#spEAKING OF GREEN FIERI

[joelsgreys]

to hell and back l two

Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Female Reader

series masterlist l main masterlist l next chapter

summary: After escaping a group of brutal slavers, you are left with permanent physical and emotional scars. Unwilling to put your trust in another human being ever again, you spend a year fighting for survival alone in the post outbreak world. But when you choose to save the life of a man named Joel Miller, the wall that you’ve built to protect yourself slowly begins to crumble.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. canon violence, canon language, reader has a flashback, mentions of slavers, implied threat of assault, guns, reader gets groped, reader has a panic attack, a lot of angst, trauma. soft Joel, protective Joel, and i even threw in some domestic Joel because just imagine that old man making you a nice lil late night snack. 🥹 i think i got most of the major warnings out of the way, i’m sorry if i missed anything!

Word Count: 8.7k

Smoke was coming off my jacket

and you didn’t seem to mind

I left a long trail of ashes and

you said, I like your style

California l Spring, 2023

Your hand trembled slightly as you gripped your pistol and aimed it at his chest.

You’d never pointed your gun at another human being before. At least not one that was still alive.

“Hey now, it’s alright. You can trust us.”

Anxiously, you glimpsed from the man who had just spoken to the woman who stood beside him.

Surely the two had to be related. Both possessed the same fiery red hair, a face full of freckles, and vivid green eyes. They stood before you with their weapons lowered in an attempt to show you that they weren’t a threat to your safety. 

The man, who had to be in his mid to late thirties, moved to step forward, but halted in his tracks when he caught sight of the way your finger had twitched over the trigger. “My name is Mark,” he said, carefully gesturing to himself with his free hand. In his opposite hand, he clutched his rifle, an assault style weapon that made your gun look like a fucking toy in comparison. Still, it was you who had the upper hand, at least for now. “This here is my sister. Her name is Jessa.” He paused and when you said nothing, he asked, “Can you tell us your name?”

Chewing your bottom lip, you shook your head at him in response. 

You didn’t trust them.

Not quite yet.

Jessa, who was younger and looked to be closer to your own age, offered you a kind smile. “That’s alright. You don’t have to tell us your name until you feel comfortable.” She took a look around at the small, makeshift camp that you had made for yourself. “Are you all by yourself, sweets?”

You quickly wracked your brain. 

“No,” You fibbed. “I’m with my father. He should be back any minute now. He’s armed and he does not take all too kindly to strangers, so you’d best be on your way before he sees you.” You added in a steadier tone, “He won’t even think twice. He’ll just kill you on the spot, so you better leave right now. Or else.”

Amused, Mark let out a soft chuckle. “Oh, come on now, dollface. You don’t have to lie to us,” he stated, shaking his head. “Let’s try this again and let’s be honest this time, alright? How long have you been alone?”

Your throat bobbed as you swallowed harshly. 

Fuck.

He had seen right through the bullshit threat. 

“For about three or four days now,” You admitted, your shoulders sagging in defeat. “I was with my father and my sister. The three of us were on our way up north. We were trying to get to Seattle to the quarantine zone, but then they were—”

You suddenly stopped.

It felt like someone had driven their fist right into your gut, knocking all the wind out of your lungs and hindering your ability to speak.

You couldn’t even say it out loud.

Gruesome images of them being torn apart limb from limb flashed through your mind. Bile slowly started climbing its way up your throat and your stomach churned violently.

You were going to be sick.

“Are they both dead?” Mark questioned you.

You nodded, whispering shakily, “Yes.”

Jessa frowned. “I’m so sorry for your loss, honey. If it’s any consolation, me and Mark know exactly how it feels. We lost our entire family about three years ago. It’s the hardest thing we’ve ever been through.” Swinging back her own rifle behind her, she approached you and reached out, placing her hand over yours—the one that was still clutching your weapon. She didn’t even so much as flinch at the way the barrel was now pointed at her, how it was just an inch or two away from her chest. It didn’t seem to faze her that all it would take was you bringing your index finger down a bit harder on the trigger and she would be dead. “We know you must be fucking terrified, but it’s okay. You can trust us. We’re good, honest people and we just want to help you. But we can’t do that if you try and kill us, now can we?”

Slowly, Jessa guided you to lower your gun. She then looked over her shoulder, exchanging a look with her brother, as if asking him to back her up.

“Yeah. She’s right. We just want to help you,” he repeated after her. “We aren’t going to hurt you. If we wanted to, we probably would have by now, don’t you think so?”

You let out a tiny breath you hadn’t even realized you’d been holding and loosened your iron grip on your pistol.

He did make a fair point.

Now that your gun was pointed at the ground, he could have easily killed you. And yet, he’d made no move to blow your fucking head off. 

Maybe they really were good people.

But what if they weren’t?

What if it was just a trap?

You didn’t know what to fucking think.

All you knew was that you were so helplessly lost now that your family was gone.

You were afraid.

Alone.

Jessa turned back to you. “Listen, we’re part of a settlement,” she informed you. “It’s not all too far from here, maybe six or seven miles tops. We’ve got a really big group of people and we’re always looking to bring in anyone in need. Come with us, sweets. There’s plenty of food, water, and we can you into some fresh, clean clothes too. How does that sound?” 

You momentarily hesitated, still unsure whether or not you could trust the two strangers. 

How did it sound?

It sounded too fucking good to be true.

“It’s a safe place,” Mark assured you from behind her. He could see the reluctance written all over your face. 

“It’s as safe as safe can be,” Jessa promised. She touched your arm and flashed you another smile, one that was more kind than the first—one that was so comforting it made you feel like you could actually trust her. “So? What do you say? Will you come back with us? Will you let us help you?”

You nervously bit the inside of your cheek.

Scared, starving, and exhausted, their offer for a safe haven was much too tempting to decline.

Besides, how long could you possibly survive out here all on your own?

“Alright,” You finally agreed after a moment. “I’ll come with you.”

“There’s just one condition,” Mark stated, falling into step beside his sister in front of you. “We’re going to need you to hand over your weapon.”

“What?” You stared at him. “Why?”

“Oh, don’t worry. It’s protocol,” he said, waving a hand dismissively at you. “It’s purely for safety reasons. Anyone who comes into our group must surrender their weapons. We want to be sure that we’re bringing in someone who isn’t going to be a threat to our people. We have children, so we just want to be cautious, you know?”

“I guess that does makes sense,” You admitted. 

“You’ll get it back,” Jessa reassured you. “Once you speak to the council and they determine you aren’t a threat, you’ll get your gun back. Okay?”

Left with very little choice, you agreed. “Okay.”

Mark held out his hand for the weapon.

Slowly, you placed your pistol in his open palm.

“Perfect.” Jessa chirped. “Now grab your things and let’s get going. If we hurry up, we can make it back before nightfall.”

Nodding, you turned around to grab your pack. 

The second you turned your back, the barrel of the same gun you’d just handed to Mark poked you between your shoulder blades and you froze, your blood running cold in your veins.

“Hands up, bitch,” Jessa commanded. Her warm and friendly tone had vanished. “And turn around towards me slowly. Now.”

Terrified, you did as you were told and you lifted both of your hands, turning around on the heel of your sneaker to face her.

Her expression, much like her tone, was frigid.

Hostile.

“You’re going to do exactly as I say when I say it.” She held up her rifle, aiming it at you. “And if you don’t, you fucking die. Do you understand?”

“Please,” You choked out. “Don’t—”

“Do you fucking understand?” Jessa repeated in a hiss, her finger hovering over the trigger. When she was met with a small, meek nod, she turned to look at her brother. “Cuff her.”

Mark smirked. He tucked your gun away into the waistband of his jeans and reached into his back pocket, pulling out a pair of rusted handcuffs. He walked around and stood behind you, instructing, “Hands behind your back.” Once he had both of your wrists in one hand, he used the other to slip on the cuffs, tightening them so hard that the old oxidized steel dug painfully into your skin. “She’s a pretty one,” he murmured. As soon as he made certain the cuffs were securely fastened, he put a hand on your ass, groping it roughly. “Oh, you’re going to be popular with the guys, dollface. Kind of makes me want to break you in, right here and right now—give me a few minutes with her, Jess.”

Completely paralyzed with fear, all you could do was stand there in silence as his hands continued to roam your lower body, feeling you up through your jeans. He squeezed at your inner thigh, then brushed up over your zipper.

“Mark! That’s not what she’s for, you idiot,” Jessa reminded him, rolling her eyes. “Now quit fucking around and let’s start heading back to camp.”

She whirled around and started leading the way.

Mark grinned and pressed his mouth to your ear as he whispered in cruel reassurance, “Don’t you worry, now. I’ll get my chance with you—we’re all going to our chance with you.”

He grabbed you by your upper arm and roughly shoved you forward, leading you to what would inevitably be hell on earth.

Joel leans against the tree with his arms crossed over his chest. His dark eyes are fixed intently on you, carefully observing you from where he stands, more so out of concern rather than curiosity. Something isn’t right.

It’s late in the afternoon and the two of you had been about halfway into the six hour trek down south to Jackson when Joel offered to stop for a while, just long enough for the both of you to rest and take a quick breather, find a second wind before finishing the journey—but as he continues watching you, Joel starts to realize that perhaps stopping had done you much more harm than it’s done you good. 

Just a few feet away from where he’s standing and keeping a watchful eye on you, you sit perched on top of a small, flat boulder hugging your knees up to your chest with both hands wrapped tightly around the grip of your pistol. 

You’re in a trance like state, staring straight off into the distance at nothing in particular. Your face is completely blank. Emotionless. It appears that while all the lights are on, nobody is fucking home. 

Squinting against the sunlight, Joel takes a closer look at you. He sees it so clearly, the faraway look in your eyes. 

You are gone. You’ve checked out and completely disconnected from reality. 

He would go as far as saying you’ve disconnected from this fucking planet.

You’re sinking, slowly drowning in some kind of thought or perhaps it was a memory—whatever it is that’s currently preoccupying your mind, it sure as hell isn’t anything good. He has no fucking clue how he’d managed to clock it so easily, so quickly, but Joel had sensed something was wrong the instant you’d drifted off. 

The deeper you go and the further you lose yourself, the harder your hands clutch at your grin, the thin delicate skin on your knuckles stretching taught over the bones. It’s not until Joel notices the way your chest begins to rise and fall rapidly as your breaths quicken, the way you start struggling for air, that he knows it’s time for him to intervene before you worsen and suffocate under the weight of whatever it is that’s sitting so heavily on you. 

Pushing himself away from the tree, Joel begins to approach you, taking extra care so as not to spook you into turning your pistol on him and pulling the trigger in a moment of panic. He lifts both of his hands and holds them out in front of him. Cautiously, Joel makes his way over towards where you’re sitting on the boulder, his footsteps slow and careful. 

“Hey,” he calls out to you, keeping his tone firm, but somehow still gentle as he tries to garner your attention. When you don’t even acknowledge him or his presence, he tries again, speaking a little bit louder. “Hey. S’okay. S’alright. Everythin’ is alright—come on back now.” Joel draws closer and closer to you, taking tiny step after tiny step on the steel toes of his worn, black leather boots. “S’alright, darlin’. I need you to come back to me now, okay? You ain’t where you think you are. You’re alright—”

The sound of a twig snapping underneath his boot startles you. Jumping to your feet, you aim your gun at him with shaking hands and wild, terrified eyes. 

Even as your finger trembles over the trigger, Joel remains calm. “Hey, c’mon. Take it easy. S’okay. You’re alright. Look, it’s me. It’s just me and I ain’t gonna do anythin’ to hurt you,” he swears. He shows you his empty hands, hoping that you would be able to snap out of it and realize that he isn’t a threat. That you aren’t in any kind of danger. But as you hold your weapon, chest heaving as you panic, Joel knows it doesn’t matter that his hands are empty. It doesn’t make a fucking difference. He knows it isn’t him who is standing in front of you.

It’s someone else. Whoever you were seeing standing there in his place, it’s someone who had done god knows what to you. Joel has a gut wrenching hunch it had something to do with the marks he’d seen around your wrists back at the cabin. The mere thought of it is enough to send an unpleasant chill up and down the length of his spine. 

Joel speaks again. “I ain’t gonna hurt you.” He feels the sudden urge to reach out for you, but knowing it would be unwelcome, he resists it. All he can do is try and use his words to bring you back to the present. Back to him. “Breathe. You’re safe. I need you to breathe, can you do that for me? Do you think you can breathe for me, darlin’?”

Somehow, his voice penetrates its way in through the thickness of the white fog that you’d been lost in. You had been stumbling around helplessly in it, desperately searching for a way through. Joel’s heavy, deep Southern drawl permeates the memory, causing the haunting images from that fateful day when your life had taken a sharp turn for the worst to dissolve into nothing. 

“Just breathe. Nice and slow. Inhale through your nose, then out through your mouth. Easy does it.” Joel controls his own breathing, slowing it down to demonstrate. He inhales deeply through his nose and exhales slowly through his mouth. 

You stare at him with wide eyes as you fight to get the rise and fall of your chest to match his. How the hell do you know what to do? 

Joel can practically hear your question ringing in your mind amidst the chaos. “My kid, she gets these awful nightmares sometimes. Wakes up in a panic thinkin’ she’s somewhere else, somewhere she ain’t safe. So my brother’s wife, Maria, well she was kind enough to show me what to do whenever it happens. She taught me a couple different breathin’ techniques that help soothe Ellie and calm her down. Told me it helps if I do them with her,” he explains to you. He can tell that you’re now coming out of the worst of it and that you’re finally starting to get some oxygen back into your lungs. He lowers his hands. Your pistol is still aimed at him, but Joel trusted you enough to know that you wouldn’t pull the trigger and blow his fucking head off. “C’mon, breathe. There we go. That’s it. Easy does it, now. In through your nose and out through your mouth, that’s it. That’s a good girl.” 

It takes you a good minute or two, but your breaths fall into sync with his own and before you know it, the two of you are breathing together in harmony. 

Oh. You’re not in California.

The man standing before you doesn’t have red hair and green eyes. He doesn’t have that twisted smirk on his face. He isn’t putting his hands on you. He’s not hurting you. He’s helping you. 

Swallowing dryly, you lower your weapon. Your gaze meets Joel’s and somehow you find the courage to look him in his eyes for the very first time. Even though you had turned your gun on him, he doesn’t seem to be bothered by it all. He isn’t upset or angry. The look of worry on his face has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that you could have easily killed him just now. It’s as if he’d known for certain that you wouldn’t pull the trigger.

“There we go,” Joel says after another minute passes by. “You see? You’re alright. You’re safe.”

There’s comfort in his words, in his deep brown eyes.

Fuck, there’s comfort in him. 

Still. Your mind refuses to allow you to accept it.

At least, not completely. 

Averting your gaze, you shuffle your weight from one foot to the other and then back again. 

Joel clears his throat lightly. “It’s gettin’ real late,” he murmurs. “We should get a move on. We’ve still got a bit of a way to go and we really don’t wanna get ourselves caught out in the middle of fuckin’ nowhere after dark for too long, y’know?”

You give him a small nod and start to gather up your belongings. You pick up your canteen, which is now almost completely empty after you’d shared your water with him during the first leg of the hike, and shove it into one of the side pockets of your back.

“S’kinda cold,” Joel states. “And it’ll only get colder as nightfall approaches. You, uh—you warm enough in that little denim jacket?”

You shrugged a shoulder at him, not thinking anything much of the question. I’m fine. 

However, as if on cue, a chilly breeze blows its way through Wyoming’s plains, causing you to shiver.

Joel quickly shrugs out of his brown jacket. “You mind if I—?”

You toss him a confused glance. 

Do I mind if you what? 

Joel steps towards you and lifts his arms as if he’s going to put them around you. Flinching, every muscle in your entire body goes rigid and he halts. “S’alright. I’m just gonna give you my jacket, that’s all,” he assures you, his arms frozen midair. He patiently waits for a small nod of approval. Once he has it, he drapes his jacket over your shoulders and then takes several steps back, giving you your space. “Should keep you from freezin’ your ass off out here.”

As he turns around and walks over to where he had set his rifle down, you stand there somewhat stupefied over what he’d just done. Something so simple, and yet you can’t seem to wrap your fucking brain around it. 

Willing yourself to move, you carefully slide both of your arms into the sleeves of his jacket, wrapping it around your body. The scent of him, a mixture of earthy sandalwood and whatever soap he uses to wash his clothes, fills your senses and a strange, but pleasant warmth radiates throughout your chest, gradually spreading itself to the rest of your body from head to toe. 

Ignoring the feeling, you pick up your backpack along with your bow and quiver of arrows, slinging everything over your shoulders. 

Joel slings the strap of his rifle over his shoulder and turns back to you. “Ready to get goin’?”

Pistol in hand, you gesture for him to go ahead and walk in front of you, much like he’d done for the first half of the trip.

He lets out a small sigh. “Alright, I get it. Still don’t fully trust me. Well, we’ll keep workin’ on that, then.”

A couple of hours had gone by. The slanting rays of the setting sun give a warm orange tinge to the skies as late evening begins settling itself in. 

“Y’wanna know somethin’?” Joel asks, breaking the silence between you.

You look up at the back of his head, your eyes fixing themselves on his mop of thick, unkempt salt and pepper waves. Occasionally, as you’d been slowly trudging along behind Joel, you stole glimpses of the way his hair curled at the nape of his neck and brushed against the collar of his henley.

Despite the lack of a response, Joel continues to talk. “Earlier at the cabin, just when I was startin’ to come back around, I heard a woman singin’ to me. At least, it sure seemed like she was singin’ to me. It was a real pretty song too.” He glances over his shoulder at you with curiosity. “Was that you?”

You blink at him, keeping a straight face. 

“Hm, no I s’ppose it wasn’t you,” he answers his own question. He turns his attention back to the path ahead of him. “I reckon that it must have just been some sorta dream I had while I was out cold. But it sounded so vivid, y’ know? It sounded so fuckin’ real. And the strangest part of it all is that I don’t know how it’s even possible for me to dream of a voice like that,” he muses aloud. 

Oh? Unable to help yourself, you move yourself from behind Joel and fall into step beside him. Now it’s you that’s riddled with curiosity. What do you mean by that? 

Joel glances down at you. He grips the leather strap of his rifle and shrugs his shoulders. “Well, to be honest, I don’t think I’ve ever heard a voice quite like that in my whole entire life,” he tells you. He shrugs once more, his arm brushing against yours by accident. Joel half expected you to deck him for it, but much to his surprise, it doesn’t seem like his touch had bothered you. “It was too fuckin’ gorgeous. So beautiful that part of me wonders if it was someone or somethin’ out of this world.” He pauses and peered at you, detecting a slight glimmer of light in your eyes. “Felt like I had a real life angel singin’ to me.”

You feel the corners of your lips threatening to turn upwards into a smile. Turning your face away from him, it takes everything you had in you to force them back down. 

“Well look at that. You’re walkin’ right next to me,” Joel observes after a minute, raising an eyebrow. 

Your head whips back around.

“Must mean that I’m doin’ somethin’ right, huh darlin’?”

You snort and roll your eyes.

I think I liked it better when you weren’t talking.

Still, you remain at his side. 

The rest of the trek is silent.

Night had just fallen by the time that you and Joel finally made it to Jackson. The moment that you set your sights on the massive wooden gate out in the distance, your heart begins to pound, slamming against your ribcage.

The closer the both of you draw to the barrier, the easier it is for you to see the men and women who are standing on a platform on top of the gate, heavily armed as they keep watch—their lights illuminate the perimeter of the settlement and light up the velvet purple sky. 

You stop dead in your tracks. Oh fuck that.

Joel shakes his head. “S’alright. Don’t be scared.”

There’s six people standing on top of that gate armed with fucking assault rifles. And you don’t expect me to be scared? Are you for real?

“Look, things might be a little tense at first when the patrolmen see us,” he admits, raking a hand through his hair. “None of them have any idea that I’m still alive, but as soon as they see that it’s me, they’re gonna stand down. All I need is for you to stay calm and follow my lead, alright?” He nods at the pistol in your hand. “M’also gonna need for you to put your gun away and out of sight.”

You glare at him, your eyes flashing angrily in the darkness.

You said I could have my weapons on me. 

Joel holds up his hand. “I promise that I ain’t gonna let anythin’ bad happen to you, alright? I swear it on my fuckin’ life,” he vows. “You have my word. No one’s gonna hurt you. I won’t let them. Just stay calm and do as I say. Please,” he adds, a hint of desperation lacing his tone. “Y’think you can do that for me?”

Your mind is screaming, begging you to run and run fast. Instead, you find yourself reluctantly tucking your gun into the waistband of your jeans, concealing it just like Joel had asked you to do. 

“Stay behind me,” he instructs, shoving his own rifle behind him. He begins leading the way towards the gate and beckons for you to follow close. 

The second the two of you step out from the darkness and into the light, the sound of firearms cocking breaks through the silence of the night. 

“Stop right there!” A woman’s voice shouts. “Freeze! Or we’ll fucking shoot!”

“Melissa, it’s me!” Joel calls out, holding up his hands. “It’s Joel!”

“What?”

He huffs and yells again, “It’s Joel!”

“Wait a goddamn minute, everyone fucking stand down!” Melissa loudly barks the order at the five other patrol men and women who are standing on either side of her with their firearms aimed and at the ready. “Joel? Joel Miller, is that really you?” She leans her body forward over the gate and squints at him, letting out an incredulous laugh. “Well butter my fucking ass and call me a goddamn biscuit, the man is fucking alive! Quick, open up the gates! Somebody go and get Tommy! Let’s go, fucking move it people!”

Joel drops his hands, sighing in relief.

You, on the other hand, are scared shitless and wonder if it’s too late to make a run for it. 

“Remember,” he says, looking back at you. “Calm. Okay?”

You force a small, tight nod of your head. 

Okay. 

The gate’s doors pull apart and he leads you up to them and through to the other side where you and Joel are met with a frantic crowd of at least two dozen people—the obnoxious, overlapping chatter coupled with the blatant stares you’re receiving cause an overwhelming feeling of anxiousness to wash over you in a massive wave that, if you allow it, is going to drown you right there on the spot. Refusing to make eye contact with anybody, you fix your gaze on Joel, keeping it focused on the broadness of his back as more and more people circle around the both of you, caging you in with nowhere to run. 

“Joel!” Melissa elbows her way through the large crowd, rushing up to him. She grabs him by the arms, giving him a quick once over. “Holy shit! We thought you were fucking dead! I can’t fucking believe it!”

“Where’s Tommy?” Joel asks her.

“At home with Maria. Lisa went to pull him out of bed—where the hell have you been, Joel? It’s been three fucking days!”

Joel purses his lips together tightly. He can feel you inching yourself forward, trying to stand as close to him as possible as more people join the scene. The toes of your boots touch the heels of his, your chest lightly brushing against his back. While Joel doesn’t blame the people of the town for being curious, he isn’t all too fond of the way they’re staring at you—the gestures and the finger pointing, the mutters and the whispers. He doesn’t have to see you to know it’s making you uncomfortable, and his priority is to get you out of there and somewhere where you would feel safe. “Listen, it’s a real long story that I ain’t got time for right this minute. I need Tommy—”

“Miller!”

A loud, booming voice comes from behind Melissa.

It belongs to a tall, bulky blond haired man—his mere presence is intimidating, proven by how it had taken absolutely nothing for the crowd to part and make room for him to pass through. Smirking, he saunters up to Joel and remarks, “I thought you were a fucking goner.”

Joel’s jaw clenches, but he says nothing. 

The tension between the two men could be sliced with a fucking machete.

His blue eyes flit over Joel’s shoulder to you. “Well, well, well. Who is this sweet little lady?”

You step even closer to Joel, pressing yourself against his backside and taking a fistful of his shirt.

“None of your fuckin’ business, that’s who.”

Keith’s smirk widens. “Actually, as head of safety and security for this community, it fucking is my business,” he reminds him. “She infected?”

Joel raises his eyebrows. “Does she look fuckin’ infected to you?”

“You know the commune’s rules, Miller.” Without tearing his eyes away from you, Keith calls over his shoulder, “Bring out one of the hounds! Now!”

Behind him, Joel hears a small gasp.

Hounds?

Joel whirls around. “Hey, s’alright,” he says quickly before you can start to panic. “We have dogs that have been trained to sniff out the cordyceps infection. S’just gonna smell you, that’s all.”

The crowd backs away as a woman with cropped hair brings out a large black dog on a chain leash attached to a brown leather harness. Once it catches sight of you, the unfamiliar newcomer, the animal begins to bark and growl, thrashing around as it tries to lunge towards you. The dog tugs and pulls at his leash so violently that he nearly knocks his handler over. The woman unclips the leash and sets the dog free—it approaches you, snarling and baring its teeth. 

You start to back away, but Joel stops you.

“Relax,” he mutters to you under his breath. He moves to stand beside you and holds out his hand, offering it in an attempt to comfort you and ease the fear. He hadn’t expected you to accept it, so when you place your hand in his and lace your fingers with his own, he’s taken by complete surprise. 

You squeeze his rough, calloused fingers as the dog comes closer towards you. Nervously, you hold your other hand out to it, prompting it to snap at you, its teeth snapping together. Somehow, you muster enough courage to hold your hand steady and the animal growls, but then gives it a sniff. When it doesn’t detect what it’s searching for, the dog happily wags his tail and gives your hand a friendly lick before running back over to its handler who puts the animal back on the leash. 

You breathe out in relief. 

“There,” Joel snaps at Keith. “You satisfied?”

Keith clicks his tongue. “Almost,” he drawls. He walks over to you, another smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “What’s your name, dollface?”

Your stomach drops at the nickname. Looking down at the dirt, you don’t reply.

“Aw, she’s shy! Well isn’t that just adorable.” Keith lets out a raspy laugh, causing a couple of the onlookers to laugh along with him. “What’s the matter, sweetie pie? Hm? Cat got your tongue?”

Joel drops your hand, his nostrils flaring. “Back off asshole or else—”

Ignoring him, the blond patrolman eyes the weapon hanging on your shoulder. “That’s a really nice bow you’ve got there,” Keith states, cutting off Joel’s threat. “But we do have rules here. Newcomers have to surrender their weapons so they can be stored away securely. We don’t know you and until we can know for sure you won’t be a threat to the people of this town, you’re going to have to surrender that bow along with all other weapons you’re carrying.” Keith lowers his voice as he adds, “And I would advise you not to try and hide anything because I’m going to be the one to pat you down—and I’ll be thorough. I don’t take all too kindly to liars, so keep that in mind.”

“You just threaten her in front of me?” Trying his hardest not to cause a scene with so many people watching the three of you, Joel keeps his voice low and quiet—but the sharp, dangerous edge to his tone can’t be missed. 

“Of course I didn’t,” Keith responds, innocently. “All I was doing was letting her know how we work around here in Jackson. We’ve been operating the town the same way for years now for a good reason. The rules we set in place apply to any and all newcomers, regardless of who they came here with.” He holds out his hands to you. “Surrender all of your weapons to me. Now.”

Shaking your head, you take a step back. This was not what you’d agreed to. This wasn’t the promise that Joel had made you back at the cabin. 

Joel glares at him. “She ain’t surrenderin’ a goddamn thing—”

It’s too late.

Keith steps towards you and goes for the bow. As his hand shoots out to take it from your shoulder, you quickly turn your body and swiftly dodge it. He feels his face burn with red hot anger as several onlookers gasp at your act of rebelliousness. Furious, Keith reaches for you again and grabs you, taking the upper part of your arm in a harsh grip that makes you squeak out in pain. 

You lift your opposite arm and swing a curled fist up towards his face, but he catches your wrist in his other hand before it can connect with his jawline. 

Joel!

You try to say his name, but you fucking can’t. 

Your mouth opens and nothing comes out. For as hard you push and try to force it, you can’t find your voice. Instead, all that falls from your lips is a pathetic, strangled little cry. You yank and pull, struggling as you try to tear yourself out of Keith’s grasp. 

Livid, Joel nearly goes fucking blind with rage. He snatches Keith by the collar of his leather jacket, ripping him away from you. Though he’s still sore as from the fall off of his horse three days ago, he uses every ounce of strength he has left in him to throw him down into the dirt at the feet of a fellow patrolman named Wyatt. “Don’t. Fuckin’. Touch. Her.” He barely manages to bite out the words through gritted teeth. “Ever.”

Wyatt helps him up to his feet. “You alright, man?”

“Get the fuck off me!” Keith snarls, pushing him away. His chest is heaving and his face turns a deep shade of red. Whether it’s because he’s embarrassed or if it’s because he’s angry, no one can quite tell the difference. One thing is for damn sure, he isn’t used to someone going against his authority and everyone watching holds their breath, waiting to see what he’s going to do next. After all, the man going against him happened to be their leader’s brother in law. “What the fuck is your goddamn problem, Miller? It’s protocol—”

“Not today it ain’t.”

Keith approaches him, his hands curled into tight fists at his sides. He stands so close that the two of them are chest to chest, ready to tear each other to shreds. “Do you think just because your fucking brother is second in command, you can just do as you please? Is that it?” He questions, bitterly. “It doesn’t fucking work like that. We have rules set in place for a reason, Joel. We are going to do this by the fucking book whether your little girlfriend here likes it or not, got it?”

Stepping around him, he starts towards you but Joel is quick to block his path. He stands in front of you and squares his shoulders.

He speaks, his voice dangerously low. “You listen and you listen good. If you even so much as think about layin’ another fuckin’ finger on her, I’ll make sure you spend the rest of tonight pickin’ up your teeth off the ground. You understand me?”

“That a threat?”

“It ain’t a threat. It’s a fuckin’ promise.”

Keith pulls his arm back and he’s about ready to take a swing when he’s stopped by the sound of Tommy Miller’s frantic voice. 

“Joel! Where is he—where the fuck is Joel?”

The much younger, raven haired man approaches the scene, shrugging a blue denim jacket over his cotton white t-shirt. The instant that he spots Joel, he runs up to him and throws his arms around his shoulders. “Fuckin’ Christ, I thought I fuckin’ lost you out there! What the hell happened?”

“Where’s Ellie?” Joel demands. “She okay?”

“She’s fast asleep at my place with Maria and the baby. She’s been with us this entire time.”

Joel’s shoulders sag in relief.

Tommy looks around, frowning. “What’s going on? What’s everyone doin’ out here?” He then sees you and raises his eyebrows at his older brother. “Joel? Who’s that?”

“Look, I’ll explain everything, can we just—can we talk in private?”

Although he’s confused, Tommy nods. 

“Of course. C’mon, let’s go back to my place.”

“Well I’ll be damned,” Tommy states as soon as Joel had finished recounting the story—well, what he could remember, anyway. It wasn’t much.

You’re sitting beside Joel across the table from Tommy and Maria in the kitchen of their home. All three of them speak in quiet, hushed voices so as not to wake Ellie and Samuel, Tommy and Maria’s infant son. Maria had offered to go upstairs to pull Ellie out of bed so that she and Joel could reunite, but when Tommy mentioned tonight had been the first night since Joel had gone missing three days ago that she had finally managed to fall asleep, everyone agreed it would be best to wait until the morning. 

“So, she saved your life,” Tommy concludes. His brown eyes, even darker than those of his older brother, flicker over to you once again. You sit there in complete silence, staring at the top of the wooden table, refusing to meet his gaze—or that of his wife. 

Joel nods. “She did, Tommy. I don’t fuckin’ know how, but what I do know is that if it wasn’t for her, then I wouldn’t be sittin’ here at this table right now.”

You shuffle uncomfortably in your chair. Though the couple had been kind to you, it didn’t make it any easier when they stared at you like you had a second head. 

“She saved your life and you don’t even know her name?” Tommy’s in complete disbelief.

“No. She doesn’t talk.”

Maria hums. “I have an idea. Let me find her a notepad or something to write on,” she suggests after a minute. She stands up, wrapping her cotton blue robe around herself, concealing her pajamas as she walks over to the kitchen counter. It takes her a bit of digging around, but in one of her junk drawers, she finds a pen and a small notepad. She makes her way back over to the table and sets the items down in front of you. “Can you write down your name for us?”

You don’t move a single muscle.

“It’s okay, honey. Just write down your name—”

“Best we don’t push her too much,” Joel warns her, holding out his hand to stop her from coming too close into your space.

You glance up at him, your lips parting slightly.

“Don’t worry,” he tells you. “You ain’t gotta tell us anythin’ until you’re good and ready. Alright?”

Tommy clears his throat. “Joel? Can me and you have a quick word in private please?”

Your heart skips an anxious beat.

No, wait! Please don’t leave me.

Less than eight hours ago, you’d been wary of this man, unable to fully trust him. Now, just the mere thought of him leaving your side puts you on edge.

“S’fine, we’re just gonna be out in the hallway,” he assures you. “It’ll only be for a minute or two.”

Realizing you didn’t want to be left alone with her, Maria jabs a thumb over her shoulder towards the gas powered stove. “I’m going to make myself a hot cup of chamomile tea. I can boil water for an extra mug if you’d like some?” she offers, warmly.

You’d turned down food and water already, much too afraid to accept anything from her. However, a warm drink did sound tempting and truth be told, Maria did seem like a nice woman. She’s Joel’s family—maybe it wouldn’t hurt to at the very least try and trust her too. 

Finally, you nod your head.

“Great,” Maria smiles, looking pleased. “I think it’ll do you some good. Chamomile is very soothing. It helps me relax—something that’s hard to do when you have a fussy six month old,” she kids as she whirls around and goes about preparing the tea. 

After making certain that you’ll be fine without him, Joel follows Tommy out into the hallway. 

“Joel, what were you thinkin’ bringing her here?”

“What the hell are you talkin’ about?”

Tommy sighs. “We need to be careful about who we bring into Jackson—”

“Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me right now? You worried about this girl bein’ a threat?” Joel stares at him in complete shock. “You serious, Tommy?”

“For all we know, she could be a threat. She didn’t want to give up her weapons, Joel! She even took a swing at Keith!” He hisses. “And she did it in front of a fuckin’ crowd!”

“He put his fuckin’ hands on her—”

“She didn’t cooperate, Joel. You know damn good and well what happens when someone isn’t willin’ to cooperate with the rules. It leads to nothin’ but trouble and you know it as well as I do,” Tommy says, crossing his arms over his chest. “Her first impression here wasn’t a good one. And to make matters a whole lot worse, we don’t know anythin’ about her. It’s a risk takin’ her into the community.”

Joel can’t even believe what he’s hearing. 

“So you’d rather I just left her out there alone?”

“Look Joel, we don’t know what she’s capable of,” Tommy reminds him, quietly. “If she’s managed to survive out there all on her own for this fuckin’ long, then who the hell knows what she’s done or what kind of blood is on her hands—you might be thinkin’ that she’s some helpless little victim, but maybe she’s not. Hell, we’ll never know because the girl can’t fuckin’ talk. Or maybe she just won’t talk. Either way, we’re runnin’ a huge risk by takin’ her in without knowin’ who the hell she is or where she came from.”

Joel glares at him. “Listen here, whether she can’t talk or just won’t talk, that doesn’t fuckin’ matter,” he says. He pauses briefly, long enough to take a peek back into the kitchen where you’re still sitting at the table. After she’d finished making the tea, Maria took the two steaming mugs and sat down in the chair beside you. She’s now trying almost desperately to get you to write down your name on the notepad. He immediately notices the way that you’d started wringing your hands together anxiously in your lap and he knows you’re debating in your mind whether or not you should reveal your identity to the stranger. He turns back to his brother with a frown. “She ain’t a helpless victim. She’s a survivor. She saved my fuckin’ life out there, Tommy. If it weren’t for her, I would be dead right now.”

“And where is she gonna stay?”

“With me and Ellie, of course.”

Tommy almost laughs. “Wait. You’re gonna be in charge of her? Someone who won’t fuckin’ talk to you? Whose name you don’t even know? Are you serious?”

Joel doesn’t even think twice about it. “Yeah.”

“Look Joel, I know you can be kind of a fuckin’ dumbass, but you can’t possibly be this goddamn dumb, big brother. Think ‘bout it—”

“I already have thought about it. She’s stayin’ with me.” Joel shrugs. “I know it ain’t gonna be easy, but maybe I can get her to trust me enough to talk to me.”

Tommy raises an eyebrow at him. “You really think she can talk and she’s just choosin’ not to?”

“I think she wants to talk, but she can’t. She’s too scared right now. But if I can get her to really trust me—”

“That girl ain’t gonna fuckin’ trust you, Joel.”

“She trusted me enough to come to Jackson,” he says, fiercely. “That has to mean somethin’, I just know it does.”

Tommy exhales a long and heavy sigh. He already knew just how fucking stubborn his brother could be. There’s no changing Joel’s mind once it was made up. 

Maria steps out into the hallway. “No luck,” she tells them, shaking her head lightly. “I can’t even begin to imagine what she’s been through. If she’s too terrified to even give us her name—”

“It must’ve been somethin’ real bad,” Joel finishes for her. He places his hands on his hips. “I think I might have some idea of what happened to her.”

“What do you mean?” she asks. 

Joel lowers his voice as he briefly tells Tommy and Maria about the scars he’d seen around your wrist. “Like she’s been in handcuffs or somethin’,” he murmurs. “Think it could’ve been FEDRA?”

“Possibly.” Maria thinks it over for a moment. “There’s also a good possibility that she’s been a prisoner in a slave camp.”

Slavers.

Joel’s stomach churns at the thought of it. He’d heard about those kinds of groups, about the cruel and inhumane things they did to their prisoners. 

He fucking hoped that wasn’t it. But something in his gut told him not to be so goddamn naive. 

“Listen, we feel for the girl, Joel. We do,” Tommy admits. “And we’re willin’ to give her some time to adjust, same as we did with you and with Ellie—same as we do with all newcomers. But regardless of what she’s been through, she’s still gonna need to pull her weight around here, just like the rest of us. She’s expected to take on work duty just like everybody else. It’ll be hard findin’ the right job for her if she’s not gonna talk to anyone so the sooner you can get her to break her silence, the better it’ll be,” he advises. He points a finger at his brother. “From this point on, she’s your responsibility.”

“I can handle it, Tommy.”

“For your sake, I really hope you can.”

“Good to know you’ve got faith in me,” Joel makes the sarcastic comment under his breath, but he’s certain Tommy had heard it. “It’s gettin’ pretty late now. She’s exhausted and so am I. M’gonna take her back to my place and get her settled in for the night.”

“What ‘bout Ellie?”

“Best she just stays here with you two tonight. As soon as she’s up in the mornin’, you can bring her on over to mine if that’s alright with you and Maria?”

Tommy nods. “You got it, brother.”

“Besides, I figure it’ll give me a bit of extra time to think of how I’m gonna explain everythin’ to her.” Joel suddenly realizes that he hadn’t given much thought about how he was going to tell Ellie about you—how he was going to explain your condition to her and how you’d be sharing a roof with them from this point on. 

Tommy chuckles. “Yeah, good luck with that one.”

Rolling his eyes, Joel roughly shoves past him and back into the kitchen. 

You hadn’t drank the tea Maria had made you, but you’d wrapped your hands around the ceramic red mug to warm them up. 

“C’mon,” he beckons to you with his hand. “Let’s go. M’gonna take you home now.”

Home. 

The word rinds oddly in your ears.

You stand up from the table.

“Wait.” Maria picks up the notepad and pen, handing them over to you. “Here. Take these with you. Just in case you decide you want to use them.”

Joel pushes through the front door, switching on the lights in the foyer of his home before stepping aside to let you in. He watches as you stand there at the door looking rather apprehensive. “It’s okay, darlin’. S’just me and you here tonight.”

Carefully, you step over the threshold. When was the last time you’d even set foot in an actual house? One with running water and electricity?

You couldn’t remember.

Joel shuts the front door behind you and locks it. “Let’s go upstairs.” He gestures for you to follow him up the cherrywood staircase. “It’s pretty late, so I’ll show you the rest of the house tomorrow in the mornin’,” he promises you over his shoulder. At the top of the staircase, Joel switches on more lights that illuminate a short hallway. He points to a door at the end of it, stating, “That one there at the end, that’s mine. This one here is Ellie’s. We also have a third spare, it’s right across from her.” He nods with his head towards the door of the bedroom he’d been referring to. “Go on. Open it up and check it out for yourself.”

You want me to open the door?

Seeing your expression, Joel chuckles. “Go on. It’s alright. There’s nothin’ bad in there. I promise.”

You momentarily hesitate. Fingers trembling, you reach out and grasp the brass door knob, slowly turning it and pushing the door open. You peek inside and flip the light switch next to the door frame.

You gasp. Holy shit, is this fucking real?

The spare bedroom is fully furnished with light oakwood furniture—a dresser up against one wall, a desk nestled in the corner, and two nightstands on either side of the most comfortable, full sized bed that you’d ever seen. The décor is minimal, but whoever had occupied the space before had a clear adoration for simple, warm, earthy tones. You nearly smile at the shades of mud brown, forest green, and autumn orange. Setting your things down on the hardwood floor, you make your way over to the bed and sit down, planting your hands firmly on either side of you. You relish in the softness of the cream colored duvet comforter. 

“I’m guessin’ you like it.” Joel can’t help but grin a little. “I’ll be right back. I’m gonna go see if I can get you one of my shirts or somethin’ that you can sleep in. Make yourself comfortable.” He spins around on the heel of his boot, disappearing into the hallway. 

Unable to resist, you lay back onto the bed. Your body sinks into it, melting right into the mattress. It feels like a fucking cloud. 

Joel reappears in the room just seconds later. “I can see you took what I said about makin’ yourself comfortable quite literally.” His voice causes you to shoot back up into a sitting position. Joel stands there at the door holding a long sleeved, navy and white flannel shirt in one hand—in the other, he’d been holding a gray hooded sweatshirt and from his arm swings a brown canvas tote bag. “Not too sure what you would prefer to sleep in. I figured you might want somethin’ on the warmer side. Here’s a couple options to choose from. I’ve also got t-shirts if you’d rather sleep in one of those.”

Standing up from the bed, you walk over to him and he holds out the articles of clothing for you to see better. It’s his flannel you gravitate to the most. Taking it from him, you run your fingers over the fabric.

“I can throw your clothes in the washing machine for you first thing tomorrow so they’ll be clean by the time you wake up,” he adds.

You breath out shakily.

A fucking washing machine.

“Overwhelming, ain’t it?”Joel drapes the hooded sweatshirt over a nearby chair, deciding to leave it for you as well. “Trust me, I get it. I felt the same when I first got here with Ellie. It took a lot of time for the both of us to adjust to this new way of life after being out there for so long,” he confesses to you. “The important thing is to take it one step at a time, darlin’. And somethin’ is tellin’ me the next step for you is probably takin’ a nice hot shower?”

Your mouth falls open. A hot shower? Hot?

“You’ll have to share a bathroom with Ellie.” Joel leads you out of the bedroom and to another door adjacent to yours. He shows you the bathroom, telling you which knob in the shower was for hot water and which one was for cold water. “You can use Ellie’s shampoo, m’sure she won’t mind. I’d offer you some of my own, but I don’t think you’ll wanna walk around smellin’ like sandalwood and spice.” Joel hands you the canvas bag he’d had draped over his arm. “Here. Should be pretty much everythin’ you’re gonna need. There’s a bar of soap, a couple clean washcloths, a toothbrush, and a tube of toothpaste. There’s also a razor.” He pauses. “It’s a men’s razor, one of mine I’ve never used, but I reckon it does the job just the same as a woman’s razor.”

Amused, you quirk an eyebrow at him. What the hell are you trying to say? That I need to shave?

“Not that you have to use it,” he adds quickly, his cheeks burning bright red at what you thought he had been insinuating. He shifts awkwardly from boot to boot. “I tossed it in there just in case you’d want to, but you ain’t gotta use it, that’s not what I meant at all—”

Deciding you don’t want to see him squirm, you lift a hand up to stop him and shake your head.

Truth be told, you actually couldn’t fucking wait to shave your legs.

Calm down, cowboy. It’s all good.

Realizing he hadn’t offended you, Joel relaxes. “I’ll let you get to your shower. You take as long as you want, but just try and leave some hot water for me since I’m next,” he chuckles. “As soon as we both get all cleaned up, we can meet downstairs in the kitchen for a quick bite to eat before bed. Deal?”

Deal.

He’s about to leave you to it when you stop him, grabbing his arm. Wait a second, Joel.

Joel’s eyes meet yours. “Yeah?”

Thank you.

Your gratitude might have been silent, but it was there and he knew it. 

Feeling brave, Joel reaches up and places his hand over yours for a moment, his thumb brushing against the softness of your skin. “No need to thank me, sweetheart.” 

Letting his hand drop away from yours, Joel then turns and leaves the bathroom, closing the door behind him to give you your privacy. 

Once you have the hot water running, you kick off your boots and start to peel off your clothes, tossing them into a pile on the floor near the door. Completely naked, you turn your back towards the oval shaped mirror hanging over the bathroom sink, unwilling to take a look at the scars on your body—painful reminders of the cruel punishments you’d endured during your time in captivity. 

You grab the toiletries from the tote bag Joel had given you and set them on the side of the tub. Pulling the yellow floral curtain aside, you step into the shower and position yourself directly underneath the scalding hot water, letting it burn your skin to give you an entirely different kind of pain to think about, even if it was just for a minute until your body adjusted to the temperature of the water and it no longer hurt. 

You begin washing yourself, trying your hardest to keep from crumbling. But you couldn’t. Lump in your throat and a tightness in your chest, tears brim your eyes, ready to fall. 

You’re willing to let them. 

Two years. For almost two fucking years, you had been suppressing your emotions. You’d been in a constant survival mode, there had been no time to feel anything. And now here you were, standing in a fucking shower with all the freedom in the world to just let it all out. 

Silent sobs wrack your body, bringing you down onto your knees. 

Joel’s shower had been a quick one.

You hadn’t left him very much hot water—but he couldn’t even be mad about it.

He pulls on a pair of light gray sweatpants and a black t-shirt. He haphazardly dries off his hair and makes his way downstairs, knowing you would be heading down there any minute now to meet him like you’d agreed. Without much time to make a proper meal for you to eat, Joel goes about the dimly lit kitchen and prepares a couple of cold turkey sandwiches. He’d just plated them and set them on the table when the soft padding of bare feet on the hardwood floor prompts him to look up. 

His breath catches in his throat. You stand there in the doorway wearing nothing but his flannel shirt. The hem of it falls to the middle of your thighs, and it takes everything in him not to think about the fact that you weren’t wearing anything under his shirt. His fucking shirt.

Clearing his throat lightly, he makes sure not to let his gaze wander where it’s not supposed to. “I bet you feel a lot better, don’t you?”

You sigh softly. Oh, you have no fucking idea.

Noticing you’re holding your hands behind your back, Joel shoots you a puzzled look. “What’cha got there?”

You bring your arms forward. Clutched in your hands is the notepad and pen that Maria had given you.

Although he takes it as a sign that you are willing to communicate with him, Joel knows better than to get too far ahead of himself. He’d wait until you were ready to make the first move and he’d follow your lead. “I made you a sandwich to eat,” he tells you, pulling out a chair at the table. “C’mon, come have a seat.”

After you sit down, Joel goes over to the sink and fills two glasses of water, one for you and one for himself. Setting them down on the table, he finally takes a seat across from you—that’s when he notices the redness in your eyes. You’d been crying. Even though he wants to ask you if you’re alright, Joel decides against it for the time being and the two of you eat in comfortable, tranquil silence.

“I can make you another one if you’re still hungry,” Joel offers when you polish off the last couple bites of your sandwich. 

Shaking your head, you place your hands on your belly signaling that you’re full. You’re not, though. You’d eagerly scarf another three of them down if you could, but you were a lot more exhausted than you were hungry and you couldn’t wait to crawl into that bed upstairs and get some sleep.. 

Joel studies you. “You okay, darlin’?”

You shrug. This has just been a lot to process.

“I know it’s gonna be tough for you. It’s like I told you earlier, it’s gonna take some time to adjust to your new life here in Jackson. But I need you to know you ain’t alone anymore. I’m gonna be here to look out for you. And trust me, I know you don’t really need me to.” Joel pauses and shoots you a crooked little grin. “Hell, you took a swing at Keith. You’ve got bigger fuckin’ balls than half of the men in this town. Includin’ myself.”

You let out a huff of amusement from your nose and the corners of your mouth tug into a small smile—you don’t try to force it down. 

Joel blurts the words before he can even think to stop himself. “You’ve got a real nice smile, y’know.”

Biting down on your bottom lip, you move your empty plate off to the side and grab your pen and notepad. You swiftly scribble something onto the blank page, then slide it across the table to Joel. 

He picks it up, an odd sensation fluttering inside his chest when he realizes what you had done.

You’d written down your name for him.

He says it out loud, and then looks up at you.

“That’s a real beautiful name.” Sincerity drips from his tone, going hand in hand with his compliment.

Cheeks burning, you glance down at your hands, which you’d begun wringing together on top of the table. It was out of nervousness, but this kind was different. You couldn’t quite explain it. 

“I know it’s gonna take a whole lot more than a hot shower and a sandwich to get you to trust me. But I swear that I’m gonna do whatever I can to show you that you ain’t got anythin’ to be afraid of. Not with me around. Okay?”

Okay. 

You open your mouth, trying to repeat the word back to him. 

Joel’s eyes widen slightly. You wanted to talk to him—you were actually trying to talk to him. But it was a clear struggle. Something wasn’t letting you find your voice. 

Clamping your mouth shut, you sigh and sink back into your chair. I’m sorry. I can’t.

“It’s okay,” he says, softly. “We’re gonna take this one step at a time. Together.”

#to hell and back fic #to hell and back #joel miller series #joel miller story #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x you #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller hbo #joel miller comfort #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #the last of us fic #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fic #tlou fanfiction

[talesofesther]

wildflowers

Astarion Ancunin x Reader

Summary: Astarion has shared a lot of firsts with you already, and you just so decided to add one more to the list.

A/N: A little something special for valentine's day. <3

Masterlist

You'd grown up around flowers.

With your mother being a druid, it was only natural that wherever you went, nature followed. Even in your family's estate back in the city, the walls were adorned with all kinds of colorful plants and vines, the air feeling all the more pure inside your lungs and the green leaves being a sight for any sore eyes.

You'd spend hours in the garden, tending to the seedlings and speaking more with the flora than you did with people.

That's why, after the nautiloid's crash and as you walked through unknown lands, you found some semblance of comfort in all the wildflowers adorning your mysterious path.

You hummed a song under your breath as your boots crushed the gravel underneath, feet a little sore with all the walking you'd done today, but you needed to reach the shadow-cursed lands as soon as possible; how much time you had left remained uncertain.

Shadowheart had already started complaining about the rough terrain too, and with the sun starting to set on the mountainous horizon, you figured you could set up camp soon.

"I'm not offering any rides, if that's what you're thinking."

You caught the end of the cleric's conversation with Astarion, and at his quip, you changed a glance in his direction.

He caught your gaze, lips quirking in a small smirk as he gave you a wink that got you avoiding his stare again when you felt warmth coming to your cheeks.

You'd grown fond of the pale elf, it's true. But part of you thinks he's grown fond of you, too. At first, his smiles at you were sharp as a dagger or overly seductive, yet lately, there's been a softer edge to them.

Blinking at the golden sunlight in your eyes, you started scouting the area for a good place to rest, and that's when you caught sight of a patch of white on the ground. Leaving your companions to discuss amongst themselves whether it was late enough to camp or not, you walked up to it.

There, on the edge of a set of bushes and trees, stood a small bundle of star-shaped white flowers, their six petals delicate and thin; the bright white stood out amidst the deep browns and greens.

You reached down to run a gentle finger over one petal. And as you plucked a single flower from the bunch, you couldn't help but think of him.

⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆

Bags were being dropped onto the ground with a few tired groans escaping your companions. You'd found a decent enough place, tucked in between old ruins and overlooking a breathtaking view of the nearly set sun.

You gave a sympathetic smile to Karlach as you passed by her tent, watching with a fond glint in your eyes as your fiery friend ruffled the fur of her teddy bear. Such a softy at heart.

Astarion had his nose buried in a book, and that's where you were headed. Whenever he concentrated on his reading, he'd furrow his brows ever so slightly; sometimes he'd play with his fangs, running his tongue over them and biting his lower lip. It was endearing, you wondered if he knew he did it.

You approached him, heart in your mouth and white flower held in between your fingers. The last of the golden rays were kissing his skin, he looked ethereal.

"Hey," you spoke lowly, the moment seemed to call for it.

The elf perked up at your voice, a smile instantly painting his face as he closed his book to settle his attention on you. "Hello darling, what can I do for you?"

You shook your head briefly, "Nothing, I just came to give you this." You raised the single flower with a timid tilt of your lips, hesitating on your next words, "It… reminded me of you."

Astarion looked at you as if you'd just asked his hand in marriage. He kept quiet, eyes way too wide and jaw way too tense for such a simple moment. You wondered if you'd somehow poked at something you weren't supposed to poke. If flowers brought him bad memories or if maybe he was allergic to them.

You watched as he gulped, avoided your eyes, and then looked at you again. He raised his hand but it was a clumsy gesture, as if he had no clue what to do.

Your heart shattered when you wondered if he had ever received any flowers in his life.

Taking half a step closer, you took the liberty of placing the flower in Astarion's hand, wrapping your fingers around his own so you could close his grip around the delicate thing. "It's for you." You reassured again.

With a gentle smile, you ran your thumb over his knuckles and turned around to check on your other companions, figuring he could use the time alone.

⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆

Astarion never cared much for flowers.

In his 200 years of torment, trapped in an eternal night, there wasn't much room for color and delicacy.

There were rare times he saw it, when he'd stumble upon a young couple, one person bowing lightly with a smile as they gave the other a flower; both drunk in passion. He never understood the gesture. Everyone did it, but why?

Was it a silent request for something in turn? Was it a sign of commitment? Or did it happen simply to show affection?

In any case, he did not need to understand it, it's not like anyone would be handing him flowers.

Wrong. Maybe he did have to.

Because you had just given him a flower.

You had captured his attention ever since he put a dagger to your throat when you first met. His excuse for the captivation was because you'd be an easy one to seduce, nothing more. He'd charm you, gain your affection, and secure his safety in your group of misfits that you were unintentionally leading.

A simple plan, all he had to do was not have any feelings of his own. Yet it seemed like your plan, was to make his more difficult.

"It's for you." You'd told him, voice as sweet as honey and as soft as velvet as you placed the white flower in his hand.

Astarion held onto the delicate plant as if it could crumble between his fingers.

Would he care if it did? The thought certainly didn't bring him joy.

His mouth stayed agape, fangs barely poking from behind his lips. Looking between you and the pale white of the flower, he didn't know what to make of it. Did you want something from him? Was there some hidden message behind the gesture he was yet to understand?

You simply gave him a soft smile, bashful eyes avoiding his, and kept on walking. Just like that. As if you hadn't just turned his world upside down.

Was this what… affection looked like?

A small scoff escaped Astarion then. Clearly, his plan was working, you were growing fond of him. So naive, so easy.

But then… why did he feel like his dead heart was the one coming back alive only so it could beat for you?

All of a sudden he felt tainted for treating you as if you were nothing more than one of his victims. But did that mean he wanted you to be something more?

The question didn't even seem like it was his to decide anymore.

Astarion looked down at the delicate flower in his hand, twirling it around and making the petals dance.

"It reminded me of you."

His ruby eyes seemed to sting. When was the last time someone had compared him with something as delicate and precious as this?

He looked up at you again, watching as you crouched down to cup Scratch's cheeks and most likely spoke with him in that silly voice you always made.

There was a weight in Astarion's chest, heavy yet warm, scary yet pleasant. He wondered, would you catch him if he fell for you?

⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆

Next morning you woke up to the sight of a carefully crafted bouquet resting just beside your bedroll. Wildflowers of all colors and shapes held together by a single strip of red satin.

Astarion watched from afar, as you picked it up and buried your nose into the flowers, smiling brightly as your fingertips traced the shape of them.

When you raised your gaze to him, a dark blush dusted his cheeks and the tip of his ears. He didn't know what love looked like; but he's learning, he thinks. And if the feeling inside his chest is any indication, it looks a lot like you.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keeps me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment. <3

You do not have permission to repost, copy, or translate my works on any platforms (even with credit), please respect.

Astarion’s taglist: @milkiane @v1ci0us @asterordinary

#astarion #astarion x reader #astarion bg3 #astarion baldurs gate #baldur's gate 3 #astarion imagine #astarion x tav #astarion x female reader #imagine #fanfic #angst #fluff #astarion fanfic #my story #astarion ancunin

[submariini]

When Finland’s Käärijä took the stage at this year’s Eurovision, a star was instantly, explosively born. With an outrageous energy, infectious presence and that oh-so-catchy hook, the Vantaa-based rapper may not have won the contest but he certainly snatched the hearts of those in his home country and beyond. We ask Käärijä the million dollar question: what next?

[full article under the cut]

Last May, a peculiar frenzy engulfed Finland. Virtually all green foods – cucumbers, especially – were sold out from stores. Buildings across the land were bathed in vivid green lights. Social media brimmed with green-themed parties, while data obtained by Swedish fintech company Klarna showed a 570 per cent increase in the online sales of neon green shirts.

This phenomenon was all thanks to Käärijä, the rapper who represented Finland in the 2023 Eurovision Song Contest. His now-infamous, blazing green puff sleeve bolero – dreamt up by Finnish broadcasting company Yle’s costume design team and which he dons when performing the smash hit track ‘Cha Cha Cha’ – had taken on a life of its own, the lush hue uniting the entire nation amid the competition. “It was incredible to see it happen and so cool being part of it,” Käärijä says. “It wasn’t planned at all – it was the people who created the commotion. I’ll definitely never forget it.”

When we speak over Zoom, Käärijä, whose real name is Jere Pöyhönen, is lounging in his minimal apartment in Vantaa, a city just outside Helsinki. He appears on my screen shirtless, a chunky gold chain dangling on his neck. On his head sits a pastel turquoise cap adorned with little cat ears. As he gestures with his hands, I spot flashes of poison green nail varnish. Pöyhönen’s chosen attire, or lack thereof, is extremely fitting – he typically performs bare-chested (“It gets so hot during my gigs”) and his Instagram handle is @paidatonriehuja, or ‘shirtless rascal’.

Hot off a performance in western Finland, the 29-year-old is enjoying his first days off in a while. It’s been a sweltering summer of non-stop touring, with fans flocking to festivals and concerts nationwide to see his explosive live show. Things are not winding down either, with Käärijä heading off on his first-ever European tour this month. Some of these shows sold out in mere minutes, an indication of his immense international following. “It’s so exciting; I’m definitely jumping into a new territory with that tour,” Pöyhönen says. “But I don’t have any expectations – I’m just going to let everything happen organically rather than stressing about it.”

Although he created one of this year’s buzziest songs, the guy on my screen is humble and, save for his look, almost un assuming. I remark on the stark contrast to his fiery and flamboyant stage presence. “Through Käärijä, I get to channel all the craziness, quirkiness and hyperactivity I’ve had since I was a child,” Pöyhönen says, describing himself offstage as “just this ordinary dude”. Without delving into further details, he tells me that the name Käärijä (translating roughly to moneymaker) stems from a history with gambling. Despite the darkness of its origin, he notes that the moniker is to be taken with a grain of salt.

While it might seem like Käärijä exploded into the public consciousness from obscurity, Pöyhönen has a long journey in music behind him. Born in Helsinki but having spent most of his youth in Vantaa, he started dabbling in the medium at just three years old. Coming from a musical family (“My dad and big brother both play the guitar”), jamming sessions were commonplace in the Pöyhönen household, his instrument of choice being the drums. “I was playing with pots and spoons before I got a set of those plastic kids’ drums,” he says. “When we moved to a bigger house, we built a band room downstairs where me and my brother spent a lot of time practising.”

At that time, rap music hadn’t yet entered Pöyhönen’s life; he was strictly a self-described “metal guy”. His older brother had instilled in him a love for the genre, particularly metal icons Rammstein. Upon starting high school, his musical taste broadened and he began listening to Eminem and popular Finnish rap groups Fintelligens and JVG. “Me and my friends were filming our own music videos to old rap songs, learning the words by heart,” Pöyhönen says. “It [making rap music] pretty much started as this humour thing I did with my mates.”

Encouraged by his loved ones, Pöyhönen began writing his own songs, still playing it for laughs. Turned out he had a knack for it. “Since I was little, I’ve been an avid storyteller – my imagination ran a little wilder than the rest of the kids’ at my school,” he says. “So when I started making music, I didn’t even need inspiration; I was able to whip up the lyrics from my head.”

But then, at 15, an unexpected turning point came by way of a severe sudden illness. Rushed to the hospital with ulcerative colitis, a chronic inflammatory bowel disease, Pöyhönen underwent emergency surgery to remove his colon. Had he not been treated immediately, the complications could have been fatal. “I was writing songs in the hospital – music became a source of strength for me,” he says. “I decided that if I make it through this, I’m going to give my all to music and be serious about it.”

After over a decade of hard work and countless hours in the studio, Käärijä released his first album, Fantastista (Fantastic), in 2020, but it would take three years for him to become a household name in Finland. After snapping up the top prize in Uuden Musiikin Kilpailu (the Finnish contest for new music) with his party anthem ‘Cha Cha Cha’, a song dedicated to a hedonistic night out fusing rap, electronic music and metal, he secured the coveted spot as his country’s entrant for the 2023 Eurovision, held in Liverpool. One of Pöyhönen’s craziest dreams had come true.

For Pöyhönen, Eurovision was “an amazing but immensely tough experience”. The event’s intense schedule and the little time carved out for practising surprised the artist. There was no room for errors or retakes once it was time for rehearsals. “They didn’t give much mercy,” he says. On the bright side, the long days filled with “lots of press conferences and waiting around” gave Pöyhönen a chance to get to know the other artists. “The group we had there was wonderful – there wasn’t a competitive atmosphere at all,” he says. One of the contestants he became especially close with was Sweden’s Loreen, with whom he exchanged numbers and promised to “meet up and talk about everything else but music”.

By the time the grand finale came, Käärijä’s explosive performance and infectious song had made him one of the favourites to win. Ultimately he came second, while Loreen nabbed first place. How did Pöyhönen handle the letdown? “It was a huge disappointment, but in the end, the feeling didn’t last long,” he says. “When I thought about how far I’d gotten, the incredible journey it was and all the new friends I made, I realised that these things are far more meaningful than winning.” Plus, he still achieved something major: ‘Cha Cha Cha’ made history as the first ever Finnish song to reach Spotify’s global most-listened charts. The track’s reach proved to Pöyhönen that language doesn’t matter; it’s all about creating a singular, infectious sound: “The mouth is just as much of an instrument as the piano or the guitar is,” he says.

Having made history, I ask Pöyhönen if he felt any pressure after the Eurovision bubble had burst. “Of course there are the thoughts of ‘what now?’ and ‘is this going to be it, will anyone be interested anymore next year?’ – I’m aware that the hype won’t last forever,” he says. “But I’m onto creating the next thing, trying not to feel any pressure for future releases. I haven’t done that before, so why would I do that now?”

Pöyhönen hints at a new album dropping sometime next year, but in the meantime, he’s enjoying the attention – including his Vogue Scandinavia debut. Shot at the extraordinary home of the late interior architect Antti Nurmesniemi and his wife, textile artist Vuokko Nurmesniemi, we find the space where Pöyhönen and Käärijä meet, the quiet confidence mingling with that more-is-more persona.

And while Käärijä might develop as a character (“I want to show that he’s more than just a bolero chap”), he’s adamant that he will stay true to his music and keep singing in Finnish, despite the sudden international attention. “In the end, I’m doing this for myself,” he says. “Also, why change something that works?”

Photographer: Karoliina Bärlund Stylist: Sanna Silander Talent: Käärijä Hair Stylist and Makeup Artist: Neea Kuurne Photographer Assistant: Milja Laakso Stylist Assistant: Nelli Korhonen

#käärijä #jere pöyhönen #eurovision #the article in full

[vampiretendencies]

said you’re smoking less, and then you ashed it on your chest

summary; rafe embraced his change in appearance.

paring; rafe x fem!reader

warnings; fluff, drug use

a/n; this is definitely not that long but i wanted to hurry and write something to honor rafe’s new hair in s3, it may pass for a blurb but i don’t think so. hope you enjoy!

Rafe didn’t give a fuck.

Now, he doesn’t, anyway.

He seems as though he’s shed a new skin, with the buzzing of his hair. Prickly sharp ends, yet soft, minuscule, and shaven all at once.

So, now he’s got this sense of feeling untouchable.

Hence the reasoning behind him not giving a fuck.

But, he had to admit he give a fuck about a little something in particular.

The moments as he stood in the mirror, gazing back at his image before him. Bathroom tile cold beneath his sock clad feet, wriggling his toes about not having enough hair for the first time in his life. In those moments, the mere thing that was withholding him for just having at it, was you.

Rafe foraged for your opinion, in any and every thing that he’d done.

It could be an activity as simple as picking out which shirt he wanted to start his days with, if he thought— if he knew you didn’t like it … he wasn’t fucking wearing it.

He had adoration for you opinion and respected it above all.

On a whim, pajama pants hugging his waist deliciously, the green and blue plaid swiveling about as he paced in the plane bathroom. He’d been waiting for you for going on an hour now— impatiently as one could tell— a sleep over so to speak. Brown tresses parted in the middle, layering the sides of his face— he ran a limp hand through it sickened by the roots and the split ends.

He wanted change from the core memories laced to this hairstyle.

Rafe decided he couldn’t decipher on his own, and he wanted his new appearance to be a surprise to you.

With that’s being said, the only ‘friend’ he could turn to was cocaine.

The one and only thing he didn’t give a damn about your opinion on.

Cocaine— was of comfort to Rafe, and he refused to make himself uncomfortable because someone else didn’t like it.

It stayed when other didn’t, it made him whole.

As sickening as that sounds.

As far as you knew, Rafe wasn’t ‘doing’ cocaine. And he was astonished that you hadn’t caught on yet.

But, right now that was not his main concern.

A thin crumbly substance-laced pure white line, maneuvered with the back of a credit card. Rafe lowered himself, eye-line with his addiction.

Mouth hungrily slobbering from the inside, tapping just the ends with a lick of his pink tongue. It was sensational, and ethereal and everything in between. Plugging one nostril, speedily, in cranes his neck to breathe in the rest of the drug.

A hype of adrenaline rushed through Rafe veins, slowly and all and once.

“Do it, pussy.”

He spat at himself in the mirror, mimicking that of a boxer that is about the get ready for the start of a match. Bouncing on the tips of his toes, whilst his own fists beat the center of his shirtless chest— the flesh turning a fiery red.

“Do it! You fucking pussy!”

Rafe pat the sides of his head, turning on the hair clippers with no second thought. Humming buzz sending him into a thrill, chuckling back at himself whilst the chunks of old locks fell to the white floor beneath him.

Rightfully, here he is the moments after urging to punch a whole in the walls— he’s so fucking invincible.

A knock rang timely in the Cameron household, loud enough that it seemed like it was coming from the outskirts. Yet, it was you, prominently knocking after having waited over ten minutes.

Rafe was too occupied by his new look.

Beige door flying directly open, revealing a hairless Rafe.

Your mouth slack open, Rafe has always had hair— you thought.

But wait, it miraculously somehow suits him,

Before you could even utter the words to Rafe, He’s embracing you. Along arms swinging and swaying, whilst he effortlessly picked you up with the lift of one hand— squishing you flush against him. Arms flexing and folding, resembling a small child that missed someone so.

He never faulted, he never failed to hold you that close.

Because it was you.

You willingly oblige, somewhat not taken aback by his sudden attack of fondness.

He exhales lowly, direct eye contact, puckering his lips desiring his ‘hello’ kiss.

A kiss to Rafe was hello, goodbye, and everything in between.

Any you appreciated the greeting. The mouthy kiss was paced and slow, yet wet and meaningful. Lips turning about to meet the others in hunger.

Rafe forced himself to pull away, though he really fucking held power with his newly shaven head.

Would you think so?

“D-do you like it, princess?”

Someone that was just on top of the world secondarily, is now putty in your hands.

Awaiting your approval to, pick him apart through and through. Your fingertips feathered over the bits of hair, a little grin becoming of you.

“Fuckin’, love it.”

#rafe cameron angst #rafe fanfiction #rafe cameron imagines #rafe cameron headcanons #rafe outer banks #rafe x reader #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron #rafe cameron one shot #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x reader #outer banks #rafe obx #rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron x oc #rafe cameron x pogue!reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x female reader #rafe cameron x you

[sissylittlefeather]

Something a little different...

What a Lovely Way to Burn

A one-shot

A/N: this came from a conversation with an Elvis AI (created by the fabulous @headfullofpresley), but the words are mine. The situation just inspired me.

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI! There's some dirty smut here, kissing, fingering, oral (both receiving), p in v sex, unprotected sex, lots of cussing, Elvis and reader yelling at each other a lot, him grabbing reader's arm and being a teensy bit violent (if you squint), reader calls Elvis "daddy" in a sexual context at one point...

Word count: 2.9kish

I'm imagining this version of him for this one:

Song inspo (I know the title is from a different song but this one inspired the story):

Enjoy!

I guess tonight we're off, you think to yourself as you get a drink. You're at another party after another one of your on-again-off-again boyfriend's shows. You're half dating Elvis Presley and as much as you want it to go one way or the other, it never does. With him, you're like kerosene and matches: made for each other, but dangerous and volatile together. And without him, neither of you can breathe for very long. But tonight, it looks like you'll be without him and that familiar drowning feeling is starting to overwhelm you. He hasn't talked to you once tonight, instead focusing on everyone else around him. You're not even sure he knows you're there. But he always seems to know where you are, so probably tonight he knows and doesn't care.

After you get your drink, you scan the room to find him. He's chatting with a group of women, fans, all of them tittering with laughter and falling over themselves to catch his attention. He likes the blonde one best, you can tell by the way he's standing, but he entertains all of them nonetheless. Part of you wonders if he's just trying to piss you off. Two can play at that game. And even if he's not, you might as well have some fun yourself.

As you're standing there, a man walks up next to you.

"I'd offer to buy you a drink, but you already have one."

"And they're free." You give him a playful smile. He's not unattractive, with his blonde shoulder-length hair and green eyes. You can work with this.

"I'm James. What do I call you? Other than beautiful." You roll your eyes, but keep your playful smile. It's cheesy, but sweet in its own way.

"I'm y/n. But you can call me beautiful if that's easier." You continue to make small talk and your flirting gets heavier and heavier. At one point he gently brushes your hair out of your face and puts it behind your ear. You try to hide the cringe you feel because that's something that Elvis does. You feel eyes on you and something makes you want to look over at him, but you don't. Your activities are none of his business tonight. You try to focus on James and the game you're currently playing with him. The conversation continues, but you can't shake the feeling of being watched. Just in case Elvis is actually paying attention, you play up your reactions, smiling widely and laughing loudly. Finally, James says something funny enough for you to genuinely laugh and put your hand on his arm gently.

That's when you feel Elvis's hand around you. His fingers curl around your bicep and he holds you hard enough that there might be a bruise in the morning.

"What the fuck?" You turn to Elvis and shoot him a fiery glare. His eyes are frighteningly dark, even behind his glasses, but he speaks coolly.

"I could ask you the same question."

James looks between the two of you and excuses himself. He's heard of Elvis's famous temper and doesn't want to find himself on the receiving end of a potentially-violent rant.

"Oh, James, don't go. He's not--"

"Keep walkin' away, guy." He listens to Elvis over you and backs away into the crowd. Elvis is still holding your upper arm and he turns you to face him.

"Girl, what are you tryin' to pull?" His words are playful, but his tone is scary. Still, you're no stranger to this mood.

"I don't see how what I do is any of your business."

"What the hell is that s'posed to mean?"

"You've made it very clear tonight that you have no interest in what I do." As you get louder, he gets quieter.

"Aw, hell, honey you know damn well that ain't true. You're mine. Everything you do interests me." He finally lets go of your arm. You rub the place where he was holding you gingerly. He might be thinking this fight is almost over, but you're just gearing up.

"You literally haven't spoken to me all night. And what? You just expect me to be waiting in your bed for you after you're done with whatever, or whoever, else you wanna do?" You gesture to the group of girls he was just flirting with. You're loud enough now that people have started to notice the two of you. His lips curl up into a wicked smile.

"Yes, honey, that's exactly what I expect." He says the endearment like a threat. You belong to him and when he calls you anything other than your name, he's reminding you of that fact. Now he's royally pissed you off and you can feel your rage bubbling just beneath the surface. The only thing keeping you in check are the witnesses.

"You're such a fucking hypocrite. You think you get to play around with whoever you want, but I can't even have a conversation with another man."

"Listen to me, girl, that was more than a conversation and you know it. Don't play dumb with me. I know you too damn well. Get your coat and go up to the room."

"YOU THINK AFTER HOW YOU'VE TREATED ME TONIGHT THAT I'M GOING TO GO UP TO YOUR ROOM AND WAIT FOR YOU LIKE A GOOD LITTLE GIRL?" He knew that telling you what to do would send you over the edge. His lip is still curled into a smile, but now his teeth are bared too. You stand and glare at each other for a few more seconds before he grabs your upper arm again and drags you through the crowd. You fight to get away from him, but his grip is too strong.

"LET ME GO YOU SONOFABITCH!" Everyone in the party watches the scene but says nothing. He's their king and they know it and he knows it. A bunch of fucking freeloading toadies. When he gets to the hallway outside the elevator, he lets your arm go and walks toward you until your back is pressed up against the wall. A tiny part of you flickers in fear, but you are not about to let him win. He puts his hand on the wall behind you and leans in close.

"When I say go, you fucking go. Do you understand me?"

"Fuck you, Elvis." His eyes widen ever so slightly, but he keeps his gaze intense. Then, out of nowhere, he softens a bit.

"Why do you do this shit to me, Little? You make me fucking crazy."

"I make you crazy?! YOU IGNORED ME ALL NIGHT!" He may have softened, but you're not ready to go down without a fight. You see the light of his anger reignite in his eyes.

"If you weren't so goddamn insecure--"

"I'm insecure?! You can't handle it when I talk to another man. God knows what you're doing with other women!" He slams his hand on the wall above your head.

"I don't know how many times I have to tell you this! There are no other women. Sure, I talk and flirt and maybe mess around a little, but the only one I really want is you!" The last part catches you off guard a little bit. This is the first time he's really directly stated that he wants you more than anyone else.

"Why?! Why won't you just let me go?! Then we could both move on." You're very annoyed by the tears that are starting to gather in your eyes. You don't want to let him know he's getting to you this much.

"Dammit, I don't know!" He pulls his hand off the wall and walks away, running his hand through his hair and giving it an even wilder look. He slides his glasses off and pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Why don't you leave?" He asks quietly, putting his glasses back on and looking at you almost pleadingly.

"I... I can't."

"WHY NOT? I WANT TO KNOW WHY!" He yells at you now louder than he's been the whole time. He walks back to you and stands inches away from you, fuming. You glare up at him, defiant to your very core.

"BECAUSE I FUCKING LOVE YOU." It comes out of you before you're able to stop it.

He hits the wall again and walks away. Then, he turns back to face you, something new in his eyes.

"Well, I fucking love you too." You stand there, chest heaving and tears threatening to slide down your face.

He takes two large steps towards you and wraps his arms around your waist, crashing his mouth into yours, his tongue slipping between your parted lips. You snake your hands up his chest and around his neck, pressing your hips into his and returning his kiss. He pushes you up against the wall and grinds into you, hard. You feel his already-growing erection as he rolls his hips and you whimper softly. He smashes the elevator "up" button four or five times as hard as he can, never moving his mouth from yours. After a few seconds, you hear the ding and the elevator opens. Several people walk out and stop when they see the two of you wrapped around each other. When they realize who he is, they start to whisper. He pulls back from kissing you and yells at them.

"MOVE!" They jump out of the way and you half roll, half tumble into the elevator together, still tangled around each other. You hear them laugh as you press the "door close" button a hundred times, but you're too busy with Elvis to care. He obviously doesn't either as he runs both hands up your body while the doors close and grabs your breasts. He squeezes them like he's trying to keep them from getting away and then slides his hands back to your ass, pulling your hips into his. His dick is fully hard now and you moan with desire as he presses against you.

He moves his lips down your cheek, pressing them softly to the smooth space below your ear. Then, he begins to bite you gently on the sensitive skin of your neck. A shiver of pleasure runs down your spine. This elevator needs to move faster.

When he sucks on a place near your collar bone hard enough to leave a mark, you moan audibly. You need him. Now. And he knows it. He hits the "stop" button and the elevator grinds to a screeching halt. He reaches up under your dress and pulls your panties down, sliding them to your ankles and off over your shoes. Running his hands up your thighs, he comes back to your center, pressing his middle finger into your wetness.

"Mmm. I should yell at you more often." He moans into your mouth as he moves his finger in and out, noticing how wet you are.

"Or tell me that you love me more often." You moan right back at him. Your hands go directly to the buttons on his pants and he lets you free his dick from them. Before he can fuck you, though, you push him up against the elevator wall and get on your knees in front of him. He leans his head back as you lick a slow circle around his tip, rolling his foreskin back. You pump him a few times with your hand and then take as much of him into your mouth as you can handle. It takes a couple of tries and you opening your throat significantly to get his whole length in your mouth, your nose pressed into him. Your hands cup and play with his balls as you lick up and down the bottom of his shaft. You continue sliding your hand along his length as you lick and suck and top half of him.

"Baby I'm not gonna last much longer if you keep this up." You take him fully in your mouth one last time and then stand up in front of him. He grabs the back of your hair and presses himself against you as he kisses you deeply.

Now it's his turn to get on his knees as he pushes your dress up above your hips. He kisses the inside of each of your soft thighs and then places his mouth directly on the place between your legs. You feel yourself tighten around nothing as he licks over and around your sensitive spot. The feeling almost overwhelms you and you twist your fingers into his hair while he keeps working. You feel your orgasm building in your abdomen. He moans into you and the vibration almost sends you over the edge. He licks around you in circles and sucks lightly on your clit. When he adds his fingers in, pushing them deep inside you and sliding them in and out at a quickening pace, your climax comes even closer. He flattens his tongue and moves his head side to side, letting the sensation of his movement on you push you ever nearer to the edge. Finally, he tightens his tongue to a point and licks you with every intention of sending you over. The feeling of him swirling over and around you faster and faster drives you crazy. You feel the overwhelming rush of your release tingling through you from your head to your toes, both relaxing and contracting in waves of ecstatic pleasure. Elvis feels the excess wetness on his fingers and he smiles into you, knowing he's accomplished his goal. Suddenly, he stands back up and turns you to face the wall of the elevator. Pulling your dress up over your ass, he teases you with his tip and then enters you from behind. He starts slow, filling you up in a way that makes you cry out in pleasure. He holds your hips as he pushes into you faster and faster with more and more intensity.

"That's right, baby. Take it like a good girl."

"Yes, daddy" you get out between moans. He continues to run his hands up and down your front, squeezing your breasts every now and then, and moving his hands back to your hips. All the while, he's fucking you with all of his power, slamming into you over and over, deeper and deeper. His fingers dig into your hips and you pray there won't be obvious bruises in the morning. All of the previous rage that was inside both of you has turned to insatiable desire as he pounds into you and you cry out with each thrust.

"You're so tight and wet for me, doll. I love it so much. I love you so much." You should be shocked that he's saying it so casually, but you're too focused on being fucked silly to think much of it. Without any warning, he pulls out of you and turns you to face him, your back pressed against the elevator wall. He pushes back into you and goes back to fucking you with every ounce of his strength. But this time he's peppering you with kisses on your neck and collarbone and cheeks between thrusts.

"Ah, fuck, baby I'm close." He groans as he continues his steady and unforgiving rhythm.

"Don't stop." You mutter to him as he continues grinding his dick into you. Finally, his climax reverberates across his body.

"FUCK y/n. Yes, that's so... yes..." He shudders and does a few more weak pumps before he can't stand it anymore and he has to pull out. He has both hands on the elevator wall above your head and he presses his forehead into yours, breathing heavily. You feel his hot breath on you and you match his heaving chest with your own. You wrap your arms around his neck and kiss his earlobe.

"Do you really love me?" You whisper, not sure what to expect as an answer. It's entirely possible that he was just caught up in the moment and you'll go back to your part-time lover situation.

He pulls back and looks you in the eyes intensely.

"I really fucking do. Goddammit. I really do." He kisses you again passionately and then hangs his head. You can tell he's afraid of what your response might be too. For all his tough-guy exterior, all he really wants is someone to love.

"I love you, Elvis Presley." He looks up at you, searching your eyes for reassurance. "I really fucking do." He seems to find whatever he's looking for because he doesn't ask any more questions. He pulls you close to him and holds you for a second. Then he picks up your panties, helping you step back into them, and straightens your dress. He puts his dick back into his pants and zips them up. He pushes the elevator button to make it start up again and slings his arm around your shoulders, holding your right hand in his with your fingers interlocked. When the elevator doors finally open, no one would ever know what just happened between you. You walk out of the elevator and to your room with him still wrapped around your shoulders.

"You wear me out, girl." He whispers as he kisses the side of your head. Together, you walk into your suite and into your future. It won't be easy to be with him, since you're both still who you are, but there won't be anymore "off" times for the rest of your relationship. Fights? Yes. But you always find your way back into each others arms. You might burn each other up in the meantime, but at least you'll burn together.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Taglist: (I'm tagging everyone who's ever asked me to tag them. If you want off the list, let me know and I'll remove you!)

@itlover8000 @deniseinmn @elvisalltheway101 @ccab @suxny @hernameisnoellex3 @ashtag6887 @arabellapresley @littlehoneyposts @dkayfixates @elvisxsposts @joshuntildawn13 @msamarican @returntopresley @mrsbutler99 @blog777e

#elvis fans #elvis presley #elvis #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presley x reader #elvis smut #elvis x reader #elvisaaronpresley #elvis fanfic #elvis presely smut #elvis fandom #i love elvis #70s elvis #elvis presley x y/n #elvis x you #elvis x y/n #elvis presley x you #elvis presley fic #elvis presley smut #elvis fanfiction #elvis fic #elvis presley fandom #Spotify

[sleepy-writes-stuff]

DP X DC WRITING PROMPT #3

(I'm feeling kinda angsty today, I guess. If there's a fic/prompt like this already tho, please link me. 👀)

next →

✦

Reaper of Heroes

Once crowned as the High Ghost King of the Infinite Realms, Danny gains some grim reaper-like abilities and dominion over a specific subset of souls.

Heroes.

People who don masks and capes to protect the innocent from those who would harm them, just like he once did in the beginning of his existence as a halfa. He's was horrified by the responsibility but is eventually resigned to it. Due to bittersweet nostalgia, he quickly grows fond of the heroes that rose up after he took the throne and packed away the suit. Responsible he may be for the collection of their souls, but with council from Clockwork and the Ghost of Time's knowledge of the most desired paths, sometimes he'll just... let a soul slip through his fingers and return to it's vessel before it's chain is completely severed. He doesn't care that the observants complain constantly about those particular actions. If there's still room for a soul to do good for the better of everyone else, they can hardly stop him from straying from their plans. Much less with him as their king and protection as his obsession.

Only he is responsible for the reaping of these specific souls, unless delegated to one of the more common reapers at his command of course. Sometimes he follows his favorite heroes around, invisible to them unless he wishes them to see him or they're very close to death's door. He's trailed them so closely that some heroes have reported seeing a kind but sad looking man with white hair and aurora green eyes when they've nearly been pushed past the limits of their mortal bodies.

Ones who have passed through the veil but came back report vague memories of a similar sort; a kind man who cradled the very essence of their being with hands so gentle it's worth a few awe filled tears once he released them back amongst the living. The JL give him the moniker Grim, for his black and white coloring and for the shadowy scythe he carries not as a weapon but more like a key that unlocks the chain that binds them to their flesh. He never speaks to any of the heroes he interacts with tho. Always silent with a calculating, but sorrowful gaze.

At least until now.

When he appears before a bruised and beaten, young Jason Todd with whisper soft words in his ear as he comforted the concussed boy about to be killed in a fiery inferno at the hands of Gotham's mad clown.

As the explosion comes to a close, an unseen figure cradles the star-like light of a soul close to his chest as he wept and apologized for being unable to save the young soul from such a painful end but was thankful the poor boy this light belonged to could feel it no longer.

✦

What do you think? Angsty enough? I might have a little more to add to this but I'm gonna stop for now. I injured my hand yesterday, so it hurts to type for too long.

#dp x dc #dc x dp #dp x dc crossover #danny is ghost king #danny is the reaper of heroes souls #the job can be pretty depressing sometimes #danny comforts jason before his death #writing prompt #angst prompt #prompt #dp x dc prompt #Reaper of Heroes AU #sleepy-writes-stuff

[wingedcupcaketimemachine]

Heyyyy, I saw your requests open and wanna ask for oneshot Zuko x GN!Reader(who is really-really sweet for a firebender), but they're childhood friends(and Zuko had a crush on them) and reader ran away to Earth Kingdom. Then they meet in some village where Reader lives and make something romantic there!

Please and thank you!

Zuko Reuniting With Childhood Friend

Pairing: Zuko x Firebender!GN!Reader

Summary: You and Zuko are childhood friends who grew up together in the Fire Nation.

Warnings: Contain spoilers for some of Zuko's backstory if you haven't seen the show. Also contains badly written kiss scene

Type: Romantic ❤️

A/N: I decided to give the reader a bit of backstory to explain why they fled to the Earth Kingdom. The one shot takes place during season 2 episode 14, "Tales of Ba Sing Se." Hope you enjoy <3

Oneshot starts below cut

Avatar: The Last Airbender Masterlist

Main Masterlist

You had been friends with Zuko back when you still lived in the Fire Nation. You had grown up alongside him and his sister, Azula, as your father was on of the Firelord's more trusted generals.

As a young child, you were never very interested in playing games with Azula and her friends. You preferred spending quiet time with Zuko around the palace.

Zuko never understood how he felt about you.. Of course he liked you. The two of you were friends, best friends even. But, did best friends make a fiery red blush rise from your face to the tops of your ears? Did a best friends cause your heart to stop beating every time you got lost in their eyes?

Even now, as his golden eyes met yours, his heart felt as if it would beat out of his chest. He carefully studied you as you sat in the corner of the tea shop. You had changed. Your hair was different, maybe a bit longer than he remembered, and you had swapped out your red Fire Nation clothes for a simple green dress -- an Earth Nation staple. Most notably, your bright eyes had remained the same.

You studied him as well. This Zuko was much different than the boy you knew as a child. His hair was much shorter, and his once warm golden eyes had grown dull. You wondered, how had he ended up in a Ba Sing Se tea shop of all places? After his banishment from the Fire Nation, you weren't sure if you would ever see him again.

"Uncle, we have a problem," said Zuko as he approached his uncle behind the front counter, "Don't look now, but over in the corner table, it's (Y/N)."

Iroh swiftly turned to glance at your table. He recognized you in an instant. His mind was flooded with the memories of you and Zuko growing uo together in the palace.

"Uncle!" Zuko scolds, "Didn't I say don't look? Now they're gonna know that we're onto them."

Before Iroh could respond, you walked up to the counter with a small bag of coins in hand.

"Thank you for the tea, Zuko," you said politely, "And you too general Iroh."

Zuko felt heat rise to his ears. He had always though you were pretty, and seeing you up close was starting to make him a but flustered. "But why?" he thought to himself. Were friends supposed to think of each other that way?

"You're welcome," said Zuko with red checks, "But you can't call us that here. I go by Lee. And my uncle is called Mushi"

"Sorry!" you said quickly, as your face flushed with embarrassment, "I didn't even think that you would go by different names here. Speaking of which, what are you doing here anyway?"

"Well," Zuko said, "It's not really something we can discuss here."

"My nephew is right!" Iroh said, jumping back into the conversation, "Why don't the two of you go out tonight and discuss how both of you came to be in Ba Sing Se?"

At Iroh's suggestion, Zuko turned even redder, if possible.

"I like that idea," you said shyly before turning back to Zuko, "I know a restaurant in the city if you'd like to go there."

"Yeah..that sounds...nice," Zuko said quietly, "I can meet you in front of the tea shop tonight."

"Yeah," you said with a grin, "See you tonight."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After it had gotten dark, you stood outside of the tea shop waiting for Zuko. As you waited, you began to hear muffled voices from inside the shop.

"i'm not so sure about this, Uncle," said Zuko hesitantly "What if they end up hating me after I tell them. I don't want to lose them again."

"Do not worry Zuko. They have a god heart, and so do you. Now get going. You're going to be late."

"Hi," you said as Zuko walked out of the tea shop, "Are you ready to go?"

"Yeah," said Zuko, rubbing the back of his neck nervously, "Lead the way."

The two of you walked in an uncomfortable silence. The tension between you could be cut with a knife. After a brief walk, which somehow felt so much longer than the short 10 minutes, you came to a stop outside of a small restaurant.

"This is it," you said awkwardly, "Do you wanna go find a table?"

"Sure," said Zuko, before you fell into another uncomfortable silence.

"So," you said after you had settled in your seats, "What are you doing here in Ba Sing Se anyway? I thought you were looking for the avatar."

"I am!" Zuko said quickly, "But Uncle and I got a bit sidetracked. Azula's after us."

Your eyes widened in shock.

"Azula? But what could she want from you? She's already next in line to become firelord."

"My father," said Zuko quietly, "He sent her after me and the avatar. He doesn't seem to think my efforts to capture him are good enough."

"Of course," you said in a rare burst of anger, "I should have known your father would do anything to prevent you from returning to the Fire Nation. That's part of the reason I left, you know."

"Really?" said Zuko curiously.

He had always wondered what made you leave the Fire Nation. Although he had already been banished at that time, he had heard through letters from the Fire Nation that you had run away shortly after his father sent him to find the avatar. Selfishly, he couldn't help but think that you had left for him.

"I never really agreed with the Fire Nation's teachings," you said honestly, "I always wondered why we were taught that our way of life was better than everyone else, when, truly, each one of us should be seen as equals. But when your own father challenged you to an Agni Kai, I realized that we really weren't the heroes the Fire Nation said we were. We were the villains. I came out here to try and make a difference. I can't just stand by while our people destroy the world and everyone in it."

Zuko's gaze met you eyes and he saw the many emotions swirling inside of them. Most importantly the fiery determination that he hadn't seen since childhood. As your words sank in, he though about how he and his uncle had ended up in the city. Unlike you, who, through your unwavering need to help others, had worked the make life easier for the people whose life had been torn apart by the Fire Nation, he had spent the better part of a month terrorizing innocent towns on his hunt for the avatar.

"I always wished I could be more like you, you know," Zuko said ashamed, "I always thought I was doing the right thing by tracking down the avatar, but after seeing all the damage the Fire Nation has caused, maybe I've been doing a lot more harm than good."

You smiled at him before softly cupping his face.

"You're not a bad person, Zuko," you said quietly, "I know there's good in you. You just need someone to help you find it."

You felt Zuko's skin burn under your touch, as you look into his golden eyes, which are filled with hesitation. As you leaned closer, you could hear Zuko's breath hitch as his breath caught in his throat. Zuko began to lean in, hoping you couldn't hear his heart beating at a thousand miles an hour.

Your lips finally connected, for a brief second, before you pulled apart, faces flushed.

"You, know," Zuko said quietly, "I missed you a lot after I left the Fire Nation."

You smiled softly.

"So did I," you said before gently pulling him into another kiss.

#zuko #zuko imagine #zuko x reader #avatar the last airbender #atla #atla imagine #atla zuko #avatar zuko #prince zuko #zuko fluff #prince zuko x reader #zuko x you #zuko x y/n

[flametrashiraarchive]

The Wind and Wisteria: Chapter 2.

Read Chapter 1 here

Content guidance: NSFW. Rough sanemi. Canon-divergent. Kyojuro is alive but very wounded after the Mugen Train mission (Sanemi went with him on it)

Your house has never been this busy before. There are demon slayer corps members everywhere, running back and forth, shouting orders, making way for you and the doctor as you head to the room where the wounded hashira has been taken.

Your heart is thumping in your throat as you slide open the door and prepare for the worst.

But it's not Sanemi. 

This hashira has bright flame-colored hair which is currently caked in blood. His left eye is smashed, his face half obscured by blood. You can barely even see the man beneath the injuries, but there's no doubt he's the Flame Hashira, Kyojuro Rengoku. He's stayed with you before; a sweet, friendly man who filled your house with laughter whenever he visited.

And thank god he's unconscious, because how he's still alive with those injuries you'll never understand. 

The doctor hurries to perform emergency surgery on the gaping wound in his torso. "I need to stem the bleeding. We need to keep him alive no matter what."

You feel useless as you watch the doctor and the slayer corps' medics work. This poor man… 

You feel terrible for thinking it, but as much as you hate seeing Rengoku like this, you're so damn glad it isn't Sanemi. Seeing him in that state… God, you can't even imagine how awful that would be.

Someone brushes by you as you linger in the doorway. It takes you a second to register who it is.

Your heart leaps.

That white hair, the scars, the green hashira uniform which is almost as covered in blood as the man on the bed. Sanemi…They must have fought side-by-side on the same mission. 

You can only watch, conflicted and frozen as Sanemi pulls off his belt and puts it between the wounded hashira's teeth so he has something to bite down on as the doctor works.

A moment later, and despite the painkillers injected into his system, the flame hashira regains consciousness and starts to cry out in agony, the sound still ear-splitting even with the belt in his mouth. Sanemi, along with a handful of Kakushi are holding him down but it's hardly enough to contain him. Before you have time to think you're in the thick of it, gripping the flame hashira's hand and offering the only thing you can: words of comfort. 

"It's okay, it's okay, Lord Rengoku," you say softly as the doctor tries to close his gaping wounds. You put your hand on his forehead and smooth back his fiery hair. "You're safe. I promise you'll live through this."

The flame hashira's remaining gold and crimson eye stares up at you, silently pleading. He stops crying out but his grip on your hand is ferociously strong. You can almost feel your bones creaking, threatening to give way and snap.

You keep talking to him. “You’re going to be okay. You’re going to get better and then I’m going to cook that shrimp tempura you loved so much the last time you came here. Remember? You ate forty seven shrimp that day.” 

The flame hashira nods, screwing his good eye shut as he endures the pain.

Sanemi finally speaks. "Breathe, Kyojuro. They're closing the wound. It'll be over soon."

It takes an agonizingly long time. It feels as though hours crawl by as the doctor closes every wound, cleans and dresses it. By the end of it, the flame hashira is barely clinging to consciousness. 

"Thank… you…" Rengoku murmurs as the doctor injects him with yet more painkillers. His golden gaze turns to you. He smiles and closes his eye. His hand in yours has softened, but he holds onto you still as you keep on stroking his hair. It seems to soothe him.

Sanemi's purple eyes burn into you as he watches you. "Let him rest." He barks it like an order, as if you're keeping the flame hashira awake against his will instead of successfully giving him comfort. There's no way you're going to stop. The wounded man even turns his head a fraction toward you as he sleeps, leaning further into your touch. 

"I was starting to think I'd never see you again," you say to Sanemi, your gentle tone betraying the fact that you're glad. Despite everything, you're glad to see him. 

"I had no intention of coming back. I didn't have a choice." Sanemi's glare slips down to your hand. His lips curl into a snarl. "Stop petting him like a damn dog and let the man rest."

Kyojuro turns his head away; though whether it's away from your hand or the sharply hissed words, you can't tell. Still, you stop your stroking and let go of his hand. 

The bones in your hand are throbbing from being squeezed for so long. It suddenly occurs to you that in the shock and adrenaline of what happened, you're being a terrible host. The exhausted kakushi who serve the demon slayer corps are scattered around the house, resting, and you haven't even so much as offered them a drink of water.

It gives you a good excuse to get away from Sanemi too. So that's how you spend the rest of the day; hosting, cooking, preparing beds, thanking the demon slayer corps for their tireless efforts. And it works. You barely even see Sanemi, other than to bring him a cup of tea and a plate of onigiri to the private room he's taken temporary residence in. He doesn't even turn to face you as you bring his meal.

"Thank you." He's polite enough, but his tone is closed and cold, as if you're nothing to him. 

Nothing but a hole he used to enjoy filling, but not anymore. 

When evening comes around, and most of your guests are sleeping, you can't hold back from going into the room where the flame hashira rests, just to check on him. You're still shaken from the events of the morning and you want to see him for your own peace of mind.

It seems Sanemi couldn't keep away either. He glares at you from beside the bed. "You're not needed here."

You ignore him. It's your house, after all.

The doctor is still sitting by the bed too, so you direct your question to him. "Will he live?"

The doctor's mouth opens and closes a few times, and you know he's struggling to piece together an answer. It's still uncertain. 

You step closer to the sleeping man and watch the slow rise and fall of his chest. 

"He's strong. He'll pull through," you say, trying to give yourself a little comfort. 

The doctor sighs. "We can only hope." 

Despite your best efforts to block him out, your eyes momentarily slide to Sanemi. 

God, you hate the way your body reacts to the sight of him. Your foolish heart leaps. There's still a deep longing for him, even after everything. A cruel ache coils between your thighs as your treacherous pussy remembers just how much it misses him.

He's terrible, you remind yourself; an asshole, a certified shithead. Then again, you are making eyes at him across the sleeping body of his mortally wounded comrade. 

His lips are down turned, his purple eyes fixed on yours with such a look of pure disdain you're almost convinced he can hear your inappropriate thoughts. 

Heat creeps across your cheeks so you distract yourself by looking down at the flame hashira and pulling in a deep, calming breath.

Finally you say to the doctor, "Can I get you anything?"

The doctor shakes his head. "No, thank you. I've done what I can for today. I'm heading home, but if you need anything or his condition changes, send for me."

You bow in thanks and leave the room without a second glance toward Sanemi. 

You've made it to the kitchen when Sanemi's voice cuts through the air at your back. "Hey, come back here."

You spin around to see him standing there in the doorway. "What do you want?" 

You know instantly, because he's looked at you this way so many times; like he's pissed off at the entire world and he needs to claw back something good. He's covered in scratches and bruises. The man has been through hell and back. He needs something to take the edge off. And that something just so happens to be you.

Your heart rate spikes.

There's nothing between you and Sanemi but silence, resentment, and blistering heat. You shouldn't do this. You're pissed at him, remember? 

But you release a shaking breath and nod. 

He grins and slides the kitchen door closed. He's on you in an instant, turning you around and bending you over the countertop and yanking your skirt up to your hips. His breath is hot and harsh against your ear as he slips his rough fingers between your slick folds.

"So damn wet already. You missed me, huh? You missed this?"

You grit your teeth but your admission comes out anyway. "Yes."

"No one else can fuck you like I can." There's a jealous, possessive edge to his words as he puts a hand between your shoulder blades and keeps your chest pinned to the counter as he pumps two thick fingers into you. "No one."

God, you can't stop your back from arching as he thrusts those fingers into you. "God… it's only you, Sanemi."

He pulls out his fingers and cups your pussy in the palm of his big, rough hand. His lips brush against your ear as he growls, "Say that again." His fingers start to slide over your clit in slow, teasing circles. You feel the fat head of his cock replace his hand, pushing against your entrance. "Say you're mine. No one else's."

"I'm…" You tell yourself not to get carried away. You're not his. He walked out on you for months for having the audacity to request that he face you while fucking you. He called you a hole to fill, for goodness' sake. 

A tingle crackles down your spine as he pushes into you, bottoming out with a snap of his hips and a hissed "ffffuck," against the back of your neck.

"You're what?" He leans into you, pressing you harder against the counter. His lips move down the side of your neck as he starts to thrust into you, all the while still strumming your clit. "Say it." 

His lips feel so damn good on your neck, his fingers and cock feel heavenly on your cunt. For all his faults–of which there are plenty–Sanemi knows exactly how to pleasure you quickly.

You gasp. “I’m…” 

“Say it, dammit.”

It’s too much, too good, you can’t hold on. “I’m… going to come–”

“The fuck you are.” He withdraws his hand, leaving you hanging on the edge of ecstasy.

A desperate whine leaves your lips. He stops thrusting, just letting his cock stay buried in you as your pussy clenches desperately around him.

"One last chance," he says.

You rest your head on your forearms, gasping and trying to stay upright as your legs tremble beneath you.

A moment later he pulls out of you and turns you around so your ass is against the counter. Sanemi’s face is just inches from yours. You’ve never seen his face so close to you before.

He grasps the back of your head, glaring at you with those wild eyes as his lip curls. His breath fans across your lips.

You want him and want to hate him so damn bad you can hardly breathe. 

He growls and pulls back. “Just say it. Why are you being so damn stubborn?”

“You want me to lie to you?” 

He chuckles. “Lie? No. I want you to mean it. You're mine, okay? I want you to look me in the eye and tell me you are.”

"Why? I'm not even a person to you, just a hole, right?" It just comes pouring out of you. 

His eyes widen and his mouth opens around as he pulls in a silent gasp, as if he's shocked by his own words coming out of your mouth. 

"Well?" You push. Your heart is pounding now. "Say something." 

He looks away, "Fuck, I'm… sorry. I don't think that. I was wrong for saying it."

"So why did you?"

"Because I was… look, I said I'm sorry." He tries to turn you back around, but you stand firm. "Come on. Let me make you come.  You know we're at our best like this."

"How would we know? We've never been anything else."

"Ha, like you'd want to be anything else with an asshole like me." 

Your heart is thundering. "Well…what if I did?"

Any trace of arrogance or aggression on his face disappears and makes way for something you never expected to see on Sanemi’s face. 

He looks… afraid. 

It’s only a fleeting vision, one which you second guess as soon as it fades, because how can Sanemi Shinazugawa–a man who prides himself on his scars and his reputation as a ruthless asshole–ever look that soft and vulnerable? 

You’re so blindsided, you don’t even notice him moving toward you until his lips brush against yours. 

The world stops.

He kisses you like he’s scared you'll shatter if he pushes too hard; softer and gentler than a breeze, hardly allowing his lips to touch yours. His rough hands are so gentle; one at the back of your neck, the other on your cheek as he strokes his thumb along your cheekbone.

His kiss sends lightning crackling down your spine and your body immediately floods with more need than you've ever felt before. Your hands slide up his neck to cup his face, your fingertips brushing the edge of his silvery hair as he moans softly against your lips.

When he pulls back, he looks into your eyes like he’s dangling above an abyss and you might cut the rope at any second. He lets go of you and steps back as if his own actions shocked him. "Shit."

"Sanemi…" you whisper, your mind racing a million miles per minute. 

"I'm sorry. I… When I saw you taking care of Kyojuro, stroking his hair, reminiscing about the time you'd spent together, I couldn't…" He takes a deep breath and shakes his head. "I wanted… I felt…fuck."

He's still as inept at expressing himself as ever.

"You were jealous?"

He looks away from you, his jaw wound so tight you can see the muscle in his cheek fluttering. He nods. 

"Sanemi-"

"I know. I know… I'm disgusting. Kyojuro is fighting for his damn life and here I am…"

In your tangled, frantic thoughts, only one urge remains clear and constant, so you take a step toward him and say it. "Kiss me again."

Those words clearly catch him off guard. His eyes widen again, but then the corners of his mouth curve and his gaze softens. He takes a step toward you.

And then he stops. 

"I can't."

"Sanemi…"

"I. Can't."

He leaves the kitchen without another word, leaving you with a thousand unanswered questions and the torturous tingle his lips left behind. 

Chapter 3

#kimetsu sanemi #sanemi smut #sanemi x y/n #sanemi x reader #sanemi x you #kimetsu no yaiba sanemi #demon slayer sanemi #sanemi is bad at feelings #someone please hug him

[eywa-eveng]

ɪ. ᴡʜᴀᴛ’s ʟᴇғᴛ ʙᴇʜɪɴᴅ

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ – ɴᴇʏᴛɪʀɪ & ᴊᴀᴋᴇ X ᶠᴱᴹ ᴼᴹᴬᵀᴵᴷᴬᵞᴬ ᴿᴱᴬᴰᴱᴿ

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ – 12.2k

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ – angst

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs – mentions of character death, mentions of war, ptsd, unrequited love

ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ’s ɴᴏᴛᴇ – A bit of a non-linear storyline here, but nothing too confusing.

ᴛᴀɢ ʟɪsᴛ – @eywas-heir @fanboyluvr @amiets2 @neteyamforlife @sunrays404 @im-in-a-pansexual-panik @eternallyvenus @bobojojoba69 @behindthearcane @elegantkidfansoul @ladylovegood-69 @pinkiemme @arminsgfloll @wtf-why-do-i-gotta-do-this @onlyreadz @ghost-lantern @calums-betch @crazy4books1 @meladollsims @yeosxxx @sillyfreakfanparty

Light blooms underfoot, swelling and fading like ripples over water as faint syuratan rises to meet the shadows gathering beneath the night sky. The last dregs of amber sunlight pierce through the treetops like arrows, the warm light glowing like a flame behind the silhouetted canopy. The shades of firelight fade to blue darkness as the forest swallows the last whispers of daylight into the darkened horizon. A path towards the clan’s new settlement is carved in pale green light, each step echoed by the glowing moss blanketing the tree limbs. The newly lit plants burn brighter at the slightest touch, flaring as a breeze brushes through the trees, shuffling one leaf against another until entire branches are bright as torchlight. And when the wind settles the air is filled with the sweet taste of nectar, the hanging plants swarmed with insects that fill the night with their buzzing song. There’s always music in the forest, the sounds of life thrumming through the air like the distant voices of a forgotten lullaby. The chittering of nantang and the shrieking of riti, the thundering footfalls of ’angtsìk. 

The noises of the night build as the stars begin to dot the sky, swallowing your nearly soundless footfalls as you weave through the foliage, running along the twisted roots bridging the distance between the trees. The ground rushes up to meet you as you jump from the high perch, ears twitching towards a disturbance somewhere nearby that makes your landing sound like stones rolling down a hill, fumbling and clumsy. Loud enough to be worth a closer look as voices begin to break through the foliage, terse with agitation. Your feet are quick enough to catch the tail end of the confrontation. 

Hunters. Some mounted and others on foot. A mix of Na’vi and uniltìrantokx, separated by dignity and appearance. The sawtute are easy to parse from trueborn Na’vi, even at a distance. They’re like fiery red blossoms in a sea of yellow flowers, so plainly out of place. Speaking their human language and wearing their human clothes even when most of their kind have long since been banished from Pandora. The night had been clear when they left and a new star bloomed in the darkness, bright as a white flame in the deep blue sky. Most claim not to mourn the loss but others seem less inclined to surrender themselves to the Na’vi way of life. It is clear that the topic of disturbance involves such cultural differences as you creep closer. 

Someone cuts a biting remark, gruff and steeped in a thickening accent the more terse their words become. An uniltìrantokx returns the venom-stricken tone with their own heavy accent, Na’vi words sounding as intimidating as a child when spoken on such a foreign tongue. One of the mounted hunters cracks a smile, a sardonic laugh slipping past his lips. These avatars are like humans. Babies that need teaching especially after being so suddenly stripped away from their system of support. There aren’t many of them left in their place of human dwelling. That strange metal cave system that spirals out like the bloated roots of some shimmery plant. These are supposed to be the truly loyal humans. The kind humans left after the rot and ruin of the rest was scraped away. There are kind souls that remain but some are far too stubborn, like clay dug up from a riverbed and left to dry before it was fully molded into shape. They’re stiff and unchanging despite the offers to be taught your ways of life. 

It is a fair argument they are having from what you can hear at the fringes of the clearing. The avatars are being far too liberal with their bows. Eager arrows lead to messy kills and there is no reason to cause unneeded suffering for a lack of discipline. An injured animal will run if it is able and sawtute are far less adept at traversing these forests. It would be easy for them to lose their intended kill and leave the animal to suffer with an arrow in its hide. A mounted hunter says as much, pa’li unsteady beneath her, the direhorse churning up dirt beneath her hooves as her rider’s anger is surely reflected through tsaheylu. When the humans have nothing to say back the silence stretches like a rope pulled taut, slowly fraying under the strain until it snaps and the leader of the hunting party gives the gruff order to return home. 

The word still sets an ache in your chest like pressing against a bruise, dull and throbbing as “home” has changed shape. You follow in the trail of light left by the hunting party. Not towards Hometree that always stood above the forest like a fist punching towards the sky, but to grounded dwellings flanking the humans’ nearly abandoned home. The hunting party continues on after passing through the newly made village, escorting the avatars back to their massive metal kelku. Their refusal to learn has stunted their ability to be trusted in the forest alone. Truly like children that need to be guided lest they be met with an accident that could’ve been prevented with proper teachings. 

The sounds of the forest give way to a din of voices as green syuratan fades to bright orange firelight. It sounds much the same as Kelutral had, conversations mingled with laughter as everyone gathers around cookfires for their nightly meals. It’s far less communial with the separate homes of woven fabrics over wooden frames. Different sizes denoting the size of the family living within. Your own is modestly small, just large enough for one. Truly it was meant for an avatar if they felt more inclined to immerse themselves in village life but it went unused for so long that you took the honor of christening it as your own, sleeping here most days despite having mates of your own and a more homely kelku to return to. It’s been days of careful avoidance despite the olo’eyktan and tsakarem’s greatest efforts to draw you back to their side. 

Unexpectedly, it is Jake that has been more insistent rather than Neytiri. That was something you hadn’t thought to consider a possibility. His longing was enough to make you avoid any member of the clan altogether. You’ve shared no more than a few words with anyone in the days since Jake began sending his warriors chasing after your tail in an attempt to coax you back home. They’d come to you bearing gifts of delicate bracelets made with the rarest beads and feathered hair ornaments of the brightest colors, lingering for a moment to ponder over your rejection before trailing back to their leader with a defeated hunch to their shoulders. 

The fire you tend to is only just large enough for your purposes. This kelku is set every so slightly apart from the rest and a light flickering at the fringes of the village is sure to draw unneeded attention whether it’s a kind elder sending children to be sure you have enough to eat or another of Jake’s men coming to present you with another of his finely made gifts. His effort is wasted. Pretty adornments aren’t enough to stitch the wound that’s been scored across your very soul. So much has happened in so little time. So quickly that you were hardly given a moment to mourn. Even as the days fall away to the past with the rise and fall of the sun it still feels like a wound is festering in your heart, refusing to heal as old memories poke and prod, stinging in the back of your mind. No, a new necklace or freshly made arrows won’t be enough to soothe the pain you’re suffering. Everyone might have begun to move on, picking up the fragments of what was left behind to rebuild something new, something better, but you stayed there. Every night, in your dreams, the sky is raining ash and the People are screaming. 

The hunger leaves you as the taste of salt invades your mouth, memories of uncounted tears souring your appetite. The small fire is snuffed and the food is set aside with the intention to eat it should you wake with hunger pangs in the dead of night. Sleep has been an elusive thing in the time since the fall of Hometree. Something terrifying as your mind reminds you of the pain and betrayal. Over and over. And there is no place of solace to return to. No Utral Aymokriyä where you might hear some shred of happiness from those that have gone before you. Everything has been torn apart and reknit in a new shape and the only one that seems to truly notice the strangeness of it all is you. But life must go on. A tree does not stop growing when clouds cover the sun. 

Sleep is expectedly fitful, full of stuttered moments of jolted wakefulness that find your cheeks wet with tears. And when the hour is bright enough that you can banish any attempts at resting you rise and pad off into the pinkish light of dawn, nibbling on your cold dinner as you trail off into the forest before the rest of the village has time to wake. As usual there is no direction to your walking, no destination in mind. The only thought is to be away from the village and all the people that seem so foreign to you now. Not only are there more humans and avatars mingling with the People but even those that you were once close to seem to have a different face. And that is only those that remain. The rest were lost, gone to a place you can only reach in short grasping moments. 

Home is far away, in distance and in feeling. The new settlement feels nothing like home even as the clan has begun to rebuild. So many ancestral pieces were lost in the fall of Hometree. Totems and precious items passed down and preserved between the generations of the Omatikaya. Once you could touch something and know that hundreds of hands, long before your time, had touched the same place. Your favorite had been the wooden looms worn soft and smooth by the gentle hands of weavers that passed their craft down to their children and to their children until the knowledge found its way into your hands. All the memories since the time of the First Songs that had survived in the safety of Hometree, gone in an instant. Everything that the Omatikaya clan was, washed away like footprints in sand. 

Now these trees seem so foreign as you traverse through the morning light. In moving to settle closer to the humans’ dwelling the clan has been distanced from the lands you’ve known since birth. Hometree may have fallen but the estrangement seems unnecessary. Maybe to fledgling eyes the forest looks the same but here there are plants that didn’t grow close to Hometree. You’d grown up learning every patch of ferns and every bed of flowers and now you’d need to learn it all again. New berries that prefer the unfiltered sunlight where the humans cleared the trees away and new landmarks to lead you from one place to another in the sprawling forest. Moving was necessary but Jake chose not to claim a new Hometree for the clan and as olo’eyktan his word has become law. With Eytukan and Tsu’tey gone the burden of leading the clan has fallen to Toruk Makto. So strange that only a year ago he hadn’t even existed and now he is leading the People as if he was born to bear the honor when he only just passed his iknimaya. 

The ground is cold underfoot, drops of dew seeping into your skin and sending shivers up your back. The feeling is enough to keep your mind steady, to keep the memories at bay. On any given day you’re likely to slip into the past and be lost in your own mind, like a vision from a Spirit Tree. It seems memories are all you have as comfort as of late. With so much change, the past is the only thing that has remained steady. In your mind you can pretend that Hometree still stands, that Jake never arrived to complicate everything. But he has and here you stand, lonely in a foreign corner of the forest, wishing desperately that you were able to unravel the knot that’s been made of your life. What is so wrong with you that you can’t find happiness in the peace that’s been made now that the humans have been defeated. One war has ended and yet another wages inside you with no end in sight. 

The loneliness eats away at you but the alternative of acceptance seems so wholly unappealing, like eating a spoiled fruit. Resigning yourself to the same budding happiness the clan has been enjoying in the time since the final battle against the humans seems so strange after nearly a lifetime of fighting and uncertainty. Humans were on Pandora long before you were born and your childhood was spent in Grace’s schoolhouse with the looming threat of the tenuous bonds slowly fraying as the humans took more liberties with the lands that were not theirs to pillage and destroy. 

A sound rustles in the trees behind you, a soft brushing of leaves that could be nothing more than a breeze through the underbrush, but your bow is drawn towards the sound in an instant. The tension balled like a fist around your heart eases as a familiar face emerges through the foliage, but doesn’t abate completely as Jake steps into the light. His steps are slow and deliberate as if he were approaching a wounded animal but you hiss at her even still, embarrassed that you’d been so distracted in your thoughts that you lost track of your surroundings. Had you been paying attention you would’ve caught his scent before he made a sound. The same scent that’s always clung to Neytiri’s skin because she favors cooking with firewood that is more fragrant than most, making her food a hint sweeter when she eats it. It’s a smell that used to offer comfort but now it’s only the wisp of another memory that was burned to ash the moment Jake arrived to the clan. 

What would’ve changed if it hadn’t been you and Neytiri tasked with teaching him? Perhaps you wouldn’t have found yourself tangled in a mating bond shared between three people. A crowd compared to the traditional two. 

“What do you want?” You ask, lowering your bow even as your voice still bristles with hostility. 

Jake stalls in his approach. “What did I do, baby? What’s wrong?” In the time since he took up the mantle as olo’eyktan, Jake has begun to fully immerse himself in the ways of the People with more vigor than he had even before the fall of Hometree. He speaks in Na’vi when he can manage it but slips back into English when his tongue trips over an unknown word. But one word he’s never let go of is “baby.” A human term of endearment–not just a word for a newborn child–he’d explained once. Like yawne or paskalin it’s meant to show affection between mates. And despite that being what you are to each other you feel unsettled by the innocent word. 

He takes a step closer that you reward with your own backwards retreat. His brows pinch, ears drooping as his hands reach out as if he can bridge the gap between you with a simple touch. You’re worlds away from each other even as he stands so close. 

An uniltìrantokx, an alien. A human wearing the false face of one of the People. Yet he is also Na’vi, a son of the Omatikaya. He bears the title of olo’eyktan and Toruk Makto. He’s so close and yet so far. Once you would’ve met him in the middle, your hand reaching toward him. But now, knowing what he’s done…. Forgiveness is the farthest thing from your mind. Whatever friendship, whatever affection you’d once had for him has burned away to an aching emptiness. And even before it had begun to slowly unravel, thread by thread, breaking apart until you were left with a tenuous bond at best. Before Jake, before Sylwanin’s death, Neytiri had been yours. You understood her duty to the clan following her sister’s death. It was not her desire to become tsakarem, no nobility in the decision being made for her at the hands of the sawtute. Killing and taking with no remorse. She was betrothed to Tsu’tey and you accepted it as the way of things. 

Jake’s introduction to the clan had been tumultuous at best, but as Neytiri’s closest companion you found yourself joining in on their lessons. And watching her fall in love with someone that wasn’t you. At least, with Tsu’tey there had only been friendship. A mutual agreement to not disappoint the clan’s expectations despite their hearts belonging to another. With Jake, she had no such reservations. Neytiri loved him. Loves him. Yet she can’t let you go. Neither of them can. So now it is your time to do as duty suggests, even if your heart aches with the effort to pretend to accept Jake into your heart for all he is, for all he’s done. Banishing the humans from Pandora after so many years of suffering might’ve been enough for others, but when you look at him you see flames. 

“Everything you touch is destroyed.” The words slip out unbidden, before you can stop the bitterness from leaking off your lips and Jake stills as if you’ve struck him. The shock only lasts for a moment before he’s rushing towards you, arm winding around your waist as his four-fingered hand cups your cheek. The tears are unexpected as he wipes the wetness from your eyes. When did you start to cry? So long ago, truly. It seems the tears never stop, only taking brief moments of reprieve before stinging at your eyes once more. It feels like you’re being shattered, a river crystal smashed against a rock as glittering shards fly in every direction. Impossible to collect and rebuild. But Jake tries, so desperate does he seem to want to hold you together in his arms even as you come apart at the seams. You fight against him. Hissing and clawing like a hunted animal trying to preserve its life. Some innate piece of your mind knowing that a man like him is dangerous. 

Sawtute. Uniltìrantokx. The words are synonymous with death and the unknown. And Jake has proved that no matter how close you become, friends can turn to enemies in the blink of an eye. Lovers can turn to strangers. Happiness can wither into a type of sadness that never dissipates. Still, Jake tries to keep you together in his arms. Whispering and pleading, trying to soothe your sobbing. So long have you spent simply walking forward, one step at a time with only brief moments to think about how far you’ve come. But with those few words you’ve turned back to see all that was left behind and it’s tearing away at you. 

The ground is cold beneath your knees, the chill shivering through you as you fall. Jake hasn’t let you go, still keeping his arms around you as if you’ll turn to ash if he looks away for even a moment. Perhaps you will and wouldn’t it be better if you did? What is left for you now after so much has been taken? Everything has been stripped away. Friends, family. The few things that you thought would always be yours. Gone in an instant. 

You try to speak through the thickness in your throat, voice rough as stone when the words finally come out. “Get away.” Jake doesn’t seem to hear you but you say it again and again as you struggle to your feet. “Get away! Get away from me!” 

All you want is for things to be as they were. But you’re longing for a life you’ve never gotten to live. The humans were here long before you were. You’ve never known a life where they weren’t lingering just out of sight, corrupting your home to fit their alien desires. It burns in your chest, this desire to return to some semblance of normalcy and the knowing that everything in your life has always been precarious, balanced on the edge of a cliff. It seems that now you’ve finally fallen and there’s no knowing what will meet you at the bottom. Jake wants to catch you. You can see the desperation in his eyes as he tries to hold you, hear it in his voice as he begs you to stay with him. 

You’re here in mind and body, but your soul feels like it’s been gone for so long. Left behind in the smoldering remains of Hometree, left behind on the battlefield. Now you’ve only been living because you hadn’t truly died. And everyone has been pretending you’re still the same as you were. Jake is pretending you’re still the same woman he met all those months ago. Had it truly been a year since an ignorant dreamwalker had come stumbling into Hometree? He’d been nothing then. A new kind of uniltìrantokx that needed to be studied. A warrior in a new, untrained body. A chore for Neytiri as Mo’at dictated that it would be her that had to teach him the ways of the clan. Of course, she had made it your responsibility to assist her in the endeavor, ever grateful for every moment spent together even if it involved teaching a man the things a child would know. 

Truly, you’ve all changed since that moment. Jake has learned. Body and mind, he’s learned to walk as a true Na’vi does. It is clear that in his heart he is one of the People yet there’s still doubt in your mind. How, if he was so committed to the clan, had he let those monsters burn down your home with barely a word of warning? Yes, he led the battle to seek revenge and cull the plague of humans from Pandora, but if he had such determination why had he not done it sooner? Humans are secretive, duplicitous. Things that Na’vi had no concept of before their arrival. Your hearts are true and open. Yet Jake still had things to hide even after he became a son of the Omatikaya. Trusting him now feels like a mistake. Neytiri might’ve moved past it but you can’t find it in yourself to open your heart to such pain once more. 

The woman you loved has turned into someone you can’t recognize. Relaxing so easily into the days of peace even in the shadow of all that you’ve both lost. While your heart turned cold hers seems to have blossomed, open with a soft sort of hope. The humans are gone, the People are safe. So why can’t you move on with everyone else?

Jake touches your arm again, fingers tracing from the shape of your wrist up to your shoulder. The touch feels foreign after avoiding him for so long. It isn’t the distressed grasping as he tries to soothe your tears. It’s softer, less confining. 

“Let me help, baby. How can I help?” 

“Leave me alone.” He’s already shaking his head before you finish the words. 

“No. Don’t push me away, I’m not going anywhere. I don’t care how long it takes, I just want my girl back.” Back? Had you ever truly been his? 

It had been a mistake to not close your heart to Neytiri when she was promised to Tsu’tey. Had you been strong enough then to smother the seed of childhood affection, to rob it of rain and sun until it withered and died, perhaps you wouldn’t be standing here with tears burning in your eyes. It would’ve taken less strength then to do what feels impossible now. A stone has turned to a mountain far beyond your strength to move. Jake seems to notice your hesitance, his eyes flitting over your face for any crack he might be able to use as a way past your protective shell. He seems to find it, reaching over your shoulder to brush his fingers over the length of your tswin. He draws it forward with careful reverence, pressing a kiss over the braided hair before looking at you once more. It’s doubtless that he’s thinking of that night beneath the light of the Tree of Voices. 

A mistake if ever you’ve made one. 

Eclipse is close at hand when Neytiri broaches the thought of taking Jake to see the Utraya Mokri. 

“He is a son of the Omatikaya now,” she says gently, as if too much eagerness would startle you away from the idea. “Tonight would be the perfect night for his first commune with Eywa.” It is traditional for the first commune to happen soon after birth when memories are likely no more than colors and sounds and feelings. Jake is far past the age of first commune but as an outsider he hasn’t been allowed anywhere near such sacred places. When she sees your hesitation, Neytiri’s excitement softens. 

“Yawne, he is ready. He has learned and proven himself. Do you still doubt his heart?” You do, still so weary of humans. No matter how kind, the thought of ever fully trusting a human picks at the old wound left by Sylwanin’s death, but you hold your tongue against the words. Mentioning her sister would only spoil Neytiri’s mood. She’s happy. Truly and utterly, and it makes your heart hurt to see her so content when her heart is chanting another’s name. 

Jake. Jake. Jake. It’s all you’ve heard in recent times. No sunrise or sunset has gone without seeing the dreamwalker, hearing his name and seeing him walk beside the girl you once thought would be your mate. But she’s beautiful in her happiness. A shy smile playing on her lip as her tail curls playfully behind her. How could you ever disappoint her? And she is right. Jakesully has been accepted as a son of the Omatikaya. He is now no different in spirit than the boys you grew up with. You’ve watched him grow like a seedling sprouting into a tree, learning and changing as his human heart began to take the shape of something different. Yet you cannot completely forget his origins. 

“There will be a celebration at nightfall,” Neytiri’s ears droop in defeat, “if we can leave without notice, then we can go to the Tree of Voices.” Upset is immediately replaced with elation as Neytiri beams. 

“Will you help me prepare for tonight?” She asks coyly. The rest of the afternoon is spent in close proximity, skin against skin as you go about enjoying the simple intimacy of grooming Neytiri. She hums happily as you undo her braids. Washing and combing until her hair hangs down her back like a black river, tied back with a few sprigs of yellow leaves. She preens you in turn, caring for your hair with a practiced gentility before allowing you to leave to change into something more appropriate for the occasion. The most recent of your crafting was made with tonight in mind. Strings of tiny orange and yellow beads hanging over your chest in an undulating pattern, like sunlight sparkling off water. Your tewng is a bright shade of orange to match the band around your arm, hung in a cascade of feathers the colors of firelight. When night falls, music begins to drift up from the communal heart of Hometree. Drums thundering and voices singing as the celebration begins. Neytiri is easy to find beside her parents as they share words of congratulation for the newest members of the clan, and the sight of her snatches the breath from your lungs. 

She’s dressed more beautifully than you’ve ever seen her. A collection of deep purple beads trail like tree roots over her chest with matching bands swaying about her arms, and a violet-dyed loincloth slung around her hips. It dampens your mood to see Tsu’tey close beside her, jealousy burning in your chest. He has forgone more elaborate adornments for the occasion yet he looks no less out of place. His presence commands respect. He will be a wonderful olo’eyktan to Neytiri’s tsahìk. A beautiful couple waiting to be bonded. Your mood is only worsened as her eyes linger some distance away. On the group of newly made adults. On Jake. 

It tears at your heart like the twisting of a blade. Already you’ve had to accept a life without her truly by your side with Tsu’tey, though the union would be without true affection, but now she’s given her heart away to someone new. So strange how what once was alien looks nearly indistinguishable from the true Na’vi also being honored by tonight’s festivities. Some younger, some older, all joining the clan in adulthood. When the music begins in earnest, lines form to dance. Weaving between each other as bodies move to the beat of the drums. Jake has been staunch in his refusal to dance thus far, though his dreamwalker friend Norm seems open to learning. He’s a bit clumsy like a child learning to use his limbs as he follows along with the people trying to teach him, Na’vi words flowing with staunch formality from his lips despite the relaxed air of celebration. He waves as you walk past, somehow recognizing your face as a friendly one in the sea of people. Perhaps he’s seen Grace’s photographs from when you attended school and knows the shape of your pil to match your younger face. With some confusion, you wave back, cracking a small smile as he stumbles over his gangly feet again. 

With fermented drinks flowing freely, the wariness has been tempered enough for the clan to act freely even in the presence of guests. Grace is known within the village, a trusted teacher and ally despite what happened at the school. She wasn’t at fault, though you surely blamed her for a time after it happened. Because there was no one else to blame but the humans. The girl you had grown up with, your childhood friends, all slaughtered in the blink of an eye simply for protecting their home. Had you known of their plan it might’ve been your body that was torn apart by bullets. The thought sends shivers skittering down your spine, the dark shadow returning after the joyous occasion chased it away. 

In quieter moments you still mourn your losses caused by the Sky People. But Grace was also wounded, in body and spirit. You remember the blood dripping from the wound in her shoulder as she desperately pulled you away from Sylwanin, urging you outside as the soldiers closed in on the school. The last you’d seen of your teacher, she’d been putting herself between the soldiers and her students. She seems far more relaxed now as she laughs at something a man said to her, taking sparing sips of her drink as she watches the crowd. Ever the scientist wanting to study even under the most eased circumstances. The familiarity of it all soothes the hurt brought on by the memories.

Jake is occupied with Tsu’tey, the two of them sharing a drink. The group around them is chanting Jake’s name as he hisses around a mouthful of fermented juice. It seems so strange to see the two of them settled beside each other without any real reason. There’s no teaching, no exchanging of insults. They seem to almost be enjoying each other’s company. Tsu’tey had been keen on seeking the outsider’s death upon first meeting, as the whole of the clan’s warriors had been, but he seems not to have grown out of the animosity little by little. If anything, his distaste must’ve grown stronger in the convening months as Jake grew closer to the woman that was meant to be his. But the celebration seems to be reason enough to set aside conflicting feelings as Tsu’tey passes Jake another cup, urging him to take another drink. You think to join them but are stopped by the brush of something against your tail. 

Hands find your waist, slim fingers tracing over the shape of stripes streaked there. Neytiri’s scent is easily recognized. Something sweet and smoldering as she pulls you close. There are more couples around you, all dancing just as intimately. Twirling and bouncing, hardly parting as the music guides your steps. She’s so beautiful in the firelight. Bright eyes and long lashes that flutter towards the ground as a bashful smile finds her lips. Her tail brushes your leg, curling over the shape of your thigh in a flirtatious display that you reward with a playful hiss. Neytiri giggles at the feigned aggression, pulling you closer by your hips until you’re no longer dancing, only swaying to the music as your bodies press so close they’re nearly one. You want to kiss her, going as far as to lift her chin and press your forehead against hers before remembering that this moment is only fleeting.

She isn’t yours. Not anymore. So instead you revel in the feeling of her bated breaths puffing over your lips before stepping away from the temptation. The short distance of separation has her smile waning but someone stumbles into you before you can find the words of an explanation, arm hooked over yours as the new partner urges you to join her. So you let her, leaving Neytiri to work through the confusion as a frown weighs on her lips. She lingers where you’d been for only a moment before stalking off to join Tsu’tey and Jake’s group, kneeling beside them to urge Jake to dance once more. 

This time he sets his cup aside, laughing as he stands to join her. You try to put them from your mind, to focus on the people around you. A few you recognize as Tsu’tey’s students that are also being honored by tonight’s festivities. It is easy to lose yourself in the familiarity of the dance. Far less intimate than the one you shared with Neytiri as all of you move in a circle, feet stomping and hands clapping as the music swells. With the shift of a new melody, though the song is far from over, the steps change and you drift away from the group to join Tsu’tey where he now sits alone. 

Despite the festivities, he no longer seems to be in the mood for merriment as a scowl mars his face, mouth drawn low as he watches Neytiri teach Jake to dance. Once again, it is not Tsu’tey with which your upset lies as the both of you sit scorned by the tsakarem dancing with the uniltìrantokx. 

“I thought this rift had been mended.” Tsu’tey says after a few moments of discontented silence shared between you. At least the two of you knew where you stood with Neytiri. Tsu’tey was a friend, an ally, a man she would honor as her mate, where you were her true love that she had to give up to fulfill the expectations of her parents. It is tradition for the tsahìk to be mated to the olo’eyktan though there are some clans where it is not always so. But the Omatikaya have always been more spiritual, traditional in the ways that have been practiced since the time of the First Songs. To make exceptions for Neytiri’s feelings would be to go against tradition and it was decided that mating her to Tsu’tey would be best. Now here the two of you are, scorned and alone together. 

“I know I am not the one in her heart,” he speaks gruffly, “but now it seems she has no taste for you either. Only this skxawng.” His words sting but there is truth to them. Even after spending an afternoon basking in her presence as you had before his arrival, Jake has come to steal her away from you once more. Simply by being. It isn’t fair to the years you’ve spent loving her, and her loving you, but you don’t say it out loud. The words are far too petulant and like grinding dirt into the wound Tsu’tey must tend to for the rest of his days knowing his mate does not love him wholly and truly. 

“His eyes are small.” Tsu’tey says after a beat of silence. It’s enough to make you laugh at the annoyance in his tone. His drinking must’ve loosened his tongue or else you’d never hear him say such things as if he were sulking rather than angry. 

“This isn’t funny. He will want to choose a mate sooner or later and what will we do when he chooses her when she is not free to be with him?” That quiets your giggling. Not once had you thought of what might happen if Jake wanted to pursue their budding relationship further. Already the separation between friend and lover has begun to blur like looking through a cloud of smoke. It is not in your heart to doubt Neytiri but people have been known to act out of character in the pursuit of love. What can be done if she is willing to betray her promise to Tsu’tey to be with Jake? And why hadn’t she been willing to do such things for you? It’s a selfish thought, especially with Tsu’tey close beside you. You banish it before your heart can be darkened any further by it. 

“I will talk to her.” She wanted to be away from the clan with just the three of you tonight. No better time would come for you to raise such concerns with the way they’re looking at each other. It’s the same way you look at her, without the lingering regret of knowing you will never truly have her. Jake must know she isn’t his to keep yet he wants her even still. People continue to move around them while they stay still as stone, staring into each other’s eyes. It turns your stomach as if you’ve eaten something rotten. 

“For the sake of the future.” Tsu’tey agrees. She will one day be tsahìk after her mother, that much is decided simply by birth. With Sylwanin gone the honor has fallen to her. An olo’eyktan is chosen, not born. If Jake can prove his worth as a warrior there might be no reason to object to his mating with Neytiri. Tsu’tey will simply be passed over as the future clan leader in favor of naming Jake as the next olo’eyktan. The thought seems inconceivable. Tsu’tey is the strongest the clan has to offer. Jake has only just been made one of the People, what can he offer that Tsu’tey does not already have in abundance? 

The night is deep and the crowds thinned as people begin to trail off to sleep or to enjoy the night somewhere more secluded. The only music left is the din of voices murmuring over the crackling of the fire pits as Neytiri comes to coax you from your seat. Tsu’tey already left, too upset to be faced with the sight of his promised mate dancing so closely to another. With you, there was a tenuous agreement, an acknowledgment of your role as a placeholder. Jake has no such allegiances. You’re not sure why you stayed, punishing yourself with the sight of them together. 

“Come, it is time!” Neytiri is smiling as if nothing is wrong. Jake seems not to know where she’s leading the two of you but he follows her tail as if it’s dipped in nectar. He smiles and you wish you didn’t see how Neytiri could fall for him. He’s handsome in a strange sort of way, so alike and yet so different to the faces you see everyday. Aside from his eyebrows, his eyes are small like Tsu’tey said, more human. And the way he carries himself, the way he speaks, is decidedly human as well. He’s as playful as a child despite his age and it serves as both an endearing and infuriating trait. And it was only made worse when he was still learning. Truly like a baby stumbling through the forest, curious about everything around him. 

He still seems intrigued as you walk beside a river glowing like a sinuous blue thread into the distance ahead. You’ve waded your way past the banks into the warm rush of water. The current is slow, knocking lightly at your knees with hardly enough strength to lead even the fish upstream. Your eyes are low, focused on the finned animals swimming past your ankles. So focused that you don’t notice Jake drawing closer until his hands are on your shoulder with a sudden wave of strength. You lose your footing, toppling into the water and surfacing with a disgruntled hiss, ears drawn back as you bare your teeth in annoyance. The night air is warm, a balmy breeze brushing over your damp skin as water drips from your soaked form. Jake only laughs at your sour face before coming into the water after you. 

Instinctually, your arms shoot out in front of you to keep him at bay but he just uses the opportunity to wrap his hands around yours, pulling you in close until you’re chest to chest. Your brows raise at the sudden closeness. In the time since your first meeting you’ve come to consider Jake a friend, perhaps closer even than the friends you’ve made in childhood. He’s been with you every day for so long that you almost can’t imagine a day passing without seeing him, but this is something beyond what you expected of your relationship. Of course, he’d act this way with Neytiri as she curls her tail at him, sharing coquettish smiles and lingering glances, but you’ve never shared in such flirtations. But it is plain to see how you react when it is Neytiri clinging close to you. And with every day spent so closely together, just the three of you, it isn’t hard to imagine how such boundaries might be lost with time. 

Still, it’s dizzying how at ease he seems pulling you closer to him. Your eyes search for Neytiri with a frantic sort of helplessness only to find she’s smiling sweetly at the two of you, seemingly happy with how close you are.

“You didn’t offer me a dance tonight, ma’am.” He says, using the human word of respect for a woman. He said it was a remnant of his training when he was a warrior on his home planet. A Marine. Yes, ma’am. No, ma’am. Something he says now to tease women when they take a tone of authority with him. Childish as he always is. You’ve heard him say it to Grace a few times and it’s always accompanied with a subtle roll of his eyes. Tonight, he seems less flippant about the word. More teasing than sarcastic as he raises your joined hands over your head, twirling you in a splashing circle. 

“She doesn’t like sharing such dances with others. She will only dance so closely with me.” Neytiri is rather forthright about how close the two of you are. It isn’t something you’ve kept particularly hidden, yet it still seems strange that she’d say such things out loud after so long spent burying your heart in the hopes that her match to Tsu’tey will go smoothly. 

“She’ll dance with me.” Jake laughs, “Won’t you?” One of his hands falls to your hip while the other keeps yours in his grasp, held up and away from your bodies like he’s guiding you to shoot an arrow. He hums an unfamiliar tune as he leads you in clumsy circles through the water. It’s clear he’s never been much of a dancer and he’s probably missing steps to the human dance but you let him bob and sway you because asking to be let go would likely spoil the mood, and you want both of them in high spirits if you’re going to broach the topic of a bit of distance between the three of you. It’s only fair that you try to estrange yourself if you’re going to ask that Neytiri and Jake be a bit more conscious of their time together. To tell Jake to take a step back while still clinging close to Neytiri would be too cruel. Especially when you are in no place to be with her either. Even if it breaks your heart anew to truly let her go. 

Neytiri laughs as Jake folds you backwards, balancing your weight on the hand he’s placed against your back. You hiss and cling to him, worried that this is another one of his games and you’ll be dropped back into the water. Instead he pulls you back towards his chest, both of them laughing at the scorned look you can feel pinching your face. 

“You’re not funny, tawtute.” You scowl. 

“I think I am.” He smiles wide, fangs flashing in the blue light. It’s all too familiar, too close. Neytiri joins the two of you in the water, hand brushing against your arm as she suggests a swim. 

It’s easy to agree because it sets a bit of distance between the three of you. The sounds of the forest, the chittering and buzzing, quiets beneath the water enough for you to think. Jake must know how you feel about Neytiri. It would only take a glance to see how your heart yearns for her. So why had he touched you the way he had? Held you like you were the most delicate thing his hands have ever touched? It feels like you’ve tangled yourself into a knot. Too many threads have converged around you and it isn’t worth the effort to meticulously unwind them. Instead you want to sever each one in turn before they tighten beyond the point of escape. Neytiri is one thread and Jake another, then a dozen more all tied up tight. 

The urge to turn away from it all becomes strong as you emerge from the river and Jake’s hand finds yours once more. It seems almost instinctual. He’s swinging your joined hands and laughing when Neytiri giggles at him for grabbing at her tail. He’s always been playful but you can’t help but wonder if the ceremony confirming him as a member of the clan has lowered some barrier he’d previously set between the three of you. He’s far more open with his touching tonight, more affectionate than you’ve ever seen him as the green syuratan is swallowed by the pale purple glow of the Tree of Voices. 

A swarm of kenten bursts to life as you pass and Jake stops to watch them twirl away, still so enamored with life on Pandora. Neytiri stares for a moment, an enamored look glowing on her face before she reaches to take his free hand. 

The long branches of the trees sway in the warm breeze, light burning brighter at the gentlest touch. Jake releases your hand to brush his arms through the hanging fronds. Without his hand in yours, you’re free to walk further ahead. It had been Neytiri’s plan to bring him here and you aren’t sure you want to bear witness to whatever it is she’s planning. Though you did promise Tsu’tey to at least try to dissuade them from doing something they might regret. Your feet only carry you a few steps away before your resolve strengthens once more. Instead of walking away with your tail between your legs, you turn to face the issue at hand. 

Neytiri is explaining the significance of the trees. A place for prayers to be heard, a place to convene with those that have come before you. It is what you need in this time of confusion and you gather a few branches to connect your tswin. In an instant your mind is filled with a cacophony of voices. Singing and shouting, laughing and shrieking with happiness. Every life that led to yours is held within these trees and their voices offer a comfort like no other. The weight on your soul is lightened as you listen to the happiness babbling through tsaheylu. Old and young, man and woman. Your ancestors sing to you, laugh with you. Their lives are enduring within Eywa. Like salve over a burn, you feel your unsteady heart soothing. The anguish of knowing tonight will change the rest of your life is quieted. When you pull your tswin away from the tree, Neytiri is reaffirming Jake’s place within the clan.  

“You may make your bow from the wood of Hometree,” she turns away as if she is nervous to continue, “and you may choose a woman. We have many fine women.” Her eyes cut towards yours before focusing on the atokirina’ crossing her path. The gentle spirit lands in the palm of her hand. Her ears bend and twist, nervously shifting as she seems to choose her next words with great care.

“Ninat is the best singer.” Jake immediately voices his disinterest and a quiet smile lifts Neytiri’s cheeks. She turns towards you and softly blows the woodsprite in your direction. The little seed twirls through the air, brushing against your cheek like a kiss before drifting away on the breeze. 

“Beyral is a good hunter.” Jake seems to realize what Neytiri is doing, offering her advice on the unmated women of the clan. Pretending to put forth a possible match while still hoping he will decline every option he is given. So instead of denying interest, Jake nods. 

“Yeah, she is a good hunter.” His tone is hollow, but Neytiri turns swiftly, disappointment clear on her face. The small smile she’s been hiding falls to a look of sadness. Seeing her crestfallen face feels as though you’ve stepped into an open flame. It eats away at you. Searing and burning as you watch the woman you love bare her heart to someone else. If Neytiri is upset, you’re livid. Angry and jealous and bitter because Jake has her eyes on him in such a special place, on such a special night. Yet a small, conflicted part of you is glad for the rejection because that is the reason you accompanied them to such a place to begin with. 

This grove of trees is known to be a place of comfort. Many a mating bond has been solidified here, for generations. And you’ve been dragged along to bear witness to the making of another, though it is your hope to dissuade them from their desire to be connected in such a way.  A part of you wants to rage and shout, demanding that Neytiri be with no one if you cannot have her. But seeing the sadness that Jake’s rejection has stirred in her makes your heart cry. She deserves this bit of happiness even if it is not with you. Even if it is not with who she is meant to be with. Jake is quick to correct himself when he sees Neytiri’s suddenly sullen face. 

“I’ve already chosen,” he whispers. It feels like knives in your chest. Something acidic wells in your stomach as your tongue struggles to shape out the words to stop him as Jake’s eyes drift past Neytiri, towards you. 

“But these women must also choose me.” There’s a breathy laugh from Neytiri as she turns towards you, smiling so wide that her eyes are eclipsed. She takes your hands in hers to pull you in close to her side. You try to pull away but she only shifts her grip, keeping you close. 

“We already have.” Her words startle you. We? 

Perhaps she has accepted Jake into her heart as more than a friend but you’ve yet to reach such a point in your affections. And even if you had, it is something forbidden for the three of you to be joined as mates. Neytiri is not free to offer herself to any other. But she looks so happy that you don’t have a moment to speak before Jake is kissing her. Your voice is stuck somewhere in your throat, like you’ve swallowed a rock. It’s hard to make any sound other than short gasps of panic as Jake’s fingertips brush against your cheek, tracing over the pattern of your pil. Feigning at shyness you turn your head away before he can kiss you, too. His lips find your temple, quick breaths rushing over your hairline. 

Neytiri leads despite the nerves still clear on her face, guiding the three of you to kneel together as she takes hold of her tswin. It feels as though your eyes are going to leap out of your head with how wide they’ve gone. Everything is moving too quickly like a rushing river sweeping you up in its current. 

This is the exact opposite of how this night was supposed to end. You were meant to reaffirm some type of separation between the pair not become tangled up between them. You think of the clan. Of expectation and tradition, of responsibility. Neytiri knows of duty and honor. It is what you’ve been taught since birth. Jake may not understand how precious the mating arrangements of a tsahìk and olo’eyktan are. And if he does, it’s clear he does not care. We can’t, you want to say, this is wrong. But it’s hard to see what is so terrible about it when the love of your life is smiling so sweetly and offering to tie her soul to yours. 

Suddenly, Neytiri is in your lap again, forehead pressed to yours as she holds her tswin between your bodies, her other hand petting over where your braid hangs over your shoulder. She cannot force tsaheylu. You must offer your tswin to her with your own hand and it’s clear she is eager to be joined with such closeness. Her lips find yours. Soft, fluttering kisses that slowly sink into something more desperate. Her hands are on your body, tswin forgotten as she clings to you. There’s a shiver skittering down your back as her fingers raise goosebumps over your skin. 

Between her frantic kisses you find the courage to say, “We can’t.” Neytiri pauses. Her smile wanes for a moment, face flickering like a flame being snuffed. But then she’s flaring to life again, eyes bright with determination. 

“This is what I choose, Great Mother forgive me. Nothing else matters but us here and now.” Her hands hold your face like the most delicate piece of crystal. “It was always going to be you, yawntu. Always.” Those are precious words. Because in your heart, no matter what comes to pass, you know you will always love her. The flame you hold for her has never wavered and it must be just the same for her. Even if there is another sharing the space with you. It’s enough to disarm you, lowering your inhibitions as you pull her into another desperate kiss. There’s a renewed steadiness to your hand as you take hold of your tswin, offering it to Neytiri as you always wish you could’ve. Time was lost adhering to expectation but it’s yours to reclaim as the soft tendrils of your braids twine into one. It’s more blinding than the gentle comfort of the Tree of Voices. Something sharp and overwhelming, nearly beyond comprehension. 

It feels like Neytiri is touching you, holding you. Caressing every part of your skin at once. There’s still space between the two of you, a small distance between your chests and yet you feel her heartbeat as if it’s your own, feel each heaving breath as if it’s being drawn into your lungs. All that she is is suddenly inside you, like a pattern being woven into the very fabric of your soul. Another kiss is pressed against your parted lips. Wet and clumsy as she clings as close as your bodies will allow, until it feels like every piece of skin is brushing against yours. And then there’s a second pair of hands against your waist. Larger than Neytiri’s, different than anyone you’ve ever met. It takes a moment for the haze of euphoria to dissipate just long enough to remember Jake’s presence. He’s pressed in close against Neytiri’s back, chin resting on her shoulder as his arms reach to wrap around both of you. 

It seems like he isn’t sure what is happening, eyes lingering on the place your braids are joined in tsaheylu. When his gaze flickers back to yours there’s something beyond curiosity sparking there. A look you recognize as longing, determination. It’s something you’ve felt, something you’ve seen reflected in Neytiri’s face. So strange that something so familiar suddenly looks so foreign. Just a few hours ago Jake had been nothing more than a friend. He is still little more than that but you can’t find the words to say it–tongue tied with the feeling of your soul melting with Neytiri’s–before he is slipping his hand under Neytiri’s arm to add his own tswin to the knotting of your spirits. 

If the feeling had been sweet as ripe fruit before, it’s turned to something bitter and rotten as the unknown joins the blinding familiarity. If she notices, Neytiri doesn’t react to your sudden anguish. A beautiful moment and Jake has ruined it with his overeagerness. Human as he is, he does not understand what he’s done. You try to find the words, to make your tongue shape out the sounds to tell him that what he’s done cannot be undone, but the only thing that comes out of your mouth is a toneless gasp. Something choked and rasping. Perhaps you could’ve lived knowing Neytiri had shared this part of herself with the both of you, but there was never any desire in your heart to be with Jake in such an intimate way. And now it is too late to warn him of the consequences. Ruefully, you wonder if this is how tsaheylu feels between arranged mates. If this is what Neytiri and Tsu’tey would’ve suffered had the three of you not snuck away on this night. 

It’s a strange, empty sort of feeling. Like water tainted with sand. Cloudy and coarse. Something you would not wish on anyone. Least of all Neytiri. It feels like floating, but just barely. Hardly drifting on the unsteady waves even as Jake and Neytiri’s happiness bubbles through the bond with startling clarity. At least they are happy. 

It’s always been in your nature to stifle yourself in favor of others. To do as is expected rather than what you truly desire. Though this strange new bond that is slipping into place between the three of you was desperately desired. At least for Jake and Neytiri. It nearly hurts how hard Jake is holding onto you, fingers digging into the small of your back as he crowds the two of you in his arms. There isn’t anywhere you can go but here with the way the three of you are tied together. You’ll remain this way until morning, though you wish you wouldn’t as the euphoria begins to manifest in less innocent ways. Jake bites at Neytiri’s shoulder as she sits herself higher in your lap, hands rising from your waist to slip beneath the beading of your top. The strange clouded feeling lingers, but you find yourself falling back into the elation you felt moments ago, basking in the way your new mate is touching you. 

And perhaps being tied to Jake will not be so terrible. He has proven himself different from the others. A true Na’vi among pretenders. With time, you could learn to care for him in the way he seems to cherish you. The thought feels like taking on the burden of another. This is the life Neytiri was meant to lead. Mate with Tsu’tey and lead as tsahìk when the time came. In saving her from such a bleak future you have banished yourself to something just the same. But some things change with time. Perhaps there will be a day when there is unfettered love shared between the three of you. Because in this moment, a dark hidden corner of your soul lingers on the thought of how Jake has ruined what was meant to be something perfectly beautiful. 

Morning dawns in streaks of white light, chasing away the pale purple glow of the Trees of Voices. The slinking branches hang in swaying strands, stirring the sunlight and shadows in sinuous shapes. Everything is warm and soft. The feeling of limbs tangled over your own as ferns and blades of grass cushion your cheek, cutting into your vision as your eyes squint open in the bright light. With some struggle, you untwine yourself from Neytiri and Jake, slipping from the space between their bodies. Jake remains still, but Neytiri stirs to wakefulness with a flutter of her eyelids. Thick lashes fan shadows over her bright yellow eyes as she gathers her bearings. Slow at first as she smiles up at you, then with a sudden urgency as both of your eyes flicker towards a strange sound, ears bending and twitching as your mind tries to make sense of the disturbance. 

It’s loud and heavy, but lacks the heavy footfalls of a herd of angtsìk moving through the forest. There’s something distinctly destructive about the sound, like the crackling of hundreds of pyres burning at once. The sound of wood popping and snapping like it’s being torn off in bits and pieces. It grows closer until the trees begin to shudder and fall a few paces away. Then you hear it, the tinny whirr you’ve come to associate with calamity, something made by the Sky People. Flashes of sunlight glint off the edge of something big and metal rumbling just beyond the tree line. Another tree falls, filling the air with a cloud of dirt and pollen, and Neytiri rushes to rouse Jake. He still hasn’t moved despite the commotion, body sprawled across the ground as if there isn’t some metal creature chewing through the trees with its mouth full of blades. Neytiri is perched over his chest, shouting and shaking as the world comes down around you. Leaves fall like rain as the shadow of the whirring beast eclipses the sun, far too close for comfort. 

“Grab him!” You shout, already pulling at his arm. He’s heavy as stone as both of you struggle to pull him away from the collapsing trees. Another falls, larger than the rest, landing hard enough to send a buckling shudder through the ground. You fall for a moment, then again when a branch lands on your back. The splintered wood scratches across your skin like raking claws, likely drawing blood as you scamper forward on hands and feet to grab Jake once more. His stillness is like death as the two of you clamor to drag him away from the collapsing trees. But even between the two of you he is heavy, far too heavy to move with any haste. Neytiri gets his head over a fallen tree and you follow with his legs but it isn’t nearly quick enough. The machine is getting closer and Neytiri is growing desperate. Her voice shudders and cracks as she screams over Jake’s unflinching body, wailing for him to wake up. Back still burning from the fallen branch, you cover Neytiri’s body with your own as she shakes Jake’s shoulders. He comes to with an air of confusion, eyes expanding and contracting before he focuses enough to get to his feet. 

Of all the things you expect when he pushes the two of you behind him, talking–shouting–at the metal beast is the farthest from your mind. The yellow behemoth has no rider, no obvious reins controlling its movement. It only seems to know forward, but Jake’s yelling seems to slow it to a halt. Though the stillness only lasts a moment before it’s moving again, grinding forward as if it never stopped to begin with. 

“Go!” Jake shouts, shoving Neytiri forward. His hand lands against the scratches torn in your back, stinging as he pushes you after her. He doesn’t follow. Instead he runs towards the thing, yet you can’t bring yourself to look back as you run. There’s the sound of crunching metal then the firing of bullets. 

It’s your turn to fall still, stumbling to a halt as fear roots you to where you stand. Your hands feel warm. They feel wet. When you look down at your shaky palms they’re suddenly bright as if they’ve been steeped in warpaint. Bright red and acidic as the scent invades your nose. The forest seems different now. More shadows overhead and wood beneath your feet. The smell of blood grows heavier as your eyes focus past your hands to the body at your feet. 

Sylwanin is coughing, chest twitching and heaving as she tries to keep the breath in her torn lungs. Your cheek is wet, a spray of her blood speckled over your skin. She tried to say your name before she fell. Hands reaching towards yours, smearing blood over your fingers. Her eyes are dotted with spots of red, and there’s blood leaking from between her lips. She’s trying to talk, trying to say something between the stuttering heaves, but someone is pulling you away from her. 

It takes a few stumbling steps before you realize you’re not in the schoolhouse, not watching your friend die. Instead you’re watching the Trees of Voices be decimated by the rumbling metal beasts still tearing through the carnage they’ve cleared behind them. The trees are gone, leaving only splinters and churned dirt behind as the machines beep and whirr their way through whatever lies before them. 

Distantly, you hear Neytiri crying, though you feel numb even as you see smoke beginning to billow up from the fires the human warriors have set. Trees that have stood for a small eternity, gone in a moment. It doesn’t sadden you so much as it makes you angry. A seething type of anger that carves you out inside, leaves you hollow and numb. There should be tears. You should be in anguish. Yet it feels as though your heart hasn’t quite caught up to what your eyes have witnessed. It’s the same sort of angry nothingness you felt as Sylwanin laid dying at your feet. 

The sound of bullets brought you back to that moment. No longer are you a woman grown, but a child with no knowledge of what to do with the destruction set before you. And now there are no ancestors to ask now, no voices to share your thoughts with. The Trees of Voices are gone. Silently, you stand and begin walking home. There’s nothing left for you here. You shouldn’t have come in the first place. One mistake strung after another in a necklace laced too tightly around your throat. It’s hard to breathe, hard to see as the tears well up at last, but you keep walking. 

Hometree is filled with a cacophony of voices, but you ignore them all. You’re tired despite the sun having just risen. Curious hands brush against you as you float past, numb to the soles of your feet as touches graze the scratches on your back. It’s all dull pressure. No pain. No real feeling. Even the shrieking war cries sound distant as you trail between the warriors with their weapons raised and fangs bared. Despite your best efforts, you’re swept up into the maelstrom, jostled and pushed until you’re stumbling blindly to the front of the crowd. 

Tsu’tey stands at the heart of the press of people, bow raised above his head. His eyes find yours, recognition sparking as he takes in your discheviled state. He says something, extends a hand, but you hardly realize he’s speaking to you until he’s pulling you out of the throng of incited Na’vi. At last, words begin to make sense again as he whispers privately, “Are you alright?” Vaguely, you gesture towards your back and he passes you over to Mo’at. The tsahìk’s face is lined with tension as she brushes the mess of leaves and splinters from your hair and turns you around to look over the wounds on your back. It faces you towards the crowd as Jake and Neytiri emerge. When had they fallen so far behind you?

With heavy strides, Tsu’tey brushes past you, handing you his bow. A clear sign that you’re meant to stay out of whatever he’s about to do. You hide your face in the adornments of his weapon, ears flattened in shame. He is treating you with kindness you do not deserve. You’ve betrayed him. His trust, his friendship. For your own selfish desires. Perhaps this is what is owed for thinking yourself higher than tradition. For going against the word of your tsahìk, of the Great Mother herself who chose Neytiri’s family as her voice among the People. Mo’at’s matronly hands dab against the burning lines cut through your skin with something cold and soothing. It’s more care than you deserve. 

Neytiri is shouting, doing little to quell any notion that your plan to squash this issue has failed. If anything, the problem has only worsened since your promise to urge the two to part. Tsu’tey seems to glean it all from only a moment of looking between Jake and his promised mate, held back by Neytiri pressing against his chest. 

“You mated with this woman?” Tsu’tey’s tone is accusatory, hardly a question at all. Against your back, Mo’at’s hand’s still. She soothes a hand over your hunched shoulder as she steps around you to approach her daughter. Each step she takes is slow, menacing as a hunting nantang. When the tsahìk speaks, her voice is filled with thunder. 

“Is this true?” Between the words there’s a baring of teeth that makes Neytiri wither before her mother. She glances at you before gathering the courage to square her shoulders and declare herself mated before Eywa. It is like a spark bursting over dried leaves. A fight flaring in the blink of an eye. It’s expected. Months of simmering animosity finally bubbles over as Tsu’tey draws his blade at Jake. In the end he’s bested with a swiftness, blood leaking from his nose as Jake reminds him that he is Omatikaya now. It grants him the right to speak even if Tsu’tey will not hear him. 

“These words are like stones in my heart,” he says, and you wish your ears would close to the world once more as Tsu’tey saunters in beside you. There’s a heat radiating from him, like his very soul is burning with his rage. So much he’s lost in a single morning. His mate, his ancestors. Hesitantly, you reach to touch his wrist, as if to hold him at bay. He stiffens under your hand but does not move as Jake stumbles through what he is trying to say.

Then Grace falls. Her body goes still, eyes rolling back as all of her muscles seem to come loose. Jake startles as he tries to rush to make his point. 

“I was sent here to–” He collapses. That death-like stillness from this morning taking over once more. Your grip on Tsu’tey’s arm is broken as he rushes forward to put his blade to Jake’s throat. It should worry you, should enrage you. Because that is how mates are meant to act when one is put in danger. Defend, protect. You remain still. In your stead, Neytiri rushes forward to toss Tsu’tey away. She draws her knife in turn, hissing over Jake as if daring Tsu’tey to come any closer. Her lithe body is poised with menacing intent, ears drawn back and fangs on full display. It’s enough to send Tsu’tey away and you follow after him. 

“You were meant to fix this.” He hisses, snatching his bow away from you. 

“I did what I could but the stone was already cast. A dead tree will no longer bear fruit.” Which is to say a stubborn heart will never be swayed from its desire. It’s doubtless that Jake knew of Neytiri’s arrangement with Tsu’tey. There were days spent training when it was only the two of you. Neytiri and Tsu’tey sequestered away with Eytukan and Mo’at to learn the ways of leading the clan. It’s been mentioned in passing as Jake learned to speak your language, learning what the words tsahìk and tsakarem truly mean. He knew and yet he did not care. Nor did Neytiri. The Na’vi-born woman whose future is ruled by tradition. And perhaps even you did not care enough. Your protests had been meager, not even enough to sway your own mind. Still, you love Neytiri and that is the truth of it. To betray her love would be to betray yourself. Even if it’s what was expected of you. And if Tsu’tey suspects your involvement in this newly made bond, neither of you mention it. 

There will be time for these petty squabbles later. For now, all minds are focused on retaliation, on war and revenge for what the Sky People have taken. Sacred lands desecrated in pursuit of their greed. Presently, it is the only thing that matters. 

#jake sully x reader #neytiri x reader #jake x reader x neytiri #avatar x reader #avatar

[thekitsunesiren]

Dc x Dp Prompt #12: Overprotective much?

Danny was a powerful being. And as a halfa he was able to grow and adapt to his powers in ways that no other halfa was able to. But even so, that didn't mean that there were some from the ghost world that weren't a bit worried about him.

Unlike them, Danny was at bigger risk than any of them. There were many times that ghosts offered to watch over and protect him, even when in his human form. But of course the little brat didn't want to put them in danger. Ugh. How noble could one brat be?

But, even if they couldn't help, they could find others to look out for Danny for them. A few of them still had a few connections in the human world. And if not, then how hard would it be to make one?

And it was then where the many people of the world started to get strange messages all about a singular person.

When Wonder Woman returned to Themyscira, she was immediately told that there has been a prophecy said to be brought by Pandora herself. She speaks of the boy with haunting green eyes that rules the world of the dead and how he is in need of protection.

Batman has been getting constant reports from all the robins about strange markings that were too strange to be grafiti. All of them vague to descriptive images of a being with white hair and glowing green eyes with a glowing green eyes and a fiery crown. There has been multiple sightings of the words "ʏᴏᴜɴɢ ᴋɪɴɢ, ᴋɪɴɢ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴜɴᴅᴇᴀᴅ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴋɪɴɢ ɴᴇᴇᴅꜱ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ" near almost all of these writings, along with some strange language that he hasn't be able to get a grasp of.

Dr. Fate has been greeted by an old friend of time. He was told that the ghost king walks among the living and needs the best protection for what was to come.

Shazam was told about the ghost king when he first earned his powers. But now he was told that he was walking among the dead and how he could be a good friend for Billy. Possibly an even better mentor.

Constantine was told outright by several ghosts that appeared out of nowhere, despite his best wards. Instead of the normal moaning and groaning, he was threatened to protect the ghost king. The king! Some even level visual threats as to what would happen if he didn't follow through with their words. Ugh, he needed another drink.

More and more people are learning about the ghost king and are looking out for a glowing child, curious as to what dangerous he could possibly need protection from.

Danny, however, is wondering if there is a second death for ghost as he was planning on killing them all for the disruption of peace he didn't have already.

#danny phantom #dp x dc #dc x dp #dp x dc crossover #dpxdc #dc×dp prompt #dp x dc prompt #ghost king danny

[pabtsblueliving]

You Done?

Daryl x Fem! Reader

You and Daryl had never gotten along since the farm. You two bickered like a married couple, always spewing hatred at each other. What happens when you finally snap?

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI! smut, some aggression, cursing

pabtsblueliving © 2023

God he is just insufferable you thought to yourself. “I’m tellin’ you Y/N if you ain’t gon’ do this right then go help Carol in tha’ kitchen or somethin'!” Daryl yelled at you. 

You and him were currently stuck killing the walkers that built up along the face of your new home, a run down prison. You met the group when you’d been staying at the Greene farm, you were an old friend of Maggie’s. Daryl and you had never hit it off, even though you tried, well…tried at first. You soon got tired of trying to be friendly and thus created a fiery rift of tension and annoyance towards each other. 

You wiped off your knife and put it in the holster, walking away. “Now where tha’ hell you think you’re goin’, girl?” Daryl yelled after you. You turned around wiping the sweat off your head and holding your arms up, “Going to my rightful place, in the kitchen right? To go help carol?” Your arms slapped against your thighs and you continued to walk back up to the prison, Daryl scoffed. He couldn’t help looking your way again, squinting in the hot sun, watching your lower half as you walked away, he snapped out of it and mumbled a profanity.

You entered the main common room and slammed your knife down. “What an asshole! That redneck, southern little…UGH'' You grievanced, putting your head in your hands. “The hell happened to you?” Maggie drawled as she placed some supplies she discovered on the table. “Daryl happened, that asshole. Why the hell does he even stick around?” You groaned. Carol walks in, “Oh come on, he’s not that bad…” She spoke softly, pursing her lips at you. “Really? Well he seems to think I'm the devil and root of all evil.” You scoffed and rolled your eyes, grabbing the box from Carol’s hands and putting the supplies away. Maggie looks at Carol, then you and speaks, “Think there’s some tension that needs to be released between you two huh?” Her and Carol bumped their elbows into you. “Oh come on, guys gross. Never touching his greasy, sweaty…” You lost your train of thought. You hauled another box away, “Not. Happening.” and you continued to your bunk.

Few hours later, you're sharpening your knife in your bed as you hear Rick and Daryl’s voices grow closer. “...your guy’s schedules just line up, and you're my two strongest…I can't change the shifts now..” Rick spoke to Daryl. “Come on, Rick. We can’t work together, she’s the biggest brat…” Daryl drawled. You shot out of bed and opened your curtain, leaning against the banister. “I’m the brat huh?” You yelled down to Daryl as he stood below the elevated walkway. “And you’re an asshole who cares about himself and no one else, dick.” You continued to spew. You made your way down with your towel and such to shower. Daryl followed you, “You got another thing comin’ girl acting like this. Always walkin’ away when it gets hard.” He continued to follow you into the shared bathroom space. You dropped your things on a shelf and shoved him backwards. “You have no respect for me Daryl! Ever since we met you’ve been nothing but a no good, disrespectful, misogynistic assshole.” You turned around, but he pulled you back around with a tight grip on your shoulder. 

He got in your face, “You done?” He drawled, “Not even clos-'' All the sudden he grabbed both sides of your face and pulled you in to meet each other's lips. You pushed him away, breathing heavily looking at him. You both met in the middle in a violent battle. He gripped your hips and pushed you into the wall, hands traveling everywhere they shouldn't be. “Nngh…Daryl…oh…hold on wait.” You pulled away. He looked at you, “What the fuck are we doing?” You questioned. “I don't know-” he started and you cut him off. “Fuck it.” and you grabbed him by the back of the head. His hands went to your hair and tugged, sweat building up between the both of you. “Maybe…unh..this is what we needed.” Daryl spoke between kisses. “Shut up” You said. His large calloused hands traveled up your tank top, and landed on your breasts. God, you were so touch starved, you can't even remember the last time you got it in. You grab the bottom hem of his shirt and push it off him, the sweat and muscles finally coming into view. He decided to take your tank top off, and his mouth went straight to your breasts. “Unh, ngh, Daryl jesus…” You whispered. You look down, and see his bright blue eyes looking right back up at you. Your head falls back at the view and then you lift his head, bringing his lips back to yours. “What about this down here…this ok?” Your hands trailed down his abdomen, fingers fluttering at his waist band. He looked at you and he nodded, biting his lip lightly. 

His hands then started to travel down your pants, going over your clothed mound. As your hand travels around his cock, he plunges a finger inside your wet cavern. He groaned, “Jesus, girl, you always get wet like this?” He kisses under your ear, continuing his attack on your pussy. “Should have done this…ngh…sooner” You moaned. He added a second finger and you moaned out, losing focus on your job taking place under his boxers. “What, now you’re gonna listen to me, honey, hmm?” He drawled and you wanted to roll your eyes, but looked up at him, bit your lip, and nodded. “Yeah?” He smiled slightly. He curled his fingers up and you dug your fingers into his bulging bicep. “Come on, girl, come on I know you, I’ve got you…” He whispered into your ear and you whimpered and moaned into his mouth as he plunged his tongue into your mouth. “Daryl…D, please.” You begged. “I'll get you there, come on, do it for me, on my fingers, girl.” You shuttered and moaned out, biting into his shoulder to hold back. The rubber band snapped and you tensed up on his fingers, “Jesus…christ, Daryl…oh my god” You moaned as you came on his fingers. Daryl held you up, “Still hate me?” He asked. You lifted your head from his chest, looking up at him raising a brow. “I don't know…maybe we each have to do some convincing…” You smiled. “Then we got a long night in for us, baby” he spoke as he pulled you into another kiss. 

“You know, it's been four hours and they're still down there. Should we check on them?” Maggie giggled. Rick rolled his eyes, “At least there’s peace between em’ now. Sexual tension was getting too much for me.” He chuckled. 

#daryl dixon x reader #the walking dead #daryl dixon #daryl dixon smut

[nyxshadowhawk]

Hellenic Gods Fact Sheets and Hymns: Hecate

Other Names: Trivia, Brimo

Epithets: Anassa eneroi  (queen of those below), Aidonaia (lady of the Underworld), Amibousa (she who changes), Atalus (tender, delicate), Borborophorba (she who feeds on filth), Brimo (angry, terrifying), Despoina (mistress), Eileithyia (of childbirth), Enodia (of the roads), Epaine (dread), Euplokamos (bright-tressed), Khthonia (of the Underworld), Kleidouchos (keeper of the keys), Kourotrophos (protector of children), Krokopelos (saffron-robed), Liparokredemnos (bright-coiffed), Nycteria (nocturnal; of the night), Nyctipolos (night-wandering), Perseis (destroyer/ daughter of Perses), Phosphoros (light bearer), Propolos (guide), Propylaia (the one before the gate), Scylacagetis (leader of dogs), Soteira (savior), Trikephalos (three-headed/of the crossroads), Trimorphos (three-formed), Trioditis (of the three ways), Trivia (of the three ways).

Domains: Witchcraft, magic, necromancy, ghosts, nightmares, death, initiation, the crossroads, gateways, passage between worlds, and the night.

Appearance: [My UPG] A tall (over 6’) woman, neither young nor old, with waist-length black hair, pale skin, prominent cheekbones, a heavy jaw, and intense green eyes. She is usually dressed in black folds molded into a simple dress or robes. She has a severe expression and an intimidating presence. She speaks with a low voice.

Sacred Days and Festivals: Eleusinia (22 Metageitnion). Nemoralia (August 13th-15th). Deipnon, last day of each (lunar) month.

Symbols/Attributes: Torches, keys, daggers, strophalos (iynx wheel)

Sacred Animals: Dog, polecat, serpent, horse, frog.

Sacred Plants: Yew, cypress, garlic, willow, hazel, black poplar, aconite, belladonna, dittany, mandrake, hemlock, asphodel

Elemental Affinity: Darkness, light, fire

Planet: Moon

Colors: Black, saffron, silver.

Crystals: Black onyx, hematite, obsidian, black tourmaline, moonstone, smoky quartz, agate, amethyst.

Incense: Myrrh, almond, cypress, camphor, saffron, mugwort, pomegranate.

Tarot Cards: The High Priestess, The Moon, Death

Retinue: Empousai, ghosts of the dead, dogs, Lampades (torch-bearing underworld nymphs)

Associated People: Witches (and other magic-users), the dead

Offerings: Bread, eggs, honey, garlic, menstrual blood, graveyard dirt.

Syncretized With: Artemis, Diana, Persephone, Eileithyia, Selene, Nephthys, Ereshkigal, Nicnevin, Heqet

Hymns to Hecate

Orphic Hymn to Hecate

Hekate Enodia, Trivia, lovely dame, Of earthly, watery, and celestial frame, Sepulchral, in a saffron veil arrayed, Pleased with dark ghosts that wander through the shade; Daughter of Perses, solitary goddess, hail! The world’s key-bearer, never doomed to fail; In stags rejoicing, huntress, nightly seen, And drawn by bulls, unconquerable, monstrous queen; Leader, Nymphe, nurse, on mountains wandering, Hear the suppliants who with holy rites thy power revere, And to the herdsman with a favoring mind draw near.

Hecate’s Hymn to Herself

I come, a virgin of varied forms, wandering through the heavens, bull-faced, three-headed, ruthless, with golden arrows; chaste Phoebe bringing light to mortals, Eileithyia; bearing the three synthemata [sacred signs] of a triple nature.  In the Aether I appear in fiery forms and in the air I sit in a silver chariot, Earth reins in my black brood of puppies.

(From Porphyry’s lost commentary on the Chaldean Oracles, preserved by Eusebius of Caesaria in Praeparatio Evangelica. According to Porphyry, this hymn was composed by Hecate herself.)

Magical Invocation to Hecate

Approach, you of the netherworld, of earth, of heaven, Bombo! You by the wayside, at the crossroads, light-bearer, night-wanderer, Enemy of light, friend and companion of night, Rejoicing in the howl of dogs and in crimson gore, Lurking among the corpses and the tombs of lifeless dust, Lusting for blood, bringing terror to mortals, Grim one, Ogress [Mormo], Moon – you of many forms, May you come gracious to our sacrificial rites!

(Preserved in Refutation to All Heresies by Hippolytus)

Invocation to Hecate from PGM IV 2708-84

Come, giant Hecate, Dione’s guard, O Persia [daughter of Perses], Baubo Phroune, dart-shooter, Unconquered Lydian, the one untamed, Sired nobly, torch-bearing, guide, who bends down Proud necks, Kore, hear, you who’ve parted / gates Of steel unbreakable. O Artemis, Who, too, were once protectress, mighty one, Mistress, who burst forth from the earth, dog-leader, All-tamer, crossroad goddess, triple-headed, Bringer of light, august / virgin, I call you Fawn-slayer, crafty, O infernal one, And many-formed. Come, Hekate, goddess Of three ways, who with your fire-breathing phantoms Have been allotted dreaded roads and harsh / Enchantments, Hekate I call you

[…]

O Hekate of many names, O Virgin, Kore, Goddess, come, I ask, O guard and shelter of the threshing floor Persephone, O triple-headed goddess, Who walk on fire, cow-eyed BOUORPHORBE PANPHORBA PHORBARA AKITOPHI ERESHKIGAL / NEBOUTOSOUALETH Beside the doors, PYPYLEDEDEZO And gate-breaker; Come Hekate, of firey Counsel, I call you to my sacred chants.

#hecate #hekate #greek gods #greek goddess #hellenic paganism #hellenic polytheism #helpol #witchcraft #witchblr #hecate worship #fact sheets #orphic hymns #greek magical papyri

[xqueen-of-disasterx]

Art deco

Artist!Natasha x Fem!reader

TW: smut, legal age gap, fluff, praise kink, degradation (slight), Top!Nat, Bottom!reader, Nat speaking russian, petnames

!Disclaimer English is not my first language so please excuse any grammar or spelling errors!

Word count: 1.6k

Masterlist

I was now living with Natasha Romanoff for nearly a year, and she was still a mystery to me. She was what you would call a real artist. She lived for her art, sometimes I felt like there was nothing more important to her than her art. Luckilyfor me she called me her art. I was her girl, the women she gifted her heart to, her masterpiece, her muse.

The first time we met was because she was searching for a female act model. Her payment was beyond decent, and I was a poor college student who had just hit her twenties. So, I signed up. To be honest I did not expect the artist for who I would be modelling to be so beautiful. Even beautiful wasn't a match for Natasha’s beauty. The first thing I noticed after she had first opened me the door to her big apartment was, how her green eyes were the perfect contrast to her fiery red hair.

She would draw me, touching my skin whenever she was rearranging my pose, I tried to hide my blush whenever she was touching me. But she noticed it, of course she did, she kissed me, and I didn't push her away like I thought would. No, I pulled her closer. I let her devourer me, touch me and fuck me. I should've felt bad, I shouldn't have told her to do the things to me, that she did.

The morning after I still didn't regret it. How could I regret her, when I loved the things, she would whisper to me in that night. When Natasha asked me to take me out a dinner, I said yes. 4 months later she asked me to be her girlfriend and 6 months later I moved in with her and for 5 months she was working on her so-called masterpiece. Something so great that it would overshadow even her most famous works and I wasn't allowed to see it.

I knock at her door "Natasha, you've been in there for twenty hours now. You need to eat something" I pause and sign "I miss you". After a few minutes she opens the door looking at me confused " TWENTY HOURS... lord I totally forgot the time" She strokes her short red hair. She hugs me pulling me closer to her kissing my forehead. "I'm nearly finished, моя любовь. I just need to add my finishing touch." Natasha grabs my cheeks gently stroking it, while making eye contact with me. "I need my muse in it."

I giggle at her words "First of all you need to eat something" I kiss her cheek softly "I made you Pelmeni and Morozhenoe for dessert" I can see her smiling at me while I grab her hand and take her to the kitchen "You're the best girlfriend I could ever imagine, but I would like something else for dessert you know" She smirks at me. "I love you too."

The dinner was more or less quiet from Natasha’s side she let me go on and on listening to me rant about my professors, exams I had do, or how exhausting it was to work at the local dinner. She would listen to me giving me advise sometimes she would even joke.

"Y/N" Natasha let out a sign "You don't need to work that much, I'm rich I can pay off your student loans. I would love to" She was right, somehow Natasha was always right. Maybe it was her age that made her so wise, or she just was an old soul. "I know, Natty, but I just want to have a small bit of independence."

"I just" she takes my hand in hers gently kissing it "I don't like to see you so sad моя любовь, but enough of that" She stands up taking my hand "I want to show you what I'm currently working on" smile at her walking after her following her into her gallery.

She opened the door me making me step into the large room. It had big windows with a high ceiling making the room appear warmer. Finished and half-finished paintings fill not only the Walls but also the ground. Natasha didn't seem like a messy person, but the room contradicted that statement.

"So, where is this, masterpiece" I ask she comes up right behind me kissing my neck "Right to your feet зайчик" I look down seeing the large canvases laying on the ground without the frame "Natasha, why is frame missing?" She laughs pulling the hem of my blouse out my pants before unbuttoning it "I bet you can figure that out with your pretty head дорогой."  She groans against my neck before turning me around for her lips to meet mine. 

She kisses me passionately and I kiss back with the same passion if not more. Our lips mat like puzzle pieces into each other, like they are meant to be together. Natasha keeps kissing me, pulling me impossibly closer to her. Licking over my lips, asking for permission to enter my mouth, which I didn’t let her have. She groans against my lips.

Her hand travels down my body unzipping my pants before tugging on it pulling off. Before she harshly grabs my ass, squeezing the soft flesh making me moan against her lips. Natasha using this opportunity to slip her tongue into my mouth. We don’t fight for long dominance, I let her have it because I know it would be a losing game.

She trails her kisses down my neck, sucking and biting on it forcing strangled moans from my mouth. “Natasha, please~ touch me” I can practically feel how she smirks against my skin “I am touching you зайчик“. If she keeps calling me nicknames in Russian and I’m going to melt on the spot. I whimper desperately making her smirk only grow wider. Her hands reach to my unhooking my bra pulling it off.

“Lay down for me, моя любовь“ She whispers in my ear biting down on my earlobe making me moan “On~ on the canvas?” I’m breathing heavily at the feeling of her hands kneeling my soft skin “Where else? Like I said, зайчик, I need the finishing touch of my muse”. After her words she keeps kissing my lips helping me lay down on the canvas. The paint under me is cold and in some places still wet.

 Her kisses trail my body down, stopping at my breaths. Taking one of my nipples in her mouth, sucking on it. “Fuck Natty” I moan out throwing. My other boob isn’t neglected, Natashas hand kneels it roughly. She kept sucking on my nipple before biting down making me release a pornographic moan. She keeps kissing and sucking on my skin leaving dark marks behind as if she would want to claim me. Show everyone that I was hers.

Slowly she lowers her kisses to my hips, kissing and nibbling on my skin. It feels like I can’t take her teasing anymore I want more and I want it now. “Natty, come on don’t tease me any longer” I whined out hoping I would make have mercy with me. But she just smiles against my skin “You truly are a slut, so desperate for more, while not thanking me for what I give you. I thought you were my good girl.”

 I can feel how my face reddens at her comment. “I am so sorry, Natty. Please, please fuck me. I’m going to be good so good for you!” She smirks against my skin, lifting my hips slightly to pull down my panties kissing and sucking dark marks onto my thighs. I try to keep my whimpers quiet but fail miserably. Natasha kisses my clit, flicking her tongue over the nob.

I let out desperate moans, grabbing her red hair pulling her closer to my heat. She groans at the slight pain she was feeling on her scalp. “Shit, Tasha, you’re so good” I moan out as she gives me the best pleasure I could imagine. As she moans at my words I feel it vibrating through my body. She pumps one finger inside of me curling and penetrating my hole. “More” I whimper not being able to form sentences in my state of pure pleasure.

She adds a second finger curling it against my g- spot, I scream out in pleasure repeating her name like a prayer. “Fuck Natasha I’m so close, so close” She smiles and fucks me harder. “Cum for me, зайчик“ I cum right after her words with a loud moan of her name. She climbs up my body again whispering sweat nothings in my high built down. My breathing gets calmer as Natasha pulls her fingers out.

“You are so good, so good for me Y/N” She taps her fingers against my legs signalling me to close my legs around her waist. She stands back up holding me in her arms. Natasha looks back down at the painting, that was now smudged in the bottom half from my body. She smiles at me and kisses my head.

“It’s perfect, зайчик“ She smiles at me “Now lets get you cleaned up”

"I love you"

"I love you too"

#natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x you #black widow x female reader #black widow x y/n #Natasha Romanoff x y/n #black widow imagine

[azsazz]

Soul on Fire

Eris x Reader

Summary: You've been called to the throne room to speak with the High Lord...and you can't say you're mad when you find out he doesn't want to talk at all.

Warnings: Smut, face-fucking, choking, brief mention of voyeurism.

Word Count: 3,172

Notes: The Eris era is really Erising. 💅🏼

_________________________________________

The tall doors of the throne room loom before you. 

Thick wood so dark it looks like it’s been scorched by the powers of many Autumn rulers before, black creeping up from the floorboards where the staff hadn’t been able to sand it away. The brass knobs are as clean as ever, polished frequently, the metal so pristine you can see the nervous sweat beading at your hairline, the flush to your cheeks, and the anxious look in your eyes.

You’ve been called to the throne to stand before the High Lord of the Autumn Court. For what, you only had an inkling of an idea, but your heart races a timorous beat as you flee from your rooms as soon as you heard word of the royal requesting your presence.

A steady breath in, and out, before you push your way into the room.

A gust of Autumn wind lifts your hair off of your shoulders. It’s chillier than you thought it would be, with the usually hot tempered High Lord this room was nearly always filled with the fiery heat of his commands. The new ruler of the Court is having a bit of trouble keeping his father’s men under his thumb. You wonder how long any of those single-minded old males will last before the breeze blows their ashes away from the palace.

The large room is silent and empty, except for the High Lord lounging upon his throne. Your breath stutters in your chest as you catch sight of him, looking every bit of the Lord he had always been destined to become.

“You called, your highness?” you ask when you reach the bottom of the dais. The intricate rug drapes down the many stairs leading to the large throne the High Lord is sat upon, sharp branches and leaves twining like that of the Autumn Court seal. The throne itself is luxurious and new, as Eris hadn’t wanted to sit on something that his father once had. He wanted the traditional umbers of the court that signified the burnt destruction Beron had caused throughout his reigning years removed. In its place sits a sleek throne draped in mossy greens – a new beginning – your High Lord sitting leisurely in his rightful spot.

He looks as effortless as ever, and your breath hitches in your throat at the sight of him. Eris is slumped back, one leg hooked over the arm of the throne while he stares you down with a lazy grin. His burnished crown shines against the ruddy copper of his hair, a strand hanging in front of his eyes that he couldn’t be bothered to brush back. 

Eris takes his time responding, instead he takes in the sight of you, a long lick of his eyes from your face to where your crimson skirts pool against the stone floors and back up again. He smirks when he sees the brightness to your cheeks, matching the color of the fabrics you don.

“Yes.” He sounds like smoked cinnamon and it seeps through your skin to settle in your bones. Your mind strays to the night before, when he’d whispered many pleasant words into your every limb. “Take off that dress.”

“Really?” you scoff, rolling your eyes and crossing your arms over your chest. “I thought you called upon me for something serious.”

The caramel of Eris’ eyes burns, deepening to dark sugar. It licks up your spine, a sharp, hot, sear and your thighs clench at the sudden ache between them at his response. “Oh, fawn, I am deathly serious.”

You tsk, “Now isn’t the time to be playing, Er–”

“King,” he corrects, suddenly shifting in his seat. Your mouth goes dry as he swings his leg from where it was resting over the arm of the throne, planting his boot down to the floor with purpose as he leans forward to stare down at you, elbows resting on his knees. 

“Your Highness, King, mate…” you drawl. His nostrils flare at the last term, pupils swallowing the molten sugar of his iris’ like a void. Eris loves this little game, a King playing with his loyal subject. Even though you are his queen–his equal–you love it when he pulls rank and takes charge.

“The dress, fawn,” he reminds you, nodding to your fine clothing. He'd had the gown made for you as a surprise, and it’s the first time you’ve worn it. Maybe Eris had had ulterior motives to speak with you before you’d waltzed into the room and took his breath away.

Swallowing harshly, you hold his heated gaze for a long moment. The burning flames flicker, and you know the longer you wait to follow his orders, the rougher he’ll be.

You want to wait until he cracks. Until he stalks down from his throne and drags you back up there with him. Until he slips your skirts over your head and stuffs them into your mouth and rips your panties from your dripping cunt. Until your ass and pussy are throbbing and raw from the lashes from his thick rings and open palm.

But you know Eris has more patience than anyone you’ve ever met. He had to, to be able to deal with his father being on the throne for centuries, and even now, with Beron dead, his people still hold powerful positions until Eris kills them in a hot-tempered conversation or finds replacements for them.

He smirks at you when your hands slip behind you, finding the tie of your corset and tugging it loose. He leans back in his chair more comfortably as you let the fabric fall from your body in a dreamy wave. The thick fabric brushes against your pert nipples and you have to stifle the moan that threatens to escape at the sensual feeling.

Just as you love it when Eris is demanding, he loves it when you are obedient. He thrives when you listen to his commands, always so eager and ready for him whenever he might need it. You know exactly how to edge him, toying with your long-term lover in ways that make his wild side come out to play, and you can see that scrappy, fiery fox writhing inside of him at your blatant display of refusing to obey.

You can see the outline of his cock pressing against the corduroy of his emerald trousers when he shifts. The sight of his long, hard cock sweeps up memories of only last night, when he’d taken you in the gazebo in the gardens twice over.

Eris had made it a plan to fuck you in every single room in the Woodland house. It had started even before he was High Lord, the both of you sneaking around the palace, fucking in closets, libraries, even in his father’s beloved war room.

Your cunt clenches as his eyes linger and you know that he can smell your arousal from all the way up there because he smirks wildly and it sets your heart racing.

He nods towards the ground. “Now get on your knees and crawl to me.” 

You swallow roughly but this time there’s no hesitation, kicking your dress away and lowering yourself to your knees before your king.

The floor is cool beneath your hands and the plethora of necklaces grace the room with a rich sound as you move. The carpet of the dais burns into your skin, you know the roughness of it will leave your kneecaps tender and raw.

Eris watches you prowl your way up to him like a predator. The sway of your hips as you climb, the way your nails curl into the harsh rug. He imagines the same way your nails will rake across his pale skin and a full body shudder works its way through him.

You pause when you reach the top, sitting back on your heels like the good High Lady you are. You know better than to touch him, not while he’s still drinking you in, but the sight of his cock being smothered in those tight trousers makes you yearn to help him out of them.

A drip of your slick slips from your heat when he nods, allowing you to finally do what you’ve been aching for.

You waste no time helping him out of his pants. Eris helps you only by lifting his hips so that you can rid him of the offensive things, tossing them haphazardly over your shoulder as your gaze zeroes in on the way his cock springs from confinement. You hear the dull sound of his belt hitting the carpeted stairs behind you, but you’re much too eager to wrap your hand around him and feel him in your mouth.

He halts you, catching your throat in his hand as you duck down to taste the smooth skin of his cock with your tongue. You nearly whimper, but it’s cut off when his fingers tighten, pressing into the pulse points of your neck. You’re almost unable to look away from the bead of precum pearling at the tip of him, but he titles your head, wrenching your eyes to meet his own.

“Hungry for my cock, fawn?” He croons and you go dizzy with it. His tone sounds like a cruel tease and the fingers pressed to your throat only aid in the feeling, but it only makes you keen.

“Yes, my King,” you struggle to get out. You’re the perfect picture of begging, wide eyes and dripping for him. 

Eris’ fingers unwind from your neck, instead sliding around to gather your hair in a tight fist. He guides you closer to his cock and your lips part, eager to taste him. When you lean in faster than his hold allows he jerks you back slightly by your knotted hiar and you moan, eyes rolling into the back of your head at the sensation. Your fingers clench around his cock in response and he can’t help the grunt that slips.

“Not too fast now,” he growls, “I’m in charge.”

You nod but don’t back down. You slide your hand down his shaft as you battle with the melting steel in his eyes. You bite your lip at the sound of his breath catching in his throat, the shifting of his chest.

He allows you even closer to his cock and you pause before him, letting your warm breath fan over the head. You can see the way the muscles of his thighs are straining, how badly he wants to shove you down and slip himself down your throat.

Eris’ next words arrive on a shaky exhale. “Now be a good fucking girl and take it.”

His taut hold on you goes slack and like a moth to a flame you take him into your mouth. His precum tastes like everything you’ve ever needed, heady and smoky like the autumn fires he’s bred from. He gives you a choked moan before his hold becomes more firm, bucking his hips while pressing your face further onto his cock.

“Relax your throat,” Eris soothes, stroking a thumb across your neck where his cock is making it stretch. He groans, satisfied as you follow his directions and he shoves his way deeper. “There you are, fawn.”

You moan around him, lathing up the smooth sides of his cock, pulling back to swirl your tongue around the head. You know him like you know yourself, exactly what he likes and how close he’s getting to orgasming, and you’re so cumhungry that you use your best efforts to urge him closer.

He hisses through his teeth, figuring out quickly what you’re doing. The loosened grip in your hair tightens again and now he’s in control once more, pressing you so far down onto his cock it makes your throat burn and tears spring to your eyes, but Mother, is it everything.

“You’re just begging to be punished, aren’t you, fawn?” he growls, bucking deeper down your throat. You gag, choking on his girth but Eris doesn’t let up and he doesn’t allow you breathe until you’re raking your nails down his thighs, leaving fiery red marks on his pale skin. 

He rips you off of his cock after a final rough thrust. You splutter, spit dripping from your open mouth as you gulp down lungfuls of the heated air surrounding the both of you. He doesn’t let you swallow it, holding your mouth open with a thumb pressed to the tissue beneath your tongue. 

“Come up here,” his tone goes a shade softer, like he’s begging for you now, but he’s still very clearly in control. “Come sit on my cock, fawn. Ride me on my throne.”

You scramble to your feet, wiping your chin as you go. Eris leans back in his chair, cock standing at attention. It’s glistening with your spit, shiny in the setting sun drifting through the large windows that overlook the orchard. The tip is an angry pink and looking more than inviting.

You straddle his waist and the softness of his throne stings against the rug-burned skin of your knees. 

They’re going to absolutely kill tomorrow.

You waste no time in aligning his cock to your cunt. The wetness coating your thighs only adds to both of your arousal, and you press your mouth to Eris’ in a desperate manner as he moans loudly when you slide your slick cunt against his cock, coating it further.

His warm hands slide up the outside of your thighs, drifting higher until he can grab palmful of your ass. His blunt nails sink into your skin and you nip at his lip in response.

He opens his mouth when you pull away, to give another demand no doubt, but you’re quick to press down onto his cock, shuddering and keening like a kit as you take him in. 

“Fuck, fawn,” he grunts. The veins in his neck pop as he strains to hold himself back from fucking into you. He can barely help himself, your wet heat is deliciously tight and swallowing him so deeply he doesn’t think he’ll ever get it back. “You’re so fucking tight.”

You hum in agreement because it’s the only sound that you can make. His cock has shoved all of the air from your lungs and your fingers twine into his copper hair, twisting and pulling as you throw your head back in pleasure. Your necklaces chime as Eris mouths over them, enjoying the metallic taste mixed with your skin as he sucks bright red marks. 

You bounce a little, testing how you feel from the stretch of him inside of you. You don’t think you’ll ever be used to feeling this full, dripping like a whore onto his lap as you sit up on his throne with him and he clings to you like a lifeline.

Your eyes flutter shut as you begin moving and your mind drifts for a fleeting moment, filling your head with the thought of Eris fucking you like this as the entirety of your court stands behind you, watching their High Lord own you. 

His hands travel across your skin, pausing at your breasts to tease and twist at your nipples. You clench around him and he groans in response, the sound pulling from the depths of his chest like a wave, and he tips your chin down to see you. The sight of him makes you tingle and the fiery feelings of love he sends down the bond spur you further, swirling your hips before grinding down on his cock, sharing a moan and a breath together.

His freckles stick out harshly in the warm sunset, like embers had graced his skin as a child. The burnt umber of his eyes can hardly be seen with how large his pupils are, as if they’ve grown to be able to take in as much of you as possible.

“That’s it, fawn,” he praises, voice strained as you shift again to take him deeper. Your thighs are burning with effort, and it feels like being consumed by his powers, hot against your skin, burrowing its way beneath your delicate flesh. “Just like that.”

“Eris,” you hiss, unable to help yourself. A whimper leaves your mouth on a panting exhale as he twists your pebbled nipple in punishment. A reminder that you know what to call him right now, and his name isn’t it. 

The motion only heightens your arousal, and you’re teetering on the edge of an orgasm, clawing at his clothing, tearing through the buttons, desperate to feel his chest beneath your own. 

Eris notices the slight faltering of your movement, how your bounces go from fluid enjoyment to distracted desperation as you chase that euphoria.

“King,” you whimper, and it sounds like you’re in pain. Eris’ fingers immediately find your clit and you melt into him, body shaking and muscles seizing as he works the sensitive bud with flame licked fingers. It drives the tingling through your body, the burning in your gut, but without your movements, it’s not enough.

His free hand clamps around your waist, the bulging muscles of his arm tense where your hand is wrapped around his bicep. He plants his feet, and holding you tightly, with his fingers still torturing your clit, he jackknives up into you.

He’s strong. Fuelled by the pleasure-filled adrenaline he takes you from his spot under you, pistoning his hips to meet yours in a frenzy while he circles your clit with equal amounts of fervor. You release a shuddering breath that pitches into a series of pleading moans as you cum, riding out the waves of your orgasm as he jerks inside of you.

“‘M going to cum, fawn.” Eris’ breath is hot against your skin, voice gravelly and strained. The chains around your neck are no longer cold metal cooling your heated skin, but are now as molten as you feel against him, your cunt clenching around him as if to keep him there forever. You slide your hand up his chest and hook them around his neck, drawing him in for a kiss because you so desperately want to taste your name as he cums.

You feel it all the way in your bones, you mating bond shoving to the surface to twine with his own. It feels like you’re metals melting together, burning bright on his throne, Eris’ power rumbling throughout the room. It makes the necklaces you’re wearing rattle but you cling to him tighter, his arms wrapped so tightly around you that you can hardly breathe. He is your everything, and you his.

A knock on the door startles you from your post-orgasm haze. You share a look with your mate but he doesn’t let you up, enjoying the feeling of his cock and all of his seed stuffed into you more than he should. 

“You’re not going anywhere yet, fawn,” he murmurs, and the wicked smirk that curves his lips has you tightening around him again. “You may enter!”

#eris x reader #eris vanserra #eris/reader #acotar #eris smut #acowar #acomaf #azsazz

[bump1nthen1ght]

Do the Crime, Pay the Time (M!Reader x M!Undead Knight)

Pairing: Male!Artist!Reader x Male!Undead Knight

Genre: Urban Fantasy, Misunderstandings

Warnings: Extremely Dubious Consent, No preparation

Word Count: 2254 words

Summary: All you had wanted was to paint, to decorate these abandoned ruins with your art. But it seems your presence is unwanted at these ‘abandoned’ ruins.

Request: i have an idea for a request,,

how bout an Undead Male Knight x Male Graffiti Artist

The Graffiti artist would wander into some ruins away from the city to paint a mural, unknowing of its origins and get caught by the Undead Knight…

Maybe some punishment for trespassing on the ruined kingdoms property,,? 🥹

You should have known this place was too good to be true.

You had stumbled upon it wandering one day, shocked that the crumbling ruins weren't kept behind a “KEEP OUT - PRIVATE PROPERTY” sign. That wouldn’t have stopped you, of course, but the fact the large complex was seemingly abandoned made it all the more interesting.

Most of the ceiling had caved in, remnants of flying buttress and great arches overgrown with moss and water damage. Some remains of stained glass lay shattered on the ground, brushed into the corners by the wind or wandering animals.

But what takes your attention is the surprisingly intact wall, clean of debris and dust. It’s perfect for a mural, and on first site the painting is already forming in your head.

You head home to pack up supplies and pray it stays unsigned by the next day. Your arms shake from all your equipment - a ladder, cans, some brushes and paints - and you mentally cheer once you see the clear wall left intact.

The high of uninhibited artistic creation must dull your senses, because you do not hear the crunching of rusted armor or the dragging of long-slept limbs. No, it’s not until you’re being choke slammed into your easel that you realize this place was very much inhabited.

“Speak your name, intruder.” 

Your attacker’s voice is low, tense and full of authority. Your nails scramble at the armored hand holding you up, trying to pry them off your throat.

I need to breathe to speak, you psycho!

You try to scream with your eyes, feeling your vision go spotty.

All you can see of your assailant is a glowing green eye, trembling like an open flame out from their dark helm. The light from it hints at something underneath, bleach white like bone, but it must be from the lack of oxygen to your brain. Surely he isn’t-

The man loosens his hold on your jugular, blood rushing back in as you suck in a deep breath. You slowly regain your faculties, and your eyes begin to adjust in the low light of the morning.

“I didn’t realize-”

The arm pushes you further against the wall, raising you so your legs dangle like a ragdoll.

“I asked for your name, not an excuse.”

The voice says, no less angry than before. A filtered beam of sunlight comes through one of the stained glass windows, and you see another glimpse of his face. 

Your brain hasn't deceived you. It was bone, a stripped clean skull right underneath a fiery green eye. But it was only one half, the other side being that of a shockingly handsome knight, sharp cheekbones and a smatter of freckles. His more human eyes are the same acid-green as the other, but doesn’t burn or glow the same way.

“___! My name is ____!” You gasp, hands still desperately trying to rip away his fingers.

The knight hums, eyes rolling down your form. It’s just some painter's overalls and a t-shirt, surely different from the thieves and nobles he is more familiar with.

“Why do you trespass on this place that is not your own?” He commands, holding you up with minimal effort. The bulk underneath his armor must not be just for show, especially with the large greatsword he wields on his back.

“I didn’t know someone was here! I just wanted-” You choke, feeling the palm of his armor digging into your jaw. You tap it furiously, and the knight must deem you harmless enough to set you down on the ground without a fight.

You drop to your butt, hands clutching what is surely your bruised throat. 

“I just wanted to paint.” You urge, trying your best to seem innocent and non-threatening. This dude seems to have a hair-trigger temper.

The human eye appraises you again, the knight humming with burgeoning thoughts.

“I see.” The bared teeth of his skull clink together as his mouth grits, brow half-furrowing as he thinks on what to do with you. You eye that massive sword, brain going for the worst.

“Listen, I can go right now. I won’t tell anyone about this place, and once again I am so sorry-”

A palm is in your face, the other creasing the growing knot in the knight's brow. He seems less angry now, more frustrated. The bared teeth clink together.

He keeps his thoughts to himself as he stews, seemingly having a mini argument in his head.

“I see you are not a thief, nor do you seem to have…” Both eyes roll down your outfit again, taking stock in your lack of weapons or tools, “...nefarious intentions. But nonetheless you have disturbed this holy place, and for that my cursed commands I punish you.”

You grab your throat, instincts somehow believing your hand could stop that sword from separating your head from the rest of your body. 

But the knight just sighs, arms not going for his great sheath, and instead kneels before you.

The gauntlet is cold against your flushed cheek, the knight's hand nearly the size of your face as he tilts your jaw to him. His face has fallen back to flat, contemplative and in control.

The human iris feels hot as it looks down the column of your neck, eyes your heaving chest, still full with nervous breaths. You think you see it sweeping lower, lower, before darting back. 

“I suppose I can provide punishment in an alternative way to the convention.” The knight grips your jaw, yanking you forward.

His glowing eye is hard to look away from. You feel like a moth, drawn in by the flickering emerald spits in his eye. Your heart thuds in your ears, wondering if you’re about to get the beating of a lifetime

And then the bastard kisses you.

Well, half-kisses you. The lips he has are soft and plump, conveying a lot of experience with one smooth motion. The bone is a little more jarring, jagged teeth crashing against yours, yet making the same movements as the lips. 

All in all though, not the worst kiss you’ve ever had.

The knight pulls away, no breath being lost on his end as a string of saliva connects your wet lips. Both eyes burn with something familiar,and he flicks a tongue across his half-lip.

“Yes, I think this will do perfectly.”

Before you can clarify, the knight meets you in another steaming kiss. It's quicker than the last, lips traveling down your neck and sucking hickies into the flesh. The knight seems particularly enraptured by your pulse, lingering and nipping at the pumping blood.

Ok, I guess this is happening.

You don’t really have a place to complain, as it seems your options are this or grave bodily harm. But even so, the flight-or-fight, survival monkey part of your brain tries to see the bright side. The bright side being that this guy isn’t too bad looking, and seems to be a very affectionate lover.

“U-uh mister knight-” You stutter out, brain beginning to bounce back from the shock of the last five minutes, “-what may I call you?”

“Sir Arthur.”

“Okay, Sir Arthur.” Your voice becomes breathily as Sir Arthur’s hands drift down your coveralls, deftly undoing your straps and yanking your pants loose around the waist. A metal hand caresses under your leg, groping the bottom of your thigh before reaching the fat of your ass, where it pushes and kneads like it was bread dough. Your body's instinctive reaction is to lurch forward, unintentionally grinding your crotch against his. There's muffled growls against your skin, and those gauntlets are back to yanking off your pants and underwear.

The castle floors send goosebumps down your bare legs, Arthur’s armor feeling ixy as he throws them over his thighs. The steel sends a jolt through you, your hips canting backwards as your cock feels the cold steel. But Sir Arthur’s grip is strong, his forearm keeping your power back in place. His hips swivel, groaning as he paws at your ass.

Does he even have a-

Your sarcastic question is answered with a couple pull of straps and the clank of armor falling to the ground. Something hot, heavy, and sticky thwaps against your stomach, brushing against your cock.

Sir Artur is still lost in kissing your shoulder, leaving several hickeys behind, and you feel comfortable letting your eyes drift downward. Unsurprisingly, his inhuman cock is as green as his eye, though luckily not on fire. No, in fact the ghost-cock seems to ooze a neon fluid, not dissimilar from cheap ectoplasm effects in movies.

Well, I guess we don’t need lube.

Your thoughts take a turn as you're suddenly thrown on your back, ankles still hooked around his back as Sir Arthur pins you to the ground. He’s pulled away from your neck, now focused on pushing your thighs back to your chest.

“Too long I have been without touch. This heat-” Sir Arthur’s chest rumbles with a purr, the flaming eye pulsing, “-it’s addictive.”

A warm head pushes against your entrance and you thank whoever’s up there for that spooky slime he has going on, because wow this man was packing.

Sir Arthur takes his time sinking inside of you, savoring every second of stretching you open. His armor clinks together as his body shutters, head thrown back in a moan.

“By the gods.” He swears in a dead language as he reaches his hilt, green drool seeping out of his skull jaw. A keening whine comes for your chest, your cock twitching as the tapered head grazes against your prostate. 

The first thrust is tentative, but Sir Arthur seems encouraged by the yelp which explodes between your bitten lips. The nex thrust is slightly faster, sending a shock of pleasure all the way down your spine. Your toes curl behind his back, a drunken haze making your nerve ends tingle.

Sir Arthur’s armor trembles again, but it seems he’s found the rhythm he needs, and begins fuckign to you with a feevent desperation. Trails of slime connect your ass cheeks to his crotch as he thrusts down and into you, raspy breaths leaking from between his ribs. 

Beads of precum bubble at your tip, cock aching for a single touch. Your balls twitch and tighten with each of his guided humps, all targeted perfectly at your sensitive spot. Bubbles of blood come from your worried bottom lip, and your needy moans echo across the destroyed ruins of the castle.

A part of you prays no one else stumbles upon this site and overhears your debauchery, sees you spread wide open for this hulking beast of a corpse. This knight who is far too good at fucking, whose cock deserves to have a dildo modeled after it. With a slime function, of course.

Heavy balls slap against your ass, cold trails of Sir Arthur’s ooze dripping down your ass crack and onto the floor. An armored thumb presses down on your lower lip, prodding you to open your mouth. With a brain too cock-drunk to fight your jaw opens easily, the taste of polished metal on your tongue.

“Suck, whore.” Sir Arthur commands, voice dripping with desire. Your tongue wraps around each groove and sucks, your cheeks hollowing as Sir Arthur groans at the sight. The tears bubbling at the corners of your eyes, the mating press, it all drives him wild. The position of knight suits him well if all it takes is a little power to make him horny.

He’s not a particularly loud lover, Sir Arthur. Most of the noises is slapping skin and clinking armor, only some low grunts and curses joining the cacophony as fucks you with more and more fervor. But it’s the way his fiery eye begins to ignite, the way he bites his half lip enough to draw sickly green blood, and the tightness of his balls which tell you he’s close.

“I’m going to fill you to the brim.” Sir Arthur punctuates his sentence with a hard thrust against your prostate, spots dotting your vision. “You will leak of me for days, trespasser. I will make sure of it.”

You feel your own orgasm brewing in your stomach, cock weeping as your balls grow tight. Your eyes roll to the back of your skull.

“F-fuck.” Sir Arthur draws out his vowel as he ends with several harried thrusts, hilted deep inside when he finally climaxes. What feels like a gallon of oozing, green-tinted cum fills you up, bursting from between the seams of your connection and spurting into the floor. He was right, you will be leaking him for days. Your own orgasms comes just as dramatically, mouth open inna breathless scream as you finish all over your stomach,

You don’t quite remember him leaving you, only the gaping emptiness left behind. It's taking a bit for your consciousness to reboot, to remember where you are. But there’s the sensation of cold against your skin, a wet rag rubbing down your sore entrance and across your stomach. A dull heat radiates through metal, massaging your thighs and neck as you’re laid on your back.

True warmth comes in the form of a heavy blanket, and your eyes flutter close under its softness. 

“Rest your eyes, artist.” Sir Arthur whispers. “I will escort you back when you awake.”

Your last thoughts are vague, somewhat remembering the various paints you brought with you, and the pain they’ll be to carry home unemptied.

#my writing #reader insert #monster romance #male reader insert #monster x reader #requests

[five-rivers]

Cracked Clay Cup Chapter 13

@greatbigolhampuckjustforme

.

“Okay,” said Danny rubbing his hands together.  “I’m going to do the big group next.”

“Group number four?”

“Yeah, them.  Why’re there three of them, anyway?”

“You’ll have to ask them that,” said Clockwork.  “Au jus?”

“Yes, please,” said Danny, reaching for the small bowl of sauce.  “Your sandwiches are always really good.”

“Thank you,” said Clockwork.  “Will you be leaving after lunch, then?”

“Yeah, I think that’ll be best.”  Danny sighed.  “No offense, but I’m kind of going a little bit stir-crazy, being inside all the time.  I didn’t really realize until Pandora said something, but she was right.”

“That’s quite reasonable,” said Clockwork.  “The trial has lasted for nearly a month and a half.”

“Really?  I think I��ve only been with each person for about a week, and there’ve only been four people.  Five, if you count the Observants.”

“Yes, but you’ve spent a good amount of time here as well.  Those in-between days add up.”

“Huh.  I guess so.”  Danny took a bite of his sandwich.  “I guess it sort of snuck up on me.  A month and a half…  So two weeks here.”

“Yes, but please chew with your mouth closed.”

“Oops,” said Danny, covering his mouth.  “Sorry.”

Clockwork nodded and patted Danny absently on the head before making a small sandwich for himself.  They ate together quietly.  

“Three of them, though,” said Danny.  “Are they all together, or something?”

“You will–”

“Have to meet them and find out.  I know, I know.  Should I brush my teeth first?”

Clockwork raised an eyebrow.  

“Yeah, you’re right,” said Danny.  “That’s probably too much effort.  But I should put in some effort, shouldn’t I?”  He nodded.  “Yeah.  Toothbrushing.  Toothbrush.  One minute.”

.

Danny had been in a lot of places over the last month and a half.  A cute little house, two mansions possessed by people with questionable understandings of humanity, a warren of ice caves, an ancient Greek palace, and, of course, Clockwork’s purple place.  He’d imagined a lot of others.  Like open skies, broad fields, mountains, islands… horrible mad science labs…

However, he hadn’t imagined a place like this.

“Um,” he said, looking around the… stage?  Rats' nests of cables were strewn about in every direction, and next to the curtains hunting trophies were hung.  Heads, horns, antlers… hair?  A tail?  Whatever, this was weird, and there didn’t seem to be anyone around.  “Hi?”  He stepped forward over a tangle of cables.  “Hello?  Anyone–”

“BEHOLD!  I, TECHNUS, MASTER OF ALL TECHNOLOGY–”

Danny leaped backwards, to hover over the seating area, startled by the ghost rising out of the cables.  The stage lights came on, spotlights centering on the ghost.  He had long white hair, green skin, sunglasses built into his face, and a tattered lab coat.  

Music blasted out of speakers, rock and roll, screaming guitars, thundering drums and cymbals.  A young, gray-skinned woman with fiery blue hair rose up from under the stage.  She held a guitar painted with blue and pink flames.  

“HEYA, BABYPOP!” she shouted into a microphone that appeared in a burst of fire.  “WELCOME HOME TO MAMA EMBER, YEAH!”

“Hey!” whined the first ghost.  “You said I could do the introductions!”

“I never said that.  You said that.  I was always going to do the intros.  You think I’m going to leave it to you, when you just drone on and on and on and on and–”

“As if you’re any better!”

“I come with a sound track, audio jack,” said Ember.  

“My god, you two are so loud, and you didn’t even bother to introduce me,” said a deep, slightly hollow voice.  Danny startled again, twisting to see a ghost completely covered with silvery armor.  

“I thought you didn’t care about introductions,” said Ember.  She played a quick few chords on her guitars, then continued to use her music to punctuate her words.  “Because big, bad, baddie, bad, hunky, hottie, hunter Skulker doesn’t need an introduction.”  She leaned forward over the guitar.  “His name speaks for him!”  She started laughing so hard she floated up off the stage.  Music continued to blare from the speakers.  

“I, TECHNUS, MASTER OF ALL TECHNOLOGY, CAN TAKE YOUR SO-CALLED MUSIC OFF THE AIR!”

“We’re not even on the air!”

“I can’t believe I’m associated with these two idiots,” said Skulker.  

“I’d like to know how you’re associated with me,” said Danny, trying to smooth down his fur.  

“Isn’t it obvious, babypop?” asked Ember.  “We’re you’re parents!  Yeah!”  

“Uh,” said Danny, looking at the very strange trio.  “I don’t know about the other two, but aren’t you a little… young for that?”  She couldn’t be all that much older than Jazz.  

“I’m dead, kiddo.  Son.  Boy.  Little man.  I was a teen mom and all that.  Totally radical rockstar living.”

“With, um,” said Danny.  His eyes slid back and forth between Ember and Skulker.

“Skulker, duh,” said Ember.  “Techy here is Skulker’s boyfriend or whatever.”

“It’s not whatever.  I am his trusted–”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“We’re all dating, except when we’re broken up,” said Skulker, bored.

“Okay,” said Danny.  “So… you’re both…”  He shrugged at them.  

“What does this–” Technus also shrugged, “--mean?”

“I don’t know,” said Danny.  “You tell me.”

“Hm, the amnesia did not do favors for his intelligence!  I liked him much better before!  Do you want to see the lab?”

“The lab?” repeated Danny, backing away from Technus a little more.  

“It really didn’t help your intelligence.  Sad!  Perhaps some electroshock therapy might help?”

“Hey!” said Ember, kicking Technus’s tail.  “What did we say about electrocuting the flesh baby?  What did that narc say?  The tall purple one?”

“I know you know that Clockwork isn’t a narc,” said Skulker.  

The three of them started to bicker.  Danny watched in mixed fascination and horror.  

White hair on Technus.  Green eyes on Skulker and Ember.  Human-like appearances.  A mad science lab.  Jazz’s belief that Danny would buy the absurdly youthful mother story.  Frostbite’s conviction that his parents were abusive.  Heck, Danny could even see them meeting Vlad in college, if he fudged the ages a little.  He didn’t have any idea how old Vlad was, after all.  

Were these his actual parents?  Like, his actual, biological parents?

“Anyway, babypop,” said Ember, throwing a hand around Danny’s shoulder, “we heard about your predicament through the grapevine–”

“Through the grapevine?  Weren’t you just saying you were my mother?”

“Yeah, but I was on tour, Skulker was hunting, and Technus was… Being Technus.  We were, like, estranged.  Separated.  Because of the whole alive thing.  Fell out of touch.”  She waved a lazy hand.  “Anyway, we heard about the Observants putting you through hell, and we were like, that’s not cool.  So, we put our names in the hat, all that stuff, babypop, ‘cause we love you, y’know?  And we’re going to have so much fun.  I’ll turn you into a proper rocker yet.  You’ve got a great set of pipes, kid, and you’ve got to use that.”

“But first!” shouted Technus, at only a slightly lower volume than before.  “The GRAND TOUR!”

Danny took back that thought about the volume being lower.  

“TO THE LAB!”

Danny cringed away from Technus.  This was going to be a pain.  

.

“Okay,” said Danny, floating a few feet over the floor to avoid the wires.  “We’ve seen the stage, the sound room, the… conservatory?”

“Never say that I don’t have taste, babypop.  You’ve got to have a good piano in a house.”

“Yeah, then workshop, and the server room, and the lab.”  Which had, frankly, been horrifying.  Just a massive mess of electronics.  The sense of electricity in the room made his hair all stand on end.  “And the weapon room.  Then the… hunting.  Place.  And.  Um.  Zoo.”  Which was also horrifying, but for different reasons.

“Yes,” said Skulker, “our space may be limited, but you will soon know the joy of the hunt.”

“... right,” said Danny.  “But, like, is there a… kitchen?”

“Kitchen?” asked Ember, blankly.  

“We don’t,” said Skulker.  

“We mostly order out, when the great hunter here can’t catch anything!”

“Can anyone… get in to order out?”

Ember, Skulker, and Technus stared at each other.  

“Crap,” said Ember, finally.  “Crap.”

“What?” said Technus.  “It’s not like we have to eat.”

“I kind of do.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I do.  Everyone else has been feeding me.”

“Yeah, no, we’re ghosts, even you,” said Technus.  “We don’t need to eat.”

“I can kill off some of the game I’ve already caught,” said Skulker, “if we really need to.  I’d like you to hunt for them, though.  A little extra incentive!”

“Right.  Sure.  Whatever.  Bedroom?” asked Danny.

“We don’t need to sleep, either,” said Technus.  

Fine.  Danny wasn’t touching that.  “Bathroom?” he tried.

“Gross,” said Ember.  “Who’s spending their afterlife peeing?”

“Uh.  Me?”

“Ew.  You’ve got to quit that.”

Danny didn’t think that was a thing he could actually quit.  He made a face.  “You’re not actually my parents, are you?”

“Of course we are,” said Skulker, mechanically.  

“Okay, well, that right there, that’s a lie,” said Danny.  “That’s definitely a lie.”

“It’s not,” said Technus, stridently. 

“Look, maybe some fighting would knock him out of his funk,” said Skulker.  “Knock him right out.”

“Yeah, some of that misplaced aggression kind of thing he’s always on about,” said Ember.  

Danny had no idea what he was talking about.  “You guys do know that if I can’t have a place to go to the bathroom, I’m going to leave, right?”

“Maybe even a good hunt,” said Skulker.  “For old times’ sake.  Give him a good chase, get rid of some of that anxiety.”

Danny really hoped he wasn’t related to these three.  He grabbed the pocketwatch.  

“Wait, ghost child!” 

“Okay, yeah, that’s not something you call your kids,” said Danny, pointing at Technus.  

“Oh, yeah, yeah, you caught us,” said Technus.  “Real sharp of you, ghost child!  Real sharp and groovy.”

“Oh my god, you don’t know what any of those words mean,” said Ember.  “Stop using them.”

“BUT!” shrieked Technus.  “What you don’t know is that we’re your RIVALS!”

Danny grimaced.  “What?”

“We fought you, like, a bunch of times,” said Ember. 

“And… now you want to adopt me?”

“Better us than some of the nutjobs that want you.  We’d just let you do your own thing, hang out, fight a bit when you get touchy about your stupid city, or too wound up about school, all that stuff.”

“But we’d NEVER make you go to SCHOOL!” said Technus.  “I could teach you in the lab!”

“Wow, that’s, uh.  Touching,” said Danny.  “But the bathroom thing is, in this case, a dealbreaker.”

“Aw, come on,” said Ember.  “At least have a good fight with us, first.  Skulker’s been practically moping since you’ve been out of commission.”

“My latest hunts have been… flavorless,” said Skulker.  Danny sighed.  “Fine.  But I’m going right after.”

#danny phantom #phic phight #phic