell Ellie I’m sorry, but I have to go.” And like a fucking coward, like a man his daughter’d be ashamed of, he leaves, runs away from you and the memory of her and another child who needs something he is not equipped to give. 

He listens to the sound of your voice calling after him, and he is nothing but sorry and nothing but too much of a man he wishes he’d never been made into. 

-

You’re on your second margarita when he walks in. Trailing his brother, serious, sullen look on his handsome face. When you’d seen him this morning, after all that time, after the last time which had been so painful and so sad and so full of regret for the circumstance of it, you’d felt like your heart was about to burst through your chest. You thought about him so often, about her, more often, probably, than was warranted or healthy, but the experience of having a child such as that in your care, such a special little person, and having to witness the extinguishing of such a bright flame… Well, calling it a tragedy was entirely inadequate in the face of all it truly was. 

Anna was kind of dating the bartender that worked here, and with Ellie away at a slumber party tonight, the two of you’d decided to have a girl’s night out that you were almost certain was going to turn into a slumber party for Anna with her bartender, Ben, as well. 

You eye the two brothers as they find their spot at the far end of the bar, watch as Tommy, you remember she used to talk about him all the time, flags down Ben to order them two beers, appreciating the way Joel pulls on the glass bottle with that soft, frowning mouth of his. 

He’s so sad. There’s no other word for it. Sad and hurt and made into a sort of tragedy of a man that you wish desperately, and even though it’s not your place, that you could do something to help. The sound of him choking back tears this morning, the sight of him laughing with Ellie, she’d warmed to him immediately which was a miracle all on its own, and he is, you think, a man with so much tenderness to give that has nowhere to go now. And it is nothing but the gravest and saddest sort of tragedy. 

“Hi, Joel.” Eventually, you muster up enough courage, after one more margarita, to approach him. You think that, perhaps, he’ll be annoyed to see you again, another reminder of his past and the difficulty of the morning, but you need to just talk to him one more time. To thank him again for being so brave, to reassure him that he’d done good. Tommy’d abandoned him to brave the waters of the bar a while ago, and he turns in his stool at the sound of your voice to peer over his shoulder. You love his beard, thick and lush and so soft looking, his thick, dark curls, slightly threaded with silver at the temples, and his ridiculously broad back. He’s wearing a dark green button down that brings out the colors in his eyes, tight around the swell of his thick biceps. He’s gorgeous and so fucking hot, and he makes you feel silly with nerves and fizzy bubbles deep in your belly. 

“Hey–” he clears his throat, says your name softly, with a hint of apology. “Hey.”

“I saw you come in earlier, and I– I just wanted to come over and say hi and thank you again for this morning. It was a real nice thing of you to come today.” You try and swallow the shyness and nerves in your voice, but you’re pretty sure you fail spectacularly, can just picture Anna’s mocking giggles as she watches you twist your fingers and fidget in front of the man. 

“You already thanked me,” he says gruffly, “And besides there’s nothing really to thank me for.”

“I know, but again, or anyways,” you stutter, “And there is.” There’s absolutely no reason for these nerves, you know this man, have known him for years, “It was a good thing of you to do. Ellie really liked you–”

“You gave her my apologies, right?” He cuts you off, a thing akin to desperation and worry coloring his tone. 

“I did, don’t worry. She understood.” He looks like he wants to ask what excuse you gave her but forces himself into silence, looking down at his hands in his lap sullenly. “I don’t know… I just wanted to say thank you again.”

“Alright. And I’m sorry too, about earlier – after. I was an ass.”

“You weren’t. I shouldn’t have gone after you, should’ve given you your privacy. I’m sorry. I was nosey.”

He shakes his head, looks up at you with those hazel eyes, “No, I wanted you to come after me.” His voice is rough, like it costs him something to admit this truth to you, “Thank you.”

You have to look away, glancing back at Anna who gives you a wide, cheesy grin and a thumbs up, followed by a much more inappropriate hand gesture. You roll your eyes at her, a hot flush burning your cheeks. “That’s your brother, right? Tommy?” You turn back to him. 

“Yeah, it is… You wanna sit?” He gestures to Tommy’s empty stool. 

“She used to talk about him all the time.” You take the offered seat, nervous for a second that he’ll resent you bringing her up, react badly, but he gives a soft laugh, looking after his brother. “Yeah…” he says slowly, “They were real close.”

“That’s really nice,” you say sincerely. You catch Ben’s eye, and he nods his head at you, turning to get the two of you another round. “You two having a boys night out?”

He gives a short laugh, bringing his beer to his mouth again, pressing the lip of the bottle to his smile, “Guess he was just trying to do the same thing you are right now, distract me, make sure I’m alright or somethin’,” a quick shake of his head, and then takes another drag, and you watch the thick muscles of his neck work as he swallows. You have to look away from the sight, cross your knees together tightly, pulling down the hem of your wrap dress to keep it from riding too high. 

Ben comes around at that moment to place two shots in front of the two of you. “Here you go, baby girl,” a wink and that smarmy little smirk that makes Anna lose her head, for some inexplicable reason, “Tequila for you and your friend here.”

“Baby girl?” Joel eyes you, as you push the shot towards him. 

You roll your eyes, “Ignore him.” He takes the shot from you, fingers brushing yours briefly and you swear you feel a slight jerk move through him. You want him to want you so badly, you think suddenly. 

“Shall we?” you wiggle your eyebrows at him, and he gives you a soft laugh. 

“Seems I don’t got much of a choice,” before clinking his glass against yours, touching the base of it to the bar’s surface, and then shooting it back, not even an insinuation of a grimace as he swallows the strong alcohol, while your face puckers ridiculously. 

Gross. You shake your head, squeezing your eyes shut and sucking on the lime Ben had left also. “He sweet on you or somethin’?” 

“No, not at all.”

“Huh, not so sure about that,” he eyes your sister’s boytoy almost sourly, and you get brave or reckless or something, all of a sudden, when you press right up to his ear, your breasts against his arm, emboldened by the liquor or the soft hazel of his eys, or the breadth of his shoulders when you whisper right into the peach fuzz covered shell of his ear, “He’s fucking my sister. Not me.”

He freezes, a soft, masculine sound rumbling deep in his chest before he clears his throat. He sets the glass down, and then slowly turns to face you, gripping your knee briefly as he spins on the barstool to bring your legs between the space of his spread thighs. He’s so thick everywhere. 

“Is that so?” The place on your legs where he’d gripped you burns and throbs and the other, softer place between your thighs drips and aches. You nod your head at him, temple resting in your palm propped on the edge of the bar. Ben walks by again, snagging your attention from Joel’s molten gaze, “Gimme permission to come over tonight?” he says as he passes. 

“Oh, fuck off,” you laugh after him, and you swear you feel the whisper of Joel’s touch on the curve of your bare knee again. When you turn to look back at him he’s staring down at you, a flush sitting high on his cheekbones. 

There’s something slightly bold or desperate or sad stirring inside of you, and you need to hear the sound of his voice. You wish you could make things better for him. You wish that perpetual look of grief didn’t sit so deeply embedded in his gaze all the time now. 

“You know that feeling of knowing someone, but not knowing them?” He asks you suddenly. “You and I, we’ve known each other for years. You were Sarah’s teacher, and she talked about you all the time – her last teacher – and I felt like I knew you, even though I didn’t really, not in a way that mattered, not in the way I would have liked, if I’m bein’ honest, but we knew each other peripherally. And I wanted you, all that time ago,” he laughs a boyishly shy little huff of laughter interrupting the rush of his confessed words, the crests of his cheeks flushing bright, “In that way you want someone you don't know but see all the time and want to know better. And now, it’s like… like we’re meeting again for the first time, but in a different way, in a way we’ve never met before, and yet you know so much about me already. You knew my daughter, spent time with her, you cared about her – it’s… I don’t really know what it is I’m trying to say, to be honest. I’m sorry.” He shakes his head, another unsurely shy laugh, and you reach out to set your hand softly on his knee, rubbing the thick, muscular ball of it. It’s okay, you nod and shake your head at him at the same time. Confused also, with what you’re trying to convey, but knowing you want him to continue anyway. “You knew me before in a different way, and I’m not that man anymore. And I don’t know who I am now, or I’m beginning to relearn, but I’m not there just yet,” He trails off, and then softly: “Have you ever not known yourself?”

You tilt your chin slowly, watching the slow rove of the leftover tequila in the glass as you roll the base of it along the grain of the bar. “I’m�� I’m not sure. Would it be very naive or arrogant or shallow to say, no? That I’ve always known myself, that even when I was lost or afraid, I was still certain of who I was, or at the very least, who I wanted to be? Like… like sometimes when you’re uncertain of the next step, or– or of what it is that you want to do next, but you still know the direction, maybe? Or what ending you’d like?” You give a brief huff of laughter, not really meaning to laugh, but expelling the air anyway, glancing down at where you’re still gripping his knee. He lays his own large paw over your much finer hand, calluses on his palm that you can feel on the back of your knuckles. “I think now we’re both, maybe, not making sense. But I think that sometimes happiness is only the peripheral thought, the peripheral ending, like obviously we all always want to end up happy. I was always open to the journey, open to the different avenues my life could take, but all I’ve ever wanted was for me and Anna, and then later, Ellie, to be okay, to be happy. Nothing else matters after that. The way I get there, the way I’d make it happen never mattered. Only that, in the end, we’re okay.”

“No… I know exactly what you mean.” His brow caves in on itself, “I know exactly what you mean because I failed at that. That was all I ever wanted too, and look at what I ended up with. She’s gone, I failed her.”

“But you didn’t, Joel,” you say with all the fervor you can pull from your heart, all the certainty you absolutely know that he’s wrong with. You bring your other hand to his other knee, leaning forward to make absolutely sure he’s understanding. “You can’t honestly say that. You’re right, I did know her, and that little girl was an exceedingly happy child. If anything, you were nothing but a triumph, and you need to hold on to that, and think of it every single day for the rest of your life. You were triumphant in that girl. Never forget it.  There is not even a shadow of failure in the memory of that child and the life she led.” And this does not seem like the appropriate environment to be having such a conversation, but you push on. His hand tightens over yours almost painfully, his blunt rough nails digging into your soft skin. “When she died – was she scared? Or peaceful?”

“She was so fucking brave,” he chokes. “She was so fucking brave. There wasn’t an ounce of fear in that heart. I’d swallowed all of it. I’d swallowed all the fear either of us could ever carry. She’s the one that held me while I fell to pieces. While I lied through my fucking teeth and told her it would be okay, that I’d be okay, that she could rest, she could go. And held me and tried to soothe me and told me she’d see me again one day, but not too soon. Eight years old, dying and comforting her father, cracking jokes. She was so fucking brave, and I’d promised her that we’d both be – that we’d both have courage and both get out of it, and in the end, I ended up being nothing but a goddamn liar.” And there are tears in his eyes, and maybe you shouldn’t and maybe you’re overstepping and maybe it’s the alcohol, but you lean forward in your barstool, that boldness and that desperation and that sadness pushing you along so that your knees are sliding further between his spread thighs to wrap your arms around his neck to hug him tightly to yourself, and he buries his face in the crook of your neck, big hand coming up to cup the back of your head. 

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, even though you know the words are redundant. Even though he’s probably heard them an antagonizing amount of times. You are so sorry, and you have to tell him that you wish you could help him in some other way, that he’d not have to bear this alone, that he’d never have had to live it at all. I’m so sorry, Joel. I’m sorry that you lost your daughter, and I’m sorry you’re alone now, and I’m sorry we didn’t know each other better before, but maybe we can know each other now. I’d like to know you now more than anything else.

You feel the rattle of his wide back as he takes in a shaky breath, and you slide your hand soothingly up the broad expanse to tangle in the curls at the nape of his neck. 

“I’m sorry,” he laughs wetly into the warm space beneath your jaw, rolling his forehead against your shoulder, “I’m killing the mood,” and you feel the wet press of lips to the soft spot beneath your ear, right at the vulnerable hollow. Your heart stutters, and you shiver a syrupy sweet little jitter down the line of your vertebrae in the clutch of his arms, letting your head fall to the side to open yourself further to him, you smell good, whispered into your skin, but the two of you are sitting at the center of the crowded bar, industriously dedicated patrons hooting and hollering around you, and you can feel Anna’s nosey gaze zeroed into the back of your head so you pull away, letting your hand on the back of his head drag around along the edge of his jaw, fingernails pulling through the soft whiskers of his beard so that you can feel the snick, snick, snick of each bristle beneath your nail. 

“Let’s go outside,” you whisper, made only of boldness and desperation and want now. Wetness pooling at the center of you. 

He pulls back, and his hand slides to grip your jaw in his wide, rough hand. The architecture of you feels inconsequential and without strength or steel in his grasp. “For what?” Voice serious but also knowing, also provoking. 

“I wanna kiss you.” Might as well be honest now that you’ve got his hands on you.

“I think that if we go out there, I’m gonna do more than just kiss you. You prepared for that?”

“Yes, let’s go,” and you’re already pulling him out of his barstool before the words are even fully out. His hand goes to your elbow to steady you as your feet meet the ground, and you can’t help but give him a small laugh. “Are you okay?” Just making sure.

“Yeah, I’m okay, sweetheart. Are you?” His gaze is so warm. 

“Yes.” And you can’t help but smile widely up at him. He gives you a huff of laugh through a half crooked smile that looks a little bit like the sliver of the moon when it’s nothing but a silver crescent in the sky, hand wrapping entirely around your bicep to tug you closer. You feel a little bit out of control when you slide your hand over his belly, and his eyes go immediately dark and molten, rubbing slowly up his chest. He makes a deep, rough sound, low in his throat. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.” He pulls you along behind him, and as you’re making your way together out the door, you hear the sound of Anna whooping and whistling loudly behind you right before the bar door slams shut. 

He tugs you along behind him, and then passes you gently in his hands to walk in front of him as he weaves through the crowded parking lot, his wide chest, smoldering hot through his clothes, pressed up against your back, big hands wrapped around the soft of your hips. You feel him nosing into the curtain of your hair, smelling you and humming appreciatively, and you realize that he’s steering you towards the back of the parking lot, his familiar truck tucked into the far dark corner, and you twist, suddenly, in his arms, walking backwards and reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck. His hands go to the small of your back, bunching your dress in his hands tightly so that you feel the humid night air against the uppermost backs of your thighs. The look in his eyes is so dark, so wanting, and he presses you tight against his chest, your breasts squished up against the hard planes of him. He’s not even looking where he’s going, and your feet are barely touching the ground anymore as you tiptoe backwards, guided by his embrace. One of his hands comes up to grip the curve of your jaw, and then you feel the side of the truck against your back. He hoists you higher up towards his mouth, “I’m going to kiss you now,” he says, and before you can even think about saying yes, yes, please, finally, he’s swallowing your breath in his mouth, eyes still slightly open to watch you as he does it, pushing his tongue into the wet gleam of you to taste everything you so desperately want to offer him. He nips at your full bottom lip, then laps at it soothingly, and you moan for him, head falling back on your neck to open further for him, cradled now in the palm of his hand. Your hands smooth down the sides of his neck and then curl to scrape your nails down his stomach, and he groans into you, one thick thigh shoving between your knees. One of his palms slides over your hip to grip the curve of your ass, the other coming up, gentle yet unyielding, to circle your throat and tip your chin up to him as he pulls back to look down at you. The hand on your ass tips your pelvis into his and pulls your core along the broad expanse of his thigh so that your pussy slowly rides the hard muscle, once, twice. “Joel–” you gasp. 

“Back seat,” he orders, tugging the truck door open and hoisting you inside. Are you really about to let this man fuck you in the back seat of his truck in a crowded parking lot? Yes, yes, you are. He follows in after you, and then slams the door shut behind him, encasing the both of you in this quiet, paused moment before he’s pulling you forward to straddle his lap, spreading his legs wide to widen your own stance perched atop him. You listen to the sound of your panting breaths as he runs his hands over your curves, squeezing and kneading as he goes, and you plant your palms on his strong chest, smoothing them down over his belly, reaching the line of his belt to tuck them inside, he growls low, leans forward to lick at your throat and you feel the tug of his fingers at the tie of your wrap dress, then the pull of the fabric as he bares you for his eyes. You pop the first few buttons of his shirt as his wet mouth moves down the thrumming line of your neck, over the wing of your clavicle to the tops of your breasts where he pulls back to take you in. You’re wearing a soft pink lace bra and a matching thong, and as his eyes move down the length of you, the fire already smoldering within seems to ricochet up to a burning inferno. There is something about the look in his eyes, compared to before, compared to the usual look, that is even more thrilling than just the fact of him gazing upon your naked body. He’s always so serious, melancholy and sad and straightforward, in a way. But taking him in like this, the way he’s looking at you now like he wants nothing more than to devour you, to push inside of you, it makes it all the headier. “Fuckin’ gorgeous, look at you,” he murmurs, smoothes his hand over your breasts, thumb catching and flicking at your nipple, down the soft swell of your belly, stopping at the little bow at the front of your thong. He pushes the sleeve of your dress over one shoulder and tugs you forwards, you feel him lift the back of your dress over the curve of your bottom, his hand following the path of bared skin, taking in the tiny scap of lace disappearing between your asscheeks, and he makes a breathy, desperate sound, “Where the fuck are the rest of your panties, little girl?” He pinches the lush of your ass, smoothes his hand down and around to cup you between your legs, and you’re sure he can feel the soaking wet there because you listen to the sound of his gasp, and then he’s pressing there, seeking out your clit and rolling gentle circles to the swollen, throbbing nub. You run your hands up his chest into his hair, gripping there, pressing your nose into the thick curls to take in the scent of him and then running them down the heavy swell of his biceps. He’s so masculine, hard in all the places you’re soft, and wet, for him. His other hand grips your hip to pull you closer, rolling you onto the thick line of his erection, and oh God, he’s big. You can tell just like this, thick and long. Your hand moves to his belt buckle, pulling at the leather and the zipper of his jeans, and then you’re slipping your fingers beneath his boxers and wrapping around the thick heft of him. “Jesus, fuck–” he gasps. 

You fist him tightly, squeezing at the thick root of his cock and sliding up to the fat head to twist there gently. His fingers move beneath the line of your panties, finally making contact with your bare skin. 

“Fucking wet little cunt. Shit, you’re soaked for me, baby.” All you can do is moan as you pull him out of his jeans. He’s heavy in your palm and your mouth waters as you take in the sight of his big cock. Thick and long, wide, drooling head an angry red verging on purple. He hooks the gusset of your panties to the side and slides the underside of the shaft through your swollen lips, pressing the fat tip to your clit, and then sliding along your slit to catch softly at your opening. “Joel, please–” you moan. The head of his cock catches again and again, and you’re so wet, coating his thick length in your slick. He reaches to pull both cups of your bra down, exposing your breasts to his gaze and when his mouth latches onto one peaked nipple, sucking sharply, his other hand wrapping around the heavy weight of your other breast you cry out, fingernails digging into his thick shoulders. You use your grip on his shoulders to drag yourself along the length of his shaft while he sucks and nips at your breasts, pulling back to gently slap the full side of one, sending a jerking shiver through you while he watches how it jiggles and sways for him. “Shit, you’re too fuckin’ pretty,” he groans, and you’re about to come just from this, just the feeling of his thick cock sliding through the lips of your sex, and you tell him so, wet mouth presses to the arch of his ear, you tell him you’re about to come, but he changes the angle, presses his hips up and then the tip of his cock is breaching the dripping mouth of your cunt, stretching you wide to take him and you both pant and gasp, burying your face in his neck as one wide hand presses at the base of your spine, forcing you to take more of that impossible length. You feel the pinch and snap of your thong around your hips as he rips the scrap of lace off of you, and you think you must shake your head or something, make some soft sound because he tuts his tongue in a gentle reprimand, “All of it, baby. The whole thing.” He squeezes your breast, strums at your nipple, presses a feather light kiss to the hinge of your jaw, and you feel your cunt flutter around him, sucking him deeper so that he can wedge that thick cock further inside of you. “Yeah… Fuck, yeah. Just like that, good girl. You asked for this, sweet girl.” You hitch and sob into his neck, clawing at his shoulders as he finally forces you down all the way onto him, buried balls deep in your weeping, fluttering pussy. “Now you’ve gotta take the whole thing, no cryin’” He sounds like he’s spitting the words through clenched teeth, struggling to get them out despite the demand of them. “You’re doing so good,” he whispers, “Taking my big cock in this tiny little cunt.” He kisses your ear, your throat, pulls back to suck on your nipples, all while his hands on your ass start to rock you on his length, working you loose and wet and pliant. 

“Fuck– fuck, Joel–” 

“I know, I know, it’s so much, isn’t it? But you can take it– deep breath, you can take it.” He fucks up into you, holding your hips steady as he feeds you his cock over and over again, and you drip down onto his balls and the leather seat beneath. “Does that feel good, sweet girl? Tell me–”

“It’s so– it’s so good. Wanted it so bad–” you slur, wet cheek pressed to his shoulder, you mouth at his neck, little teeth digging into the thick line of muscle so that he’s growling, thrusting up quick and a little painful into your cunt, tip punching right at your cervix. 

“Lemme see you– I’ve gotta see you,” he says suddenly and presses you back. You reach back to plant your hands on his spread knees, arching your back to present yourself to him. His gaze is almost manic, licking over your skin, your bouncing tits as he fucks up into you, the swell of your tummy glistening with a fine sheen of sweat, down finally to the place where he’s fucking in and out of your swollen, blushed cunt, stretched obscenely around the base of him. “You’re so goddamned lucky we’re in a car right now,” he growls. He jerks you back into him, both hands squeezing your ass in each palm and rolling you hard and fast onto his impaling cock, your swollen clit presses into his pelvis on every thrust in, and you feel your cunt pull tight and then go loose as you start to come around him. Yes, yes, yes, fuck, yes – just like that. His cock kissing your g-spot with every press inside. You sob into his neck, pull at his hair, scratch at his shoulders and neck as you gush around him. 

He surges up then, orgasm not entirely abated, and flips you over onto your back, laying you down on the truck’s bench. He pulls his dripping cock out of your still grasping clutch to kneel down on the floorboard, hulking form entirely too large to fit in the tight space, and drags the broad, flat of his tongue through your drenched sex, tasting the echoes and throbs of your climax, sucking your clit and your come into his mouth while you sob up into the roof of his truck. He pushes your knees up to your chest, displaying you for himself entirely and devours you. “Fuck, there ain’t enough room in this fuckin’ truck to eat your cunt the way I need to,” his accent suddenly heavier, a sharper twang cutting off the end of his words, lost to the taste of you and the feel of you and the scent of you. You lean up onto your elbows, sweaty face burning bright hot with shyness as you take in the sight of his mouth wrapped around your clit, lapping at your leaking sex. He looks up at you, reaches up to wrap one hand around your breast, one of your legs is hanging down the length of his back over his shoulder, the other hooked at the bend of his elbow to keep you open and spread wide for him, and the two of you hold gazes for a moment. His eyes flash with something… different to desire or lust, something more in tune with whatever it is that’s happening here between the two of you right now, something more than just a quick fuck. You whisper his name, and his eyes flash again, predatory and desperate, and he’s pushing up, the wet sound of his mouth unlatching from your pussy and crawling back up onto the seat bench, pressing his slick wet mouth to yours and licking into you, sloppy. “Taste–” he orders, he pulls back, fists the root of his cock and feeds it back into your gaping cunt, “That’s what it tastes like when you come for me.” His voice is a growl, something like a commandment or a promise, something else that hums beneath the mere words, something that says this is happening again, I need this to happen again, I’ve wanted this longer than I can say. He fucks into the very end of you, and you squeeze your eyes shut, let him maneuver and manhandle you to his liking so that both of your ankles lay limply over his shoulders, pressed entirely in half for him to pound into you. 

“Open your fucking eyes,” he pants. “Look at me,” he begs. You do, and you watch a bead of sweat roll slowly down his temple, over the curve of his jaw to the point of his chin, and then drip and splash down onto the swell of your breast, seep into your skin. 

He’s so deep like this, right at the heart of you, and it hurts and it feels good and you can’t help but think about the next time already, hope that this can happen again. “Yes, Joel,” you gasp, “Please, don’t stop.”

“Yeah?” He grits, lifting one hand to hold on to the edge of the window above your head, the other gripping at your ass to pull you onto him harder. “Yeah, just like that– Taking me so well, baby. Taking the whole thing like such a good girl.” He’s so big, maybe too big, and he pounds into your cunt, forces you to take the entire thing, thick thighs bracketing your frame, cock punching at your womb over and over again. You feel cock drunk, Joel drunk, and you turn your face to press into the back of the seat crying, telling him you’re about to come again. 

“God, yes, yes, you’re such a good girl. Come on my cock again, one more time for me.” His thrusts speed up, harsher, stronger and he’s saying your name while you sob out his, while you leak around him. “Hey,” he grips your jaw, gives your head a little shake, “Hey, baby– you gotta tell me where. Where can I come? Inside? Can I come inside?” It sounds, a little bit, like he’s beginning. 

You nod your head, yes, gaze delirious, unfocused, the swell of his anchoring bicep is so thick and distracting, and you start to milk his thrusting cock inside of you, muscles squeezing tight, fluttering loose – please, please, please, come inside of me, please, I want it so bad. He groans, grits a curse, your name, something that sounds like gratitude, and then he’s filling you, thick cock kicking and jerking and spitting his come right at the mouth of your womb, inciting your own orgasm to throb again, again, harder, deeper. 

-

He drops his head to the damp crook of your shoulder, takes in the heady scent of your sweat and sex, licks a path up the side of your throat. He’s careful not to ask you to bear the full, heavy weight of him, and he pulls his hips back, shivering at the sensitive slide of his spent cock falling from your wet cunt. He sits back, grasps your knees to keep you spread and watches the flutter and clench of your hole as the thick white leak of his spend starts to drool out of you. He gives a low, appreciative hum, and then bends forwards to press his face into your tummy, nuzzling there softly. Your hands come to his hair, panting chest heaving, and he mouths and sucks at the skin of your stomach, the undersides of your breasts as you both catch your breaths. He looks up, then, suddenly, a thought occurring to him, “You’re going to have dinner with me, right?” Voice a little frantic. 

You give him a slow, lovely smile, eyes sparkling, “Think we’ve gone and done things a little out of order here, haven’t we?”

He frowns in mock severity, then presses his face back into your tummy, another soft kiss, and shakes his head slowly, “No,” another kiss, this one to your hip, “Not at all. This morning counts as breakfast together.” He looks up to give you a quick, boyish grin. “How I see it, that’s actually an extreme dedication to order. Breakfast, sex, dinner.”

You sigh, laugh softly, “You know… I’m actually a little hungry right now,” you say contemplatively.

“Burgers? Fries?”

“Milkshake?”

“Well, we’ve gotta have somethin’ to dip ‘em in, right?”

“Of course.” Your fingers twist in his hair, pulling him up towards your mouth, “You’re so smart.”

“Very true. You’ve gotta stick with me now, I’ll teach you everything I know.” A kiss, another and another. 

He rests his face back on your belly, looking up at you, and you run the pad of your thumb over the fan of his lashes, and he feels so happy. 

-

It’s been months since then… and still even now, when he looks at you, all he knows is that he’s sure you saved his fucking life. 

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

Updates Blog : Follow and turn on notifications for new fics!

[ystrike1]

Savage Castle - By 별보라 (8.5/10)

The false King is weak. Bad for the nation, but never fear. The true King has not given up. He is in hiding. He lives as a servant, and his master is a pathetic woman. A stupid young girl who is obsessively possessive. Staying by her side was the perfect cover. Whoops. He's madly, mutually obsessed too.

Else tried very hard to be kind, but it never worked out for her. Being a good daughter brought her only pain, and suffering. Her brother, the heir, died. Her mother, her father's beloved, can no longer give birth. She is the last child they can rely on. The only one they can marry off, and sadly her noble line isn't that famous.

Her parents eternally mourn the death of her brother. She is inferior. He was the one they wanted. Else is very sickly, and she's not very smart or charming. The only good thing about her is her looks. I'm not saying her parents are the worst parents. They don't beat her or anything. Heck, her father lets her enjoy her toxic servant lover before marriage.

It's the expectation.

Else is expected to bear a child, even though it will likely kill her. That's all her parents want from her too. They don't give her love. They played with their beloved dead son, but never her. This is the fate of a girl child in a middling noble family. If she had more siblings maybe her life would be happier, but being an only child is not her fault. It is not her fault that her parents only see her as a tool, when they're in love! It's so cruel. The Lady and Lord are in a loving marriage, but they never spared a drop of affection for their surviving child.

Even though Else is WILLING to marry and give up her life, just to please them.

Else and "Ian" (he's actually the rightful King Sybil. Dethroned at age six. The country is currently being run by a corrupt Duke)

They were friends.

When Ian became a servant he didn't expect to make a friend. He didn't want to. Else was a total brat to him. She slapped him when she wanted attention....but when he showed her kindness she showed him kindness in return.

It was all she wanted....until she grew up and her need for affection grew too.

Ok.

Else believes Ian is in a relationship with Ivana. A maid.

Are you ready?

Ian and Else have been bed partners for 2 years, as of the beginning of the story.

Else thinks she is the villain.

She is stealing Ian from his true love, Ivana, out of desire. She sees herself as a monster. Jealousy consumes her. She hits Ivana if the maid ever dares to appear in front of her.

Ivana is secretly a Knight who belongs to Sybil. She is extremely loyal and extremely obsessed with putting her King back on the throne. Her real name is Leina.

Leina believes the Else will be killed off when the King rises back up to his rightful place. Leina sees Else as an annoying, immature, pervert and frankly she's kinda right, but she idolizes Sybil. She's way more annoying than Else.

Else gradually becomes a sympathetic protagonist. She wants to be kind. Her life is just too harsh to allow it.

Leina is a sadistic knight who daydreams about beheading every enemy in the King's shadow. Her extreme black and white mindset is a big red flag.

Sybil is completely willing to sleep with Else. He doesn't tell her that. He lets her suffer. He lets her believe he loves "Ivana". He encourages her jealousy on purpose.

He likes it.

When she hits him he thinks to himself...

"This feels like a kiss."

Sybil is a giant yandere, but he doesn't realize that for a while. He thinks he will leave Else behind for his throne, but his obsession gets worse, and he drags her to the capital.

He encourages her deepest, darkest desires.

He doesn't want her to get married because of her fathers will.

He doesn't want her to love her family at all.

He won't admit it, but he's been waiting.

He wants Else to beg him for salvation.

He wants her to say she loves him more than her family.

She doesn't say that, because deep down she's still naive as hell.

Else knows she must end their relationship. Ian is a servant. Being with her in public isn't an option for him. She took him as her lover. He didn't have a choice. She's been in agony.

Thinking about how to right her wrongs, before she marries.

Her marriage nears, and she's excited.

She wants to show Ian her sincerity. She doesn't expect him to love her. She thinks he hates her.

She blesses his marriage.

Else opens a jewelry box. She's been saving up little gems and coins for him....and Ivana.

Right before her wedding she frees him of his slave status. She tells him to live happily with his true love. She thanks him for being a bright spot in her lonely life. She says his fake love helped her survive.

He gets angry. So angry. I can't even include pictures, because he gets extremely violent. Obviously he takes her after he takes power. Conveniently she's pregnant with his baby too.

Sybil isn't an angel for his beloved. He's a rough guy who's been doing espionage crimes to reclaim his throne since he was like...twelve? Else is his polar opposite, but he loves her. He insults Else, because she's not evil enough. He can't believe she's still willing to go to another man, even though she loves him.

Her logic shatters. He forgets that Else was supposed to be a game. A bed parter to play with before his crown returns to his hand.

He wants her too.

More than she wants him.

The Queen, and the crown.

He'll take both.

[shinjisdone]

Me: I should probably take a break from writing

Brainrot:

Platonic! Lucifer with Angel!Reader (who seems evil but inadvertantly becomes his friend and therapist and also he is weird)

This man got problems.

He knows it and anyone who spends a good minute with him knows it, too.

He's a bit reserved while being loud with his thoughts but quiet with his presence. For being the king of Hell, he doesn't have much of a presence nor does he want to.

But, as things turn, he reunites with his daughter Charlie and is introduced to her big project, the Hazbin Hotel.

Lucifer doesn't have much hope...he was met with betrayal and disappointment early on and believes that Charlie will face the same fate soon, unfortunately.

So, he felt prepared for the inevitable downfall but felt his entire system shock and stop when he spottend an Angel in the lobby.

"AH! Hah! Aaahghgah-! What is that?!" He spluttered as he pointed at that thing with his cane. Panic all over his pale face.

The heavenly being only rose a brow as Charlie was quick to come between you two and explain the angelic visitor.

You gave a smirk and feigned to bow at the king, offering your business card.

"A Judge from Heaven. I'll be here to oversee the progress of your daughter and her big project to rehabilitize sinners, the Hazbin Hotel."

Nope! No, no, no-ho-ho! No, no! Nope!

You're eerie and ever-knowing grin made everything so much worse.

You stand there in the lobby, the entrance, the bar, the rooms - observing each little thing that goes wrong. All menacingly!

Once again you underline that you came here to observe the progress and potential of the hotel and if it's existence is even allowed. If such a thing such as rehabilitizing sinners to send them to Heaven - your turf - is even allowed.

You can just put a stop to it whenever you like.

It all sounds awry to Lucifer. Angels are judgemental, uptight and close-minded. Too many rules that this hotel could neeeveeerr uphold. No way this is going to work out. Being in your mere presence freaks him out!

He is quick to tell Charlie all of this, who goes with your proposal anyway (what other choice does she have) and sees it much more optimistic than her father. This is a chance for Heaven to see up close what all she can do! What could be a possible peaceful way of getting rid of their overpopulation problem!

Her father on the other hand has his doubts. He's constantly feeling anxious with an angel around and is just afraid that Charlie will end up being dissapointed or worse. He makes it his mission to observe the Observer in turn just to ease his mind!

Charlie and her attempts are laughable at best but you simply stand there and watch with high awareness but zero schadenfreude at her failures. You simply point out the mistakes while sugarcoating nothing. Perhaps a tad bit of sarcasm can be found in your tone but you never seem to mean harm.

Charlie, being so optimistic, keeps her head high and takes your advice, no matter how cruel it might be. She wants to impress you and Heaven!

How the others react, depends a bit on you.

Both Vaggie and Angel Dust are protective of Charlie, with the latter mocking you with the fact of how sinful he acts. Alastor is curious (the thought of owning an angel's soul unrealistic but tempting!). How Niffty and Husker feel depends on you as well.

They are sure to take a step back though when you hint at knowing a lot about them. More than anyone else should know. Vaggie panics when you ask the subordinate to step aside and Angel Dust suddenly feels less comfortable being himself around you. Alastor is pissed at you mocking him, seemingly knowing of his intentions, past, death, and the leash around his neck.

All that fuels Lucifer's fears. See! See?! This is a bad idea, a bad- everything!

No, no! Lucifer is sure to WATCH YOU and don't you DARE do something to ruin Charlie's dream! Or herself!

He is sure he will kill you.

Yet it never comes to it.

You're not active and barely react to things. If something offenses you, you do not fight back but simply walk away. When someone asks you what grrrreat advice you angel can give, you candidly do so. You might even give a bit of divine intervention here and there to help but the big task is something the asker has to do themselves.

There you are, walking along the hallway, with your all-knowing, all-righteous, close-minded as fuck self as if - as if you're perfect!

Well, you're not!

Angels suck! He knows, he is one!

"There's something wrong, Quakie," He whisper-growled while aggressively petting the small toy duck's head, "They're wary and foul, I tell ya! Absolutely the worst!" The small alarm he had built into the hallway rung and like a maniac Lucifer rushed to his peephole to see you having stepped on one of his creations. The duck quaked pathetically as you raised your foot.

A crime against all art!

He switched between growling like a dog and heaving deeply and in panic.

Without hesitation, you picked up the duck and dusted it off. A bit of angelic power here and there and the little fellow was as good as rain.

Wait - Wh-ua-whaufu - what???

Lucifer spluttered as he squinted his eyes at the sight, only to jolt and squeak like a schoolgirl when you appeared behind him.

"This is what you got banished for?" You offered the back-flipping toy back with an open palm. It spat a bit of fire. Lucifer first panicked, audibly, before chuckling nervously. He avoided your eyes at all costs. "Oh, golly, how - how did this come here?" Quickly he snapped it away, still laughing. "The little fellas are gonna get squashed here, left littered as your spies, you know. If not by Alastor, then surely by some new guests. They're here to become better people and don't start off as one."

Again, the king only stuttered nonsense. You rolled your eyes.

"You don't have to look out for me. I'm not an Exorcist nor do I plan to kill anyone here. I am here to judge the potential of Charlotte Morningstar's project. As the princess of Hell, she's got power and it is my job to oversee if her plan can harmonize with that of Heaven and can be done long-term. Like I've already told you."

Still, he eyed you with suspicion. "Heaven is not agreeable. I don't know why you're waisting your time here." With a sigh, you slumped your shoulders. "What do you think will happen once Heaven gets wind of Charlie trying to shoot up one of her sinners into their turf and try to turn them into a winner? You think they'll accept it all?"

"Of course not. They don't listen, don't give you a chance, it's-!" With a small grin you gesture to him. "Exactly. I'm the first phase to impress per say. I can't allow anything unaccaptable to reach the gates - thats why me being here is not a waste of time." For once, you try to be friendly. "I understand you're worried about an angel being so near your daughter-"

"I- I'm NOT! F-For that you'd have to be a threat, angel, and I'm not scared of you! No! No,no,nonononono not at all! Th-this, this s' just- nghn..." Lucifer bites his finger, eyes darting wildly as his threats became unintelligable nonsense. He jumped when he felt your gentle hand on his shoulder.

"-but I can assure you that I will go out of my way itself to keep Charlie safe. From all demons and angels alike. Including Alastor."

Like shot from lightning, Lucifer felt shaken to his core. His face grew paler and he was quick to get out of his frozen state and escape to the corner of the room like a startled cat.

He stared at you as if you had spoken the most unbelievable nonsense. "Wh-what, what is that, what does that mean." You chuckle at his dumbfounded face. "I am a Judge but I can also serve as an Guardian Angel for Charlie or this hotel. No Charlie means no hotel to judge - and, well, it would bring hell to, hm, Hell."

Lucifer brings a hand to the spot you touched. It was oddly warm. "You'd do that...? Just to see if this hotel-schmotel would work? For...Charlie?"

You nodded. "So there's no need of you to be afraid of me. If you ever want to know my intentions, you can talk to me. I'm rather curious about you, too."

It felt like you offering food to an stray cat which slowly comes out of its cave. Lucifer approaches you with the same curiousity. "W-w-wait, you are? Me? Me, seriously?! Oh my gosh, really?!" He grinned and applauded briefly, jumping in his spot - before having to wipe it all away and clear his throat. He had to play the cool king. "That's, well, uhm, mmmmmmh - great. You, uh, do that. I can - I WILL talk to you and YOU WILL answer me! Right. So, that's...cool."

Theres an awkward quiet and he cleared his throat.

"...So, you wanna talk about...the hotel? And, and Charlie?"

Your willingness to openly talk about the hotel and your thoughts on his daughter puts Lucifer in an odd position.

It feels...freeing to talk about stuff. Normally. In a normal way.

He's always ready to listen about things about Charlie. Since they haven't spoken in a while, face to face and open with their feelings, hearing what you've experienced with her leaves him wanting to know more but also opens his eyes when it comes to his own daughter.

The weirdest thing however, is seeing an Angel being so open to Hell itself. You want nothing to do with it, no, no - but you listen and you watch. There's consideration in your words.

You are an Angel - so is he, or was, well...he's fallen now, so he isn't quite sure what he is.

But you, you must be different from him! You are! You represent all of Heaven for this hotel, all the strict rules, all the rejection, everything a dreamer like him and his daughter are not. So how can you even still be here and listen to it all when Heaven doesn't?

The moment for him to really approach you and not the other way around is when you keep your word and help Charlie.

It could be anything but the key moment would be when you actually become active when aiding her. Using your powers to give her a second chance.

A chance.

Red eyes glance all over the place as he shielded the object in his hands. Lucifer needed a moment, a very long and big one yet you still patiently waited for him to talk.

With a clear of his throat, he spoke. "I, uhm, uh...thank you for...helping my daughter." He began lowly and looked away. "...You...You didn't have to do that, you know that, right? No being from Heaven would have ever thought of or given the permission to help someone from Hell."

It makes him ponder. No angel would have done so. But you did simply for...her? The hotel? Whatever the reason might be, you still did it.

You rose a brow and seemed to understand where he came from. "I didn't. Like I said, no Charlie means no hotel and your realm would also be affected if its princess was gone."

Hesitating again, Lucifer held out his hands, presenting a small duck. "And...as thanks, this is for you. A token from the king of Hell...if it means anything..."

Surprised, you took the duck and couldnt help but burst in a fit of chuckles. Lucifer startled like a cat before feeling a soft warmth in his chest.

"I'll gladly take a king's gift," You snort as you pet the toy, "unless it'll get me banished as well."

Cue awkward laughter from Lucifer. (Are you laughing with him? Laughing at him? WHICH IS IT)

"I've never gotten a gift such as this. But seriously, it's quite cute." "Wh-uawhatwhatwhat, really?" Cute? Cute? And heavenly being calling his projects cute? No one's done that before!

Except Lilith...

"I, uh, can make you one that backflips! Or breakdances!" He snapped the duck out of your palm to make you a better one, "Or spit fire! Or is that still looked down upon in Heaven?"

He growled the last part which you just laughed at.

"I'd rather you not make that. I'm already comitting a crime in their eyes."

Wait what

It turns out you being here watching and helping Charlie was never Heaven's intentions but your own. You want to find a more peaceful solution to get rid of the overpopulation than what the Exorcists do.

It genuinely impresses Lucifer. You are what angels are supposed to be. Not others like Adam. You promise to help Charlie out again just once if your intervention is needed.

"I'll gladly take any backflipping, breakdancing ducks. And if you need my help again, just call my name. I'll be here before you know it, friend."

And with that you were gone until you deemed to be needed again.

A week passes and your phone rings. Confused, you take the call.

"Heeeeey, bitch!"

You spit out your drink and quickly excuse yourself from the other angels. You hear stuttering from the other side.

"Lucifer? What are you calling me for?"

"AhahHAh, hey, eh, you said to call you when I need, uh, uhm, your help..."

"I meant calling my name and I shall appear before you. How'd you get my phone number?"

You're met with awkward laughter.

Your promise to Lucifer might have been a mistake.

It seems your consideration, good deeds, care for his daughter, appreciating his art and calling him 'friend' made him like you quicker and easier than you thought.

Having a friend sounds nice...and, and you're like him! Maybe! Possibly! Anyway, he made you a new duckie! D-do you like it?

You cannot tell but he's chewing on his nails and jumping from one foot after another as you talk. He's just...curious how you are! And how you would like your duckie! With roaring, sqautting, squeaking, flying, dying, swimming, quaking???

It's not like he's LONELY and starving for attention and understanding! Haha, no! He's been fiiiiine thousand years having no one but himself to talk to! Heh, why-why'dchu think he's NOT okay???

Just indulging him in small talk is enough for him for a week ngl. He grows more and more curious about you and maybe secretly hopes that you will give him the same attention and understanding words as you did Charlie! And him for that few minutes a week ago!

It's just...it's nice to have someone from a place not filled with awful people that used to be home and not speak to someone who speaks to him as if he is a king and wants something from him. He has to seek you out rather!

You say you do not mind the calls but have to be careful. You might get punished when people find out you're talking to the fallen angel Lucifer. He promises it'll be no big deal-io!

Though one day you catch him talking in a solemn tone. Asking what was wrong, he admits he's got a Problem regarding Charlie and their relationship. With a big sigh and contemplating if it's REALLY a good idea to ask further, you tell him that you'll listen if he wants to talk.

And boy does he want to talk.

In the beginning Lucifer hesitates but will be comfortable real quick talking about his problems - in an weird, self-deprecating manner.

You point out that things don't have to be like that and maybe give himself a push and be kinder to himself as well.

"Hahahaha!!!" Lucifer catches his breath, "You're so funny, bestie!!!"

However, after some time he thinks about your words and takes it to heart. If he sees any progress with your advice, he grins like a Cheshire Cat. Spinning around and giggling goofily, he thanks you a thousand times for your help. "Oh, golly, thanks a ton! You're, uh, cool! Didn't expect to have a decent conversation with someone from Heaven again, y'know what I mean, hehehe..." You cringe over the phone, thank goodness he can't see it. "No prob, bob...just keep doing your best!"

Oh my gosh, my gosh, my gosh, did you just call him 'bob'?! That's like a nickname! *deep inhale* You must...not hate him! He hopes!

"A-and as thanks I made that duck for you! You can...come pick it up! Yeah! Here, in my, uh, heh, castle and stuff...if you still want it."

"Oh, uhm," Lucifer hears you pondering and is biting his finger anxiously, "...sure. One secret visit will not kill me."

AAAAAAAAAAA

Djdjeidnsk

Holy shit, he's going to have a guest over! He's gonna have tea, and, and talk with you! Omigosh is he making a friend?????

As you can imagine, the king of Hell itself is ecstatic at your visit.

He grows hyperactive and talks your ear off with all kinds of projects, feelings and thoughts that come to his head. He is so over the moon having you over that he forgets to give you his creation up until the end of your visit.

So happy and eager to show you anything you have the slightest of interest in. He can explain it to you! He's basically an expert, heh, he created it. Made in Hell (tm).

Oh, what do you want? Hm? He's your host (and technically the king but he keeps forgetting that) and powerful to boot, so he can make you anything you want! Just say it, friendo!

If you show any kind of positive remarks, Lucifer gets a huge boost of confidence and joy. Someone actually likes his stuff and they are from Heaven! Maybe there's a chance to be open-minded after all!

Though, surely but slowly, Lucifer will kind of...bombard you with his issues. There's a lot and I mean a LOT, that you curiously enough can understand from where they came from at least. You both are from Heaven, after all.

It kinda becomes a therapy session? You first hoped it wouldn't but, well, here you are with tea in your hand and Lucifer lying on his couch and talking non-stop.

Once he feels really comfortable he also plops his head on your lap and just starts talking.

You...try your best to share the pain and give advice and as cringey as it all is, you can tell that these talks mean a lot to Lucifer and he also takes them to heart.

One day, he might shyly ask if you two are friends.

You pat his hat (so basically his head too! Right?!) and smile: "Yes, Lucifer. We are friends."

With these words, you've doomed yourself.

Brought a catastrophe. Caused a calamity. Cursed. Bewitched. Alakazamed. A pact for life.

This man lost a lot. Now he finally managed to get his daughter back and he's definitely sure to do anything to not lose you. He's done being passive. If Heaven found out about your friendship, they are sure to punish you.

He's ready to use all his powers to keep you safe. Know though that Charlie is his priority.

He'll do his best to keep you both safe, even if you are powerful enough to look out for yourself (and Charlie, as you promised). He just can't risk it.

After this, he is totally on board with the whole friends thing. Proudly calls you it around people he trusts, calls you friendo, buddy, pal, chum, and all other kinds of things. Will definitely give you a nickname based on your name but would turn it absolutely goofy.

If people (Alastor) point out his ridicilous clinginess and eagerness about his new friend, he will either laugh it off or comedically defend you.

Lucifer will be very eager to show affection in theory but is incredibly hesitant to do so. What if he's being weird, what if you don't like being touched??? WHAT IF HE RUINS EVERYTHING OH GOD NO

However, if you show even a bit of affection, he will return it on the same level. Things just escalate when the affection is physical, such as pats on the back or hugs. He'll stifle his giggle, his joy, before slapping you on the back or squeezing you so hard your spine breaks. The king is very starved of touch and affection and tends to give everything back tenfold. He'll also initiate it much more frequently and with very, very, very, very, VERY and LOTSA, LOTSA delight. It does tend to get awkward afterwards though.

Gifts you a LOT OF THINGS. ALL CARNIVAL OR CIRCUS RELATED. YOU NEVER SAID YOU LIKED THE CIRCUS BUT HE DOES IT ANYWAY???

They are all quaint and cute little things with little to no use for anything. But it's the thought that counts and that makes you smile.

It's Lucifer's way of not only impressing you but also letting you know he appreciates you, aside from physical affection.

Since he cannot go back to Heaven, he invites you often down in his 'part of town, hey, hey, hey!' (in his words) and no matter what you do, you often find yourself ending up playing the therapist. It's...endearing how he trusts you but also...annoying.

One day you say something particurlarly striking, something that eases his heart like a balm. Hot tea with the sweetest honey. With a big sob, he throws himself at you, clinging on you like a damsel in distress as he just bawls. You try to calm him down - then PUSH him off BUT HE WONT LET YOU.

"Y-You," He wiped his nose (as if he had one) and barely could recognize you through his squinted, watery eyes, "You're the bestest friend I've ever had. I dunno if anyone back up there even was my friend when they just easily pushed me away...you are what angels are supposed to be."

You crack a sad smile and embrace him back. "There, there. Maybe one day everyone down here and up there will be the same?"

He hoped so. Maybe there is hope for Charlie and her dreams.

[sugar-grigri]

Hey! Have you noticed the visual parallels between the gun fiend and Chainsaw man in this latest (152th) chapter?

The parallel between Aki and Denji in the last chapter

No, I hadn't noticed, and I like that others have because I might have an explanation for this parallel.

Fujimoto likes parallels, but this time he does it the other way round. Let me explain: for me, and according to my interpretation, he had already made an explicit reference to chapters 78/79 in this chapter:

Chapter 142 exploited Denji's relationship with others, but also with being a CSM, just as Fumiko's speech only reinforces the fact that even when she places herself as a victim, she reinforces Denji's position as a martyr.

Even when Fumiko argues that she saw CSM as a child, the chapter proves her wrong, whether through her unsuccessful manipulation techniques, her many contradictions, but above all her behaviour is typical, allowing Denji to deny the pain he suffered by killing his brother.

I won't go into it again ((if you want to know more, the link is above)) the only thing you need to remember here is that Fujimoto still intends to exploit Aki's death, albeit in a subtle, poetic way in part 2.

In chapter 152, Denji suffers because he has decided to; his suffering is his own, he demands it and even sees it as a means of experiencing pleasure. What's more, this chapter follows on from chapters 150/151 in Denji's claim to his own identity: I WANT to be CSM, and no one is going to stop me. The negative consequences are mine because I've decided to.

Whereas during his confrontation with Aki, Denji's identity was stolen by his "fans" (a theme dealt with in chapter 142), who positioned themselves as the only suffering parties (ignoring Denji's), and it was the frightened, bruised men and women who decided that CSM had to save them, had to act and kill.

So chapter 152 is more than an awakening, it's Denji who takes back the right to suffer if he has decided to do so. Before, it was always the others who decided, but instead of taking the plunge and saying: I'll never let myself suffer again, this time the martyr doesn't want his suffering to be taken away from him.

Because if we take away Denji's suffering, he won't turn into a CSM anymore

If that's taken away, his memories of Power and Aki are fragmented

These last two sentences are actually linked, because Denji has learnt to love just as much as he has learnt to suffer through Aki and Power. Aki's curse is to have been possessed by his sworn enemy, the Gun Devil, who reclaims his rights over the man who tried to resist him: to be there to make Aki's family suffer, always, even the second time around.

As the curse repeats itself, Aki's mind is stuck in his childhood, when it hadn't yet been broken, so he's blindly enjoying himself. Because, paradoxical though it may sound, it was when Aki realised the cruelty of this world, the loss of loved ones, that he tried to protect his family - the greatest act of love. Suffering is an awareness.

Aki had gambled on his suffering before, wasting his years of life with almost no ties. And when he began to change his perception of wanting to do something for his family, those wasted years didn't leave him enough time to protect his second family.

While he was escaping the suffering of his first family, he didn't even realise that he was causing the second to suffer. Fate was simply amused.

It is just as much for Power, a bestial being by nature who has already learnt about the suffering of losing loved ones with Meowy's kidnapping, Aki's anguish possessed at the door, bringing a birthday cake to Denji as an act of kindness, before realising that she would rather die than let Denji die. Suffering is also what brings destinies together and intertwines them.

Power and Aki are symbols of the same thing: when suffering began to be reflected in others, materialising in the fear of losing a loved one, fate turned against them.

So what Denji is doing is a narrative attempt to free himself from his fate, if he starts to fear more for Nayuta than for himself, if he stops being CSM for her, then the passage of suffering turned against oneself, there will always be someone to catch the ball. So Denji ends the cycle.

Denji will see no-one but his pain, Pochita, he will ignore even the flames that tore him away from his animal family, he will push back to Nayuta. It's a retreat into his own identity in the final chapter, a futile attempt to escape from a pain even worse than the pain of being cut in two, the pain of seeing another part of himself ripped away: a loved one.

Now we've pretty much understood the parallel. But don't forget the beginning of this post, Denji is doing exactly what Aki is doing.

Chapter 152 is the hero's attempt to regain control of his destiny, as if suddenly aware of the suffering inherent in the work, wanting to reverse it, to turn it into pleasure.

But he will not escape his fate. Denji may laugh, but only fate will have the last laugh.

[axelsagewrites]

Absolutely love your writing would you mind doing another Robb Stark one where it’s kind like the Brienne Of Tarth one where y/n is Robert and Cersi daughter very nice and innocent and it an arranged marriage but they fall in love but this is set just when they meet and the royals arrive in winter fell and they’ve had a couple of conversations and maybe it’s their engagement party and y/n very overwhelmed so she goes outside and Robb follows her out worried. She’s nervous for the bedding ceremony cause Cersi has filled her head with these horrors of what it’s like wanting to protect her daughter in her own way so y/n is very clueless when it comes to anything concerning sex and being intimate.Y/n asks if they can kiss now so it’s like their first moment on their own without people watching them and he agrees and it’s starts off innocent but all y/n knows is that she likes kissing Robb and the way it feels so she just lets herself get lost in the moment as does Robb but when he gets a bit ‘exited’ he had to stop her wanting to be honourable to her but she’s like confused and Robb promises he’ll explain and show her when they r married so like kind of smutty as kissing can be a fluffy ending 💕

Robb Stark*Sweet Girl

Pairing: Robb x Baratheon F!Reader

Warnings: talks of sex, suggested assault, Cersei being herself

Word count: 4129

Masterlist Here

Everything was about to change. And if your mother was right then this was then Winterfell could have been a fate worse than death. For years your father told you stories from his life. In near everyone he would bring up the same name. Ned Stark. His brother in spirit, almost in marriage. The way your father spoke about Lynna was so beautiful that it almost made you forget he had a wife. His stories of the Starks were filled with honour and pride and love. When your father had first brought up the betrothal between you and Robb Stark for the rest of dinner you were excited. Then your mother invited you to her chambers for tea.

She poured it in silence before dismissing the maids and servants with a silent wave of her hand. The smile she wore was filled with sadness, anger, and a hint of love. Your mother tried to love you, she tried to love all her children, she just didn’t know how. The thing she always did was try and protect you, however.

The silence clung to the room like fog. Raising the cup to your lips, you took a small sip of the strong-smelling tea with a forced smile. “The teas lovely. Thank you, mother,”

Cersei smiled, not even picking up her own cup, “You have always been a sweet child,” You smiled at the compliment, but it was replaced with confusion as your mother continued, “Its one of my biggest regrets. My sweet girl you are to be married,” Cersei took your hands as your stomach bubbled with a mix of emotions, “And it is time you learned the truth of it all,”

“Your husband will not love you. he may like you; he could try love you, but he won’t,” as she spoke you felt your heart shatter in your chest, “The only ones you can count to love you are your children,” Cerci placed a hand over yours, but it was cold. “My sweet girl marriage is our war, and we fight the battles every day,” You knew there was no love lost between your parents but to hear her so crudely describe your future made the floor spin, “Sadly you’ve already bled but we’ll discuss the…details of what comes after another day,”

“What details?” you pressed.

Cerci sighed and looked off to the ceiling, “Men want one thing darling,”

“What do they want?” you asked, still clueless to what she was implying, “The septas always said I was a quick study, I can learn.”

Her hand dropped from yours with a hollow chuckle, “Oh sweet girl. Sweet, sweet girl. You really don’t know what you’re in for,”

You were to leave for Winterfell in less than a week and the whole week you spent listening into the whispers of lady’s gossip. It was also around this time you began to listen to how the men spoke. It made your skin crawl. Whenever you were in front of your father or siblings you did your best to seem happy for the wedding. You tried your best to be happy yourself. But your mothers’ words flashed over your mind every night. Maybe Robb would be different?

Travelling with your mother didn’t help much since she continued to tell you tales. She told you how to dress, how to act, how to conceal marks, how to flirt, how to act interested, how to lie. When you tried to ask how the deed was done, she did not have the heart to teach you. “Just lay their sweetheart. He’ll do the rest. Just don’t let him hear you cry,”

When you arrived at Winterfell all the joy you felt when your father first told you of the marriage was long gone. Despite this you tried you best to at least look happy. Maybe your mother was wrong after all. Anything was better than being trapped in this stuffy carriage for even another day. Clambering out of that carriage cage was like seeing sunlight for the first time.

The sight of people other than your mother and siblings made a smile appear on your face that for once wasn’t forced. Tommen clung to your side as your mother approached the Starks. Tommen tugged at your sleeve, and you pulled your gaze away from the tall walls of Winterfell to crouch down to him. “Which one are you marrying?” he whispered.

You couldn’t help but chuckle at his words. “Take a guess,” you whispered back, still crouched, as you finally looked at the row of Stark children. You knew which one was Robb in an instant. He had gorgeous curly hair and blue eyes you could see from even this distant. The clean shave showed off his strong jaw and even under the fur you could tell he was strong. Tommen’s eyes scanned the children before he sheepishly pointed to Robb. “What a clever little prince,” you whispered, ruffling his hair as you stood. A proud smile fell on his face causing you to grin.

When you looked up from your brother you noticed the piercing blue eyes were now on you. you felt yourself flush at his gaze and quickly turned your attention elsewhere. It didn’t last long as your father soon excited the courtyard with the lord of Winterfell. “Perhaps its time the children finally long met,” You heard Catelyn Tully say.

She seemed kind despite the Norths reputation for harshness. Your mother had drilled it into you recently that looks could be deceiving, however. You tried to ignore how your stomach flipped as your mother silent nodded before approaching your siblings. She merely gestured her head at you before disappearing to talk to Uncle Jamie.

Taking a deep breath, you took Tommen and Marcellas hands and led them over to the Starks. Joffrey was dragging his feet behind you, and you knew he would be no help in this awkward introduction. “Lady Stark,” you greeted with a bow.

“Your graces,” she said, bowing further down. The children did the same.

When a couple moments passed you cringed before realising you had yet to tell them to stand. You quickly gestured for them to do so, glancing behind to look for your mother who had likely disappeared to find a case of wine. “Lady Stark I-,” you paused, glancing at the expecting looks before whispering, “I have no idea what im supposed to do in all honesty,”

The laugh she let out warmed your cheeks but the chuckle you heard from Robb made your stomach flutter. It was deep and hearty and made your skin tingle, “Its alright sweet girl,” Catelyn said, taking your hand, “Its an honour to have you here,”

“The honours your grace. I’ve never seen a more beautiful castle,” Joffrey scoffed at your words, and you turned to glare at the snotty boy who quickly shrunk under your look. “My siblings,” you tried to return to polite conversation, “Joffrey, Tommen, and Marcella, and I are grateful for your hospitality. Perhaps Tommen and Bran I believe would make good play mates. Marcella and Sansa and Arya as well of course. I did get the names, right?” you asked.

Catelyn smiled a wide motherly smile, “Yes, my dear. Then I also have my youngest Rickon,” she said gesturing to the small boy clung to her furs, “and my eldest, Robb,” she said, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Robb looked even more handsome up closely, a fact that made it hard not to flush red.  “Princess,” Robb bowed his head as he reached his hand out. You paused for a moment before quickly realising he was reaching for yours.

“Sorry,” you muttered, now sure you were blushing, before quickly reaching your hand out. Robb chuckled again as he took your hand and pressed a soft kiss to your knuckles. His lips on your skin made a shiver go up your spine. “We meet at last,” you said with an awkward smile. The warm smile that spread on his perfect lips made you internally die at how dumb his looks alone had rendered you.

You quickly moved your attention onto the next Stark, begging silently for your awkwardness to fade. You could feel Robbs eyes on you, but you didn’t yet know how your forgetfulness and sincerity had charmed him. Robb struggled in fact to keep his attention off you since your arrival.

Tommen and Bran had indeed got on well, a fact you were proud to have predicted. It surprised you slightly that Arya played more with Bran and Tommen than Sansa and Marcella, but you were just happy to watch the children get along. Joffrey was likely off tormenting or gloating while Sansa and Marcella had stayed inside to learn embroidery. Tommen and Bran practised pretend swords in the courtyard while you sat a few feet away watching on a bench.

You clapped as Tommen finally began to get a hang of the glorified stick and grinned at his dopey smile. “Who’s winning?” a thick northern accent said from behind you.

Jumping slightly, you turned to see Robb had approached you without you even realising. “I’d like to say Tommen,” you said lowly, “but that’d make me a liar,” you grinned. Robbs laugh still made your heart flutter after your first week in Winterfell. “Would you like to join me?” you asked.

“It would be my honour princess,” Robb said before joining you on the bench with a small smile.

You laughed lightly, “You don’t have to call me that,”

“I kinda do,” he chuckled.

“Well as your princess im ordering you not to,”

“Is that so?” Robb laughed at your fake seriousness, “What happens if I do? Will you poke me with a pin?”

You thought for a moment before grinning “I’ll get Tommen to duel you,”

As you said this Tommen was struggling to even swing the wooden sword he had. “You’re cruel,” his laugh warm as he watched your brother’s spar.

“The cruellest,” you grinned. “Its my reputation. Everyone at Kingslanding fears me,”

Robb couldn’t control his laughs, but you couldn’t help yourself from joining in, “No offence princess but I don’t think you could scare a fly,” you gently stomped your foot on his, “Hey!”

“I told you not to call me that,” you fake glared at him.

Robb held his hands up in fake surrender. “I take it back. Very frightening. My shoe is terrified,” the dopey smile he wore was far better than the serious face that had first greeted you. Robb looked out to where the boys practised. “I could teach him if you’d like,”

“Would you?” You asked, grabbing his arm without thinking, “Joffrey teases him horribly and it makes him not want to try. Before we left, he could hardly hold it let alone spar. He would only practise with me in private and im afraid im not a very good teacher,”

“You can use a sword?” Robb asked, eyebrow raised.

“Not very well,” you grinned, which was partly a lie. You could use one, but you were no Jamie Lannister.

Robb grinned, “Well after I teach Tommen maybe I could teach you,”

“Maybe you could,” you said with a small smile. Robb grinned before getting up and joining the boys. You bit your lip as you watched how careful he was with Tommen as he taught him how to swing the sword. For a moment you couldn’t help but imagine what Robb would be like with his own son. Your son.

You clapped as the boys sparred, laughed as they failed and succeeded, smiled the whole time. the perfect afternoon. Robb bid you farewell when you had to leave to prepare for dinner.

When you arrived at your chambers it wasn’t long until your mother arrived. “Go,” she told the maids as she snatched the hairbrush from them, “I’ll be doing her hair,” she smiled at you in the mirror, and you did your best to smile back as she began to brush it. “I hear you and the Stark boy had fun today,”

“He taught Tommen how to spar properly,” you smiled softly.

Your mother did not smile however, “We have knights for that,”

“Yes, but Tommen gets nervous,” you said, and she just hummed as she began to braid sections of your hair, “Robb was really good with him,”

“He was trying to impress you. it wont last,” she said.

You ignored the tugging and pulling off your hair. However, when your mother began to pin the braids up you spoke, “Robb likes it down,” you said.

Cerci paused for a moment before continuing her pinning, more harshly this time, “You’re a southerner. We wear it up,”

“Of course, mother,” you said unable to stop your eyes prickling.

As Cerci was almost finished your hair she spoke again “I just don’t want to see you get hurt sweet girl,”

“I wont mother. Robb has been nothing but kind,” you tried to assure her, but she just scoffed.

“For now. Trust me my sweet girl. He will hurt you and you will learn to endure it,” she said, starring off to the side, “it gets easier with time. with wine,” she chuckled as she looked at you in the mirror, “You look beautiful,” she smiled with her hands on your shoulders. You didn’t thank her.

“I don’t like wine,” you said.

She dropped her hands from your shoulders, “You will,” she said before leaving to prepare herself for the feast. You looked at yourself in the mirror and it felt like a stranger dressed as your mother stared back.

“I love your hair,” Sansa squealed as you took your seat with the Stark children and your siblings, “Will you teach me how to do mine like that?”

“I could,”

“I can’t wait to be sisters,” she squealed again. You forced the smile onto your face as you agreed with her but for the whole of dinner you could not bring yourself to look at Robb.

You noticed his looks and acknowledged his questions, but you kept moving the conversation back to another person. Robbs face grew duller as the night continued and his attempts lessened. Sansa and Marcella kept asking about the engagement celebration happening tomorrow and you did your best to seem happy however as soon as the dinner was over you excused yourself.

In your chambers you hastily took out all the pins your mother had shoved in and tried to untangle all the knots. It did little to help, however. No matter what you did your mothers words ate away at you.

With the betrothment terms scheduled, part of which included you staying in Winterfell as a ward on the lead up to the wedding, your father had insisted on an engagement celebration. A feast filled with drinking and dancing and eating and singing and noise. So much noise. From the gossip to the slurping to the giggles and music; you were drowning in a sea of noise.

You couldn’t understand how it was a celebration of you and Robb when you had only greeted each other since the festivities had started. Part of that admittedly being because of your avoidance of the Stark boy. “When I said you had to dance, I assumed you understood I meant with him also,” your mother whispered sharply in your ear before plastering on her smile again.

All you could do was nod as you drank more wine from your cup. You thought the sweet wine would sooth your stomach, but it only made your head spin more. When Robbs eyes locked with yours over the crowd you felt your stomach burbling but not with, he excitement it had before. Your gut said one thing your mother another. Who was right?

When you saw Robbs smile you couldn’t help feeling the butterflies but when he began to cross the hall, eyes on you, it was as if the butterflies had suddenly lost their wings. “I’m going for some air,” you whispered to Clegane who had been set to guard you. when he nodded and stood you shook your head, “Alone. I’ll be back before anyone notices I left,” You were glad he wasn’t much of a people’s person and did not question as you slipped out of the hall.

Once you were in the corridor you were able to let out a sigh of relief before quickly navigating the now familiar corridors to find the courtyard. You took in a deep breath of the cold Northern air before pressing forward in your journey to sit on a bench just out of sight of the windows. Despite hearing the noise of the festivities, the space made it less overwhelming at least.

The cold wind on your cheeks helping your flush from the crowded hall. You had assumed everyone had been too wrapped up in their own drinking to notice however when a hand touched your shoulder you jumped as you realised you were wrong. “Are you okay?” Robbs face was filled with worry as he stood over you.

You opened your mouth to speak but words stuck in your throat. Robb moved to sit on the bench beside you, taking your hand into his. “What’s the matter?” his thumb stroking over your knuckles.

“I don’t know what im doing,” you whispered, closing your eyes, and leaning your head back to rest on the stone wall behind the bench, “And im scared,”

“Scared of what?” Robbs eyes were filled with warmth despite the icy colour.

You sighed as you weighed up whether to tell him. “My mother has told me stories. Of marriage,” you said. Robb sighed, his eyes dropping into a sad smile, “Of how some men treat their women. Of what I should expect,”

“And your scared?” Robb asked and you nodded your head. Robb took both your hands into his with a gentle squeeze, “I don’t blame you. I can’t imagine what it’s like to be dragged halfway across Westeros for a new life. But I promise you this; I won’t let anything hurt you as long as I live. I couldn’t live with myself if I was to hurt you in anyway. Im sorry that I have frightened you princess,

“Its not you,” you sighed, sitting up properly, “Its just. I’ve heard a lot about the things. Like you know. that man and wife do,” you said, and you couldn’t help the flush on your cheeks, but Robb did not laugh or mock your nerves unlike others would, “People keep talking about the bedding ceremony,”

“We won’t have one of them,” Robb cut you off, “I respect you far too much to have some old creep in the room,” you couldn’t help but chuckle at his brashness. “We won’t do anything like that until you’re ready. I wont force myself on you,”

“My mother says you will,”

“That woman has said two words to me since she has met me. She does not know me,” Robb said. “When we are married it will be our marriage. Not hers, not my parents, ours. And we make the rules of it,”

“I’d like that,” you said, a shy smile finally returning to your face. Robb had a dopey grin on his face as you raised his hand to kiss the back of it. “Thank you, Robb,”

“Anything for you princess,” you slapped his shoulder at the name, “Okay fine,” Robb laughed. “I’m sorry,” he held his hands up in fake defence.

You laughed and took a moment to enjoy the comfortable silence, “Can I ask a favour?” you broke the silence. Robb nodded and you sighed. “Could we kiss?” You said, face flushing as Robb raised his eyebrows confused, “It’s just I know we will have to eventually and- “you began to ramble, “I just don’t wanna do it for the first time in front of everyone like it’d just be nice if like maybe we had like a moment like between us and I know its dumb,”

Your rapid-fire sentence was cut short when Robb lightly grabbed your chin, “Its not dumb,” he said softly, “I think its sweet,” his hand moved to hold your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheek, “And if im honest I would quite like to kiss you,” he whispered.

“I’d like to kiss you too,” you whispered back.

Slowly Robb leaned forward, his hot breath fanning your face as his warm fingertips brushed your cheek. You shuffled forward slightly, your hand moving to rest on his shoulder. His lips, grazing over yours, waiting for you to close the gap. You did.

Your lips pressed together softly, moulding together for a short but sweet kiss. It broke after a couple of seconds and for a moment you gazed into Robbs eyes which gazed back at you. his lips were chapped but had felt so soft against yours. The seconds they had touched yours had already made you addicted to the sweet taste.

Your lips crashed back onto his, more needy than before. Robb did not stop your movements, instead his hand slid back to tangle in your hair, pulling you closer to him. Your hands gripped into his shoulders as your lips moulded with his. Air no longer felt important to your lungs when you felt his tongue brush against your bottom lip. You opened your mouth slightly, almost moaning when he slipped his tongue in. the sweet taste of his tongue made your head dizzy as his other hand gripped your waist.

After a few moments Robb suddenly pulled back, “We should stop,” his breath was heavy and uneven, but his lips were too far from yours.

Your hand moved behind his neck, “Not yet,” you said, pulling his lips back onto yours. Robb almost groaned into the kiss your tongue joined in, moving perfectly in sync. The kiss was hungry like with first love, and it only stopped this time when you heard Clegane call out your name. you pressed your finger against Robbs slightly swollen lips until you heard Clegane sigh and storm away. You couldn’t help but giggle.

Robb let out a soft laugh at how you were acting, “Did that help ease your nerves?” He asked.

“Very much so,” you grinned, “We should do it again sometime. Lots of times,”

Robb grinned and shook his head, “Don’t worry princess,” he said, and you rolled your eyes with a smile, “we will later,”

“Why not know?” you asked, and Robb let out an awkward laugh as he glanced down at his lap. Your eyes grew wide as you saw the bulge fighting against the fabric of his trousers, “Oh!”

“Sorry,” Robb pulled away from your grip.

You quickly took his hand, “Its okay,” you assured him, “Besides we are going to be man and wife so in a way it wouldn’t be so bad if we were to you know,” you said with a chuckle and a blush.

Robb laughed lightly as he took your hands into his, “As much as I would love to. And trust me I would,” he said squeezing your hands making you blush more, “I wont dishonour you like that,” he said, and you frowned. “We’ll have plenty of time for it once we’re married,”

You paused for a moment, “What exactly is it?” you asked, and Robb laughed, looking at the ground, “It’s just I’ve heard stories, but I don’t know if I believe them,”

“Good stories or bad?” he asked.

“A bit of both,” you confessed, “Mother said it’s like a battle, but I heard another girl talking about a kind of kiss some men give women further south and she got all giddy about it,” you said, and Robb couldn’t help his laugh, “What? Don’t make fun of me!” you protested.

“Im not it’s just,” Robb shook his head, “I just don’t know how to explain it to you without sounding like a creep or offending you,” Robb laughed as you sighed and pouted at his refusal, “Tell you what how about once we’re married, I show you how it all works?” He offered with his own flush on his cheeks.

“Fine deal. Only if it includes that thing she was talking about,” You said and Robb laughed again, “Hey! The way she was going on about it made the whole marriage thing seem far more appealing,”

“Well in that case it’ll be the first thing I show you,” Robb said, placing a kiss to the back of your hand, “and that is a promise,”

“Good,” you said, sitting triumphantly, “Well in that case I hope the weddings soon,”

Robb couldn’t believe how lucky he had gotten with this betrothal as he laughed at your sudden eagerness, “Neither can I,”

Sequel kinda thing here set during the war

Game of Thrones Taglist: @clairacassidy @nyotamalfoy 

[http-paprika]

what's lost / simon "ghost" riley

part one zombie-apocalypse!au / pairing simon "ghost" riley x female reader / wc 1103 / warnings brief mentions of gore and violence, minor swearing, attempted suicide.

summery during the escort to edinburgh, things don't go as ghost had planned, causing him to lose y/n

note when i saw this is just an angst filled shitshow, i mean it. like, bawled my eyes out a bit, had to write this over multiple days i was struggling.

▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰

The air in his lungs was bitter, stale. His body was a shell of what it was, skin turning purple and yellow like a large bruising sore. It had been too long since Ghost had cried, what felt like a lifetime ago as tears blurred his vision, jagged sobs escaping his throat.

Ghost’s breathing harbors, slowing as the infection pulsed through his veins. In his final few moments of sanity, he thought of Y/N who he’d forced to run when a horde had overcome them on the outskirts of Edinburgh. The sound of her voice, the feeling of her lips against his mask warmed his heart as Ghost brought the gun up against his head. His jaw was slacked, broken in the fight, blood drooling from his lips. The words spewed out his mouth, a muddled mess as he closed his eyes and gripped the metal harshly. “I– I’m sorry.”  

 The gun clattered to the ground, he should’ve done it, but her face burned too painfully in his to pull the trigger. All consuming him along with the infected venom that had transformed him. 

▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰

 Y/N’s laugh was like a sweet song as they continued, through the wild brush of an overgrown wheat field. Ghost couldn’t even remember what he’d said to make her laugh, but a smile tugged at his lips to hear it. 

“If the outbreak hadn’t happened, what did you plan on doing with your life?” She asked him, obvious to the lump that clogs his throat. 

“Didn’t exactly plan for a future.” Ghost admitted, watching her stop and frown at his response. His feet slowed to a stop, and he turned to look at her. “I’m not exactly the type who plans to settle down, have kids, and retire—nothing for me outside of the military. The outbreak didn’t really change that. Probably spend the rest of my days being worked to death by them if I’m not bitten first.” 

 “Oh.” It sounded so painfully bleak for him to tell her the truth, but she’d asked, and Y/N had heard worse. 

“Don’t break your heart over it. You’ve still got a promising life ahead of you.” He walks back over to her, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Gotta make a cure, have your name known across what’s left of the UK, maybe the world.” 

▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰

Y/N can still hear her heart beating like a drum through her entire body as they check it, ensuring it’s clean from infection bites. Her cheeks were tight and dry, the crying had stopped when she’d reached the QZ, not out of relief or happiness, but because of a numb dread that’d washed over her. It had been two, maybe three hours since she’d left Ghost, the infection had either spread and he’d turned into a walking corpse. Or— Y/N shuddered, hating the ugly images that bubbled in her mind. Either result was a knife to the chest and tears threatened to spill over again.

 It had been her fault that he’d been bitten, at least that’s what she’d convinced herself. Had she been more aware, more capable, Ghost wouldn’t have had to become a flesh barrier between Y/N and the undead. She’d scowled and cursed at him, anger turning into blinding grief when the realization hit, a blood indent in his wrist from teeth. He’d been served a fate worse than death saving her. And the guilt of it sliced like a knife through her heart. 

Ghost should’ve been there, with her safely in the QZ. Kissing her and reminding her that they were safe, safer than they’d been since they’d left London over a month before. But she was there, a hollow shell all alone as they escorted her through the secured area to the lab that would become a prison for her. 

▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰

The song of crickets filled Ghost’’s ears as they settled for the night, making a small camp in the deep black of a forest. He sat so that Y/N’s head rested on his lap, his hand absent-mindedly running through her hair. “You’re quiet tonight.” 

 Almost wondering if she’d fallen asleep there, he looked down at her face and she quickly averted her gaze away from his. “Y/N? What’s wrong love?” 

 “What are you going to do when we get to Edinburgh?” She finally speaks, keeping her gaze focused on the small camping lantern they had, watching the few insects that flew to it, hoping for the warmer sun. “Or were you not planning on getting that far either?” 

 “Oh.” Ghost lets out a groan, running a hand over his face. So she was still thinking about their conversation from earlier, considering his words on a personal level, as if they’d been directed to her. He’d been backed into a wall with her question, the truth was pathetic and Ghost worried how she’d respond to it.

“So you didn’t think that far.” Y/N didn’t ask but stated firmly before sitting up and pushing away from Ghost. Taking her warmth away from him. 

“Y/N, love–” He reached a hand out, placing it lightly on her arm and removing it after Ghost watched her flinch from his touch. “No, I didn’t think about what I’d do after. Was too focused on the mission of just getting you there safely. But I’ve thought about it, and if you’ll have me, I’d like to stay there for you.” 

Whipping her head around, she stared at him surprised by his request, almost wondering if she’d heard him correctly. He was being vulnerable with her, it caused a lump to form in her throat.

 “Stay… with me?” 

“Yes.” Ghost nodded his head, taking her hand in his and bringing it close to his clothed mouth. “Please, Y/N? I’ll be your damn guard dog if that’s what it takes.” He finishes his plea, kissing the palm of her hand despite the fabric barrier between his lips and her skin. Stray tears in his eyes he blinked away, focusing on her, nothing else mattered but her.

▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰

The afterlife was not what Ghost expected, his body and mind were infected, driving him with an everpresent thirst for flesh and blood. Like a street dog, wandering the expanse of Edinburgh fighting the wild hunger that’d taken over him and so many others. But there was a hollow feeling, some part of his past life still tethered to the shell of his body. Some haunting voice that still rang in his ears like a beautiful song that drew him away from corpses and rotting flesh. Someone whose side he should’ve never left. 

tag-list @amazingori

[paintbrushnebula]

I was initially indifferent to the "Miles is the Gwen Stacy to Spider-Gwen's Peter Parker" theory I've seen a few times, but after giving it two minutes of thought I actually realize that that would be a very interesting route for the story to take

Because the thing with Spider-Gwen is that the only way Gwen Stacy lives is if she's the one with the powers. This also means she's the one who suffers the great loss instead. Which as the movie has made clear, is something she fears repeating more than anything; this fear is her main motivation behind all of her actions towards Miles in ATSV. And the last moment the two have before the Nueva York train fight is them repeating the iconic "Peter catching Gwen" moment, but the roles are reversed, like the tables have been turned on who is going to have to save who in the end.

Also, sidebar, me just rambling here, but the lyrics of "Calling" by Metro Boomin at the end of the movie seem to be from Gwen's POV post the events of the movie. I keep thinking back to the lyric "it's my fault, I made you fall for me," which obviously is meant to be Gwen feeling responsible for what happened to Miles, because if he hadn't become so attached to her then he wouldn't have followed her across dimensions (which was not actually her fault). But I also kinda see this lyric having another meaning; it's Gwen expressing regret for siding with the society instead of standing with Miles. Her actions were understandable ofc, since siding with Miguel's orders was the only way to avoid being expelled from the Society and sent back to her dimension and facing her dad and thus risking her actual life. But this meant letting Miles take the fall instead of her. So this lyric is like Gwen saying to Miles, it's my fault, I let you take the fall for me.

So now the roles the two were playing have been reversed.

If this theory ends up being the case, then you essentially have a Gwen Stacy who's been dealt an arguably worse fate than all the other Gwen Stacys; one that maybe Gwen herself would consider a fate worse than death (something she already fears greatly), which is being the one who suffers the loss and has to keep getting up, who always manages to save everyone except the people that actually matter most to her, who's doomed to watch all her weak, fragile loved ones die while her durable, enhanced superhuman body stubbornly keeps living.

[cissyenthusiast010155]

Sinking My Claws Into You ~Dark!Claire Debella xFem Younger!Wealthy!Reader

Summary— A darker fic, set after Claire gets back from Miles’ private island, and she now has to deal with the reality of basically going bankrupt. Luckily, Claire has got her hooks in you, a young, wealthy enthusiast from New York…

Mommy… Master List

Requests & Prompt-List

Warnings: dark fic, lightly implied smut, age gap (all legal), teasing, taunting, manipulation, alcohol consumption, unrequited feelings, little bit of gold digging behavior, praise, flustering, wealth, yucky men, flirting, little bit of sugar mommy behavior, etc.

Enjoy (;

Ever since Claire had backed away from her friendship with Miles, she had hit nothing but impossible obstacles one after another. Without Miles’ endorsement and backing for her campaign for the U.S. Senate, the middle aged woman was facing a fate worse than death. She would have happily rode on the back of Miles’ wealth all the way, but she couldn’t ignore the events that had come to pass. However, her decision now left the woman desperate.

Miles was an eccentric prick whom Claire had met more than 20 years ago. Back then, he had charmed her. And being the young, naive woman that she was, Claire had fallen for his persuasive nature. Not to mention how easy it was considering he was loaded. But Miles never wanted anything more than a friendship from Claire, and Claire eventually was forced to accept this by the amount of pretty models and talented girls that he always had in rotation and the overtly harsh rejection he gave her, which the snob was always happy to remind her of. Over the years, the only reason Claire put up with Miles was for the money. Miles had endorsed her when she ran for mayor, and then now for governor as well.

Miles was always there to dole out a check for whatever the woman needed. And Claire took full advantage of that. The price she paid over the years was well worth the bank she raked in. Miles would compare her to others and batter Claire all the time, she was his favorite plaything. But she always took it with a stoic face, telling herself that it would be worth it, that the amount of money she was getting leveled out the fact that he was a knee-faced jerk.

But then she and Claire had had a falling out. Claire had gone behind her back and stabbed a mutual friend in the back. And if there was one thing that Claire could not stand, it was betrayal. In the heat of the moment, Claire let emotions get the best of her and she broke it off. God she kicked herself for being friends with Miles for as long as she had been… It had been over 2 decades of unhealthy friendship, but in her eyes, the money had made it all worth it. But now, without Miles’ money… She was through. Finished. Done.

That was until she met you.

Claire had met you at an art benefit, one of those fancy events where the rich and wealthy got together, socialized, and gave away millions of dollars like it was nothing. Claire had been there campaigning for more funding and endorsements. She had already talked with three or twelve basic, filthy rich white guys, the kind that flashed toothy smiles while heavily and shamelessly flirting with her. She would indulge these men as little as possible, before moving past them. Those guys weren’t the type she was looking for. They weren't a Miles or a Y/N Astor… Claire rolled her eyes and shrugged off her disgust at the idea of what those rich guys wanted from her.

After a particularly gagging interaction with a young bachelor (at least half her age and nonetheless just as gross as the rest of them who only wanted her body and willing to give nothing in return), Claire had looked around the room, champagne glass in hand, when her gaze had landed on you at the bar. She immediately noticed how the woman carried herself with youthful elegance, and that she was the type of lady who could make anything look good. She could also tell that the woman had money, she was not the type of lady that flattered and flirted with filthy rich men to get into their pockets. She wasn’t a part of the common folk. No, this woman was in the one percent. Her clothing and accessories were not loud, but Claire could read the nicheness of the fashion and knew that she was wearing thousands of dollars: her Manolo pumps, the Cartier watch, the small Dolce purse, etc. This was the type of girl she needed, and she knew this woman could replace Miles and his money. Claire finished her glass, gave it to a server, took a deep breath, put on a smile, and then sauntered over to the stunning lady.

“I would buy you a drink, ‘hun, but it is an open bar…” Claire hummed, glancing over to the wealthy woman with a sly smirk.

You blushed just a smidge, and Claire immediately took that as her first win of the night. This girl was young. Not young enough to not be able to handle commitment, but definitely young enough to fall for Claire’s charm and to agree to hand over her money without a second thought. Again, the perfect mark. While Claire waited for you to make your move, she ordered herself a red wine from the open bar.

“You’re too kind…” you lightly retorted, swirling the expensive amber liquid in your glass.

“And who do I have the pleasure of giving my kindness to today…?” Claire cooed widening her smirk as she now turned her body from the bar to face you.

You slowly swiveled towards the older woman. Claire allowed her eyes to wander and take in the younger woman in front of her. You took a swig of her whiskey, before humming lightly.

“I’m Y/N.”

Claire nodded in satisfaction, taking the glass of red from the bartender when it was ready for her. Her eyes shimmered with predatory intent. She could tell this woman was book smart. But she was confident that she could outplay you in this game.

“I’m Claire Debella. My colleagues call me Debella, you can call me Claire…” the older woman hummed, with a teasing tone.

You sucked in a breath, your face flushing some more, before you nodded lightly.

“Where are you from, Y/N?” Claire cooed, playing with the younger woman’s name in her mouth.

“New York. I went to Harvard, have family in Connecticut” You breathed out, lightly fidgeting with your fingers and your glass while struggling to maintain eye contact.

“Smart girl…” the older brunette cooed, sending a sly wink your way.

Another blush rippled through the wealthy woman’s face. Claire could tell this girl was shy. That was also good, it spoke to her privacy and naivety.

“What about you…?” You softly asked.

“Connecticut.” Peggy promptly responded, before taking control of the conversation once more,

“Are you here alone, Y/N?”

Claire could tell that her words were having an effect on the young, wealthy woman. You nearly choked on her drink at her last words, as well as flushed, fidgeting, struggling to hold eye contact… But not in an uncomfortable way, in a flustered way. In a way where you looked adorable while you were trying to cover her ruby red cheeks in embarrassment. And that was exactly what Claire was going for.

“I am…” you breathed out.

“Really?” Claire cooed, quirking her brow dramatically accompanied by a sip of red, “A stunning girl like you…? I’m surprised that a cute guy or girl hasn’t snatched you up yet…”

Now your face was beet red, and she was desperately trying to swallow all of her liquid courage, overwhelmed from all the praise that the older woman was showering her with. Now the your glass was empty.

“Why don’t we ditch this open bar and go somewhere that has some nice, expensive whiskey for you? Hmmmmm, ‘hun?” Claire purred, leaning in close to the woman’s personal space.

You gulped and nodded mindlessly.

“I’d like that…” you breathed out nervously.

“Good girl…” Claire hummed out in delight.

She placed her glass along with the younger woman’s on the bar, signaling to the bartender that the two of you were done. She then linked her arm with yours with ease and guided you, the clueless, naive, wealthy, young woman out of the expensive, testosterone filled event, getting in the back of your Maserati and heading into a future filled with good fortune for the one and only Claire Debella.

~~~

Claire Debella Masterlist ~Coming Soon (;

[black-rose-blue-lodge]

The Importance of Donna in Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me

Okay, so a lot of people like to ship Donna Hayward and Laura Palmer from Twin Peaks, and there is good reason for that. Throughout the original run, Donna is haunted by her complex feelings for Laura. She loved her, she envied her, she wanted to be her. She misses her. Donna gets close to James, Maddy and Harold in part because they all give her the feeling of being close to Laura. In Fire Walk With Me, we are shown just how close they were.

Donna is very important in Fire Walk With Me. I believe that none of this requires you to ship the characters, although I also find it compelling evidence for a romantic reading of the film. Basically, even if you think the characters have only platonic feelings for each other, this is a summary of why Donna matters.

Near the end of the film, Laura tells James “You don’t know me. There are things about me… Even Donna doesn’t know me.” Of all the people who apparently don’t know Laura, Donna knows her the most. She is given the most importance. While Laura’s relationships with James and Bobby are shown to be ineffectual and largely irrelevant to the story of the end of her life, Donna is front and centre. Their friendship, their love for each other, is the emotional core of the film.

Our first insight into Laura’s psyche comes when she confides her depression and existential dread in Donna with the lines: “the angels wouldn’t help you… because they’ve all gone away.” In this scene, she is much more candid, willing to expose this part of herself. She essentially believes that she is doomed, that no one will be there to save her. (And, on a surface level, she is correct: even Mike, the “one man… Bob is afraid of” according to Laura’s secret diary, does not save her from death.)

When Laura begins to realize BOB’s true identity, she turns to Donna. Donna grounds her in reality. Laura seems to walk “between two worlds” in the film, constantly teetering on the brink of life and death. Donna is perhaps her greatest remaining connection to this world. And, difficult as that responsibility may be, Donna gladly accepts it.

Donna is depicted in Fire Walk With Me as a shy and conservative girl, contrasting strongly with Laura, who is openly ‘dangerous’ and promiscuous. Donna daydreams about having “lasting love… true love” but doesn’t even have a boyfriend. She takes all her cues from Laura. When she tries to become more adventurous, she does it to be like Laura, to understand Laura. This is shown after the Pink Room sequence, where Donna asks tearfully “Why do you do it?” She desperately wants to know, to stand there with Laura between two worlds and comfort her, but she can’t. She can never understand.

In The Missing Pieces, after Laura’s breakdown at Donna’s house, Donna whispers something to her father, who then reads a (clearly fake) “secret message for Laura”.

We don’t know what Donna whispered to Doc Hayward, but she must have asked him to say something about the angels returning, because she was the only one present when Laura said that the angels wouldn’t help her. The camera reinforces this, lingering on Donna as her father “reads” the message. It is a message from Donna.

Laura leaves after this, clearly affected. The way it cuts to Donna during the line “the one that is meant to help you” suggest that Donna believes that she can help Laura. If no other angels are there, Donna will be the angel who helps Laura out of the darkness.

Now, BOB’s stated motivation in the film is to “taste through [Laura’s] mouth”, turning her into the next ‘vehicle” for his evil. In the series (2x9), Laura’s diary reveals that she died because it was “the only way to keep Bob away from [her], the only way to tear him out from inside.” She wrote, “I know he wants me, I can feel his fire. But if I die he can’t hurt me anymore.” She died to avoid a fate worse than death.

In Fire Walk With Me, the focus shifts, and it’s not just about Laura. In the film, Laura dies so that BOB can’t use her to hurt the people around her. It is strongly implied that the fate of Twin Peaks itself hangs in the balance. (This is arguably why the scenes of everyday town life in The Missing Pieces were included to begin with; they offer glimpses of what Laura dies to protect.)

If BOB possesses Laura, his fire will spread. The Log Lady warns her “the tender boughs of innocence burn first… and then all goodness is in jeopardy.” This is right before Laura goes into the Roadhouse, where Donna follows her, beginning the dangerous game of “chicken” that they play, where Laura keeps trying to scare Donna away, and Donna keeps trying to show Laura that she isn’t scared. This sequence is the last straw for Laura. When she sees Donna slipping into darkness in the Pink Room, she gets a firsthand glimpse of “the tender boughs of innocence” beginning to burn.

Laura’s influence, despite all her intentions, has started to corrupt Donna. It’s one thing for Laura to be taken advantage of by these men. In her opinion, she can handle it, and she is doomed anyway. But not Donna. In the screenplay, this is even more explicit during the Pink Room scene.

Donna represents everything at stake if BOB wins. For Laura, Donna is the incarnation of “innocence” and “all goodness”. In that way, she is indeed like an angel, and Laura doesn’t want to bring about her fall from grace.

This is the heart of the film. The essence of Laura’s sacrifice. She dies for Donna.

As much as I, like many others, ship Donna with Laura, Laura could never be with Donna, not in this universe. Though I believe Laura has feelings for her, she would not act on them, because she views Donna as someone fundamentally good, and herself as someone fundamentally bad. This is encapsulated in the line “I love you, Donna… But I don’t want you to be like me.” In the original series, a passage from Laura’s diary reads: “I love Donna very much, but sometimes I worry that she wouldn’t be around me at all if she knew what my insides were like.” Now Donna has seen Laura’s dark side, the things she does, and still she loves her, still she wants to be there for her.

So Laura returns the favour. She becomes the guardian angel of Twin Peaks, ignoring Cooper’s dream-warning and putting on the ring. She hopes that the evil will die with her. Of course, it doesn’t, because Laura was never the source of that evil to begin with. BOB’s power lies in his ability to be indistinguishable from human evil. As Albert remarks, “Maybe that’s all BOB is. The evil that men do.” BOB was never just Laura’s dark side. Laura ended up as just another victim, with a letter under her fingernail, like Teresa Banks before her and Maddy Ferguson after her.

Regardless, Laura’s death means something. She dies on her own terms, in defiance of beings far beyond her comprehension. Her choice to die is an act of love, born of the sincere belief that the world will be a better place without her.

At the very end of Fire Walk With Me, in the enigmatic purgatory of the Red Room, Laura sees a vision of an angel.

Earlier, Ronette Pulaski saw an angel while in the train car, but that angel actually did help her. Ronette escaped. Laura’s angel is different. It isn’t there to help her. Laura is beyond help now. No, it is the mere fact of seeing this angel that gives Laura comfort. The angel is pure, radiant, seemingly unaffected by the darkness that surrounds it.

The actress who plays Laura’s angel, Lorna MacMillan, has dark, curly hair, and from a distance, is somewhat reminiscent of Donna. (Similarly, Ronette's angel is blonde, possibly to remind us of Laura.) Now, it would have been far too obvious for Moira Kelly to play Laura's angel, and that isn’t really the point. The angel represents the goodness that endures. It represents the same thing as Donna. The innocence that Laura died to protect. In the end, Laura’s only comfort is knowing that, though her death did not bring an end to darkness, it did allow for the continued survival of light. The light flickers on Laura's face in this scene, just like in the Pink Room. There, she was watching Donna flirt with the darkness. Here, she is looking at the angel Donna promised would return.

The track that plays during this scene is “The Voice of Love”. Laura was not ultimately corrupted. Like that angel, she is now a lonely light in a world of darkness. The darkness did not win. Generations of trauma and evil could not make her give in. So why does the angel look like Donna? Because Donna was the best thing about Laura. As much as Donna tries to emulate Laura, both while she is alive and after her death, Laura saves herself, and the world, by emulating Donna. Donna’s selflessness, compassion and bravery are qualities that Laura already has, but she can’t see them in herself. That is why she sees the angel as something outside of herself. I believe the angel is Laura. Of course, Laura could never see herself as an angel.

But she could very easily see Donna as one.