I used to be a single fandom blog but I have decided to rebrand and make a blog for all the fandoms I write for.
Currently I write for Dragon's Dogma 1 and 2, Stardew Valley, Dragon Age, SWTOR, KOTOR, and various others that catch my interest. I also have an Ao3 where I have fics for previous fandoms I have since left (Choices, HL, BG3).
A/N: Back on Choices after years away because it has me in a chokehold.
The bedroom was a cocoon of shadows and silk, the only light a low amber glow from the single lamp on the nightstand. It caught on the gold band circling Hanaās fingerāNevilleās claim, cold and meaningless nowāand made it gleam like a taunt.
She knelt at the foot of the bed, thighs pressed together, hands resting palms-up on her knees the way youād taught her. Her breathing was already uneven, chest rising and falling too fast beneath the thin black slip that barely skimmed the tops of her thighs. She hadnāt worn anything underneath. She never did anymore when she came to you.
You stood above her, barefoot, still dressed in the black silk blouse and tailored trousers youād worn to the gala earlier. The same gala where Neville had kept his hand possessively low on her back while she smiled that perfect court smile and pretended she wasnāt already wet thinking about this moment.
You reached down, fingers sliding into her hair, gripping just tight enough to make her gasp and tip her head back. Her eyesādark, liquid, desperateālocked on yours.
āSay it,ā you ordered, voice low.
āIām yours.ā The words trembled out of her. āOnly yours.ā
You tugged harder, but not enough to be cruel. āAgain.ā
āIām yours.ā Louder this time, almost a sob. āPlease.ā
You let go of her hair and stepped back, circling her slowly. The carpet muffled your steps. Every time you passed behind her she shivered, anticipating touch that didnāt come yet. You loved the waiting, the way her body learned to crave even the absence of you.
When you stopped in front of her again you crouched, bringing your face level with hers. Close enough that she could feel your breath on her lips.
āYou wore his ring tonight,ā you murmured. āSmiled for the cameras while he touched you. And the whole time you were thinking about kneeling here, werenāt you?ā
Her throat worked. āYes.ā
āTell me exactly what you were thinking.ā
She swallowed again. Cheeks flushed dark. āThat I wanted your hands instead. That I wanted you to hurt me just enough to make me forget his name. That I wantedāā Her voice cracked. āāto come so hard I cried your name instead of his.ā
You traced the line of her jaw with one fingertip, then pressed your thumb against her lower lip, parting it. She opened for you immediately.
āGood girl,ā you whispered.
She whimpered at the praise, hips shifting restlessly.
You stood again, unbuttoning your blouse with deliberate slowness while she watched, hungry. When it fell open you shrugged it off, let it drop to the floor. Then the trousers, the black lace beneath. Naked now except for the thin leather cuff around your wrist, the one sheād once kissed like it was sacred.
āHands behind your back,ā you said.
She obeyed instantly, wrists crossing at the small of her back. You retrieved the silk tie from the nightstand, the same one youād used the first time sheād begged you to bind her, and looped it around her wrists, knotting it snug but not cutting. She tested the binding once, a small tug, then stilled. Acceptance.
You guided her to stand, then pushed her gently backward until the backs of her knees hit the mattress. She sank onto the edge of the bed. You followed, nudging her thighs apart with your knee until she was spread for you.
āLook at me.ā
Her eyes snapped to yours.
You slid one hand up her thigh, slow, letting your nails graze just enough to make her hiss. When you reached the apex of her legs you didnāt touch her clit, didnāt give her what she was already trembling for. Instead you pressed two fingers against her entranceāslick, hot, readyāand held there. Not moving. Just letting her feel the promise.
āBeg.ā
Her lips parted. āPlease⦠please touch me. Use me. I needāā She broke off on a shaky breath. āI need to feel you everywhere. I need to be ruined for him.ā
The words hit like a spark to dry tinder.
You pushed inside her in one smooth stroke with two fingers, then three when she keened and arched. She was so wet your hand glistened. You curled your fingers, found that spot that made her sob your name, and worked it mercilessly while your thumb finally circled her clit.
Her head fell back, mouth open in a silent scream.
You leaned in, lips brushing the shell of her ear. āYouāre going to come like this first. Fast. Hard. And youāre going to thank me when you do.ā
She nodded frantically. āYesāyesāthank youāā
You didnāt let up. Faster. Deeper. The wet sounds of your fingers inside her obscene in the quiet room. Her thighs shook, muscles jumping. When she started to tighten around you, when her breath turned to broken little gasps, you pressed your free hand to her throat. Not squeezing, just holding. Possessive. Claiming the pulse that hammered there.
āCome.ā
She shattered.
Her whole body locked, back bowing off the bed, a raw cry tearing out of her throat. You felt every flutter, every clench, rode her through it until she was shaking and whimpering, tears slipping down her temples into her hair.
You eased your fingers out slowly, brought them to her lips. āClean them.ā
She sucked greedily, tongue curling around your fingers, tasting herself. Eyes never leaving yours. Worshipful.
When you pulled them free she whispered, āThank you.ā
You kissed her, slow, deep, and devouring. Tasting her on her own tongue. When you broke apart you murmured against her mouth, āWeāre not done.ā
You flipped her onto her stomach, tugged her hips up until she was on her knees, cheek pressed to the sheets, bound hands still trapped behind her back. The position left her utterly exposedāass raised, thighs slick, core still pulsing from the first orgasm.
You reached for the drawer again. The strap was already harnessed; youād prepared it earlier while she waited downstairs pretending to be the perfect wife. You slicked it generously, then pressed the blunt head against her entrance.
āDeep breath,ā you warned.
She inhaled.
You thrust in one long, unrelenting glide.
Hana keened, long and broken, fingers flexing uselessly against the silk tie. You gave her a moment to adjust, barely, then started moving. Slow at first. Deep. Letting her feel every inch claiming her.
Then faster.
Harder.
The bed creaked. Her moans turned guttural, animal. You gripped her hips, nails digging into soft flesh, leaving crescent marks sheād have to hide under silk gowns tomorrow.
āWho do you belong to?ā you growled.
āYou,ā she sobbed. āYouāyouāā
āSay his name.ā
āNevilleāā She choked on it like poison.
You slammed in harder. āWrong.ā
āYou!ā she cried. āOnly youāpleaseāgodāā
You reached beneath her, fingers finding her swollen clit again. āCome again. Milk me. Show me how much you need this.ā
She did.
Violently.
Screaming your name into the sheets, body convulsing, walls fluttering around the silicone like they could pull you deeper. You fucked her through it, relentless, chasing your own edge until pleasure snapped up your spine and you buried yourself to the hilt, grinding against her as you came with a low, ragged groan.
You stayed locked together for long seconds, breathing hard.
Then you pulled out gently, unbuckled the harness, set it aside. Untied her wrists. Massaged the faint red lines with careful thumbs. Turned her over. Gathered her against your chest.
She curled into you like she was trying to disappear inside your skin.
āI love you,ā she whispered, voice wrecked. āI hate that I canāt leave him. But I love you more than Iāve ever loved anything.ā
You pressed your lips to her temple. āI know.ā
Her fingers traced the curve of your shoulder. āWill you still want me when I have to go back downstairs tomorrow and smile for him?ā
You tilted her chin up, made her meet your eyes.
āIāll want you every second youāre gone. And the second you walk back through that door, Iāll remind you exactly who owns every part of you that matters.ā
A small, trembling smile curved her lips. āPromise?ā
You kissed her slow. Tender. Possessive.
āAlways.ā
She sighed against your mouth, already drifting toward sleep in your armsāthe only place she ever truly rested.
Outside, snow had started falling again, soft and silent against the windows.
Inside, the air still smelled of sex and devotion.
And somewhere in the dark between your heartbeats, the truth settled like a vow:
I pushed open the bedroom door and there she was, my bed, my Betty, already waiting.
She was reclined against the mountain of pillows that were part of her, one knee drawn up, the other leg stretched long across the comforter that was her skin, her breath, her everything. The lamplight Iād left on low painted her in warm gold: freckles scattered like constellations across her chest and shoulders, pink curls wild and spilling everywhere, corset half-unlaced so her breasts swelled over the edge of the fabric, nipples already peaked and begging.
She didnāt speak. She just looked at me with those dark, endless eyes, and the air in the room turned thick, heavy, impossible to breathe without tasting her on it.
I crossed the floor like a man starving. My shoes were gone somewhere in the hallway; I didnāt remember kicking them off. All I knew was the ache in my chest, the throb between my legs, the way every step closer to her felt like coming home and falling apart at the same time.
When I reached the edge of the mattress she sat up slowly, deliberately, and the sheets moved with her, caressing her thighs like they were jealous of my hands. I sank to my knees on the bed and she met me halfway, fingers sliding into my hair, pulling me into a kiss that felt like drowning in sunlight.
God, the way she kissed me, lips soft and hungry, tongue stroking mine like sheād been dreaming of my taste for hours. I groaned into her mouth and she swallowed the sound, answering with a low, needy hum that vibrated straight to my cock.
I dragged my mouth down her throat, open-mouthed kisses over freckles, teeth scraping the spot just beneath her ear that always makes her shiver. She arched, offering herself, and I took, hands shoving the corset down until her breasts spilled free. They were heavy, perfect, nipples dark rose and so sensitive that when I closed my lips around one she cried out my name like a prayer.
āMissed you,ā I rasped against her skin, switching to the other breast, licking, sucking, biting just hard enough to make her gasp. āAll fucking day, Betty. Couldnāt think about anything but coming home and burying myself in you.ā
Her answer was to fist my shirt and rip it over my head, nails raking down my back hard enough to leave marks Iād wear proudly tomorrow. I surged up to claim her mouth again while my hands found the laces of her quilted pants. We fumbled together, desperate, until the fabric gave way and I peeled it down her hips, down her thighs, tossing it somewhere across the room.
She was bare underneath. Wet, swollen, glistening for me. I spread her legs wide and just looked for a heartbeat, two, because she was the most beautiful thing Iād ever seen.
Then I lowered my head and tasted her.
The first slow lick drew a broken moan from her that cracked in the middle. I did it again, deeper, parting her with my tongue, circling her clit until her hips jerked off the bed. Two fingers slid inside her easily, she was so ready, and I curled them, stroking that spot that makes her sob my name.
āPlease,ā she whispered, voice trembling, thighs clamping around my ears. āPlease, I need you inside me, need to feel youāā
I couldnāt wait another second.
I rose up, shoved my jeans down in one rough motion, and then I was over her, between her thighs, the head of my cock nudging her entrance. We locked eyes, breathing hard, hearts hammering against each other.
āI love you,ā I said, the words torn out of me raw and true.
Her eyes went liquid. āI love you,ā she whispered back, and the words wrapped around my soul like her sheets around our bodies.
I pushed inside her in one long, slow thrust.
The sound she made, half-sob, half-moan, undid me. She was scalding, velvet-tight, fluttering around me like she was trying to pull me deeper, keep me forever. I bottomed out and stilled, forehead pressed to hers, shaking with the effort of not coming right then.
Then she rolled her hips and I lost the fight.
I pulled back and drove into her again, harder, deeper, setting a rhythm that was punishing and worshipful all at once. The bed, her body, cradled every thrust, soft and forgiving and alive beneath us. Her legs locked around my waist, heels digging into my ass, urging me faster, harder.
I gave her everything.
Skin slapped against skin, sweat-slick and frantic. I angled my hips and she screamed, nails carving crescents into my shoulders as her walls clamped down. I didnāt stop, couldnāt, driving her through the first orgasm and straight into the second, feeling her pulse around my cock like a heartbeat.
āClose,ā I growled against her throat, teeth scraping. āBetty, fuck, Iāmāā
āInside me,ā she begged, voice breaking. āFill me, please, I want to feel you come apart in meā¦ā
One more thrust and I shattered, burying myself to the hilt and spilling deep, pulse after pulse, groaning her name like a prayer. She clung to me, trembling, milking every drop, until we collapsed in a tangle of limbs and sheets and breathless, reverent kisses.
I stayed inside her, softening slowly, unwilling to leave the heaven of her body. She stroked my hair, my back, whispering soft nonsense words of love against my temple.
The sheets curled gently around us both, tucking us in, warm and possessive.
I pressed my lips to the freckles on her shoulder, tasting salt and home.
āIām never leaving this bed,ā I murmured, voice hoarse.
Betty laughed, low and sated, her fingers tracing lazy hearts on my skin.
āGood,ā she whispered. āBecause Iām keeping you forever.ā
And as the room settled into quiet, the only sound our slowing breaths and the faint rustle of sheets that loved us both, I knew she meant it.
Firelight danced across the wooden walls of the farmhouse, casting a warm glow over the cluttered room. The farmerās bed was a tangle of quilts, the floor strewn with seed packets and a half-polished hoe leaning against the wall. Outside, the Pelican Town night hummed with crickets, the air heavy with the scent of earth and spring blossoms. Emily stood in the doorway, her blue hair catching the fireās flicker, her patchwork skirt swaying as she leaned against the frame, a mischievous smile playing on her lips.
āYouāve been working too hard, farmer,ā she said, her voice a lilting tease, vibrant as the crystals she loved. āAll those crops, animals, mines⦠when do you make time for fun?ā
The farmer, sprawled in a chair by the fire, looked up from the glass of wine heād been nursing. His hair was mussed from a long day, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, revealing a sliver of sun-kissed skin. āFun?ā he said, his voice warm, a grin tugging at his mouth. āI thought harvesting turnips was the height of excitement.ā
Emily laughed, a bright, musical sound that filled the room. She crossed the space in a few fluid steps, her movements graceful, almost dance-like. āOh, youāre hopeless.ā She stopped in front of him, close enough that he could smell the faint lavender on her skin, mixed with something wilder, earthier. āLucky for you, Iām here to fix that.ā
Before he could respond, she reached out, her fingers curling under his chin, tilting his face up to meet her gaze. Her eyes, bright and commanding, held a playful heat that made his pulse quicken. āOn your knees,ā she said, her tone light but firm, a challenge wrapped in a smile. āI have something for you to do.ā
The farmerās grin widened, but he didnāt hesitate. He slid from the chair, dropping to his knees on the worn wooden floor, his hands resting lightly on her hips. Emilyās smile grew, her fingers threading into his hair, tugging gently to guide his head closer. āGood boy,ā she murmured, her voice dripping with approval. She lifted her skirt, bunching the colorful fabric in one hand, revealing smooth thighs and the soft, bare skin beneath.
The farmerās breath caught, his hands tightening on her hips. He looked up at her, her face framed by the firelight, her expression a mix of playfulness and hunger. āYouāre trouble,ā he said, his voice low, rough with want.
āAnd you love it,ā Emily shot back, her fingers tightening in his hair, pulling him closer. āNow, be useful.ā She guided his face between her thighs, her stance widening slightly, her body radiating confidence. The farmer didnāt need more encouragement. His lips brushed the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, teasing, before his tongue found her, warm and slick with arousal.
Emilyās gasp was sharp, her head tipping back as she steadied herself against his shoulders. āYes,ā she breathed, her voice a soft moan, her fingers raking through his hair, holding him firmly in place. āJust like that.ā The farmerās tongue moved with purpose, slow at first, savoring her tasteāsweet, musky, uniquely her. He flicked lightly, then pressed harder, his lips sucking gently, drawing a low, shuddering moan from Emilyās throat.
Her grip in his hair tightened, not painful but commanding, keeping him exactly where she wanted him. āYouāre so good at this,ā she purred, her voice a mix of praise and tease, her hips rocking slightly against his mouth. The farmerās hands slid up her thighs, gripping her firmly, his fingers digging into her soft skin as he worked, his tongue circling, teasing, relentless. Emilyās breaths grew ragged, her moans louder, filling the quiet farmhouse with the sound of her pleasure.
The firelight played over her skin, highlighting the flush creeping up her chest, the way her lips parted as she gasped. āDonāt stop,ā she said, her voice hitching, her fingers tugging his hair harder. The farmer hummed against her, the vibration sending a jolt through her body, and she cried out, her thighs trembling around his face. He could feel her getting closer, her movements more desperate, her grip almost possessive. His tongue moved faster, more precise, and when he sucked gently on her clit, Emilyās moan was raw, unrestrained, her body shuddering as she came, her fingers clutching his hair like a lifeline.
She rode out the waves of her climax, her breaths heavy, her body trembling against him. The farmer didnāt pull away, his lips softening, kissing her gently as she came down, her fingers loosening in his hair, stroking now, almost tender. āNot bad,ā she panted, her voice warm with satisfaction, a playful edge returning. āBut weāre not done.ā
She tugged his hair, pulling him up to his feet, her eyes glinting with mischief. The farmer stood, his own arousal evident in the tight strain of his trousers, his face flushed from pleasing her. Emilyās hands were on him in an instant, pushing his shirt off his shoulders, her nails grazing his chest as she backed him toward the wall.
She pressed herself against him, her lips crashing into his, tasting herself on his tongue. The kiss was hungry, fierce, her hands roaming his chest, then lower, deftly undoing his belt. The farmer groaned into her mouth, his hands finding her hips, but Emily was in control, her movements confident, playful. She pulled back, her lips curving into a wicked smile. āAgainst the wall,ā she said, her tone leaving no room for argument.
The farmer obeyed, stepping back until his shoulders hit the rough wooden wall of the farmhouse. Emily was on him in a heartbeat, her hands tugging his trousers down, freeing his aching cock. She wrapped her fingers around him, stroking slowly, teasingly, and he groaned, his head tipping back against the wall. āEmily,ā he said, his voice rough, pleading.
āShh,ā she murmured, her lips brushing his ear. āI want you inside me.ā She hiked her skirt up again, her legs wrapping around his waist as he lifted her, her back pressing against the wall. The farmerās hands gripped her thighs, supporting her weight, her warmth pressing against him, slick and inviting. Emilyās arms looped around his neck, her fingers tangling in his hair again, pulling his face close.
āNow,ā she said, her voice a playful command, her eyes locked on his. The farmer didnāt hesitate, guiding himself to her entrance, pushing into her with a slow, deliberate thrust. Emilyās moan was loud, her head falling back against the wall, her legs tightening around his waist. āYes,ā she gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders. āHarder.ā
He obeyed, his hips snapping forward, driving into her with a rhythm that made the wall creak behind them. Emilyās moans filled the room, her body rocking against his, her breasts bouncing with each thrust. The farmerās hands gripped her thighs tighter, his fingers digging into her soft flesh, the heat of her surrounding him, driving him wild. Emilyās hands roamed his hair, tugging, guiding, her playful dominance never wavering.
āYou feel so good,ā she purred, her voice breathless but teasing, her legs pulling him closer, deeper. She leaned forward, kissing him hard, her tongue tangling with his, her moans muffled against his lips. The farmerās thrusts grew faster, more desperate, the sound of their bodies colliding mixing with the crackle of the fire outside. Emilyās fingers tightened in his hair, her body trembling as she neared the edge again.
āMake me come,ā she said, her voice a low, commanding whisper, her eyes burning into his. The farmer groaned, his hips moving harder, faster, his cock hitting just the right spot inside her. Emilyās moans grew higher, more frantic, her legs shaking around his waist. With one final, deep thrust, she came, her cry sharp and raw, her body clenching around him, pulling him over the edge with her. He groaned, his release spilling into her, his hands gripping her thighs as they shuddered together, pressed against the wall.
They stayed there, panting, her legs still wrapped around him, her forehead resting against his. Emilyās laugh was soft, breathless, her fingers stroking through his hair gently now. āYouāre not bad for a farm boy,ā she teased, her voice warm, playful.
He chuckled, his breath ragged, his hands still holding her up. āAnd youāre trouble,ā he said, kissing her softly, tasting the sweat on her lips. āThe best kind.ā
Emily grinned, unwrapping her legs and sliding down, her feet touching the floor. She tugged him toward the bed, her eyes glinting with mischief. āRest up,ā she said, her voice a playful promise. āWeāve got a long night ahead.ā
A/N: I figured it was about time I started transferring all of my smutty fics from AO3 over here. Soā¦hereās this.
The farmerās cozy living room was a haven from the winter storm raging outside, the windows fogged with condensation, the hearth crackling with a warm fire that cast flickering golden light over the scene. The air was thick with the scent of mulled wine, wood smoke, and the heady musk of arousal. Plush rugs covered the hardwood floor, and a low coffee table held half-empty glasses and a bottle of Oliviaās favorite vintage. The group had gathered under the pretense of a quiet evening chat, but the tension had built quickly, fueled by shared glances, lingering touches, and the unspoken thrill that bound them.
Olivia sat elegantly on the edge of a velvet armchair, her legs spread wide, her silk blouse unbuttoned to reveal the swell of her full breasts straining against a lace bra. Her skirt was hiked up around her hips, exposing her smooth, toned thighs and the neatly trimmed patch of dark hair above her glistening folds. She held a glass of deep red wine in one manicured hand, swirling it lazily as she took a slow sip, her green eyes half-lidded with pleasure. Emily knelt between her legs, her blue hair tousled, her face buried in Oliviaās pussy, her tongue working with eager, practiced strokes.
āOh, Emily, darling,ā Olivia purred, her voice rich and refined, laced with a moan as she tilted her head back slightly, savoring the wine on her tongue. Emilyās lips were sealed around Oliviaās clit, sucking gently at first, then harder, her tongue flicking rapidly over the swollen nub. Oliviaās free hand tangled in Emilyās hair, guiding her deeper, her hips rocking subtly against the younger womanās mouth. Wet, slurping sounds filled the air, mingled with Oliviaās soft gasps, her pussy dripping with arousal that coated Emilyās chin and lips. āYouāre so good at this⦠that tongue of yours is sinful.ā
Emily hummed in response, the vibration sending a jolt through Oliviaās core, making her thighs quiver. She pulled back just enough to lap at Oliviaās entrance, her tongue delving inside to taste the sweet, tangy slickness, before returning to circle the clit with firm, insistent pressure. Her hands gripped Oliviaās thighs, nails digging in lightly, spreading her wider to expose every inch. Emilyās own body was flushed, her loose tank top riding up to reveal her perky breasts, nipples hard, her shorts damp with her own arousal.
Across the room, on the rug by the fire, the farmer had Jodi bent over on all fours, her hands braced on the floor, her ass high in the air. Her sundress was flipped up over her back, panties discarded somewhere in the shadows, revealing her curvaceous figureāsoft hips, full breasts swaying with each movement. The farmer knelt behind her, his strong hands gripping her waist, his cock buried deep inside her tight, wet pussy. He thrust steadily, each plunge eliciting a sharp cry from Jodi, her eyes locked on the scene unfolding in the armchair, watching Emily devour Olivia.
āFuck, Jodi, youāre so tight,ā the farmer groaned, his voice low and rough, his hips slamming forward with a wet smack. His cock was thick, veined, stretching her walls with every inch, the head brushing against her sensitive spots deep inside. Jodiās pussy clenched around him, slick and hot, her arousal dripping down her thighs as he fucked her relentlessly. He leaned over her, one hand sliding up to cup her breast, pinching her nipple hard enough to make her whimper, the other steadying her hip as he drove deeper.
Jodiās breath came in ragged pants, her cheeks flushed, her brown hair falling in disarray around her face. āYes⦠oh gods, right there,ā she moaned, her voice husky, her eyes never leaving Olivia and Emily. The sight of Emilyās tongue lapping at Oliviaās folds, the way Oliviaās body arched in pleasure while casually sipping her wineāit fueled Jodiās own fire, making her pussy pulse around the farmerās cock.
āLook at them, Jodi.ā The farmer said. āEmilyās eating her like sheās starving.ā
Olivia smiled wickedly over the rim of her glass, taking another sip, the wineās tartness mingling with the taste of her own arousal on the air. āMmm, she is starving, arenāt you, sweet thing?ā she teased, her free hand stroking Emilyās cheek before guiding her back down. Emily nodded eagerly, her mouth returning to Oliviaās clit with renewed vigor, sucking and flicking, her fingers slipping inside Oliviaās pussy to curl against her G-spot. Oliviaās moan was elegant yet raw, her hips bucking as she ground against Emilyās face, her wine glass trembling slightly in her grip. āThatās it⦠fuck me deeper, Emily. Feel how wet you make me.ā
The farmerās thrusts grew harder, the slap of skin on skin echoing through the room, his balls tightening against Jodiās ass with each deep plunge. He watched Jodiās gaze fixed on the women, the way her pussy fluttered around him in response, and it spurred him on. āYou like watching them, Jodi?ā he growled, his hand leaving her breast to smack her ass lightly, the sound sharp, leaving a pink mark on her pale skin. āLike seeing Emilyās tongue buried in Oliviaās cunt?ā
Jodi nodded, pushing back against him, her pussy squeezing his cock like a vice. āYes⦠fuck, yes.ā Her words dissolved into a moan as the farmer angled his hips, hitting her cervix with a delicious pressure, his cock throbbing inside her. She could feel every ridge, every vein, the way he filled her completely, her juices coating his shaft and dripping down to his balls.
Emily pulled back for a breath, her lips shiny with Oliviaās slickness, strings of arousal connecting her mouth to Oliviaās pussy. āYou taste amazing,ā she whispered, her voice breathy, before diving back in, her tongue flat and broad as she licked from Oliviaās entrance to her clit in long, slow strokes. Her fingers pumped faster, three now, curling and thrusting, stretching Oliviaās walls, the squelching sounds obscene and intoxicating. Oliviaās thighs clamped around Emilyās head, her breath hitching, but she kept her composure, taking another sip of wine, the liquid spilling slightly over her lip as a moan escaped her.
āDarling, youāre going to make me come,ā Olivia warned, her voice trembling, her elegant facade cracking as pleasure built in her core. She set the glass down on the armrest, her hand joining the one in Emilyās hair, holding her in place as she rocked her hips faster. āDonāt stop⦠suck my clit harder. Yes, like that⦠fuck, Emily!ā
The farmerās pace quickened, inspired by the womenās escalating moans, his cock pistoning into Jodiās pussy with brutal force. āYouāre soaking me, Jodi,ā he grunted, his hand sliding between her legs to rub her clit in rough circles, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. Jodiās body shook, her arms buckling slightly, her eyes still glued to Oliviaās writhing form.
āGonna come while watching them? While I fuck this greedy pussy?ā
Jodiās response was a keening wail, her pussy clenching hard as the farmerās fingers worked her clit, the pressure building to a breaking point. āYes⦠oh gods, Iām coming!ā Her orgasm hit like a wave, her walls spasming around his cock, milking him as she cried out, her juices squirting slightly against his hand, soaking the rug beneath them.
The sight pushed Olivia over the edgeāwatching Jodiās face contort in ecstasy, the farmerās relentless fuckingāher own climax crashing through her, her pussy gushing against Emilyās mouth, her moans sophisticated yet feral.
Emily lapped it all up, her tongue eager, swallowing Oliviaās release as the older woman shuddered, her thighs trembling. āSo good⦠so fucking good,ā Emily murmured, her face flushed, her own pussy throbbing with need. She kissed Oliviaās inner thigh, then looked over at Jodi and the farmer, her eyes dark with lust.
The farmer groaned, Jodiās orgasm pulling him closer, his thrusts erratic now. āFuck, Jodi⦠gonna fill you up.ā With a final, deep plunge, he came, his cock pulsing as he spilled hot ropes of cum inside her, flooding her pussy, some leaking out around his shaft as he held her tight. Jodi moaned at the sensation, her body still quivering, her eyes meeting Oliviaās in a shared, satisfied glance.
The room fell into a heavy silence, broken only by panting breaths and the fireās crackle. Olivia picked up her wine glass again, taking a composed sip, a sly smile on her lips as Emily rose to kiss her, sharing the taste of herself. The farmer pulled out slowly, his cum dripping from Jodiās pussy as he helped her sit up, pulling her into a gentle embrace. The group exchanged glances, the air still charged, the winter night far from over.
The late summer sun hung low over Pelican Town, casting a golden glow across the rolling fields of the farmerās land. Zinnias bloomed in wild bursts of crimson and violet along the wooden fence, their petals swaying in the warm breeze. Jodi stood at the edge of the plot, her fingers brushing the soft leaves of a melon vine, her auburn hair catching the light like polished copper. She wore a faded green blouse, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, and a pair of worn jeans that clung to her hips, clothes chosen for practicality, not to draw attention. But the farmer noticed her. He always did.
He was kneeling a few paces away, his hands buried in the rich soil as he worked to free a stubborn parsnip from the earth. His flannel shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, revealing a glimpse of sun-kissed skin, and his dark hair fell messily across his forehead. He hadnāt said much since Jodi arrived, but his presence was steady, grounding, a quiet anchor in the storm that was her life.
āYou didnāt have to come out here,ā he said finally, his voice low and warm, not looking up from his task. āI know youāve got enough on your plate.ā
Jodiās lips curved into a small, wistful smile, though her eyes stayed fixed on the melon vine. āI wanted to,ā she said softly. āItās⦠peaceful here. Feels like I can breathe.ā
The farmer paused, brushing dirt from his hands, and glanced at her. He saw the weight she carried; the faint shadows under her eyes, the way her shoulders tensed as if braced for something unseen. He didnāt know the full story of what happened behind the closed doors of her house on Willow Lane, but heād heard enough. The way Kentās voice could turn sharp like a blade, the way Jodiās laughter seemed to dim when he was near. The farmer had seen the bruises once, faint but unmistakable, on her wrist when sheād reached for a basket of strawberries at Pierreās. Sheād tugged her sleeve down quickly, but not before heād noticed.
He hadnāt asked. Not directly. But heād made a point to be thereāleaving extra tomatoes on her doorstep, inviting her to help with the farmās harvest, giving her excuses to slip away from home. And Jodi had started coming more often, her visits stretching longer, her smiles lingering a little brighter.
Today, sheād shown up unannounced, her face flushed from the walk, carrying a small jar of homemade jam as an offering. āFor your trouble,ā sheād said, though they both knew it was just an excuse. Now, as the sun dipped lower, painting the sky in hues of peach and lavender, the air between them felt charged with something unspoken.
āJodi,ā the farmer said, standing and wiping his hands on his jeans. He stepped closer, not crowding her, but near enough that she could feel his warmth. āYou donāt have to keep pretending everythingās fine. Not with me.ā
Her breath caught, and she turned to face him, her hazel eyes searching his. There was a vulnerability there, raw and unguarded, but also a spark of defiance. āIām not pretending,ā she said, her voice trembling just slightly. āI just⦠I donāt know how to talk about it. Not yet.ā
He nodded, his gaze steady. āYou donāt have to. Iām here either way.ā
For a moment, they stood there, the world narrowing to the space between themāthe hum of crickets, the rustle of leaves, the faint scent of earth and zinnias. Then Jodi reached out, her fingers brushing his hand, tentative at first, then firmer, as if anchoring herself to him. His skin was warm, calloused from work, and the simple touch sent a shiver through her.
āI shouldnāt be here,ā she whispered, but she didnāt pull away. āIf he knewā¦ā
āHe doesnāt,ā the farmer said gently. āAnd even if he did, you deserve to feel safe, Jodi. You deserve more than what youāre getting.ā
Her eyes glistened, and she blinked quickly, fighting back the tears. āYou make it sound so simple,ā she said, a bitter edge to her voice. āItās not. Iāve got Sam, Vincent⦠I canāt justāā
āI know,ā he interrupted softly, his thumb grazing her knuckles. āIām not asking you to upend your life. I just want you to know youāve got someone in your corner. Someone who sees you.ā
The words hit her like a wave, unraveling something deep inside. She stepped closer, her free hand resting lightly on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. The farmer didnāt move, letting her set the pace, his eyes locked on hers with a quiet intensity that made her feel seen in a way she hadnāt in years.
āSometimes,ā she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, āI come here and I imagine⦠what itād be like. To not be afraid. To not feel like Iām walking on eggshells. To just⦠be with you.ā
His breath hitched, but he kept still, his hand gently covering hers where it rested on his chest. āJodi,ā he said, his voice thick with emotion, āIād give you that if I could. All of it.ā
She leaned in then, closing the distance, her lips brushing his in a kiss that was soft but deliberate, like a confession. He responded carefully, his hands settling on her waist, not pulling but holding, letting her lead. The kiss deepened, warm and unhurried, a quiet promise woven into every touch. She tasted faintly of the jam sheād broughtāsweet, tart, and realāand he felt the tension in her slowly melt, her body softening against his.
When they parted, her forehead rested against his, her breath shaky but warm. āI donāt know what Iām doing,ā she admitted, a small laugh escaping her. āI just know I feel⦠whole when Iām here.
āYou donāt have to figure it all out,ā he said, his voice low, his hands steady on her hips. āJust take what you need, Jodi. Iām not going anywhere.ā
They moved to the porch of his farmhouse as the sky darkened, the stars beginning to prick through the twilight. Heād lit a small lantern, its golden light spilling across the wooden boards, and they sat close on the steps, shoulders brushing. She told him things she hadnāt said aloud before, how Kentās anger had grown since heād returned from the war, how his words cut deeper than his hands ever had, how she stayed for her boys but felt herself fading. The farmer listened, his hand resting lightly on her knee, his silence a kind of strength.
Eventually, words gave way to quiet, and she curled against him, her head on his shoulder, his arm around her. The intimacy wasnāt rushed or hungry. It was tender, deliberate, like the way he tended his crops, giving her space to grow. She traced the lines of his palm, memorizing the roughness, and he pressed a kiss to her temple, soft and lingering.
āI wish I could stay,ā she said finally, her voice heavy with the weight of reality.
He squeezed her hand. āYou can, whenever you need to. This place, itās yours too.ā
She smiled, bittersweet but genuine, and kissed him again, slower this time, savoring the warmth of his lips, the way his hands cradled her like something precious. When she finally stood to leave, the lantern light caught the curve of her cheek, and he thought she looked stronger, even if just a little.
As she walked back toward town, the zinnias swayed in the night breeze, their colors muted but still vibrant. The farmer watched her go, his heart full and aching, knowing heād be there tomorrow, and the day after, waiting for her to find her way back.
A/N: Requested by an awesome anon who asked for jealous Haley (my favorite pixel wife to write for).
Warnings: None. (For once).
The farmer had been out since sunrise, boots already caked with soil from the fields, hair pulled back and damp with sweat from the early heat. She barely paused when she came through the kitchen, only long enough to rinse her hands and grab a glass of water before heading back outside. Haley sat at the table, chin propped in her palm, eyes following her wifeās back as it disappeared through the door again. The clink of the glass in the sink echoed louder than it should have. Haley hated the way her chest tightened, hated the way it felt like she was competing with dirt and chickens for attention. It was ridiculous, really, but she couldnāt shake the thought that the farmer had forgotten she was even in the house.
By the time the farmer came in again at noon, Haley had already rehearsed at least ten different versions of what she wanted to say. She didnāt start with any of them. Instead, when the farmer leaned against the counter and asked if Haley wanted anything from the market later, Haley let out a sharp laugh.
āOh, so you do remember Iām here. What an honor.ā Her voice dripped with the kind of sarcasm that always made the farmer pause, the kind that stung because it wasnāt entirely a joke. Haleyās arms folded across her chest, nails tapping against her elbows, her gaze steady and unyielding.
āHonestly, I should cover myself in feathers, maybe then youād notice me.ā
The farmer blinked, caught between confusion and guilt, her brow furrowed as if trying to piece together where this had come from. Haley rolled her eyes, pushing back her chair and standing in one fluid motion.
āDonāt look at me like that. Iām not being dramatic. I married you, not the damn crops. If I wanted to feel invisible, I couldāve stayed in my parentsā house and let them ignore me there.ā
Her words came fast, edged with the hurt sheād been holding back all week. The silence that followed felt heavier than any storm cloud, filling the kitchen with something that demanded an answer.
Haley paced across the kitchen, her arms flaring out as though even her body couldnāt hold the frustration in.
āYou know whatās funny? Everyone in town thinks youāre this perfect, hardworking saint. Always out there, tending crops, feeding animals, saving the whole valley one turnip at a time. Meanwhile, Iām in here wondering if my wife even remembers what I sound like.ā Her laugh was sharp, bitter, but her eyes glistened. She jabbed a finger toward the window, where the fields stretched beyond sight. āCongratulations. Youāre officially married to the dirt. Hope it keeps you warm at night.ā
The farmer opened her mouth to speak, but Haley cut her off with a raised hand and a shake of her head. āNo, donāt you dare tell me āitās just the seasonā or āitāll calm down soon.ā Iāve been here through every season, remember? Winter, spring, summer, fallāIāve memorized them all like clockwork. And you? You treat me like Iām just another part of the background. I could paint my hair green and roll around in compost and maybe, maybe youād look up for five seconds.ā She tilted her head, lips curling in a half-smirk that didnāt reach her eyes.
She crossed her arms again and leaned against the table, her voice lowering, growing steadier. āI didnāt marry you so I could be second place to a crop yield. I didnāt trade in photo shoots and the city and everything else I couldāve had just to sit here and feel like a ghost in my own home. If you want a farmhand, hire one. If you want a wife, maybe you should actually act like you have one.ā The words hung in the air, sharp and daring, daring the farmer to prove her wrong.
The farmer finally pushed away from the counter, her jaw tight but her eyes soft, like she was weighing every word before it left her mouth.
āHaley,ā she said slowly, āyou think I donāt notice you, but I do. Every day. Even when Iām out there, Iām thinking about you. About this house, about us. I work the way I do because I want you to have more than the life you left behind. I donāt want you ever regretting choosing me.ā She took a step closer, boots heavy on the floorboards, but her voice gentled. āYou are not invisible. Youāre the reason Iām doing all of this.ā
Haley scoffed, flicking her hair over her shoulder like his explanation was nothing more than dust in the wind.
āWow, how romantic. Iām the reason youāre married to the hoe and the watering can. Truly, Iām swooning.ā Her hands flew up theatrically before she dropped them with a sigh. āYou donāt get it. I didnāt marry you for the farm. I married you for you. And lately, all I get are glimpses of that woman between hauling buckets and falling into bed half-asleep.ā Her eyes narrowed, the bite of her words softened only by the crack of hurt hiding underneath.
The farmerās brows drew together as she leaned her weight against the table opposite Haley. āYou think I donāt want that too? To just stop, to sit with you, to⦠breathe? But if I let it all go, the farm doesnāt run. And if the farm doesnāt run, then we donāt have anything. I thought you understood that when you chose to be here with me. I thought you saw that Iām trying to build something for us.ā Her hand hovered on the wood, as if reaching for Haley but not daring to bridge the space just yet.
The farmer finally closed the gap, her hand rising to rest lightly against Haleyās arm before tugging her close. Haley resisted for half a heartbeat, her body still stiff with pride, but then she allowed herself to be drawn in, her cheek brushing the rough fabric of the farmerās shirt. A kiss landed softly on her temple, warm and steady, the kind of gesture that carried more weight than any rushed excuse.
āIām sorry,ā the farmer whispered, her voice rougher now, thick with sincerity. āYouāre not second to anything out there. Youāre the reason I wake up every morning and push myself until thereās nothing left. You are my home, Haley. Youāre what makes all of it matter.ā
For a moment Haley stood very still, her breath caught somewhere between indignation and relief. Slowly, she let her hands slide around the farmerās waist, resting against her back.
āYou always know how to ruin a perfectly good rant,ā she muttered, though the words were softened by the way she leaned into her wifeās chest. Her sass had dulled to embers, still glowing but not burning as hot, and beneath it was the tender truth she couldnāt deny. Giving in felt less like surrender and more like choosing, like remembering what she wanted most in the first place.
The farmer pulled back just enough to look at her, brushing a strand of blonde hair from her face with careful fingers. āLet me shower,ā she said, a small smile tugging at her lips. āThen the rest of the day is yours. Whatever you want to do, weāll do it.ā
Haley searched her eyes, waiting for some crack of insincerity, but found none. Her expression softened fully then, her smile small but real. āI donāt care what we do,ā she said quietly. āI just want to be with you.ā The words landed between them like a vow, simple and unadorned, and for once Haley didnāt try to cover them with sarcasm.
And so, after the farmerās shower washed away the morningās strain, the two of them spent the rest of the day not in the fields, not among the crops, but side by side in the quiet rhythms of their home. They shared coffee on the porch, Haleyās head resting on her wifeās shoulder as the sun warmed their skin, and later wandered lazily through the orchard with no destination in mind. There were no grand gestures, no elaborate plans, only the steady comfort of presenceāthe farmerās hand in Haleyās, the kind of attention that spoke louder than any chore left undone. By evening, the sharp edges of jealousy had softened into something gentler, and Haley, with her usual sass mellowed into contentment, finally felt like she had what she wanted most: not the farmerās time, but her heart, fully and without distraction.
I would love a oneshot of Haley getting jealous of female farmer spending time with Haley (when farmer and Haley are already married). That is if you are still doing requests
Your writing is awesome btw!! (  ̄ā½ļæ£)
Thanks so much! Iāll happily do your request but I just need a little clarification cuz I think I might be a little dumb. Did you want Haley jealous that the farmer is not spending enough time with her or spending time with someone else?
I would like to request a drabble/short story please!
If you are able, I'd love to read Vincent accidentally calling the farmer Dad while he's hanging out with Jodi, the Farmer and Sam, and how they all collectively react to this news. I've been reading your stories lately and I would love to read more of your Farmer/Jodi content! Thanks in advance!
Jodiās first reaction might be stunned silence, her breath catching because itās something she secretly dreamed of but never expected to hear. Other times, sheād laugh softly and cover the moment with a gentle correction, though her eyes would betray the warmth in her chest. She might flush pink, unable to hide the way her heart leaps, or she might quickly busy herself with chores to avoid letting anyone see how much it rattled her. There would also be moments when she simply lets it hang in the air, not correcting Vincent at all, just savoring the way it sounds.
The farmer could be left speechless, throat tightening as if words donāt fit in that space anymore, because the simple word feels heavier than anything heās ever been called. Sometimes heād grin wide and ruffle Vincentās hair, joking about being on bedtime story duty now. Other times heād crouch down, answer seriously, and tell Vincent he can call him whatever makes him feel safe. He might glance to Jodi first, silently asking if sheās okay with it, or he might instinctively pull Vincent into a hug, protective pride swelling in his chest. On another day, he could freeze entirely, terrified Sam might overhear and things could explode.
Samās reaction depends on when it happens. There could be a long silence, his throat tight, because hearing his little brother say it makes him realize the farmer already feels like family. Or he could narrow his eyes, instantly suspicious, protective of his mom and brother until the farmer proves himself. He might laugh it off, teasing that it means the farmer has to mow the lawn now, or he might storm out, wounded at the thought of someone replacing his dad. Other times, heād play it cool in the moment, only to admit later that he likes how happy Vincent looked saying it. And maybe, when the air is quiet, heād mutter under his breath, āHeās not wrong,ā letting his guard down just enough to show his acceptance.
The fire in Ulrikaās small stone house in Harve cast a warm, flickering glow across the wooden floor, its light dancing on the walls adorned with simple woven tapestries. The air was thick with the scent of woodsmoke and the faint, earthy tang of rain-soaked earth from the storm that had followed the dragonās retreat. Outside, the village was quiet, the villagers safe at last, thanks to the Arisenās unyielding blade and unshakeable resolve. But here, in this stolen moment, the world narrowed to the two women entwined on the simple bed, their bodies moving in a rhythm as ancient and vital as the heartbeat of Vermund itself.
Ulrika was above her, her strong thighs straddling the Arisenās hips, their bare skin slick with sweat and desire. Her hair cascaded like a veil, brushing against the Arisenās shoulders with every slow, deliberate grind. Ulrikaās hands braced on either side of the Arisenās head, her fingers digging into the mattress, holding herself steady as she rolled her hips forward, their most intimate places pressing together in a tender friction that sent waves of heat radiating through them both. The sensation was exquisiteāsoft folds sliding against each other, warm and wet, building a pressure that was both urgent and languid, like the tide pulling at the shore.
The Arisenās breath hitched, her hands roaming up Ulrikaās back, tracing the lean muscles forged from years of archery and defending her people. Her fingers grazed lightly, not to mark but to feel the strength beneath Ulrikaās skin, grounding herself in the reality of this woman who had become her haven. Ulrikaās breaths were shallow, her blue eyes locked on the Arisenās, filled with a reverence that spoke louder than words. She didnāt speak her loverās nameānot out of secrecy, but because what they shared here transcended titles or labels. To the kingdom, she was the Arisen, Vermundās chosen, burdened with dragons and fates. But to Ulrika, she was simply herāthe woman whose heart she held, whose touch she craved.
This moment had been kindled in the aftermath of Melveās fall. The dragonās flames had scorched their village, driving the survivors to Harve, where theyād begun rebuilding under the Arisenās protection. Hours earlier, as the last of the refugees settled into temporary shelters, Ulrika had pulled the Arisen aside, her hand lingering on her wrist, her eyes fierce with gratitude and something deeper. āReturn to me whenever you need to,ā sheād said, her voice steady despite the tremor of emotion beneath it. āMy heart is yours. Always.ā
Those words had ignited something unstoppable. In the quiet of Ulrikaās house, away from the eyes of the village, theyād shed their armorāleather and steel clattering to the floor, tunics and breeches following in a haze of longing. The Arisen had lain back on the furs, her body bare, scars glinting faintly in the firelight, each mark a testament to battles fought and won. Ulrika had joined her, guiding their bodies together with a tenderness that belied her warriorās strength, and now they moved as one, their intimacy a balm for the wounds of the world outside.
Ulrika leaned down, her lips brushing the Arisenās in a kiss that was soft at first, then deepening as their hips ground together more insistently. The Arisenās core throbbed with each press, the slick glide of their pussies creating a delicious friction that built like a gathering storm. Ulrikaās clit nudged against hers, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through her veins, and the Arisen arched up, meeting the motion, her hands sliding down to grip Ulrikaās hips, urging her closer, harder, but still so careful, so loving.
āYouāre my strength,ā Ulrika murmured against her mouth, her voice a low, husky whisper, thick with emotion. She shifted slightly, adjusting the angle to deepen their contact, the pressure intensifying as their folds slid together, wet and warm. The Arisen moaned softly, the sound swallowed by another kiss, her hands sliding up to tangle in Ulrikaās light brown hair, pulling gently to ground herself in the moment. Ulrikaās body was a marvelāstrong yet soft, her muscles flexing under the Arisenās touch as she maintained her position, her hips rolling in a rhythm that was both fervent and tender.
The Arisenās mind flickered to the chaos of the dayāthe dragonās roar, the villagersā cries, the weight of her role as their protector. But Ulrika had been there, her arrows flying true, her presence unwavering. In Harve, as the survivors found safety, Ulrika had seen not just the Arisen, but the woman beneath, the one who carried the worldās hopes yet longed for a moment of peace. This act, this joining, was that peaceāa reclamation of their humanity amid Vermundās endless trials.
Ulrikaās pace quickened just a fraction, her hips circling now, grinding in slow, deliberate arcs that made the Arisenās breath catch. The wetness between them eased the motion, turning it into something fluid, almost sacred. Ulrikaās eyes never left hers, drinking in every gasp, every flutter of her lashes, as if she needed to witness every moment of her pleasure. āI could lose myself in you,ā Ulrika whispered, her forehead resting against the Arisenās, their breaths mingling in the warm air. One hand left the furs to trail down the Arisenās side, fingers brushing over her ribcage, her hip, before slipping between them to add to the sensation, circling her clit with a gentle, reverent touch.
The Arisen cried out softly, her body trembling under the added stimulation, the pleasure building like a tide ready to crest. Ulrikaās touch was careful, attentive, learning her loverās responsesāthe way her hips bucked, the soft moans that escaped her lips. The firelight painted Ulrikaās skin in warm hues, highlighting the faint scars across her arms, remnants of battles fought for Melve, now carried into this new life in Harve. The Arisenās hands wandered up to cup Ulrikaās breasts, thumbs brushing over her nipples, drawing a sharp gasp that made Ulrikaās hips stutter for a moment before resuming their rhythm.
āYes,ā Ulrika breathed, her voice a mix of encouragement and need, her body pressing down more firmly, their pussies sliding together with increasing urgency. The slick sounds mingled with their gasps, a private symphony in the quiet house. The Arisen felt Ulrikaās arousal coating her, blending with her own, creating a shared intimacy that bound them deeper than any oath. Each grind was a vow, each touch a promise, Ulrikaās dominance born of love, not power, her strength tempered by tenderness.
The Arisen pulled Ulrika down for another kiss, pouring her gratitude, her love, into it, her hips rising to meet each roll. The tension built, a sweet ache that spread through her core, her limbs, her heart. Ulrikaās fingers moved faster, matching the pace of their hips, and the Arisen felt herself unraveling, the pleasure blooming outward like wildfire. āUlrika,ā she gasped, her voice a plea, a prayer, no name needed to convey the depth of her feeling.
āCome with me,ā Ulrika whispered, her body tensing, her grinds becoming shorter, more desperate, as her own release neared. They moved as one, the friction peaking, their bodies trembling in unison. The Arisen shattered first, her body arching, a cry escaping her lips as ecstasy washed over her, waves of pleasure radiating from her core. Ulrika followed moments later, her hips pressing down hard, grinding through her own climax, the shared pulses drawing out their mutual release.
They stilled gradually, Ulrika collapsing gently onto the Arisen, their bodies still joined, breaths ragged but synchronized. Ulrika nuzzled into the crook of her loverās neck, lips brushing sweat-slick skin. āMy heart,ā she murmured, the words a quiet echo of her earlier promise, spoken with a tenderness that made the Arisenās chest ache. They lay tangled in the furs, the fireās embers glowing softly, casting their shadows as one.
In Harve, with Melveās ashes behind them and a new life ahead, they held each other, their bond a light against Vermundās darkness.
I don't have an AO3 account so I can't comment, but I wanted to let you know that your Haley fic touched my heart, I think it's a true masterpiece. I enjoyed every moment of reading it, even when it made me cry, haha. You're very talented at writing, I'll keep an eye on you. I hope you're doing well and thank you for sharing your talent.
Ahhh thank you so much for reading! Sorry for the tears lol.
āThe hooks always find them. The trials never end. But between blood and breath, there are still momentsāsome tender, some terrifyingāthat the Fog canāt erase.ā
Chapter One: āShe Wants You Toā
Sable and Mikaela
TW: Blood, character death
Mist twisted around her ankles like something alive. Each breath tasted faintly of copper and ash, and somewhere far off, the sound of a lullaby bled through the trees, warped and wrong, like a music box left to rot in the rain. Sable didnāt flinch. Sheād long stopped expecting peace in places like this. But the chill she felt now wasnāt fear. It was recognition.
She found Mikaela by the crumbling altar where the woods gave way to stone, her body twisted in the dirt like a broken charm. Blood had painted its way down her arm in sluggish trails, soaking the torn hem of her skirt before disappearing into the hungry soil. One hand clawed at the ground in reflex more than reason, dragging faint sigils into the muckāhalf-formed, fading. Her eyes were open but distant, wide with the kind of horror that came not from pain, but from what she had seen before it.
The marks on her skin werenāt all hers. Symbols etched in grime and something older than blood wound across her wrist, dragged there by claws too jagged for human hands. Sable dropped to her knees, her voice catching in her throat as her fingers hovered above the gash in Mikaelaās side, unsure where to begin. The air stank of sulfur and wet earth, and just beyond the treeline, something dragged a nail along bark with slow, deliberate intention. The Hag never rushed. She liked her offerings fresh.
Mikaela blinked slowly, her lashes clumped with dirt and sweat, and her gaze found Sableās like a tether stretched thin and fraying. There was no surprise in her eyesāonly the quiet devastation of knowing it was happening again. Her lips parted as if to speak, but all that came was a gasp, shallow and wet, stained with iron. Sable pressed both hands to the wound anyway, not to heal, not this time, but just to hold something in place before the dark swallowed it whole.
They had died a hundred times, maybe more. The Entity never gave them numbers, only chances. And each time, the terror felt just as sharp. Just as cruel.
āItās close,ā Sable whispered, even though Mikaela already knew. Even though the air had gone still in that telltale way it always did before the world split open.
Mikaela nodded once, her mouth twitching in something too broken to be called a smile. āI know,ā she mouthed. And then softer, āI donāt want to go like this.ā
Sable didnāt turn. She didnāt need to. The air had thickened, congealed into something fetid and wrong, as though the forest itself were holding its breath. Behind her, footsteps dragged slowly across the stones, bare feet slick with mire and rot, each step accompanied by the wet snap of sinew stretching too far. The Hag did not speak, but her presence was its own language, one Mikaela and Sable had learned by heart. There would be no chase this time. No hooks. No second wind.
Mikaelaās breath hitched, her fingers curling into Sableās sleeve with what little strength she had left. āDonāt look at her,ā she rasped, her voice like paper burning at the edges. āShe wants you to.ā Sable kept her eyes fixed on Mikaelaās face, though every nerve screamed to run, to fight, to do something. But the Hag was already here. Her breath scraped the back of Sableās neck like claws across parchment. And the only sound louder than the ragged thrum of her own heart was the sudden, gurgling silence of the woods surrendering them both.
Mikaelaās grip trembled against her sleeve, loosening as her body gave in to gravity, but her eyes stayed locked on Sableās. There was no panic in them anymore. Just something older. Something that had learned to find clarity in the moments between breaths. āYouāll find me,ā she whispered, the words barely rising above the sickening hush around them. āEven if itās not here⦠you always do.ā
Sable leaned closer, her forehead pressing gently against Mikaelaās, anchoring them together in the flicker of time they had left. āIām not afraid,ā she murmured, though the tear that slipped free betrayed her. āNot if youāre with me.ā Behind them, the Hagās hand lifted, jointed like bone runes carved wrong and smeared with centuries. The forest didnāt scream. It simply watched. And in that last breath before the darkness closed its grip, they held each other as if it might mean something. As if it always had.
I donāt know who needs to hear this, but constantly sending hate from behind an anonymous screen doesnāt make you powerfulāit makes you a coward.
Iām tired. Tired of being picked apart. Tired of every post, every word, being twisted into something itās not.
Iām a real person. I have limits. And right now, Iām hitting them.
Some days I wonder why I even bother.
Just let people exist without tearing them down. Please.