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strvberrydoll · 1 month

Text

Rosemary

Summary: Arthur is smacked right in the face with the consequences of his actions as the fate of your relationship is hanging by a thin thread. part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

AO3 link (a better rewritten version of this fic on ao3)

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x f!reader

Content: suggestive, angst, hurt/no comfort (for now) probs grammar errors :/

wc: little under 3k

A/n: before any of you come after me, blame the angst on the bad weather not on me !! (plus we both know you love it <3) anyways reader absolutely eats arthur alive in this chapter so grab your popcorns and tissues !! Next chapter is gonna be the last so it’s gonna take a bit of time to write sorry :(( as always let me know if you like this chapter thank you all for the amazing support you’ve showed for Rosemary <33 gif from pinterest.

The sight of Clemens Point camp emerging from the thick woods surrounding its path, felt strangely like the sight of heaven to Arthur, his muscles aching and screaming at him from the tiring day. Between his visit to Rhodes with Mary and all the manual work Uncle put him under in the morning, the only things he longed for were the softness of his bed and you engulfing him in one of your warm embrace.

Spending three hours chopping wood and gathering whatever material Uncle needed for his mysterious project that supposedly ‘would help a great deal everyone in camp’, proved to be a tiring job even for the camp’s main enforcer, his strength dulled by the biting cold of October and the constant ache of his heart. Each swing of the axe in the air helped Arthur think, his mind consumed by you, trying to figure out what the hell happened for you to act so cold and distant towards him. The image of his darling’s sweet face contorted in an expression of hurt and disappointment at the sole sight of him from this morning hunting his mind, making each swing harsher than the other.

When Uncle decided to call it a day, Arthur internally thanked the maker above as he felt his patience wearing thin every time he called Uncle out for not lifting a finger to help him while the older man comfortably sat under the shade of one of the tall trees near the outskirts of camp complaining about his ‘lumbago’. His relief, though, was short lived as the memory of Mary’s letter flashed in his mind.

Mary had been writing to him almost every two weeks, since her late husband died she had been writing to Arthur asking for help, him being the only male left she knew, after her abusive father went mad, gambling all their possessions away and his brother ran off.

The first letter he received a few months prior left him with a bitter taste in his mouth. He was tempted to just throw it in the bin and forget about it. After years of nothing she found the guts to write to him again, asking to save her little brother from a strange cult that apparently worshiped turtles, as Arthur understood. That first letter woke inside him an anger he thought died down. He needed to confront her. So a few days after receiving the first letter, Arthur rode to Valentine, his mind fixed on refusing to help her, yet after hearing her story out he didn’t find it in him to tell her no.

It’ll be just a one time thing, after this he’ll never see her again. He reassured himself.

But then another letter came and then another, and he felt like a fool for helping her every time. Worse yet, he felt like an absolute bastard lying to you each time he went to help Mary out, always finding an excuse as to why he was out late. His conscience shouting at him to tell you the truth each time he looked into your hypnotizing eyes as you both layed naked in the comfort of your tent, but how could he explain it all to you ?

Mary, on the other hand, knew about you, having heard of you once from Arthur when you first joined the gang, but now she knew about your relationship with him. He told her from their first encounter, quick to not let her think he had any other intentions.

He’d help, sure, but only for old time’s sake.

Although Arthur sensed she wasn’t particularly excited about his newfound love, she respected your relationship, often asking him for updates and lending him some advice. It felt strange talking about you to his ex fiancè but she’d ask and he’d talk, never shying away from an opportunity to talk about his darling girl.

Finally free of Uncle’s relentless job, he jumped on his horse, riding into town to meet with Mary.

The town of Rhodes was particularly busy when Arthur arrived, the usually calm town buzzing with life and chatter. Men and women dressed in all kinds of fancy dresses and tall hats adorned with feathers and ribbons, strolled around town. From what Arthur heard from a couple near the saloon, a famous singer from Saint Denis was doing a show in town.

Suddenly conscious about his rugged and worn out attire he quickly made his way toward the general store, where Mary told him to meet her. Something about buying some plumbing tools, she said. Their evening went smoothly, they chatted away as Arthur helped with her shopping advising her which tools to buy and which ones to avoid. As the moon came high in the sky he escorted her to her accommodation before finally riding back to camp.

––––– ✧ ✦ ✧ –––––

“Who goes there!” the shout of Bill’s voice followed by the cock of his shotgun thundering in the night from his usual lookout position.

“It’s Arthur, you moron.”

As the faint chattering of camp filled Arthur’s ears, images of you began to cloud his mind. He needed to find out what was bothering you. He needed to make it right by you, whatever it’ll cost. He hitched his horse, patting his mane a few times whispering sweet praises that made the horse sway its tail before walking towards your shared tent.

The camp was almost empty, being close to midnight the only people up were Javier who sat near the campfire, tuning the guitar in his lap as Reverend Swanson chatted animatedly about his past life experiences with a tired Mister Pearson who looked worse than one of his stews, and then there was Abigail who was chatting with you at the entrance of your shared tent. The both of you dressed in your best dresses, the sight of your body wrapped in the soft cotton and laces of your dress making Arthur’s heart race.

You were one of God’s angels, his sweetest and most beautiful creation, he was sure of it.

As you noticed his presence coming towards you, you hurriedly whispered something to Abigail, making the brunette widen her eyes, before entering your tent, leaving Abigail outside, her eyes finding Arthur’s as he came to an alt before the opening of your shared tent, her expression resembling the ones she had after a fight with John. Anger and care blended together.

After casting a quick confused glance at Abigail, Arthur ducked through the entrance, his broad stature making his action look quite awkward. Letting his eyes adjust to the dim light that shone from the oil lamp on the bedside table, he cautiously sat down his hat, his expression a mix of confusion and wariness as his eyes found your figure, sitting at the edge of your small cot. The skirt of your dress puffy around you making you look like a doll, your head bowed making it impossible to him to read your face and shoulders stiff, toying with something in your hands. You looked up at him, red eyes filled to the brim with tears that threatened to spill once again. Something in the pit of his stomach told him this was going to be a long night.

"Darlin’," Arthur began, his voice soft as if not to scare a small deer away.

“Don’t you ‘darling’ me,” you slurred a little. He could smell the faint scent of whiskey on your breath, a sign you’d been hanging out with your girl friends.

“Where were you tonight Arthur ?”

He felt his throat tighten at your question. “I jus’ came back from a job,” he unsteadily replied.

"Right, back from your ‘job’ mhh?" you echoed, your voice tight trying with all your might to keep yourself together. You stood up your wobbly legs almost letting you fall, stepping forward, holding out one of the letters as if it were a weapon. "Or back from meeting her?".

Arthur’s brow furrowed in confusion, and then realization dawned. His stomach dropped as he recognized what you were holding, the sight of you holding one of Mary’s letters felt like a punch to his face.

"Darlin’, it ain’t what you think," he started, his voice filled with urgency.

"Then, please, tell me what the hell it is!" you raised your voice, making it crack under all the weight of your emotions. You didn’t care if you were yelling, if you were to wake everyone in camp. You were tired of all the bullshit.

"I found them, Arthur. A whole fucking drawer full of letters from Mary. I might not be the brightest at reading, but I know her damned name when I see it.” despite all your best efforts to remain strong your eyes betrayed you as fresh warm tears run down the path that your previous ones left.

Arthur moved closer trying to take one of your hands in his, you took a step back, shaking your head. "Don't," you whispered, voice breaking.

“I went to Rhodes today with the girls, ya’know to clear my mind a bit from all your bullshit, and guess who I found having the time of their lives together ? Laughing and what not.”

He paused, his hand hovering in the air between the both of you. He wanted to reach out, to hold you, to dry your tears and comfort you, to explain, but he knew you needed to hear the truth first. "Please darlin’, you’ve got to believe me. Mary’s just, she's just- I’m just helpin’ her out. Her husband died, and she’s got no one else,"

You let out a harsh, humorless laugh at his poor explanation. Did he really take you for this big of a fool ? Was this really what he thought of you ? Tears poured down even more from your eyes at the realization. "And you, what? You swoop in to save her like some kind of hero? What are you mh, tell me Arthur, are you her bitch ready to bark if she told you to ?”

The venom spilling from your words hit Arthur hard, making him physically flinch as your words hit him right into his face. His heart shattering at your sight, you were physically and mentally distraught. All because he didn’t have the courage to tell you everything from the start.

“You’re still in love with her, aren’t you? Gosh, all this time, Arthur, all this damn time I’ve just been, what? A distraction? Something to pass the time until you could get her back? Poor silly me, thinking I mattered something to you !" Now you definitely woke someone up, your throat burned as you shouted your whole heart out at Arthur, you felt disgusted, dirty even. The alcohol you previously drowned your sorrows into making you nauseous.

You were ready to give your heart to Arthur, you gave him everything. If he asked you the moon you’d give it to him.

And here you were, the biggest fool in the West, thinking you could have a space in Arthur’s heart.

"What, no!" Arthur’s shout was raw, it definitely hurt his throat, you never heard him shout this way, you never heard him shout at you at all. His voice filled with a mix of frustration and fear. He took another step toward you, stretching his hands out in search of your trembling ones, but you stumbled back, almost tripping over the edge of the cot.

"Darlin’, you’ve got to believe me, I'm beggin’ ya”

“You’ve been lying to me for weeks, Arthur. For weeks you’ve been kissing me, lying in bed with me, you’ve been telling me that you love me while lying to me, for god’s sake ! How am I supposed to believe anything you say now?"

"Because I’m tellin’ you the truth!" Arthur pleaded, his voice thick, cracking with emotion. He could sense your heart getting further and further away from his. He wanted nothing more than to take your pain away seeing the way your shoulders shook with the force of your sobs. He wanted to reach out, to pull you into one of his bear hugs you always loved and make you believe him, but the distance between the both of you felt like a chasm too wide to cross anymore. The only bridge between you deteriorating before his very own eyes.

"Sweetheart, I love you. I always loved you, you’re the only one I care about."

But you shook your head, circling away from him before hitting the cold canvas of the tent wall.

"Don’t," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the sound of your sobs. "Don’t say that. You don’t get to say that after everything you’ve done to me… after all these lies."

"Darlin’, please…" Arthur broke down, his voice saturated with panic as he saw you back towards the exit of your tent, his eyes desperate as he looked at you. "I never meant to hurt you. I thought I was doing the right thing, keeping this from you. I thought- I thought I could handle it on my own, that it would be over before you ever had to know. But I see now I see how big of a moron I was, how fucking wrong I was."

You looked at him, your face twisted in pain, your heart painfully torn between the love you still felt for him and the harsh betrayal you couldn’t shake away. "I can’t do this, Arthur," you meekly said, your voice trembling. "I can’t…I can’t be with someone who doesn’t trust me enough to tell me the truth. Who lies straight to my face as if nothing."

Arthur’s heart shattered at your words. He couldn’t believe this was happening, not again. He was not losing the love of his life again. But unfortunately he could see the resolve slowly hardening in your eyes, the way you were getting yourself ready to walk away. Every cell of his body was screaming at him to find a way to keep you. "Don’t leave me, sweetheart," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "Please, don’t do this. I’ll do anything… I’ll tell you everything, from now on. I’ll never see Mary again, just don’t go. Don’t leave me alone." he finished his sentence, his tone slowly going down to a mere whisper. His eyes filling with tears.

But you were already pulling away, turning your back on him as you moved toward the tent flap. Slightly hesitating with your hand on the thick canvas, your body trembling with the force of the decision you were about to make. If you did this there was no turning back. But this wasn’t your fault.

"I need to think," you said emotionless, your voice hollow as your sobs died down, leaving you with a hole in your heart, "I need…I need some time for myself."

"No, please don’t…" Arthur’s voice was choked with tears he wouldn’t let fall from his eyes. But it was too late.

You slipped out of the tent into the cold harsh night, leaving Arthur motionless at the center of the cold emptiness of your shared tent, feeling the walls closing in around him. The crushing realization that he might have just lost the one person who truly meant everything to him came down on him at once making his head spin.

Alone in the darkness, Arthur finally let the tears fall, each one a silent plea for a second chance he wasn’t sure he deserved.

––––– ✧ ✦ ✧ –––––

You needed to get away from him, to get away from everything right now. You felt that if you were just a second more inside that tent you’d take him into your arms, begging him to never let you go. But you couldn’t.

He lied to you, you didn’t care about Mary, about his secret rendezvous with her. He lied to you. That’s all you could think of.

Realizing that Arthur could easily follow you in camp you decided to completely get out of camp. You needed space, from him, from everyone. You just wanted to be alone.

Venturing into the woods at night wasn’t the smartest choice you’ve made per se, but a small ounce of alcohol was running through your veins still and you decided to blame it for your poor choice.

The moonlight shone brightly, illuminating faintly your surroundings, the harsh chill of the midnight weather biting your exposed hands as you once again forgot your gloves.

You swallowed down the lump in your throat as more tears threatened to spill from your tired eyes, you were near the clearing you and Arthur found out a few weeks ago, in need of some privacy when your mouths were chasing each other and his hands, warm and calloused, explored your exposed back, your touches burning with raw desire.

The memory of that night burned in your heart when suddenly you heard a twig snap. You turned towards the direction of the sound fear taking over you, shaking every cell in your body. You were physically and emotionally drained, you didn't have a gun with you, not even a knife. The only thing left to do was pray it was just a fox wandering around.

And then you felt it, a sharp burning pain in the back of your head, kicking the air out of your lungs.

The last thing you saw was the forest floor.

Before darkness took over you.

#.rira’s posting ౨ৎ ⋆#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan fic #arthur morgan angst #rdr2 arthur #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #red dead fandom

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gloomwitchwrites · 5 months

Note

Still in love/obsessed ex-husband

A still in love and obsessed ex-husband can be answered in various ways. I thought I'd make this one a little loosey goosey and stretch the definition of "ex-husband" here a tad bit. I also split "still in love" and "obsessed." My personal HC about these characters actions around those two phrases will certainly vary.

Anyway, here are four quick drabbles on the topic (And thank you for your patience as I fulfill requests.)

Find the Imagines & What If Series Masterlist HERE

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): reconciliation, fluff, light angst, suggestive themes, swearing, marriage, strained and established relationships, stalking

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

“I still have it.”

“Have what?” you ask.

“Your wedding dress,” answers John.

“I told you to return it. And the ring.”

John shakes his head. “Couldn’t bring myself to do it. Still in my closet.”

“You don’t want to.”

“No.”

“Why?” you ask.

“You know why, love.”

You sigh. “Did you sign the papers?”

“No,” he answers automatically. “Why would I? When you’re clearly still in love with me.”

“John.”

“You promised me an army.”

“I’ve given you three,” you murmur, thinking of your children with him.

John smiles, and you melt. “We can make number four right here.”

John "Soap" MacTavish

“What’s this?”

“Nothing.”

“Show me.”

You keep your hand behind your back. Johnny grins down at you, one eyebrow raised. Johnny is fast, snagging your arm and bringing your hand into the light.

His gaze drops to the diamond on your finger.

“You still wear it,” he breathes.

“It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Oh, love. It does.” He steps closer, one warm hand cupping your cheek.

You lean into him, not wanting to admit out loud what still holds true in your heart.

“You still love me,” he teases.

“And?” you prompt.

He draws you close. “And I still want you.”

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

“Signing this won’t change anything. You know this.”

Kyle is right and you hate that he is. Grasping the back of your neck, Kyle threads his fingers through your hair. Twisting. Gripping. Arching your neck.

He draws you forward, lips nearly brushing over yours. “You know I’d burn everything down for you. Walk any distance. I will never be rid of you. Never.”

Kyle’s words are searing. They sit heavy in your chest.

“Do you not feel the same?” He shakes his head. “I don’t believe that.”

The divorce papers are scattered across the kitchen table.

You swallow. “Shred them.”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Ghost is a wraith.

He watches from the shadows. He knows your every step, who you talk to, and what your day looks like. He has always known. Even before you called him husband—and before that boyfriend—Ghost learned your habits.

He sits. Waits.

You glance over your shoulder with no idea how close he is, trying to find his in. Because he will. He will have you.

The current boyfriend will disappear.

Just like the last one.

Because Ghost made it happen.

All he needs is time and then, he can put his ring back on your finger.

Taglist:

@km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @spicyspicyliving @childofyuggoth @miaraei @coffeecaketornado @aykxz98 @kayden666 @unhinged-reader-36 @miss-mistinguett @keiva1000 @cherryofdeath @pertinentpostmortem @enfppuff @berarenado @saoirse06 @ninman82 @no-oneelsebutnsu @thewulf @hayleybarnesx @lxblm @ferns-fics @ooldcardigan @beebeechaos @enarien @sw33tsnow @kessi-21 @makayla-666 @lifes-project @burn1ngw00d @heeheehoohoohahahihi @lulurubberduckie @ravenpoe67 @jade1605 @contractedcriteria @lovely-ateez @gingergirl06 @kidd3ath @leed-bbg @blackhawkfanatic @suhmie @tulipsun-flower @ghosts-hoe @jaggersinclair @nomercyforthewarrior

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vroomvroomcircuit · 6 months

Text

You pulling in made me wish your Dad pulled out

(A/N): Thank you to @foreveralbon for workshopping this fic with me with this prompt. I don't know what to do if you weren't my muse.

Summary: Charles pissed off his neighbor with his parking. Her answers are notes taped to his car window. How can evolve more out of that?

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x female!reader

Wordcount: 1.6k

🏎Masterlist🏎 ________________________

(Y/N) knows that she isn’t the most professional car parker. She should never start a career as a valet for sure. After all, she needed a second attempt on her own practical test to attain her drivers license.

But there is this one neighbor of hers. She doesn’t know what he looks like, what his name is or where he even lives. But (Y/N) knows one thing for sure: He is a shit parker.

Like, he is the worst person at parking that has ever walked the world. If he could, he probably would park his oh so expensive car onto other cars. But she tries to not let that get too close to her. After all, we just talk about parking spaces and it’s not worth getting her blood pressure up over it.

But (Y/N) found her tipping point.

Her whole morning has been a shit show. Her alarm went off, but she accidentally turned it off instead of giving herself another five minutes of sleep. Five minutes turned into 45. That meant the young woman had to rush through her usual morning routine and she is 90 % sure that she put at least one clothing item on the wrong way.

But it’s ok, she is still on time. She just needs to get out of the car par-

This is where (Y/N) last thread of patience with that neighbor snaps in two like a potato chip, crisp and unclean. This person parked the front half of his car in a way that completely blocks (Y/N)’s rear end from exiting the car in a way that does not hinder the sidewalk.

It takes a solid seven minutes to get out of her spot, trying not to scratch hers or another car. Arriving a few minutes late at work because of that and receiving a reprimand from her boss is really the young woman’s last straw. On her lunch break she does some snooping on the internet and comes across a really fine find. It’s worth the price and shipping cost to her.

Actually, she can’t wait for the week it is supposed to take to arrive at her doorstep.

But the time between that particular day and the day of arrival do fly by when you use it getting madder and madder at the dickhead that is unable to park like a normal person.

The next occurrence doesn’t take long after (Y/N)’s package finally arrives. She wanted to park her vehicle in her usual spot when Mr. Ferrari already took his and her own too. How can one person be such an asshole?

(Y/N) takes one of the business card sized cuts out of her glove box and puts it in the slit of the black car’s window. Satisfied with her work she steps back into her vehicle and looks for a different spot, ending up walking several minutes back to her apartment building, having to look somewhere farther away.

Charles can see from a distance that there is a card at his car’s windowshield. Which makes him suspicious. Surely no one thinks that he wants to sell his car for cheap, so it can’t be one of those car handler’s business cards. Maybe it’s a new ruse of thieves, trying to get him to stand long enough at his car to read it and be able to steal his car. Or they are kidnappers. Anyways, he makes quick work of putting the card into his pocket and drives off at a neck breaking speed.

When he arrives at his destination, the Monegasque pulls the piece of paper out and reads it. “The way you pulled in makes me wish your dad pulled out”, he reads aloud, laughing a little to himself.

He has to admit that he might not be the best at parking. Who is he even kidding, he would win the world championship at being the worst car parker possible. But the thought of someone getting that angered over his non-existent skills.

It’s something that makes him happy throughout his entire day. Which is his main reason to try and look how much he can piss that particular neighbor off even more.

So Charles starts parking even worse. If he also starts on the habit of watching out of his window more often now, he would claim it is just a coincidence. But something in him wants to meet that neighbor.

That person that gets more and more creative with their insults. One time they called him an obstacle to evolution. The other day the business card said something along the lines of him belonging to the asshole club now.

Another, a handwritten, note asked him not to reproduce. The neighbor even left a condom for him. This made Charles laugh so loudly, that (Y/N) looked out her opened window.

She just finished one of the worst shifts she ever had since starting that job and all she wants is just a quiet evening to come down from the stress. Just the noise of the laugh is enough to set her off again.

Seeing her handsome neighbor from under her apartment pocketing the note and condom she left just minutes earlier isn’t what she expected. Watching him opening the car, sitting down and driving off is even less on her list.

It kind of destroys her world view, realizing that hot neighbor and asshole parker are the same person. In the last couple of weeks (Y/N) started to get some fun out of the mean comments she left at the black Ferrari’s window. This also could be her chance to finally make a move on him.

The young woman waits for the brunette to return with his car and stays seated on her couch for another couple minutes, for extra measure of course. After that, she leaves the apartment building with her prepared note and tapes it to the car’s rear window.

Charles on the other side stays glued to his window as soon as he enters his apartment. He finally wants to catch the person that gets angrier and angrier each time he parks in an outrageous way in the act.

Seeing the beautiful neighbor, who lives above him, sticking another note to his car makes his heart flutter in an unexpected way. For some time now he wanted to get to know her and if everything went according to his original plan, ask her out on a date. But maybe he can now use this to his advantage.

As soon as the beautiful neighbor is back in the building Charles waits an extra couple minutes before he once again makes his way to his car.

Running over his vehicle with a pep in his step, Charles is kind of excited about what insults or threats await him now. He has to admit, he actually parked pretty decently. Or as decent as he is able to. So the note has to be at least a little bit nicer than the previous ones.

“Hey neighbor. I thought instead of shitting on you and your parking skills even more, I want you to help and get better. I may not be a driving teacher, but helping you wouldn’t make your skills worse. Just text me with the times you are available at ;)” signed with (Y/N)’s name and number.

It’s kind of funny to explain to the press later how Charles met (Y/N) and became her boyfriend.

"Yeah, well I know that my driving has become sort of a, a meme,” he answers when asked a week after his announcement on instagram, “And my neighbor wasn’t too fond of it either. So she started to leave me these really funny, but also really aggressive notes at my car. One said something like I won the inconsiderate Parker Price. Which made me quite proud.” This entices a laugh out of the journalist. “Yeah, (Y/N) has a really good way with words, I fear. But in the end she offered me some parking lessons.” Charles smiles and thinks back to them.

He had texted (Y/N) immediately and they set up a date for the lesson two days away. But they still continued to text non stop and by the time they met up, it felt like they had been friends for years.

Which didn’t stop (Y/N) raging at Charles after his fifth failed attempt of parking his car according to her instructions. “I don’t believe you anymore. With the way you park you are not from Monaco but the deepest and wildest parts of Italy! Your Ferrari seems really fitting now!” This drew a laugh out of him until she graced him with the meanest look he didn’t expect her to be able to muster up.

“How about dinner as a thank you and apology?” He asked sheepishly, trying both to diffuse the situation and make his move. Why not shoot his shot right now?

Luckily the young woman agreed.

“In the end my parking skills weren’t enough to win her over, but my charm was what scored me a second date.”

And a third. A relationship. After some more funny parking jokes and him kneeling down on one knee with a ring and the promise to take lessons to keep their future family safe he even scored himself his unexpected forever.

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fanfic #x reader #reader insert #charles leclerc x female!reader #x female!reader

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absfawn · 9 months

Note

ice play with abby?

need her to be real already so we can do this.

“you look so pretty” abby mumbled. blue eyes flickering around every second, not wanting to miss a single expression on your face. the sounds of your heavy panting, choked whines and gasps echoing through her ears. “good girl” she whispered closer to your ear, fingers dragging the ice cube across your collarbones and between the valley of your breasts. the sheer coldness has you shivering.

“s’cold” you whimpered. your thighs clenching together tightly and back arching into her, not wanting her to know that you like this more than you’re letting on.

chuckling under her breath, abby hums with a soft “yeah i know, baby. but you’re doing so good f'me” cold droplets of water run down your skin. your mouth parts with a gasp once she drags the ice cube just across the side of your breast. “you like this” she states. to you or herself? she has no idea.

“abby please, just— oh” you gasped. your fingers weaving into her blonde hair, tugging lightly. her lips wrapped around your left nipple, licking and sucking off the water while she switches around and drags the ice cube over your other breast. humming at your little gasps and whimpers. “okay yes, i like it” you admit.

letting your nipple go with a ‘pop’ abby lifts her head, a sly grin appearing on her lips. “prettiest tits” she groaned. the remaining ice cube she currently had between her fingers, melting away, water dripping down your stomach, and pooling into your belly button. “prettiest everythin’” she continued, fingers trailing the goosebumps that rose on your skin.

even though the ice still had you shivering, nipples pebbled and breath uneven, it didn’t stop abby from reaching over and grabbing another ice cube from the glass. “abs” you whispered needily, eyes on her every move.

“patience, baby. i’ll give you whatever you want, but let me have my fun first, yeah?”

no time or room to talk back, plead, and beg her for anything— you’re gasping, legs twitching when she drags the ice up and down your inner thigh, water dripping from your skin and onto the bed sheet below. “yes…” you nodded.

exhaling softly, your thighs jolt at the coldness of the ice, hands gripping the sheet of your bed. abby’s fingers draw the ice higher up your thigh, lips following behind, licking up the dripping water, chuckling at your shaky breaths. “pretty all over huh?” she groaned. her eyes fixated on your cunt and if she were to drag the ice anymore, it would be exactly where you want it. “need it that bad, huh?” she taunts, watching the way your pussy clenches around absolutely nothing. “yeah, you do”

you were too dazed and focused on her face and the feeling of that damn ice cube to even realize you had tears streaking down your face, the salty feeling slipping between your lips as the cold sensation gets closer and closer— your head fell back against the pillow with a whimper, fingers continuing to thread through her blonde hair, and the small hope that she would be done soon, swam through your mind. “feels good, abs— fuck!” you choked out. her hand quickly moving around to keep one of your legs open when they try closing, whimpers and gasps slipping from you as she drags the small remaining ice cube up and down your folds. “shit shit shit” you chant, shivering.

“you’re doing so good, baby” she mumbled. sitting back on her knees, admiring you with a soft dazed smile. “my good girl” abby groaned lowly, watching the water drip down your folds. “you alright baby?” she questioned.

nodding wordlessly, you push your body a little closer to her, whining and pouting when she’s quick to pull the ice cube away the second you move. “but—”

leaning over to the nightstand, ignoring your whines and excuses, you catch the mischievous grin sitting on her face. quick to pull out yet another ice cube from her glass, somehow still not fully melted yet. “promised you would let me use the rest, until then, let me have my fun. you’ll get whatever you want, after”

#ೃ⁀➷ mail received #୨୧ anonymous #abby anderson #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x you #abby anderson smut #abby anderson drabble

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petit-etoile · 11 months

Note

Congrats on 200 followers! :D For drabble ideas, how about one where Tav is becoming overwhelmed from being the leader of their group and they end up having a bit of a breakdown in camp, so Astarion whisks them away and dotes on them for the evening to help soothe some of their worries.

i am tired of being brave

pairing: astarion/tav wordcount: 1,036 content warnings: none other tags: canon compliant, introspection, character study, idiots in love, established relationship, gender neutral tav, human!tav archiveofourown: here.

tag list: @azrielshadows1nger, @pandimoostuff, @faevi, @microskies, @foreverthemaraudersera, @queenofthespacesquids, @claryvoyantfray, @6doodlaang14, @anne-isnotokay, @itshimbotime, @yeeteth-the-raven, @sessils,@8-opossums, @worryknotdear, @abirdaboxandachippedcup, be added to the taglist here

summary: All you want is to get away from everything. Astarion indulges you.

‘Enough!’ you shout.

Lae’zel and Shadowheart have the decency to look properly chagrined when they peer over at you, frozen as if turned to stone. Shadowheart’s knife dips underneath Lae’zel’s chin, but the pretense of applied pressure goes away. You have no idea what hour it is or how long they’ve been going at it but the little patience you have snaps like a fine thread.

‘We have only gotten this far because we trust each other,’ you snap at them, pulling your nightshirt tighter around your shoulders. ‘But if you want to ruin that, leave me out of it!’

In what is likely the silliest mistake to make, you turn around and march to your bedroll to pick up your hunting knife and then march beyond the outskirts of camp — beyond Halsin and Jaheira and Gale and Wyll and Karlach, and Withers who seems to be musing over the situation with faint interest.

If Shadowheart and Lae’zel want to fight to the death, let them! You’ve done all that you can to get the group this far. You’re tired, you’ve been woken up two nights in a row, and you’ve had it with the drama.

You plunge yourself through the nearest bush you can find and sit next to running water, your arms pulled across your chest to keep the breeze from chilling you to the bone. You’re miserable beneath the moonlight. You can’t remember the last time you’ve slept more than four hours.

You almost doze off in the underbrush beneath a tree, but then there’s a hand sliding over your mouth and a body behind yours, somehow wedged behind you once your eyes closed. You gasp and try to reach for your knife, but Astarion tuts and continues sliding between you and the tree. It would be annoying if you weren’t relieved it was him. You relax back against him despite the feeling that your heart is going to leap out of your throat.

‘You shouldn’t fall asleep in the woods,’ Astarion warns you. ‘There are terrible beasts that have made this place their hunting ground.’

You shiver. ‘I didn’t mean to fall asleep,’ you say. ‘I just needed to get away.’

He hums. ‘Did something happen back at the camp?’

It doesn’t do any good to keep secrets, and your other companions had already witnessed it. You tell Astarion about Lae’zel and Shadowheart’s never ending fight. It doesn’t make sense to keep attacking one another, especially since the Artefact is the only reason the worms haven’t burrowed deeper into your skulls. It wears you down every day to keep making decisions for everyone when there are people with better experience. Everyone looks to you no matter how much you wish they’d look elsewhere. You never wanted this fellowship to hang on your every word. You just wanted allies.

‘It’s hardly fair,’ Astarion agrees. ‘To have the weight of this…Absolute sitting on your shoulders. I can’t imagine what it must be like to wrangle us all into cohabitation.’

‘Some discomforts are easier to resolve than others,’ you say. ‘It was easy making everyone throw their stakes away.’

‘I’m fairly certain Wyll kept his,’ Astarion snorts.

‘Yes, but he doesn’t wake us all up holding it at your neck,’ you say, elbowing him. ‘They don’t have to become friends or lovers or anything of the sort. They just have to get along until we arrive at Baldur’s Gate.’

Baldur’s Gate still seems so very far away. Acknowledging this drags you down more than you wish it to. You’re tired of walking and fighting and lying your way out of every other conflict. You miss your family and your life before the worm. The only good that’s come of it is Astarion. He lets you lounge on him when you please in exchange for some blood, and…

It’s more than that.

Astarion lets you do whatever the hell you please as long as it doesn’t annoy him. You’re free to nap in his tent or sit at his side while he reads, and he’s even allowed you to style his delicate curls with pomade. He lets you kiss him if you ask, holds your hand. If you asked him to kill someone for you, you’re certain he would without question.

Reluctantly, you sit forward. ‘I should probably head back,’ you admit. ‘I should make sure everyone is still alive.’

‘To the hells with it,’ Astarion disagrees. He wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you back. ‘You close your eyes and sleep. Let them come looking for us if it troubles them that much.’

‘And if Shadowheart kills Lae’zel?’

‘I’m almost certain Lae’zel would win,’ he says. ‘But, I have no doubt they’ll behave. You, on the other hand, are being naughty.’

You laugh but you do as you're told. You worm further in the roots and lean back against him. It’s chilly, but having someone else there does wonders for how willing you are to fall asleep. It’s almost nice how secluded you are away from the drama and stress. You almost wish you were a vampire so that you could sneak out and use hunting as an excuse.

The respect for all you do is nice. Sure, Halsin and Jaheira have both commended you for how hard you work for your age, but it isn’t the same. You still stand in the middle of camp trying to handle things on your own. The planning, the decisions. They somehow fall on your shoulders. A little more input would be nice, or a sign from a god that you’re doing the right thing. You try not to think about it as you feel sleep edge toward your consciousness. Astarion hums softly in your ear, and though it’s uneven, you can’t help but think it’s so off-tune that it’s lovely.

You yawn so hard your jaw pops, and Astarion hushes you, kissing idly behind your ear. It lulls you into an ease you haven’t experienced for a while. You melt into the touch. If you could purr, you would.

‘This,’ Astarion says, ‘is what you deserve. To relax here in my arms. Sleep now, and we’ll deal with what shall come in the morning.’

#astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion bg3 #astarion x tav #astarion x you #astarion x reader #astarion x oc #from ，carcosa .#my fic #anonymous #* a thousand lives，and one #foreshadowing for the sake of this verse?#mayhap .

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ephemeral--dreams · 3 months

Text

blood and grenadine

Scar/Reader

Word count: 1,531

Rating: M

Warnings: Scar is his own warning...!

Notes: feral cat reader who cannot accept affection is very important to me thanks. anyway I haven't stopped thinking about scar for a month. get him out of my head

☆ ☾ ☆ ──────────────────

You grit your teeth. It's getting tiring, the way he kept doing this. No, it is stressful. The way he goes around taking people you care about or causing mass destruction to get your attention. You worry that he's going to end up killing someone before you ever get there to confront him. Someone could get hurt, and it'll be your fault, because he's only targeting them because of his obsession with you. You wish he'd just come after you directly instead of doing all this. You don't like these little games he plays.

It's a typical but no less frustrating sight to show up to fire everywhere and screaming and him waiting for you expectantly. His head tilts. “What a coincidence. I've been expecting you.”

“Don't call it a coincidence when you did this on purpose,” it comes out scathing, sharp. He only smiles pleasantly.

“Why stop doing something that brings results? You should stop giving me what I want by showing up. You're conditioning me~”

“You can't-” you look away, trying not to simmer in your own guilt. It's stupid. You know it. He'd caused chaos before you and he'd do it whether you came or not. But you still feel as if it's your fault. If you could manage to stop him then these things wouldn't keep happening, but he always seems to get away after he has his fun. “What do I have to do to make you stop, then?”

It's worth a try. Maybe there's something he wants. Something you can get for him or… you don't know. Anything.

“Stop?” he laughs, as if the very idea is absolutely hilarious to him. Some thin thread inside of you snaps. You can't do this anymore. This cycle of violence. Innocent people getting hurt. The feeling of being helpless against it all.

“This is about me, isn't it? Then come after me. You want to fight? Then I will fight you. You want to hurt someone? Hurt me. Leave out the extra steps to get my attention. You don't need to involve anyone else.”

He's silent for a long moment as he stares at you. It's unusual for him to stop talking. But there's some sort of interest. That's what you're betting on.

“Do you have any idea what you're offering?”

“I'm offering whatever you want.”

The expression that spreads across his face sends a shiver down your spine, his grin razorblade sharp conflicting with the strange infatuation in his eyes as he steps closer, heat radiating as he steps into your space. You resist the urge to step back. “You. Be mine for the night, and everyone here gets to run free! Isn't it a fair deal?”

There's all kinds of implications there that you don't like. God only knows what exactly he plans to do. Giving him free reign over you for even a night is a terrible, terrible idea. But does your safety really matter in comparison to that of others?

It doesn't.

“...Fine. It's a deal.”

“You've made an excellent choice, little lamb. Let's not waste time,” the portal opens before you are given even a single chance to second guess, a hand on your shoulder coaxing you through. “Come, come. We'll have a good time, I promise. You'll want to join me when I'm done with you~”

☆

You're so tense. You always are. It's one of the easiest things to notice about you. Though it's rather troublesome when what he needs from you is for you to trust him, let him get into your head.

“...What do you want me to do,” you ask the moment you're both through the portal, not even a moment to get your bearings. Straight to business.

"Patience, dearest," Scar murmurs, hand still wrapped around yours in a one-sided grip as he leads you through the maze of halls. "First, we must prepare. Sometimes in order to experience the best in life, you have to shed the old.”

Your silence is uneasy, terse. You're waiting for the other shoe to drop, he can tell. It's like you think he's going to do something awful! As if he would, now that he's finally gotten a chance to get his hands on you in a way that isn't a mere fight. You simply don't appreciate how much effort he goes to just to get you to look at him. You act as if he's always out to torment you for the sake of it.

Which he's not. His intentions are so clear! How haven't you realized it yet? The obliviousness is as endearing as it is frustrating. It's because you don't think of anything but the weight of the world. Stupid, overly self sacrificial little lamb. Not tonight.

He tugs you through his bedroom to the connecting bathroom. You stand in the corner watching warily as he sets the faucet on the tub running, debating which of the oils he wants to put in. What would you like? He knows so much about you but not such simple things. If only you weren't so resistant. He puts in what reminds him most of your perfume after a long moment of contemplation. Then he moved to light some candles. Too dark in here. Scar paid attention to every detail, setting the mood for the evening.

The water steams as he shuts off the stream. He turns to you expectantly, then moves to guide you over himself when you don't come over. “Well?” If you're not going to undress yourself he has no issue helping you along.

You look at him. You look at the water. You look back. Suspicious. Hmph. You think a simple bath is an attempt to drown you, is that it? What a warped imagination. He's never met someone so overly cautious. “Little lamb, it's just a bath. You've got ash on you from all that chaos earlier, hm? Get in, come on.”

You look no less defensive over it, movements stiff as you obey regardless, clothing neatly folded as it is removed before you sink into the water with the kind of hesitance that feels entirely out of place for what is supposed to be a moment of relaxation. That's all it is. He just wants to ease the tension. That's it!

He thinks that it's a good thing the tub is big enough for two, as he strips and slips in behind you.

"Little lamb, relax," Scar's voice is quiet, his hands on your shoulders, kneading them. All the while, you remain stiff, a contrast to the warmth of the water. You really think he's going to harm you, don't you? Skittish. Perhaps that's not so surprising, but.. He lets out a soft sigh. Adorable, but so difficult. “Enjoy it. I’m not the grasping hand all the time, dearest.”

“You're a violent maniac,” is all you say in response.

“And you're too tense,” He feels a bit like he's coaxing a feral cat into accepting affection. It's as endearing as it is pitiful. Do you even know how to relax, he wonders? With how much you burden yourself with things he wouldn't be surprised if the answer was no. You almost seem more distressed when he's here being gentle with you than when he tries to attack you. As if it's all a complete and utter shock to your system. “It would do you good to let go of things. You can't can't carry so much weight forever, you know.”

You let out a quiet huff, but are otherwise silent. Is the idea really so preposterous to you?

A little of the tension starts to ease from your body under his attention eventually, though. The slightest bit. But it is a step in the right direction. He's got his work cut out for him if he ever wants to get you to love him back, now doesn't he?

“This isn't a battlefield. I don't intend to hurt you tonight. Alright? I just wanted some alone time with you. You can calm down. You've got to give me a chance, dear~”

You tilt your head to look back at him balefully. “Maybe if you stopped causing me stress…”

“Poor little lamb,” he coos, hands still rubbing over your back. “Does it upset you that much?”

“Yes.”

“Alright. Then I'll break into your house next time I want to see you. Then you can't complain. Yes?” Let it not be said that he can't compromise.

“I- fine. Whatever. Just don't attack anyone. Please.”

“Please? Are we pleading now? How cute. But alright,” Scar leans down to kiss the top of your head. You tense again. “Shh, shh, let it happen~ Don't go all stiff again now.”

“What do you want.”

“I want you to be mine, of course. But I'll accept it if you stop acting like I'm going to stab you in the back every time I touch you, for now.”

“...A tall order.”

“We have all night.”

You sigh. “Try your best, then,” it's all the acquiescence you will offer to his intent. But Scar will take it.

He has you in his grasp now. It's only a matter of time before he gets your heart.

#Scar wuwa #wuwa x reader #Scar x reader #wuthering waves x you #Wuwa #Scar wuthering waves #wuthering waves

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marnikula · 5 months

Note

Hey! I was wondering if you would be able to write a post about a Derek x reader where Derek is in the hospital after getting shot and the reader is just so distraught and bursts into his room, but plot twist, no one knows that they are in a relationship except for Garcia, who let the reader know, and they are all so confused.

Also, I imagined it as a female reader, so if you are comfortable, could you do that?

Hey! Sure, I can do that for you😊

Not my best work, sorry about that, but I hope you enjoy none the less

CW: Injury, female reader, mentions of gun shot, hurt / comfort, talks of deatb

✨Enjoy!✨

You have never felt your heart drop so quickly and so violently into your shoes before that moment. "He just went into surgery, I don't know how long it's going to take for him to come out, I called as soon as I could."

Derek was shot. He was in surgery. He was shot. Shot. He could be dying. He could be dead.

Shooting out of your seat you grabbed a bag and flung all of your necessities in it, letting Garcia know you were on the way before hanging up the phone. He was in California, 6 hours away by plane and you hadn't even bought tickets yet, you didn't have anywhere to stay. You knew you were being rash rushing to the other side of the country without a plan, but you didn't care. The love of your life was on an operating table and you weren't there.

Hailing a taxi to the airport you finally took the time to book a flight, thanking whatever higher power there was for the fact that the soonest flight out was in less than an hour and praying that you would be able to make it.

===============================

Rushing into the hospital, your bag still in hand, you ran up to the front desk.

"I'm looking for Derek Morgan's room, he was shot, can you tell me where he is" even to your own ears your voice sounded frantic, like you were hanging on by a thread. And to be honest you were, you just needed to know that Derek was okay. "What is your relation to the patient?" "I'm his girlfriend"

After getting his room number from the nurse you practically flew up the stairs, not having the patience to wait for an elevator. Seeing his room you moved even faster, breaking into a sprint and almost knocking a tall and lanky man over in the process. Shouting your apologies behind you, you were met with a door, slowing down just in time to not run against it.

You were in such a flurry of relief seeing Derek alive and awake that you didn't even register the rest of the people in the room as you rushed in, dropping your bag at the door and enveloping him in a hug. His good arm reached around you and hugged you back as tightly as he could muster, which was still pretty tight considering he had just woke up from anesthesia.

Kissing the top of your head Derek spoke the first word between the two of you: "Hey princess, what are you doing here?" You shoved yourself out of his embrace, still sitting on the bed and letting the agitation you felt show on your features

"What am I doing here?! Seriously? You got shot and went into emergency surgery and you're asking me what am I doing here?!" "Whoah baby, calm down, I'm fine, doctors said I'll make a full recovery, no lasting damage except for some scarring" your reply followed, with a smack against his good shoulder as well "Don't you ever, and I mean *EVER* do that to me again, do you understand?! I was so scared that I would loose you" "Baby, I'm so sorry that I scared you, but I'm fine now, and I promise to try my best not to get shot again. It ain't exactly fun you know. Now do I get a kiss or what?"

A loud clearing of a voice broke the two of you out of your little world. "Are we perhaps interrupting something?"

"Rossi, man, I respect you and all, but please, get your and everyone else's asses out of my room so I can spend some time with my girl"

#dr spencer reid #derek morgan fluff #bau #derek morgan x reader #derek morgan #Morgan #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fluff #Marnikula #Not my best work #But hey #What can you do?#Also why do commas end the hashtag? I want punctuation gosh dang it

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atinylittlepain · 5 months

Text

Prologue

jackson!joel miller x witch!oc

series masterlist

series playlist

He thinks he might fall in love with her. She can't let him fall in love with her. Or: a reimagined take on an infamous Practical Magic au by yours truly.

wordcount | 1.8K

series content info | 18+ slowburn-ish, strangers to friends to lovers to estranged acquaintances to ???, discussions of death and grief, a little magic, just a little, jackson era joel and all that entails, eventual smut, angst obviously, and love that requires a little elbow grease.

a/n | thank you folks for your patience while I was being a little worm about this. Very excited to kick off this series, and I'd love to hear what you think <3

....................................

There is the after, and there is the before. This is the before. In the before, there is a town nestled down in the purple-blue belly of a mountain, all shade and damp, cool green. A small town, everyone knowing everyone and everyone knew everyone as far back as history could reasonably stretch. And in this town sits a house at the end of a string of houses, sidewalk curling up in waves under the old force of tree roots, wrought iron gates and sleepy porches. Kids dare one another to step through the gate of this house. Only the bravest make it up to the porch, a quick clambering tap to the front door, wanting, but not really wanting, to see who might answer. All but one child, that is. She has no problem walking through the gate, but she’s learned to be quick in getting through the front door and slipping it shut behind her. The other kids like to throw rocks if she lingers, so she doesn’t. But there is always a sweet suspension of disbelief on the walk, before the gate, and the porch, and the slip through the front door. How nice, to have all her classmates walking her home after school.

“Did you get into any trouble today?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Well, always another chance tomorrow.” It’s just enough to coax a smile out of her, her aunt and all her tuts and tsks, turns of her nose and we need a brownie before we do your homework, little choice but to follow after her into the kitchen, warm and sticky, the smell of fresh yeast and something richer. Even now, even in the first gasps of Summer, a pot always boils on the stove, spoon stirring lazy inside it.

Her aunt moves like a bird she thinks. But not the delicate kind. She saw a blue heron once, at the lake outside of town. Like that, she thinks. Graceful but sharp, big and sweeping, the tails of a linen shirt, and the braid woven gray and black that hangs between her shoulder blades. All so familiar, she can’t help but sigh, cheek propped in the clammy cup of her hand.

“Something happened today.”

“You don’t say.” Her aunt, always knowing before she can tell her, sometimes even before she knows herself. She picks a chocolate chip out of the brownie split between them, holds it on her tongue and lets it melt.

“Andy Nichols broke his arm. He said there’s pins in his bones.”

“Is he the one who–” She nods before her aunt can finish her question. Yes, the one who never threw rocks at her. Yes, the one who would sit with her at lunch, not because his other friends dared him to, but because he wanted to. The one who, last week, sitting on the bleachers during recess, pressed a quick, there and gone kiss to her lips, all shy, all sweet, wings fluttering fierce in her chest. Yes, that one.

“Now he won’t even look at me. All his friends are saying I did something to him.”

“Oh, Maggie, I’m sorry. People can be, well, people suck, to speak plainly.”

“Did I?”

“Did you what?”

“Did I?” And the silence is enough of an answer, isn’t it? Her aunt’s eyes melt a little, lips pressed in a thin frown. Her aunt, who is as tired as she is, though she may do a better job of hiding it. After all, while she lost a mother, her aunt lost a sister. And the thing, that thing, this thing, that is threaded like a dark cancer through the sinew and snapping pulse of their hearts, contagious, careful or you’ll catch it. Everyone in town knows not to fall in love with a Campbell woman, a long history pocked with strange deaths, unexplainable misfortune. Her father wasn’t from town though, the first mistake of many.

‘It’s best if you don’t think on it, hmm?” Quiet and close in the kitchen, she does her best not to cry, feeling weak, a little wilted. One of those hugs that presses all the air out of her lungs, she needed it, breathing in deep, soap and sweat and soil and my little witch, we have work to do.

Homework doesn’t really mean homework in their house. Not the paper she’s supposed to be writing on the civil war, not studying for the math test she has on Friday. Homework means her and her aunt in the greenhouse, and her aunt quizzing her on the plants they tend to. What is what, what does what.

Lemon balm for stress and sleep. Also used to treat cold sores.

Echinacea for immunity.

Peppermint for nausea and headaches.

Belladonna for sleep, handle with care.

It comes easily to her, the same way that knowing things comes easily to her aunt. Plants, she thinks, make more sense than people do. It takes them a few hours to work through the greenhouse, night coming on in a swath of orange that smolders purple, cool shadows filtering in through green glass. They prune, they water, they propagate, and her aunt must think her extra pitiful tonight because she offers to teach her a few new tricks. The offer falls flat, however, when the prickled sound of scratching shivers up her spine. She knows it well, imagines that she could hear it from all the way across town at this point. The back door, nails skittering over its window panes, face pressed to glass, smeared shame, or maybe just a secret. All that’s needed, a look shared between them, no words. She stays in the greenhouse, closes the door behind her aunt, but leaves it cracked. She shouldn’t, but she likes to listen.

What she hears is always the same. Variations of desperation, I want, I want, I want, I need, I need, I need, him, him, him, her, her, her. How badly? So badly. Anything? Yes, anything. She’s watched a few times, peering around the doorway into the kitchen. All kinds of ways to meddle, to tangle threads, cut them loose, pick your poison, pick your pleasure. Her aunt tries to keep her away from it, the dark, crawling things, the needles, the wax dolls washed in smoke plumes. But she knows. Love is an ugly thing.

She doesn’t watch tonight, hardly listens either. Something else on her mind, in her hands. She plucks rose petals, lavender, rosemary, fills her hands with the rumpled things, says what she planned to say.

He’ll ride horses, talk to them too.

He’ll work with his hands.

There’ll be a streak of silver at his temple.

When we’re together, he’ll be able to stop time.

“Are you casting impossible spells again?” Her aunt catches her just as she’s stepping out into the backyard, damp grass and cicada thrum and the moon.

“I hope so. I hope it’s impossible.” They stand in the cool, damp grass, all that heat dropping down into a low mist around their ankles. And her aunt knows exactly what she’s doing. Afterall, she was the one who taught her this. Somewhere between a love spell and a prayer, though she hopes hers is more like a curse.

“There’s no taking something like this back, Maggie. Are you sure you want to do this?” She nods, says yes, and it’s enough for her aunt to stand down, giving her space to finish the rest of it. Intention, energy, that other word that people like to throw around She focuses on the words and the words become something other than words, and the petals and leaves lift from her hands. The moon takes care of the rest.

“I hope I never fall in love.”

The thing about spells is they always find somewhere to land, even the impossible ones. And somewhere in the before, that impossible spell found its target. Cupid’s arrow bent and broken, though still able to sting sharp. Somewhere in the before, a boy in another town in another life, young knees working hard to make the thin tires of a bike spin, already late heading home for dinner in the cooling night.

The boy’s mother hears him before she sees him, big, hot tears and ribs shaking with sobs she doesn’t often get to hear anymore, getting older, trying to get braver. The boy is bleeding, the boy is crying. The soft round of his palms scraped and stuck with gravel, and his knees no better, all down his shins, and he didn’t mean to cry, didn’t want to cry, but walking the rest of the way home, wrestling with the crooked handlebars of his bike, the feeling and the pain got too big, and he didn’t know what else to do with it.

“Oh honey, what happened?” His words come out in stops and starts, little stuttered gasps. I fell, gets strung into a few extra syllables, already ushering him upstairs and into the bathroom, the sharp smell of this’ll sting, cotton gauze getting stuck in the blood.

In the before, still young, the boy is a soft thing. He cries easily, and he doesn’t like that. Cries when he’s angry, when he’s hurt, when he’s frustrated. Cries harder when he cries because he wishes he wouldn’t cry, even if the words for such a feeling are still too old for him. Somewhere along the way, the boy will lose that. The boy will lose so much. But for now, his mother is making all the big and little hurts better, box fan humming in the cracked window in the bathroom, his brother, even younger, watching through the slivered opening of the door.

For now, the boy lets his eyes close, sticky with salt and the last wandering tears, and he wonders if he really saw what he thought he saw, what stunned him so snappingly that he flew head over handlebars onto the still-simmering asphalt. A blurred vision, blink and miss it, though even so, he’s still sure of what he saw. A rose bush, a sudden burst and bloom and flashbang, nothing and then something and then everything. Blooms that unfurled their skirts as fast as he was riding by, until what had been only green was blotted out entirely by heavy white petals. The boy will lose this memory with time, reasoning it away as an impossible imagining, something from a young mind that will no longer be his. But while the boy is still young, still a soft thing, he will think to himself with a kind of secret wonder that whatever he saw that night, it had to be magic.

......................................

taglist: @suzmagine @joelsgreys @vee-bees-blog @noisynightmarepoetry @kungfucapslock @iloveenya @evolnoomym @wannab-urs

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller au #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #apothecary gv

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velvetcloxds · 2 years

Note

Sitting on charlie swan's lap trying to get his attention/distracting him or just talking about yor day.

PATIENCE | C.S.

word count: 0.6k

warnings: age gap, talk about getting married, quickly proofread, hoping tumblr doesn't screw up my ending again

"I want to marry you," you hummed from Charlie's lap, fingers digging through his beard as you cupped his face lightly in your hands. If the man hadn't been caught by surprise by you settling right on his lap without a single word, that little statement certainly did it. He lost all interest in the game he'd been watching, abandoning his beer on the table next to him, hand instead moving to your back to support you.

"You do now?" his tone was curious giving away just how intrigued you had him with such a simple sentence, bringing it up just as easily as you'd remind him to stop for milk before coming home from the station.

"I do," you nodded and sighed, in thought as if you were picturing it, tuning out the details, and then you smiled, holding onto him a little tighter and he didn't mind, simply adoring the sight of you dreaming wide awake. "Nothing fancy, just us two and Bella, maybe Edward, definitely Billy and Jacob," you were moving, shifting so you were almost straddling him, truly the only comfortable one but he was willing to wait it out. "We can go down to city hall and I can wear a pretty white dress with big poofy sleeves and we can go to the diner afterward to have pie instead of cake, we could have our first dance as husband and wife right in this living room."

"You don't think you deserve more than that?" his hand was brushing up and down your back, soothing you, telling you that you had all of his attention, telling you to keep going.

"More than you?" you shook your head, unimpressed by the foolishness of the question, how could he think a future with him wasn't more than you'd ever deserved to begin with, let alone that you'd need more. "Got any ideas for our song?" you quipped and he shrugged, fighting a smile when you moved your hands to his head, threading through his hair as you gave your own question some thought.

"Something from the sixties," he beat you to it and the smile that dipped into your lips proved that he was on the right track. "Though I don't think it matters, I'll step on your toes no matter what," you giggled, he was very right but you didn't think you'd mind if he did.

"We'd be barefoot," you informed him, happy to edit your little dream to make it perfect. "So it wouldn't hurt as much," you added and he smiled, he didn't dare hide it, happy to see you happy, knowing that after the week you'd had, seeing you like this meant the stress was fading.

"Sweetheart," he almost purred and the softness of his voice made you shiver, leaning into him, elbows on his shoulders as you nodded to make him continue. "Is this a proposal?" he pressed and you bit your lip, considering it, and that was where your perfect plan reached a plot hole, you never decided on that part.

"Maybe," you shrugged and then shook your head. "No, it's not," you decided and you weren't all that happy to hear a car pull up in the driveway, Bella coming home from a night out with Edward. "Don't think we're ready yet, but I know we'll be ready one day," you explained and it was ridiculous, the way you wanted to melt into his arms even more, feeling silly for how sure you sounded of yourself but it made him fall in love with you even more, as simple as it was, as silly as it was, as clear as you could see your little wedding day, the future he saw with you was just as clear, now more than ever.

"And what if I'm ready now?" you bit your lip, wishing there was a way to make time stop for just a few more minutes so you could appreciate this moment with him as you tried to figure out what exactly you'd done to get so very lucky.

"Then you'll just have to be patient, Chief Swan," the kiss you gave him wasn't at all long enough for his liking and he wasn't at all impressed when the front door swung open and robbed him of you, your hand lingering in his hair for barely a second before you were skipping to the kitchen. "Hi, Bells," you sang as the teenager came into the house, met by the sight of you holding a plate full of brownies you'd baked earlier, something sweet that you needed after a long week and you were sure she needed them too. "You hungry?" you were already pulling out a little plate from the cupboard so there wasn't really a choice in the matter as she nodded.

Bella squeezed her father's shoulder as she passed him on her way to you, earning a mumbled greeting as he tried to focus on the game he was so entirely captivated by just a few minutes before but it was harder than he thought it would be. You jumped onto the counter listening to every word of Bella explaining her date in a whisper while nibbling at the chocolate treat but you were more than ready to lock eyes with Charlie as he turned around to meet your gaze.

"Marry me," he mouthed with a lovesick look, one you'd only gotten the chance to see on very rare occasions and you had to bite back a giggle as you shook your head with a slight shrug and a daring smile.

"Soon," you mouthed in reply and when he turned back to the television with a soft sigh his attention was further from football than ever before because if this was what his future would look like then he wasn't sure just how patient he could be.

#charlie swan #charlie swan x reader #charlie swan x you #charlie swan x yn #charlie swan fluff #charlie swan imagine #charlie swan blurb #charlie swan one shot #charlie swan drabble #charlie swan fanfiction #charlie swan fanfic #charlie swan fic #monique's writing events #right where queue left me

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maximotts · 1 year

Note

18. “so perfect all tied up for me.” With your dollhouse au? I’m imagining those silk ribbon bondage rope not just tying you down but wrapped around you because Wanda thinks it’s such a pretty sight <3

I'm a different person posting this than I was yesterday when I started this fic... and then it got Deleted in drafts and I saw my life flash before my eyes. This is edited kinda, but honestlyyy I just needed to conquer it at this point lmao

please don't flag this fic, I have warnings clearly labeled

Doll House AU. masterlist. wc: 1.7 cw: 18+ only, please. smut, fluff. loose ribbon bondage. body worship. inspection. fingering (r receiving). oral (r receiving). size kink if you squint. overstim. mommy kink. snuggly aftercare. and then all the usual Doll House warnings.

Wanda and Doll spend an intimate afternoon in bed, Wanda perfecting her ribbon tying skills while judging your patience

⁛— 2nd birthday sleepover.

"There you go, all nice and pretty..."

Silk ribbons adorned your figure, wrapping you like an extra present to Wanda, from Wanda. She'd spent the past hour fawning over you atop your plush bed, shedding your morning outfit only to replace it with buttery soft threads. "So perfect, all tied up for me."

It wasn't tight enough to restrain you really, if you truly wanted to wiggling away was an option— but you didn't want anything of the sort. Wanda's undivided attention was the best kind of afternoon you could hope for.

Curious as ever, you still had your questions. "Mommy, why aren't these tight?"

Shrugging your shoulders showed off the little movement you could make, careful not to undo any of Wanda's hard work. The older woman laughed and kissed your hip above the ribbon she'd tied over your curves, amusement filled green eyes gazing up and instantly bringing a dopey smile to your face. "I don't want to tie you down, not today at least."

"Then what are we doing?" Oh you wished so badly you could reach up and kiss her, but your wrists tied at your middle stopped you from bending too far, again more fearful of messing up whatever goal Wanda strove for.

And that was the most of what you were doing, Wanda testing your patience, whatever willingness you had to let your reverence of her outweigh your own desires... so far you were performing perfectly.

“We’re playing, of course. Silly thing,” Wanda sat up between your legs, crawling over your prone body until she could reach your neck for her next area of focus. It was an excessive show of possession, biting endlessly along your throat, leaving marks she'd be tending to for days after, relishing in how helplessly you squirmed under her; this could easily become her favorite afternoon playtime. "Aren't you having fun?"

Lithe fingers slid under the thick ribbons at your legs, playfully tugging just to hear your surprised squeak. Your legs fell apart with nearly no coaxing, Wanda’s fingernails scraping over your inner thighs just the way she knew you adored. Small shivers rattled your body as best they could within your restraints, ever conscious of leaving them in place, and the moment she laid eyes on your glistening sex she remembered why she’d decided to keep your lower limbs tied separately.

“I asked you a question.” The only answer she received was your meek nod, an action that resulted in a faux pout from Wanda, more concerned with how often you forgot you were allowed to speak now rather than whether or not you were truly enjoying yourself. That much was evident.

“It sure looks like you’re having fun,” Spreading your folds apart was just as easy as your legs, leaving you completely vulnerable to Wanda’s impromptu inspection. No matter how long you stayed with her, there was a persistent shyness about you, but your longing for your mommy’s approval always won out. It would be so easy to uncurl your hands where they rested bound together a mere few inches above Wanda’s, to push her away and cover yourself… but you didn’t— just as Wanda expected of you.

Today’s obedience earned you a reward, but Wanda wouldn’t spell it out for you, preferring instead to continue her game of testing self-restraint. It was better to train you into behaving even without possible reward, no matter that she already spoiled you rotten every chance she got. Two wet digits left their examination and came to settle on your waiting lips, your patience forced but steadfast. “Say please.”

“Please mommy, may I clean your fingers?” The drawn out please was so adorable Wanda wanted to suffocate you, but instead she sated herself with your grateful sigh around her, your tongue diligently licking until she drew them away.

Her hand came back to settle between your supple thighs, fingers sliding easily through your sex, knuckles just barely grazing your clit. Curious fingertips fell down to your entrance, gathering warm wetness from where you were dripping and bringing them to her own mouth this time. She always wondered if you knew how desperate she was to have you, but one look down at your dazed expression answered that for her easily. “Did my playtime make you all icky? Do I need to clean you up?”

Admittedly, the past hour of Wanda’s gentle touches, sweet words and even sweeter kisses left your brain fuzzy. The tingling in the pit of your stomach had grown into a calm and pleasant ache, much gentler than the gnawing, desperate clawing that plagued you whenever Wanda was rough. Sometimes she left you at that painful edge, frustrated to no end and chastising any complaints she caught. Today if she’d left you with nothing, maybe you’d be able to manage the evening with dull nagging, but the notion of an orgasm at the end of your slowly building high was too tempting to pass by; you had to make your need known. “Make it better, please… want it so bad.”

“So now you speak up, whenever you need something from me…” Wanda took her sweet time traveling down your front, lips brushing over every curve and divot so that when she finally placed one last adoring kiss atop your mound, anticipation buzzed through your veins. “You can cum as much as you’d like, but don’t you dare untie yourself.”

Sometimes Wanda’s rewards were straightforward, a simple start and finish before she sent you off. Surprisingly, you preferred rewards you worked towards together, ones like these where her tongue drew intricate patterns over your clit, teasing and testing just how far gone she could pull you while you remained committed to following her rules. It was harder than it looked, knowing you had the ability to twist and turn with every perfectly placed stroke, but willing your body to stay confined, to preserve Wanda’s ribbon-tied handiwork.

Thankfully they allowed space for the rapid rise and fall of your chest, the clenching of your core as the first wave of orgasm washed over, knocking your head back into your plush array of pillows as you erupted into a fit of moans and pleas. “Mommy.. Mommy, please.. again! Wanna cum again-”

“Such a needy doll, so pretty all tied up for me and begging for my mouth.” It was a brutal inner battle to keep from bucking your hips, fingers fidgeting at your midsection to keep busy in anything other than Wanda’s hair. When she descended again it was all worth it, warm mouth suckling at your swollen bud to distract from the three fingers prodding at your hole.

The stretch was maddening, an instantaneous full feeling sending you over the edge again before Wanda even got the chance to move. She groaned around you as she felt your walls clench, free hand coming to wrap securely around your upper thigh; instinct drove you to back away from the thick intrusion, but she couldn’t have any of that. “Shh, sweetheart, let mommy play a little longer.”

“O-Okay..” Your previous pleasant need evolved into something more, something starved within that only reared its head when Wanda’s intentions turned heady. Careful not to toss around too much, you relaxed as your thoughts settled into a low hum, taking every thrust and each curl of her fingers until individual orgasms merged to one neverending bliss.. you’d lost count after three anyways.

After some unmeasured amount of time, Wanda granted you a reprieve, leaving you dreadfully empty and weakly clenching around nothing. You felt limp head to toe, unable to even raise your arms without Wanda’s help as she worked to slowly unwrap you. She took her time so as not to startle you, smoothing over any tiny indent her ribbon left from your movements and doting on it with a cautious rub of her thumb.

Once she was done, she was genuinely surprised you hadn’t dozed off; the act of overstimulation alone was occasionally enough to leave you napping for hours. But today heavy eyes lazily followed her every move, bottom lip quivering more visibly by the second. “You did a wonderful job today, my love. I’m so proud of you.”

The praise was much appreciated as always, but you’d been missing one thing terribly since Wanda had first given the instruction to lay back while she unfurled her ribbon and tired as you were, you needed one last clarification. “Can I touch you now, I want a hug…”

“Of course, we’re long past our game.” You were in Wanda’s lap after the second word, curling into her and wrapping your arms around her middle in the tightest hug you could muster. Any time she searched your thoughts, they were full of her, the urge to be near her so strong Wanda was surprised whenever she got a moment to herself these days.

It was the sweetest form of devotion she could imagine, the pure need to keep her presence in whatever capacity; your lovey ways never failed to render her heart gooey. “That’s why you were so pouty just now, my poor little snugglebug.”

Giving your tummy the gentlest tickle before drawing the sheets closer, Wanda scooted you both until she could lay you down; not that the position mattered much when you stayed attached at the hip. Content little noises rumbled against Wanda’s arm as you made them, keeping still even as you craned your neck to cover her cheek in appreciative smooches. “Nap with me, mama. I’m sleepy.”

“If you insist,” Now it was Wanda’s turn for restraint. It’d take little to no effort to pull herself from your grip even without her powers; there were a myriad of things waiting for her to do downstairs… but she stayed put. The desire to see your smiling face when you woke up in a while, ever excited to wake up in her arms, far outweighed any living room cleaning.

#I'm so exhausted pls forgive typos #doll house au #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff smut #dark!wanda maximoff x reader #maximotts 2nd anniversary #motts writes.#maximotts

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eff4freddie · 2 months

Text

After She Left | Six

Words: 4.5k

Sarah's mom has arrived in Jackson, appearing at the gate injured and with two others in tow. You and Joel deal with the fall out the best way you can, with mixed results.

Chapter warnings: Slow burn. A heated but angsty kiss.

A/N: Thank you for your patience while I worked my way through some personal stuff. This is a shorter chapter and really just covers the immediate aftermath of Shauna's arrival in Jackson. We'll find out more about her and Joel's relationship once the dust settles.

Five | Series Masterlist | Seven

Joel had done a lot of things that had scared him over the years since the outbreak. He’d fought monsters only the most twisted of minds could dream up, had lost friends, had lost family. Had brought Ellie halfway across a dead country to eke out a life of safety. Had kissed you on the steps of the mess hall with your hair all pretty and your lips so red.

None of it was so terrifying as this moment, in Tommy’s tiny little office crammed off the back of the Town Hall, with his gut churning and his hands wringing endlessly in front of his chest.

It had been about as good of a marriage as it had been long. Thinking back on it now he could see they’d just been kids, basically. Barely out of high school, Joel working his first construction job while Shauna went to the community college, and he’d been so proud of her then, working the shift at the library in the mornings and earning all of about $4 an hour, up and reading all night. He’d loved her, he’d known that he had, and that was how he knew what she lost when she gave him Sarah, how abruptly her life changed, how the little screaming bundle of curls he loved in an instant took his wife away.

Tommy was eyeing him, he could feel the eyes of his little brother on him without even turning his head. He kept his eyes on Shauna, studying her face, tracing back the years, catching the threads of time as they slipped through his fingers. She was still pretty, but she was worn out. He supposed he was much the same.

‘The ambush, we weren’t prepared,’ one of the other men were saying, and Joel paid him little attention. Shauna was shivering, her wide brown eyes watching him as he did her, her arm held to her chest in its sling, dried blood on her collar. Almost on instinct he stepped forward and threw his jacket over her shoulders. She gave him the faintest hit of a smile.

‘You alright?’ he asked, quiet.

‘Joel…’ he heard Tommy say, and Joel knew that he was interrupting, that this was an interrogation and not a homecoming. But seeing her again was making him hear an echo of something long, long forgotten. That her eyes were so pretty. That her eyes were so like her daughter’s.

‘Can I see her?’ Shauna asked him, quiet and ignoring everyone else just as Joel was. Joel felt his brows crease, the look of confusion passing over his face.

‘We’d heard rumours of a town out here, a little bit of the real world behind a wall, but we weren’t trying to find you, I swear it,’ the second man was saying. Joel felt his stomach roll, his tongue drying out in the cavern of his mouth. Her, he realised. Shauna wanted to see her.

‘You pass by any infected?’ Tommy asked, moving into the centre of the room, trying to regain some sort of control while his big brother remained out of commission.

‘She’s…she’s…’ Joel tried to say, but couldn’t say it, not in this room and not in this moment, not with his ex-wife from twenty-five years ago wearing his jacket to keep out the cold. It didn’t make sense, the clashing of these worlds, of these times. He felt woozy with it, wondered if he needed a stiff drink or if that would just make it worse.

She was studying his face, expecting and scared and hopeful and surely she knew, surely she would have to figure it out just by the way words were failing him.

‘No infected, just the raiders,’ the second man replied.

‘You’ll have to quarantine,’ Tommy responded, and Joel could feel that he was letting things slip by him, that his brother probably needed him to back him up, needed to be a silent authority figure in the background, menacing and malevolent and just an arm’s length away from a rifle at all times.

‘We don’t even know if they’re staying,’ Maria was saying to Tommy.

‘We can’t throw ‘em out in the middle of the night. Not when it’s her,’ Tommy snapped. Joel could see Maria peering at him, at Shauna, trying to piece things together.

‘Sarah didn’t make it,’ Joel said, finally, settling on words that in no way conveyed the horror of that night, of the magnitude of it. The room around him went silent as the other inhabitants felt the weight shift, sensed a loss was in the room. Joel watched as Shauna’s face contracted into shock, then into disappointment, into sadness. Joel knew that look. Saw it most mornings in the mirror, his failure etched as it was into his skin.

‘When...?’ Shauna asked, her face turning ashen.

‘First night,’ Joel replied, not elaborating, finding himself completely unable to.

‘Oh.’ Shauna replied. She blinked, realising for the first time the rest of the room’s eyes were on her. ‘I thought when I saw you, maybe she…’

Joel shook his head, tried to shake the words loose, tried to knock them out of the air around him.

‘No,’ he said, simply. As if it would ever be that simple.

‘We’ll do whatever you need us to do, quarantine for as long as you like,’ the first man said, stepping towards Shauna, eyeing Joel carefully. Joel stared back at him, blankly.

‘I thought, sometimes, that maybe she was still out there, that maybe she was OK’ Shauna said, her eyes growing wet, finally turning her eyes to the floor. ‘It helped, sometimes, to think she was…just over the horizon.’

Joel swallowed, realising for the first time he had barely been breathing, felt the pull and ache of his chest.

‘Can’t do this now,’ he said, stepping back and turning to Tommy. ‘Can’t do this with her.’

His brother nodded, moving out of the way to give Joel a clear run at the door. Joel heard the snuffling, Shauna’s little gasps for air as he pushed the door open with his shoulder, not trusting the tremble in his hands, felt not for the first time that he had failed to keep Sarah tethered to him, to the living. Had borne witness to another loss of her, had lost her all over again.

Your first thought had been the kids, the alarms bringing prom to a crashing halt. You wanted to make some kind of stupid joke about how all proms ended in disaster one way or another, but it didn’t feel right, and instead you braced your cheeks into a smile and rounded them up in the town square, assuring them all they were still safe, that it was in hand. They had all seen Tommy and a couple of the council walk the new arrivals at gunpoint to the town hall. You weren’t sure if it was reassuring. You watched Ellie watch Joel, the way his shoulders tensed before he seemed to collapse in on himself, his little brother whispering urgently in his ear.

‘Who is that lady?’ Mika asked you, and you looked to Ellie for answers. She shrugged, and you the worry on her face.

‘It’s all in hand,’ you said, pulling Mika’s jacket tighter over his shoulders and spying his mother in the crowd. ‘Go on now, it’s past your bedtime anyway.’

‘I don’t gotta bed time,’ Mika replied, defiant to the last. You smiled, genuinely, at him.

‘I don’t believe that for a second, but lets talk about it Monday.’

You turned to Ellie. ‘Do you want to stay with me tonight?’ you asked, and she looked at you in alarm.

‘Why, is this bad?’ she asked, and you shook your head.

‘No, it’s fine, everyone is safe…it’s just that…’ you glanced over her shoulder to where the strangers had been frogmarched. ‘…that looks like it might take a while, and it’s already getting late.’

‘I can handle shit without Joel,’ Ellie huffed at you, and for a moment she looked so much like your sister you had to close your eyes, blink the memory out of them.

‘OK,’ you said, hands raised. ‘I just thought if you wanted company…listen, any time you want to come around you can, I don’t mind.’

Ellie thought for a second, following your gaze to the town hall. There wasn’t any shouting, any sounds of distress. It was likely safe, you knew that. You watched her calculate.

‘I can come by in the morning. I’ll come by to check on you,’ she offered. You felt a warmth in your chest.

‘I’d really appreciate that, thanks Ellie,’ you said. She nodded at you, happier now that her role as protector was assured.

‘Good night,’ she said. You watched as she turned back to her house, her eyes on the town hall the whole way, missing the way Dina watched after her until she disappeared out of view.

You took your hands out of your pockets to examine the tremble that you knew had nothing to do with cold. Something wasn’t sitting right, something heavy and hard on your chest, and you had to keep moving to shift it, had to keep jumping from one foot or the other to stop it settling on the bones and collapsing your sternum. She’s Sarah’s mom. You replayed it in your head over and over, heard Tommy’s voice echoing in your mind more than your own. She’s Sarah’s mom. Why did he look so shocked by that? Why did he immediately search for Joel?

You weren’t going to sleep, and you didn’t want to go home just to bounce against the walls on your own. You turned, the gate rearing up in front of you.

Billy greeted you with a grunt when you rounded the top of the ladder.

‘Not a great outfit for watching,’ he said, and you looked down at Maria’s dress, noticed a run in your stockings. You felt like you should have been cold but you weren’t, heat on your cheeks and burning in your belly.

‘Figured I might as well help out, make sure that’s all of them,’ you said.

‘I don’t wanna sleep neither,’ Billy said, turning back to the horizon.

‘What happened?’ you asked, fumbling for the old pair of binoculars, the set you preferred for its leather strap. You scanned the treeline, looking for movement in the dark.

‘Just emerged from the left,’ Billy said, motioning to the riverside. You focussed your binoculars and looked for tracks in the dirt, as if you could count the sets from this distance. ‘Come out waving, weren’t sneaking up on us. Were looking for my attention.’

‘For help?’ you asked, and Billy grunted. ‘The woman is hurt,’ you said.

‘Patrol’s going out at first light, check out that way, make sure it’s not an ambush.’

‘Trojan horse,’ you said, quietly.

‘Yeah, they’ll take a few of the horses, right enough,’ Billy said, and you smiled, privately.

‘You did some good work, Billy,’ you said, turning to him and examining his side profile. You had no idea how old he was, being that the apocalypse tended to age everyone ten years in a day, but you had to guess he was in his 60s. He’d been the one to open the gate for you on that first day you’d arrived, and he’d done it without suspicion and without fanfare, and all these years you had wanted to ask him why, why he didn’t interrogate, why he didn’t hesitate, but you weren’t sure what his answer would be so you preferred instead to believe that he’d seen something in you, that you’d reminded him of a lost relative, maybe even a daughter, that he had seen in you no ill will, no thirst for destruction. That he had just liked you, without being able to say why, but that alone was enough to let you in.

‘Ah, they practically came to me,’ he said, and you knew that the compliment had made him uncomfortable. He went quiet, turning to examine the right side. ‘You ever see Tommy move that fast?’ he asked, after a while. You shook your head.

‘Scares me a little,’ you said, flexing your fingers to try and get the shakes out.

‘Mmhmm,’ Billy replied.

You heard footsteps approaching the gate, heavy and fast, but Billy had heard them first and was calling down the ladder. ‘We locked down,’ he called, his voice firm in the quiet of the night.

‘Let me out, Billy,’ Joel’s unmistakable voice grunted out, and you felt a flip in your tummy. You couldn’t see him from this angle, but you could picture him standing at the gate, one knee cocked to the side and his hands on his hips.

You watched Billy’s shoulders slump. He didn’t want to get into it, not at what had to be close to 2 in the morning and definitely not with Big Bad Joel Miller at the bottom of the ladder.

‘Can’t, council orders,’ Billy replied, swallowing. You swore you could hear Joel roll his eyes. ‘For everyone’s safety, y’understand,’ Billy went on.

‘I gotta check the perimeter, make sure…figure out if it was them.’

‘Patrol’s going out in the morning, talk to your brother about going out then.’

‘Ain’t waiting for them,’ Joel grunted. You shuffled over peer down at him, leaning over the railing to spy him without him seeing you.

‘Y’know I can’t let you-’

‘GODDAMNIT,’ Joel yelled, loud enough to knock snow off the highest peak and cause an avalanche to bury the whole sorry lot of you. ‘Let me out Billy, or I swear to God I will shoot my way out.’

‘It’s dark, Joel,’ you said, reacting with your spinal cord to the sound of his distress, stepping onto the first rung of the ladder and practically sliding your way to the ground. When you turned he was pacing, glaring at you. A wild animal, caged.

‘Don’t, not with you,’ he said, a sneered little warning that you immediately ignored.

‘It’s late, Joel, and it’s dark. You won’t see anything.’

‘I need to check the perimeter,’ he said, again, the muscles in his neck straining to contain his frustration, his fear.

‘We’re watching the treeline,’ you said, trying to appease him, and he paced again, three steps left and three steps right, both the pistol and the hair trigger.

‘Listen to me,’ he said, rounding on you with dark eyes, flinty and sharp. You saw it, then. Big Bad Joel Miller. You swallowed, willed yourself not to break his gaze. ‘There was something out there, weeks ago, you remember?’

You nodded, reminding yourself to relax your shoulders, to harden yourself to him.

‘There were tracks, within the perimeter, and I couldn’t tell how many sets…but I was damn sure there was more than one.’

You figured you just needed to keep him talking, that if he kept yelling at you at least he wasn’t trying to rip apart the gate with his teeth.

‘It was something, I fuckin’ told Gollum it was something. I don’t even know if it was them! But I gotta see, I gotta check it out.’

‘Joel, they’re patrolling first light…’ you tried, but he turned his shoulder to you, focusing back on the gate.

‘And if it wasn’t them then, who got to ‘em?’ he asked, but this time he was talking almost entirely to himself. ‘Who nearly took her? Who busted her arm?’ he said, after a long moment. You watched as the crack emerged up his middle, all of the anger starting to seep away. He turned back towards you, eyes on the ground and his brows saddled, his face nearing collapse.

‘Who is she, Joel?’ you asked, stepping in to his space to try and get him to look at you, wanting to put your arms around him, hold him close to you, tremble and shake against each other, let the friction arc bolts of lightning into the dark above your heads. He shook his head, but you took another step forward. ‘Who is Sarah?’ you asked, and gasped when his eyes snapped to you, his whole body rearing up on you like a snake leaping for its prey.

‘Not you,’ he said, and you swallowed, felt the tears welling up hot and desperate and pathetic behind your eyes. He gripped you by the biceps, almost but not quite hard enough to bruise. ‘You don’t say her name.’

You could hear your breath, high and tight, feel the pull across your throat. His eyes bore into you, and this close to him you could smell his cologne, watch his jaw tic as he gripped his fear in his teeth.

‘Joel,’ you whimpered, not scared of him, knowing in your heart he would never hurt you, but nevertheless feeling him slipping from you, watching him retract, the warmth gone in his eyes.

‘She doesn’t exist in this world, not with you,’ he said, again, and you found yourself nodding, not understanding, trying frantically to agree, to acquiesce, to pull him back from the cliff if you could only fucking see the jagged shore.

‘Who is she, Joel?,’ you asked, and he pulled you in then, one hand wrapping to press into your back so that you crashed into him, his lips soft and quivering, little whimpers catching in his throat as he kissed you, pushed his tongue to open you, let you taste it, the terror and the grief, the loss of her, the acid and the sour, the acridity at the core of him, clambering up into his throat.

He pitched his anchor, prayed it would catch somewhere in you, that you would tug on the line and reel him in, pull him ashore and wipe the seawater from his eyes.

Blood splashed over a pink and purple tee-shirt. Curls caked with blood and mud.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, reality closing back in on him, the wash of the brine gathering at your ankles. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said again, because he wasn’t sure what he was sorry for except for all of it, because he couldn’t feel anything except for a pervasive remorse, just that everything had changed because nothing had, because Shauna was back and he had lost Sarah all over again when she did, twenty years and this one day saddled with her ghost. Because he was going to hurt you, even though he desperately didn’t want to, because you were so warm and you burned so bright and he was going to steal it from you, tuck it away between his ribs and cauterise his wounds with it. Because it wasn’t fair on you, so soft and so pretty and so snug in his arms. Because he wanted you, and because that never led anywhere he should be going. Not for him. Never for him.

You felt his grip loosen, felt him withdraw and step back. If you kept your eyes closed you could feel the linger of his kiss, of the scratch of his beard on your cheeks. If you kept your eyes closed you could still hear him, his gasps as he kissed you, the rustle of his jacket as he moved his arm to circle your back. If you kept your eyes closed you could ignore the sound of his receding footsteps, not have to see his back retreat from you as he hurried away.

Rose was the good sister, you knew this. There were times when you would have happily snapped her neck just to keep her quiet, others when you would have razed an entire township to the ground if anyone looked at her funny. You were her protector, her older sister, and you knew the moment she arrived squawking and indignant into the world that she was your reason. Keep her safe. Keep her alive. Keep her free.

It meant that while you were off making the tough decisions, off fighting the bullies back, off coming up with lies to feed her teachers as to why she was late to class again, she was in the world sweet, and loving, and open. Crying over dead baby birds in the driveway. Throwing still-wrapped granola bars into the trash in the belief that somehow it would get to a homeless person who needed it more. Doling out second chances to boys who hurt her like her pillow wasn’t saturated to the fibres with her tears.

She was better than you, kinder. When she was gone you struggled without a reason, still did on nights like this. You used to think her gentle nature was a weakness, and the last twenty years had shown you how wrong you were. That the strength she took to bend would have broken so many others. Including you.

You lay in your bed, listening for more alarms even as the sun rose over the mountain. You didn’t need Joel. You didn’t need anyone. Had got this far on your own. Thought back to the months you spent wondering on your own, no place to go, surviving just out of habit. That it led you to Tommy in the middle of the night, then to Jackson, then to home.

You were lonely but you were also used to it. You were forgetting the privilege loneliness was while others fought for their lives, for the safety you had enjoyed now for years. Selfishly held to your chest and then neglected the gift you had been given at the end of the world. You tossed and turned in your sheets, each side of your pillow too hot on your skin. If you had stripped off your shirt and examined your back in a mirror you wouldn’t have been at all surprised to see scorch marks where Joel had held you.

You weren’t Rose. So much of your life was proof of that.

The patrol came back the next morning reporting clear perimeters. You weren’t on the wall, but you heard the ripples of relief, felt the shift in the air as the town relaxed around you. If it was just the three of them, Shauna and the two men, and maybe they really had been just desperate and in need of help. Maybe there really was no threat. Maybe now the town could catch its breath.

You weren’t really expecting to see Ellie, assumed that she would be subsumed in the chaos of the night before, so you were genuinely surprised when she knocked on your door.

‘Promised to check in,’ she said, but she looked tired, and you wondered how much sleep she’d had, her alabaster skin already pale but ghostly now, in the warming morning light.

‘You want a coffee?’ you asked, leading her into your kitchen.

‘Blech, no fuckin’ way,’ she replied.

‘Did Joel…did you speak to Joel?’ you asked, and she half-nodded, half-shrugged.

‘He wasn’t exactly talkative,’ Ellie said, and you nodded. You had been coping on so little sleep but now suddenly with a teenager in your kitchen you felt the pull of gravity on your muscles. Your eyes stung, dry and swollen.

Ellie watched you as you hovered by the fridge. You felt like you should be fixing her something, but you were finding it impossible to. You looked in your pantry, unseeing. Eyed the apple you’d had sitting in your fruit bowl for at least the last week.

‘Not exactly talkative. That doesn’t sound like him,’ you half joked, and you watched as Ellie smiled, weakly at you.

‘I mean, it makes sense, it’s a big deal,’ she said, and you felt yourself stiffen. ‘I mean, if the mother of my dead daughter showed up unannounced I’d be…’

You didn’t notice Ellie had stopped talking, that she had come to your side to steady you, that you were swaying a little beside your kitchen counter.

‘He…daughter?’ you asked and watched as the panic spread across Ellie’s face.

‘Oh shit,’ she said, ‘he didn’t tell you.’ You shook your head. ‘He didn’t fuckin’ tell me either, if that makes you feel any better,’ she said, and it did, sort of.

‘I mean, he doesn’t have to tell me anything,’ you said, but you were barely hearing yourself, barely aware of the words even as your mouth formed them.

‘It was…the first day of the outbreak,’ Ellie went on. ‘She was 14.’

You shuddered, a chill running up your spine. ‘Oh, Ellie,’ you said, but she was waving you off.

‘Trust me, I’ve been there already, done the whole dead-daughter replacement thing. It’s not that, I don’t think.’

‘He cares about you so deeply,’ you reassured her, agreed with her, and you watched as the teenage girl in front of you nodded in understanding.

‘I know he does.’

‘He’d do anything.’

‘I know he would, I think he already has,’ she said.

You barely heard her, your brain still trying to catch up, running back over all of your conversations with him, all of the moments in the kitchen, of him cooking for you and insisting you stay to eat, of his loitering and interrupting your tutoring, of his terror for Ellie, of his need to keep his eye always on the horizon because of it.

You wanted to go to him, wrap yourself around him, tuck yourself under his chin and make him promise you it wouldn’t change things. Knew that it would never be the same, knew that your kiss last night was a goodbye, knew that you had felt it then but hadn’t wanted to admit it to yourself. That he had gripped you like his life depended on it, crashed his mouth into yours to try and hold onto a reality already slipping from his grasp.

‘Don’t think they were together when it happened,’ Ellie supplied. ‘He never talked about her.’ Your ears were ringing. You pinched your nostrils shut and blew. It didn’t lessen it. Why didn’t it lessen it? ‘I’m really sorry,’ Ellie said.

You wanted to hold his face in your hands and tell him he was a good Dad. That you saw that in him when you looked at Ellie. You wanted to turn your back on all of it, on him and Ellie and fucking Shauna, wanted to put miles and miles between you and Jackson. Wanted to be with Rose and your Mum and Dad, wanted to lift your hand to the sky and have them take it.

You realised you hadn’t said anything in a while, looking over at Ellie to realise with considerable alarm that she was comforting you, that you were the adult but that she was the one trying to keep you both on the rails.

What would Rose do? Think of that, then do the opposite.

You swallowed, standing up straight and ignoring the way the room swam.

‘It’s going to be OK,’ you announced, to the both of you, turning to the fridge and pulling out supplies to make a sandwich, the ingredients of which you would figure out any minute. ‘You hungry?’ you asked.

‘It definitely is going to be OK,’ Ellie said, eying your back with concern. You turned to her with a block of cheese and a loaf of bread in your hand, and she nodded at you in case you snapped and bludgeoned her to death with it.

‘If it helps, I think he really liked you,’ she supplied.

It didn’t.

Taglist (let me know if you want me to add you)

@harriedandharassed

@vickie5446

@kaseyconnour

@orcasoul

@missladym1981

@spacesoutdaydreamer

@tangled-tumbler-blog-blog

@fancyyoouu

@anoverwhelmingdin

@millersamour

@delicatetrashtree

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller smut #pedro pascal fic

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oneatlatime · 9 months

Text

Lake Laogai

This Lake had better have Appa in it. With little water wings on.

Skipping the commentary as usual.

The Previously On section suggests that a whole lot of plot threads are about to crash into each other. Strap in folks.

Lefty Sokka!

Beat up Sokka quota fulfilled by his sister's critique of his art skills. It's not like he had paper to practice with at the South Pole.

Sometimes I forget that Aang is 12, then he does something like attempt to rescue his pet from a nefarious city-wide conspiracy of silence with lost cat posters.

"Good tea is its own reward." That means no, he isn't paid enough.

Remember what I said in my last post about Iroh bringing too much attention to himself?

"senior executive assistant manager" someone on the writing team has worked retail I see. Nothing like meaningless promotions with no raise attached! It's right up there with employee pizza party.

I have to pause here and point something out. This whole scene with Iroh? This is an adult fantasy. I don't mean dirty, I mean this whole scene was put in specifically to appeal to the adults who got roped in to watching this kids' show by their children. A rich man walks through the door of your shitty retail job, immediately spots your natural greatness, and offers you a much better paying job with unlimited creative freedom and a better house to go with it? Find me a burnt out retail worker who hasn't conjured up this fantasy five times a shift.

And so the plots come crashing back together. This won't end badly.

"patience really pays off" I checked. He waited literally three seconds.

Shout out to Toph in the background playing catch with a ball she can't see. Casual flex of epic proportions.

Remind me never to go to Lake Laogai. Sounds like it's lousy with Ju Dees.

So the Ju Dees don't know about each other? Because she seems honestly confused. Does Ju Dee think she's the only Ju Dee? What happens if two Ju Dees run into each other in the street?

Posters are illegal but I haven't heard a peep about recarving a bunch of fields into a zoo.

This is maybe the second time Aang's blown up over Appa. Frankly he deserves more blow ups about the whole situation.

I don't think knocking down walls will help find Appa, but I applaud Toph's spirit.

They took out a whole wall and then exit by the door anyways. That's funny.

I really hate this guy, but I have to admit that he may be the first truly competent villain of the series.

'The Jasmine Dragon' also lets anyone with half a brain know that you're Fire Nation. Try the Jasmine Badgermole instead.

Zuko really can't catch a break, huh? He wasn't happy being a tea server, but at least he was resting. But every time he gets five minutes to himself, the main plot reappears to drag him back into the action, whether he wants to or not. Although he hasn't figured out that he doesn't want to be dragged back yet.

Every line of dialogue in this scene is a good point. Zuko's right, Iroh's right. The Zuko's right again, then Iroh's right again.

YES YES YES GET HIS ASS

That was satisfying!

I'm not understanding why Sokka is the voice of reason here. Is he incapable of holding a grudge? He's the one that had all the animosity with Jet to begin with. Shouldn't it be Aang who wants to hear him out?

Toph is a living lie detector now? I can't think of an example off the top of my head, but I'm sure that could have come in handy previously. Any other incredibly useful skills we should know about?

Jet is oddly defensive for someone who claims to know he did wrong.

Ever get so excited that your spine malfunctions?

Sokka just has a metre long map in his pocket. Good friend to have in a pinch.

Avatar first! Katara is rude to an old person!

I'm going to have fun with Toph's new ability.

Toph, you have never been more right. It is the worst city ever. You are really shining this episode.

I know this is a serious scene, but I need to point out that Jet's guyliner is on point.

This shot is jarringly out of place. I think it's because it both black and white, and live action. Those have to be real clouds.

So the Blue Spirit can talk after all. Careful, your Zuko is showing.

Wow Zuko is good at sewing. And fast too.

Sokka is having far too much fun with this whole 'prompt Jet's memory' thing. Maybe he does have a bit of a grudge after all.

Katara can reverse brainwashing now too? Everyone's levelling up this episode.

This scene with the planks is a very cool and disorienting visual.

Didn't have 'the gaang breaks into a brainwashing facility' on my ATLA bingo card.

Pretty.

OMIGOD IT'S AP- did Zuko just break the fourth wall?

Everyone always forgets to look up.

So this fight is going to be Toph v. all of the Dai Li while everyone else tries not to get in Toph's way.

That's a boat.

Toph could probably take all these guys out faster if she wasn't having to constantly break off to save everyone else from them.

The Dai Li prancing up walls is a really cool visual. It's very Ty Lee of them.

I love watching her work.

Why don't you let Long Feng escape? He's no longer threatening you, and you're down there to rescue Appa. Just let him go.

The security on Lake Laogai is a joke.

Big words from someone who also had no plan whatsoever at the North Pole.

Zuko knows that Iroh's right. He knows, and that's important. I don't think Iroh is saying anything that Zuko hasn't thought and then hurriedly pretended to have never thought about before. It's why he says 'stop it' rather than being completely confused as to what Iroh is referring to.

Poor Appa's like 'can you have a crisis of self after you free me please?'

'You've chosen your own demise." No. You chose it for him. That's some top tier deflection/victim blaming right there.

Longshot can talk!

That's one hell of a set up and pay off re: Toph's lie detecting abilities.

Poor Jet. A double tragedy: to be likeable only when you're brainwashed, and to dedicate your life to wiping out the Fire Nation yet being killed by the Earth Kingdom.

Hi Appa. It's about time buddy.

Shockingly in character for Appa's first actions to be to single handedly save the Gaang from a threat.

You skip that bastard like a stone.

Everyone go and listen to the sound Appa makes when he spits out Long Feng's shoe. It's delightful.

I am framing this.

And this too.

I can tell there's some shmymbolism here, but it's gone right over my head.

Final Thoughts

Appa is back. The Gaang has Appa back. I have Appa back. Ok. I can relax now. With any luck, this means we can leave Ba Sing Se.

This episode felt like City of Walls and Secrets, Part 2. I think it was a good decision to have a couple of episodes between the two, but I think there would be some tonal whiplash if you binged this section of season 2. Which wouldn't have been a problem for a show designed to air once a week, so it's a moot point.

So Zuko freed Appa from his chains, and presumably pointed him in the direction of a door or something. Or maybe not; Appa has a ridiculously hard head, he could have busted his way out. Either way, Zuko broke the chains. Thanks Zuko!

In season 1, Zuko finds the Avatar the world had lost. In season 2, Zuko finds the Sky Bison the Avatar had lost. So in season 3, Zuko will find something Appa has lost. I wonder what that will be?

Jet being killed by the Earth Kingdom is so deliciously ironic, and tragic, yet very in character for the Earth Kingdom's approach to this war. It's also literally this:

Smellerbee and Longshot have really gotten the short end of the stick over and over this season. They were the only ones to decide to stick with Jet. Presumably they were the only ones who believed that he had had a legitimate change of heart. And they were kind of wrong. They get to Ba Sing Se only for Jet to immediately backslide way past even where he was at his worst in Season 1. He completely discounts and dismisses their legitimate concerns for his methods and his overall health. Then Jet gets arrested and disappears for two (?) weeks. So what do they do now? Get jobs? Steal so they don't starve? Then suddenly Jet's back but he doesn't even remember them. Then suddenly Jet's dead. The whole point of coming to Ba Sing Se just died, in a way that shows very clearly that their desire to help with the war is not welcome at all in the city. So what now? Do they leave and try to fight in the war from outside the walls? Do they settle down and try to forget about the war? Things did spiral completely out of Jet's control once the Dai Li got involved, but you have to admit that he's left his only remaining friends up a creek.

Sokka had some good jokes but was oddly ok with this episode's events. Toph had some great lines and got to shine with a new skill that any writer with half a brain will bring back in future episodes. She felt like the audience substitute this episode, which is usually Sokka's role. Toph was episode MVP for sure. Poor Aang took a bit of a back seat this episode. Zuko finally hit the crisis point, and may well have made his first indisputably correct decision of the series. But, as previous episodes have gone out of their way to show me that Zuko being good always goes badly for Zuko, I'm sure freeing Appa will somehow come back to bite him.

Iroh's question of "who are you? And what do you want?" was Zuko's entire character arc this season. He took a shot at answering the "who are you?" portion in Zuko Alone, and sort of halfway got there before messing up at the end of the episode. As for the "what do you want?" Zuko will tell you (often and repeatedly) that he wants his honour back. But I think he just wants to go home. The thing is, I strongly suspect that the home Zuko wants to return to hasn't existed since his mother left, if it ever existed at all. Which means that while "who are you?" has an answer Zuko can work towards, "what do you want?" has an answer that is kind of impossible. So Zuko is going to have to learn to want something new.

RIP Jet. Your life was fucked to Hell long before you were old enough to try and salvage it. You'll probably be missed by more people than you strictly deserve. War sucks, amirite?

#atla #avatar: the last airbender #avatar the last airbender #lake laogai

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