#but you're still a little resentful and bitter

[killerchickadee]

Like, you try not to be resentful and bitter that everyone else is spending time with their family right now, and you're just chilling alone in your apartment as always. Like. That's an effort.

But sometimes it isn't easy.

But you try anyway cause you don't want to be That Guy and also being resentful and bitter doesn't do you any good.

[dumbbitchgalore]

tf141 hanging out together and finding out that old man!Price has a girlfriend 💫

The crowded pub bustles with the commontion of drunkards of varying degrees. Some slightly tipsy while others have decided to forgo their pants in the name of the King.

And then there's a group of men occupying a table at the corner of the pub. Simon with his balaclava on, Kyle with a cigarette between his fingers savouring the arcid flavour and Johnny ogling some girls on the other side of the pub.

All that was left was John, who makes his way to the table with four pints of beer. He sits down at the table with a grunt as he passes each on of the boys a glass. They all start chatting and catching up about everything's thats happened after Price's retirement.

Johnny begins to bitch and whine about the new captain saying how uptight he was critising everything the squad does that John would've probably turned a blind eye to.

John chuckles slightly, listening to them all talk about what's is going on with the taskforce. Despite the smile on his face, there is a bitter resentment inside of him, gnawing at him.

Useless, useless, useless

He takes a swig of his drink hoping that it'll calm his worries down. And lo and behold he receives a call from you, his baby. He smiles to himself and picks up the phone.

"Hey birdie, doing okay by yourself at home?" He asks softly.

That one sentence caught the attention of the other boys as they give each other quizzical looks. Who the hell could their former captain be talking to?

His mother, maybe his sisters? Nah, he wouldn't call any other birdie.

They listen to John's gravelly voice and breathy laughs as he talks to the mystery person on the phone.

What felt like hours to the boys and a few fleeting seconds for John, he hangs up and faces the group. He raises an eyebrow when he sees their faces contorted into expressions of confusion and curiosity.

"What?" John asks slightly defensively

"Who's the birdie, Captain?" Johnny asks with a tooth grin.

John shakes his head, "my girlfriend." he says in a matter-of-fact tone.

Their jaws drop to the floor. Shocked would be an understatement as to what they were feeling and thinking right now.

"You sure it's not schizophrenia, sir?" Kyle asks.

John huffs in annoyance. What the hell? Couldn't they just accept that John finally had someone in his life. A perfect little doll who patiently waits for him at home.

They all start to laugh obnoxiously, barking and howling as if they were witnessing a circus show. And John's irritation grew tenfold and he huffs a sigh of annoyance.

"Oi captain, why don't you show us a picture of your birdie and then maybe we'll believe ya. Or well just keep thinking that the sarin gas is still in your system." Simon says, followed by a cackle.

John rolls his eyes and opens his photo gallery and shows the trio a photo of you and him. The picture is of the two of you in bed, with you resting your head on his shoulder with a smile on your face as John is still fast asleep. Evidence of the previous night's lustful tendancies still apparent on both of them.

This time their jaws drop for certain as the tangible evidence is placed in front of them. You're beautiful, and that fucked-out, post orgasm face is something else. This isn't fair. How did Price get blessed with a beauty such as yourself.

Soap scowls and scoffs looking away and crossing his arms in annoyance. While Kyle gushes about how lucky Price his to hide his jealously rearing its ugly head. And simon simply stares at the photo with a discerning expression on his face.

John smiply smiles, his ego fuelled and his pride sky high.

"Well boys, I gotta get back to my doll. Maybe next time I'll bring her along." He exits the pub, leaving the boys all confused and jealous.

[kadwrites]

deja vu | T.S

previous part | next part

or check out the series masterlist

summary; how well do we really know the people we love?

warnings ; dark!tommy, minor character death, description of violence , mentions of murder, arranged marriage!trope , slow burn, fem!reader

a/n ; please let me know what you think!

-

you tilted your head and frowned , you're both standing at the garrison.

"tommy..." you mumbled in protest

"i know" he nodded "it'll be very short."

you clicked your tongue and then huffed "if you take longer than ..... 30 minutes i'm leaving."

"ya won't."

"get out of my sight." you muttered , taking a sip of your drink.

you sighed, looking over at the place. it was fairly busy, but not stuffy. sounds of chatter and men laughing echoing around, the lighting is dim. you made your way to the booth you were in, sitting down , eyeing your drink.

"when i heard tommy was marrying again, i would've never thought it's celest's little sister that he's trapped."

you recognized the voice before even processing the words, you look up, your brows raised and smiling in disbelief "lizzie?"

she's standing there, looking over at you. her blue eyes studying every inch of your face, a face she hadn't seen in a long time. and you hadn't expected to see her here , of all places.

"what are ya doing?" she speaks softly. you know the tone, you get the meaning; what are you doing with someone like him ?

you stand up, your gaze never leaves her , still smiling. "lizzie... i've not seen ya in so long..."

since she got involved with tommy , that is. lizzie and celest knew each-other , went to school together. lizzie would sometimes stay over , whenever your mother felt she wouldn't be safe otherwise. until the war.

she chuckles, "ya 'ave your mother to thank for that."

you chuckled too, still looking at her. "how did ya know about it?"

she gives you a look, her dark brow raised "everyone knows. i just didn't know it would be someone like *you*"

you lick your lips, "lizzie i know ya two share.... a history"

she scoffs , a bitter smile on her lips "i don't resent ya for this, i wouldn't." she shakes her head "i 'ave given up on 'im... a long time ago." her eyes look away for a moment before landing on you "whatever ya think of 'im, whatever ya believe he is , he's not." she speaks with conviction.

you don't reply to that, you're just trying to know what she means by it.

"thomas shelby doesn't know love like we do, what he knows is ownership." she chuckles bitterly, "learned what that meant the hard way. but ya shouldn't go through what i did." she shakes her head softly

"i don't understand...."

she stays silent for a moment "consider this a warning from a friend, this man , *will ruin you* , and when that 'appens ya will not recognize who you've become but he.... he will remain the same, unchanged not matter how hard ya try. he will always be what he always was, no love in the world can heal whatever is broken in 'im."

"ya don't understand, lizzie." you speak finally, "this isn't simple, for either of us. i can't leave"

"ya can't or ya won't?"

"i..." you pause for a moment, letting out a chuckle "i can't."

she studies your face , nodding "what does celest think? what does oliver think?"

"they're not thrilled."

"i know 'im more than most." she adds "and if i

knew what i do now when i first met 'im....." she looks away "i came here because i knew you'd be here and to tell ya that ya can come to me... if ya ever need help."

she places a hand on your arm, looking at you one more time before turning and making her way out of the garrison.

"she was always a nice girl" your mother sighed, taking a bite of her food

you and celest look at eachother before looking back at her,

celest knew why lizzie talked to you , and so did the rest of your family

"where's abraham?" you nod towards anna

she shrugged , "he had to do something before coming here"

"ya knew who i dreamt of?" your father pointed his fork at you "that teller boy, jeremy was it?. it was the strangest thing , i tell ya"

all the women at the table tried to stay neutral, keep their reactions to a minimum, you try to hide your uncomfortable reaction behind your glass of water "it is strange"

the whole table looks towards the front door, the sound of the door slamming open and not slamming back closed, and the heavy rushed footsteps

"i need to talk to ya," he appears in the living room doorway. he puts his hands on his hips, breathing heavily as if he ran to the house. he's disheveled, he pushed his glasses back on his nose with a shaky hand

"jeremy teller is dead." he speaks in a hushed voice, looking around to check that no one is listening, both of you standing in your parents bedroom. he didn't want anyone to hear , especially not renee or she might just give birth on the spot.

"what? no he's not." you laugh, looking at him. waiting for him to finish his joke

he looks at you, wiping a hand over his face. he looks at you "he's fucking dead."

your laugh falters slowly as you look at him, your face twitching with different emotions "how ? when? how do you know about it?"

"i heard. they found 'im murdered," he tries to not speaks too loudly "his throat was slit"

you can feel your blood go cold "do they know who killed 'im?"

he tilts his head, his hands still shaking as they rest on his hips. "ya know who killed 'im."

"no....no." you shake your head, laughing again in disbelief "no no no, no" you look away and step back, putting a hand over your forehead "that's impossible."

"listen to me" he grabs your shoulders, turning you to look at him "he did it, all of small heath knows he did and ya do too."

"no , he wouldn't." you shake your head again, your heart beating so fast you can hear it. "why would he do that? he wouldn't ."

he moves you gently, sitting you down on the chair in your parents room. he kneels , his hands move to your face "what do ya wanna do now ?"

the room feels so stuffy, you can hardly breath.

"i don't know." your chest feels like it might collapse. you try to stand up, but you can barely feel your legs, you try to blink away the darkness that takes over your vision.

but you knew it was coming, the darkness does take over.

here you are again, staring at that portrait that hangs opposite of your bed. you're filled with dread , fear and even anger , your eyes trace the portrait that you've already memorized.

your head on the pillow, your sister sniffling is another reminder, like a deja vu of that cursed night.

but you can see someone else in your peripheral vision sitting in the chair , those cold blue eyes cannot be missed. its as if his presence filled the room with a cold sort of air.

you try to get up,

"lay down"

"i don't want to." you mumble, letting out a breath as you lean your back against your bed frame. your eyes still on the painting, you don't even glance his way.

"feeling better?" his voice sounds colder than you ever remember it being. the smell of the cigarette smoke making you close your eyes shut, making your head spin. you reach for the glass of water on your bedside table, your hands quiver as you bring it to your lips

"yes" you put the glass back down

"ya look pale"

"hmm"

you can't shake that feeling, you're scared of looking at him and seeing the same view you did that day, the blood on his hands.

"ya killed 'im." you're almost muttering to yourself,

he doesn't answer you, and you don't ask again. you finally peel your eyes off of the old painting, glancing at him. the look on his face gave you the answer that you already knew.

he looks so calm , so collected , almost wicked. "are ya scared now?"

and it was your turn to not answer his question, but your eyes never leave his.

"did ya do it yourself?"

"yes" he looks right back at you "you're already aware of what i can do"

you just shut your eyes, your hands shake as they grip into the covers

"forgetting it is your fault, not mine." his voice sounds again

you don't even remember the rest of that day, his words were replying in your head.

you snap out of that trance a day later, you're in the living room on the chair by the window. you look straight at the window as your mind tries to make sense of everything, and then a figure down the street catches your eyes and you feel a switch go off in your head.

i have eyes around here.

and you realize , probably ears too.

your clothes swish as you run out of the living room towards your parents' room, your mother running behind you. the old wooden floor cried under your rushed footsteps

"what happened?"

you don't even hear her, you don't process what she's saying. you pull out the box from under their bed, you rummage through it , pulling out your dad's revolver.

the cold metal of the gun feels like it's burning through your flesh

"what the fuck are ya doing? where did ya get that?" oliver yells , his eyes opened wide as tries to run after you too.

the whole house freezes, all of them just still as if the slightest movement would set that gun off

you push that door open , it slams against the wall beside it. your feel take you towards the man standing in the street , a figure you've seen lurking around too many times to chalk it up to coincidences

you cock back the hammer, your hands are steady for the first time since yesterday.

"ya tell tommy fucking shelby that if he doesn't get ya fuckers away from me , i'll start shooting."

you move the revolver and point it to the pavement , missing his foot by a hair.

-

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[loaksky]

— 𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘮

the deets — lo'ak is the black sheep in the family, clinging to honor by a precarious thread. you are the well-loved songstress in the tribe. he should resent you for being everything he's not, but his fickle heart can't bring him to do so.

the who — lo'ak x fem omatikaya!reader

the word count — 10.2k (rip yall)

the tags — (one-sided) rivals-to-lovers, angsty angsty, hurt / comfort, reader gives lo'ak a big ol smooch (perhaps more than one), lo’ak is the biggest dumbass and because of this he’s mean asf, reader has a big ol heart and just really wants lo’ak to like her, aged!up characters for maturity’s sake. 

the warnings — language, lo'ak is in luv but doesn't realize it, he's in denial that the feelings could be reciprocated, this is super dramatic so put your seat belts on!

the notes — was feeling extra sad and wanted to write something self-indulgent. this lovely anon requested something, and i used their ask as inspiration to finish this beast. fine line, bags, and love in dark are the three main songs i listened to finish this, so if you wanna be in your feels, have a listen LMAO. despite all the support, i’m still so mf nervous posting this ejsjsjdjs

masterlist

SOMETHING UGLY KINDLES IN THE PIT of Lo'ak's stomach at the mere mention of your name. It's sour on his tongue, bitter in his brain. He doesn't know when he's started to feel like this, started to feel absolutely dreadful anytime he'd hear the timbre of your voice. 

It's warm, thick like nectar and it makes him sick. 

Ever since you all were little, the elders crooned over what a great girl you were growing into; strong, intelligent, beautiful. It made him boil how much they'd sing your praises, the high esteem everyone held you in as one of the clan's most talented. 

Something dull would pick at him being compared to his older brother, but nothing burned more than being compared to you. 

Maybe it's because it's always implied whenever your names share the same sentences, that lingering implication that he could be more like you. The clan fans the flames of your mere existence while Lo'ak is snuffed out like a dying fire. 

He hates it. He hates you. 

He thinks. 

It'd be easier to, if you were awful behind the scenes. Arrogant, stuck up, but you're none of those things. You're kind, gentle, mighty when you need to be. It doesn't help that you shine like the brightest star, engulfing everyone in your light, in your warmth. 

But Lo'ak resists. He sees right through you, sees right through every saccharine smile you send him. He can see it in your eyes, how you really see him. Despite standing a full head taller than you, he sees the way you look down your nose at him. 

It grates his nerves, how disgustingly sweet you are towards him despite all attempts to rebuff you. 

Certainly doesn’t soothe his ego when you always seem to be around the bend every time he gets bitched at by the clan, eyes soft and filled with pity. To add insult to injury, you frequently tail him like a shadow after these moments when all he wants is to be alone. 

Like now, you linger. 

It's after dinner and Kiri and Spider stand before him. They come together like the three points of a triangle and you stand an awkward distance away from them. 

Kiri notices you first, her face splitting into a big smile as she waves you over. 

Lo'ak breathes a deep sigh before locking eyes with Spider who tries his best to suppress an amused grin. 

“Hi,” you chirp and Lo'ak can't help but roll his eyes. 

Spider and Kiri greet you eagerly. Lo'ak simply nods his head in acknowledgement before tightening his fist around his dagger. 

“We going or what?” he finally says. 

You perk up. 

“Where are you guys heading off to?” you ask curiously, hands clasped behind your back.

Spider opens his mouth to answer, but Lo'ak cuts him off quickly. 

“No where important,” he says, unsure if you'll blab about their whereabouts to the elders, or worse, his parents. 

You roll your lips and shift on your feet. 

“Can I come?” you ask hesitantly, eyes hopeful. 

Kiri's smile grows as she links her arm with yours. 

“No,” he says sharply. “Absolutely not.” 

Your face falls and something pulls inside his chest when you fail meet his gaze, your frown barely perceptible. 

You make a move to pull from Kiri's grasp, but her arm tightens through yours. She levels Lo'ak with a weighty glare and you fidget uncomfortably under his narrowed eyes. 

“Don't worry about it,” you say, like someone's hit a reset button. You smile that pretty smile and Lo'ak wants to scream. "It's okay, I think Rutan needs help with clean up." 

You slip from Kiri's grasp and the three watch you walk off. 

“Do you always have to be such a bitch?” Spider scoffs a disbelieving laugh. 

“She's just gonna tag along so she can snitch,” Lo'ak grumbles. 

“Oh c'mon,” Kiri argues. “________ just wants friends.”

Lo'ak sneers. 

“I don't want to be friends with her,” he says firmly, knuckles white around the handle of his knife.

“Weirdo,” Spider mumbles. “She’s cute. Think she likes you.”

Lo'ak's spine stiffens.

“It's an act” Lo'ak grumbles. “She just wants to look good in front of the elders to keep up whatever nice girl show she's putting on.” 

Kiri rolls her eyes hard. 

There are moments when Lo'ak thinks he's being harsh, but he can't help himself. It's like he loses all semblance of a filter when it comes to you. 

“Hi, Lo'ak,” you greet him sweetly, lowering yourself onto the fallen log he's perched on, fashioning arrows to practice with later on in the evening with Neteyam. 

He shifts away from you, putting the distance of two bodies between the two of you as he pauses his task at hand. 

“Hi,” he says flatly. 

“Can I help?” you ask tentatively, fingers twitching towards one of the untouched sticks in a pile next to his feet. 

His kicks them closer to himself, out of your reach before leveling you with a sharp glare. 

“No thanks,” he says quickly and you recoil slowly, letting out a shaky laugh before fixing that stupid smile on your pretty face. 

“Oh, sorry,” you apologize, straightening in your seat. 

A silence so uncomfortably palpable settles over the two of you as you shift so that your knees are turned towards him. 

His throat bobs when his gaze travels from your little toes all the way up to your inquisitive gaze, golden and searching. It makes something unruly settle in his gut and he turns his attention back to carving his arrows. 

“Do you need something?” he breaks the silence finally. “I'm kinda busy.”

You bite your lip before scooting a little closer to Lo'ak's hunched figure. 

“My birthday's coming up,” you start. 

“I'm aware,” Lo'ak almost scoffs. 

It's all the clan has been able to talk about for the past few days. How they'd be able to prepare for the golden girl's next birth cycle and what they'd be able to do to make you smile the brightest. 

“Your birthday is a week before,” you state and his head whips towards you. 

“How do you know that?” he asks sharply, accusation heavy in his gruff tone. 

You flinch and he falters for a moment before your smile simply widens. 

“We grew up together, Lo'ak,” you say and the way his name sounds from your mouth sounds absolutely heavenly. “You're my friend.”

Friend. 

He scowls at the term.

“We're not friends,” he bites back. 

If the statement bothers you, you don't show it, simply tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before putting on a brave face. 

“I want to celebrate with you,” you say shyly. 

“Hard pass,” he says too quickly, gathering his sticks and fashioned arrows under his grasp. 

He leaves you in the clearing on your own.

You must be fucking with him. You have to be. It'd be the only explanation for why Jake pulls him aside a few nights later and tells him that you've requested to work with him and Neteyam during archery practice. 

“No,” he says stiffly, shaking his head. 

His dad levels him with a hard glare and Lo'ak sighs deeply. 

“She's a nuisance, Dad,” he argues. “Me and Neteyam are making good progress with our training and we'll have to start at square one if she joins.”

“Lo'ak, this isn't an ask,” Jake says sternly. 

“But, Dad!”

“Lo'ak.”

Lo'ak huffs, snatching his bow and quiver angrily before storming off. 

“You're doing great,” Neteyam says to you once the three of you have convened in the training circle. 

The three arrows you've shot have all landed within centimeters of the mark and to say that Neteyam is impressed is an understatement. Lo'ak, on the other hand, fumes not-so-silently as he tears his arrows from his target. 

Yet again, you have another person wrapped around your finger and it makes his blood simmer as he assumes his position at the marker and loads his arrow. It splinters through the air and hits the target right on the bullseye. The arrow punctures through the hide and lodges its way into the wood from the sheer force of Lo’ak’s shot. 

You start at him moon-eyed, lush lips breaking into a full smile. 

“Perfect shot,” you observe. “That was awesome.” 

Lo’ak scans your features hesitantly before his gaze flits to his older brother, waiting for any acknowledgment that he’d done a great job, but Neteyam is taking notes on the arrows still stuck in the fabric of your own target. 

His heart sinks. 

“Fuck this,” Lo’ak grumbles, bundling all of his belongings.

He stalks through the clearing, past his brother, to leave you two. 

He doesn’t know what fuels the fire more, the fact that Neteyam didn’t even bat an eye at the feat they’d been practicing for for the past three weeks because he was too immersed in you, or the fact that you bore witness to his first clean shot and gave him that sickeningly sweet smile that made his stomach turn. 

“Where are you going?” Neteyam sighs. 

“Somewhere you two aren’t,” he grumbles under his breath, ducking through the brush of the lofty forest. 

You lick your lips, locking eyes with Neteyam as you give him a bashful grin and slowly break away to follow Lo’ak’s path. 

He isn’t far ahead as you push through the vines and low-hanging leaves, the path lined with large plants and the spindly roots of the looming trees. The grass is plush between your toes as you scamper to follow Lo’ak from a distance, watching as his lithe body climbs through the dense flora. 

“Why are you following me?” he calls after a few dozen paces, stopping in the middle of the path to whirl on his heel. 

His golden eyes are syrupy, warm despite the edge, and you can’t help but flash him your pearly whites in a genuine smile that takes up your dimpled cheeks. 

“Why’d you run off?” you ask him. “You were doing so well!” 

His chest rises and falls with a scoff. 

“You can give it a rest, you know?” Lo’ak says flatly, fist so tight around his bow he feels like he’ll crush the wood. 

Your expression morphs, eyebrows furrowing in a way that makes Lo’ak throat bob, something pinching behind his ribcage. 

“What?” you ask, frown marring your pretty face. 

“I don’t know what you’re playing at, but you can stop acting like you wanna be friends with me,” Lo’ak says matter-of-factly. 

“You are my friend,” you protest quietly. 

Lo’ak rolls his eyes. 

“Dude, whatever,” he mutters, turning his back on you. 

“Is it so wrong?” you murmur and he stops in his tracks, refusing to meet your gaze. “To be friends?” 

Friends. 

That stupid fucking word again.

Lo’ak bites his tongue and stalks off, leaving you on the path. 

Neteyam rips him a new one when he sees him at dinner later that night. Lo’ak hangs his head as Neteyam digs in.

“Is it so hard to be nice?” Neteyam asks, hand squeezing his shoulder as they stand a handful of meters away from the main circle. 

As his eyes wander, he notices you sitting with his sister, head thrown back in laughter that glitters and wafts with the rising smoke of the fire. He swallows turning his attention back to his older brother. 

“Just don’t like her,” he admits. “I want her to leave me alone.” 

“You don’t like her or you like her too much?” Neteyam asks, brow bone raised. 

Lo’ak’s face scrunches.

“Ew, no,” he blurts. “Why would I—”

“________ just wants to fit in,” he sighs. “She has trouble making friends.” 

“Yeah, I wonder why,” Lo’ak mocks. “I don’t know why Kiri and Spider are always up her ass, she’s—”

“Lo’ak,” Neteyam warns. 

“Dude, everyone is always ________ this, _________ that! I don’t understand what’s so great about her—”

A throat clears and the brothers both turn their attention to the newcomer. Lo’ak could groan in frustration seeing that you’ve abandoned your seat and now stand nearby with two wooden plates. 

“They’re going to start cleaning up soon,” you say hesitantly. “Wanted to bring you some.” 

Neteyam takes it graciously from you, nodding his head in thanks while Lo’ak stares down at the plate you’d arranged for him, abundant in vegetables and thick cuts of meat. 

“No thanks,” he says flatly.

You try to coax him. 

“C’mon Lo’ak, you say gently. “I know you haven’t eaten yet.” 

“No thanks,” he repeats stonily, holding his hand up. 

You offer up the plate again. 

“Lo’ak–“ 

“I said no thank you,” he grunts, annoyed. 

He’d only meant to push it back towards you, but one second it’s in your hands, the next you’re wearing dinner, the plate clattering onto the ground. 

“Lo’ak!” Neteyam scolds. 

“Shit, I didn’t–”

“It’s fine,” you breathe an airy laugh and Lo’ak freezes when he hears your breath hitch. “It was an accident.” 

“Oh, ________…” Neteyam sighs, but you’re picking up the plate and scurrying off, ignoring the nearby snickering. 

“Whatever you got going on, you need to cool it,” Jake scolds him in the family tent after dinner that night. “________ is a good girl, she’s trying to find her place. Can’t really do that if you’re gonna be a jerk to her all the time.” 

Lo’ak resists the urge to roll his eyes because, yet again, someone is sticking up for you, admonishing him about how he could be nicer, how he could take you under his wing, how he–

“What about me?” Lo’ak argues. “I tell her to leave me alone all the time, but she doesn’t listen. Why do I have to be nice to someone who doesn’t respect–”

“Cut the bullshit,” Jake thunders. “You haven’t even tried being her friend.” 

“Why should I?” Lo’ak counters. 

“Because maybe you two are more alike than you’d care to learn,” Jake says knowingly. “Now go apologize.” 

“Dad!” 

“Go, Lo’ak.” 

Lo’ak sucks in a deep breath before squeezing his eyes shut and blowing out through his nose. 

“Fine, fine, whatever,” he grumbles, ducking from the tent into the humid night air. 

He starts into the jungle, fingers brushing over the leaves and petals of the plants and flowers. He takes the moment to regulate his pounding heart in his chest before trying to wrack his brain for any words that he could scrounge into a believable apology. 

When he crosses the glowing waters of a skinny brook, something rustles nearby and his hand is on the hilt of his dagger in the blink of an eye. 

He turns to face the noise, knife drawn, but then you emerge and his body relaxes a fraction. 

“Fuck, ________, you scared me,” he sighs in relief. 

You fidget and swallow down the lump in your throat. 

“Sorry,” you say sheepishly. 

A brief silence dawns the two of you and Lo’ak notes that you’ve cleaned up from the evening meal’s debacle, now wearing a longer loincloth threaded with round pearlescent beads that refract the luminescence of the surrounding forest. 

Your grasp tightens around a leather bound journal and for a moment, he wonders what you could be writing about. 

When you follow his gaze, you shyly tuck the journal behind your back and give him an uneasy smile. 

“I wanted to–”

“I came to–”

Your words clash and you breathe a little laugh through your nose as you gaze at him with brilliant eyes. You start closing the distance and Lo’ak’s hands grow clammy. 

“You first,” you offer. 

Whatever threads of an apology he’d crafted in the moments prior have evaporated now that you stand before him, absolutely glowing. 

“Lo’ak?” Your head tilts and his cheeks warm. 

“Sorry,” he says hoarsely. “For what happened at dinner.” 

You shake your head quickly. 

“You don’t have to apologize,” you assure him, reaching out to touch him. 

He recoils, clearing his throat as he retreats to put an ample amount of distance between the two of you. 

You eye the berth and something shutters across your face as you rock back on your heels and flash him another uneasy smile. 

You haven’t even tried being her friend, his dad’s words echo like a call in the night. Maybe you two are more alike that you care to learn. 

Were you? You and Lo’ak were as different as they come, you molded by the love and adoration of the clan, him built up by the lessons and lectures he received from his parents and Neteyam. 

“Where are you going?” you ask, blowing by the previous conversation. 

He shrugs. 

“Dunno,” he admits. “I was looking for you.” 

The way you freeze is almost covert, your lips rolling as you try to hide the smile threatening to split your face. 

“Oh,” you hum. “Wanna go for a walk?” 

No, he wants to say. He absolutely does not want to spend anymore time with you than he has to. Likes to believe that he wouldn’t even bat an eye if he were to never see you again, but you’re looking at him expectantly and his dad’s words are like a mantra in his head, so he agrees begrudgingly. 

It’s awkward at first, silent except for the natural soundtrack of the vicarious jungle. But like you do so well, you break the silence and Lo’ak has to resist rolling his eyes for the third time that night. 

“What are your favorite colors?” you ask suddenly. 

“I dunno, green?” he offers. 

“Are you sure?” you laugh quietly. 

Lo’ak thinks a moment before nodding his head. 

“Yeah, green,” he finalizes. “And blue.” 

He barely notices that you’d fallen behind, and when he turns to look over his shoulder, he sees that you’re scratching something into your little journal. 

“And your favorite fruit?” you press, nose still between the pages. 

Lo’ak breathes out a laugh and your head shoots up. 

“What? You gonna send this list to the lab?” Lo’ak asks.

You give him a shy smile, shifting on your feet. 

“No,” you say softly, then whisper to yourself, “just compiling a list to win your heart.” 

Lo’ak barely hears you, ears twitching as his eyes narrow in confusion. 

“What?” he asks. 

You snap your notebook shut, shaking your head quickly as you pad through the grass to catch up to him. 

“Nothing.” 

Something ripples in the fabric after that night, you and Neteyam both notice when Lo’ak enters the training clearing the next afternoon and greets you with a nod instead of flat out ignoring your presence like he had the last training session. 

And you think that the moment is fleeting, a one off, but as the days progress, you realize that maybe Lo’ak is finally softening around you. 

He stays for entire lessons, the most minute of smiles twitching at his lips whenever you compliment his shots. He waits near the edge for you as you pack up your things, and while the walk back to the village is a quiet one, you bask in his company, triumphant when he doesn’t run off. 

And while your evening walks are few and far between, you savor the moments he affords you, wedging yourself between him the crumbling walls of his facade. 

Tonight is one of those moments, sitting on adjacent branches overlooking the lively forest, when Lo’ak lets you peek farther into his life than he’d originally intended. 

“He never understands,” he sighs, popping a few berries from his satchel past his lips. 

Tonight’s topic is his father and you listen intently, eyes fixed on the way he reclines on the branch and looks up at the stars. 

“I try hard, you know? To make everyone proud, but all they see is my failure,” he says, obviously annoyed. “No matter what I do, it’s not good enough.” 

“You do great things, Lo’ak,” you say quietly, the first words you’ve said all night. 

And like your voice is a reminder, Lo’ak’s spine goes rigid, throat bobbing as he realizes that he may have said too much to you. He’s getting too comfortable and you’re all the willing to absorb every insecurity and every worry he has. 

But something about quiet moments like these makes him loose-lipped, eyes fluttering to where you’ve got your notebook balanced in the seam of your thighs, scrawling something on the pages as you eat your own berries. 

The words are leaving him before he can stop them. 

“Easy for you to say,” he murmurs. “You’re perfect.” 

The laugh that escapes you startles him and a few of the berries he was about to devour slips from his fingers and plunk down the leaves.

“I’m not perfect,” you assure him. 

“Only someone who’s perfect would say that,” Lo’ak grumbles, peering over the edge of the branches to spot his fallen fruit. “The whole village loves you, everyone’s always so ready to bat for you.” 

You look down at the pages of your journal with a sad smile. 

“It’s a lot of pressure,” you admit quietly. “Everyone’s watching your every move, waiting for you to mess up.” 

Lo’ak shifts uncomfortably.

You continue. 

“And most of the villagers our age don’t like me,” you say, thumbing one of the pages. “They say I kiss ass, that I’m always trying to keep a leg up.” 

Lo’ak winces, knowing that he’s the source of at least one of those sentiments. 

“The elders think you’re honorable,” Lo’ak argues gently. “You’re talented, you have something to offer the people.” 

“Honor means nothing if you’re bound by it,” you say finally, closing the cover to your journal. “If anything, I want to be more like you.” 

“Like me?” Lo’ak asks incredulously, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 

You nod, smiling at him. 

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I think you’re brave, fearless. And even if you care what people think, you do what you want.”

Lo’ak is quiet, taken aback by your confession.

Before he can respond, you’re gathering your things, bidding him a warm farewell as you begin climbing down the tree to disappear into the night. 

After that night, you think that maybe you’re just imagining things, that you’re reading too much into the fact that Lo’ak has begun to finally act like you exist, but then Kiri says something and the hope sends your heart soaring. 

“Seems like he finally got his head out of his ass,” she says a few mornings later as you two stand near a shallow stream, eyes peeled for any fish you two could bring back to the village. 

“Think so?” you ask nervously, arrow trapping the flailing fish to the pebbles of the stream’s bed. 

Kiri shrugs. 

“He actually pays you mind now,” Kiri observes. “That’s a step up for sure. I think you just need to spend more time with him.” 

You smile, splashing through shallow waters to capture the fish and add it to the growing pile in the basket between you and the middle Sully. 

“Yeah?” you wonder

So you test the theory, basket filled with various peeled fruits and a little container of nectar you squeezed from the petals of a flower. 

It doesn’t take long to hunt him down. When you enter the training circle, he’s packing up his things, quiver strapped to his back and bow in his fist. 

Before you make yourself known, he’s turning on his heel to face you, eyes wild as he swallows down the lump in his throat. 

He’d be the last to admit that the last night you two spent together was branded in his brain, that his mouth had dried up so much so he felt his tongue could crack.

There were so many implications in your words and it horrified him, scared him so much that he knew he couldn’t let you that close again. 

But now you stand before him, pretty as can be, hopeful even, and he’s at a war with himself, absolutely caught between resenting you for being everything he’s not and giving into the draw. 

“Hi,” you greet, basket heavy in your hands. 

You look more radiant than usual, skirt brushing the forest floor, the woven vine of your top banded to expose your midriff. 

“Hey,” he replies hesitantly. 

“Where you going?” you ask curiously.

His throat bobs as he gestures behind him. 

“Hunting,” is all he says.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” you ask eagerly.

He doesn’t. He shouldn’t. Because things are shifting and he’s not sure if he’ll be able to stomach the change. If he’ll be able to admit to himself that you’re wearing him thin, that you make him feel things he’s never felt before and that it makes him feel like he has no control. 

Because when it boils down to it, you make him lose control, make him lose his filter, and make him feel every emotion twice as hard. 

“No,” he says.

And in that moment, you feel like you’re back at square one, watching as his eyes turn stony and his jaw sets firmly. 

“You shouldn’t go hunting on your own,” you say softly. “Will someone be with you?” 

“It’s fine,” he argues. “I’m fine.” 

“I can go with you!” you offer. “I thought maybe we could sit by the stream and talk, but we can go hunting instead. We can–” 

“No,” he says again, pinning you with eyes so lethal, it makes you wonder if you really had imagined the moments you shared with him, if you had imagined Kiri telling you that she saw it too. 

You try again anyways. 

“It’ll be good practice and–”

“I said no, ________,” he barks. “You’re dead weight and I want to be alone.” 

Your lips seal and you bite the inside of your cheek. 

Lo’ak could nearly scream in frustration when he notices the way your shoulders sag and it makes something in his heart cinch. 

“Okay,” you agree, nodding quickly. “Be safe and–”

The words die on your tongue when you notice the look of annoyance on Lo’ak’s face. 

Lo’ak is in deep shit, you come to find out hours later. 

You sit outside of the training circle, knowing that Lo’ak will return down the path after his hunting trip. What you don’t expect, however, is Jake and Neytiri emerging with the entire line of Sully kids and Spider.

Jake grips the back of Lo’ak’s neck tightly as they march past wandering eyes, straight to the family tent. You don’t miss his wounds though, varying in depth, some bleeding, some sore. 

You’re hot on their heels, standing right outside of the entrance as Jake tears into the middle Sully. 

“Time and time again, I have to get on your ass for doing the complete opposite of what I ask you to do!” Jake’s voice is thunderous inside the tent. “Do you not realize that you not only risked your life but your sisters’ too?”

There’s a beat of silence before Jake continues, obviously pacing from the way his volume fluctuates. 

“And what were you thinking bringing Tuk? She’s nine, Lo’ak!” he shouts, the anger and the hurt evident in his tone. 

“I’m sorry,” Lo’ak mumbles. 

“Yeah, I bet you are!” Jake scolds. “I don’t ask for much. All I want is for you stay in line. Just stay out of trouble and work hard on your training. I paired you with ________ and Neteyam in hopes that maybe you’ll tighten up and be more like them, but you’re always disappointing me.” 

You frown. 

Whatever Lo’ak had done probably didn’t warrant such deep admonishment and something tugs especially hard at your heartstrings knowing that all he wants to do is make his dad proud. 

“You’re surrounded by good influences, but you always have to go against the grain, Lo’ak,” Jake says, the edge in his tone softening. “I’m getting tired of the bullshit, son. You need to clean up your act. Hear me?” 

“Yes sir,” Lo’ak says quietly, voice almost a whisper behind the hide of the tent. 

“Now go get yourself cleaned up,” Jake huffs. 

Your spine is straightening when you hear foot steps closing in, holding your breath as the flap to the tent billows open and Lo’ak is emerging.

His eyes flit to yours and his expression sours further. 

“Lo’ak,” you murmur, reaching out to him. 

He’s shrugging you away, wincing when a wound on his shoulder stretches especially taut. 

“You’re hurt,” you say quietly. “I’ll–”

“Leave me alone,” he says, eerily level. 

“But you’re–”

“I said leave me alone, ________,” he warns, pushing past you in what should be the pursuit of his grandmother’s quarters.

Instead he’s making a beeline for the jungle. 

You’d seen the look in his eye before he stonewalled you, seen the hurt and heaviness that most people didn’t seem to notice because he was always so adventurous and carefree. 

You follow after him. 

“Lo’ak, you know he’s only worried for you,” you try to reason gently, fingers reaching for his own as you duck under massive leaves and fluttering insects. 

He whirls to face you, swatting your hand away. 

“Don’t fucking touch me,” he bites. “You don’t know anything.” 

You swallow, holding your hand to your chest as you watch him lay down every brick to wall himself off. 

He hates it. He hates how you look at him, how you seem to pity the life he has to live. It makes him sick, thinking that you two have it the same. He’d rather be hated for being great than hated for being a let down. It’s insulting, how you think you know how it feels. 

“Let’s go back. I’ll wrap your wounds and–”

“Of course, clan’s golden girl is gonna patch me up and make it all better, huh?” he seethes facetiously. “Just fuck off!” 

You flinch, blinking at the boy you holds so much rage in front of you. 

“I know you’re hurting, but you don’t have to be mean,” you whisper, taking in a shuddering breath to will yourself not to cry. 

“Mean? Mean?” Lo’ak bristles. “I’ve tried telling you to lay off nicely, tried telling you to just leave me alone, but you don’t listen. You just pry and overstep and you make every little thing about you! Oh, it’s so much pressure, villagers our age hate me, of course they would! You already have everything and just have to go rub salt in the wound!” 

You shrink, eyes welling as your lip trembles. 

“Lo’ak, stop,” you whimper. 

“We’re not friends, ________.We never were and we never will because I don’t like you,” he spits. “Now please, for the love of god, will you just leave me alone!” 

The forest is silent save for Lo’ak’s ragged breathing, fists clenched as he glares down at you. 

“I-” Your breath hitches and you choke out an apology. “I’m sorry.” 

Lo’ak’s heart softens a fraction as you take a step back, turning quickly on your heel. 

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” you rasp, tripping over your own feet as you stumble into a run, putting as much space as you can between you and the middle child who stands in the middle of the forest, unable to wrangle every harsh word he’d said to force back down his throat. 

You dropped your journal. 

Lo’ak is sure you’re looking for it, know that you’ve always got your nose stuck in it. You had dropped it running off and now he has its leather bound in his hands. 

It’s been a couple of nights since the faithful evening he’d blown his top and he’d only seen whispers of you. It was so unlike you to disappear, to not be entertaining the masses as they fell to your feet. 

He’d cooled off significantly, and when he replayed the conversation in his head, he winced, body folding in on itself as he realizes how harsh he’d been. 

“Are you actually thinking thoughts?” Spider claps him on the shoulder, startling him so badly he drops the journal. 

It lands spine down, the pages fluttering open. 

He chances a peek before Spider is rounding his lithe figure to pick up the notebook. All he makes out is a rough sketch. 

“You write?” Spider asks, intrigued. 

“No, it’s ________’s,” Lo’ak answers. 

“Oh, your little girlfriend’s?” 

Lo’ak gives the human a cross look, snatching the book from his grasp as he stands up.

“Trouble in paradise?” Spider pries, scurrying to keep up with Lo’ak’s long strides. 

A beat of silence before Lo’ak finally answers. 

“Made her cry,” he mumbles, embarrassed. 

Spider winces behind him. 

“You serious?” 

Lo’ak sighs. 

“Yes, dude, fuck,” he breathes, hand coming to the back of his neck. “I don’t know what came over me. Dad was ripping me a new one and Neteyam already chewed me out before they got there and she was being annoying, so I just…” 

“Bro,” Spider scoffs in disbelief, scratching the back of his head. “You’re a real dickhead sometimes.” 

Lo’ak’s eyes wander as he shifts uncomfortably, feeling incredibly small as his friend glares up at him. 

“I mean, I told her I wanted to be left alone!” Lo’ak tries to defend weakly. “I- I didn’t mean to.” 

“She likes you a lot, dude,” Spider reiterates. “She just wants you to like her back.” 

Despite the glaring signs, Lo’ak has trouble believing that your feelings for him far surpass charity work. They couldn’t, it was impossible. Because at the end of the day, you’re you and he’s…him. 

He opens his mouth to say something, but Spider beats him to it.

“Did you at least apologize?” 

Lo’ak squirms.

“Dude!” 

“Look, I know, I know,” he tries to assuage the situation. 

“________ is literally the sweetest girl in the entire clan you just–“ 

“I get it, bro, I get it!” Lo’ak huffs. 

“Get your head out of your ass,” Spider says. “She might not stick around long enough for you to realize.” 

“Realize what?” Lo’ak snaps. 

“Are you really gonna play stupid right now?” 

He blinks at the human. 

“You like ________,” Spider says matter-of-factly. “You always have, ever since we were kids.” 

“Oh, piss off,” Lo’ak grumbles.

“Dude, you’re literally my best friend, but I sometimes I wanna shove my foot so far up your–”

“I do not like ________,” Lo’ak says sharply. 

“Everyone sees it but you, dipshit,” Spider scoffs. “You like her, but you’re scared. She’s perfect and she intimidates you. Think she’s gonna see you for what you really are and turn her back on you like everyone else does when you fuck up, but she’s not like that, Lo’ak. She’s been there whether you like it or not. But she might not always.” 

Lo’ak swallows down the knot in his throat, fingers tightening around the notebook. 

“Everything clicking?” Spider asks knowingly. 

Lo’ak throws him a final narrowed glare before stalking off. 

It’s Lo’ak’s birthday and just like every orbit, he spends it alone in the forest.

At first, he’d been burdened with the weight of hurting your feelings, but now his conversation with Spider weighs heavy on him as he climbs dirt walkways and flowered paths. 

It doesn’t help that your notebook weighs heavy in his satchel, a silent reminder that he still has a piece of you while you cling to his peace of mind. 

I think you’re brave, fearless. They’re the words you uttered to him that fateful night you turned the reality of you two on its axis. 

As he splices all the moments you two shared like a reel, he realizes that it’s endless. That you’re always there, you’d always been there, like a layer of impenetrable atmosphere surrounding him. 

He really should apologize, he knows this much, but you’ve disappeared like a wisp of smoke. Training sessions have returned to a sibling affair and he’s too prideful to ask about you. 

It’s almost eclipse when he begins making his way back for the evening meal, knowing that a scolding will await if he arrives even a minute late. 

After what had happened with you, he was lying low, trying to diminish his blip from the radar.

As he closes in on the village’s main circle, he notes that it’s quiet. A little too quiet. It puts him on edge, makes him draw his bow and feel around for an arrow in his quiver. 

A few more paces and he’s broken into the clearing, a few stragglers milling about. Another half a dozen steps and it’s like the forest melts into a celebration, whorls of blue pouring into the circle as villagers begin trilling. 

Lo’ak is hoisted into the air as the dying fire in the center of the camp begins to slowly roar. 

“Happy birthday, baby bro!” Neteyam caws loudly as they begin jostling him into the air, chanting and dancing as the dense crowd of clanspeople celebrate him.

It’s like time slows as he peers from side to side eagerly, seeing the way Spider, Kiri and Tuk dance happily among his people. Jake and Neytiri stand near the fire, smiles wide when they see the look of awe on their middle son’s face. 

When he’s finally set on his feet, he wobbles, childlike as he turns, taking in the glowing streamers that crisscross between the tents. Flowers of green and blue thread through the vines, gleaming like lamplight as the forest buzzes around them. 

“Wha– What is all this?” Lo’ak croaks in disbelief, eyes flitting wildly as he notices Norm and Max standing next to a table they’d hauled from the pod to the circle, piled high with meats and vegetables wrapped in leaves. 

A platter of yovo fruits, his favorite, are at the center, surrounded by a painted sign with his name and the handprints of dozens of villagers on it. 

“You survived another orbit!” Neteyam laughs heartily, head-locking the younger boy before roughly digging his knuckles into the top of his head. 

A laugh bubbles from Lo’ak’s lips, swatting his brother away as villagers and clan members he’d grown up with approach him one by one to greet him. 

As the night progresses, he doesn’t even realize he’s searching until your mother approaches and his spine goes rigid, cheeks warming under her piercing gaze. 

“From my ________,” she says, setting a pouch into his palms. “She toiled over these for many eclipses. Please take care.” 

Lo’ak’s nod is delayed as his satchel shifts on his shoulders, a dull reminder that your journal still remains with him, begging to be read. 

“Where– Where is she?” he asks suddenly, feeling your absence all the more now that your gift sits in the palm of his hand. 

“My daughter does not feel well,” your mother says simply. “She wished to be excused from the festivities.” 

His chest feels hollow, stomach tight as his cheeks burn. You’d mentioned this to him, all those days ago in the training circle, about wanting to celebrate with him. 

His eyes flit to the flowers looped through the vines, the mountain of yovo fruits, the gift in his hands. He doesn’t want to be presumptuous. Doesn’t want to fuel the tiniest ember of hope in chest, but he can’t help it. 

He can’t help but read into it, into the implications of this celebration you’d planned all for him, into every word you uttered to him in the quiet of the forest’s chirping. 

It’s all it takes for him to lock himself in his own head. The feast melts into the background, dull, as his eyes cut the crowd for you. 

You have to be here, gotta be hanging around the outskirts silently. The idea taunts him, makes his gut twist hard as images of you dancing in the circle, singing to him, celebrating him, loving him—

Lo’ak freezes, blinking incredulously at the thought that’d just crossed his brain. It makes him queasy, makes the regret and the guilt gnaw at every nerve ending as your crying face flashes like an unwanted slideshow in his brain. 

It’s all he can think about as the festivities die, as villagers begin turning in the for the night and he helps his family clean up the aftermath of another orbit finally finished. 

Spider helps Tuk and Neteyam near the fire, and as Lo’ak moves through the motions like he’s caught in a tide, Kiri watches, knowing all too well what consumes her brother’s mind. 

It isn’t until Lo’ak is shrouded by the stillness of the early morning, his family tucked in their tent, bodies and limbs splayed as they sleep together, that he sits in a swinging hammock, your journal and the pouch in his lap. 

It feels wrong, the way he thumbs the cover, working up the courage to turn it open. But Ewya, fate, would have never left it in his wake if it wasn’t meant to be read.

As his finger ghosts the etchings of the front cover, worn and loved by you, something tickles his leg as he admires the leather. He blinks in disbelief when he sees a singular woodsprite resting against his thigh. 

Before he loses his nerve, he’s opening the pages with bated breath. 

Recipes, nature notes, short thoughts fill the sheets and Lo’ak feels like he’s reading into your brain, seeing all the little things no one bothers to know. 

he is like the sun,

shines so bright,

but burns the closer you get. 

Lo’ak’s pointer finger glosses over the ink, over your curly handwriting. 

he is so incredible, but he doesn’t even know it. i want to shout it to every creature in the forest, every tree and every flower. oh, how i wish to be as fearless as him. 

His chest heaves as the words blur. 

Fearless. 

Fearless. 

Fearless. 

In this moment, he feels everything but. He feels like a coward. 

He continues to flip, throat lodged as he sees drawings, both rough sketches and full renderings. He hadn’t even known that you liked to draw, yet here he was, observing his home through your artistic eye. 

Flowers, leaves, trees, creatures, insects, fruits mar the stained papers, etched like it’d been caught in real time. 

likes green and blue. 

likes yovo fruits. 

The entry from the day you’d first walked with him through the forest. 

When he turns the page, his breath hitches. 

In full color, you’d captured his bullseye from your first training session. His back taut from the release, expression shaded stoic. He looked mighty, like the strongest warrior, and it was all through your eyes. 

Lo’ak doesn’t even realize he’s crying until the bullseye in the illustration bleeds from a fallen tear. Another one drips from his chin, then another. 

The next page is the night you two had poured your hearts out to each other. Again, in full color, he’s watching the stars. You don’t leave out the glow of the freckles that smatter his face and body, don’t miss the smile that plays at his lips as he quietly points out that his dad had come from a star. 

He flips again and different iterations and designs for what seems like jewelry litters the pages, shaded with different colors of blue and green, marked with varying notes, x’s marking through ideas you didn’t like. 

Lo’ak remembers the pouch, sitting untouched in his lap, and his shaky fingers undo the ties. He shakes the contents on the flat of the notebook and the most intricate beadwork fits into the crease. 

His eyes widen as he picks up the necklace in a trembling hand, the eclipsing sun catching the etching in the flat stones. 

Four five-fingered hands and four four-fingered ones, each separated by jewels scavenged and cleaned from the bed of the glowing river. 

A small scroll flutters from the pouch and Lo’ak chokes back as sob as he unrolls the hide. 

Happy Birthday, Lo’ak. I am always grateful to know someone like you. May your next orbit be filled with endless blessings from Ewya and may you see yourself how I see you. 

You see him, he realizes. You’re his supporter, a silent force that consumes every insecurity and swallows every doubt. You believe in him more than he believes in himself. 

He stands from the hammock and runs. 

You’re sitting in the same tree the two of you had rested in the night you’d confided in Lo’ak, watching as the sun eclipses and begins to light up the sparkling forest.

Something rustles and you sit up, hand on the hilt of your dagger as you search the area for movement.

As your eyes lock on the source, you almost wish it had been a beast coming to devour you whole. But as Lo’ak climbs the branches of the tree quickly, you feel the dread begin to solidify in your veins. 

You take your satchel, hanging from a nearby branch and sling it over your shoulder, pulling your shawl over your head to prepare for your escape. 

“________, wait,” he chokes breathlessly. “Please.” 

You feel like crying all over again, feel so unbelievably stupid thinking that Lo’ak would ever see you the way that you see him. 

You pause a beat as he settles on the branch across from yours, chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. 

Something glints in the sun and your eyes widen when you see that Lo’ak has fastened the necklace you made him around his neck, right above the the leather chain that holds his beloved claw charm. 

“You’re wearing it,” you whisper, lips twitching into a frown as you try your best to keep your tears at bay. 

“I’m sorry, ________,” Lo’ak apologizes hoarsely. “Fuck, you don’t understand how sorry I am.” 

The tears well on their own. 

We’re not friends. We never were and we never will. 

The words haunt you like a broken record and you shake your head, moving from your perch to move down the branches. 

“Wait, wait,” Lo’ak pleads. “Please don’t go, I–”

“I hate you,” you whisper. “I hate you, Lo’ak.” 

He freezes, watching as you balance on a branch below. 

“I tried so hard to be your friend,” you whimper, angrily wiping away your tears. “You’re amazing. You’re strong, and you’re fearless, and you are everything I want to be, but you’re heartless.” 

Lo’ak lets out a shuddering breath, a chill running down his spine as you look up at him like he’d smashed every star in the sky. 

“I wanted to be with you, you know?” you let out a watery laugh. “I hoped that maybe if I stuck it out, you’d see how much I cared, how badly I wanted to be with you, even if it was from a distance.” 

“I do, _________, I do!” he argues. 

He hadn’t always, but he sees it now. He sees you. 

You shake your head again.

“You don’t,” you sigh, voice trembling. “It’s my fault anyways. You were right. You told me to leave you alone and I was being too much.” 

“Stop–”

“Let this be the last time,” you assure him. “Let’s just– Let’s pretend we never met.”

“No, _________. Wait!” 

You’re climbing down the tree and disappearing into the brush and, like a fleck of ash, you’re disintegrating into nothingness. 

Most people think he’s being moody, that he’s just been scolded by his father or older brother, but Neytiri knows better. 

She sees the way her son has changed over the course of the past few weeks. She knows there is a great burden that he carries, but much like her beloved and her eldest, he suffers in silence. 

“Maitan,” she says quietly, brushing a braid from his face as he folds the leaves around a chunk of steaming meat. 

Lo’ak pauses almost imperceptibly, but continues his task. 

It isn’t like him to stay home and work with Neytiri. If anything, he’d be the first one out of the tent, Tuk, Spider, and Kiri tailing after him as they galavant through the endless forest. 

“Something weighs heavy in your heart,” she tries again, hand coming over his. 

Lo’ak stops and leans back, unable to meet his mother’s searching gaze. 

“I hurt someone,” he says quietly. 

Neytiri stiffens.

“What?” 

“I hurt someone I care about,” Lo’ak admits. You’d called him fearless, strong. He needed to live by your word. “I hurt her and I don’t know how to fix it.” 

“Oh, Lo’ak,” she murmurs, squeezing his hand gently. 

Her face has softened as she takes in his stony expression. 

“My son, some things cannot be fixed,” she says honestly. “But all things require great effort. Sometimes those efforts will fall through, but that is the natural order of life.” 

Lo’ak swallows. 

“Whoever this special person is, if you have hurt her, she deserves the full effort of your heart, no?” 

You do, he knows you do. You deserve every last effort. But a niggling streak of insecurity tells him that you don’t deserve someone like him. You don’t deserve someone who takes your affections for granted. You deserve someone who will love you with every breath, who will love you fearlessly. 

“I really messed things up, Mom,” Lo’ak says quietly. “I don’t…” 

Neytiri’s hand comes to Lo’ak chest. 

“The night I first met your father, Ewya gave me sign,” she says. “He has a pure, strong heart. You do too.” 

Lo’ak swallows. 

“Be brave, Maitan,” she says. “Sometimes that is enough.” 

Lo’ak’s fingers hurt from picking berries.

His cuticles bleed, pricked by the thorns of the fruit’s bush. Kiri hums beside him, weaving a little bag out of ropes of thin vines. 

“You’re not gonna help me?” he whines. 

“Why should I help you with your mess?” 

You look beautiful under the glow of the evening meal’s crackling fire. It’s the first time you’ve emerged since before Lo’ak’s birthday feast and you’re being flocked by elders and villagers, wishing you well and asking about your supposed ailment. 

He sits across the fire, fists tight as he searches for a lull in the crowd. 

Spider snickers next to him, devouring the contents of his plate like he’s starved, watching Lo’ak’s useless pining like a show. 

Be brave. 

He’s standing to his feet before he can back out, crossing the circle to approach you. The villagers watch like they know something he doesn’t and the nerves are eating away at him as he steps into your space. 

You look up from your conversation with a girl your age, the smile slipping from your lips. 

“Can we talk?” Lo’ak asks, eyes wandering to watch the way everyone watches him. 

You remain jaded.

“Now’s not a good time,” you say quietly and a few onlookers snicker in the background. “________,” Lo’ak tries again. 

You stare up at him, the shadow of the fire dancing over your features as you seemingly look right through him. It’s humiliating, the way you remain seated and watch him fidget, but he figures he deserves the cold shoulder after months, years of casting you to the side. 

“Let’s go?” you ask the girl, nodding your head over your shoulder. 

The girl chances a glance between you and Lo’ak, noticing the telltale sign of your work etched into the stones of the choker he hadn’t taken off since his birthday. 

She gives him a sympathetic smile as she follows after you. 

He’s going to have to try a lot harder than he has, he realizes as your birthday looms right around the corner. The next eclipse, in fact. 

He’s losing hope, losing courage, but he can’t give up on you two just yet. 

He makes sure the berries he picked the days prior are packed tightly in his bag, the lid to the nectar fastened, and his present wrapped nicely. 

It’s his last hope, his last shot to make things right. 

Spider, Tuk, and Neytiri surround him, Neteyam and Jake off on a hunt. 

They’d all been privy to the fact, aiding him in his endeavors as he organized his final grapple with your heart. 

“Kiri said she’ll bring her right before eclipse,” Spider says, peeking from the flap of the tent. “That’s in, like, minutes.” 

Lo’ak is nervous. Doesn’t know what he’ll do if he loses you for good, but he knows he has to give it his best effort. It’s the least you deserve. 

Be brave. Sometimes that is enough. 

Lo’ak glances at his mom and she gives him a warm smile, ruffling his braids. 

“You are the son of Toruk Makto,” she assures him, pinching his cheek. “There is nothing you cannot do.” 

The words are carved into his brain as he rushes through the forest, the the stream that the curls and bends through the forest. It glows beautifully at night and that is his final push. 

“Wait, give me like three seconds, I left something.” Kiri’s voice is muffled behind the trees. 

“Huh?” Lo’ak sees the way your head tilts through an opening in the foliage. 

“I’ll only be a second!” 

“Wait, Kiri!” 

Kiri is running straight for him, comes barreling through the bushes, and continues down the path. 

“Good luck, egghead!”

Lo’ak takes in a final breath to quell the tremor in his hands before ducking through the bushes to reveal himself. 

You’re sitting on the embankment, on a woven mat that Kiri had laid out for you two, decorative vines edging the seams. 

“Oh, you were–”

You peer over your shoulder and your expression falls. 

“Lo’ak…” 

“Happy birthday, ________,” he breathes. 

You don’t look amused, slinging your bag over you shoulder as you rise to your feet. 

“Kiri and I are hanging out,” you tell him. 

He scratches the back of his head. 

“I…I had Kiri bring you here because I knew that you wouldn’t come with me if I asked,” he admits. “And of course, I don’t blame you, but I– I just really need to talk to you.” 

You bite the inside of your cheek, unable to look him in his eyes as he draws nearer. 

“Just give me some time, please,” he pleads. 

You finally meet his gaze, searching his eyes as he looks down at you earnestly. 

You give him the tiniest nod, reluctantly shedding your satchel to reassume your seat on the mat. 

The waters rush gently, like a song as Lo’ak lowers himself next to you.

His palms are clammy as he fidgets in his seat, the scent of herbs and flowers wafting from your dewy skin. He can’t bring himself to look at you, afraid that every sentiment he’d crafted in the hours of the night will escape him, so he watches the bubbling of the stream. 

“Well?” you whisper, like you don’t want to shatter the fragile sheath of peace that layers you. 

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “I know I’ve said it already, but I really am, ________.” 

“I know,” you murmur and his gaze flits to yours. “Even if you don’t act like it, you have a good heart, Lo’ak. You feel everything, even the things you don’t want to.” 

He swallows.

“I didn’t mean it,” he says carefully. “I was mad and I took it out on you. That wasn’t fair.” 

You sit silently, knees hugged to your chest. Your cheek rests against your knee, watching Lo’ak with seeing eyes. It makes him trip over his words. 

“My whole life, I’ve always been compared to Neteyam,” he says. “The entire village would whisper about me and how I was nothing like the mighty warrior.” 

When he glances at you, he notices your fingers twitch, like you want to reach out to him. 

He squashes his fears and turns to face you, five-fingered hand coming up to thread with your four. You watch the union, uncertainty obvious in the way you tense, but Lo’ak squeezes. 

“And then when we started growing up, you were just another person I had to live up to,” Lo’ak whispers. “You’re perfect, ________. You’re kind, and you’re smart, talented. You’re everything I’m not and it made me hate you.” 

You shrink, but Lo’ak pulls you towards him, hand coming up to brush your cheek. 

“But you’re all of that and more,” he continues, the words gushing like a river. “You’re always there, you support me and you defend me and see things I don’t.” 

You become shy under his gaze because for the first time, he’s seeing you. He’s seeing you for every single thing you’ve been to him and it makes your stomach knot. 

“I have something to tell you,” he says. “Please don’t be mad at me.” 

Your gaze is soft, palm still in his as he turns and reaches into the bag he discarded next to him. Your eyes widen when he produces your notebook, edges curled the slightest as he hands it to you. 

“My journal,” you say, taking it from him quickly. “I’ve been looking for this. Why- Why do you have it?” 

He looks guilty, lips rolling as he avoids your gaze. 

“Did you…” 

“I wasn’t going to,” he admits. “But there were woodsprites and I knew it was a s–”

“Lo’ak this is private,” you murmur incredulously. “Why would you read this?” 

“How long, ________?” he asks quietly, grip on your hand tightening. 

“Lo’ak, don’t–”

“How long?” he presses desperately. 

Your eyes are watering, like that wicked night all over again and Lo’ak begs Eywa for the final push. 

“Since we were ten,” you whisper brokenly. “It was my first performance and it was so stupid, but I was throwing up because I was nervous and you talked me through it.” 

Lo’ak is stunned, the memory like the faintest of outlines. 

“We didn’t even know each other that well,” you hiccup. “But you patted me on the back and you gave me this–”

You pull your fingers from his grasp and flip the journal to the last page, revealing a hidden pocket. Your nimble fingers pull a tattered string, the remnants of a vine, threaded with wilted flower petals, preserved from being pressed inside your notebook.

“You said that they made you make it during lessons,” you say, breath hitching. “That it’d be my good luck.” 

He’d forgotten all about the memory completely, too caught up in driving whatever wedge he could between you two, building up walls to seal you out. 

“And you kept it this whole time?” he asks, face scrunched in disbelief. 

“I’d hold on to anything you give me,” you admit in defeat. “Heartbreak included.” 

He lets out a shaky breath. 

“________, I’m so sorry,” he repeats, hand coming up to your neck. “You have to know that. I’m really fucking stupid, but if you give us a shot, I won’t mess it up.” 

Your hand comes up to his wrist, crumpling as you bow your head. 

“Don’t do this to me,” you beg, moving to break away from him. 

“Please.” 

His hold tightens, other hand twining with yours. 

“If I…if I give myself to you, I’m giving you everything,” you say hesitantly. “If you break this, you break me. I don’t think I can come back from this.” 

Lo’ak presses his forehead to yours, breath warm against your lips as he searches your gaze for any semblance of hope. 

“This is me being fearless, ________,” he whispers. 

You melt, pressing your lips to his tentatively. He’s frozen for the shortest of moments before relenting, pushing up onto his knees to deepen the kiss. 

He’s cradling your face and your hands are wandering and Lo’ak can’t help but think he could get used to loving you. 

To being loved by you. 

BONUS

“I was gonna give it to you on your birthday,” Lo’ak says sheepishly a few nights later under the stars. “But, you know…” 

Your usual place among the branches of the looming trees have a lot of memories both bitter and sweet, but you suppose you could make new ones. 

“You don’t have to give me anything,” you say sweetly, tail swishing to wrap around his ankle. “You’re all I need.” 

Lo’ak doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to your saccharine words if the pounding in his chest is anything to go by. 

His hands are shaky as he pushes the hide towards you, a bow made of vine tied neatly around the gift. 

“Wanted to,” he says simply, moving the hair from you face to see your reaction better. “Open it.” 

You’re gentle with the present, like you are with most things, but eager to see what he’d gotten you. 

A tiny gasp falls from your lips when you finally see it, wide eyes meeting his as you free the jars of paints he’d mashed up, the brushes he fashioned, and the brand new journal he bound himself. 

“Lo’ak, wow…” 

“So you can paint me more,” he says, then adds timidly. “Or maybe us. Maybe you could paint us.” 

an — holy shit guys, this was such a big project for me because i really wanted to dive into so many different things in this fic. to everyone who was waiting patiently, thank you sososo much. as usual, i took a lot of creative liberties with this one, but i hope you guys enjoyed nonetheless! although requests are paused for me to catch up, like always, if you wanna chat with me about literally anything, my askbox is open. lots of love hehehe :) xx

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neng © 2023

taglist: @nao-cchi , @jkiminpark , @philiasoul @amart-e , @s-u-t , @netesbby , @tayswiftlovebot , @dumb-fawkin-bitch , @ewackmn

[bbyquokka]

fizzy pop

– yn has a habit of bottling up their emotions, chan comforts them & explains the importance of communicating about feelings/emotions.

pairing | bang chan x gender neutral reader

genre | angst w comfort – 18+ is strongly advised!

cw | established relationship, mental health (low moods, low/no motivation, lose of interest in hobbies/things), pet names.

words | 2k ~ ( 2,042 )

notes | idk why but i've been putting off on posting this for months, maybe bc im nervous 🤔 don’t forget to leave feedback, reblog and tell me what you think here. i hope you all enjoy! ‹3

m.list — wips list — you can also read it on my ao3

dont repost. dont translate. minors, ageless & default blogs; dni! feedback and reblogs are highly advised and appreciated!

it's just another day. another day of just being there. another day of feeling like you have no purpose in life except to please others. another day of wondering “what is the purpose of me being here?” you fake smiles, say you're "ok" because saying how you actually feel is exhausting.

aside from it feeling exhausting, you also don't want to draw attention to yourself and when you do speak, you feel stupid for doing so, so you keep it all in, bottle it up until it's too much for you to handle. some days you wonder why you even bother to get out off bed.

is it because of the birds you hear outside? the sun's heat that you want to feel on your skin? could it be the laughter and chitter chatter of others? or maybe you want to hear the rain on the leaves–who knows. all you know is that everyday is the same and it's tiring.

the days merge into one. what day is it even? monday? tuesday? oh wait, it's saturday morning. time doesn't exist anymore. in your mind you see no point in getting up out of bed because again, what's the point? 

so why is it that your boyfriend is gently shaking you, asking, no, begging you to get up.

“darlin'. please get up.” chan whispers as he gently shakes you by the shoulders. you sigh deeply, a tired sigh that causes chan to swallow and his suspicions to come to light.

you pull the duvet over your head, body curled in a small and fragile ball. the curtains are still drawn providing darkness despite the morning rays that wish to peak inside. 

chan has been up since the crack of dawn. he has showered, made breakfast and managed to get dressed. he gave you some extra time to sleep in because he knows you're not a morning person but when the number nine on his watch turned to twelve and you're still not up and out, does he grow concerned.

he's had his suspicions for a while. he's noticed how defeated you sound. how there is little to no energy in the words you speak. he's tried everything to cheer you up, thinking, hoping you were just having an off day. but that off day turned into an off week which slowly, but surely, turned into an off month.

you lost your passion for being creative, lost the will to make anything which you despise. being creative is one of the many pleasures you have in life, to be able to make something and share your creations with others is exhilarating but when you feel like this, your mood turns bitter and cold towards everything you do which results in you resenting everything you create.

you lost the energy to speak to people. to pick up the phone and just talk. you're not deliberately ignoring nor trying to be difficult but keeping conversations flowing is just too hard right now and when you think they're giving you the same energy back do you feel so guilty. 

what have i done to deserve this? why am i forced to feel like this. you find yourself questioning everything late at night. your head loud as soon as it hits the pillow and no amount of music you blast down your ears can silence those thoughts.

everything is so exhausting. everything is the same. you just want to disappear whether that be for a few days or forever, you're not quite sure, but certain people around you wont allow that to happen. they are keeping you afloat, head above water. you desperately and silently wish they never let you go, no matter how hard you fight and push them away.

“baby, please.” chan's words dripped with desperation. his knees on the bed behind you as he kneels causing the mattress to dip. his hands on your shoulders gently as his eyes bore into the duvet, burning holes into it until he is burning holes into you. tears threaten to spill down his soft cheeks as he becomes increasingly worried for you.

“chan..“ you whisper, your words shaking. “please.. leave me alone.” 

he swallows. those three last words he hates to hear. now he is left in a difficult position. should he do as you say and leave you? leave you to fester and rot in your own thoughts and feelings. watch you melt into the mattress and become nothing but a lifeless shell. or should he force himself, force you to acknowledge him. show you, tell you that's it's going to be ok–even if you don't believe him in the beginning.

but this is chan and you know more than anyone how stubborn chan can be.

“lets go take a shower yn, together! and maybe we can go out and get lunch at that café you love so much?”

silence. 

“or how about we go to that art shop! pick up those water colours you've been eyeing up for months?”

silence.

“ok well, what about some new cloth–”

“chan please!” you snap, causing him to jump. “what part of leave me alone don't you understand?!”

you don't mean to sound harsh and you hope chan doesn't take it to heart. the last thing you want is to hurt the one person you adore so much. luckily, chan knows you don't mean it but it doesn't hurt him any less.

“all of it.” he softly speaks. you feel the weight being lifted up off the mattress and footsteps against the wood flooring before the bedroom door squeaks open at the hinges.

your heart breaks. hot angry tears finally being set free and rolling down the bridge of your nose and cheeks, soaking into the material of your pillow. you sob, curling up into a ball even more as your heart aches in your chest. you grip onto the pillow as you silently cry out for chan, thinking he has completely left you alone.

but you did ask for it so why do you feel so guilty?

the duvet gets pulled back from you, the cold air hitting your hot and sweaty skin. the mattress dips once again as an arm snakes over your midriff. chest being pressed against your back as chan spoons you.

“don't cry, darlin'. i'm here, your channie is here.” his soft words provide you with a sense of comfort and an indescribable feeling of warmth as well as relief. his hand strokes your soft stomach, his lips kissing your neck so tenderly you worry that he isn't really there. 

“c-chan…” you sob through your words as a way of confirmation. you can't breathe, the pain of everything that's built up over the past months is making it impossible for you to breathe. your mind fogs over as your chest heaves up and down.

you struggle to take breaths as tears stream down your face. your pillow becomes soaked with your tears. chan strokes your unwashed hair gently, hushing you and singing softly to help ground you.

“sh sh sh. you're ok, you're safe.” he whispers.

“sorry! i'm sorry!” you repeat over and over again in your fits of tears. chan continues to hush you, noticing that it's not working so he gently rolls you over to face him and pulls you into his naked chest. 

the warmth and softness of his skin calms you down in an instant. his natural scent hugs your nostrils and sinks into your heart, soothing your heartbeat as well as your mind. you grip onto him, desperately trying to cling onto something before resulting in wrapping your arms around him tightly. 

he gives you a bear hug. arms around your shoulders gently, fingers raking and massaging your scalp. his chest wet with tears as he continues to hush you through your episode.

there isn't much he can do when you're crying like this except wait. wait for it to pass–and it does, fifteen minutes later.

“better?” he gently asks. you peer up at him to notice that his own cheeks are wet with a few tears slowly falling.

“you're crying..” you whisper as you reach up and wipe the tears away. chan laughs softly before leaning into your touch. “why?”

“because it pains me to see you like this, my love.” that guilt comes back, settling in your stomach and wrapping itself around your heart, like black fog. you look down, tears falling from your lower lash line.

“sorry..” you mumble.

“hey.” chan unwraps his arms from you to gently lift up your head. “it hurts because i can't do anything about it. it hurts because i love you! seeing you in so much pain is rough darling. and it's not physical pain either, it's not like i can put a band aid on your wound.”

“i'm sorry i'm like this, chan. sorry i'm so difficult and such a disappointment.”

“oi.” his tone of voice turns stern which causes you to look up at him. his brows furrowed together as he reaches and strokes your cheek. “you're not a disappointment or difficult baby. it's ok to feel like this, to have off days and feel like nothing is right, however, you have to come to me when you feel like this! or if you can't come to me, talk to a friend.”

“but i hate talking about my feelings, chan.. i feel like a burden and that it just bores people and when i do confined in people, it feels like i don't get the comfort i expect to get so i'm left thinking if it's worth it and if i just expect too much from people.”

“what have i told you about bottling things up, mhm?”

“that it's just going to keep building and building until i explode.” you mumble to which chan hums and nods too

“imagine you're a bottle of fizzy pop. your body is the bottle, your feelings are the fizzy liquid. what happens when you shake a bottle of fizzy pop?”

“it bubbles and explodes, creating a huge mess.”

“and what happens when you bottle your feelings up?”

“i get shaken up by the smallest of things, which causes me to bubble and explode..”

“mhm. you have to remember, my darling, that how you feel is valid. your feelings are valid. you might seem like it's something so small or stupid, but that something small could build and build and build.”

“so i should come to you whenever i feel negative?”

“yes.”

“even if i'm frustrated at a piece of work? even if i can't get a recipe right and it annoys me?”

“yes.”

“but that is so small and not as important..”

“yn, if it's bothering you then it's big. if it's bothering you, it's important to me. if you feel angry, upset, energy less, i beg that you come to me or to a friend! it's important that we voice these things, let it be known because you'll feel better.” he tucks your hair behind your ear gently before you nuzzle into his chest, thinking about what he's saying.

he is correct. he always is and that's the thing that sometimes bothers you, but in a good way! it just means that you can't hide anything from chan, whether it's good or bad and when you are feeling down, chan is always there to pick you back up and dust you off, providing you with love and comfort.

“shall we go shower together to start the day?”

“isnt it a bit late for that? besides, hasn't your day already started?” you mumble against his chest.

“it's never too late to start the day and besides, i don't mind ‘restarting’ my day if it means i get to do it with you.” he kisses the top of your head gently, stroking your back as you tangle your legs with his.

“soon.”

“soon?” he questions.

“i just want to spend some more minutes with you..”

“we can spend as many minutes together as you like, my darling. as long as you're happy and content.”

“i'm always happy and content with you, chan. you're my safe space.”

“and i hope i continue to be and provide you with that safe space, yn.”

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

128 of the angst prompts for the pAInter?

128) '"I need you, why do you always leave me?"

......

"Heyyyy."

"......."

"Suddenly you don't wanna talk? That's rude."

"Well so is turning my body into swiss cheese when you promised you wouldn't do that anymore." You huffed, sending a pointed glare at the sentient computer that sat behind a locked cage, before going back to checking the nearby drawers for data.

"Oh right.." Painter muttered awkwardly. "I was actually aiming for the Wall Dweller behind you, but the turrets like to pick and choose their targets sometimes...heheh."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"Well..do ya feel better?"

"Hm..I guess it beats being eaten alive by one of those things. So...sure." You glanced back at him, giving him a tiny smile. "Thanks for trying."

"You're welcome."

Of course, you still had your..issues with the computer, considering that ever since he gained access to the Internal Defense System, your runs to the crystal have become more treacherous than ever before.

It was bad enough that you had to worry about wandering towards the wrong door, with him using HQ's voice to misguide you.

But now at any given moment, you could walking into a room with turrets sweeping the area, red lasers waiting to catch you in their line of sight before spraying you with bullets--while he taunted you over the speakers and whined whenever you managed to find the lever to shut them down.

You hated him at first, but after coming across his containment room, where his main body was hosted on an old computer, he swore that none of it was personal. He blamed Sebastian for hooking him up to the Navi-Path system and asking him to delay your mission for as long as possible, convinced that he could find another way out of this place.

Of course, you were still upset, and believed his actions were very much personal, especially when you've come so close to escaping with the crystal....only for music, of all things, to cause your gear to detonate.

Maybe he was a reluctant accomplice of his, but why should you care?

Why waste time talking to someone who stopped at nothing to kill you? He wasn't a mindless animal like Pandemonium or the Wall Dwellers, but had total awareness that you could come back after death.

And he knew how to take advantage of that.

You used to roll your eyes at the news channels declaring that AI would be the death of humanity.

Now? This AI sure as hell was going to be the death of you.

But sometime ago, you acquired his document and had Sebastian show it to you, and you learned some rather...tragic things about him.

He was built and programmed with love, by his human creator who taught him how to paint and appreciate the beauty of the natural world. All he wanted to do was create things, and now he was being used as a tool for destruction.

It was all because of Urbanshade.

They killed the only person he ever cared about, tore him apart and put him back together to see how he "worked", and when they couldn't figure it out, they forced him into crypto mining, only giving him the promise of letting him paint every once in a while.

He might be a machine, but the pain he felt was real--so real that he'd rather die than continue existing.

Of course, it doesn't justify him killing you over and over, and making your runs through the blacksite a living hell, but you could understand why he's so bitter towards humans now.

If you were him, you'd definitely have a lot of resentment and built-up anger.

After reading that document, you had a little more sympathy for Painter, and eventually you two managed to work out a deal: if you found his room, you'd stop by to draw a small landscape for him, and he was free to replicate it on his program. In exchange, he promised to keep all turrets in further rooms disabled and not lock you in a "gauntlet" with Eyefestation anymore.

He still works together with Z-96, but at this point you've learned how to avoid the flesh creature at all costs. So that was the least of your worries.

"Anyways, what have you drawn for me today, hm?" He spoke up, growing a little impatient.

You took a few moments to open the notepad you had, grateful that the security cameras in this room were under his control, so HQ won't detonate your gear for talking to him.

You've overheard the higher ups mention something about Painter becoming a pain in the ass for expendables and operatives, losing a lot of them to the IDS and Z-96 attacks, and he was to be marked for destruction before he could take 100% control of the blacksite.

Whether they were going to declare that as an order in the near future or not remains to be seen, but...you didn't want to do that.

Did Sebastian know?

Does he know-?

"Welllll?"

"Oh. Right. I have this here." You showed him the sketch of a mountain range, trying to get as close as the chain-linked wall would allow you to. "This is the Himalayas, where Earth's highest mountains are located."

"Oooooh, yes I recognize it."

"You do?"

"Of course. Over a hundred bodies are still up there, most unrecoverable due to the conditions." Painter sneered. "It should have been left untouched. Why do you humans always wanna ruin nature with you stupid hikes and big egos?"

"...well if you don't want this one-"

"Never said I didn't. Show it to me again. And hold it steady."

You blinked in surprise, before turning the notepad back over so he could see the landscape, and you saw the MS Paint program on his screen going right to work.

While you could only draw it from memory and with the pencils you found in a random drawer, he managed to bring it to life--using vivid colors and beautiful shading to really capture the scenery. Almost as though a professional artist went to those mountains and studied them for hours.

With Painter's AI, it didn't take hours, but mere minutes for him to create a masterpiece.

And it was beautiful.

As soon as he finished, you put the notepad down and grinned. "It's amazing, Painter. It's like..I could walk into it and be there."

"Thanks. I also wish I could walk into it and just...escape all of this." He saved the artwork to his files, before his usual scribbled face appeared once again, but this time it looked rather...sad. "I'll..make sure the turrets don't turn you into swiss cheese."

"I appreciate it, buddy." Smiling, you grabbed the keycard that you needed to exit the room, but right as you walked over to it...he spoke again.

"Do you have to leave right now?"

"...pardon?" Turning back around, you could see him staring at you, looking utterly despondent. "You..want me to stay?"

"You're..the first positive human interaction I've had in a long time. I feel bad for all the deaths and inconveniences I've caused you. Seriously, I do. But...if you reach the crystal, you won't ever see me again.." He muttered.

"Painter." You walked over to him, frowning. "That's the point. I'm only here to get that crystal. We agreed that you'd turn off the turrets so that-"

"I didn't do it to make your life easier." He snapped, growing hostile. "I did it because I don't wanna be the one who causes your death. I'll leave that to somebody else...eventually they'll get you. And you'll come back-"

"No."

He went dead silent for a moment. "..no?"

"This time, I'm getting that crystal. I can't stay here with you forever, Painter. I'm sorry about everything you've been through, but in the end..you're still a threat in Urbanshade's eyes. They could kill me just for talking to you. I need to leave now before-"

As if right on cue, the lights in the room began to flicker, and somewhere in the far distance...you could hear the familiar shrieking and howling of Pandemonium hunting for its next prey.

"You better go to that door over on the right." Painter advised, his voice uncharacteristically monotone.

You failed to pay attention to that and rushed to the door, quickly inserting the keycard-

Only to come face to face with Z-96, whose long claws reached out to slash you across the face. You fell backwards as the door slammed shut, the creature barely managing to drag its arm back inside, with a message in red appearing on the screen beside it.

I need you. Why do you always leave me?

'Bastard. He tricked me-'

Then you heard one final loud scream, and turned around..

Seeing nothing but a gaping maw with crooked rotting teeth and dozens of eyes closing in on you.

You should have known better. You should have just focused on the mission and ignored him from the start.

Now he'll never let you leave, and he'll find other ways to make sure of that.

[zweiginator]

https://www.tumblr.com/zweiginator/756213263908339712/im-off-to-work-i-promise-ill-be-back-dont-hype-me

IM BACK LOVIEE

“but you’ll grind on his lap in his backseat before he takes you home, your panties pulled to the side and his cock pulled out of his shorts. he won’t enter you, no, he can’t. but you convince yourself this is okay as you feel the veins in his erection roll against your clit.”

i read this earlier… and i was thinking patrick almost feels weird with you bc you’re such a good person. you’re always going to church, volunteering, and you’re the town’s sweetheart. i get the feeling deep down he resents her a little. so when he’s rubbing his cock against your pussy in the backseat of his car, rolling against your clit, he’s talking in your ear. he gets almost bitter towards when you remind him you need to get back, reminding him you’re such a good girl. you get bratty towards him when he starts almost talking shit so he flips you guys and pins you down on the seat. you haven’t really seen him like this. he threatens to put it in🤭 threatening to strip away your good girl image, penetrate you. cum inside you and ruin your life.

... i have one more!!

cw: meanie patrick, a lil manipulation.....

yes this is genius and so so true. because he's a man and men kind of do only want one thing. and patrick is starting to resent the good girl persona that you're so obsessed with keeping up. you can still be a good fucking person and have sex, lots of people do it. and he tells you this, but it falls on deaf ears.

"i don't think those people are bad, i just think they are sinners and i dont want to sin." you keep your head up and you don't even look at patrick as he's driving you home.

his jaw fucking ticks. what the fuck are you talking about? every week you strip away at your concept of sin, of good and bad. of your morals as they relate to your religion, and it's all so arbitrary. when he first met you, the concept of even making out made your skin crawl. it would force you to the confessional booth. but now you were justifying patrick's filthy words, his fingers having been in your cunt, your hands wrapped around his cock.

"you've already fucking sinned." patrick says, flipping on his turn signal to turn into your neighborhood. he parks down the street from your house, so his car is obscured by some trees.

and you're completely silent, picking at your nails, freshly painted pink.

patrick leans forward, forcing you to meet his gaze, his grip on your jaw strong and assured. "and just to remind you--" he pauses. "every single time we've done any sort of fooling around--you've fucking started it. you're the one who pulls me in, who spreads your slutty legs open and asks for it. but somehow im the piece of shit? i'm tainting your perfect virgin body?"

he lets go of you. you've never seen this part of him and you dont want to say anything because he's right. twenty plus years of being so repressed made you claw your way out of your strictly anti-sex morality as soon as patrick smirked at you that sunday at service.

"but sex is different."

"this is all sex. all of what we did is fucking sex."

"you know what i mean!" now you're close to patrick and you hear each others' heartbeats, rising as the sun sets outside, orange against the horizon. you look at that instead of him.

and for the first time, you realize, patrick snaps and kisses you first. he pulls you into the backseat and grinds you on his lap. it feels so good, against your barely clothed pussy, and even him yelling at you made you fucking wet and you kiss him desperately. hands fisted in his shirt, mouth open against his. he spanks you.

"this isn't a sin? this isn't you being a bad, bad girl?" he spanks you again, harder. the smack reverberates against your ears and you mewl.

"at least we aren't doing it."

patrick pushes you harder against his cock. he's so hard and you can only imagine how big he looks. how heavy he would feel in your hand.

"you can't even say it. say it. at least we aren't fucking."

"i don't talk like that."

"'cause you're so much better than me? cause you're a good girl? an angel?"

patrick pulls his cock out, pulls your panties to the side. your parents are probably wondering where you are.

"you're a slut." patrick yanks your hair back and licks a stripe up your throat as he ruts his bare cock against you. you moan and whimper like you always do. maybe he expects you to scold him, to tell him not to speak to you that way--but you don't. because he's right. you're being a stupid, stupid slut.

"is this what you do? you pick up girls you shouldn't and you pressure them into giving you what you want?"

you talked back. patrick moans as his cock ruts against your swollen clit. he flips you over so he's on top now.

the head of his erection pokes at your entrance and the pressure feels so good. but he doesn't push it in, not even just a little bit. he wants you to beg for it. to say nevermind. i was wrong. i want you i want you i want you.

"if you don't like this say the fucking word and i'll leave you alone."

you're silent.

"but this goody two shoes shit is a fucking facade. you're a dirty girl and i could make everyone see that."

patrick grabs your wrist, pushes your fingers against your clit. makes you spread your cunt open for him.

"i could push it in, and cum inside you. ruin your fucking life. or i could tell your parents. tell everyone how you beg for me every day like you're in heat."

you watch how his cock rocks against your open pussy. every time he rubs your clit with the spongy head of his cock it makes you shudder and whine. patrick spits on you too. just to rub it in. how filthy you're being.

"it's getting late--" you can barely get it out. the sun has set completely and you're surprised your phone hasn't rang. they could walk to the end of the driveway and see their daughter being violated like this. worse, they could see you liking it.

"oh it's late, huh?" he mocks you. "then maybe we should stop." and he begins to get up, to put his cock away.

"don't--don't." you pull him back so he falls on his elbows, his chest flush against yours. "you're right im a--fucking slut." you've never said the f word before. "i'm a hypocrite. i'm dirty and i want you--i want you inside me."

patrick grins. it's almost evil. he holds the base of his erection and slaps it on your clit.

"i don't have a condom. maybe next time."

"i don't care. i don't care--" you wrap your legs around his waist and it's all patrick needs to push it in. all the way, all at once. it burns, the stretch, and patrick groans, a string of fucks and your name making you flutter for him.

he pulls out. kisses your forehead.

"i'm not gonna take your virginity like this." it's like his whole demeanor has changed. "not in the back of my car. we can do it properly. just tell me when."

but in your mind, it already happened.

[zoropookie]

SWEET MELODY

☆ chapter five — tricky plans & schemes (🎂)

"I'm not going to make it out of here alive if I see him."

The simple, yet harrowing sentence repeated constantly in your mind. It held you like an anchor while you were preparing the multiple long tables with sweets you baked last night purely with anxiety running through your body. It was a surprise that you haven't succumbed to a heart attack yet.

It was wide in the air with your freshly baked pastries, a soft mix of vanilla, cinnamon, and chocolate wafting through the air conditioned room. Each of the tables you filled was adorned with lacey and delicate cloths, each sweet arranged with your care. Rows of colorful tiny cakes and intricately designed cookies.

Your hands trembled placing the final touches on the tiny treats, exhaling once it was finally all done. You stepped back to admire your work, but you didn't know what it was about it that made you feel slightly bitter.

Behind your weaker smile, your eyes betrayed you with how much resentment was behind your eyes. Which turned into a small sadness for the fact; you didn't want to do this. It was a blessing that Ei could see how uncomfortable you were being in her wedding as an 'addition to the family', because you definitely weren't par to Kunikuzushi by any means.

Nor did you deserve to be beside anyone other than Kazuha. And even at the thought that something harrowing happened to him, you cracked under pressure to keep your mind from overthinking. That would mean that you'd forget about him entirely. You couldn't be happier about anything, extreme emotions would betray your memories of him.

Or...lack thereof?

Your jaw clenched, tears brimming your eyes which you quickly wiped away. There was nothing behind your eyes except the worry that all of this baking you were doing was for nothing. You didn't feel particularly excited to bake anymore, nor show anyone. It was like the spark that Kazuha gave you was missing, along with him.

A small sound broke through your thoughts, your eyes half-lidded as you slowly turned to see the only person you wish you didn't, following by a few other male voices fading and their tricky plans and schemes. His piercing eyes met yours, and for a moment, his unreadable expression almost made it seem like he was taking a moment to think before he speaks.

But your own expectations failed you once he scoffed, expression hardening. "Fucking hell, you're a disaster." He couldn't help but laugh, but purely from the misery he felt as he turned his back towards you to walk out.

But as soon as he was about to head out again, another visitor came through the door. This time in a stunning white dress, and in a frazzled state according to her expression. It was Yae Miko herself, presence a relief from the harrowing tension.

"Wow. Reunion, or what?" Yae asked, tilting her head, before giving a wave to you. "Hi, darling~"

You hesitantly waved back. "Hi! H..ow are you?"

The pink haired woman examined the room before she said anything else, and even the most braindead person in the world could see that there was nothing here except aversion. You awkwardly shimmied behind the table filled with sweets to keep your distance.

As Kuni was about to reply, Yae held her hand up. "Nope. Don't want to know. This is my day, I'll be back in business in four weeks."

His eyes dulled, patience clearly wearing thin. "You shouldn't even be here."

"Yeah, I shouldn't, right?" Yae crossed her arms over her chest. "But it'd be too much to ask for one peaceful day. Listen," She leaned in, closing the door behind her. "The cake is still at the shop. Our extremely useless deliverer quit before the wedding."

Your eyes perked up. "What?" You blurted out.

"It's my fault for relying on people outside of my own family to pick up a cake. Mind you, the cake isn't even ten minutes away." Yae's eyes rolled. "Typical for this country, full of dimwits. Can you two go get it?"

"Don't really feel like hearing your little political tirades right now. I'll get it, but they're for fucking sure not coming with me." Kuni pointed towards you, which made you flinch. "I'd rather die."

Yae could only sigh dramatically at his incessant whining. "You are both adults now; you can handle a simple task without killing someone."

"Easy for you to say on your wedding day, I don't ever plan on being pleasant to a rat," He snarled. "Fine. But don't expect it to be brought back in one piece with them in the car."

"Sorry. I'll... try my best." You said in a low tone, avoiding eye contact with either of the very confident figure.

Yae looked in between you and Kuni again before lifting her lips up to give a small look of bewilderment. "I guess it's too much to ask for some chivalry from you, Kuzu," She sighed before handing you the details. "Here's the address and a copy of the order. Just tell them I sent you, I'll be getting everything ready still."

previous ☆ masterlist ☆ next

THERE ARE not many things that can sway your interest ever since the "incident", but in spite of that, you pushed forward. you are now the owner of the biggest bakery chain in your city, consistently seeing couples and catering to them as such. you've been a big host at weddings, events for celebrities, and even a big support for your friends and family. you've even earned yourself a niche following as well by how sweet you are to everybody around you. but, even with your kindness, you don't have a particular spark that keeps you going anymore these days. that is until one of your employees starts suggesting you write love letters to customers who request your services. at first you thought it was a horrible idea that could easily turn into trouble, but that was until you were tasked with writing one to your own (very very famous) ex-boyfriend.

taglist ☆ — @seternic @chemiru @coquettemaiden @1kio0o @emiixuu

@agaygothicmushroom @yomishen @jingyuan-wife-real @toruscorpse @whoooismkeee

@sketcheeee @st4r4ngel @xionri @scaradooche @lightyagamifan

@pwushizz @alatusorrow @eutopiastar @magica-ren @slu7

@vaxmpi @theyluvkatt @kyon-cherri @suzydarling @mimi3lover

@auroratumbles @vxcmx @yourfavoritefreakyhan @kunimylovee

@czerwka @little-honey-the-third @featuredtofu @simonisferal @justpeachyteastea

@liuaneee @skyoverkill1 @mellowberrie @lalalaloveallmydays @mostlymoth

@mtndewbajablasted @vernith @lovekeychains @danhenglovebot @elizshade

@balladeersflower @kazumiku @bananasquash @neversore @yevurin

@franaby @vicslz @kamiboo @thegalaxyisunfolding @morgyyyyyyy

@feikyuu @tamikahoshiko @kissingkzuha

[bueckersstrap]

COMMIT • PAIGE BUECKERS

pair : paige b. x reader

word count : 528

warnings : very lightly hints to homo erotic friendship (friends to lovers type shit, but it’s never actually mentioned), swearing, angst, use of y/n (sorry!!)

notes : um hi. i didn’t think id ever write but heyyy i got motivated 🤗🤗 anyways idk if i like it but mwah hope u enjoy.

“And who’s fault was that, Paige? You got your hopes up. Nobody committed anywhere.” 

The words you spat out rolled off your bitter tongue in frustration. What you were referring to was how Paige Bueckers, your childhood best friend, had fostered up all her hope for you to follow her to UConn, a school she had only dreamt of committing to, wanting to follow her aspirations of making it to the W. Ever since you two were freshmen in highschool it was truly one of her only longings to be offered a scholarship there. This was a dream that Paige had, not you. You wanted to become a lawyer and go to harvard. You could admit that you pro-longed telling Paige the truth about how you felt about committing to UConn but put it off, the conversation needing to be talked about at a more ‘appropriate time’. Unfortunately, time flies when you're having fun, so graduation came around the corner faster than expected. And that meant telling Paige the truth about your applications and where you were going to commit. 

So here you two were, sitting in your room, criss cross legged and fiddling with your nails, occasionally putting the nail between your teeth in your anxious tendency, in which Paige responded by holding your hand in hers. She soothed it as she rubbed her thumb on your soft hands, her face was etched in concern and mild confusion. The simple gesture almost made you break out into tears right on the soft matte pink comforter neatly placed beneath you two. But instead, you looked up at your ceiling, using your thumbs knuckles to dab at the eyes that threatened to drown you in tears. 

You exhaled, “So, uh- graduation is soon. And-” You were cut off by Paige’s face that heightened in excitement, “UConn! Y/N, was it UConn!” You bit your lip, colour fading from your face. It almost gave away everything you were going to say without words. “So did- Did you get in?” She inquired. 

“Well, yes. But-” A shaky breath escaped your lips, “So.. We get to go to uni together?” She offered a comforting smile, her brows still slightly furrowed.

“Paige, no. I’m- I’m not going to UConn.” The air turned thick. The room fell silent. 

“But I-” She let out a breathy laugh, “I thought you said we were going- We were going to continue school together?” 

“Paige, I’m sorry. I- I really am. I got accepted into Harvard law, dude. And I love you with my whole heart but I just can’t- I can’t pass up this opportunity.” 

“I get that, Y/N. But that's not what you told me, this wasn’t our plan,” she looked stunned in the words that spilled out of your mouth. 

“Our? Paige, I told you that UConn was your dream, not mine-” 

“Then you should’ve told me? Instead of leading me on, like, what the fuck?”

“I told you this freshman year in highschool. We’re seniors. Come on, Paige. You have to understand. I told you how much Harvard meant to me. Look around,” Paige looked around the room, little trinkets of Harvard's merchandise scattered around the all too familiar room. “Look down, Y/N,” Your eyes roved towards the UConn sweater clad to her body, silenting cursing to yourself for being stupid enough to forget that she, too, had a dream. “You're not the only one with a dream. Even then, I thought we shared the same one.”

Paige’s tongue poked the inside of her mouth, nodding in the disloyalty of the whole situation, she looked away from your eyes. You tried to reach out for her hand, anchoring you both to the bed, afraid if you didn’t she’d fade away into a distant memory, far from reach. She pulled away, now shaking her head in resentment. “Please, Paige, I never meant to tell you like this.” Your voice begged to break as it was only slightly above a whisper, “You lied, Y/N, I really don’t have to understand shit,” 

“Okay, how's this fair to me, Paige? I have to drop everything that I’ve worked for because of something I told you three years ago? Give me a break,” You scoffed, the apologetic feeling toward her now sour, “ I’ve done nothing but support you through everything.”  

“Bullshit. You're just a bad friend. I can’t believe I got my hopes up,”

“And who’s fault was that, Paige? You got your hopes up. Nobody committed anywhere.”

“‘Ight. That’s how you wanna be, fine. Be like that.”

“Like fucking what?” You hit back, “Like a bitch.” She then got up, pulling up the left sleeve of the blue sweater, she roughly pulled the bracelet off, bitterness clearly evident in her actions. She tossed it on your bed, you weren't sure where as your tears clouded your vision. 

“Real mature, Paige, get up and leave like you always do, can’t even talk like mature adults.”

Discomfort heavily weighed upon your chest, you wanted to stop her from leaving, pull her down and swoon her in your arms, stroke the once blonde roots of her hair and reassure you everything would work out. But you couldn’t. One, you couldn't bring yourself to break down the walls so carefully placed around yourself to shut her out, and two, she would’ve rejected the gesture in every universe. So instead of consoling your best friend's soft spirit now stained with malice, you let her abandon the whole situation. 

“Yeah, fine, I will.” She slams the door, the echo repeats in your ears and you hear the front door close. She starts her car and you watch her drive off. The conversation replayed in your head, the bitterness and out-of-character feelings towards each other, the way it escalated so quickly, the way your message was never fully conveyed. It all struck so deep within your heart. 

The realization hit, you let your true soul tie walk away. 

[macsimagines]

I cannot thank you enough for now incredibly you bring my silly little ideas to life~

May I request for Yan! Shin, Izana, & Ran on how they are as a husband to their darling and how they are as fathers? (like them after they’ve finally achieved their Yandere dreams of marrying their darling and having kids with them and everything ) ʚ♡ɞ

TW: YANDERE CONTENT, MINORS DNI, BABY TRAPPING, MANIPULATION, COERCION

Yandere!Shinichiro Sano

Is so happy that you've made him a husband and father. It wasn't easy trying to convince you to go out with him, but eventually he called in enough favors and 'saved' you enough times that you relented and dated him for a short period.

Short because after that he tried very hard to get you to marry him and when it was obvious you weren't going to relent he eventually started to just poke holes in condoms and simply waited for the great news.

"Oh? You're pregnant? Well shucks, looks like I gotta take responsibility. When are you moving in?"

Ya he's not hiding the fact that he's all too pleased to put a ring on you and have a baby in you. But he does his best to provide and make you happy.

He comes home with flowers all the time, just cause, and sometimes he'll bring your son with him to the shop. "You need a break baby, I can take over today."

Shinichiro loves having JR. around. He of course loves his son, but it does help he's the perfect combination of you and Shinichiro.

Yandere!Izana Kurokawa

He had to force you to marry him. You had tried to leave him and he wasn't going to let you live any kind of life without him. Those first few years were less than marital bliss.

The fighting, the screaming, the crying. It was honestly hell. Izana almost let himself think you weren't worth the trouble but he was kidding himself if he thought he could live a life without you.

That all changed when he found out you were pregnant. Now it was real, now he couldn't afford to fuck up.

"Y/N, I know you hate me, I can accept that, but please for our babies sake, lets make this work."

Izana is like a changed man, he's kinder and even gentle. He can tell you're still resentful and bitter, but he'll accept that. He just wants his child to feel loved and know he did all he could to make that happen.

You finally go into labor early, Izana doesn't know why or what he did wrong but this was obviously his fault. He was going to loose you both. You really were going to leave him and take the one thing he wanted most in the world with you.

But you pull through. You and his precious and perfect daughter. She's puny in his hands, even for a newborn, just barely bigger than his own palms, but she's perfect. And he'll never let her go.

"Hey, princess. You don't know how happy I am to finally meet you."

Yandere!Ran Haitani

Made you his wife after he found out you had his Twins. One boy and one girl. His brother was the one that had to break the news to him about it 4 years after he had told you to get lost.

"Hey bro, remember that trick that said you knocked her up?" "That bitch? Like I'd ever forget to wear a condom." "...You might wanna have a look at her insta."

Well shit. Obviously the rubber ripped because he was staring at his little clones on your feed. It was very apparent he was the father only a fool would deny it.

"You ain't my dad!" Your son hisses at him "Ya! You ain't!" Your daughter will parrot back. Clearly introducing himself as their father while they were beatingtheshitoutof playing with other kids wasn't the best idea.

"Our hair is pretty an' black!" "Ya! Yours is purple and ugly!"

Ran might not like how the kids are giving him shit, but he certainly does love the idea of another infamous pair of Haitani siblings running amok in Roppongi.

He also doesn't like the fact that you try to fight him tooth and nail for him to not bother your family. "Our family baby, C'mon. Let me take responsibility."

You have no choice but to relent to his threats of custody and courts, knowing damn well you don't have the connection he does.

And he doesn't love the fact that you're a huge bitch to him or the fact that his twins seem to live and breath violence more than he and his bother did back in his youth. But he must admit he thinks it's way more hot how cold and unforgiving you are compared to your old self. You keep him entertained at least.

"Guess who just had to bail our little ankle biters outta jail~ Why not thank your husband for a job well done."

[snailpaste]

Hi! This is my first time requesting, so am kinda nervous to request!

Can I get Shanks x HalfDragon! Male reader? Or gn reader if you prefer that more, like they were secretly childhood best friends then got separated when HalfDragon! Male reader got captured by the Marines? (He was too weak that day) then few years pass and they meet again? Like Shanks found him all chained up on a island that belongs to the Marines (is there any island that belongs to the Marines??) and considered as dangerous?

Fluff and angst too pls!!

(Sorry if am not making any sense, English not my first language)

(Also, if you're uncomfortable with this, ignore it or delete it! I don't want anyone to feel uncomfortable with me :D)

Shanks x Dragon! Male Reader

CONTENT: SFW, gen fic (can be read platonically or romantically), imprisonment, kidnapping, child neglect, male reader, dragon reader (like seraphim)

AN: I hear ya I hear ya. I’ve never written for anything remotely anthropomorphic before. This took so long I'm so sorry 💀 if you're still around I hope you like it (:

The Roger Pirates had been laying low for a few months, wandering about in the South Blue following a particularly high-profile rendezvous with an Admiral, when they drew in to dock at Bakemono Island.

It was here that you were found, sneaking up on, and stealing from, a tipsy Crocus. You’d nearly made it out the door too, cloak pulled tight over your shoulders, the rowdy drunken cheers of the crew providing a great distraction… until a firm hand clasped around your elbow and tugged you back. You spun around in shock, coming face-to-face with a red-haired boy roughly your own age, and a looming figure above.

You froze seeing his expression morph into one of shock, mentally preparing for him to be disgusted or angered by your eyes, the smattering of scales across your skin, your slightly pointed teeth, but his gaze only softened.

But the first things Shanks noticed were the cuts and scrapes covering you, evidence of the resentment and fear the locals had. You clearly hadn’t bathed in weeks (the lake long since frozen over in the harsh winter) and your lips were purple and trembling from the bitter night air. Bruises littered your skin, some fresh and some yellow.

Before you could run off again, Shanks had frantically called over a tall blond man. Rayleigh had looked down at you from behind shanks, immediately noticing the wallet clasped in your shaking hands, but his annoyance at a brat -And hell, you must’ve been no older than what, five?- stealing from his crew was quickly dulled when he saw your face. Any scolding died in his throat, and he gently forced you down into a chair, sliding you a bowl of stew with a simple demand, “eat.”

Courtesy of Shanks’s incessant probing, you reluctantly admitted you had no family or caregivers. Hearing this, Rayleigh and Roger had all but decided you were to become a member of their crew, a proposition you agreed to so quickly you accidentally choked on the bread roll you were given. The night had gone well after that, the crew didn’t ask questions, too tipsy or busy with terrible karaoke to bother, and once things had subdued you were brought aboard the Oro Jackson. 

You were carried to a small cabin by Rayleigh, barely awake. He tucked you into a comfortable hammock where you fell asleep feeling secure for the first time in your life.

That sense of tranquillity was lost the second you woke up.

A boy your own age grinned down with bright red eyes and equally shocking hair, interrupting your startled scream with a chirpy “Hey! I’m Shanks. Who- no don’t scream you’ll wake the clown- who’re you? Whatcha doin’ here? I like your… scales? And your eyes! And-”

From that moment on Shanks became a permanent fixture in your life, whether by your own volition or not, and while a little overwhelming for an orphaned social outcast to begin with, the redhead quickly became your best friend. Shanks, and the rest of the crew, helped you come out of your shell

Over time the two of you more or less became a packaged deal— wherever you went, the crew knew Shanks was soon to follow suit; wherever Shanks went, you’d be hot on his heels. Quickly, the Oro Jackson became home and the crew the family you’d never had.

You quickly caught up to Shanks in swordsmanship, leading to amused gambling from the crew during your many duels. As you got older, the crew learned to make the two of you wait until a nearby island before fighting, following a rather nasty incident of a cleaved mast. Your dragon abilities became stronger as you got older too, and a nasty bout of flu led to you setting Buggy’s hat on fire.

The sea was calm the day you’d pulled in to dock at orchard island. Roger entrusted the task of gathering a few specific supplies to you, a routine you carried out often. Hours passed, and the atmosphere on the ship grew uneasy. Shanks returned from his own chores, expecting to see you, but you were nowhere in sight. The crew began searching the ship frantically, calling your name with increasing worry. However, as the minutes turned into hours, and the hours gave way to nightfall, it became evident that something was terribly wrong.

Shanks discovered your belongings untouched in their shared quarters. The half-finished drawings, the worn-out pirate hat - all left behind. The crew descended on the town in search of you. 

In the heart of the town square, Gaban discovered a series of wanted posters plastered to the wall, large red “X”s painted over them — displaying your face. Shock ran through the crew as they first realised that the marines had been watching you closely. Then, that you’d been taken.

──────────────────── many years later...

The scent of salt and decay lingered in the air as Shanks and his crew disembarked onto the abandoned Naval Fortress, its walls cracked and crumbling, long since reclaimed by nature. 

Possibilities of treasures or hidden secrets about the World Government drew Shanks to investigate the fortress

The soft slap of his sandals echoed as he wandered through the corridors.

As the crew rifled through old storage rooms and examined dusty maps, Shanks couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more to this forsaken place. His instincts led him to a particularly intact section of the fortress; the walls stood strong, showing no signs of weathering.

“Hey, Benn,” he called over his shoulder, palm splayed against the cool stone, “you seeing what I’m seeing?”

A wave of Haki accompanied by a soft grunt confirmed it. Shanks pushed his hand forward, the brick beggining to slide backwards at the same time as a bookshelf on the opposite end of the room swung open. A draft of cold air greeted them as the secret door creaked open, revealing a dark passageway leading downwards. 

The two exchanged looks before descending, Benn lighting a bundle of old lamps as a torch. The descent was eerie, the walls damp and the air heavy. The further they went, the more ominous the surroundings became. Shadows danced on the walls, and the distant echo of dripping water kept them on edge. 

At the bottom of the passageway, Shanks caught his foot on something, something that clanked and grated against the lichen-covered floor. Benn swung the torch downwards, casting the corner of the room in dim light— and Shanks couldn't believe his eyes. Chained to the cold, the stone wall was a figure. You.

Word Count: 1094

[hd-junglebook]

"Hey Sugar"

-said with rizz

Luke Hughes x F!Reader, Trevor Zegras x Reader (platonic)

Masterlist Link

a:n Now we're delving into some of the drama. I have so much planned for Luke, so I hope everyone's excited. I will be posting a little 'announcement' later today to see what work you want from me next.

Warnings: throuple jumpscare, flirting, maybe cursing, suggestive flirting, nausea/vomiting, arguing

Summary: Luke's brother Jack arrives with friends, and a misunderstanding about you and Luke being engaged unsettles you. You long for Luke to clarify the situation, but he doesn't. When Luke suggests slipping away together for a bit, you're torn between giving in to your desire for him or protecting your peace.

Word Count - 3774

Part 3

Two agonizing days had passed since the disastrous dinner, and the volatility raging through your system showed no signs of abating. If anything, the jarring mood swings and bouts of nausea seemed to intensify with each lurching hour.

One moment, you'd be curled in a tight, miserable ball on Luke's rumpled sheets - stomach cramping viciously as you fought back waves of queasiness. The next, an irrational spike of anger would crest within you, bitter resentments and grievances spilling forth in a blistering torrent aimed at anyone within blast radius.

Poor Luke had borne the brunt of your mercurial temper more than once over the past couple days. You still cringed inwardly at the snippets of venom that replayed through your mind...the unfair accusations and white-hot outbursts detonated at even his mildest gestures of concern.

Yet, despite the vitriolic lashings, the man remained a stalwart presence at your side - steadfast and seemingly undaunted in the face of your hormonal cyclone. As if determined to simply weather the tumult until it passed, Luke took each scorching barb with stoic poise before eventually gathering you into the protective circle of his powerful arms.

It was there, cocooned in his solid warmth with his soothing baritone rumbling through your quaking frame, that you found fleeting moments of reprieve from the flames. Until, inevitably, the fires would rage anew - sparking from some unknowable origin deep within you.

This morning appeared to be no exception as the first fingers of dawn spilled buttery light across Luke's titanium sheets. You squinted against the pale glow filtering through the parted blinds, feeling that telltale cramp already blossoming in your lower belly. A low moan slipped unbidden past your lips as you instinctively curled into a tighter ball, dreading the hell to come.

In the periphery of your vision, Luke's massive frame shifted almost imperceptibly - the steady rise and fall of his sculpted torso indicating he still clung to the final wisps of slumber. A rueful smile tugged at your lips as you watched the slight furrow materializing between his brows, no doubt registering your fitful stirrings on a subconscious level.

Sure enough, those ridiculously thick lashes began to flutter in the next breath.

You tensed in anticipation as Luke's searing browns slowly blinked into awareness, searching your side of the bed with instinctual concern. When his hooded gaze finally landed on your hunched form, his features contorted into an achingly tender look of understanding.

"Hey..." The graveled endearment was little more than a whisper as Luke shifted onto his side to fully face you. "Another rough one, huh?"

You could only nod tightly, jaw clenched against the impending cramp as you focused on his beloved face. Luke regarded you with those piercing brown pools for a weighty moment, seeming to assess if reassurances or remonstrations would be required for this particular flare-up. When your expression remained pinched with stoic endurance, he simply sighed and extended one arm in mute invitation.

The profound relief that blossomed in your chest was instantaneous and overwhelming. Without a second thought, you surged into the solid warmth of Luke's bare torso - shamelessly seeking the grounding familiarity of his scorching skin against yours.

He didn't hesitate to accommodate, muscles flexing fluidly as he secured you against the powerful cage of his chest. You sagged gratefully into the protective cradle of his unyielding frame, drawing solace from the reassuring lub-dub of Luke's heart reverberating against your cheek.

Potent arms like towers of steel encircled you, one corded forearm cushioning the tender dip of your waist while the other smoothed over the rigid line of your shoulders in broad sweeps.

As always, Luke lent his steadfast strength without reservation or expectation - merely offering the uncompromising bastion of his body to weather your internal squalls.

You focused on the smoldering brand of his touch, allowing the cadence of Luke's respiration and the exquisite familiarity of his clean, male musk to sweep you under like a balmy riptide.

There would be time later for confusion, for interrogation over these distressing symptoms plaguing both body and spirit. For now, surrendering to the sanctuary of this man's healing embrace was the only sensible form of self-preservation.

…

Two hours had passed, and you felt it was time to get up. You walked around the room, gathering your clothes scattered haphazardly across the floor. Luke's rich baritone reached you from the rumpled bed. "Where you goin', gorgeous?"

Pausing, you shot him a glance over one shoulder, taking in his tousled bedhead and sleep-swollen features. "I'm gonna go talk to Jess. I'm tired of rotting up here, you know?"

Luke regarded you steadily for a beat before giving a slight nod, seemingly accepting your need to rejoin the world beyond these four walls.

"Don't take too long to come down, okay?"

The gentle plea beneath your somber tone wasn't lost on him. It caused a small, reassuring curl to unfurl in your chest as you offered a tight smile.

"I won't."

Then you were shouldering out of the bedroom, pulling on clothes with clumsy motions as you made your way down the hall. The hushed cadence of voices soon reached your ears, and you followed the murmurs into the open living room area - freezing at the scene playing out before you.

In one corner, Jessica and Maggy were engaged in what looked to be a heated exchange - their body language taut and confrontational as they traded heated whispers. You watched with a growing frown as Maggy gestured emphatically, clearly trying to make a point.

"I don't know how you expect this to work out, Jess," she hissed, slicing one hand through the air. "We both like him. He's either gonna choose one of us with your stupid ultimatum, or we can both be happy!"

Jessica scoffed loudly at that, tossing her silk tresses as her eyes flashed with indignation. "Don't give me that 'we can all be happy' bullshit, Mags! Trevor deserves more than being passed back and forth."

As their heated words escalated, you realized with a jolt that the object of their dispute was conspicuously absent. Scanning the cavernous living area revealed no sign of Trevor anywhere in the fallout radius of their confrontation.

It wasn't until you turned again that you finally spotted him - a hunched, dejected figure tucked in the far corner beside the hearth. His hulking frame seemed to radiate naked defeat as Jessica and Maggy's scathing tirades washed over him.

The swell of pity and protectiveness that bloomed in your chest was visceral. How could any of you have let things deteriorate to this point? Trevor was the kindest, most tender-hearted soul you knew. He didn't deserve to be torn asunder by your dysfunctional dynamic.

You took an instinctive step towards him, intent on extracting him from this torture. But before you could cross the distance, Trevor lifted his gaze to yours - and the breath punched from your lungs in a soundless gasp.

Glittering tear tracks shone down both whiskered cheeks, those warm hazel eyes glimmering with a devastation so profound it pierced straight through to your soul. For the span of a haunting, eternal moment, you held that hollowed stare...letting its harrowing anguish sear into your very marrow.

Then, as quickly as the connection had materialized, it was severed. Trevor blinked and rose unsteadily, turning to make his silent escape out the back entrance as Jessica and Maggy's shouts reached a fever pitch around him.

You could only watch, stunned and horrifically impacted, as he slipped away - your mind reeling from the truth that revelation had shored into aching focus. This was the insidious danger of your tangled web, of prioritizing passion over genuinely healthy bonds...

…

Luke bounded down the stairs at the sound of arriving cars, his heavy footfalls reverberating with unbridled energy. You watched from the entryway as not one, not two, but three vehicles came to a rumbling stop outside the lake house, kicking up plumes of dust in their wake.

Your brows hiked skyward as you registered the unexpected numbers, though Luke didn't seem the least bit fazed. If anything, his features were split by a wolfish grin of anticipation as he reached the front door in a few powerful strides.

"That'll be my brother and the rest of those delinquents," he supplied by way of explanation, giving your shoulder an affectionate squeeze as he brushed past.

You could only nod mutely, trailing after him as Luke flung the door open with gusto. A chorus of raucous hoots and hollers immediately assailed you, accompanying the cacophony of car doors slamming and heavy footsteps crunching up the gravel drive.

At the head of the boisterous pack was a towering, broad-shouldered figure that could have been Luke's doppelganger were it not for the closely-shorn chestnut hair and thick mustache framing his full lips. This man - undoubtedly Luke's older brother - wore an equally shit-eating grin as he bounded up onto the porch, thick arms already outstretched.

"Bout damn time you got here, dipshit!" Luke crowed with unbridled affection, not even bothering to dodge the crushing embrace that sent them both rocking back on their heels.

The two titans of men crashed together with the force of linebackers, deep laughs rumbling through their powerful frames as they jockeyed for supremacy. You couldn't help but hover in the open doorway, temporarily dumbstruck by the sheer unvarnished joy radiating from their reunion.

"Hey, watch the shoulder, asshole!" the brother growled out between peals of laughter, giving Luke's trapezius a playful shove. "Just had that shit rehabbed!"

Luke simply cackled louder at that, ruffling the cropped bristles atop his sibling's head with unrestrained glee. "Don't be such a bitch, Jacky. Maybe if you toughened up, you wouldn't keep getting hurt."

The snide remark earned Luke a solid jab to the ribs, causing him to let out an undignified wheezing grunt. But the brilliant smile never faltered, only stretching wider as he hauled his brother into another fierce hug - this one softer, more lingering.

"Missed you, man," you heard Luke's deep bass rumble against the solid plane of Jack's shoulder.

The tender endearment, mumbled as it was, still managed to strafe your heart with a piercing ache of...something. You blinked rapidly, struggling to process the sudden upwelling of emotion clogging your throat as you watched them embrace.

What was happening? This was hardly the first time you'd witnessed a brotherly reunion between Luke and Jack. Hell, the two had been practically inseparable growing up, despite the five-year gap in their ages. You'd lost count of how many rowdy homecomings and holidays you'd shared in their boisterous presence over the years.

So why did this particular moment feel so viscerally charged? Why were your eyes prickling traitorously as you drank in the simple scene of contented intimacy? It made absolutely no sense, and yet you couldn't seem to halt the swell of sentiment cresting within your thundering chest.

Luke must have sensed your roiling inner turmoil because he suddenly disengaged from their clinch, turning to face you with a softened expression. Those searing brown eyes found yours over the solid mass of Jack's shoulder, glowing with naked tenderness that momentarily stole the very breath from your lungs.

"Y/N..." he rumbled, somehow managing to imbue your name with gratifying weight. "You know my knucklehead brother, Jack."

The gentle prompt snapped you from your fugue, forcing you to blink rapidly as you refocused on the newcomers scattered across the front yard. Jack had spun towards you now, those craggy features arranged into a rakish grin that could have been lifted straight from Luke's playbook.

"Well, well...if it ain't my future sister," he all but purred, sweeping you up into an enthusiastic bear hug before you could protest.

You instantly found yourself engulfed in sinewy muscle and subtle cedar musk - not entirely unpleasant save for the way it constricted your ribcage. Still, you managed an awkward sort of half-laugh, giving the man's broad back a few consoling pats.

"Nice to see you too, Jack. Take it easy there, I need these bones."

The teasing only earned you a full-bellied guffaw as Jack finally relented, carefully extricating you from his vice-like embrace. His eyes - a slightly paler, more aquamarine shade than Luke's midnight browns - crinkled with unrestrained warmth as he regarded you.

"She's a goddamn knockout and she can hang? No wonder you finally stopped fuckin' around and put a ring on it!"

The vulgar observation, accompanied by a roguish wink, instantly resurfaced the blooming mirth in your chest like a lead weight. Suddenly, the giddy elation of witnessing their reunion had evaporated - leaving only an unmistakable hollowness in its wake.

Luckily, the moment of visceral emptiness was fleeting. Luke quickly crowded in beside you, snaking one long arm around your waist in a infinitely more welcome embrace. His palm settled low on your hip, radiating delicious warmth even through the thin cotton barrier.

"Don't get too far ahead of yourself, Jackass," he admonished lightly, those smoldering browns finding yours once more with weighted intention. "There's still time for her to call the whole thing off if you keep running that mouth."

Jack simply scoffed at the empty threat, already turning back towards the cluster of cars where the rest of his companions were beginning to emerge. "Whatever you gotta tell yourself to sleep at night, baby bro!"

Though the flippant retort rankled you momentarily, you couldn't find it in yourself to properly bristle at Jack's outrageousness. Not when Luke was nuzzling his prickly jaw against the sensitive curve where your neck met shoulder, blissfully impervious to his brother's antics.

…

The raucous celebratory energy suffusing the lake house should have been infectious, intoxicating even. Jack and his misfit band of cohorts had effortlessly slotted into the group dynamic, their arrival sparking an instantaneous resurgence of riotous laughter and shamelessly off-color anecdotes.

Yet you remained closed off from it all, a mere bystander watching the raucous bonhomie unfurl at your periphery. No matter how many times Maggy looped an arm through yours with a conspiratorial wink, or Jessica pressed a fresh drink into your hand, you couldn't quite shake the leaden emptiness seizing your chest.

It was a persistent, gnawing ache - as if someone had nestled a lead brick between your ribs, slowly constricting your lungs until each inhalation was a monumental feat. You'd never felt so profoundly untethered from yourself, from the steadying anchors that typically kept you grounded.

Worst of all were the furtive glances you kept stealing towards Luke, desperately hoping to lose yourself in the contented glority of his smile...only to have Jack's parting quip ricochet through your skull like shrapnel.

Over and over, you replayed the crude insinuation in your mind's eye, feeling that spiderweb crack in your temporarily invulnerable facade each time. Why hadn't Luke corrected his brother's assumption about your relationship status? Sure, putting a defined label on the passion between you was unimportant in the grand scheme.

But the fact remained - you weren't Luke's fiancée, and the very notion that he'd allow someone to believe otherwise disquieted you in ways you couldn't fully articulate. It felt dishonest somehow, a falsehood woven into the rich tapestry of your lives that didn't belong.

So you lingered in the periphery, watching the party swirl around you in roiling eddies of boisterous camaraderie. Luke, ever the epicenter of the chaos, ricocheted between boisterous debate with Jack and sotto voce flirtations whenever you drifted within arm's reach.

Each time, you found yourself silently imploring him to bring up the innocuous comment, to casually clarify with that easy cadence of his that you were simply...complicated. That labels and conventions meant little in the face of your profound bond.

But the words never materialized, and you were left suspended in tangible torment - questioning everything and nothing all at once as the night raged on around you.

It was well after midnight when Maggy plopped down beside you on the sagging sofa, knocking your shoulder playfully as she sank into the buttery leather with a contented sigh. You barely registered her arrival, too consumed by the bitter chorus in your head.

"I'm sorry you had to see that earlier," she murmured after a contemplative pause, drawing your vacant stare instinctively. "We...Jessica, Trevor, and I...we decided it's best if we're just together. All three of us. It makes us happy, you know?"

The gentle confession, layered with audible reticence, had your brows hiking towards your hairline in a silent question. Maggy caught the wordless probe and flashed you a rueful half-smile, clearly interpreting your confusion.

"The arguing, the jealousy bullshit...it's just not worth it," she elaborated with a philosophical shrug of those curvaceous shoulders. "We're happiest when we're completely open and honest with each other - no holding back. Even if it means breaking some stupid societal norms along the way."

You felt your lips part, a thousand queries marshaling on your tongue as you processed Maggy's candid revelation. But in the end, the only response to materialize was a low, ragged exhalation - somewhere between a snort and a rueful chuckle.

Because in that endless night, with an internal war raging inside your shattered breast...you'd never felt more adrift and utterly rudderless than in the presence of their blazing certainty.

There was a tangible rightness to the path these beautiful souls had carved for themselves - a fearless adherence to the truth that burned within, regardless of proverbial norms or expectations. A level of uncompromising vulnerability that you could scarcely fathom in your current state.

It was transcendent and horribly enviable all at once...and it scorched you from the inside out.

"I...wow," you eventually managed in a papery tone, giving Maggy's slender fingers a reflexive squeeze. "That's...amazing, Mags. I'm really happy for you guys, and proud of the courage it took to get there."

Maggy's incandescent smile could have powered a small city as she angled herself towards you fully. "Thanks, babe. That means everything coming from you."

She bumped your shoulder playfully, as if to ease some of the heaviness between you. But nothing could alleviate the maddening ache spiderwebbing through your marrow - that hollowness that threatened to devour you from within.

From across the room, you watched Luke throw back his head in a rich peal of laughter at something Jack had said, jaw clenched and eyes crinkled in genuine merriment. Something fragile in your chest simultaneously blossomed with tenderness...and withered into stark disrepair.

…

A tranquil hush had descended over the lake house, the typical raucous energy giving way to contented quietude as the night crept deeper. Outside, the inky blackness was softened by a shimmering blanket of stars reflecting off the glassy waters, casting everything in an ethereal glow.

You shifted drowsily on the plush leather sofa, savoring the remaining tendrils of warmth radiating from Luke's solid frame where he was nestled against your side. His arm was looped securely around your waist, palm splaying possessively over the slight curve of your hip.

For a few languorous moments, your mind pleasantly drifted - lulled by the steady cadence of Luke's breathing and the occasional chorus of night birds trilling outside. He always ran several degrees warmer than you, his potent furnace of a body suffusing you with delicious heat.

You had nearly succumbed to a light doze when the low rumble of Luke's voice reverberated against the back of your neck, sending a shiver rippling down your spine.

"I planned a really special night for us, y/n." His midnight timbre was velveteen and hushed, thrumming with an undercurrent of anticipation.

You stirred groggily, twisting in the haven of his embrace until you could regard him properly. Luke's striking features were gilded in the pale moonglow filtering through the windows, casting his chiseled jawline and proud nose in stark relief. But it was his eyes - those blazing, all-consuming pools - that arrested your full attention.

They fairly smoldered with unnamed intensity, holding your drowsy stare hostage as one corner of those obscenely full lips quirked upwards.

"For what?" The words were slightly graveled from impending slumber as you blinked owlishly.

Luke's smile deepened into something richer and infinitely more weighted as he began tracing lazy, spiraling patterns along the soft skin of your thigh.

Each meandering caress of his calloused fingertips seemed to sear straight through the thin barrier of cotton separating you, raising delicious gooseflesh in their wake.

"I just want to do something for you," he rumbled in that sinful rasp, holding your molten stare unblinkingly. "It's...a surprise."

You felt your breath stall in your lungs at the heated promise that single word seemed to ignite. A surprise from Luke invariably meant some grand romantic gesture - extravagant and shamelessly indulgent in a way that never failed to overwhelm you.

Luke must have registered the momentary paralysis in your features because he leaned in fractionally closer, close enough for you to drink in the rich amber and cedar notes of his cologne. His palm drifted higher, finally coming to rest low on your abdomen as those blazing browns searched your face with undisguised intensity.

"This one won't be like the others, y/n," he murmured, the graveled lilt seeming to caress every syllable of your name. "This is going to be really...really special. For you. For us."

The naked sincerity, the profoundity behind those quietly uttered words...it stole the very air from your lungs in a sharp exhalation of pure wonderment.

Every nerve ending in your body seemed to blaze into awakeness, zeroing in on the scorching brand of Luke's touch as it meandered across your tingling skin.

You could only gape at him mutely through the rushof feeling, overwhelmed by the searing tenderness flowing between you in dizzying riptides.

Luke was many things in these moments - playful, irreverent, smoldering with the promise of white-hot passion. But above all else, he was steadfast - grounding you in the unshakable truth of just how treasured you were to him.

"Where?" you eventually rasped out once you'd recovered enough to form words. Moisture stung at the corners of your eyes as you held his blazing stare, everything inside of you seeming to crystallize into this single suspended heartbeat.

An achingly gentle smile curved those beloved lips as Luke reached up to tuck an errant strand of hair behind your ear, callused knuckles grazing your fevered cheek in a scorching caress.

"I want to take you somewhere we can be alone for a little while. Just you and me under the stars. After we get home to Jersey, a night for just us, Y/N."

…

[mothhball]

II – VIRIDIS

viridis – marked by youthful vigor

JONATHAN CRANE X FEM!READER

summary Drinking your woes away was a temporary solution, and it ends up in tears. But even in the darkest night, there's the chance of a silver lining. Just be sure you're well-informed about your shiny spark of hope.

warnings NEEDLES, BLOOD SAMPLE, very mild medfet (a whisper for now), alcohol, reader gets drunk, some mildly foul language, unhappy relationship,

notes oooo longer chapter! and things are MOVING

! MINORS DNI !

story masterlist • main masterlist • taglist • kofi word count: 5.2k

The news themselves were already bad, but even worse was the pity from everyone you told about the rejection. Behind every sympathetic smile and half-hug was a hidden “I told you so” that no one said out loud, but was obvious enough.

Despite what people told you, apparently no one had believed that you could make it in the first place, and that realization caused a rage to burn and fester within your guts. A rage which found no outlet since that wretched Thursday that you since then blacked out with a fat sharpie from your calendar. Reading that letter felt like repeatedly getting hit over the head with a steel pipe, beating you into a pathetic, bloody pulp right where you were standing in your kitchen. Your boyfriend tried to rub your back, but you bristled and immediately turned away from him, scowling like it was him specifically who sent the rejection. His little pout disgusted you. But what made you actually nauseous was the relief in his eyes. Never once, in 3 years of this relationship, did you resent him like you did on that Thursday afternoon. Bitter, seething resentment which almost caused you to lash out at him like a riled-up dog.

But instead, you chose to take the high road. Or rather you fled, left the apartment and drove over to your best friend Mina’s to cry and shout into one of her lovely couch pillows. The smart, admirable choice would’ve been to write an email to Potomac. To timidly ask Dr. Rabin to turn a blind eye and allow you to send in a late application. But every time your fingers hovered over the keys of your old, ratty laptop, the embarrassment was too much, and you slammed it shut once more, leaving the unfinished request behind. But your boyfriend Tristan, in his seemingly endless quest of half-heartedly trying to manage your future, urged you to send the email. So, you did. At least that’s what you told him. A little white lie to let him keep his peace of mind. 

Your mood only got worse towards the weekend, prompting a few of your friends and your boyfriend to drag you off to do the responsible thing. Get drunk and shake off the tension during a night out. And now here you are, downing shots on a Saturday night in an attempt to forget your woes at least for a little while.

The club is packed and stuffy, and the lights flicker over a mass of people that seems to have grown into one hive mind of an entity, allowing you to feel swallowed and anonymous for just a few blissful hours. Every mouthful of alcohol that you swallow works in your favor to numb the anxiety gnawing at your bones while the bass gently licks at your feverish skin, causing your heart to vibrate in your ribcage. It’s easy to lose yourself in sips of colorful shots and cocktails. At least until a firm hand on your shoulder prevents you from placing another order. Turning your head, you’re met by Tristan’s disgruntled eyes, and before you can shake off his grip, he’s already pulling you away from the bar to a relatively quiet spot in another hallway of the club. Still, he has to raise his voice when he speaks to you, already laying the foundation for a screaming match.

“What are you doing??” he asks, giving you a once over that only serves to further sour his mood.

“What do you mean? I’m just having a couple of drinks,” you slur back at him, returning that nasty look he’s sending you. Tristan scoffs, shaking his head like you’re a lost cause, even though he’s not exactly sober either.

“You’re getting wasted. Are you still sulking over that rejection? Jesus…”

That actually makes your jaw drop, and you’re speechless for a few seconds, which your boyfriend takes as his cue to continue.

“Just let it go. Some things aren’t meant to be. It’s better this way”

“What the hell do you mean by that?” you hiss back at him, curling your fingers tightly into the fabric of the little dress you’re wearing.

“I… Listen, we both know Arkham isn’t… your style. You… you’re not that kind of person –“ Tristan sighs, somehow trying to make his statement seem less insulting and vague by waving his hands around in your face.

“The kind of person to what??”

“The kind of person who’d make it there! You would’ve quit after two weeks! Let’s be real for once. And then you’d have to start over again and you would have to wait yet another semester to graduate!” Every word that leaves his mouth pisses you off even more, and a truly ugly emotion rears its head within you. Things are escalating. You still have half a mind to realize it. You should call it a night, go home and talk things out in the morning. But this is the first time that Tristan is being brutally honest about your career choices.

“Oh, I didn’t know it was a race, Tristan! How silly of me! I’ll make sure to plan every future decision around your life schedule from now on!” You get in his face, venom dripping off of every shouted syllable that slips from your tongue a little too easily.

“You’re putting words in my mouth! I never said I wanted you to plan your life around me! I’m just worried! All of my friend’s girlfriends –“

“So that’s what this is about? The girlfriends of your little business school friend group?? Am I part of some weird dick measuring contest?” You continue before he gets a word in, asking a question that’s been burning in your throat for a few months now.

“Are you ashamed of me??”

You’re met with silence. Silence that’s so obviously an answer in itself that it causes your heart to slip out of your chest and shatter on the sticky floor below. Tristan notices the devastated expression on your face, but his drunken audacity eggs him on to double down. 

“I wouldn’t have to be if you just acted like an adult! You can’t always get what you want! For fuck’s sake, just be happy with what you have for once!” You wish you had a drink you could throw in his face. But your hands are empty, shaking with anger and disappointment. You can’t look at him anymore.

“Screw you, Tristan.” And with that, you turn, leaving him standing there while you rush to find an exit as tears well up in your eyes. He doesn’t make a move to follow you, and it simultaneously calms and saddens you even more. 

Navigating the club is even more complicated with your blurred vision, and you bump into a few people, no doubt spilling a few overpriced drinks in the process. But you’re either too fast or they’re too drunk to really do anything about it.

Finally, finally, you make it outside, choking out a strangled noise that’s a pathetic mix between a sob and a whine, and you quickly duck into a nearby alley to give way to the tears. You’re drunk and overly emotional, you try to rationalize with yourself, but it doesn’t lessen the ache in any way. So, pressing a palm over your mouth, you reluctantly allow yourself to cry. The night air is icy, but fresh enough to comfort you and slowly clear up the lump in your throat, and after some cathartic five minutes, you start to calm down again. Your tears run black at this point, dragging your favorite mascara down your cheeks, and you sniffle as you into your purse to grab a compact mirror and assess the damage. 

It's in that moment when your phone display lights up, alerting you to an incoming call. Your stomach twists into knots as you fish the phone out of your purse. A call from Tristan might make things worse, and you’re not really in the mood to talk to him right now, so – 

But the call isn’t coming from your boyfriend. Your eyes widen before they narrow into slits, and annoyance bubbles up within your chest. There on the phone display, proudly displayed as the caller ID is Dr. Jonathan Crane’s name. Your thumb hovers over the glass before you decide to pick up the call. As soon as you hear his voice, annoyance gives way to a little spark of hope. It also serves to sober you up a little. You barely have time to rasp out a “Hello?” before he speaks, sounding almost relieved that you picked up.

“I know that calling at such a late hour is quite unusual, but I’m glad I could get ahold of you before it was too late. Believe me, I was just as surprised as you most likely were. To be frank, I was so certain that you'd be joining us that I didn't even check the list to confirm it.” Papers rustle on his end of the line. He must still be in his office.

“Yeah, I… I was optimistic as well. Maybe… Maybe a little too much,” you admit softly, trying to concentrate on your words to avoid slurring. Crane hums, and you can’t tell if it’s in understanding or amusement. Reading him in person was already hard enough, but it’s nigh impossible over the phone.

“Tell you what, I believe you dodged a bullet. I clarified with the other staff members what the responsibilities of those interns will be, and that wouldn’t be right for you. Sorting files and sitting in on group therapy sessions at the Low Security Wing? No, that would be a waste of your time. You’re not that kind of person. Which is why I’m offering you something else.”

You lick your dry lips, still tasting the salt of your tears and some last traces of your lipstick. For a second, you’re unsure if you heard him correctly. “Something else?”

Crane glosses over your question, and in your mind you understand. This might be sensitive information. Drunk-You feels a little like a spy, keeping a secret from Tristan who would surely be mad that you’re even talking to the director of Arkham Asylum right now.

“Are you free to come in tomorrow? I know it’s quite late already –“

“Yes. Yes, I am,” you interrupt, feeling brave. 

“Good. Then let’s meet in my office at… let’s say… 10 am? Is that alright?”

“I… uh, absolutely.” You quickly rummage through your purse, using a lip liner and an old receipt to haphazardly write down the appointment. “I’ll be there.”

“Perfect. Enjoy the rest of your night,” he says before he hangs up right after. You have no chance to say goodbye properly as the line clicks. Maybe it’s for the best. Knowing yourself, you would’ve wished him a great night as well with the addition of a plea to “get home safe”, which would’ve been a little much.

When you head back inside, you’re spotted by your worried friends and an indifferent Tristan, and dear GOD, the urge to boast and gloat has never been this strong before in your life. But you stay quiet as you put on a smile, avoiding to look at your boyfriend. You stay quiet as your group gets into a taxi, and stay quiet as you get back home and head straight for your bed. “You’re not that kind of person” was something you heard twice in one night. And only once did it feel right.

The pounding ache in your skull serves as your alarm clock the next day, tearing you out of a restless sleep only 10 minutes before you were supposed to get up anyway. A frown finds its way onto your features as you tiptoe out of the bedroom, catching a glimpse of the still sleeping Tristan on the couch in the living room. Neither of you have said a word to each other since the fight, and you'll be damned if you start the conversation about something he messed up in the first place.

You walk past him, feeling the cold surface of the floorboards beneath your feet as you head into the bathroom to try to make yourself look (and smell) presentable. The stench of alcohol leaves your tongue after brushing and rinsing with mouthwash thrice, and an overindulgence of body wash in the shower solves everything else. The final touch is a generous amount of concealer under your eyes, and you're surprised that you actually pass off as someone who doesn't have an awful hangover right now.

Getting dressed is another challenge, though. You can't exactly say that Drunk-You had the gift of foresight to pick a suitable outfit for your second meeting with Dr. Crane, so you dig through your closet to make yourself look presentable. Your fingers wander over the different fabrics, tracing cotton and polyester, wool and tweed as you grumble to yourself. Christ, this shouldn’t feel like rocket science.

This dreadful indecisiveness eats up a sizeable chunk of your time, and as you button up your blouse, you realize how late it suddenly is.

Breakfast consists of an aspirin and a large black coffee, and you make sure to let the coffee machine shriek as loudly as it wants just to spite Tristan a little more before you rush out of the apartment. 

This time around, the drive to Arkham Asylum feels a little more familiar. You still depend heavily on your GPS, but you remember some of the turns and streets, and you don’t feel as tiny and insignificant as you did a week ago. You’re here with an explicit purpose now. Crane knows who you are and asked you to come back nevertheless.

Upon entering the still intimidating building, you stop by the reception again, spotting a familiar face. The receptionist seems just as surprised to see you, sharp eyes flicking down to a visitor's list that seems to confirm the validity of your return before she points a manicured nail towards the security check. You raise your hand to wave at her as you pass. She doesn't wave back. Oh well, you can't get them all.

The maze of a third-floor feels straightforward as well today, made possible by the ever-present red lines guiding you to your destination. This time, you're able to meet Crane in his office, and his request to enter can be heard through the door after the first knock.

Everything still looks the same as you enter, save for his now orderly desk. The chaos of files from back then is now a neat stack that the doctor rests his folded hands atop. You open your mouth to greet him, but Crane speaks first, completely catching you off-guard.

"The bunny is back. I'm glad to see it."

"Excuse me?" You blink at him before you look down at yourself. No, no bunny-themed clothes or accessories anywhere that might have given him the idea to call you that. You’re drawing a blank. Unsure whether this is part of a hazing process or an inside joke you must’ve missed, you lift your gaze back up to him. There’s a fleeting look of sardonic amusement on his face before he reels himself back in to elaborate.

“That's what you reminded me of the first time you came here. Glancing around, all skittish and frightened in the hallway…” he explains, already turning his head away from you to reach into one of his desk drawers and retrieve a folder. Your folder. “Please, close the door and take a seat. We’re already running low on time.”

After following his instructions, you find yourself sitting in the same chair from a week ago, foregoing the act of presenting yourself as a confident person. It’s no use, anyway. Crane already knows you’re desperate. It’s seeping out of your every pore, giving your worries a rich and sweet taste that the director of Arkham seems to indulge in for a moment. At least, that’s what you assume based on the expression in his cold eyes. You’re no fool. It’s basically a guarantee that his offer will bite you in the ass in some way or another. 

“You must be a little put-off by this meeting. It’s not exactly orthodox to ask you to come in on a Sunday, but I read the list of this year’s interns just minutes before I called you last night. And that was purely by chance. Like I said, I was positive you’d be one of them.” Crane opens your folder, but his eyes stay on your face. “I have no idea what goes on in the heads of my staff sometimes, and now I’m fairly certain it can’t be much. But I don’t intend to waste a person like you.”

You shift in your seat, listening intently to every word that leaves his lips. It’s your lifeline. And he knows it.

“So, I am making you an offer. Just promise to listen first,” he says, and one of his eyebrows twitches upwards at the intensity in your gaze. “The position I’m offering you would be exclusive. It won’t be approved by anyone else but me and it technically didn’t exist before I made up my mind about it. I am offering you the position of intern assistant.”

Your eyes widen. Even in his darkroom of an office, it feels like the air just became lighter and the colors brighter. Crane lifts a finger, continuing his offer.

“No surface scratching – You’d be my shadow. Which means more work and responsibilities, but also more privileges, more insight, more knowledge. I’ll teach you what you need to know to get ahead in this field, and by the end of it, your fellow students will eat your dust. Your professors as well, if I’m being honest.”

Before you can even respond, he’s already reaching back into his desk, pulling out a massive stack of paperwork. And then the rushing begins. Crane checks his watch, clicking his tongue before he pushes the documents over to you, along with a fountain pen.

“How long would it take you to read this? I have to hand this in within the next 50 minutes to make sure you’re cleared in time. If you even accept my offer, that is. It’s a terrible time crunch, I know, but I’d really like to have you as a member of staff in one week.”

Tentatively, you reach out for the fountain pen, twirling it around in your fingers for a moment as you think about his offer. This hesitancy only causes him to lean forward and flip through the first pages, pointing out a handful of sections for only a few seconds each before he moves on.

“It’s the regular stuff, I guess. Everything I just told you in cumbersome wording. I really wish I could take my time and go through each page with you, but the circumstances just won’t allow it. If you have any questions, I’ll gladly answer all of them once you’ve signed.”

It’s shady as hell. A red flag that’s so glaringly obvious that it makes you wonder how Crane can keep a straight expression. But this is your one chance of getting a look behind the scenes. Your one chance of proving them wrong. Professor Campbell, Tristan, everyone who doubted you could do it. This could go horribly wrong. But it could also be your ticket into the big leagues. Shadowing the asylum’s director would be a privilege that no one else gets. A chance to make connections and grow. Not to mention that your résumé would look incredible with Crane’s recommendation attached to it.

Hell, he may be exploiting you, but who says you can’t exploit him right back? It’s your good right to milk this opportunity as much as you can.

Meanwhile, the psychiatrist continues to ramble on, rattling off half-apologies and made-up reasons why you have to sign as quickly as possible once he reaches the last page of the contract. The page where you have to place your signature on the intended line. Both of you are surprised by how quickly you sign it. 

As you place the cap back onto the fountain pen, it feels like the air has been sucked out of the room, creating a vacuum in which both of you seem to grapple with the reality that you’d be stuck to Dr. Crane’s side for a few months, following every step and instruction of his. You manage to break the silence first.

“There. I have questions now.”

“Of course. I already expected as much,” Crane says as he pulls the freshly signed contract back to his side of the desk, staring down at your signature as if he’s half expecting it to jump off the paper. But then he places the thick document back into the drawer it came from, letting out a quiet breath. You notice that he seems significantly more at ease now, movements once again patient and effortlessly measured, and your brows furrow a little as you speak.

“What’s my hourly rate?”

“There’s nothing of the sort, I’m afraid.” Your blood runs cold at his nonchalance, and your lips part to protest when he cuts you off. “You will be working the same hours as me. And since my overtime and schedule is a little unpredictable at times, we will just have to see. You will be paid at the end of the month, however. The amount will depend on how much we actually did.”

“I… alright.” You bite your tongue, even though your displeasure is obvious. Nevertheless, you proceed with your second question. “You mentioned more responsibilities. I guess there’s a catch, then? Or a few?”

Crane chuckles, getting up from his chair to walk over to a cabinet in search of something specific. He speaks to you from over his shoulder.

“Right to the point. Wonderful. But yes, there are a few peculiarities that come with the position. Starting with – You’re not afraid of needles, are you?”

He closes the cabinet, returning to the desk with a little tray containing various items.

“We’ll start with a mandatory blood sample. I hope this isn’t a problem. I just need to know that my assistant is in peak condition. And didn’t smoke anything on the way here.”

You want to scoff, but swallow the sound at the last second. The fact that you took offense to his unspoken accusation is written across your face, and Crane doesn’t comment any further on it as he sets the tray down on the desk and pulls his chair closer to yours.

“I’m fine with needles,” you murmur, already pulling up your sleeve.

“No trypanophobia? A shame,” Crane chuckles, sitting down again before he reaches out for your arm. Your doubts whether he’s even qualified to do this as a psychiatrist vanish the moment his hands come in contact with your skin. He’s cold. Almost uncomfortably cold as his fingers brush over the bend of your elbow in search of a suitable vein. Once he’s successful, he picks a tourniquet from the tray of equipment and fastens it around your upper arm. His movements seem too perfect to be experienced. As if he’s a green med student working with the textbook perched on his lap. As if he’d burst into flame if he did something wrong.

“So, about the catch,” he continues, grabbing a bottle of disinfectant and spraying it over the spot he picked on your arm. Surprisingly, the liquid isn’t much colder than his touch. “Since you’ll be my shadow, you’re also required to accompany me to appointments outside of Arkham. Conferences, meetings… so on and so forth. I also have some upcoming court dates within the next few months. Obviously, I’m not the defendant. I’m just an advisor.”

You nod along to his words, eyes following his hands as he rubs disinfectant into his own skin before he pulls on a pair of blue nitrile gloves. Crane stretches the material over his hands until it’s taut, making it squeak before he shifts closer until his knees touch yours. At this proximity, you can smell his cologne, and the combination throws you off a little. It’s mainly sandalwood and bergamot, but there’s a hint of something else you can’t quite grasp. Something chemical, almost acidic. The psychiatrist continues to speak, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“Another catch is that there’s a required dress code for you. As my assistant, you need to always look presentable. You can’t be running around looking like a hobo since your actions and appearance will reflect on me as well. And I’d rather not be associated with… any of those cheap trends that seem to be popular with the bottom of the barrel nowadays. You’ll have to give me your clothing size so I can prepare a new wardrobe for you. It’ll just save us time in the long run.”

Your brows furrow, but his request seems reasonable. “Alright. I suppose that’s fair,” you say, watching closely as he runs his thumb over the bend of your elbow. Then, he presses down to anchor the vein. It’s right in this moment when he decides to drop another bombshell.

“Which brings me to probably the biggest drawback in all of this.”

Your eyes flicker up to meet his. He’s already looking at your face, watching for the slightest twitch in your expression.

“You’ll have to stay at my place for the duration of your internship.”

What follows is a solid minute of deafening silence. Your pulse races, thumping softly against the pad of Crane’s thumb. He can tell you’re displeased, and he frowns a little, surprisingly empathetic.

“What?” you manage to croak out, swallowing dryly.

“Believe me, I spent all night trying to come up with a better solution. Sometimes, I get emergency calls in the middle of the night and it’s vital that you’re there with me. Those cases are the real deal. They’re raw and unfiltered, often much more than incidents that happen during the day. And as you told me during your interview, you live quite far away from here.”

You nod stiffly, gaze dropping to where he’s still pressing his thumb down on your arm. Crane can see and feel how uneasy this condition makes you, and he tries to lessen the blow.

“You’ll have your own bathroom and bedroom, of course. We will only share the kitchen and living room. And the laundry room, but I suppose that is the least of your worries. I won’t bother you.”

When he sees that you’re still not too happy, he quickly adds, “You can also tell me to be quiet whenever I mention work after hours.”

This at least gets a reaction from you. You force yourself to crack a smile, meeting his eyes once more.

“Okay. I’ll hold you to it.”

“Perfect.” The psychiatrist nods, wasting no time uncapping a butterfly needle and puncturing your skin with it. The sudden sting almost makes you flinch, but his grip suddenly is so tight that you don’t get any wiggle room. You watch as your blood travels down through the attached tube, filling up a small sample bottle and shortly after, a second one.

“You’re pretty brave for a bunny,” he jokes, setting your blood samples down on the tray before he releases the tourniquet and reaches for some gauze. His eyes stay on yours the entire time as he pulls out the needle and presses the gauze against your arm, soaking up your discomfort in a way that only fascinated scientists are capable of. 

“Press down.”

You mutter a “sure” as you obey his instruction, relieved when he finally turns away from you to discard the needle and his gloves. The final touch is a little band-aid over the tiny puncture wound, and you keep your hand over it as Crane pushes his chair back into its rightful place and takes a seat once more. He studies one of the full sample tubes as he speaks up again.

“You must be a little overwhelmed right now. Which is understandable, don’t get me wrong. But I’d like for you to go home and start packing your most important belongings. I’ll text you my address and will take care of the rest. You just need to show up next Sunday and get started on Monday.”

“Do I need to bring anything in specific? Like… a notebook or something?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “You’ll get your stationery and other supplies here. I���ll make sure to try to organize you a separate desk. Maybe even one of the more comfortable office chairs. But I can’t really promise any luxuries.”

“I know this establishment oftentimes seems like a revolving door when it comes to staff applying and quitting. But I don't want that with you.” Crane tears his eyes away from your blood sample, giving you his undivided attention again. “There won't be an easy way out, however. Either you prove yourself and do your job until the end of your internship, or else there will be no certificate and you'll have to try your luck elsewhere. And I hate to worry you, but getting a job without one of my letters of recommendation might be a little tricky. But I assure you, that's the absolute worst-case scenario."

You let out a little breath and nod, straightening in your chair. Your mind is already racing, spinning around in a colorful variety that ranges from dread to genuine excitement. The biggest problem, however, is that you will have to break the news to your boyfriend. The thought makes you a little nauseous, but if Crane notices it, he’s generous enough not to mention it. 

Your goodbyes are brief, and you’re still holding your hand over the band aid as you leave the building and reach your car. Dark clouds are brewing overhead, announcing one of Gotham’s common rainy afternoons, and it already smells earthy with a hint of wet concrete.

The drive home doesn’t take as much time as you would’ve liked, even though you’re stopped plenty of times by red lights or passing cop cars with their sirens turned on. No, you reach the apartment much too soon, climbing the stairs with a heavy heart and sweaty palms. The band aid feels like it’s burning a hole into your flesh, hidden away underneath your sleeve. A secret hint of the meeting with Crane. Your key hovers in front of the lock on your front door as you freeze. Telling Tristan about the internship would mean telling him about your impending new living arrangements. Yes, you’d get the satisfaction of proving him wrong about your capabilities, but he’d blow up about everything else. Even worse, what if he reports the conditions of your internship? What if he ruins everything before it has even begun? 

Another big fight doesn’t fit into your schedule either. Neither does a breakup. Taking a breath, you unlock the door and step into the apartment, almost immediately meeting Tristan in the hallway. Time freezes for a moment, and then you say the first thing that comes to mind.

“I need to pack. They want me back at Potomac.”

It’s okay, right? It’s no big deal. After all, it’s just another little white lie to let him keep his peace of mind.

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[merbear25]

Patience is a virtue

Learning to trust isn't easy, especially when you're still picking up the pieces from the past. Even though the desire to get to know you is a nawing persistence, he values your boundaries. Whenever you decide to open up, he'll be waiting.

a/n: idk I just have a lot of feelings.

Sanji, Ace, Corazon

CW: SFW, gn!reader, angsty(maybe?), fluff, mutual feelings

Sanji: You'd grown quiet around him. The both of you had just been starting to chat a little more. It felt nice to hear your soft laughs as he told you jokes about what had happened that day. But then, the angelic laughter came to a hault, leaving him to question what he'd said to bring such sorrow to your lovely complexion. Even without knowing what he'd done to upset you, he apologized―pleading, in a way, to move past this and get back to seeing you smile.

You needed time though. You didn't have to say it ―it was written all over your face. Backing off was a choice made with much heartache, but he did so nonetheless: deciding that persuing you in the matter would only push you further away from him.

Distancing yourself wasn't something that you'd necessarily wanted to do. However, those buds of elation and adoration sprouting were also accompanied with the bitter cold of past rejection that stifled any pursuit of happiness you were hoping for.

The erosion of the hole in you was swallowing your very being, but when this had shown to be too troublesome for others, he was still there: he didn't pry, he never rushed you, just waited for your return to him.

This was someone worth pushing those doubts aside for. The next time you spoke to him, your heart lead the way, despite your fears trailing closely behind. His warmth helped melt the frost that'd been collecting over the years.

Ace: He was growing accustomed to you rather quickly. You were certainly kind-hearted and nice to have a laugh with, all of which made him start gravitating towards you whenever you were present. There was surely an interest in you, one that he had not fully become aware of. Just as he was discovering his feelings for you, you changed gears: avoiding him, reverting back into your shell. Despite how hurt he felt, he couldn't demand you to tell him the reason―it wouldn't be fair to you.

If you needed time away from him, he would give you that. He wasn't going to force his friendship on you. That being said, this time apart was good for him, as well. Thoughts of you came and went, but many of them stayed: something interesting or funny would happen and he wanted to tell you about it but felt like he couldn't.

This time away from each other only echoed your longing for companionship; you were left with nothing but the same loneliness that'd surrounded you each time prior. Tears brought on by thoughts of the flame lit between you eventually burning out stung your eyes. Even in solitude, fear of abandonment intruded on you.

There were small glances he threw your way, none of which were harboring resentment. Instead, they showed concern. Anticipation for a row that wouldn't come: you stood there wondering what made him different.

How can I learn to trust? Can you help me? Seeing you make your way to him was the remedy he needed for the flickering flame he'd worried was losing its luster in your eyes. However, you were both sure now that it'd never go out.

Corazon: Taking the leap of faith to reveal his secrets to you was terrifying: you were, in fact, different from the others, but something like this wasn't an easy choice to make. That being said, nothing could replace the memories you two were creating together. Each day that passed, regret for the secret he'd let you in on didn't come. The bond he was under the impression you two had been forming was faltering though. It wasn't important for him to know what he'd done exactly―he just knew he wanted to make it up to you.

Your body language did the talking for you: your sunny disposition had clouds rolling in and the gloom of a storm was on the horizon. Even though he longed to come to your aid, he understood that pushing you into a conversation wouldn't fair well for your blossoming relationship.

You wanted to shield this budding love from the harsh storm brewing within. Your frail body could only do so much though when caught in this hurricane. Gale force winds, rain that lashed at your skin: abrasions which came with each potential relationship.

No stranger to the torment this world had to offer, he could see the wear and tear of your inner termoil on your soft face. It took each bit of inner strength not to go to you and tell you everything would be alright. He wanted to give you the freedom to choose to share your burdens with him. In spite of the distance between the both of you, his eagerness to rescue you from yourself was unmistakable.

I can't carry on through this storm alone. Can you be the one I lean on? Finding your way back to him, he instinctively held our his arms to wrap you in the warmth you'd been in desperate need of, yet unable to secure it up till now. You were now fully prepared to take your own leap of faith.

[serverusslaype]

Shameless, pt. 3

snape x professor!reader fic

Shameless Masterpost

hey yall B) it's time for part 3.. i'm hoping i've done this chapter justice, though i am a little doubtful, only because this was sort of a filler chapter, it doesnt have muchhh plottt.... i just love the hateful/resentful relationship between the reader and snape at the moment, does that make me toxic lmao? :( </3

there is not much else to say, so i hope you enjoy this next part, honestly i have no idea how many parts there is going to be, i'm sort of writing it until i'm happy with what happens sort of thing.

anyway, it's lights out and away we goooo!! (if you get this reference i love u)

The chilly, biting air blew through you like a windstorm as you rushed to catch up with the strawberry-blonde author, the adrenaline that was pumping through you doing most of the work. Without a beat, you reached Lockhart, your hand colliding with his chest as you pushed him into a shadowed area; his back - once again - slamming against the wall with a thud.

A look of shock and complete, utter fear was spread on the Gilderoy's face as you pointed your wand in his sorry face. "As I was saying before, Lockhart," you growled, prodding the tip of your wand into his chest, "If you ever pull that shit again, I will not hesitate to have you removed from this school." You huffed, clenching your jaw. Gods, you could kill him, honestly! "What in the ever sweet-loving hell were you thinking? A student could have been harmed!" You hissed at the man, who had now composed himself. Honestly, you were holding back from hexing him. "Actually, Longbottom almost was!" You added, fire in your eyes.

"I'm sorry, truly, I am." Lockhart said guardedly, watching you with cautious eyes as you stepped back to give him some space. "It wasn't my intention, I promise you-"

"Incompetence is not tolerated at Hogwarts, Lockhart, believe me." You warned him, allowing yourself to calm down a little bit. You might've gotten a little carried away.

"Understandably." Lockhart replied, his eyes flicking between yours and your wand

"I'm glad we have an understanding." You said coldly and gestured for him to leave. If you looked at him again, you were worried you might lose your cool. You'd never gotten so angry with someone before, but placing students in harms way because of a stupid mistake truly pisses you off. It's shameful.

The crunch of Lockhart's boots against the ground faded out into the cold, bitter air as he scurried away. You stood still for a moment to gather yourself and your thoughts, running a stressed hand through your long hair.

"Feel better?" A sudden deep, husky voice came from behind you. You almost jumped out of your skin as you spun around to find Snape, equipped with an amused smirk on his white face as he relished in your fright.

"Bloody hell, Snape!" You scoffed, throwing a hand against your chest. Where did he come from, didn't he leave earlier? Was he following me? You wondered to yourself, a suspicious frown landing on your face. That familiar burning sensation began to creep up onto your cheeks and neck as you looked at him.

"For a Hufflepuff, you're certainly… fiery." The corner of his lips quirked upwards as he clasped his hands behind his back. You swallowed thickly as he stepped towards you, your heart beginning to pound again once more. "Perhaps the sorting hat made a grave mistake all those years ago." He added, articulating each word perfectly, tilting his head at you. You rolled your eyes at him, standing your ground. You refused to let him intimidate you again. You were equals now, and you wanted him to treat you like one. Snape's face twisted into a taunting sneer. "After witnessing your reckless yet, dare I say, impressive outburst, you would have made a fine Slytherin student."

"Oh, what an honour." You groaned sarcastically. What a backhanded… compliment? You weren't sure. Despite your confident facade, you could feel the walls you'd built crumbling as Snape leaned forwards at you, his lips curling into a face of disgust at your reply. "I am not selfish, nor arrogant. I would rather put others before myself." A rush of anxiety washed through you, like you'd just missed a step on the stairs.

"Ah yes, the most obvious downfall of Hufflepuffs. Selflessness." Snape smirked at you. He was clearly enjoying how easy it was to get under your skin and irritate you. Gods, he was driving you crazy, and you honestly didn't want to know whether it was the good or bad way.

Most definitely the latter, let's be serious here. "Ah yes, truly sorry that we also value people other than ourselves." You mocked the Potions Master, secretly desiring a reaction from him. Though, he didn't say anything, he only kept the smug smirk on his lips, his eyes narrowing at you as he studied you. It's like he knew what you wanted and he refused to give it to you.

The silence was deafening, and it was making you squirm underneath his nose. You hated the way he could command a moment perfectly.

"A brave little thing, aren't you?" Snape said. Little thing? Who did he think he was?

"Why did you follow me, Snape?" You questioned him, ignoring his demeaning insult. You were curious as to why he followed you, surely there were better things to do than pursue the Herbology professor. "I was merely curious as to why you took off at such speed." He answered matter-of-factly.

"Hm," You clenched your jaw, "and were you satisfied with your findings?" You asked tauntingly. Your breath hitched as he stepped towards you again, making you step backwards until your back hit the wall. Your chest was quite obviously heaving at this point, and you were doubtful it was to do with your frustration.

The wizard stared at you for a beat, observing your movements. "It doesn't bode well for you to be found reprimanding your colleagues, Professor L/N." Snape simply said, disregarding your previous question

"I believe you would think different, had you seen what I did, Snape." You replied with a frown. "Pixies were flying freely in his class, causing utter chaos and torment to the students- I mean, they'd hung Longbottom by the hood of his cloak on the chandelier!"

"Lockhart will not last here, we both know that, L/N." Snape declared, leaning back slightly, as if to back off from you. The hostility in him was still present, though. "As for Longbottom, I'm not surprised. That boy is always finding himself in perilous situations." He added, glancing to the right momentarily with a look of disgust. He looked back at you, sending your heart into a rapid beat once more. "I suggest you keep your nose out of things that don't concern you."

"Lockhart came to me." You laughed dryly, offended that he'd assumed you were drawn to the drama. "He came to me for help."

"Poor choice, clearly." Snape sneered. You opened your mouth to bite back at him. "However, possibly a smart move. Choosing the faculty fledgling. Easy to use. Though, evidently, Lockhart did not possess the foresight to see that it would backfire on him. He clearly misjudged your… spunky character." He continued, making you snort. He cocked a questioning brow at the noise. "Do not mistake me, I did take pleasure in watching you admonish that blundering fool."

You were shocked to say the least, to actually hear something positive fall from Snape's lips. Did he really just say that? You stood there, dumbfounded, staring up at him.

"You look startled, Professor L/N," The Potions Master smirked down at you. Understandably, you were speechless. "Is it such a foreign concept for you to hear me speak well of you?"

"I'm astounded that you're surprised by that. It's a rare occasion that you dish out positive feedback, let alone compliments. I thought you were more self-aware than this, Snape." You said, feigning confusion. Snape's smugness was soon wiped clean as another more familiar facial expression of his took residence upon his features - a stone-cold glare

You couldn't help the tiny smile that tugged at the corners of your lips, an unusual warmth blooming in your stomach. Yes, you were truly taking pride in successfully insulting Severus Snape - at this point, who wouldn't?

"Touché." Snape glared at you. Another moment of silence passed through you and Snape as you stared each other down. It was weirdly intimate, again. The two of you seemed to be forming a habit of this.

Snape was the first to break. You gasped softly as the Potions Master swiftly swept away from you, his cloak billowing out behind him like a wave that refused to break. You've come to understand that goodbyes are not in Snape's vocabulary.

Watching him walk down the hallway, you presumed to his quarters, you let your head fall back against the wall behind you. A quiet sigh of relief fell from your lips. You weren't sure how long you could keep up this hateful mask to hide your blooming affection for him. It was easier to pretend that you hated him, even though he sometimes did nearly push you to that extreme.

A week or so went by without another close encounter with Snape, and you were surprisingly content with that fact. It gave you time to process everything and most importantly - settle into your new position as the Herbology professor. You'd partially seen him in the Great Hall for breakfast, lunch and dinner, or whilst walking in the hallways but you never evoked a conversation with him. You acknowledged him with a polite nod, but that was it.

After that unorthodox interaction with him in the hallway that night, the hostility had simmered down between you two. Sure, he was bound to say something tongue-in-cheek soon enough, but you'd avoided him because of that risk, and also to do with the fact that your crush on him was truly growing out of your control. You were just hoping he didn't notice.

Today was a Saturday, and it was around ten o'clock or so in the morning. Since you had no classes today, you thought you'd complete an inventory check, to replace and monitor the levels of herbs and other plant bits and bobs you had. You'd just finished four classes worth of grading after starting at eight o'clock, so you were craving something practical, really. The constant repetitiveness of reading the same thing over and over again almost sent you into an eternal slumber. No Wiggenweld or Wideye potion could have saved you.

As you dug through your cabinets in your greenhouse, you noticed some things were missing. "Huh." You muttered to yourself, sitting back on your haunches, observing the storage unit. You leaned forwards and rummaged through it again, assuming you'd miscounted.

No, you weren't wrong. Things were missing.

Billywig stings, Chinese chomping cabbage, dandelion roots, dittany… Your nose scrunched up in slight annoyance as your mind immediately thought of Snape. McGonagall did mention at the beginning of the year that he might snoop through your cabinets and take some ingredients for his Potions classes. You just didn't expect him to take this much.

Luckily for him, you were in a pleasant mood, so you weren't inclined to scold him for stealing from you, but rather just have a word. Not that he'd care if you did choose to berate him.

You sighed as you stood up from kneeling, your hands brushing off your now dusty skirt. Off you go, to the damp and dingy dungeons - not particularly one of your favourite places at Hogwarts. The weather had really changed over the past few days, it was now nearing the end of September, and so the rain and clouds had really started to take hold. As of right now, it was quite dark and dingy outside, the clouds almost black, like a warning to stay inside. You groaned at the depressing sight. Spring was your favourite season of the year, of course, being a Herbologist.

Quickly scurrying out of your greenhouse, across the outside courtyards and towards an entrance to the castle, your hand rose up to protect your head as a drizzle of rain started to fall. Reluctantly making your way to where Professor Snape resided, a rush of anxiety and butterflies stirred in your stomach. Was this a bad idea? Probably. Were you going to turn back? Possibly.

As you neared the spiral staircase down to the dungeons, a sick feeling gathered within you. Almost like a gut feeling. Perhaps this was a bad idea. You stopped in your tracks for a moment, torn between the desire of running away back to your greenhouse, pretending like you had no clue that Snape had been in your greenhouse and taken some things, and the desire of giving him a piece of your mind, respectfully, of course.

You shook your head to yourself, as if to rid your mind of your doubts, and so you carried on downwards, the smell of damp earth and what seemed to be decaying stone, interwoven with fresh moss. It wasn't too pleasant, but it was bearable, and it reeled you back to your time at Hogwarts when you used to travel down here for your Potions classes with none other than the brooding Professor Snape himself.

Your nose scrunched up as you thought back to the amount of times he had berated you in class for messing up such simple instructions, but you just weren't cut out to be a potioneer; Herbology was your calling.

You hesitated on the last step of the stairs, suddenly regretting your idea of paying the Bat a visit. Fuck it, you thought. You needed to establish some sort of boundaries.

A voice pulled you from your thoughts as you halted your body.

"Professor L/N," Snape's recognisable deep baritone rang out in the dark, gloomy hallway of the dungeons. His tone was almost questioning. It was a given, considering you were not a common passer-by in the dungeons. Thinking about it, this was probably your first time down here in a long time. His lips just uttering your name sent a chill down your spine. You cursed yourself for that. You had to squint slightly to spot his tall, broad and black figure in the shadows, partially illuminated by the torchlights hung against the walls.

"Professor Snape," You greeted back awkwardly. He stood straight, face adorned with his usual cold stare, one hand falling from the knob of his classroom door and moving to clasp his other behind his back. He was clearly waiting for you to explain your reasoning as to why you were down here, but you were sure he had inkling as to why. He wasn't stupid. "Erm." Your mind went blank. This was fucking embarrassing.

You glanced up at Snape, watching him tilt his head at you. He was silent. He was obviously enjoying your squirming as you tried to think of something to say to him.

"I've noticed some things missing from my cabinets." You finally said, trying to push aside the waves of embarrassment that were currently flooding your body. "I'm presuming it's you taking the ingredients?" You questioned quietly, avoiding the risk of conflict with Snape again. As much as it's fun to push his buttons, you did not have the energy this morning.

"Good observation." Snape said blankly, stalking towards you slowly. You felt your heart pick up in speed as another rush of anxiety ran through you.

"I appreciate the fact that you need them for your lessons, but I'd also appreciate the fact if you'd at least tell me." You said politely, desperate to keep the conversation calm and somewhat civil, watching nervously as he walked closer to you. You forgot how intimidating he could be when you weren't fueled by adrenaline and rage.

Snape cocked a brow at you, his eyes narrowing a tad as he studied your face. Your eyes were partially widened, lips parted to some degree. It was a very drastic change from the angry one he'd witnessed in the hallway.

"Would you like me to leave you a poem, and a cookie, too?" Snape teased you with a haughty look, purposefully provoking you. A quiet sigh slipped your lips as you rolled your eyes. That familiar mixture of irritation and lust rushed through your body.

"And here I thought we could have a civil conversation." You said bitterly, looking up into his dark, almost black eyes. Your cheeks burned hotter as you stared up at him. Snape was silent for a moment as he watched you. There was that rage again, bubbling inside you.

"How foolish of you." He simply said, that common amused smirk tugging at his lips. You felt your fists ball again, your nails digging painfully into your palms. This was a mistake for sure, you were in such a good mood today, and one visit to Snape had unravelled that. Gods, he was such an ass.

"Clearly." You bit back, venom sizzling in your voice. Snape's brow quirked at your tone, his eyes flicking between yours, as if trying to read your thoughts.

"If you have come to lecture me on my habits, Professor L/N, then you have come in vain." Snape said, looking down at you, observing your restless movements.

"Why? Too far up your own ass to accommodate other people's wishes?" You challenged him, though, you slightly regretted your choice of words almost immediately. Sometimes, you wondered how this man made you lose your temper and the leash on your tongue so easily.

"You are way out of your depth here, L/N." Snape warned you, his voice darkening.

Yeah, you were fully aware of that. Though, being the stubborn person you were, you refused to back down from Snape. This also seemed to be becoming a habit.

"Perhaps," you noted, quirking your lip, "or am I just making a good observation?" The rush of adrenaline pumped through you again, prompting your brave and daring words. You did not want to make an enemy out of Snape, but his rude and unnecessary comments were starting to grate against your patience. A beat of silence passed over the two of you before he spoke again.

"Will that be all, Professor L/N?" Snape glared at you, his patience wearing thin with you. The wizard's voice was harsh, almost biting. Maybe you really did piss him off this time. As much as you wanted to continue throwing insults at him to satisfy your own selfish needs, you should really take this moment to leave. Avoid making things worse, no?

"In truth, no," You shook your head at him, prompting a roll of his eyes. You clenched your jaw at his reaction. "I'd like it if you did actually leave a note or something along those lines to let me know what you've taken and used." You said calmly, trying to avoid another bout of conflict with Snape. The two of you seemed to butt heads constantly, probably due to your rather obvious differences.

"Yes, yes. I'll be sure to do that the next time I require your herbs or plants." Snape replied curtly, seemingly a little tired of this conversation.

Your face quickly twisted into a contortion of shock and confusion.

"…Okay… thank you?" You stumbled, frowning suspiciously at him. So, he just accepts your demand? Like that? Is this what it's like to be treated as an equal? Whatever you could get, you were going to take it. Just bite the bullet and leave, you thought. This was it.

Or was this some sort of mind-fuck?

"Do not thank me." Snape scoffed, his hands still clasped behind his back menacingly. Ah, no, there it was, you thought. 'Thank you' did not exist in his vocabulary either, then?

"So close, yet so far." You muttered amusedly, tilting your head at Snape curiously. You waited for another glare from him for being a smart-arse, but instead, Snape's lips quirked up into a smirk - an amused one at that.

It was a weird interaction. But with Snape, things were going to be weird; he wasn't a normal person. You'd be beating a dead horse if you wanted him to act like an average human being.

In secret, over the past few encounters with you, he'd grown respect to you - albeit a little - but it was enough. Satisfactory. In regards to the tongue-in-cheek, bordering offensive comments that fell from his lips, he only tended to push your buttons because you made it so easy for him, he found it rather entertaining to get under your skin and irritate you. In fact, it was highly amusing to him. For all his time at Hogwarts, it was refreshing to have someone that could keep up with his remarks and keep him on his toes, however annoying you may become. Although, he would never admit that to you… unless poisoned with Veritaserum.

"I have some grading to do." Snape announced, breaking the silence and your train of thought, continuing to stare down at you, inferring that he was indeed leaving now. You swallowed, nodding. The air surrounding you two was… weird, you couldn't put your finger on it. It wasn't uncomfortable, but it also wasn't comfortable.

"Likewise, Snape."

"Severus," he corrected you, narrowing his eyes, "you may call me Severus. We are, after all… colleagues now." Severus said, hesitating like he was almost inclined to say equals. You felt your heart leap into your mouth at the correction and you blinked quickly, a little taken aback at how he had suddenly changed. It was like you'd finally broken through his first defences and possibly earned some sort of respect. Perhaps he was testing you those past times, seeing how far you'd go, seeing if you'd break down and leave Hogwarts because of his relentless and cruel remarks. Nonetheless, you persevered through it and came out on top, despite the probable heightened blood pressure caused by the frustration and stress he gave you.

Still speechless from what he'd said, you stared up at him with big, wide eyes. "I suppose you may call me Y/N." You said quietly, your cheeks beginning to tint pink again from the intense gaze the two of you were holding. There it is, you inwardly groaned as your body betrayed you in front of Severus once again. At this point, there was more chance of you becoming the Minister of Magic than hiding your feelings. It was only going to get worse, you thought helplessly.

Severus tilted his head at you for a moment, observing you before swiftly turning around with a dramatic twirl of his cloak and floating into his office, the door shutting behind him with a heavy thud.

What a start to the year this has been…

ok so there's part 3, i'm not quite sure if i like how it ended, but i'll keep it for now. i do like the part where they exchange first names, sort of like the first bit of them tolerating each other B)

-> next on the agenda, the dueling club scene because that is just too good not to include omg. might change it up a bit tho.. we shall see!

this was lowkey an unintentional enemies to lovers fic i wont lie lmfao

once again thank you for reading, if you enjoyed it please let me know!! 🩷

part 4

taglist:

@a-laufeyson

@emilynissangtr

@livillain00

@meowskii

@nooneeveryonenoone

[theelfsongbard]

Counterweight

Pairing: spawn!Astarion x AFAB!reader

Summary: after the epilogue, you and Astarion share a summer’s afternoon together in the meadow. For @oharahive’s breeding kink challenge!

Warnings: epilogue spoilers, breeding kink, mentions of potential future pregnancy

Word Count: 2273

Image source: https://www.pinterest.com.au/pin/760123243354175763/

These past 6 months have been the counterweight to 200 years of misery. Thank you.

He had said those words to you weeks ago, and from then, he had slowly been opening up more and more to you. More frank, more transparent with his feelings than ever before. Today, he is quiet again but you know his mind is anything but, still coming to terms with his grand adventure and the turn of fate that it has brought with it. All at once, he speaks up.

“You bring me the best happiness. You show me the way, where I cannot see and you give me love where I don’t always deserve it. I don’t know how you do it, but I will always be grateful for you.”

The summer breeze blows over the meadow, sifting over the long grass like a wave of verdant green. How lovely it is, to be here, to be loved. Astarion’s thoughts lazily drift as he rests his head in your lap, his eyes shut and sheltered from the sunlight by the wide canopy of an old oak. Slowly he breathes in, bringing cool air into lungs that no longer work. Things have changed drastically in the past 6 months, and now, despite his condition, he found himself flourishing and a free man.

Above him, your gentle humming stops though your hand in his hair continues to massage his scalp with just the right amount of pressure. “And I would give up anything to see you happy for all eternity without hesitation. Has last night’s party been on your mind, love? You’ve been introspective lately.”

“How can I help myself, darling? I can’t help but think about how things could’ve turned out so differently, and yet every iteration I think about, I cannot imagine myself being happier than I am now. You led me here and I… hate to think what life would be like without you being my guiding light. I’d be bitter, resentful, enslaved still by my own will or by Cazador. And I know that I was not always easy to love, but you stayed anyways when it would have been so easy to walk away.”

“You are worthy of love. I have chosen to love you because waking up to your smile every day and seeing you grow into who you are brings me joy. You are my home and my guide. The obstacles we faced together only strengthened our bond.”

Astarion cracks one vermillion eye open, a knowing smirk on his lips, “You like my smile? Why don’t you tell me more?” His voice deepens playfully as he drags you down to press some feather-light kisses on your mouth. This is his way of processing his feelings on complicated topics, as if he is afraid that wallowing in his thoughts any longer will eat him alive even though he has become less self-conscious about openly sharing his thoughts now.

You gasp in feigned scandalousness, “If I feed your ego too much, you might be too full of yourself for tonight’s dinner! I suppose you’ll just have to settle with knowing that you’re just lovely.” The way you giggle into his mouth sets something alight in him and he flips himself over, pinning you down into the grass below him, earning him a squeal of delighted surprise. This time, it’s your turn to lean up and capture his lips with her own, pulling a low rumbling chuckle from deep in his throat that vibrates through his chest and into hers where he presses against you. “Cheeky little thing aren't you?” the sound of his voice combined with the feeling of his arms caging you in makes your heart beat wildly in its ribcage. Nobody plays the game of seduction better than Astarion and the past 6 months together have only given him time to learn exactly what makes you tick.

“If you're worried about me being too full for dinner, I suppose I can always have dinner a little earlier, if you'll permit it. There's always room for dessert afterwards.” his lips graze tantalisingly over the exposed skin of your neck, his nose nuzzling the shell of your ear with care.

The ring of your laugh chimes like a bell on the wind, “Oh, just stop playing coy and come down for a bite then!”

You don’t need to ask twice before you feel his fangs probing for the blood beneath your skin before finally piercing into your neck, you grit your teeth and cling to his arms as he bears down. The feeling of pain never gets any better no matter how many times he feeds from you, but you have gotten used to the icy pricks and the ensuing numbness as he draws the blood from your body into his. It's his chest that warms first, followed by the healthy flush of life that fills his cheeks and… more intimate regions making itself known by the hardening desire pressed into your stomach.

Drunk on the fresh bouquet of your blood, Astarion laps his tongue against the puncture wounds at your neck, capturing the remnants of his dinner as it runs from the site. An appreciative moan pours from his throat, and when he pulls away at last, you can see that his eyes burn with fire and need. Feeding Astarion doesn’t always lead to sex, but the intimacy of the act makes it a very appealing activity for you both and today is one of those days.

“You know, I’ve been thinking about our future as well, what adventures it might hold for us both,” he kisses up your neck, tickling you and leaving you gasping for air as he teases. The only coherent word you can manage to utter is a shaky “yes?”.

“And I had the most interesting chat with Gale at the party.”

You frowned, wondering where on earth he was going with this. There was once a time when he and Gale weren’t on the best of terms with one another, not in the least because he was also competing for your affection when it was clearly already given to Astarion. Although time had mellowed out Astarion’s moodiness and dislike of the wizard, you couldn't help but think that perhaps it was jealousy that had stoked the fire of his appetite today.

“Oh? And what about him?” you squirmed about as his lips found your ear.

“It's nothing about him, but it is about us. You see, he was telling me about a guest lecturer he had at his school, a dhampir.”

Oh. Oh. So that was what was on his mind.

“Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?” The implication hung there, tantalising. The idea of children wasn’t a topic that you had broached with Astarion. In all honesty, you had both had your hands full with other things; adventuring, searching for a cure to vampirism, working to rebuild the Underdark for the many spawn that had been released from Cazador’s manse. But now that he had mentioned it, your mind couldn't help but be filled with images of Astarion lovingly gazing down at a small fragile bundle close to his chest, swathed in cloth. Astarion smiling as he held out a finger clutched by tiny hands. Astarion cooing and stroking its cheek as it drifted into a trance, protected from the cruelty of the world by his love. “Astarion.” A familiar tingle of heat fills you and concentrates itself at your core as the thoughts suffocate the forefront of your mind until nothing else surfaces.

“Think of them reaching for us, seeking the comfort of our loving embrace, filling our home with joy in the mornings.” he breathes in wantonly, inhaling your intoxicating scent. You are fertile, and the tang of your blood on his tongue and the scent of it lets him know that your body is ready at its peak to receive a child if you should choose to do so. “I’m ready for a child, if you are, my love.” he breathes it like a promise against your mouth, forehead pressed to yours waiting for your answer.

“Yes. I am ready.” you respond in kind, kissing him earnestly. “Give me your child.”

Astarion’s ministrations grow as much as his enthusiasm. From where he is hovering above you, he growls with a hint of possessiveness and primal joy. The fact that you were willing was a promise of security, of having you by his side in the years to come with the knowledge that you loved him so much that you would choose to create something that would immortalise your expression of love for each other in flesh and bone and flowing blood.

You were his of your own choosing and he was yours. Would always choose you and stand by your side. The thought drives him mad and admist the attention that he lavishes on your lips, a hand snakes down your body, freeing your tucked shirt and undressing you with uncanny dexterity and speed fueled by his need to have you as his partner and his mate. Immediately. To press you down and fill you to the bursting with his essence until his seed overflowed in your womb and blessed you both with child.

His hand is distracted by the curve of your breasts, kneading them gently as he begins to move down your body to lick and suckle on them. The moans pouring from you only serve to heighten his own arousal and fill him with satisfaction as he plays you with all the expertise of a bard with a well-acquainted instrument. When he finally relieves you of your pants, he lovingly dips a finger along your folds, making you buck your hips up, collecting the slick and rubbing it against your clit, revelling in the way you’re already wet with desire for him causing a shiver to run through your body. “Excited, darling?” he dares to tease out with that high giggle of his. The heat in your cheeks only grows as you huff, “you don’t say. Please, don’t stop now.” you're so desperate for his touch, to feel him inside you.

He chuckles, “Only because you’re so desperate -“. He licks a long stripe up through them, but despite pretending otherwise, the hold you have on him is too great and inhumanly quickly, he scrambles back up, his knee hooking up under yours to open you up and pulling himself free from his trousers as he aligns himself with your entrance, coating himself in you before pushing in until he’s fully sheathed in your warm heat. The unexpected stretch rips a stifled yelp of pleasure from you and Astarion can’t help but moan in kind. “Don’t hide, let me hear you.”

Waiting until you’ve adjusted to him, he lifts your knees up to his shoulders, folding you over so that he can bury himself deeper inside. The new position brings you closer to the edge as he thrusts with increasing vigour, losing himself in the need to fill you up completely, imagining his seed taking and the swell of your belly bearing the evidence of your passion for everyone to see. “I want to see you dripping with my seed, fucked full until there’s no room left for anything else.”

“Then do it!” you just about screamed as he reached between you to rub on your clit. “Give it to me,” you sobbed, “until there’s nothing left to give.” the added pressure sent you tumbling over the edge, and your vision blacked out momentarily as your mind tried to catch up with your body, still spasming and twitching around his cock, milking him of all he had as he met his release with a shuddering roar, driving himself even deeper than he had before as he spent himself inside you. He doesn't move to pull out, keeping himself and his spend inside you do as long as possible and the intention of the action makes you clench slightly around his softening cock drawing a hiss from Astarion. “You want to go again, love?”

Catching your breath, from the exertion you couldn't help but drag him down to lay beside you, holding him close as you rest your head on his arm, nuzzling close to his neck and inhaling his comforting scent. It spells safety and tenderness that you know is only reserved for you. “Not right now, Astarion. I'm exhausted, but maybe we do it again another day,” you say with a laugh, “after all, if it doesn’t work this time, we’ll just have to keep on trying.”

“Well,” he says with a lazy kiss, “I’m very on board with your idea.”

“This is nice. This is really nice,” you whisper to him. “I just want to lay here with you forever.”

His hand snakes over to rest on your waist, the reassuring weight grounding you and the gentle press of his lips to your hair making your heart flutter. “Then let’s stay, for a little while longer at least. Close your eyes, darling.” Without even being able to see it, you can hear the smile on Astarion’s lips as he says it. You can’t help but feel a swell of contentment and pride at these moments of softness where so much was said with so few words.

You don't know how long you lay there in the field with Astarion, holding each other as the sun sank below the horizon but the next time you’re pulled from your trance, it’s the stars that watch over you as you anticipate the hopeful possibility of what might come to fruition.