#formul 1 one shot

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

book 7 chapter 11 part 1 thoughts!

***THIS POST CONTAINS MASSIVE SPOILERS FOR BOOK 7 PART 11 OF THE MAIN STORY!!*** This spans part 192 to part 211, covering Jack and Ruggie’s dreams. You can see my comments on Leona's dream here!

Please note: this is NOT meant to be a summary or a translation; these are only my initial thoughts on the events that roughly unfold. There may be details overlooked or misunderstood in this post, so PLEASE do not use this as a translation.

xbsbdkshwkw AZUL FAINTED WITH HIS EYES OPEN FROM THE FALL… This guy keeps taking the Ls early on in this update cuz he also got reminded that Idia recorded him in his own dream shouting “KRACKEN SHOT” which is very embarrassing.

Silver and Azul are able to change into their school uniforms without Idia’s incantation. Apparently Silver mastered the magic of changing clothes because he was so often oversleeping for class and had to prepare quickly for them. This shocks Sebek, who has yet to master this kind of magic. (Maybe it’s also a consequence of him being a first year?? 😂)

They briefly discuss how Silver looks like a prince when he’s riding his horse; Azul saw him in a Magicam cut of the Equestrian Club. Previously, we knew from Riddle’s Ceremonial Robes vignettes that the brown horse he rides is named Vorpal. Here we get confirmation of Silver and Sebek’s horses—Samson (a white horse, sharing the same name as Prince Phillip’s steed) and Tempest, respectively.

LMAO Idia complains about how athletes get so much attention, meanwhile nerds like him aren’t ever given that or fawned over or called princes. IDiA W3 gET IT… YOU COMPlAIN AbOUT CHADS 😭

They have landed in front of the gates of NRC and run into Jack there. He seems to be rushing to the colosseum…? Let’s follow him!!

OKAY

OKAY

OKAY

JACK HOWL YOu’RE oN MY ShiT LiST OTL YOU KNOW Ehat tHIS GUY DREAmed ABOUT???????!!!?!?!!?! It’s the year after their instaloss to Diasomnia in the interdorm tournament (don’t ask me why Malleus and Leona aren’t off at their internships at this point, dream logic I guess???). Dream!Leona has gathered all odds Savanaclaw in the colosseum to train so this year they can take Malleus and beat Diasomnia head-on, no tricks. HE EVEN GiVES A N OPTIMISTIC SpEECH AbOUT THE POWEr oF TEAMWORK TO RALLY EVERYONE… and declares he’ll be the next “king” 💀 Such overwhelming confidence… JSCK DRWAMED Of a DORM LEADER thAt PLAys BY THE RULES AnD IS 💯 ConFidENT IN THEMEKvES…

Grim is so grossed out seeing this version of Leona that he wants to wake Jack up right the fuck now 😭

AzUL YOU ASSHoLE???? He acts all fake surprised about “the incident” that happened at the intetdorm tournament and like bro had no part in instigating that stampede.

They start to formulate a plan to wake Jack up, but are worried about dream!Leona since Leona irl is a very strong mage, the darkness posing as Leona could be even stronger than usual. But at the same time we can’t risk casting a spell that’s too strong ourselves or it might call Malleus’s attention. They suggest to use Azul as a clincher since he would theoretically have access to all the magic he stole irl in the dream. Surely one of those could help?

Jack scores against the defense, Ruggie. While the Savanaclaw students are going over his play, Yuu and friends stroll up (including Idia vis a full body projection). Grim tells Savanaclaw they’re Team Ramshackle here to play them!

Ruggie says there’s no point; their team is made up of weaklings! But then Azul gives his OWN speech about how Octavinelle and Ignihyde are always dead last in magift tournaments and this time they really trained hard because they wanna be better 🥺 and besides, isn’g magift a game of wits and not brute magic/physical strength??? This catches the attention of dream!Leona who agrees to the play. He considers fellow dorm leaders worthy opponents, and also had a bone yo pick with Sebek and Silver. (Also??? Sounds like Ignihyde got their asses beat by the Pomefiore team in this year’s interdorm tournament.)

HEKP THIS mAn HE’S SuFFERINNNNG 💀 Azul is really out of it so he calls for a time out. Idia takes this opportunity to make fun of him again for being tired now when he was the captain of Golden Trident in his own dream. At least Sebek is nice and offers Azul some water.

Sebek messes up and the frisbee goes out of bounds?? WYat THE FuVk dream!Leona goes over and helps Sebek up after he’s fallen… “Oh, so Jack has made a senpai he can truly respect.” “Oh, the REAL Leona wouldn’t do something so noble like that.” GROSS GROSS GROSS GET IT OUTTA HERE 🤢

Oooh, interesting?? Ortho reasons that when you’re excited, you’re more likely to be influenced by emotions when making decisions; they’ll take advantage of the exercise high everyone on to break through to Jack. He and Jack end up flying out to space as they’re squaring off in magift; when Jack realizes how far he has flown up, he’s shocked. Don’t they need oxygen to breathe here?! It’s here that Ortho reveals this is all a dream to him.

Jack is so shocked by the news that he wakes—and then falls out of the sky?! Silver immediately runs to protect everyone. Idia uses the Dream Form Change to forcibly swap Ortho to his Cerberus Gear and Jack to his Dorm Uniform, which help to cushion the blow of their crash landing. Then dream!Leona comes over to check on Jack and decides to bench him.

The darkness tries to deceive Jack, but he actually punches back and refuses to be tricked. bcdbbsksks He cries a little and goes on about how he was so inspired by watching Leona play on TV he’d watch it over and over… only to be disappointed by reality. Jack goes a little overboard though, he starts attacking US too, thinking we’re fakes as well.

Jack quickly comes to see reason and stops trying to deck us. Sebek still seems salty at Savanaclaw for what they tried to pull in book 2 and again reminds Jack of those injustices, saying he won’t forgive them. To his surprise, Jack admits wrongdoing and says it’s only natural some people would still hold grudges and choose to not forgive them. Sebek is so shocked by the fact that honest people like Jack exist in Savanaclaw. Aw… baby’s having his prejudice challenged…

Mentioning this for the Jack lovers: Jack pets Grim on the head and praises him!

LMAo????? Jack grabs Silver’s arm to travel with them and is shocked by how it looks slender but actually you can tell he has trained a ton by feeling it!

They land in Sunrise City in Sunset Savanna. Everyone tells Jack about Dream Form Change, which he says is a spell that looks like it’s from an anime his kid sister watched before. Jack has a had time saying the spell because he finds it embarrassing, but he’s eventually goaded into it (especially by Sebek, who tells him to chat it with his whole damn chest).

Beastman lore!! Apparently beastmen are considered a genus and all beastmen come from Sunset Savanna; over time, they migrated to other parts of the world, especially to some colder locations northward. Jack’s family is included in this, as well as Sebek’s. His grandfather apparently used to live in the wetlands of Sunset Savanna. I guess it just goes to show that no matter how different their individual practices and beliefs… they have common roots.

While they’re admiring the statue of the lion prince in the center of Sunrise City, they notice no hyenas are among the gathered animals. They suggest that maybe the statue was made before the King of Beasts united all animals; the hyenas used to live in their own place called the Land of Shadows.

They review some Sunset Savanna lore, including how difficult it is to unite beastmen of different kinds and how there's a pushback against development due to many beastmen wanting to respect nature. Sometimes the disputes can become violent, and it's all over the news. SHOCKINGLY, Idia has a moment of clarity and realizes that this must be why Leona chose the internship he did at a mining and energy company 😭

Everyone begins to suspect the dream is Leona’s but right then Ruggie rushes by them, declaring that he’s late for school. Jack is surprised that Ruggie is in glasses because in Savanavlaw he would brag about having good eyes.

Ruggie cuts through the market to get to school on time; he seems friendly with the folks and many of them offer him free food. Jack remarks that Ruggie is seen as a hero in his hometown, so maybe this explains the NPCs’ behavior. Apparently he is also an honors student in this world.

Anyway, Ruggie arrives at Ivory Cliff! It seems this school doesn’t exist irl; it’s only in Ruggie’s dream. Most of it is beastment, and over half are hyenas.

Grim watches Ruggie and mobs A and B eating food and leaps in to get some!! (Azul apologizes and lies that Grim is his familiar, lol) Sebek chides Grim for doing this, but then his own stomach growls, giving his own hunger away. He of course denies his hunger—but Ruggie says it’s okay and invites them all to eat!! The local children come to their campus just to have food too. Ivorycliff Academy was built in honor of the three hyenas who served the King of Beasts. They used to be do starved that they could cry, so the school is dedicated to feeding the hungry in the spirit of solidarity.

BRUH 😭 YOu’RE KIDDING ME… In his dream, Ruggie’s dad never left him… He came back for his son with a fortune he made from working. Ruggie also bought a new car for his granny and never has to be hungry again. Jack wonders if it is really right to take away happiness like that, but ultimately he decides he doesn’t want to see his senpai living a false reality.

Ruggie shows them to a school donut stall with all-you-can-eat toppings. He dumps everything onto a single donut and calls it the "Ruggie Special". The owner drops the lore that in the universe of this dream, apparently LEONA built the school.

According to donut lady, Leona graduated last year and came back after graduating to strengthen his country. He has established several schools and even magift teams. Among young people in the Sunset Savanna, Leona is supposedly also more popular than the crown prince.

Ruggie runs off to class and we stay behind to eat. Donut lady turns to darkness and attacks us, so we beat it back.

Everyone thinks it will be hard to wake Ruggie since he has never met Leona in this reality and doesn’t have any memories of NRC, his club activities, etc. There isn’t much for him to emotionally react to.

WHAT THE HECK is this a Mufasa movie reference in Twst 😭 Ruggie and some mobs talk about a sequel (that’s a live action prequel, I think??) about two characters who are enemies but were actually friends in their youth. Or maybe they’re just talking about some other Lion King prequel I’m not aware of???

J kb bajabakan ahaGayatwHAT

Azul tosses coins of different values which attracts Ruggie’s attention. He has the unique ability to tell the value of a coin just from the sound of it, a skill which Azul learned about from observing Ruggie when he worked part-time at the Mostro Lounge.

Anyway, Ruggie tells mobs A and B to go home without him so he can hunt the coins in peace.

Azul carelessly tosses 500 madol (~5 USD) into the fountain. Ruggie wants it so badly he dives in and starts digging around wildly in the water for the coin. AND AZUL JUST KINDA STANDS THER E TAUNTING HIM LIKE, "OoOOoOoOoh you want that coin so badly, Ruggie, your body moved on instinct BE HONEST WITH YOURSELF, BE GREEDY, GET THAT COIN" (NOT AN ACTUAL TRANSLATION, but in the spirit of what Azul actually says).

I assume this is what the Ivorycliff Uniform Ruggie groovy depicts... Bro's tripping and having a cosmic experience all because he spotted A COUPLE DOLLARS.

Nooot sure how to feel about this as a narrative device. On one hand, it's funny and definitely demonstrates Ruggie's shamelessness. On the other hand, I can see why some may see it as distasteful or humiliating because Ruggie is already so destitute irl and yet here they are using him scrounging around for a few dollars as comedic bit.

Mobs A and B return to check on him. Ruggie starts obsessing to them about how you can buy extra or fancy food like the shrimp gratin set for 500 madol!! Which confuses the mobs because all the food at Ivorycliff is free.

On instinct, Ruggie starts reciting what I assume is true of NRC: basic buffet foods are free, but extra foods are an extra cost… uniforms are free but if you ruin the first set then you need to pay for extra ones… etc. Ruggie points out that Ivorcliff uniforms are sucky anyway, with a light color like this, even a little bit of dirt stands out! Night Raven College uniforms are black, so it’s so convenient! Wooow, what a callback to book 2 💀 Ruggie complained about the RSA uniforms being hard to clean back then too…

We beat the mobs up~

Ruggie falls ot his knees and has a good little cry 😭 but then he recovers and says he’d better be paid a good hourly wage for all this trouble cnbdjssbjsks He agrees to join us because “Well, I wake up Leona-san every day so this is literally no different than my usual routine” though he also admits his success rate is like 60-70%.

dnensjsbahsjajw RUGGUE’S On MY shIT LIST TOO. HOW daRE HE… Bro says he’s going to wake up OUR king now, that he doesn’t want to follow a false king.. ARE YOU FR 💀 JE’S TAlKING AbOUT zbsvsjabskshFd;,,,/;~~\4!’ansnjahVb,dDDGfgGJjkJSDgabakaojrr a kKNBD gbmmkojnkFSAAQWVNmkoggDFFHvjkkp OTL

PAUSE TO STARE AT RUGGIE'S CRYING FACE BECAUSE WHAT THE HELL I FEEL LIKE I'M STARING AT A KICKED PUPPY

And so…! They’re off!!

This update ends up Ruggie’s dream concluding. Next time (on the 29th), it’s time for us to wake up Leona!!

asdbkhlfbyofqeyg80eg8qegppf OKAY. I WAS NOT EXPECT THIS AMOUNT OF LEONA GLAZING IN THIS UPDATE 🤡 Like, GOOD LORD was there a lot of it... I sort of expected it in Jack's dream since he idolizes Leona, but I was not expecting it to come up in Ruggie's dream too. Even though it doesn't seem like Ruggie has met Leona in the universe of his own dream... the dream world still created lore about how Leona successfully graduated and made the decision to come back and better his country, especially for the destitute hyenas like himself 💀💀💀 WHICH JUST GOES TO SHOW THAT EVERYONE IN LEONA'S DORM RESPECTS HIM AND BELIEVES HE CAN LEAD THEM TO A BRIGHTER FUTURE IN THIS ESSAY I WILL--

ASDBKLHABIYOFAYFQEIBAF STFU ME, THIS UPDATE ISN'T ABOUT HIM.. .. . . . ....... . . . ... . .. . . . . . . LET'S TALK ABOUT JACK AND RUGGIE.

I think this update was one of the funnier ones by far. I'm on Grim's side, it was very unnerving to see a helpful, reliable Leona that plays by the rules and is a good sportsman... but at the same time, it's only to be expected of Jack. Since book 2, he's made it clear he looks up to his dorm leader and wants to be able to put his faith in him. It was nice to see everyone acknowledge how a Leona that doesn't hold back is a genuine threat and how this is the version of him that Jack wants to see realized. It's cute how Jack has this pure want to play with Leona and wants to see him as an idealized leader... Definitely puppy-coded behavior.

Something else I really appreciated about Jack's dream is the logic that went into waking him up. It was really a tag-team effort by Azul and Ortho and, unlike previous updates, I felt like the previous OB boy's presence was a Nothing addition to the cast and didn't contribute much. But Azul uses his smooth talking to convince dream!Leona to play against them, and then Ortho isolates Jack to knock some sense into him. I liked that Ortho, the robot, used cold, hard facts to reason his way to a situation where Jack was more likely to react with strong emotionality. Azul becomes useful again in Ruggie's dream, where he single-handedly wakes the guy up with some spare change he had on hand www

The exchange between Sebek and Jack was great, but I wish it had been extended... It feels like they added it to help with Sebek's character arc of overcoming prejuidice about non-fae, which is fine! But I think it should have been carried over into Ruggie's dream (in that section where they talk about different beastmen in the savanna). Like... it would tie together so well if Sebek had a moment of just "............." in indicate that he's thinking about what was just said, about how different beastmen, despite their differences, all originated in the same place. It would show us that he's slowly realizing, little by little, to accept non-fae.

I think Jack attacking us was an interesting beat to include, especially with all the theories swirling about how the Savanaclaw update will be the one to shake up the formula. Perhaps this is a preview of what's to come in Leona's section??? It proves Ortho's point that you're more likely to think and act with your emotions leading you rather than logic if you're already hyped about something. (In Jack's case, he was still coming off the caution and the high of beating back dream!Ruggie and Leona.)

I felt very similar to Jack in Ruggie's dream, doubting whether or not it was morally right to rip someone away from their happiness--especially considering all that Ruggie has gone through. Little guy was so devastated to find out the truth too... When I think about it, he's gone through so much tragedy in his life. His mom's dead, his dad left him, he grew up destitute and having to scrape by, he had to get LITERAL GARBAGE (depicted in the manga adaptation) to survive some days. It's no wonder why the people in his hometown call him their hero, it's a miracle that he lived this long and managed to get into a prestigious school. I think Ruggie's dream also highlights that he's not JUST greedy because he's greedy. Ruggie clearly cares about other people living well too (something alluded to early in book 4), because why else would Ivorycliffs casually offer free food to everyone and anyone? Why else would he spend tons of cash to buy his grandma stuff? He's thankful for what he has and wants to give back to the community that supported him. The supportive community is also generally reflected in his dream, specifically the market he passes on his way to school.

Ultimately, I do think it's for the best that Ruggie was roused awake because um... HEY, THE WORLD IS GOING TO END. Coming to that conclusion also speaks a lot about Jack's character: above all, he values honesty, even if the truth hurts. Excellent carry-over from book 2 (where he was the whistleblower), honestly.

One thing I wished they had expanded on was the relation of hyenas to other beastmen. It’s implied they are second class citizens, but it’s never clearly stated why that is other than “oh they live in a place that lions didn’t rule”. I would have liked more historical context for that discrimination; it would have helped to flesh out the world.

Overall, liked this update a lore more than the previous ones. I don’t know if I can still say this after the second part comes out (because I’ve usually had the most criticism for how the OB boys’ dreams ate handled), but so far I’m surprised by Jack and Ruggie (in a good way). Fingers crossed for the 29th! 🤞

[nefastidies]

Inspired by "Implicit Demand for Proof" by imperialhuxness

-1-

“I need you on the ground,” Ren says instead, measured, but tight-strung as a grappling cable. Apparently sensing the retort on the tip of Hux’s tongue, he continues, “But I’m not taking you into the thick of combat.”

Hux thins his lips, keeps up the patient tone. “That’s where this team and I will be most effective.”

“At too high a risk.”

Since when do you care about risks? Hux barely bites back, instead manages, level, “Nothing we do is without risk.”

Ren’s gaze flashes with an insistence that isn’t anger. His eyes are like coals, waiting for a spark. “I’m not taking you into that firefight.”

Really.

Fucking really.

“So you won’t take me into a firefight,” Hux lowers his voice to a hiss, but it still reverbs under the high ceiling, “yet you dragged me ten klicks below the surface of Coruscant.”

“Well, maybe I--” Ren hesitates, gnawing his lips. His gaze drops to the mosaic tile between their boots, then flickers back to Hux’s face. “I shouldn’t have.”

Hux is too pissed off to bask in the near-admission of wrong. “Well, you can compensate by bringing me this time, when it makes actual, tactical sense.”

“You’re not going into a combat zone.”

“I was born and raised in a--”

Ren’s voice drops to a whisper. “That’s an order,” he says, invoking it almost gently, below earshot of the men.

Hux purses his lips, aware of his surroundings again. Of the absolute indecorum of this argument.

Around himself and Ren, three officers stare at their feet, four tap too aggressively at their datapads. The two trooper commanders confer in whispers about a new blaster model. Mitaka seems interested in the mosaic on the floor.

“Yes, sir,” Hux forces out, Academy pert, and the gathered staff returns more or less to professional attention.

--- -2-

Hux whirls toward the sound as a massive shape bursts through the treeline, scattering leaves. Some sort of megafauna. Some sort of monster.

The creature’s smooth skin glistens livid green, its underbelly sickly pale. Its mouth opens wide, baring short, sharp teeth like a Rodian fly-trap’s. It has six legs, each ending in a crustacean pincer, which stab the ground with each step. It reeks of rot and salt, as if it just crawled out of brackish water.

Hux’s pulse skyrockets, and he jumps back on adrenaline. Why do you ever leave the ship, every time you leave the ship it’s some shit like this, every goddamn time—

He yells to Ren that they should run, even as the creature screeches again, lunges toward them.

But Ren stays put. “You should run.”

And Hux would. He would, but he’s already several meters back, and the soles of his boots weigh a kiloton. He’s rooted to the ground. The blood pounds in his ears, and he can’t move, can’t think.

The thing screeches. It’s high-pitched. It rends the air. Its movements ruffle the foliage around it. Its pincers break the damp earth.

Ren steps in front of Hux. Into its path.

--- -3-

But Yago’s lips still twist into something unbearably self-satisfied. “General Armitage Hux,” he says, “was executed six months ago on a charge of high treason. So even if Hux were alive, it would be my sworn duty to have him shot in the back of the head.”

It hits like a blow. Phantom pain lances through his leg, between his ribs. Yago’s right. There’s no defense when he’s--

Before Hux can formulate one, Ren’s gaze kindles. “I’m Supreme Leader,” he returns, typical thoughtless clapback. “I hereby pardon him.”

(Typical thoughtless clapback.)

Everyone knows traitors receive no mercy.

--- -4-

A humanoid figure emerges from the shadows like he’s been waiting there. In two strides, he closes the distance to Hux and Ren. It’s clear he’s part alien, skin teal-tinged and marked with pale striations. His voice is somewhat rough with drink, but his movements are smooth, purposeful, eyes trained on Hux.

“Thought you could just slip out with your date?” he spits.

There are far bigger concerns than correcting the assumption.

“What?” Hux returns, elegantly.

“The bartender told me you were coming this way,” the man says, ill-concealed rage contorting his mouth. “Got a lot more nerve than I’d give you credit for, showing your face like this.”

Shit. Hux’s pulse picks up, and for a second the alley takes on the sharp edges of panic. You knew this would happen eventually, you knew -- Stop.

“I’m sorry,” he says, tamping down the worst case scenario, “what are you--” 

But it’s like he doesn’t even hear it. 

“Kind of man that’ll pull a trigger from a thousand lightyears away. Not even the guts to look at what you’d done.” The man’s eyes flash with the sort of hatred Hux actually recognizes. “My wife was on Courtsilius, General Hux .”

The man takes a step closer, and Hux is about to spread his hands and explain with a baffled simper that he’s got the wrong person. That the Hosnian ‘Cataclysm’ was an unspeakable tragedy and a monstrous war crime.

But before he can speak, sulfurous green ignites in his periphery. The air hums, cracks with the sudden whiff of ozone. The blade of the antique saber impales the man’s chest.

--- -5-

Ren shakes his head. “But I still need you,” he says, eyes glittering, desperate, searching. “What about weapons dev? And you can actually conduct diplomacy--”

Hux cracks a smile. “That’s going a bit far.”

Ren huffs a laugh, but doesn’t indulge him. “You balance me,” he continues. “I don’t know what I’ll do. I love you.”

Hux’s pulse drops into his stomach. His spine stiffens, more from surprise than actual discomfort. It isn’t a concept with which he’s familiar. But it’s right, somehow. As Ren’s eyes search his face, curious but unshrinking, he can’t deny it.

[erodasfishtacos]

My Heart's in Overdrive (& You're Behind the Steering Wheel)

prompt: harry can't catch a break, can't give an explanation, and can only watch how things play out

word count: 3.5k

warnings: angsts, descriptions of anxiety, anxiety attacks, depression

author's note:

I upload a piece of writing every 1-2 days.

There are multiple other parts of this up and will be updated this month

I recently started a second tier called The OG Tier where 2

one shots (1-4kish) are posted a week.

There are currently 350 + pieces available to read

Tier I - $3 USD where you get access to main stories, everything except the mini one shots.

Tier II - $5 USD where you get access to every piece of writing!

you can check it out here

first FIFTEEN to click here can get a free $5 membership for a month!

-

PART I & PART II

Harry was spiraling.

His mind raced as he tried to formulate an escape plan from the PR date with Tessa. 

He had no recollection of signing the contract, yet there it was, his signature staring back at him like an ironclad promise when Sonny forwarded it to him after getting off the phone call. 

He must have agreed to this at some point, perhaps in a moment of weakness or sheer oversight but he really tried to avoid these types of things.


Even when YN wasn't back in the picture, Harry never enjoyed going on scheduled dates with more pressure than when there aren’t paparazzi and PR teams breathing down his neck.

Regardless, it was binding, and now he had to figure out how to explain it to YN.

God, YN. How was he supposed to tell her? 

Every time they seemed to make progress, something always pulled them back, and this time, it was his fault yet again.

It was like a cruel cycle, one where YN put in all the effort, consistently showing up, prioritizing their relationship, while he let his career obligations dictate their course. 

He wanted to be the kind of partner she deserved, someone who balanced it all effortlessly, but he just kept failing.

Now, he felt caged, not by steel bars or shackles, but by ink on paper—contracts, commitments, and obligations he had no way of breaking without severe consequences. 

The industry was ruthless, and if he backed out, he would be dealing with more than just YN’s disappointment. 

Legal battles, financial repercussions, and a tarnished reputation loomed over him like a dark cloud. 

He couldn't afford to be reckless, not when so many people depended on him.

But YN deserved more than this. 

More than him constantly expecting her to understand, to be flexible, to accept being second priority. 

He had leaned on that grace too many times before, and each time, it chipped away at their foundation.

When he tried to call her, it went straight to voicemail. 

A sinking feeling settled in his gut as he checked their text messages and saw that she had put her phone on ‘Do Not Disturb’ for the night.

Fuck.

He couldn’t tell her over text.

How would he even phrase it?

Hey, thanks for the phone sex. By the way, I have a PR date tomorrow morning. Forgot to mention it, but don’t worry—it’s just with the face of Levi’s and totally meaningless.

Yeah, that would go over well.

He wasn’t stupid.

He remembered the comments she had made about his dating history, about his pattern of dating models. 

He could already picture the look on her face when she found out. 

It wasn’t just about the date—it was about what it represented, about the ways it reaffirmed her fears, her insecurities, the ways he had hurt her before. 

This wasn’t just another misstep. 

It was another confirmation that maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t as important to him as she should be. 

And that wasn’t true. 

It wasn’t. 

Because if they had been talking at the point, Harry would have never signed something like that.

Ever ever ever.

But how could he convince her of that when everything pointed to the opposite?

A tightness gripped his chest, his breathing becoming shallow as his body flooded with panic. 

The weight of it clawed at him, rising up his throat, making his entire body feel like it was on fire. 

He recognized the signs of an anxiety attack before it fully took hold. 

Without thinking, he moved off the bed and into the bathroom, turning the shower on. 

The water was lukewarm, leaning towards cold as he stepped under it, grunting at the ice pelting against the heat of his tender skin.

He needed to ground himself, to regain control, but it wasn’t working.

YN. 

He needed YN.

She was the only one who ever knew how to de-escalate him. 

The only one who could tell when he was getting overwhelmed before he even noticed it himself. 

She had always been that person for him, the calm in the storm, the one who never wavered.

++

YN had always been the calm one, the emotionally regulated anchor in a world that often felt crazy and unpredictable. 

No matter how chaotic the situation or how intense the emotions around her, YN remained a steady presence, someone who could be relied upon to bring balance when everything else seemed to be falling apart.. 

Where others might react impulsively or allow their emotions to take control, YN always found a way to maintain her composure. 

She didn’t rush into decisions or speak without thought; instead, she took the time to process her feelings, allowing herself to fully understand them before responding.

While her friends were often swept up in the storm of their own inner worlds—tossed between the highs of fleeting joy and the lows of uncertainty—YN remained anchored. 

People often marveled at her ability to handle even the most difficult situations with such ease.

Whether it was dealing with a personal conflict, facing an academic challenge, or simply navigating the everyday ups and downs of teenage life, YN always seemed to handle everything with poise. 

Her ability to stay calm in the face of stress wasn’t just a skill; it was a natural part of who she was, a defining characteristic that made her not only emotionally mature for her age but also incredibly wise beyond her years.

Sometimes, YN would get called ‘possessive’ or ‘jealous’ by other girls, and while the words stung, they never quite understood the reality of the situation.

 The assumptions made about her stemmed from one simple fact—no one else ever really got a chance alone with Harry.

 It wasn’t for lack of trying on their part; they all wanted their opportunity to charm him, to see if they could catch his attention, to experience what it would be like to have his undivided focus on them for even a few minutes. 

But it never seemed to happen.

YN was always there, ‘hogging’ him, as they put it, as if he were a prized possession rather than a person with his own agency.

But that couldn’t have been further from the truth.

What they failed to see, what they never took the time to understand, was the unspoken language that existed between YN and Harry. 

They didn’t notice the small, intimate moments that passed between them, the subtle ways they reassured one another, the effortless way they navigated social situations as a unit. \

They didn’t see how, upon arriving at the bonfire at their friend’s house, Harry had gently tugged YN’s hand before she could wander too far, his fingers latching onto hers with a kind of desperation that most people wouldn’t have caught. 

His voice, laced with the kind of nervous energy that only she could recognize, had been quiet but firm when he murmured, “Nut, don’t go too far, please.”

And she understood. 

She always did.

 She didn’t roll her eyes or dismiss his worry. 

She simply nodded, offering him a warm smile that told him she wasn’t going anywhere. 

“I won’t,” YN promised.

Years later, when Harry looked back on this time in his life, he would be struck by how profound their communication had been, how mature their connection was despite their age. 

They had operated on a level far beyond their years, always seeming ot balancing each other out in ways that most adults still struggled to achieve.

“What’s your number?” She had asked him then, her voice soft yet steady, knowing exactly what he needed without him having to say it outright.

“A five,” Harry had replied quietly, almost ashamed to admit it. 

There had been a time when he resented the question, when it made him feel weak, as though acknowledging his anxiety somehow diminished his strength as a man. 

He had been conditioned to believe that vulnerability equated to weakness, that expressing discomfort was something to be embarrassed about. 

But YN had helped him see the truth—that it was okay to feel this way, that it didn’t make him any less of a man.

If anything, it made him stronger.

YN would always remind him in a teasing but truthful tone, “Vulnerability is sexy.”

Despite his social anxiety, Harry never let it stand in the way of being there for YN. 

If someone was giving her a hard time, he wouldn’t hesitate to step in. 

If she needed defending, he was her first line of protection. 

His anxiety never existed in those moments because his love for her was bigger than the fear that usually controlled him. 

He put her first—always even when it meant pushing his own emotions aside.

And yet, he hadn’t realized just how much she had helped him, just how much he had relied on her, until she was gone.

He got too comfortable.

When they broke up, everything unraveled. 

Suddenly, he was alone in social situations, navigating unfamiliar territory without the safety net she had unknowingly provided. 

There was no buffer anymore, no one to subtly swoop in with an excuse when things got too overwhelming, no one to read the slight changes in his demeanor and pull him aside before the panic took hold.

Instead, he was left to face it all on his own, and the weight of it was crushing.

It wasn’t just the heartbreak of losing YN that drained him; it was the combination of grief and his anxiety spiraling unchecked.

It became a vicious cycle—his anxiety feeding into his depression, his depression making his anxiety worse. 

Every social event, every team function, every new situation felt unbearable without her presence beside him. 

He hadn’t even begun to recover when he attempted therapy, but that, too, had left him feeling even more lost.

The therapist’s skepticism had been like a slap to the face.

“If you are as anxious as you say, why would you ever choose to be a professional football player?”

The question had floored him.

He hadn’t known how to answer it. 

It wasn’t that he had chosen this career because it was easy for him—it was that football was the one place where his anxiety didn’t control him. 

On the field, he wasn’t the nervous guy struggling to make small talk at a team dinner. 

He was fast, he was focused, he was powerful. 

Football had been his escape, the only place where his mind quieted long enough for him to feel normal. 

But the therapist hadn’t understood that. 

Instead of helping him work through his struggles, they had made him doubt himself even more.

After that session, he never went back.

His anxiety continued to gnaw at him, unchecked, until it became suffocating. 

The only thing that seemed to help, even just a little, was the cold water. 

Showers, swimming pools, ice baths—it didn’t matter, as long as he could feel the chill against his skin. 

The shock of it helped calm his body down, helped pull him back from the brink when he felt like he was drowning in his own thoughts.

Still, even as the water rushed over him, he couldn’t escape the feeling of being completely and utterly exhausted. 

His breathing was just as heavy as if he had just sprinted the length of a football field, chest heaving, throat dry and burning from the lack of oxygen making its way into his lungs. 

No matter how much he tried to steady himself, to ground himself, it never felt like enough.

And maybe, deep down, he knew why.

Because without YN there to remind him to breathe, to hold his hand when the world felt like too much, he was still learning how to do it on his own.

++

Sleep didn’t come easy that night. 

Harry tossed and turned, his mind restless, his body unable to settle. 

Every few minutes, he reached for his phone, checking and rechecking to see if she had texted back. 

The silence from her end was deafening, and with every passing hour, his anxiety only deepened.

The breakfast date was scheduled for eight-thirty in the morning at a local restaurant that was well-known for being a hotspot for celebrities. 

It was the kind of place where paparazzi loitered, hoping to catch a scandalous photo or an unexpected encounter between two famous people.

 Despite the many times Harry had heard of it, he had never been there himself.

He knew that YN loved a lay-in on the weekends, often staying in bed until nine or even ten if she had the chance.

 But he was praying desperatelythat maybe, just maybe, she had woken up early today. 

That maybe she’d see his message, hear his call, and give him the chance to explain before the media twisted everything into something it wasn’t.

And then, as if the universe had conspired against him, a series of unfortunate events began to unfold. 

Harry considered himself a person with relatively good luck, but today—on the one day he needed it the most—luck was nowhere to be found. 

He needed a favor from fate more than he needed to throw a game-winning touchdown during the playoffs, but fate had other plans.

He had anticipated the presence of paparazzi. 

That was the whole point of this arrangement, after all. 

But what he hadn’t expected was just how many would be waiting for him. 

The scene outside the restaurant was overwhelming—swarming with photographers who acted like vultures circling fresh roadkill.

They were shoving at each other, pressing themselves against his car before he even had the chance to park properly. 

And, of course, because they wanted the best possible photographs, he had been instructed to park at the very front of the restaurant—completely exposed. 

Normally, in situations like this, celebrities were offered the option of a back entrance, a discreet way in.

But not today.

Harry’s anxiety, which had been simmering since the night before, was now reaching a boiling point. 

The flashing cameras, the deafening shouts, the lack of personal space—it all pushed him closer and closer to the edge. 

The paparazzi operated with the delusion that they were untouchable, fearless even in the face of a towering quarterback with broad shoulders and the muscle mass to back up his size. 

They had the upper hand, and they knew it.

Then, the bystanders started to notice the commotion. 

Pedestrians, people who had merely been passing by, suddenly realized someone important was in their midst. 

Like moths to a flame, they gravitated toward the growing mob, adding to the chaos.

In the frenzy of trying to get into the restaurant without causing a scene—or worse, someone getting hurt, Harry never heard his phone ring. 

The noise was too much, his mind too wired, his body too overwhelmed to even register the vibration in his pocket.

By the time he finally made it inside, he was on the verge of hyperventilating. 

But he hid it well. 

No one—not the restaurant staff, not the other patrons would be able to tell just how much he was struggling. 

Only YN ever saw through the cracks in his composure.

The restaurant’s owner greeted him, shaking his hand and immediately launching into a conversation about football. 

It was always football.

Harry nodded along, forcing himself to appear engaged even as he mentally tried to steady himself. 

He was then guided to a very public table on the outside patio, where cameras could easily document every second of the staged date.

Tessa hadn’t arrived yet. 

That, at least, was a small mercy. 

He had a few minutes to collect himself before he had to endure the part of the morning he was dreading the most.

Harry pulled out his phone, fully expecting to see nothing from YN.

But to his surprise, there was a missed call.

8:23 AM.

His heart lurched as he immediately pressed her contact, anxious for her to answer. 

He needed to explain himself. 

Needed her to hear the truth. 

But the call rang once before going straight to voicemail.

His stomach dropped.

She had sent him to voicemail.

How could she already know?

Then, a text appeared on his screen:

YN: Sorry! I’m about to head into a deep tissue massage appointment to work on these aches from the accident. My shoulder’s still twinging a bit!! I’ll call you when I get out! (:

Relief flooded through him, though it was short-lived. 

He wanted to reply immediately, to ask for just a minute of her time, but before he could type out a message, his ‘date’ was arriving at the table.

++

The date was going terribly.

Harry couldn’t focus on anything Tessa was saying. 

His mind was elsewhere, his eyes constantly flicking to his phone.

He was hyper-aware of the paparazzi, more so than usual, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t force himself to feign interest in the conversation.

It didn’t take long for Tessa to notice.

With a scowl on her face, she clinked her fork against the plate in frustration.

“You could at least try to be interested in what I’m saying. We’re on a date, and you’re not treating it like one.”

Harry blinked, setting his phone down. 

His usual cool, composed demeanor was nowhere to be found when he replied sharply, “I’m not treating it like a real date because it isn’t. Public Relations managers don’t set up dates—they set up business opportunities that make them money.”

Tessa’s expression tightened, though she was careful to maintain an air of professionalism. 

Cameras were everywhere, after all.

“Asshole,” she muttered under her breath, low enough that only he could hear.

Harry scoffed, running his tongue over his teeth, “If you typically start relationships with a signed contract, I guarantee you that’s not a great start.”

His stomach churned. 

He could barely take more than a few bites of his meal without feeling nauseous.

The rest of the breakfast was as awkward as expected. 

And yet, they still had to end it with a hug and a kiss on the cheek—nothing inherently intimate, but in the context of this situation, it would be spun into something far bigger than it was.

The moment he was in his car, he peeled out of the parking lot, desperate to get away from the flashing cameras.

But the entire drive home, he was texting.

H: Please, please call me when you’re out of your massage.

H: Nut, I will explain everything to you. I promise.

H: It wasn’t anything. I promise I have an explanation.

H: Call me, please.

For the first few hours, he tried to remain optimistic.

But Harry knew deep tissue massages didn’t last four hours.

By that point, he knew. 

She had seen the photos.

He tried calling.

It rang twice, offering a flicker of hope—but then it stopped. 

She hadn’t blocked him, and while he hadn’t truly believed she would, the lack of an answer still cut deep.

Then he went online.

The breakfast date was trending in the top ten by the afternoon.

The photo of him kissing Tessa’s cheek was the headline image.

So she had seen it.

Harry knew blowing up her phone wouldn’t help. 

He needed to respect her boundaries.

She clearly didn’t want to talk to him.

But he just wanted a chance to explain.

If they weren’t in different cities, he’d be at her door. 

And if he didn’t have a meeting later that he cannot bail on, he’d be on a plane to her by now.

Harry gets this heart-wrenching feeling, and he’s really never felt it but once before.

That had been when YN had ended things with him.

[le-fruit-de-la-passion]

Press One for Love, Two for Regret

Chapter 2

Summary: Proper confessions should never happen over the phone. Viktor knows that. So how did he get here?

Pairing: Viktor x Reader

Word Count: 3.6K

Warning: Mature (mentions of explicit content, explicit in last chapter)

Notes: This was originally supposed to be a real quick one-shot. And yet, here I stand, offering you a three-chapter fic that is probably going to be a little under 10K total. Like a stray cat proudly bringing you a dead squirrel. I'm bozo the fool and I can't stop writing about Viktor.

(Chapter 1) (Chapter 3) (Chapter 4/End)

In theory, you’re pretty sure being a hitman should be fun.

There should be something thrilling about following someone around, tracking their every move in the shadows, finding the perfect opening to shoot them right between the eyes. The hunter and the prey. Riveting stuff.

Except you're not a hitman. And you're not tracking down someone to shoot them.

You're a dumb, stupid idiot. And you're just trying to talk to your dumb, stupid best friend who is doing everything in his power to not talk to you.

And he's quite good at it too; it's like he's vanished from the space-time continuum itself. No one has seen him, no one has talked to him, no one has even heard of where he might be hiding. It's almost annoying how good Viktor is at everything he does.

You hadn't managed to sleep the rest of the night of what you now refer to as ‘The Call’. You watched the minutes pass one by one on your alarm clock, eyes wide open, mind bustling with too many questions to go to bed.

At six am sharp, you deemed you had waited long enough to stomp your way to Jayce's and Viktor's apartment. You weren't even sure of what you were going to say; you just had to talk to him. You couldn't let that conversation end the way it did.

You knocked firmly five times before Jayce cracked the door open with an audible groan, hair tussled, eyes barely open. It seemed he, too, hadn't spent a very restful night.

It took a few seconds for him to even register who was standing at the door; when he did, he visibly straightened his back in an attempt to look awake and composed.

Unfortunately for him, it did not work very well.

“H-hey,” he stammered, leaning against the doorway in false non-chalence. His voice was still heavy with sleep, and he audibly cleared his throat. “It's a little early, isn't it? The ol’ operating system usually only boots up when the sun is out,” he added jokingly, pointing a finger toward his forehead.

A valiant attempt at breaking the obvious tension, but you refused to budge. You glared at him, decidedly looking into his eyes.

“I need to talk to Viktor.”

Jayce made a strangled sound, which he tried to hide with a theatrical coughing fit.

“You… just missed him?” he managed to choke out with uncertainty. He was visibly trying to convince himself just as much as you. “He left to go prepare the lab. You know him, always doing extra research.”

He flashed you a smile, a practiced grin with perfect teeth that might have seemed genuine in other circumstances. But his bottom lip was quivering, and you could see Viktor's daily use cane leaning against the coat rack right behind him. Jayce was not exactly a master manipulator.

“Jayce, the university doesn't even open until seven thirty.”

He deflated at that, his large shoulders comically lowering. You could see he was thinking desperately for anything to say, but coming up empty-handed. Chances were he hadn't had his coffee yet, which knowing him, considerably lowered his ability to formulate coherent thoughts.

You were starting to feel bad; the poor guy was stuck being the literal last defence to his roommate, and he was genuinely giving it his best. Jayce might not have a career in acting, but he was a good friend.

That was more than you could say about yourself.

“Ok. I get it,” you sighed. “He needs space. I can respect that. Just… tell him to call me later, alright? Even just a text would be fine.”

Jayce seemed profoundly relieved you had agreed to back down, something you almost always refused to do under any circumstance. Yes, technically, you could stay put in front of that door and progressively chip away at Jayce's still barely conscious mind until Viktor decided to show himself.

But you felt guilty. Guilty for not realizing how he felt, guilty for treating him like your personal diary over the phone, guilty for not saying how you felt sooner. The conversation should be on Viktor's terms rather than your own.

“Yeah, I'll tell him,” Jayce gave you a small smile, comforting and honest. The next words came out less encouraging than he likely intended: “I'll try.”

But now, it's been a week since ‘The Call’, and Viktor has still shown no sign of wanting to talk. Your phone is frustratingly devoid of unread texts or missed calls no matter how often you check it. Your world feels like it's been spiralling out of control a little more every day, the uncertainty of everything left unsaid weighing you down like a ton of bricks. It's torture, and you can't help but feel like you kind of deserve it.

You should have known better than to call Viktor when you were drunk, and yet, you still did. Because there's nothing more natural to you than talking to him. It's become second nature, as natural as breathing or blinking.

Viktor is always so smart, and so composed, and so understanding, and so helpful- and he's probably the only person who likes hearing you go on rants for hours on end. How could you ever want to talk to anybody else after a breakup?

But when you're drunk, you lose the already feeble control you have over your verbal on-and-off switch. Everything spews out of you without a filter, as if you're vomiting all the thoughts that go through your mind one after the other. It's cathartic, for sure, but then you end up saying things that should never be said to the best friend you've secretly been in love with for years now.

Things like how your ex never took time to finger you properly, or how he had this stupid obsession with men not going down on women because he was an ungrateful asshole.

And then, those two little words.

“I would.”

There was no hesitation in his tone, no uncertainty. It was like he had the sentence on the tip of his tongue for the last two hours you had been whining to him. Like he had been waiting to say it for too long to contain it anymore.

The irony was that you had spent the last four years trying everything in your power to not let those stupid little words out too.

—

You met Viktor at your first university's faculty Christmas party.

You hated work parties.

You had only gotten the position of academic advisor a few months prior, and in that time you hadn't managed to form a single bond with any other employee in your entire department. It was always the same; you talked too much. You were too intense. You were tiresome.

You were you. And that was something a lot of people didn't like.

Needless to say, you didn't want to go to that stupid party. Everyone would split up into groups of friends and previous acquaintances, and any attempt at joining the conversation would result in discreet sighs and rolling eyes. Yet you still went, partly out of obligation, but also in the hopes something that night might be different for you.

But it hadn't been, and you were alone.

So you did what any well-adjusted adult did when they were faced with the indisputable fact they were the party outcast; you drank.

After one glass of cheap white wine, you felt more relaxed, less stiff. Just a nice amount of mellowed out.

After two glasses, you started to forget the self-preserving instinct of not approaching others. ��Maybe you could try talking to someone, after all. It could be worth a shot.’

After three glasses, you forgot why you were so apprehensive in the first place. You were great! You rocked. You had so many things to say there was absolutely no way someone wouldn't love to hear all about it.

…but maybe you could get a fourth glass, first.

You headed back towards the drinks table, a little less steady and a whole more lot confident. So confident, you didn't realize you bumped right into someone's chest until a hand grabbed your arm to keep you upright.

“Ah, are you alright?” came a heavily accented voice above you. ‘Eastern European,’ you thought absentmindedly. ‘Ukranian, maybe Czech. I wonder if he knows they created the sugar cube…’

You took an unsteady step back, peaking up at the man blocking your way to the wine bottles.

‘Wow, he's handsome’, was your first, immediate thought.

“Wow, you're handsome,” were your first, immediate words.

The man spluttered in surprise. In all fairness, he probably hadn't been expecting for a stranger at a faculty party to be so direct. If you were still at glass number two, you might have realized it wasn't a very appropriate thing to say in this specific context.

But you were at glass number three and unabashedly staring at the man's face, the sharpness of his cheekbones, the curve of his nose.

That was the moment you realized he wasn't a stranger.

You knew him. Not his name, or who he was, but you felt absolutely certain you had seen him before. You scanned your jumbled brain for the memory of his face. So beautifully sculpted, like he was made of stone. You knew him, you had it on the tip of your tongue-

“Miss?” the man asked, seemingly unsure whether to be perplexed or worried at your silent glaring. “Would you like me to help you sit-”

“Tuna sandwich!” you yelled with a huge grin. A few other partygoers turned towards you in confusion, but you were much too overjoyed at the epiphany you were experiencing to realize.

The man blinked slowly. Then once again, like he was trying to process whether or not he had understood correctly. His head cocked slightly to the side in bewilderment.

“… I'm sorry, what did you say ?”

You poked his chest with an insistent finger, beaming: “You're tuna sandwich! The tuna sandwich guy!”

The man looked to the side warily, mouth opening and closing, visibly searching for some kind of help. When he found none, his golden eyes fell back to you, catching the glow of the ceiling lights. The spark of an aurora through the night sky.

“I'm… afraid I truly have no idea what you're talking about,” he explained gently, the warmth of his hand leaving your arm. You deflated a little at that, the notion of embarrassment creeping back in you.

But he hadn't left. He was still here.

He was listening to you.

“My office is next to the cafeteria,” you started, straightening your dress and trying to appear more professional. “I see you, every day, at eleven forty-five, before morning classes end. I always thought that was smart, because you get to skip the lunch rush and there's still a lot of choices for meals.”

The man seemed bemused by the comment, but didn't show signs of wanting to take off. That made you regain some of your drunken confidence.

“But you always take a tuna sandwich,” you continued. ”That's it. Every day. You never buy anything else. It's always the tuna sandwich at eleven forty-five.”

He let out a confused chuckle, the ghost of a teasing smile on his lips.

“I didn't realize I had an audience.”

His presence had been so hypnotic you barely even realized what you had been saying.

‘Oh God, that sounded creepy, didn't it?’

“Don't flatter yourself,” you quickly added, embarrassed, looking away to stare at a particularly interesting stain on the floor. “I look at what everyone's doing. It's my job to.”

He hummed mirthfully, his golden gaze fully amused now:

“And what job would that be? Voyeur?”

You almost choked on your own spit.

“Guidance councillor, smart guy,” you countered, feeling your cheeks heat up. How was a stranger rattling you this much? You were usually the one whose words left others confused. “I look at people, and I figure out what they want in life. I help them find careers. I’ll have you know that's an extremely important task, mister-”

You squinted at the sticky nametag on his chest, trying to decipher the very slanted handwriting. You vaguely remembered the blue stickers were reserved for teachers.

“…Professor…?” you struggled weakly, hoping he would fill in the illegible part.

He thankfully seemed to find your attempt more endearing than insulting.

“Just call me Viktor,” he answered with a sincere smile. His lips were slightly crooked, the left dimple just barely more present on his left side than his right. There was a tiny little beauty spot next to his cupid bow; the thought that it would be nice to lick it just to confirm it wasn't a speck of the chocolate cake flashed in your mind.

‘Focus, focus!’

“Tell me, Viktor,” you cleared your throat. You had to get it together. This was the longest conversation you had been able to maintain with a fellow faculty member without them looking like they wanted to run away. “Why tuna? There's so many other sandwiches to choose from. You could take the egg salad, or the turkey sub, or the spicy chicken…”

You were definitely being too insistent on the tuna thing. If he didn't think you were weird before, he would now.

And yet Viktor still didn't leave. He considered your question seriously, taking a few thoughtful seconds to answer:

“It's the only one with multigrain bread. Very low fat for a good source of omega-3 and protein. And I don't dislike it, so it makes the most sense as a daily meal,” he mused, almost like it was the first time he had ever thought about it, too.

Huh.

“That's a sad way of looking at things,” you commented before thinking.

Before you could mentally swear at your debilitating lack of restraint, Viktor countered the statement with seemingly genuine curiosity:

“How so?”

You had a chance to say something cute and short, and leave the topic at that. It would be a major win for you; your first enjoyable talk with a coworker. Maybe you would even exchange email addresses by the end of the night.

Or…

You could be yourself. Let the floodgate of constant thoughts and observations pour out for a minute. Show this random handsome man who you were, really.

Had you not been drunk and sound of mind, you would have gone for the former. But as it happened, you were quite drunk, and you chose the latter. You took a deep breath before speaking:

“Means you only value food as something that's needed, like taste and flavour isn’t important. You deny yourself basic pleasures out of fear you'll get used to them and grow complacent. You're probably the type of guy who slaves away in his office for hours, not even realizing he's hungry, because it's lost all relevance to him.”

The silence that followed felt eerie. The expression on Viktor's face was blank, mouth barely agape, brows slightly furrowed. You had fucked it up, again.

“Sorry,” you muttered, feeling incredibly foolish. “That was overstepping.”

“No, actually,“ Viktor responded almost eagerly, the sparkle in his eyes bright, “Keep going. What else can you tell?”

There was palpable interest in his tone, in the way his body leaned slightly closer to yours. He wanted to know. He wanted to listen to you.

“The tuna sandwich is twenty-five cents cheaper than all the other ones,” you continued slowly, afraid of breaking the spell that was keeping him attentive to your words. “Usually a sign of a lower class upbringing, shows that you're used to thinking with a controlled budget, even if you don't need to anymore. You likely value hard work and commitment.”

You paused once more to gauge his reaction, but he didn't say anything, clearly waiting for you to continue. So, you did.

“It's always eleven forty-five sharp. You're precise, mechanical. Probably in the department of medicine, or some form of applied science. Am I right?”

“Biomechanical engineering,” he specified with a baffled smile. “Incredible. All that from a sandwich?”

You shrugged, feeling giddy under the weight of the compliment. It was so utterly rare that anyone would actually enjoy your rambling.

“I notice things about people, and I tell them. Couldn’t quite cut it as a detective or a psychologist, so it makes me an ok guidance counsellor,” you smiled, adding an audible wince. “But the person you really gotta avoid at parties.”

He laughed at that, a pretty, earnest sound, slightly low and nasal. The kind of laugh that would make the heart of a weaker person skip a beat.

You blamed the fact that yours did in fact skip a beat entirely on the alcohol.

“I-I'm sure what you do is a lot more impressive, though,” you quickly stammered out. Why were you stuttering?

He shrugged, bony shoulders visible through his button-up shirt. A few beauty marks decorated his neck where the collar didn't reach; you wondered how many more the fabric was hiding.

“Eh, I wouldn't bet on that. Gait analysis, prosthetic limb design. Much less creative than one might think,” he commented with a certain indifferent boredom; yet there was a certain light in his eyes that spoke otherwise. Maybe he was also the type of person people didn’t listen to much. “But it does feel rewarding to do something for others who might not have my luck.”

He pointed down with his chin, and for the first time since you began talking to him, you realized he was holding a cane.

You, whose only redeeming quality was having good observational skills, hadn't noticed the man you had been talking to for the last ten minutes was holding a cane. A refined-looking one at that, with a deep burgundy tainted wood for the shaft, and a sleek handle the colour of tarnished gold. ‘Maybe if you stopped looking at his face for a goddamn second you would have noticed’ you scolded yourself.

“Ah,” you blurted out pathetically. “That's… that's really cool.” You were looking at his fingers. You were looking at his long, slim fingers holding his cane, calloused yet delicate, and you were imagining them in places they should definitely not be in.

You had absolutely no idea what you had just said to him.

Yet Viktor only seemed more amused, his smirk growing ever so slightly.

“Yes, I also like to think of it as ‘cool’, from time to time.”

A drink. What you needed was another drink. Then perhaps you would reach a level of enlightenment where you would remember how to not look like a complete fool in front of attractive professors, who probably did quantum physics as a hobby.

As if he had read your mind, Viktor shifted in the direction of the drinks table, giving you a knowing smile. Were you so easy to read, or was he simply so good at reading you?

“I’d offer to bring you a glass of wine, but I believe that may have been your original intention before reading my palm,” he joked.

‘It's nothing like fortune telling, it's just logical analysis !’ part of you wanted to retort.

‘Give me your palm and I'll show you what my real fucking intentions are,’ purred the other one.

If you didn't get out of here now, you would say something that would definitely end your career before it had even taken off.

“I think I'll probably head home for the night. I've already had a little too much to drink,” you smiled hesitantly. Understatement of the century.

You could have sworn you saw a flash of disappointment in his eyes. Then again, you had probably imagined it. If anything, he was likely relieved he had finally managed to escape the babbling lunatic. Someone like him, so brilliant and accomplished, had no reason to willingly listen to the ramblings of a glorified high school school councillor.

But…

“But… maybe you could give me your number?” you asked hesitantly, taking one final, vulnerable leap of faith. “Just for work, of course!”, you added hastily.

Viktor did not seem angry or disgusted at the proposal; in fact, his smile widened, revealing a slightly uneven row of teeth. Cute. Everything about him was attractive.

“I would like that,” Viktor said softly, amber eyes warm. “I did enjoy hearing you talk.”

Your heart made a heavy, dull thud. With a small wave, he was gone, disappearing somewhere into the crowd like he had been nothing more than a hallucination conjured up by the cheap wine.

Your first work friend.

A potential real friend. Someone who genuinely didn't seem to hate the sound of your voice.

It was much too precious to lose over some passing, drunken attraction. You absolutely had to crush these emotions now to prevent them from becoming anything serious. After all, it wasn't like you had a shadow of chance with someone like him.

Perhaps for the first time in your life, you decided to stay silent about something, no matter what would happen in the future.

He couldn't know.

You would never let him know.

[wheneclipsefalls]

Grovel Part 2

Pairing: Aged Up Lo'ak x Fem Omatikaya Reader

Part 1

Summary: Lo'ak needs a plan. A plan that will bring you back to him.

Warnings: aged up characters, eventual smut, lust, pinning, angst, past relationship, mentions of war, injury, etc.

“Stop whining.” Neteyam groaned, watching as Lo’ak secured another tie around the fabric’s base. The kelku was coming together nicely. 

“I didn’t say anything.” Lo’ak all but huffed, lips turned downwards in the same fashion they had been since the celebration. He adjusted the straps of his loincloth, a trail of sweat racing down his spine. Oh how he already missed the refreshing waves of salt water. 

“Your expectations were truly far too high, brother. What did you think she would do?” 

Lo’ak shot him a seething look, one that warned against pushing it further, but brothers were immune to such limits. 

“You’re lucky you made it out of there without injury. And now knowing what you did I can’t say I would have blamed her otherwise.” 

“Yes Neteyam, I understand. Now can you shut up and help me lift the other end?” Lo’ak stomped past him, preparing the right side to be lifted. He didn’t wait for Neteyam to join him before using his own body weight to heave the heavy fabric into place. The younger Sully brother had been hyper fixated on his kelku since their arrival, even going as far as asking Kiri for advice on potential decoration. 

This home had to be good enough to meet your fancy, an objective that he now understood to be much harder than originally anticipated. 

“Mawey, baby brother. I am only trying to get your skxawng ass to understand.”

“Okay then fine!” The fabric was dropped to the floor in a heap. “Tell me what I should do. Since you know the ins and outs of wooing women, tell me how I am supposed to win her back.” His brows lifted, hands placed on his hips as he feigned bracing for his answer. Neteyam was not fazed by his younger brother’s outburst. After seeing Lo’ak’s restlessness the whole trip home in anticipation of seeing you, he was surprised the male was holding up as well as he was. 

“I may just be a simple gentleman, bro, but I think an apology would be a good place to start.” He squeezed his brother’s shoulder, surprised when Lo’ak was too lost in thought to bother wrestling him off. 

“I’ve tried. Everywhere I go she is avoiding me. I don’t even know where her kelku is or her routines. Otherwise-”

“Maybe I can help with that.” 

Lo’ak sent him a skeptical look.

“What?” He deadpanned. 

“She has a sister, right?” A completely rhetorical question that had Lo’ak knowing exactly where Neteyam was going with this. “Say the right words and maybe I can get some valuable help from Talu.” 

“Wow. How did I deserve a brother like you?” Sarcasm dripped from his tone as he ran a hand over his face. It was no secret that Neteyam had taken a liking to Talu. The future Olo’eyktan was neither bashful nor shy when it came to playing the golden suitor. 

Neteyam simply grinned before slapping him on the back and helping to hoist the kelku side once more.

You were impossible. So hard headed and stubborn that even knowing your route and home was not enough to get in a good apology. He was sure by now that Talu knew of his intentions with you, that giddy smile forever present whenever she announced his presence to you, but there was always an excuse to cut things short. Only a few minutes and you would be running off to aid at the healer’s tent or pick up the hunting gear you had left behind. 

There was no end to the list of excuses you could formulate.

And it didn’t matter that neither himself nor Talu were fooled. You simply weren’t inclined to put more effort into hiding your disdain. 

Lo’ak couldn’t remember you being this difficult before. When the two of you were younger you had handed your heart over to him on a silver platter. Of course your weird friendship had been full of teasing, pranks, and insults but that was only part of the fun. Once romance had been initiated, you took everything he gave with warmth and affection. 

And he had ruined that. 

He let out another sigh, trying to play it off when his mother gave him the side eye. His new bow was almost finished, surely the right weapon he would need to fetch an impressive kill. Perhaps he would use his spear too just in case. If he was going to win you over, it would need to be something extreme. Something that said all the words you would not let him get out. 

At this point he was willing to take down a Palulukan if that is what it took. 

He snorted at the thought. It may have been a few years since hunting on Omatikaya soil but he knew that thing would have him torn in two. Maybe then he would get your attention, whatever remained of his body finally being enough to crack your tough composure. 

And then….

What started out as a ridiculously funny thought transformed into a new idea. A new plan. There was in fact one place that you could not run away from. 

The healer’s tent had been slow in mid afternoon but luckily you were the only one on duty. When he walked through the tent flaps reverently, not bothering to hide the wince as his freshly torn up skin brushed the fabric, your lips parted. For a moment it seemed that concern swam in those beautiful eyes but then they were turning back into cold steel like that night at the festival. 

“Kind of underestimated the swoop-”

He was cut off by your stern point to the space in front of you. He followed obediently but on the way he couldn’t help but let his gaze roam over your exquisite form. He had meant what he had said that first night. You were more beautiful than the day he last saw you, a goddess-like creature even his wildest dreams could not have imagined. 

Today you wore a turquoise top made of small beads that were strung together to hang like vines. The color reminded him of the waters in Awa’atlu. Could that be your favorite color now? If so, he knew of so many places such gems and shells of that color. He could collect more for you. The beads mocked him, however, as their light weight cover just barely fell over your pretty nipples, one breath away from revealing the prize. 

Hell, he was sure the right puff of air from his lips could push away those teasing beads. 

As you began to work on applying ointment to his wounds Lo’ak forced himself to look away. However, he couldn’t find reason to not occasionally peak back and get a look at your pretty face. By Eywa, it was a true miracle that no one had snatched you up yet. Maybe he would thank the Great Mother for that gift at the Tree of Souls later. 

At one point your diligence fell and strayed from the wounds to glance at him instead. He flashed a grin, one that didn’t match the state of his bloody back. You shoved his head to look forward roughly but he had already caught a glimpse of your rosy cheeks. 

“You got injured how again?” 

“Flying error, it’s been a while. Why?” 

“No reason.” 

Silence fell and Lo’ak had to keep himself from fumbling with his messy bun. You may be difficult now but one thing was still true. You always wore your heart on your sleeve. 

“You don’t have to be worried, sevin-”

A sharp smack to the back of his head and Lo’ak couldn’t hide his surprised laugh. 

“Damn, you’ve got a pretty good backhand.” 

“Hush. I am trying to concentrate.” 

It was sure to be a lie. His wounds were nothing in comparison to what you must have encountered during the war and with your experience you would have him healed and out in a few minutes. But then that meant he only had a very small window to squeeze this apology into. 

“Don’t worry, I will behave.” He raised his hands in surrender but received only a little hum from you in response. “But while we’re here there is something I’ve been wanting to say.” 

Lo’ak hissed when the ointment was applied harshly to his deepest cut. It was nothing he couldn’t handle after so many war wounds but it did manage to lose him a few seconds of precious time. Had that been your intent?

“When we were kids I was…an absolute skxawng.” No argument came from you and Lo’ak glanced back from the corner of his eye. “I was more than a skxawng actually. I was reckless and angry and I didn’t even think about how my actions would affect others. Especially you and-”

“I don’t care. It is done.” Without Talu’s presence there was no incentive to dampen the ice in your voice. 

“Y/n,” He called your name softly, turning to grab your wrist and stop the movement. “I am sorry. I never should have hurt you like that. I knew better, especially….” He let out a deep sigh through his nose. “Especially considering how much I truly did love you.” 

You yanked your wrist back as if his grip was red hot. Scrambling away slightly, he could see the control you had over the moment slipping. It seemed like the perfect opportunity to push it further, get you to accept his apology. 

Unfortunately for him, Eywa must have decided that it was also the perfect time for the next healer to enter the tent. 

“There were hardly any herbs left by the river. Next time we try the mountains instead.” Penyau said, the smile on her face slowly dropping once sensing the tension in the room. 

“Great. Lo’ak needs patching up, sister.” 

“Oh, well then-”

“No, no. Y/N is already on it-”

“I’m passing you over.”

“You truly don’t care to finish healing the Na’vi that was put under your care?” Not the angle he wanted to take, but he was panicking. So desperate to get a few more minutes with you that he had to stop himself from using his grandmother as a scapegoat to keep you here. 

From the way your jaw clenched and tail curled he knew those cards would not have played well for him. 

“Talu is waiting. I leave.” You gritted out. Not a second to make another attempt or ever apologize before you were past the threshold and leaving him in the dust. Or at least, leaving him with Penyau who looked confused but more than happy to assist him. The smile she gave, however, did not hold the same sweetness as yours.

Or at least the smile he remembered from all those years ago.

He prayed he would see it again soon. 

A part of you wanted to insist upon staying home. Well no, all of you wanted to insist but if there was one thing you had learned from working with Mo’at is that there was no hope in defying her. If she saw it fit to bring you to the council meeting then that is exactly what you would have to do. Jake Sully was back as Olo’eyktan and with that came his sons’ attendance too. You were not foolish enough to hope otherwise, but there would surely be others there you could occupy your time with.

Even Tarsem had become a close friend of yours, as close as a clan member can dare to get to an Olo’eyktan, but conversation would be light and easy with him. If you were lucky perhaps you would be able to leave the meeting early as your sector of concern was far more narrow, giving you a chance to escape the inevitable small talk afterwards. 

Luck, however, was not on your side. It seemed that Mo’at had deemed you her scribe for the meeting and that meant taking up every single detail presented. It was borderline impossible with the way Lo’ak’s eyes constantly strayed towards you. You’d think the male would have the decency to keep his staring at a minimum for public appearance.

Of course Lo’ak had never been afraid of attention.

That trait evidently had remained with him after all these years. 

“Morning shift can circle northbound while overlapping with the afternoon watch.” Jake continued, using a twig to draw over their makeshift map in the dirt. It felt like he was speaking another language with the way your brain refused to concentrate. Jake might as well have switched into English with the rate you were comprehending. 

“Lo’ak and Neteyam will be available by the end of the week once everything is settled in.” 

You were so lost at this point it wasn’t even funny. Mo’at was going to have your head. As if sensing your confusion, the younger Sully brother said softly, “yes, for teaching.” 

It didn’t clear things up much but Lo’ak had decided to start tying his hair back up into that damn bun again and you found yourself more dazed than in the beginning. Out of pure will power you resisted the urge to watch him dead on, unlike him. Watching those biceps stretch as he worked to wrestle those braids was still possible from your peripheral. 

Another twist in your stomach. 

Lo’ak relaxed backwards, long legs stretched out in front of him as Jake Sully continued his long speel. The meeting could have dragged on for centuries for all you knew and yet that twisting coil in your stomach never loosened. You felt like you were about to snap when the Olo’eyktan finally called for dismissal. 

Up to your feet in a matter of seconds, Mo’at shot you a strange look. The tips of your ears burned as you tried to play it off and wait patiently for her. The meeting may have been over but that didn’t mean you were meant to leave her side. Most likely she would have other work for you to accomplish this afternoon and even if not it would be rude to not walk your Tsahik back to Home Tree. 

“I’ve got it, grandmother.” Lo’ak easily switched Mo’at’s basket over to rest on his own hip. She gave him a nod and pat on the shoulder. 

Swinging the netted bag of herbs and medicinals over your shoulder you focused primarily on the path ahead. 

“Let me get that, sevin.” Lo’ak reached for your bag but with flaming cheeks you barely managed to deflect his advances and snap away. 

The effort was pointless however when Mo’at gently grabbed the bag from your shoulder and handed it to him. An almost imperceivable smirk graced her lips at your perplexed expression but otherwise she remained silent. Slightly baffled and now avoiding Lo’ak’s unrelenting attention you veered to pick up the pace. 

Now that he held your bag hostage there was no choice but to let him follow you both back to the healer’s tent. At least that’s what you thought until….

Mo’at let out a tired sigh and that was all it took for Lo’ak to insist she go home and get some rest. He assured her he would get the supplies back to the tent and walk you home safely, both actions that made you glare at him over her shoulder. The Tsahik, tired or not you couldn’t be sure, bid you farewell and gave her grandson another gentle squeeze to his shoulder. 

The second she was out of sight you went for your bag. Lo’ak easily swiped away from your grabbing hands.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got it.” 

Despite his warm smile he was only met with unspoken annoyance that seeped into the atmosphere’s tension. If he wanted to walk you home, fine, but you were going to get it done in record time. Without another word you scrambled up the nearest tree, deciding to take the overhead route to avoid traffic. 

You could hear the clanking bags and basket as Lo’ak had to find ways to follow behind with only one arm to propel himself upwards. You secretly resented the way he managed just fine, despite the obstacle, long legs rushing over branches like they had only left the forest for a day.  

“Is your plan to avoid me forever?” 

Teeth grinding together you grabbed hold of another branch over head and propelled yourself up the next level. This time was more of a struggle, several vials almost falling out of the basket but that only earned him one concerned glance before you were striding forward once more. 

“I meant what I said yesterday. I truly am sorry.”

“Yes, I heard you.” The tempo you set with your feet borderlined running. Lo’ak’s struggle became ever more apparent as the two of you scaled higher. 

“Well yes I know that…shit!” A vial slipped from the basket, Lo’ak immediately lunged to catch it. You carried forward, trying not to think about how he almost lost the precious herbs that took you weeks to find and gather. “Got it!” He called but you were already several branches above. 

With this head start you may just be able to outrun the Omatikaya prince and make it home safely. 

Distant curses sounded from below followed by scrambling feet. 

When will he ever give up?

It’s hard to say what Lo’ak did during his time with the Metkayina but you were surprised, and slightly displeased, to see how capable Lo’ak had grown in his tree climbing. Although, now he had found a way to shimmy himself up a trunk with only his muscular legs to aid. The sheer athleticism required to do such made your head spin and cheeks heat.

Straight home. 

No detours. 

“Y/N, wait up.” 

He was closer than you would have liked, no doubt a result of your short attention span. 

“Come on, sevin. Does your determination to ignore me really warrant all of this?” 

Your temper was always an easy one to flare and when it came to Lo’ak Sully it seemed he had written the manual on how to light that flame. Turning on your heel, Lo’ak had to grind to a quick halt in order to avoid running into you again. It felt all too familiar to the celebration the other night so this time you spoke before he had a chance to get a word in. 

“Maybe so, but what does it matter to you?!” Nostrils flaring and breathing heavily it was no longer possible to hide how fast the male had gotten under your skin. 

“It’s admittedly more difficult to court a woman that won’t even let me be in her presence.” 

The savage words on the tip of your tongue stuttered and your treacherous body rippled with excitement. 

“You aren’t courting me.” 

“Well, I suppose that’s fair. I technically have not initiated courting yet.” 

“No Lo’ak, you will not court me. Ever.” Words like unbending steel the male’s eyes locked with your own and this time you found ways to not balk under his attention. When it seemed that nothing else was going to be said you turned on your heel once more. 

And then Lo’ak finally spoke. 

“I don’t see how you could stop me.” He murmured gruffly but the words immediately struck your temper like daggers. A bullseye shot. 

“Lo’ak Te Sulli-”

“Sevin, just listen for two seconds!” 

“Do not call me that!” Your voice hitched into a higher octave. 

“I’m sorry I just-”

“NO!” Your shriek echoed over the branches. Heated venom coursed through your veins. “You push and push and push but I am sick of hearing it!” More words threatened to fly free but your heart was already pounding at your ribcage. Stay one more second and you were sure to find yourself saying much more than you ever cared to.

“I’m not going to give up.”

Those bubbling truths refused to be swallowed any more.

“You say that now, Lo’ak, but just wait. Soon you will grow tired of chasing after me and when you do there will be a plethora of women waiting at your beck and call. Just like before there will be another woman to entertain you where I could not.” 

Lo’ak’s eyes blew wide and tail dropped to the floor but even then it would only be a few seconds before he made another pleaful attempt. And you couldn’t take any more of that. Those golden eyes covered by his signature two braids already beseeched your forgiveness far too easily. 

“And once again you will go to her.” 

He called your name as you left but you were already scrambling to safety. 

It was going to take a grand gesture. One that would prove his loyalty to not only you but every Na’vi in the clan. Your forgiveness was not going to be an easy thing to win over but that was okay. Lo’ak had dealt with far worse for so much less. Enduring some verbal bashing and humbling circumstances was the least he could do to win the woman of his dreams. 

And yet…it still hurt. 

The way you shut him out, not letting him learn even a morsel about the girl he had been missing for years. How much time had he spent imagining your reunion? Perhaps all of his dreams and hopes had clouded his sense of reality because now he stood here with only a shattered fantasy left. He had fooled himself for too long, thinking the past could be something swept away with the turning of time. 

He had wounded you too deep for that.

So much deeper than he had ever let himself accept. 

With a heavy sigh Lo’ak commanded his heart to settle. Today he could not afford doubts to plague his mind. Everything from here on out had to be intentional, had to send a message. Your discerning eye would be sharper to him than any other potential suitor that would court a woman. Each move would be assessed and either take him closer or further away from holding you in his arms again. 

He checked over the supplies one more time, finger slipping into the pouch attached to his loincloth. Everything was in place.

“We can’t be late.” He reminded Neteyam, messing with his bun until he was satisfied with the way it sat.

“Someone is eager.” Neteyam's lips curved upwards as he leisurely took another bite of yovo. “Usually I am the one rushing us out the door.” 

“Things can change. I can be responsible too.” He shucked Neteyam’s bag over his own shoulder, ready to leave with or without his brother. 

Neteyam rolled his eyes, heaving himself up from his seated position. 

“Yes but what good is it without her here to watch you do so, baby brother?” His fingers barely touched Lo’ak’s braids before the younger brother was swooping away and swatting at his arm. The death glare sent his way only made a deep chuckle rise in Neteyam’s chest. 

Neteyam’s jesting was all in good fun but Lo’ak was far from in the mood to look at things that way. Over and over your words from the other day had echoed in his head. Your tone was drenched in steel cold enmity but even that couldn’t mask the pain that was seated in your golden orbs. His own childhood recklessness had put him at this point and now it was all he could think about. 

Setting things up for today’s lesson, however, had helped. It gave him an outlet, some way to use these swirling emotions and put them into something useful. Lo’ak Sully was not one to give up easily, no matter what you said. 

Gun to head Lo’ak would not be able to recite a word of what his brother spoke as they walked to the lake’s edge. The pounding of his heart was far too loud and it seemed his attention didn’t matter anyways when Neteyam’s own was easily captured by your sister. Without so much as a goodbye, he stalked towards the female Na’vi and left him behind. 

The rocks were littered with various warriors and clan members in his age group. His father had thought it would be best to keep it within a demographic that they could relate to, make these lessons more personal. And yet Lo’ak had never felt more out of place. At one point in time these people had been his peers but things had been so different then. A time that was hard to remember, like a distant dream. 

Only the memories of you had not been tainted with the passing of time. He blamed all of those days at the reef where his head had been filled with thoughts of you. It was hard to forget the one his heart longed for. Even his fling with Tsireya could not erase the mark you had left on him. 

He finally caught sight of where you were perched next to another warrior. 

Your eyes only skimmed over him for a second before turning away.

You thought that it was only a matter of time or opportunity before he would be swept away and wooed by another. Perhaps if you were right things would be so much easier. And yet the tug of his heart always brought him back to you. His inability to move on was not from a lack of effort. 

So many one night stands and summer flings only for every single one to feel hollow and robotic. 

You couldn’t have known that, however, and it was Lo’ak’s job to find a way to prove it to you.

There were a million different excuses you could have conjured up to avoid these lessons. Some of them had almost slipped out this morning as Talu babbled on about how excited she was to see the eldest Sully son. However, you were mature enough to face the hard truths. Coping out now would be negligent to your duties as a useful clan member. If Olo’eyktan found it vital that the next generation learned about underwater diving then it was your responsibility to add those skills to your arsenal. 

It had been a couple days of successfully avoiding Lo’ak and now it seemed such a shame to break the streak. You refused to let those pesky thoughts bother you today however. You were her for one purpose and one purpose only. Master the art of free-diving and return to your new found peace and quiet. 

Naturally Lo’ak was greeted with quite the welcoming party, Na’vi females coaxing him over to hear about his travels. Rolling your eyes you prayed that Neteyam wouldn’t catch wind of your sour demeanor. All your worries were for not. His charming smile never strayed from your sister. Talu was skilled at putting up a calm front but you knew her well enough to sense that she was bubbling from the inside. 

You were going to hear about this conversation all night. 

Relief was temporarily found when the lessons started and instruction was finally given. The water was cool against your heated skin and you enjoyed the way it made your hair dance. Drill after drill you struggled to hold your breath longer. It felt as if your lungs were about to explode as you tried to suck in more air before plunging in again. 

Lo’ak and Neteyam would demonstrate then invite the crowd to mimic while they inspected and instructed along the way. It helped that you were not the only Na’vi who had no natural inclination towards these talents. Many came up to the surface choking on water and pushing hair from their face.  The lake looked more like an active river with the pulsing waves and splashes that emitted from every corner.

You had to give the brothers credit. No matter how ridiculous you all must have looked they never let themselves show visible signs of judgment or even laughter. 

It was far too easy to find Lo’ak in the midst. Even underwater he moved with a grace and calm that seemed so unlike him. It felt as if the water swirled to make way for him. He moved in sync with the pulse of Na’vi-made waves, cresting over them like a dance. Muscular frame floating through the abyss, he was a work of art among flailing limbs. 

He looked relaxed enough to fall asleep. His descent deeper was treated like an afternoon stroll. Your own dimming supply of air faded into the background as you found yourself swimming down after him. It was hard to keep up. Every long stroke of his was at least four of yours and still it felt as if that distance only grew with every passing second. 

He reached the bottom with one last kick, fingers carting through the various stones that lay there. Your brows furrowed as his own expression remained unperturbed. Finally a small smile broke loose when he caught hold of one rock in particular. It shimmered even in the daylight and Lo’ak made quick work to tuck it into the pouch at his side.

The first convulsing of your empty lungs was what broke you out of the trance. Lo’ak and his rock hunting was completely forgotten as your body screamed for oxygen. Now your turn to flail helplessly, you clawed towards the surface. Your lips pressed together, trying to focus on not giving into the urge of letting water in. 

How had you gotten so far down here in the first place?

The water’s surface looked so close and yet every kick only seemed to make it further away. It was an optical illusion that had your fear spiking with every second you couldn’t take in air. You hardly registered the strong arm that wrapped around your waist until your convulsing body was flying through the water. 

It was a miracle your own legs didn’t tangle with Lo’ak’s as they kicked out, but he had both of your bodies plunging upwards at a speed you could barely register. It seemed that your lungs simply could not get enough oxygen when your head finally broke through the surface. Your lungs still convulsed and your throat seized at every gasping breath.

“Just breathe. Nice and slow.” His deep voice tickled at your ear. Na’vi parted as you were floated over to the nearest shore. “There you go. In and out.” 

It seemed like a simple instruction but your body refused to snap out of panic mode. Fingernails digging into his forearms you tried to dislodge the residue water from your lungs. One arm under your back and another beneath your bent knees, Lo’ak easily carried your shaking body onto shore. He sat down, gently settling you between his parted legs while cooing encouragement. 

“Just focus on one breath at a time. Come on, do it with me, sevin.” His chest inflated against your back before slowly exhaling. You followed his lead. “That’s it. Try to breathe from here.” He placed his palm against your diaphragm. Eager to diminish the embarrassment that was creeping in, you zeroed in on acing his request. 

Breathing this way felt more physical, stretching your lungs to a point you didn’t know they could reach but every exhale brought your heart rate one further step down. 

“Very good.” 

The praise washed over you like a warm flame. Finally it felt as if your body was complying with your wishes, relaxing back against his chest. Your earlier fears of drowning were quickly reshaping to seem as nothing more than overreaction. Relief was sweet.

“Slow your heart.” Lo’ak purred, tucking his chin over your shoulder as he placed one hand over your collarbones. It was dangerously close to where your breasts rose and fell. 

With one swipe of your cupped hand through the water you had successfully catapulted water at his face. You dislodged yourself from his snuggling before sending him a dirty look and stomping off. 

Maybe that trick worked for him back with the Metkayina girls but you knew better than to fall for his charming traps.

“Sister!” Talu shouted, darting past the crowd. You could see in the distance Neteyam standing waist deep in the lake, right where your sister had left him. “By Eywa, are you alright?” 

Talu wasted no time in turning you back and forth in order to scour for injuries. Although still winded you did your best to ease her concerns. 

“Mawey, I am fine.” A sharp slap to the back of your head made you hiss in surprise.

“Then what were you thinking?! Diving down like that without any experience! That was not a part of the drill!” Her nose scrunched in the way it always did when giving you a scolding. 

“I know I just was…checking something…” You trailed off, feeling the heat of his gaze upon the back of your neck. 

“Neteyam says that you’re not supposed to dive like that even after a few weeks of training. We have to start with the shallow-”

“I know! I know!” Your groan only earned you another glare.

“Don’t scare me like that!” 

It was not a new experience to see Talu worked up. With your parents gone she was used to taking over as your caretaker and protector, although you were far beyond the years of needing such things. Regardless she had a knack for worrying. Yet another reason you had elected to never tell her about your history with Lo’ak.

“I am sorry.” It was nothing more than a mumble against her shoulder when she pulled you close. 

“Thank the Great Mother Lo’ak was there.” She sighed and from over her shoulder you could see where he was now directing another Na’vi female who struggled to make it across the space with one glide. 

“Yes, very lucky.” You deadpanned, rolling your eyes.

It would have been rude to leave the lesson without joining in on the following social. Or at least that is what Talu claimed when you tried to retire early. Of course you had ulterior motives for expressing how tired you were but it was not a lie either. No matter how many times you had pushed yourself to suck in greater air, to make it one more stroke, you could never get past a certain threshold. Determination and anger had only swirled higher whenever you saw Lo’ak dance through the water. 

The entire ordeal had left you feeling defeated. The sooner you could crack the code on diving the sooner you could retire from these lessons. There was no denying however, how good the fire’s glow felt against your wet skin. Everyone huddled in a circle around the fire. Talu was more than happy to accept the seat Neteyam had saved for her. 

If it weren’t for the fear of looking over eager you were sure she would have already been snuggled up against him for warmth. Despite your animosity towards the younger Sully brother you were happy to see Talu courted by such an honorable warrior. He gave appreciation and chivalry freely, just in the way she deserved. 

You opted to take a seat at the edge of the circle, sitting close to Panyau. There was great entertainment to be found in the way some of the females slumped in disappointment when Neteyam focused his attention primarily on Talu. It took a hand to your lips to mask your giggle when one female’s tail dropped after Neteyam rejected her offering of drink. 

Lo’ak was not exempt from the same attention, although he strategically placed himself among other male clan members. Perhaps it was all in your head but it appeared that for once he was getting sick of the limelight. It didn’t last for long however because sooner or later the brothers were pressed to share stories from their time with the Metkayina. 

“A full grown Na’vi and he’s never flown?” Matutke questioned in disbelief, many other Na’vi mirroring his same perplexed expression.

“Never. I swear I saw his soul transcend to Eywa at first lift off. Think I still have the mark from where he dug his nails into my shoulder.” Lo’ak grinned, sounding a chorus of laughter through the crowd. 

“He cried almost as much as you did your first time, baby brother.” Neteyam quipped, reaching over to squeeze the back of Lo’ak’s neck. His younger brother glared and rolled his eyes as laughter rung through the forest but he surprisingly didn’t offer a comeback. 

Conversation ebbed and flowed easily among the group, old friends connecting once more. You found yourself even becoming content to sit by the fire’s glow with such jovial interactions taking place. It was nice to take the backseat and enjoy some much needed rest. Even being around Lo’ak was bearable as it seemed he had finally given up on bugging you. 

That is, until things took a turn.

It all started with one of the male’s, Pe’ku, teasing Lo’ak about the new gems and shells woven in his hair. Lo’ak had playfully glared at him as his friend yammered on about how it looked as if he had taken half the reef back with him. 

You did your best at tuning out the conversation when one female jumped in to defend him, talking about how particularly pretty the blue gem in his hair was. Sleep threatened to take over as Lo’ak explained how rare these pieces were, having to dive down to the deepest depths to retrieve them. Eyes rolling and head resting on your bent knees, you prayed that Talu would be ready to leave soon. 

The sudden oohs and aaahs when Lo’ak pulled something from his side pouch were like lullabies to your tired ears. 

And then your tail peaked with awareness. The group had grown silent and the weight of many eyes bore down on you. 

“Huh? What?” You stammered, head finally lifting to take in the scene with confusion. A few giggles laced the crowd and Lo’ak gave you a crooked smile.

“Could I talk to you for a minute?” He asked gently.

“What? Why?” The sudden beam of attention surrounding you caused unease to settle. 

Lo’ak gave a nervous laugh.

“Or I suppose I could ask here.” Tails and legs shifted out of the way as Lo’ak came to kneel before you. It was only then that you noticed the shimmering object in his right hand. “I started making this a few months ago, beginning when I first started to have hope of returning home.” 

He laid the long necklace carefully over his thighs. These glimmering pieces were unlike anything you had ever seen and much like the blue piece in his hair, it danced under the fading streaks of the day’s light. However unlike the small piece in his hair these ones tarried among different colors. A kaleidoscope of rainbow that would never stay the same shade for long, prancing with every different bounce of light. Intricately woven into the shape of a bodice that reminded you much of the stretching branches that reached for the sun. 

“It was the first time I had ever let myself imagine what it would be like to come back here. To see you again.” 

The swirling gold specks in his eyes trapped your own wide eyed stare in a vice like grip.

“I thought about you every time I dove down to retrieve a piece. It was the only piece in Awa’atlu that held a flame to my memory of your beauty. Looking at the woman you have grown into today I see that it is greatly insufficient as a comparison.” A short laugh accompanied his last sentence. 

The knot in your stomach flipped into acrobatics that had your heart pounding.

“For now this is all I have to offer as a courting gift. This and my vow.” The four fingered hand that rested on your thigh was warm, sending a jolt of electricity racing upwards. “Never will a day go by without my heart being full of love for you. Never a morning where I don’t ask myself what can be done to make you smile, to bring light into your life.To my dying breath I will protect you.”

It hit you then the specificity of this audience. At the sight of drooping females’ tails and piercing gazes of other males you realized that this was the mating pool. Your peers and potential suitors were all gathered here. And with them, every doe eyed female that had chased after Lo’ak since his return.

“I can not call you mine, at least not yet, but I do believe that Eywa has given me another chance to fight for that right. To fight for the honor it would be to reside by your side. So with my intentions clear and heart set I ask you to accept this first courting gift.” 

The following silence was deafening. It felt as if every second ticking by was one step closer to the bomb in your chest exploding. The group enveloped you like quick sand, each lean closer tightening around you in a suffocating grip. 

So when a small “yes” escaped your lips, you blamed it on the need to breathe. On the need to escape the borrading questions that would inevitably follow your rejection. 

You were willing to blame it on anything. 

Anything but the twinkle of excitement that struck you the second Lo’ak’s wide grin fell into place. 

A/N: It has been so much fun to see y'all's reaction to this random little series I started. Please don't be shy! I love hearing your thoughts! It motivates me to keep writing<3

Taglist: @pandoraslxna @pandoraslovesworld @faintfill @rivatar @neteyamssyulang @mashiromochi @justcaptiannoodles @pocky444 @dayyzlol @kekunan @puddle-nerd @hazelwebsterboo2 @acerbicmoon @aesteticxsariana @haunting-venus @yawnetu @avatar4eva @baybaybear1 @nillikhyth @affinity101022 @tsireyasluvr @bambithewriter @delulumhaggy @kayfromthebay

[witcheshollow]

Okay, review time!! If you are one of the oddballs who thinks you cant be critical of something you love I suggest you stop reading now before I ruffle your feathers. Iron flame, second in the empyrean series. I am gonna start with what I was not a fan of and then go into the shit I adored.

1) what in the actual fuck was the pacing of this book?? I can tell you what, it was non existent. There was none. Where I thought there was a lot of filler in the last book there was none in this one. We got snap shots of conversations and then *boom* more plot flew at you. The timeline of this book greatly suffered for it i think bc we end only a couple weeks, if that, after threshing, which happens sometimes in October. This book was actually so wild with times.

2) while it was a spectacular cliff hanger, xaden becoming venin pisses me off. Especially if Rebecca yarros isnt going to have him tell violet. Like if that small tid bit of a conversation we got wasnt him telling vi that he was venin then the entire romantic conflict of this book was rendered pointless and their going to be having the same fucking fight for the rest of the series and at rhat point I give up.

3) I understand that the revolution is trying to take down basgaith and make the world better or whatever the fuck but can someone actually formulate a real plan for me?? Because I feel like their mission is just, giving violet and xaden something to be pissed at each other about.

4) the entirety of cats character. I get that she was set up as a spin on the typical jealous ex. Like having her be bitter about xaden picking violet over her but OH WAIT it wasnt actually about the man it was about the crown, oohh not like other girls. Im a writer too I see the point. I dont care. I think it was trashy. If you wanted her to be a bitter spiteful ex then have her be a bitter spiteful ex, the whole crown thing was shallow.

OKAY haters your time is up now onto the shit that made my heart hurt with joy and sadness

1) xadens arc in this book. I really liked that he went from "transparency is never gonna happen" to losing his fucking mind over violet and giving her everything. I love feral men and he qualifies. I think his arc was really well done and i liked it.

2) I appericiate that violet stuck to her guns for this book. She wouldnt let xaden off without a fight and I loved that. She made him bow and scrape and I was eating it up. It was spectacular.

3) the throne room scene. Violet on the throne. "Im making a temporary point not a lasting vow of maschocism" xaden being feral.

4) that gets its own point actually, just xaden being completely feral this entire book healed a part of my soul.

5) andarna's little speech at the end where she was like "I waited for you violet" made me ugly cry. That was just so hopelessly good I loved it. Andarna in general heals my heart but that part was just *chefs kiss*

6) tarin being completely and utterly ready to eat people this entire book. Just, at every turn "I want lunch their pissing me off " was spectacular

7) every scene their squad was in. Rihannon, violet, sawyer and ridoc are my roman empire. Their bond is so amazing. The fact that they launched a rescue mission for violet. Rihannon being ready to kill xaden at every turn. Ridoc being so platonically and adorably in love with violet. Just- augh happy cries happy cries. I love it all. Their so special tbh.

8) I love xaden actually, just, the whole book every scene hes in lives in my brain.

9) I liked that we saw a small bit of violet being feral this book too. I hope that we get more of that in future books. I want more of violet losing her fucking mind. Hot, badass women covered in blood

10) Liam. Fucking Liam. When violet was kidnapped and Liam was there. Now, do I logically understand that he was a hallucination, yes, do i care?? No. He was a gift from Maleck I will be hearing no critiques on that. It was so fucking sweet and amazing. I love violet and Liam and Liam being dead so horribly breaks my heart. I loved Liam. Liams death lives rent free in my skull.

[lachesismoonmist]

JK Drabbles - One Shots #2 - Be My Slave

Here's a collection of One-Shot stories involving JK. JK as husband, JK as boyfriend, JK as lover.

Some of them are scenes I wrote which didn't make it into my eventual stories, but were such fun to write I wanted to share them.

Each story is saved as an individual chapter.

Enjoy!

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook / Reader

Also posted on AO3

MY MASTERLIST

Masterlist for JK Drabbles - One Shots

#1 - Welcome Home #2 - Be My Slave #3 - Wait #4 - Days Without Incident

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

Chapter 2: Be My Slave - JK as boyfriend

Jungkook had been having a hard on all night at the club.  There were three reasons why.

One, your dress was a backless, shimmery red dress with a cowl neck.   Your smooth back was on display.  The cowl neck draped tantalisingly over your ample breasts.  The dress was ankle length but had a thigh high slit up one side.

Two.  He knew for a fact you weren’t wearing panties.   You’d shimmied into the dress while he was rolling up his sleeves of his long-sleeved back shirt.  He’d stopped to gawk at you.   Your hair was swept up and pinned. His eyes followed the graceful curve of your neck, down your back.  The dress hugged your ass so closely, he could see why you’d forgone wearing panties, or even a thong.

Three. You’d been teasing him all night.  Rubbing your ass on his crotch as you danced.  Leaning over so he could see down your dress when you passed him a drink.  Dancing closely to Tae Hyung, your eyes on Jungkook as Tae Hyung put his hands on your hips and you swayed, talking animatedly.  Jealousy burned in his gut, even though Jungkook knew Tae would never make a move on you.  Tae was like a brother to him. You’d been his girlfriend for three years now.  He saw Tae’s eyes dip when you laughed so hard you were shaking.  He quickly looked up at Jungkook, eyes open wide in apology.  Jungkook threw a smirk at him and winked. Tae relaxed visibly.

On any normal night, he would have grabbed you, steered you into one of the washroom cubicles and had his way with you.  That slit up your dress would make it so easy for him to have his fingers in your pussy.   But tonight, you were celebrating you bestie’s birthday and could not disappear for more than ten minutes.  He was pretty confident he’d get you off (and himself of course) way under ten minutes, but he didn’t want to risk it.  It would be embarrassing if anyone came looking for you.

He reached down to adjust himself to make himself more comfortable. It was okay.  He could bide his time.  He was already formulating a plan to make you sorry for being such a tease. 

You’d had quite a few drinks by the time the club was closing and everyone went their separate ways.  You’d hugged your bestie one last time, both of you laughing and crying. She thanked you for being her best friend. You thanked her for always having your back.  It was adorable.  Your respective boyfriends had to pry you two apart and drag you off to their cars as you and your bestie blew kisses at each other.

Thankfully the drive home was short.  You’d leaned over to put your head on his shoulder.  Your hand reached down to massage the bulge in his pants.  He almost lost control of the car when you squeezed hard.

“Baby, are you trying to kill us?” he asked you sternly, but was smiling.

“Just want your cock, Kook,”  you were slurring slightly.  Eyes closed.  He managed to put the car in park just as you squeezed him again.

In the lift, he caged you in with his hands and kissed you hungrily, pushing you against the wall of the lift.  He reached through the slit in your skirt, grabbing your ass.  He rubbed his hips against yours.  “Want my rock hard cock, Baby?” he growled. 

“Yes! Yes!” you nodded eagerly.

He didn’t even remember getting into the apartment but now he sat on the sofa, looking up at you.  You smiled at him, then climbed onto the sofa, knees on either side of his hips.  You leaned forward to kiss him as you worked on his belt and jeans.  He helped by lifting his hips and pushing his jeans and boxers down onto his muscular thighs.

You leaned down to give his beautiful cock a lick, then clambered up on him, gripping his cock and guiding it to your entrance.  You lowered yourself onto him till you bottomed out.  Jungkook closed his eyes  at the blissful feeling of your warm walls around him.  He opened his eyes to look at you.  Your eyes were glazed over with lust.  You put her hands on his shoulders and moved up, then slammed down on him.  He grunted. 

He pulled the dress off you.  You dug at his shirt and under shirt frantically till he took them off.   He lifted you off the sofa briefly thrusting his hips up so he could remove his jeans and boxers.

You looked so beautiful as you bounced on his cock.  He reached up to squeeze your breasts, palms rubbing your nipples.  You moaned, moving up and down. When you sat down onto him, you ground her pelvis against his, moving in a circular motion, grinding your clit against his pubic bone.    Soon his cock was coated in your arousal. 

You looked so beautiful.  Breasts bouncing, thighs flexing, head thrown back in ecstasy.  He pulled you closer to him by the shoulders, taking a nipple into his hot mouth.  He sucked, he licked, he bit.  You groaned as you continued riding him.  He let go of you breast with a pop, sitting back to watch you.  You grabbed your own breasts then, rolling and pinching your nipples.  You looked totally fucked out.  Your breath coming in gasps.

You were getting close.  You picked up the pace.  He reached down and pushed one thumb against your clit, rubbing you as you continued bouncing.  He felt your pussy throbbing around his cock.

“Yes, fuck yes!  Right there!  Harder, rub harder!  Fuck!”  you came, warm liquid gushing onto his hand and his crotch.   He put his fingers into his mouth, tasting you.  Your face was flushed, chest heaving.  You continued moving up and down.  “You haven’t come, Kook,”  you said, grinding your hips against his.  “Come on, take me to bed. Let me fuck you properly. Let me milk you dry,” you said huskily.

Jungkook was desperate to come.  His cock was throbbing.  Watching you use his cock to pleasure yourself was just too much.  He needed to come.  He picked you up by gripping beneath your thighs and stood up.  You squealed, marveling at his strength.  You wrapped your legs around his waist for balance.  He strode through his living room and went into his bedroom.  He threw you  down on the king sized bed roughly. You laughed.

“That’s it, Kook.  Use me.  Be rough with me. Spank me. Make me your sex slave,” you crooned.  He climbed onto the bed and flipped you over so you were face down.  He pulled on your hips, making your ass stick up in the air. 

 “You want to be spanked?  You think you can handle being my sex slave?” he asked harshly, “You’ve been a naughty girl, teasing me all night.  I’m going to make you my slave now.  I’m going to punish you.”  He spanked your ass. 

You cried out, startled by his sudden move.  “I’m going to make you scream,” he said darkly.  He slapped you again, this time on your pussy.  You cried out in pain, but it was a pleasurable pain.  He spanked you, hitting your clit. Again, and again, and again.  You lost count of how many times he hit you.  You screamed as you came from the onslaught, your body convulsing.  Your pussy clenching on nothing.

“I told you I would make you scream,” he smirked. “And that’s only the first of many screams,” he added before he thrust into you roughly.  You whimpered.  He gripped your hips with a bruising grip, pistoning into you.  He was like a man possessed.  He pounded into you, your hips making slapping noises.  The slip and slide of his cock in and out of your pussy was at just the right angle.  Your walls started fluttering again.  He continued pounding.  You knew you was going to be sore after this.  You screamed again when you came, your pussy clenching around his cock.  You went limp, but Jungkook did not let up.   He needed to come.  Hs felt like he was going to explode if he didn’t.  He pulled your hips to meet his. Over and over and over.  His orgasm hit him like a tidal wave, dragging him under water as he spurted warm cum into you.    When he was done, he pulled out, while you collapsed on the bed, a blissed-out look on your face.  

“So, you want to be my sex slave, huh?”  You nodded, eyes closed.  “Wait here.”   He padded over to his bathroom.  When he came back, he flipped you over roughly so that you were facing up. He grabbed your wrist and tied one end of a bath robe belt to it.  Your eyes flew open, looking at him in surprise. 

“What are you doing?” you asked, a little startled as he secured the other end of the belt to one corner of the bedframe. This left your arm fully stretched out at a forty-five degree angle from your shoulder.  He did the same with your other wrist.

“Sex slaves get tied up,” he smirked.  “Sex slaves get used.  They have to take whatever is dished out like good little slaves.”

You shuddered at the thought of Jungkook tying you up. It made you really excited.  Never had you been tied up to a bed, spread open, ready to be ravaged.  All the fuzzy alcohol in your brain was now washed away by adrenalin.

He tied another belt around your ankle and tied that to another corner of the bedframe, repeating this on your other ankle. You were now immobilized, spread eagle on his bed.

He paused to admire his handiwork. You were so beautiful. You were panting in anticipation.  You looked delectable.  Big breasts heaving.  Writhing as you tested the bonds on your arms and legs.  With your legs spread he could see your pink pussy.  It was wet.  His cum was still leaking out of you.  He picked up his phone and took a picture. “For my eyes only,”  he said, putting his phone down.

He came and knelt between your legs.  “So, little slave, what shall I do first,” he wondered aloud.  He trailed his fingers up your leg, sliding your inner thigh as you squirmed.  He stopped right before he reached your core.  You whined.  He did the same with the other leg.  His fingers drawing circles all the way up your  inner thigh, then stopping again before he reached your core.

“Anything, Kook, anything! Just touch me, please. Touch me,” you begged.

“Hmmm,” he hummed. Then bent suddenly and latched onto your clit, sucking hard. 

“Oh my god!” you screamed as he attacked your clit.  He sucked it, rubbing it with his tongue, feeling how swollen it was.  He flicked his tongue against it repeatedly, then sucked it hard, making loud slurping noises.   He teased your swollen nub with kitten licks.  He felt you shuddering.  You were close.  He pulled off suddenly.

“Noo!” you cried.  “I was close!” 

“Did I say you could come, my little slave?” Jungkook asked.  “You can only come when I allow it,” he said sternly.

He thrust two fingers into you abruptly, making you scream again.  He moved up and latched onto your nipple.  He pumped his fingers into you hard as he nipped and sucked at your breast, leaving red marks.   His fingers pumped faster. Your breath hitched.  Your muscles started to tense.  He pulled his fingers out.

“Noooo!  Nooo, Kook!” you cried.   He plunged his fingers back in again, this time, sucking on your clit at the same time.  Your whole body arched off the bed as you cried out.  He pumped his fingers, his tongue circling your clit.  Again, when he felt you tensing up, he stopped.

“Noo, please… noooooo,” you cried real tears this time, rolling down your face. “Let me come please, Kook!  Let me come!”  you begged.

Jungkook reared up over you.  “I like you begging,” he smiled evilly at you.  “Tell me what you want, little slave.  I want to you to beg me.”

“Please, fuck me. Fuck me, let me come. Pleeeeeaassseeee.”

He put the tip of his cock at your entrance.  “I’m going to fuck you now.  You must not come until I have come, you understand?”

“Yes, yes,” you agreed, tears still rolling down your face.  Your clit was throbbing so badly. 

Jungkook leaned his weight down and thrust into you.  Your whole body jerked with the force of his thrust.  He withdrew till almost the tip, then drove back into you again.  The strength of his thrusts made the whole bed rock.  The bedframe thumping against the wall.  The banging sounds a juxtaposition to his grunts of exertion.

He chased his pleasure, using your body.  He spared no thought about whether it was good for you or not.  Whether he was being too rough or not. You were his sex slave.  He would take what he needed from you.   The force of his thrusts pushed you over the edge.  He didn’t let up, his hips crashing into yours harder, faster.  You cried out from overstimulation, but he was relentless. He finally came with a roar.

He collapsed onto you breathing hard.    You lay whimpering, trying to pull your legs close, but you couldn’t.  He rolled off to one side, pulling out of you. 

“Ah, my little slave.  You came before I did,” he reproached, shaking his head.  “I will need to punish you now.”

Your eyes were closed, as you tried to catch your breath.

Jungkook grabbed hold of your face, pressing on your jaw. “Open up,” he said in a low voice.

You looked up at him, opening your mouth.  He climbed onto you, his knees on either side of your head. 

“Suck,” he ordered, pushing his cock into your mouth.  You sucked. You licked his semi-hard cock, swirling the tongue around the head, into the slit.  You sucked again, harder this time.

“Yeah, baby, suck me off.  I’m going to fuck your mouth now.”  He moved his hips to thrust into your mouth.  You kept up the pressure on his now fully erect cock.  He closed his eyes and fucked into your mouth, hard. You gagged but kept sucking.

“Yeah, that’s it. Keep sucking.” He moved his hips faster.  He was enjoying the sucking noises you were making. As you gagged tears rolled down your face again, but you did not falter.  “Fuck, Y/N, yes, fuck!”  he came, filling your throat and mouth with his cum.

He pulled out, then bent down to kiss you. Hard.  You still had his warm cum in your mouth. He ravished your mouth with his tongue, tasting himself.  He bit your lip, hard enough to make you cry out.

He untied the belts around your ankles.  He freed your wrists as well.  You whimpered, drawing your legs close, curling yourself up.  Jungkook rubbed the redness around your wrists, kissing your face softly.  He rubbed your ankles as well.   He went to the bathroom and came back with a warm towel, which he used to wipe the tear stains off your face.  He wiped your mouth and your body, remembering to be gentle near your pussy.  The adrenalin had worn off.  Your eyes were dropping shut.  He climbed back into bed and gathered you in his arms.

“Sleep tight, Baby,” he kissed your hair.  “I love you.” It didn’t take him long to fall asleep as well, breathing in your scent.

Previous (#1) || Next (#3)

[h50europe]

Tommy Kinard - post mortem

Minear thought of bringing Tommy back for FOUR episodes. He should have stuck to that plan. Because of the huge fanbase these two garnered since their first kiss, he hastily wrote Tommy into more episodes (it shows) and developed a shitty love story for them. Obviously, he did not know how to handle it because he saw himself forced to diverge from his original plan. His interviews about them were nothing but smoke and mirrors. Saying what fans want to hear to keep their hopes high. And we all fell for it. Since OS said he knew from early on in season 8 about the breakup or even earlier, it means, for Minear, he was done with them by the end of season 7.

Funny, wasn't that what the haters always said? That's why he wasn't included in Epi 1 - 3 because Minear stuck to his original plan, in which Tommy was long gone. More smoke and mirror interviews followed. Telling us bullshit like Tommy and Buck were a couple and thriving, well knowing he was done with them. And all the while, the haters knew about it. Fueled by hints of certain journalists. Call me a conspiracy theorist, but I don't believe in coincidence. A journalist usually gets the episode a few days ahead of its airing. And often, they don't get the final cut. And then one of them "guesses" the title for episode 8.06 and part of its content? Yeah, sure. To me, it almost looks like Minear is dropping hints anonymously.

He blindsided BT fans from the get-go. I wondered why they shot 8.06 BEFORE 8.05. Then we got the answer when he explained that 8.05 happened to give the breakup "more shock value." Bullshit! 8.06 was a zombie episode from start to finish, with the cut emergency from season 7 and a plot about a boy in a drain (also a repeat, only with his brother as the hero). The scenes around Buck/Tommy felt like someone tried to put a square into a hole. In hindsight, even Josh's Glee speech gets a shallow taste. Madney's pregnancy felt like an offer of reconciliation to the audience. Hey, look, we have a breakup, but someone's having a baby again, hooray!

As we know, the breakup was written horribly. Again, it shows nobody had a plan (square, hole).

Tommy reminds me of an unfinished sculpture. We know he longs to belong somewhere and is jealous of the family the 118 has become. We know his former Captain Gerrard reminds Tommy of his dad, but that's about it. This is another proof that Minear didn't lose a second thought about Tommy Kinard when he brought him back.

So everything he told us in his interviews was a blatant lie, which he formulated when he saw how the audience appreciated Tevan and their genuine chemistry. Nobody thought that they were taking off like they did. And because it doesn't fit in Minear's concept, they had to do the shitty breakup by retconning Tommy and giving him the even shittier exit.

Sending Buck on his baking spree and watching Tommy "bubbling" him is nothing more than to console the audience and give them a "feeling that Tommy is still around." The general audience isn't as informed as the fans are. They hardly ever read interviews or talk about the show like fans do.

This explains why the plots around "Brad" were fully developed and executed. Minear stuck to his original concept. For my taste, the focus on this character was over the top, and he was never much appreciated among the audience and fans.

I wonder if Minear is even considering bringing Tommy back. I've seldom seen such inconsistent writing about a relationship or a character. Instead of appreciating the welcome and integrating this character into the show, he was treated worse than any other of Buck's LI. What did Minear think when he brought a character back that was part of the show in season 2 and hooked him up with one of the mains? The way this "bi awakening" was handled is cringe-worthy. "I wanted to get Buck off the hamsterwheel" - only to throw him back in. This could have happened a lot less complicated by making Buck drunk and having sex with a random guy. Show him now "suffering" when Minear says he will find a new LI that isn't meant to last, translating into "I made Buck bi although I haven't thought it through and have absolutely no plan what to do next."

An idea would be to bring Tommy back, integrate him, and make him part of Buck's life. It worked with Tarlos.

Someone just told me something very true (and I am allowed to share it): His (Tommy Kinard) season 2 exit was perfect. He showed positive growth, made good friends who threw him a lovely farewell party, and then he went away to pursue his dream career. I know we didn't care about him that time the way we do now, but the stark contrast between the two exits breaks my heart even more.

On a side note, get a grip on Eddie's storyline. From what I know, a half-naked dance through your apartment never solved any problems or had a healing effect...

[37sommz]

❁ : sweet blue . . .

✼. masterlist — taglist — request. ✼. genre: angst & smut. ✼. wc: 5.1k.

it's the sixth round of the 2021 formula one season and mclaren's investment in michaela has been duly paying off. though the success, however, lies a burgeoning tension between mclaren's young drivers.

✼. warnings: 18+, mdni, general language warnings, lando is kind of a brat here idk, ZAK BROWN, explicit sexual content, pwp, unprotected sex, one (1) spank?, jenson has a potty mouth part two!!

✼. notes: major time skip from lookin' 4. i promise michaela and jenson have more family-friendly scenes later on, but it just fit with the vibe of the chapter i guess.

000.⠀⠀JUNE 07, 2021    ›    Baku, Azerbaijan.

Michaela leaned back in her chair, her eyes scanning the rows of reporters as the last echoes of their questions hung in the air. The hum of the air conditioning in the Convention Center was a stark contrast to the roaring engines she was accustomed to, but the anticipation of the 2021 Azerbaijan Grand Prix was palpable. She felt the weight of their gazes, their expectations, their hunger for drama. Her skin prickled with irritation as she formulated her next response, her mind racing through the repercussions of her words.

"Michaela," a journalist in the third row called out, "Since you joined McLaren this season, you've achieved two second-place finishes and points in all five races. You have also outperformed your teammate, Lando Norris, in all five races so far. Do you think McLaren should prioritize you over Lando given your recent performance?"

Michaela's eyes narrowed slightly, the corner of her mouth twitching. She took a sip of water, buying herself a moment to compose her thoughts. "Look," she began, her voice measured, "Lando is a fantastic driver, and I have nothing but respect for him. We're both here to do our best for the team. It is McLaren's job to make strategic decisions based on what they believe is best for the team's overall performance. It is my job to drive fast. They trust me to do my job, so I trust them to do theirs."

The journalist wasn't satisfied with her evasive response and tried again, "But do you believe you're the better driver?"

Michaela's jaw clenched. She could feel the tension in her shoulders, the heat rising in her cheeks. "We're both here to win," she said tightly, "And that's all that matters."

The room went quiet for a beat before the next question came, this time from a journalist who had a glint in his eye that suggested he was enjoying the tension. "But if you had to choose, who do you think is the stronger racer?"

Michaela took a deep breath, her eyes flashing with irritation. "I'm not here to play favorites or to make comparisons," she said firmly. "We're both fighting for the same thing, and we're both giving it our all. The team will make the call, and we'll support each other."

The room was silent for a moment before Valtteri Bottas, sitting beside her, leaned into the microphone. "Let's not forget that we are all professionals here," he said calmly, his gaze flicking to the journalist who had asked the question. "We are focused on the championship, not on personal battles."

Pierre Gasly, who was seated at the opposite end of the table, couldn't resist a smirk. "It's not every day you see teammates so openly competitive," he said sarcastically, his French accent lending a touch of amusement to his words. Michaela shot her long-time friend a blistering glance, woefully receiving a conspiratorial smile instead of a retraction.

The press conference concluded with a final round of questions directed at Valtteri and Pierre. As the reporters began to pack up their equipment, the tension in the room remained palpable. When the last journalist had left, Lando approached her, his expression a blend of confusion and accusation. 

"Couldn't you just give them a straight answer?" he said, his voice low but carrying the weight of his frustration.

Michaela pushed herself out of her chair, standing to her full height a handful of centimeters or so above the Bristol native. "I don't know. What do you want from me, Lando?" she snapped. "Should I just say I'm better than you to appease them?"

Lando's eyes widened, the accusation in her tone stinging. "That's not what I'm asking," he said, his voice rising. "But you can't just pretend that you don’t care about the fact that you've been outrunning me all season!"

Michaela stepped closer, her hands tense at her sides. "Maybe I just don't have your luxury of playing it anything but nice," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Maybe I've had to fight for every inch of track, every point, every podium. And now you want me to just hand it over because, what, you're feeling insecure?"

Lando's jaw tightened. "That's not what this is about," he insisted, his own frustration rising. "It's about being a team player, about not causing drama where there doesn't need to be."

Michaela's eyes searched his, looking for any sign of understanding. "You think I don't want that?" she hissed, her voice edged with a hint of desperation. "You think I don't want to just be treated like an equal?"

Before Lando could respond, a firm hand on her shoulder broke their intense stare. Zak's voice caught Michaela's full attention, his tone a mix of concern and reprimand. "Guys, let's take this outside," he said, his voice a calm counter to the heated tension in the room.

The two stepped into the bustling corridor, the noise of the paddock a stark contrast to the claustrophobic silence of the press room. "McLaren has no number one driver," he reminded them firmly. "We're in this together. Every point we score, we score as a team."

Michaela's eyes narrowed, looking for a crack in his resolve, but all she found was a reflection of her own determination. "But you know it's not that simple," she argued. "The media wants a story, and if I don't give it to them, they'll make one up."

Zak's jaw tightened. "You're both adults, and you're both incredibly talented drivers. I know you're both hungry for success, but this isn't the way. We're racing as a team, and we'll win as a team." His words were firm, but the understanding in his eyes was unmistakable. "End of discussion."

Michaela nodded curtly, her shoulders still tense. As Lando stormed off, she couldn't help but feel a wave of regret for her harsh words. The weekend ahead was going to be fraught with tension, she knew that much. But she also knew that she couldn't let it affect her driving. This was her chance to prove herself, to show that she was more than just a team player.

000.⠀⠀JUNE 08, 2021    ›    Baku, Azerbaijan.

The qualifying session was a battle of nerves. Each time she took to the track, she pushed herself to the absolute limit, the car responding to her every demand. As the clock ticked down, she requested her engineer to report Lando's times, a hint of satisfaction filling her as he replied that he fell just short of hers. When the results flashed on the board, showing her starting fourth behind Charles, Lewis, and Max, she allowed herself a small, selfish smile.

On race day, the tension between her and Lando was tangible. They didn't speak in the garage, their focus was solely on the job at hand. The lights went out, and she didn't hold back, fighting for position, her heart pounding in her chest. The race was a blur of strategy, speed, and sheer willpower. Upon the restart following Max's crash due to tire failure, Michaela lay in second place sandwiched behind Checo and in front of Lewis. With just two laps to the checkered flag, she could hear the voice of her engineer encouraging her to "Give 'em hell."

Her eyes narrowed, and she took a deep breath, channeling her frustration into precision. As they approached the tight turns of the Baku City Circuit, she saw an opportunity. She took a risk, diving to the inside of Checo at Turn 1, her tires screeching. She felt the G-forces press her into the seat as she overtook him, the crowd's roar deafening.

The final lap was a dance of power and skill, with Checo breathing down her neck, his Red Bull's shadow looming large in her rearview mirror. But she was ready for this, her hands steady on the wheel, her mind a crystal-clear focus. She knew every inch of this track, every bump, every curve, every opportunity for error. And she wasn't going to make one.

As she rounded the final corner, the checkered flag in sight, she could feel the anticipation in the air. The crowd was on their feet, the roar of the engines echoing off the walls of the grandstands. She pushed the pedal to the floor, her car responding like an extension of her own body. And then she was across the line, the first McLaren to win a Grand Prix since Jenson in Brazil in 2012. The world around her went silent for a heartbeat before it exploded into the ringing of cheers and celebration.

Michaela couldn't believe it. She had done it. She had proven herself. The podium was a blur of cameras and spraying champagne, the weight of the trophy in her hands a sweet validation. Her eyes searched the sea of faces for Lando, who offered her a grudging nod, the tension between them thick enough to cut with a knife. But she couldn't let it ruin this moment. This was her victory, and she had earned it.

The afterparty was a whirlwind of congratulations and well-wishers. The air was electric with excitement, the sound of laughter and clinking glasses a symphony to her ears. Pierre and Charles approached her, grinning ear to ear already intoxicated, their arms slung around each other's shoulders.

"Michaela, you absolute legend," Pierre said, raising a shot of tequila in her direction.

Michaela couldn't help but smile, the burn of the alcohol warming her insides as she took the glass from the Alpha Tauri driver. The tension from earlier had been replaced with a heady mix of triumph and exhaustion. She had done it. Her first win and it was all hers and hers alone.

"You guys were great out there too, 4th and 5th," she said, raising her own drink in a toast. "Cheers to a hell of a race."

"Cheers," they echoed, their glasses clinking together.

The party buzzed with energy, the room a swirl of color and sound. As the night progressed, the drinks flowed freely, and the conversation grew more playful. Pierre leaned closer to her, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "So, what do you think now?" he whispered, his voice barely audible over the music. "Are you ready to admit that you're the one to watch?"

Michaela felt a familiar heat rise in her cheeks. "I'm just happy for the team," she said, trying to keep her tone light. The two friends groaned in response to her diplomatic answer. Charles booed loudly as Pierre released an equally loud, "C'est des foutaises", calling bullshit on Michaela's dodge.

"Come on, Mickey," Charles prodded, his voice still teasing. "You know you're the one everyone's talking about. You outdrove everyone today, especially Lando."

Michaela's eyes narrowed slightly, the alcohol loosening her tongue more than she would have liked. "I don't need to say it out loud for it to be true," she said, a hint of challenge in her voice.

Pierre's smirk grew wider. "But it's so much more fun when you do," he said, nudging her playfully.

Michaela couldn't help but laugh despite herself. The atmosphere was infectious, and she felt a rare moment of camaraderie with her friends. "Alright, I'll give you that," she conceded with a grin. "But let's not forget, you both had a hand in keeping him on his toes today."

Their laughter was interrupted by a familiar British accent. "If it isn't the woman of the hour," Jenson said, sliding into the conversation with a charming smile. The former world champion had been commentating on the race, and his presence was a stark reminder of the history she had made today.

Michaela felt a jolt of excitement at the sight of him, the secret they had been keeping hidden for months now threatening to spill out into the open. "Jenson," she said, her voice low as Pierre and Charles turned to accept more drinks for the four of them. "What are you doing here?"

He leaned in closer, his breath warm against her ear. "Couldn't miss the chance to congratulate my favorite driver, now could I?" His words sent a shiver down her spine, a reminder of the passion they had shared in the quiet moments stolen from the spotlight. It had been nearly six full months of Michaela relenting to “just one more date”. It had been nearly six full months of their secret threatening to be revealed anytime they came into proximity to each other, familiar hands involuntarily reaching for each other anytime Jenson held a Sky Sports microphone in his hands.

Michaela's heart raced as she searched the room for any signs of media or prying eyes. "We need to be careful," she whispered, the music thumping around them providing a veil of privacy.

Jenson winked. "Don't worry, love. I know how to keep a secret," he said, taking a sip of the drink drunkenly handed to him by Pierre. His blue eyes danced with excitement, mirroring the disco lights bouncing off the walls.

Michaela nodded, her thoughts racing. They had been so careful for so long, avoiding any hint of a relationship in public, but tonight she felt invincible. The victory had been hers, and she wanted to share it with him.

Jenson's hand found her shoulder, his grip firm and reassuring. "You were incredible today," he said, his voice a gentle rumble.

Michaela's cheeks flushed under his gaze. "Thanks," she murmured, looking down at their knees just barely touching in the darkness of the packed club.

"No, really," Jenson's voice grew more serious, his thumb stroking her shoulder. "You're on fire this season. It's a joy to watch."

Michaela met his gaze, her eyes searching his. The warmth in his eyes was genuine, and she felt a swell of affection for the man who had become both her mentor and lover. "Thank you," she said, her voice a little louder this time. "But let's not forget the team effort."

Pierre and Charles, really ‘Drunk and Drunker’ at this point in the night, leaned back into the conversation reminding the secret lovers of the weight of their secret. 

"She keeps going on and on about the team effort. I told her she kicked Lando's ass and she won't give it up." Pierre almost whined in disappointment, groaning in pain when Michaela pinched him in retaliation.

Michaela rolled her eyes, her cheeks still flushed from the race and the alcohol. "I'm just trying to keep things professional," she said, taking another shot of tequila, hissing at the burn.

"Ah, but where's the fun in that?" Pierre said with a laugh, slapping her on the back a little too hard. Jenson's hand shot out to rub at her lower back as Michaela grumbled out of discomfort. Their eyes locked once Jenson caught himself and retreated. 

If ‘Drunk and Drunker’ noticed, they gave no indication so.

The night grew later, and the party showed no signs of winding down. The three friends had formed a tight circle, the music a pulsing backdrop to their laughter and stories. The whiskey was smooth, the air was thick with the scent of victory and sweat, and the thrill of the day's race still hummed in her veins. Slowly, Michaela found herself on her own as the two Francophones found willing participants to conduct their own private celebrations.

Her thoughts drifted back to Jenson. The secret meetings in hotel rooms, the stolen kisses in quiet corners, the whispered promises of what could be if they ever went public. She took a deep breath and made her decision.

Michaela slipped away from the party, not before grabbing a bottle of champagne to go from the VIP section. The solitude of the night's air outside was a welcome relief from the harried noise of the club. She sent a text to Jenson, her heart racing with anticipation.

"Meet me at my hotel room," she typed, hitting send before she could second guess herself.

The response came almost immediately. "On my way," it read, the words sending a delicious shiver down her spine.

Michaela hurried to the hotel, her heart pounding in her chest with a mix of excitement and nerves. This was not the first time she and Jenson had snuck away together after a race, but it was the first time she had initiated it. She took the elevator up to her floor, the champagne bottle clutched tightly in her hand.

When she opened the door to her suite, she found Jenson already there, his dress shirt a quarter unbuttoned and a look of anticipation in his eyes. He took the champagne from her, popped the cork, and filled two flutes with a practiced ease. "To your first win," he toasted, his eyes never leaving hers.

Michaela took a sip, the bubbles tickling her nose as she watched him over the rim of the glass. "And to many more," she murmured, setting the flute aside.

Jenson stepped closer, his hand cupping her cheek. "You were magnificent today," he said, his voice thick with desire. "You deserve all of this and more."

Michaela's eyes were all round as she stared up at him, the weight of their secret suddenly feeling heavier. "What we do together," she began, her voice low and urgent, "It can't affect the team or your work with Williams and Sky."

Jenson leaned in closer, his breath warm against her cheek. "I know, love," he whispered. "But tonight, let's just celebrate you."

Michaela's heart hammered in her chest as she reached up to kiss him, the tension between them snapping like a rubber band. Their kiss was desperate, hungry, fueled by the adrenaline of the win and the excitement of their hidden romance. His hands found her waist, pulling her closer, as their bodies melded together.

The hotel suite was a sanctuary of passion, the curtains drawn tight to keep the outside world at bay. The champagne sat forgotten on the minibar, their celebration taking a different turn. As Jenson turned to take a seat on the edge of the bed, Michaela felt her arousal pulsate through her, driving her to the brink of insanity.

He reached out for her, and she stepped into his embrace, her hands sliding around his neck. Their kisses grew more urgent, their breaths mingling as they tasted the victory of the day. His hands roamed over her body, slipping under her dress to caress the bare skin of her thighs, while hers explored the firm planes of his chest.

"You wanna know something?" She teased, her accent adding a sultry drawl to the innocent words. Her fingers played with the blonde curls at the nape of his neck. Jenson's strong hands drew her toned thighs onto the bed, resting them on either side of his spread legs as he sat on the edge of the bed.

"I want to know everything about you," He whispered back, his focus unwavering as he trailed his tongue up the valley of her breasts pulling down the neckline of her dress to grant himself selfish access. His hands squeezed at the fat of her ass, settling the full weight of her body against his erect cock.

Michaela moaned softly, her body arching into his touch. "Between Lando and I, I know I'm the better driver," she confessed, her voice a breathless purr.

Jenson paused, his eyes meeting hers with a spark of mischief. "Do you, now?" He squeezed her breasts in both of his hands, his teeth grazing her sensitive skin.

Michaela's breath hitched. "Don't tease me," she murmured, her hips rocking against him. "You know I am." The end of her sentence was punctuated by a breathless moan at the sensation of their clothed extremities rubbing against each other for desperately needed friction.

Jenson chuckled darkly, his hands moving to unzip her dress. "You can't say that out loud," he whispered, his breath hot against her neck. "It's unsportsmanlike conduct. They’ll fine you."

Michaela giggled, pushing his shirt off his shoulders. "Fuck sportsmanship," she said, her voice growing more heated. "I want to win."

Jenson's eyes darkened with lust, his hands moving to unhook her bra. "And you will," he murmured, tossing the garment aside. He kissed her neck, his teeth grazing her skin. "Again and again."

Michaela's dress pooled at her waist, revealing her black lace lingerie. She reached down to undo his pants, her hands shaking slightly with anticipation. As she freed him from his boxers, she took a moment to appreciate the size and girth of him.

"You're mine," she murmured, her eyes never leaving his as she sank to her knees and took him in her hand, stroking his base slowly.

Jenson groaned, his eyes falling shut for a moment before snapping open to meet hers. "Always," he growled.

Michaela took him in her mouth, her eyes never leaving his. The taste of him was familiar and intoxicating, a heady mix of sweat and desire. His hands found her hair, guiding the strands into a ponytail held tight in his hand. Her head bobbed with a rhythm set by the older man as his hips bucked up to meet her. She took him deep, her tongue swirling around the head of his cock, teasing the slit before taking him all the way back in again.

Jenson's moans grew louder, his grip on her hair tightening as she worked her magic. His eyes squeezed shut, the pleasure too intense to bear, before finally opening again to look at her. The sight of her, dressed in nothing but her underwear, on her knees before him, was almost too much. "Bed," he managed to say through gritted teeth, pulling her up by the wrists.

Michaela's heart raced as she stood, allowing Jenson to push her onto the bed, face first into the cotton sheets. The coolness of the sheets was a stark contrast to the heat of their bodies as they fell onto the mattress. He slid her panties down, revealing her bare skin to the coolness of the room. His tongue traced the curves of her spine, sending shivers down her legs. He whispered sweet nothings into her ear as his hand found the wetness between her legs, his thumb playing her with a hungry precision.

Michaela squirmed beneath him, her moans growing louder. Jenson was a master at this, his experience evident in every touch, every caress. She could feel the tension building, the need for release coiling tighter and tighter inside her. His fingers slid into her, and she bit down on the pillow to muffle her cries. The bed squeaked in protest as he picked up the pace, her body moving with the rhythm of his hand.

As she neared climax, she could feel his cock pressing against her back, hot and demanding. She wanted him inside her, wanted to feel him claim her victory as his own. She turned to her face to look back at him, her eyes glazed with desire. "Take me," she whispered, her voice raw with need.

Jenson's eyes darkened further, his control slipping. He pulled his hand away, his cock taking its place. "Need to give my race winner a proper celebration, hmm?" He hummed as he took his time, rubbing against her folds to her surprise. As Michaela released a throaty moan from the unfamiliar sensation, Jenson slid into her, filling her completely. 

The initial shock gave way to a deep need and she pushed back into him, urging him deeper. The sound of their bodies colliding filled the room, a symphony of passion and desire. Caught off guard once again by a smack echoing through the quiet hotel room and a ting of pain quickly replaced by pleasure, Michaela nearly cried out her lover's name.

Jenson's hand came down firmly on her ass again, undeniably leaving a red imprint. "Keep it down, love," he whispered in her ear, his teeth grazing her earlobe. "Don't want to wake the other guests."

Michaela bit her lip, nodding in understanding as she pushed back into him, the pain from the smack morphing into a pleasurable throb that had her walls spasming around him. She could feel the head of his muscle pressing against the sweetest spot in hers, the anticipation of what was to come making her wetter.

The stretch was exquisite, a tight ring of pressure that she had never felt before. She moaned into the pillow, her body shaking with the effort to remain silent.

He began to move in earnest, sliding in and out of her in a punishing rhythm that made her toes curl, the sensation overwhelming. It was more than she had ever felt, the pleasure so intense it was almost painful. Her breathing grew ragged, her hips rising to meet him as she chased the high of her impending climax.

Jenson leaned over her, his chest heaving with exertion as he whispered dirty nothings in her ear. His voice crafted an addictive melody in her head, pushing her closer to the edge. The room was a haze of pleasure, the smell of sex and sweat intoxicating as it filled her nose. She could feel him getting closer, his strokes becoming more erratic, his breathing more ragged.

Michaela's eyes fluttered closed, the sensation of his hands on her hips and her heart beating out of her chest overwhelming. "Fuck," she whispered, the word slipping out despite her best efforts to be quiet. "I'm going to come."

Jenson groaned in response, his own release imminent. He leaned down to kiss her neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin. "Come for me," he murmured, his voice a low growl. "Wanna make my little champion feel good."

Michaela's body tensed as she did just that, her orgasm crashing over her in waves. She bit down on the pillow to stifle her scream, her walls clenching around him. Jenson's hands pressed deeper into her skin, drawing a series of cries from the Australian. Her mind blanked completely as she began to gush around him. "Holy shit!" She cried out, her eyes rolling back as the shock of pleasure overtook any semblance of control over her own body.

Jenson watched the passion play across her features, his own climax building rapidly. The sight of her pleasure was too much for him to hold back, and with a roar, he came deep inside her. The feeling of her muscles contracting around him was almost too much, and he had to brace himself against the headboard to keep from collapsing on top of her.

Michaela's body went limp, the tension draining out of her as she lay there, panting and sated. He collapsed beside her, both of them sweaty and spent. They lay there for a moment, their hearts pounding in sync.

Michaela rolled over to face him, a satisfied smile playing on her lips. "I think we should do this more often," she murmured, her eyes half-lidded with pleasure. "I don't think I've ever come that hard before."

Jenson chuckled, wiping the sweat from his brow. "Glad I could help you tick that off your list," he said, his voice still gruff with desire. He reached over to stroke her cheek, his clean thumb tracing the path of a tear that had escaped during their intense lovemaking.

As awareness of the damp sheets beneath her spent body set in, Michaela's eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"What's wrong?" Jenson asked, noticing the change in her expression. When Michaela released a short, "The sheets are damp,” Jenson couldn't help the belly laugh that erupted from the back of his throat.

Michaela smacked his arm playfully. "It's not funny," she said, though the corners of her mouth twitched upwards.

"It's a little funny," Jenson chuckled, his eyes sparkling with mirth. "But I'm not laughing at you, I'm laughing with the sheer joy of watching you come like that." He leaned in for a kiss, which she returned eagerly despite her embarrassment.

Michaela couldn't argue with that. The way he had taken her to the brink and pushed her over had been nothing short of amazing. She snuggled closer, feeling the stickiness between her thighs and the aftershocks of pleasure still rippling through her body.

They lay there for a few moments, basking in the afterglow of their passionate encounter, the only sound their labored breathing and the distant murmur of the city outside. It was a moment of rare peace in the whirlwind of the season, a secret shared between them that felt both thrilling and terrifying.

Jenson broke the silence, his voice low and caring. "Let's get you cleaned up before you drift away on me, love."

Michaela nodded, reluctantly untangling herself from his embrace. They both stumbled into the en suite bathroom, the tiles cool against their heated skin. Jenson turned on the faucet of the bathtub, the sound of water filling the tub with a gentle hum in the quiet space. He stepped in, holding out a hand to help her in.

The water was perfect, not too hot, not too cold. It washed away the sweat and the grime of their passion, along with the tension of keeping their relationship a secret. They sat in the tub, their legs entwined, sipping from the champagne flutes they had brought in with them. The bubbles of the bath fizzled and popped around them, echoing the bubbles of their conversation.

"You know, I've been thinking," Jenson began, his voice a gentle rumble in the quiet space. "Maybe we should tell someone. Just one person. Someone we trust."

Michaela's heart skipped a beat. The thought of their secret getting out was both terrifying and thrilling. "Like who?" Her voice barely above a whisper, her gaze locked onto his.

Jenson took a deep breath, considering his words. "Maybe Daniel," he said, referring to the shared friend between the two of them. "He's a good guy. He won't say anything."

Michaela leaned her head against his shoulder, thinking it over. In the months since Daniel had been reintroduced to her in a new light—her sister’s new boyfriend—Michaela had taken to confiding in the Perth native, committing himself to his new role as a source of comfort for his girlfriend’s baby sister.

"What if it changes things?" she asked, her voice small and unsure. "What if people start questioning my focus on the track?"

Jenson kissed her forehead, his hand tracing circles on her thigh. "We're adults, Mouse," he said, using the nickname only he could get away with. "We can handle it. And besides, you just proved today that you can win with or without any distractions."

Michaela thought about it, her eyes glazed over as she took another sip of champagne. "Alright," she conceded. "But only Daniel. And only just before the summer break. We can't risk anything before then."

Jenson nodded, taking her hand in his and giving it a gentle squeeze. "We'll tell him, and then we can breathe a little easier," he promised.

Michaela took a deep breath and nodded in agreement, the warm water of the tub soothing her nerves. "Okay," she said finally, a hint of excitement lacing her voice. "Just Daniel."

✼. taglist:⠀

@cha-hot @certifiedlesbianbaddie @nichmeddar

@d3kstar @thewannabewriter @hwalllllllelujah

@thearchieves @doodlehunz @evie-119

@bxdbxtxh @seaweed-orchid @glitterquadricorn

@99snse @ginghampearlsnsweettea @alliwantisadonut

@hiireadstuff @emilyval1 @anotherblackreader

@sv5beehives @mynameisangeloflife @tellybearyyyy

@melancholyy-hill @vallusvsu @futuristiccroissantlampsludge

@treehouse-mouse @sunfairyy

[oodlyenough]

more arcane s2 thoughts in no particular order. this is pretty negative. woops

Cait, Vi, Caitvi

despite being what initially got me watching to begin with caitvi just never ended up being my primary interest with this show, so going into s2 it wasn't like I had very well formulated expectations or hopes. I think if I had I would maybe feel disappointed? They had some nice moments, they got the kiss and the sex scene, they're clearly endgame, etc, and that's nice, but it also felt like their relationship was so ... never really the star of the show or focus of the story to the extent I expected it to be. Did they even get a big fight-together battle-couple moment in the last ep, I don't think so? I didn't find the resolution to their Act 1 breakup especially good, I think Caitlyn owed Vi an apology and Vi deserved to be angry for longer than ten seconds.

I generally feel across both seasons that Vi's pain and trauma is rarely given as much weight as other characters', I was pretty underwhelmed by Caitlyn's dictator arc after being extremely interested in it at the end of act 1...

I dunno. I hope their stans liked it and are satisfied getting to see them kiss and have sex and be together and I wouldn't downplay the significance of The Couple in Arcane being a lesbian couple. But I wasn't personally very compelled or moved by it.

Jinx

Like the above I'm not a Jinx academic by any means but I think if I were I would be frustrated by how cyclical her arc was in season 2. And no, having Silco show up to be like "it's a cycle" doesn't really justify the narrative interludes. Isha is a hard sell of a character for me because I don't ... generally want little kid characters around ... and I found Jinx (basically) looking straight into the camera to say "gee you are just like me, Powder, when I was a little kid, which reminds me of being Powder, is this how Silco felt, is this how Vi felt" to be hamfisted. But some of the scenes with the two of 'em and Sevika were cute ... only for Isha to die and Jinx to be depressed, again, and then come through the other side, again, and then "die", again. Like if we wanted to deal with depressed Jinx we started off s2 that way...

I've seen other posts by Jinx fans that articulate much better the ways in which she goes from the driving plot force in s1 and main autonomous actor to just kind of being wafted around by plot in season 2 so I won't repeat them. But I think they are right. I also question the way her mental illness was portrayed -- or rather wasn't... -- in season 2. Powder in the AU showing no sign of illness (despite baby Powder in the main timeline already having some of that going on, pre-Vander death)... I mean, sure, she's got a support system etc in that world, and one can argue we don't spend enough time with AU Powder to necessarily see it, but combined with the Isha stuff it just kind of felt like a weird message.

Sevika

I love Sevika, one of my faves from s1. I was so excited she seemed to get a bigger role in act 1 and then in the first ep of act 2. And then she never spoke again. What the hell man... like damn... really?????!? Not a WORD in act 3? I'm sure this was some of the stuff they trimmed to get that finale down to 50 minutes but god that sucks, so much, in ways a wordless shot of her in the council chamber can't really resolve. Which leads me to

Piltover-Zaun

I have to admit I don't think the class politics in s1 are as good as they were reported to be, so I didn't have high hopes, but MAN is Piltover going "hey we need cannon fodder <3 thanks" not... a reasonable resolution... especially after an indeterminate time of Piltover being EVEN MORE oppressive with Caitlyn enforcing martial law. It was sooooooooo ridiculous. Also, lol @ the show acting like hextech is solely responsible for the suffering of the undercity. If only Vi, Jayce and Viktor weren't around we'd have a equitable utopia. Sure Jan.

Sky

One of the most offensively written female characters I've seen in recent media. A spectacular, zero-effort failure from the writers. What a horrible decision to write this poor girl, a Black woman no less, and give her absolutely no characterization outside of an unrequited crush on a gay white man. In season 1 I could forgive most of it because a show like Arcane needs redshirts and it's just unfortunate they made this particular redshirt a young Black woman. There are so many other complex and developed women in the show, I thought, they can afford to have some minor ones who aren't.

But oh my god season 2. The ghost hallucination which they never even clarify as being "really" Sky or just being the Hexcore or just being his own imagination of guilt because neither the show nor Viktor give enough of a fuck to explain fhglakhdglh. Even posthumously she barely has any dialogue except to reference off-screen conversations with Viktor we never see them have and then die again. "No you won't" ?????? It is ridiculous that they wrote this.

[whathorselegs]

If Not For You

Summary: A short two part fic of Dazai and Chuuya comforting each other through Dazai's unconventional expressions of emotion. Part 1 is teen!skk after the Dragon Head conflict. Part 2 is 22!skk Title taken from Maneskin's song 'If Not For You'

Pairing: Skk (Dazai x Chuuya) Can be read as a platonic or romantic.

Inspired by @unicornpopcorn14 's post about Dazai's unconventional shows of emotion

This was supposed to be silly but it ended up leaning way more into emotional hurt/comfort

Part One - If Not For You

Despite his small stature, Dazai had never found it difficult to locate Chuuya. If anything, it was harder not to notice him with all the noise he was usually making. Exclaiming at this, yelling about that, stomping about, sometimes- on the off chance Chuuya saw Dazai first- he’d still fling himself at Dazai with his gravity. Of course, that was usually when Dazai had played some prank or other and Chuuya was actively hunting him down.

Lately though, Chuuya had been disturbingly quieter, and just like Dazai was just about to now, he was increasingly finding Chuuya curled up in some secluded corner of an empty room, sulking.

No, not sulking, he reminded himself.

Mourning.

Again.

Dazai had never understood why people mourn the dead so intensely, sure, it was sad, but most things were. He thought it was the strangeness of having a person suddenly not be there at first, and that people in the mafia- who were used to losing people- would be just as unaffected as he was. Turns out, he was alone in that here too. Frequent exposure to death didn’t stop people mourning, it seemed. Especially not Chuuya. This was the second lot of friends he’d lost and whilst Dazai didn’t understand the reason behind people’s mourning, he had enough sense to show them a little more grace than he normally would.

So when he came across Chuuya, huddled up and alone in an abandoned meeting room for the third time this week, Dazai was also quiet. He could have yelled Chuuya’s name, made a joke about him hiding away like a mouse in the walls, something of their usual games, but they all just felt intensely wrong in this situation. As much as he would like to force their normal routines back into place, he knew that wouldn’t help.

He sat down on the floor beside Chuuya, who had his knees up to his chest, leaning against the wall and idly looking out the floor to ceiling windows. Though Dazai doubted he was actually taking anything of the scenery in.

“You’ll get a hunch if you keep sitting like that.” Dazai said, choosing a soft tone for the teasing, offering a branch for Chuuya to take if he wanted to reach out for normalcy. 

Instead Chuuya sucked in a short breath, tensing up, like he’d only just noticed Dazai and shot him an annoyed glare in warning.

No games then.

Dazai leaned back against the wall as he formulated his next move. He was supposed to be bringing Chuuya to a briefing, however, in the mood he’s in, Dazai didn’t fancy his chances trying to tell Chuuya to do anything. He needed to get him out of this funk first, clear his mind.

His head tilted to the side as he pondered whether it was possible to clear the mind of a skull that’s already empty. Any other situation and he would have said that out loud. Just right now, though, Dazai didn’t feel like getting pulverised. Trying to be sensitive to people's feelings was giving him a headache. He needed to relieve the tension building in his temples. Looking around, Dazai noticed this room had a sofa, perfect for curing his headache, but then he couldn’t just ignore Chuuya, still curled in on himself in the corner. That would make for a terrible sight.

And then it hit him, he could solve both problems at once.

“I know what you need.” Emboldened by his plan, Dazai went as far as to prod Chuuya’s side, earning him another glare. “You need to clear your head.”

After a moment of just staring sceptically at Dazai, Chuuya responded with a strain in his voice he couldn’t quite hide. “What?”

“Come on, I know a great method.” Not deterred by Chuuya’s lukewarm reaction Dazai grabbed the sleeve of Chuuya’s jacket and attempted to pull Chuuya up. The arm moved, but the rest of the boy remained sat where he was, like the immovable rock he was. 

“Why would I do anything you tell me to do?” Chuuya snapped, trying to yank his arm back and failing.

“Because, I’m right. Always. My methods have never failed us once. Ever.” He tugged at Chuuya’s arm as he spoke, seeing Chuuya subconsciously uncurling from his position, torn between ignoring Dazai and trying to shut him up. Dazai just had to toe the line between just annoying enough to motivate him to move and not enough to get his nose broken. 

Finally Chuuya stood up. “You smug little- You’re not always right.”

“Prove me wrong then.” Dazai dangled the opportunity in front of Chuuya, a bet was always a good motivator for him.

“Fine. Show me your dumb method and I will.”

He led them to the sofa, trying not to be too obvious about how pleased with himself he was. “This always clears my head.” Dazai informed Chuuya and he knelt on the sofa facing the backrest. When Chuuya didn’t do the same, he pointed next to him on the sofa. “Do as I do.” He barely managed to bite back the dog nickname.

Chuuya huffed, rolling his eyes before mimicking Dazai’s actions and mumbling something about how stupid this was under his breath. Instead of calling him out on it, Dazai let it slide and lowered himself backwards on the sofa, letting his legs hook over the backrest and his head dangle off the end of the sofa cushion. Chuuya looked at him like he’d just contorted himself into a pretzel rather than sat upside-down on a sofa, but he did follow Dazai’s actions.

“How is this suppose to-”

“Shush!” Dazai hushed him. “Just look out the window and be still.”

The familiar tingle of blood rushing to his face, the tickle of his hair slowly falling down and the dull pulse of his blood in his ears steadily began to build. Dazai felt his lips and fingertips turn numb as he watched the clouds pass outside the window and soon, there wasn’t a single thought in his head. No frustration, no confusion, no strange ache to somehow share in Chuuya’s pain, just the sound of his own heartbeat and both their gentle breaths. 

After a minute of quiet, he glanced Chuuya's way to find him staring out the window, face ridiculously red and expression almost blank. It may have actually looked blank to most, but Dazai had learned to see the subtle wonder with which Chuuya’s eyes saw the world. Wonder that those eye’s seemed to have been lacking recently. It made his all too loud heart flutter to see even the faintest hint of it’s return.

“See clear head.” He said quietly, or hoped it was quiet, hard to tell with all the blood in his head. “Bad thoughts are heavy.”

Chuuya only briefly met his gaze before looking out the window again with a deep, tired breath. “Yeah.”

“They fall right out your ears this way!”

At that Chuuya snorted, almost falling off the sofa.

Part Two - I Couldn't Get Off This Floor

Chuuya always locked his door. That simple fact was undeniable. His apartment contained too much sensitive information to be forgetting to lock his door. On the off-chance Chuuya thought he’d forgotten, he always turned around to double check and it was always locked. Which is why it was becoming an increasing annoyance to return home and find his door unlocked. Despite him having the only key.

Knowing the exact cause of this conundrum only aggravated Chuuya further. He hung up his coat and hat before removing his shoes and made his way into the front room ready to give said ‘cause’ a piece of his mind.

He halted immediately when he saw Dazai lying face down on the floor. Perhaps if this was any other person on the floor it might have been more alarming, but this wasn’t the first time Chuuya had witnessed Dazai in this state. Despite himself, Chuuya found his earlier annoyance melting away, his shoulders drooping as he took in the sight for a moment. Then he quietly made his way over to Dazai, grabbing a couple of cushions from the sofa as he got down on the floor with Dazai.

“Floor time, huh?” He said softly, poking Dazai’s shoulder. To which Dazai hummed in acknowledgement before turning his face in Chuuya’s direction. His forehead was marked by a shiny red square from where it had been pressed to the floor. Chuuya suppressed the desire to laugh at the sight and pushed one of the cushions Dazai’s way. It was accepted silently as Dazai tucked his forearms under it and rubbed his face against the soft fabric. No thanks, Chuuya noted, no words at all. So Dazai really was feeling off today.

Chuuya lay on his side, facing Dazai, resting his own cushion under his head. After watching Dazai a moment longer to see if he’d come out of his shell, Chuuya decided he was well and truly jammed in there. He reached out, pushing his hand under Dazai’s cushion to find the fingers hiding there and hooking them around his own.

“Have you eaten recently?” He asked.

There was a delay before Chuuya felt Dazai squeeze his fingers. Once for yes. 

“Promise?

Another single squeeze.

He couldn’t help the doubt in mind, Dazai was notorious for forgetting to feed himself when got like this, but Chuuya didn’t push it. He’d promised and doubting Dazai’s promises right now would only make him feel worse.

“Want to move to the bed?”

Two squeezes. Which meant no. 

More accurately this meant Dazai felt like he couldn’t move yet, he’d described it like the feeling of being trapped behind his eyes once, like his own body no longer obeyed him because of the sheer exhaustion that overcame it. So Chuuya wouldn’t pester him to move before he was ready.

“What about some music?”

One squeeze, yes.

“Blanket?”

One squeeze, yes.

“Contact?”

Two squeezes, no.

There was never a set rule as to what exactly helped Dazai in these situations, Chuuya simply memorised which suggestions most often helped. Music to quiet the thoughts, blankets for comfort and occasionally, physical contact like brushing his hair helped. The last one was the least likely for Dazai to say yes to, but in recent months there had been an uptick in yeses, so Chuuya always offered.

He stood up again and set about completing his tasks. He chose a soft classical CD to play, one he imagined Iceman would have enjoyed listening to. No words, the perfect selection of songs to just rest your mind to. Then grabbed a blanket from the bedroom and returned to Dazai, draping the blanket over him and lying back down at his side. Even if Dazai didn’t want physical contact, having someone’s presence beside him, not judging or trying to force him to move, just understanding and being still with him helped.

Chuuya closed his eyes, letting his own mind settle as he listened to the gentle music. Honestly, he knew he shouldn’t, but his work day had been so long, he could have fallen asleep right there.

A hand found his own again and when re-opened his eyes, he found Dazai watching him with his hand loosely wrapped around Chuuya’s. Dazai’s index finger tapped at Chuuya’s knuckle. Morse code he realised.

Thank you.

“Sure thing, partner.”

[austinbutlerslovers]

Fic Requests List (Upcoming)

Fic Style: 💝Romantic ⚠️Hardcore 🚨Depraved ❤️‍🔥Passionate

•••••••✍🏼 Works in Progress •••••••

⚠️ No One Else (Austin jealous)

❤️‍🔥Benny Cross x Jealous reader (New Neighbor Part 2)

❤️‍🔥American Speed -High Stakes Don

💝Buck returns for his ‘little harlot’

📌 Danny Ryan (waiting for City on Fire news)

❤️‍🔥Special via @ ughdontbeboring

⚠️ Ultra Violence

❤️‍🔥Dom to Sub

❤️‍🔥Little Costume

❤️‍🔥Masquerade

*If the fic is not the list I am unable to formulate a way to make it a story. Or I wish I could get more details about it.

••••••••📝Next Upcoming•••••••••

❤️‍🔥Caught in the Act (self pleasure )

❤️‍🔥Play Me (fingering)

❤️‍🔥 Tan Lines & Love Marks (soft dom)

❤️‍🔥Hollow Heart (sad girl)

• 🏆 Completed Requested Links 🏆 •

❤️‍🔥The Interviewer 5.8

❤️‍🔥False Intruder (Hank) 5.5

🚨 Star Student (corrupt) 5.1

❤️‍🔥Home Run Hank 4.29

❤️‍🔥The Tape 4.27

❤️‍🔥Before the Night Out 4.18

⚠️Seeking Salvation (Vernon Hefferson Peak) 4.16

❤️‍🔥Unlocked Desires 4.16

💝Sugar Daddy 4.11

⚠️Wear You Out (corrupt) 4.6

❤️‍🔥Wild Hearts (Benny Cross) 3.31

⚠️ Love/Hate 3.23

💝Love Language ( physical touches all over) 3.18

❤️‍🔥Daddy’s Doll 3.16

❤️‍🔥Romantic Reverie 3.12

🚨Devotion Feyd Lactation kink 3.9

💝Without You 3.5

❤️‍🔥BDE ( big d!ck energy) -Cabo Heat 2.28

❤️‍🔥Don’t Choke 2.26

💝 Hideaway 2.21

❤️‍🔥Temptation 2.21.25

💝Valentines Day 2.14

❤️‍🔥Just Between Us 2.9.25

❤️‍🔥CEO Daddy 2.7.25

❤️‍🔥Birthday Girl 2.7.25

❤️‍🔥Touch of Habit 1.30.25

❤️‍🔥Passenger Princess 1.28.25

❤️‍🔥His Every Desire 1.26.25

💝Golden Globes loving bf 1.19.25

❤️‍🔥 Mirror Orgasm 1.16 .25

⚠️Drenched in Shadows 1.13.25

❤️‍🔥Heavy 2 1.9.25

❤️‍🔥Model Patient 2 1.9.25

💝Daddy I Love him/Taylor song Inspo 1.1.25

⚠️ Silk & Silence1.125

💝Austin Butler x Mom of 2 12.25

💝Breeding Kink 12.22

⚠️Under the Misteltoe 12.18

💝Dr. Austin Butler 12.14

🚨Skull riding Austin’s Buzzcut 12.11

❤️‍🔥Buzzcut 12.7

🚨Austin x first 12.5

🍁 Thankful 11.28

❤️‍🔥 You see Austin flirt =makeup sex 11.26

⚠️Austin x dominatrix 11.24

⚠️Austin heel kink 11.22

❤️‍🔥 Vampire 2 11.19

💝 Anniversary Massage 11.18

❤️‍🔥Another Load (Hank) 11.15

💝 The Princess treatment/Premiere 11.13

❤️‍🔥Austin butler sub x actress 11.11

⚠️ Hank Thompson sub 11.7

❤️‍🔥Zip Ties (Hank Thompson) 11.7

❤️‍🔥Playing Dirty (Hank Thompson) 11.4

🎃 Sweet as Pie (Major Gale ) Kinktober 10.31

🎃 Blood Bound (Austin Vampire Kinktober special) 10.30

🎃 Obsessed (Feyd Kinktober Special) 10.25

❤️‍🔥Jealous (Hank Thompson) 10.24

🎃 The Chase (Benny Kinktober Special) 10.19

❤️‍🔥Austin Butler Smashes you (one shot) 10.7

❤️‍🔥Austin praise kink 10.6

❤️‍🔥After Hours (Hank Thompson) 9.24

⚠️ Benny helps you stranded on the side of road 9.23

❤️‍🔥Austin Butler in Budapest filming Dune 2 9.16

❤️‍🔥Until The Bed Breaks (Benny)-quick one shot 9.16

❤️‍🔥Benny Cross Finale 9.12

❤️‍🔥Benny the Bikeriders Part 5 9.4

❤️‍🔥He Knows Things (Benny) One Shot 9.5

❤️‍🔥Benny The Bikeriders Part 4 8.29

❤️‍🔥 Bennys Gf aroused by his bike 8.4

❤️‍🔥Benny The Bikeriders Part 3: Playing House 7.22

❤️‍🔥Benny The Bikeriders Part 2: The Vandals 7.16

❤️‍🔥Benny The Bikeriders Part 1 7.3

🚨 Mr Butlers Babysitter 4 Finale 6.30

❤️‍🔥Austin Nipple play 6.22

❤️‍🔥Benny x strip tease 6.12

❤️‍🔥Benny x chokehold 6.8

💝 Major Gale War camp 6.1

⚠️Austin Butler Punishes you 6.1.24

❤️‍🔥Austin Butler Tattoo Artist 5.29

❤️‍🔥 Princess Irulan chooses: Paul or Feyd 5.21

🚨Mr. Butlers Babysitter Part 3 5.12

🚨 @ Mr. Butler corrupting a female student 5.4.24

💝 @ Taylor swift song turned into an Austin story 5.3.24

⚠️ Kinky Austin 4.27.24

💝Sub Austin Receives a BJ 4.20.24

🚨 Corrupt Austin Mr. Butler Babysitter Part 2 4.12.24

🚨 Corrupt Austin Mr. Butlers Babysitter 3.26.24

⚠️ Feyd Fantasy 7 4.8.24

⚠️ Feyd Fantasy 6 3.25.34

⚠️ Feyd Fantasy 5 3.22.24

••••••••••••••••••Master List•••••••••••••••••••

[genshingorlsrevengeance]

Hi hello! I’m not the person who originally submitted the ask for the Genshin/Honkai girls with a G Gundam-style chuuni S/O, but I’ll be fully honest that one hit my brainrot something good and fierce. So what about Xinyan, Dehya, Navia, Himeko, March 7th, and Stelle with the G Gundam Chuuni S/O?

(Genshin Impact/Honkai: Star Rail)

Xinyan, Dehya, Navia, Himeko, March 7th, Stelle, and Natasha with a very dramatic S/O

Part 1 here!

@jjovin3221, here is your part two, courtesy of others!

Also, March 7th's part has my absolute favorite image I've ever made for this blog.

Xinyan absolutely loves S/O's over the top attitude!

Not to mention they had some killer pyrotechnics! Both their visions may be Pyro, but her lover's put any flame to shame.

The explosion they'd create alongside the absolute raw energy they exuded from their shouts was enough to motivate her and her fans.

Plus they had an amazing stage name already: The King/Queen of Hearts!

But that being said, she finds them a little too intense at times. All they cared about was fighting, but she did appreciate they made time for her concerts despite that fact.

...Wait, their whole warrior schtick isn't just a stage Persona, was it?

==

Xinyan watched as S/O effortlessly blew through a horde of bandits with blinding kicks and punches.

She could only watch in silent awe while they rapidly leapt from one enemy to another, everyone powerless to stop their rampage.

With one final kick, S/O sent the last bandit tumbling down a hill, while they crossed their arms dramatically, headband blowing in the wind.

One of the ones knocked to the floor by their punch tried to crawl away, catching S/O's and Xinyan's attention.

(Bandit) "W-What are you?!"

(S/O) "You look upon a student of the Undefeated of the East!"

Grabbing their collar, they looked them in the eyes as they reached for something in their pocket.

(Xinyan) "...Uh, is that a picture?-"

(S/O) "Have you seen this man?"

(Bandit) "Wha...D-DID YOU ATTACK US JUST TO ASK THAT QUESTION?!-"

(S/O) "Answer me!"

(Bandit) "ACK! N-NO! NEVER SEEN HIM!"

S/O tossed the bandit behind him like they were made of paper, walking back to Xinyan.

(Xinyan) "...S/O, did you actually want to ask 'em a darn question this entire time?!"

(S/O) "I did. Does that bother you?"

Xinyan was stunned, blinking twice to make sure she was processing S/O's actions correctly.

(Xinyan) "...A-A little, yeah! Why the heck did we beat the tar outta 'em just for a single thing?!"

(S/O) "Hm. They started it. Let's get back to Liyue, your concert will start soon."

(Xinyan) "R-Right..." Man, they sure do got a screw loose...

Dehya had met many mercenaries that had something wrong with them throughout her career.

But her S/O took the crown for the biggest psycho she's ever met.

When she first met them, she knew they had a dangerous air about them.

What she didn't expect is for them to be able to blow every single thing they came across into smithereens with just their bare hands.

Sure, a Vision allows you to pull some crazy stunts, but how does it ignite your entire fist into a golden flaming sun, which allows you to blow up things as if they were pyro slimes?!

She fell for them because of the kindness they could display, and how reliable they were, but that was when they weren't going off the deep end.

And these days, that was getting increasingly rarer.

==

Dehya marched into the ruins with S/O, both of them approaching a group of eremites who were holding a girl hostage.

(Dehya) "There's a lot of them in there. What's our plan?"

(S/O) "Flank around the sides. I'll go in the front and save the girl."

Before she could formulate another plan, S/O walked ahead of her.

(Dehya) "Be careful..."

She then watched as the Eremites immediately shot at S/O with arrows from their flanks.

S/O suddenly crouched down with arrows inside of them, which made Dehya's heart stop.

The Eremite's laughter quickly halted when S/O stood back up, arrows somehow caught between every single one of their fingers, completely unscathed.

(Dehya) "...What?"

S/O suddenly threw every single arrow back at them, each of them seemingly lethal as they instantly dropped dead, despite the fact they went through non-fatal areas of their bodies.

(S/O) "COWARD! IF YOU WANT TO FIGHT ME, SHOW YOUR FACE AND I'LL CHALLENGE YOU TO A DUEL!"

(Dehya) sigh "I'm not even going to ask..."

Navia thought S/O was part of a theatre group from Inazuma, given how over the top they were.

She was horribly wrong, and she didn't know if that was a good thing.

But it certainly made life much more interesting!...In a fiery explosion and screaming kind of way.

But Navia didn't really think S/O any less for it. She loved every bit of them!

...Even the more psychotic bits that would make everyone flee in terror.

==

Navia's bodyguards watched nervously as Navia loaded her umbrella gun.

(Bodyguard) "U-Uh, I know S/O's reflexes are good but-"

(Bodyguard 2) "Even with non-lethal ammunition, this is REALLY dangerous!"

S/O scoffed as their arms were crossed.

(S/O) "Do you really think bullets can even touch me?"

(Navia) "They're right darling, this is a spreadshot weapon at point blank-"

(S/O) "Then the King of Hearts will show you all! HIT ME, NAVIA!"

(Navia) "A-Alright...Three, two, one!-"

(S/O) "SHINING, FINGER!"

BANG!

In what seemed like an instant, S/O's hand began glowing a bright golden light as it extended out, melting all the bullets she shot upon contact, not even a single one getting through.

Navia and her bodyguards were beside themselves, unsure of what they witnessed even happened.

(Navia) "HUH?! B-BUT-"

(Bodyguard) "HOW DOES THAT EVEN WORK?!"

(S/O) "Hmph! If you think what I can do is impressive, then you should see my Master."

(Navia) "S/O, PLEASE let me meet him! I want to ask him how he can just defy the laws of physics!-"

Himeko at first was convinced S/O was just some kind of actor hired to be a live-action representation of Welt's creations.

But no, they were just inside a Mecha-like suit they had created, and could do martial arts perfectly.

...A little too perfect, actually.

Himeko wants to research how the suit works, but she's pretty sure S/O would drive their fist into her stomach and make her explode if she attempted.

Just like every enemy they've come across.

But other than that? She's not exactly too bothered by their insane behavior.

In her travels, she's honestly seen worse. At least S/O uses their power for good, and heck, they even liked her coffee!

That was good enough for her!

==

Himeko and S/O were strolling through the streets before they were approached by a hooded man, pulling out a knife.

She was mildly concerned by the thug, mostly for them more than anything. After all, S/O was outside their suit.

If they called it down, there would be hell to pay.

(Thug) "Your lady looks rich, hand over all the credits you got, or I'll gut you both."

(Himeko) "Is that right? Well, if I were you, I'd put the knife away."

(Thug) "Wha-Are you stupid?! HAND IT TO ME!"

(Himeko) "Oh, we'll give you a hand, alright. S/O?"

S/O raised their fist into the air.

(S/O) "COME OOUUUUUUUUT! GUNDAAAAAAAAM!"

S/O snapped, and the ground behind them suddenly blew open, shooting debris into the air.

S/O's clothes suddenly changed into a black skin-tight suit of spandex, landing and robotic parts suddenly materializing around them.

The thug was completely shocked by what he was witnessing, while Himeko watched with mild amusement.

(S/O) "HYYYAAAAGH! HYAH! HYAH!-"

S/O was now encased inside their mech, quickly throwing punches and kicks as their machine stabilized and checked if their movements synced up.

Himeko had a blank expression, silently thinking to herself:

(Himeko) S/O has done that every single time they've transformed, and no ones' actually bothered to stop them...

(S/O) "HERE I GO!"

With their warm-up out the way, S/O's machine crossed their arms as it stared directly at the thug, eyes flashing green.

(S/O) "This hand of mine glows with AN AWESOME POWER!"

Himeko tried to contain her giggle with one hand covering her mouth as the thug began blubbering in absolute fear as S/O's hand lit up the entire alley.

(Himeko) "That's so cheesy-"

(S/O) "IT'S LOUD ROAR TELLS ME TO DEFEAT YOU!"

They immediately grabbed the thug's head as they squirmed, trying their best to make them let go.

(S/O) "SHINING FIIIIIIIIII-"

(Himeko) "Okay dear, you don't actually need to blow him up. I think he gets it."

The head slowly turned to Himeko before a sigh came through the machine, anticlimactically dropping the thug onto the ground.

(S/O) "You heard the lady. Get out of here before she hands you back to me."

(Thug) "AAAAAAAAGH, YOU FREAKS!"

They sprinted away, almost tripping themselves several times in the process.

(Himeko) "...You have got to tell me how that suit of your works someday. Where does it even come from?-"

(S/O) "It comes when I need it."

(Himeko) "...That didn't answer-"

(S/O) "And I'm not going to."

March loved the walking mechanical natural disaster that was S/O.

Did they even make remotely any kind of sense?

Aeons no, but what in this universe really made sense when you think about it?

March takes pictures of S/O all the time inside their suit, pulling off awesome attacks and hanging it on her wall. It made for some really cool wallpaper!

She also likes to steal their headband whenever they were outside their mech, as rare as it was.

March wears their headband and starts mimicking their voice, dramatically shouting in a low voice. It doesn't take her long to break character and begin laughing.

But nothing could top the moment their Master visited the Astral Express.

Upon meeting their disciple once again, the two immediately broke into a strange dance. One that March had to try. If she couldn't make something explode with her hands, then it was onto the next best thing!

==

Dan Heng, March, and S/O watched as S/O's master departed on a mechanical horse, standing perfectly upright on it, while inside their own mech suit.

(Dan Heng) "...That would certainly explain why S/O is the way they are."

(S/O) "Amazing, isn't he?"

(March 7th) "...Hey, S/O? Remember that thing you did with your Master? Do you think we can try it too?"

S/O's machine tilted its head as they responded to March.

(S/O) "Huh? Oh, the dance?...Sure, why not!"

(Dan Heng) "Uh, I think I'd rather pass-"

(S/O) "Don't be such a spoilsport! Come on: Undefeated, School of the east!"

S/O raised their fist to the middle, with March 7th quickly chiming in and doing the same.

(March 7th) "Winds of the King!"

Dan Heng simply sighed, knowing March or S/O wouldn't take no for an answer.

Finally relenting, he raised his own fist.

(Dan Heng) "Zenshin!-"

S/O retracted their fist and struck a pose, as if they were ready to begin fighting.

(S/O) "KEIRETSU!"

March leaped into the air and landed dramatically, pointing upwards into the air.

(March 7th) "TEMPA KYORAN!"

Dan Heng grabbed S/O's metallic fist as they traded places, extending their arms and connecting their fists.

(Dan Heng) "Look!-"

(S/O) "THE EAST!-"

March went to the middle, the three of them shouting in unison:

Stelle kept a straight face through all of S/O's shenanigans.

Watching them pose dramatically, witnessing their machine erupt from the ground before S/O magical girl transformed into it, dodging the explosions their fists created, all of it.

Stelle was more confused than anything.

Rules were made to be broken, but the rules of how gravity, physics, and heat worked too?

That was taking it a little too far.

She wants to know how they do it, but some questions were probably left unanswered.

==

S/O's mech crossed its arms, dramatically posing as it turned to Stelle.

A small army of malfunctioning robots approached them, threatening to attack the camp they were defending.

(S/O) "Hmph, there's too many to take them on individually."

She turned to him, eyes finally widening in surprise.

(Stelle) "Wait, you don't mean?-"

(S/O) "We have no choice! Launch me, just like how I taught you!"

(Stelle) "You can't just defy the laws of physics whenever you want-"

(S/O) "We have no time to argue, JUST DO IT!"

Stelle had performed some crazy plans in her time aboard the Astral Express, but-

Stelle took a deep breath and mimicked the crane stance, her baseball bat still in hand.

(Stelle) "CHOKYO!"

S/O went down on one knee, extending their fists.

(S/O) "HAOH!"

The two struck a dramatic pose in unison, exactly as how S/O's master had taught them.

(Both) "DEN'EIDAN!"

(S/O) "STELLE, FIRE!"

Stelle took a deep breath before swinging with all her might, with S/O suddenly leaping into the air, using her bat as a jumping point.

S/O roared out in fury, their mech spinning rapidly and turning into a tornado of red, blue, and yellow, blitzing a line through the robots, creating a single line of destruction.

Finally, S/O's mech flew up into the air, struck another pose with their feet and fists extended to one direction as if they were doing a flying kick.

(S/O) "ERUPT!"

On command, the entire army detonated at once, creating a beautiful ball of destruction as the dust cloud soared into the air, S/O slowly floating down next to Stelle.

(S/O) "HAHA! BEHOLD THE POWER OF THE SCHOOL OF MASTER ASIA!"

Stelle looked blankly at S/O, then back to the army they had destroyed together.

(Stelle) "...It's probably best I stop asking questions, isn't it?"

(S/O) "Yes!"

Oh Aeons above, S/O was a horrible influence on the kids.

Natasha does not have the mental capacity to deal with their insanity they brought with their mech onto the planet.

Hook and the others thought that S/O and their mech was the coolest thing they had ever seen.

The flashy red, blue, yellow, and white of their suit looked like an action figure.

And their warrior attitude definitely did not help things.

S/O had already made themselves notorious in the fighting club too, adding even more fuel to the fire.

She has to constantly tell the kids to not mimic her S/O.

Natasha loved them, but sometimes she wanted to slam her head against their mech in frustration.

They were great with kids, but seem to grasp no concept on impressionable children actually were.

===

Natasha treated the last of the patient's wounds, waving goodbye to them as they left.

She leaned back into her chair, taking a deep breath and finally relaxing.

Natasha opened one eye and saw that S/O's mech was standing completely still, clearly unmanned.

(Natasha) "...Strange, where is-"

She heard the kids all grunting in unison outside the window.

(Natasha) "...Oh no."

She leapt off her chair at a speed that startled some of the people inside.

Opening the door, she found Seele already approaching the clinic.

(Seele) "Nat, the kids!-"

(Natasha) "I know!"

She rushed past Seele, who quickly joined her as they rushed towards an open part of the courtyard.

S/O was standing in front of a large group of children, all mimicking their actions.

(S/O) "Put your heart into every swing! Your fists are the only way to convey how you feel!"

(Hook) "Yes, teacher!"

(Child) "S/O, do you think your Master could teach us too?!"

(S/O) "Hah! My Master would appreciate your enthusiasm, but-"

(Natasha) "S/O!"

S/O froze in fear, as did the rest of the children as every single one of them rushed to hide behind S/O.

Natasha sighed, looking at the kids, then back to her lover.

(Natasha) "What in the world are you doing?"

(S/O) "...Exercising-"

(Seele) "Really? Is that what you call it?"

(Hook) "S-S/O said they would show us the Erupting Burning-"

(Natasha) "Absolutely not! S/O, the clinic, NOW."

Seele took the kids behind her as Natasha dragged S/O out of sight.

(Child) "...Will they be alright?"

(Seele) "I don't think they will be, no."

...

(S/O) "Nat-"

(Natasha) "Do not Nat me! What are you thinking, teaching the kids such a violent move!?"

(S/O) "W-Well, I can't exactly say no to them-"

(Natasha) "Do I know it, S/O, but I don't need parents telling me their kids were trying to blow up something with their bare hands!"

(S/O) "...But I do it with the-"

(Natasha) "Don't you dare finish that sentence! If I find you trying to teach the kids your crazy moves again, I will make you explode next."

The Mech's head moved and stared at Natasha.

(Natasha) "AND YOU'LL BE FIRST IF YOU LET THE KIDS GET ANYWHERE NEAR YOU."

Both the mech and S/O stepped back in fear.

Honestly, S/O couldn't decide whether their master or Natasha was scarier.

...Probably Natasha.

[iwoulddieforher]

She Doesn't Get Out Much | Alex Cabot × Casey Novak

People wanted a continuation of the Softball to the Ribs series

Summary: Months ago, Casey Novak and Alexandra Cabot were in the midst of a blossoming relationship. Then Alex was shot, and subsequently vanished without a word, leaving Casey to struggle with the sudden fall-out and the stress of her new job and lack of support while Alex herself submerged herself in both mental and physical therapy, desperately wanting to regain the function of her arm and her sense of safety and stability that the bullet had stolen from her. (See previous works in this series, which should probably be read in order for this one to make sense.) Now, all either of them knows is that they're struggling. Casey doesn't know how to trust Alex after her absence, and Alex doesn't know how to prove to Casey she's genuine, or how to help her with her own demons at all. But lawyers are known for being stubborn, and they have one thing in common: neither wants to fuck it all up forever.

update: check here for updates & prev works

[1]

It was the type of silence that felt uncomfortable because every other table in the restaurant, except for theirs, was bustling with eager activity. The type of silence where one could only stare blankly at one’s plate, wracking one’s head over what could possibly fill the void of conversation with something, anything, that wouldn't be ill received, wishing the environment was simultaneously quieter but also knowing if it was the silence between one and one’s partner would be only emphasized.

Casey Novak had been pushing her pasta around her plate for long enough that Alexandra Cabot didn't remember how long ago it was that she had actually eaten any of it, but she held her tongue- she wanted to chide the younger attorney for not eating, but knew the fret born from concern would not be taken well. Casey was still very upset, although she was hiding it well. She seemed to the outward eye as though simply in thought, but Alex knew her better than that. 

Alex, out of habit from attending fancier venues than the casual diner she had dragged Casey too, was also not eating- it was considered polite in most circles not to eat if your company wasn't, and she felt awkward indulging in anything- not that she was particularly hungry, anyway,- until Casey did. 

But she must be in pain, still, Alex thought to herself, Casey must be in agony, of course she didn't want to eat, who would have an appetite for anything with a bruise as intense as the one she had found on Casey’s ribs? Regardless, she wished she would. It was obvious she needed the sustenance, even if she was rejecting it. 

She wasn't entirely sure why Casey had suggested getting dinner, but then again, she supposed there wasn't really anything else they could do. Alex had made it clear to her that she wouldn't be letting the redhead out of her sight for at least until she could assure herself of some sort of wellbeing, and there were no other options. Going back to Casey's apartment would mean Casey allowing Alex to intrude upon her space, and going to Alex's penthouse would mean the awkwardness of a first time visiting coupled with the fact it was rather obvious Casey did not want to be there at all. Alex sighed inwardly. 

Alex wished, in a way she recognized as naive, that Casey would realize the awkwardness, the tenseness that had formed in both bodies, was unnecessary. Alas, the redhead was rejecting any semblance of the relationship they used to have. It was her right to do so, but Alex still felt hurt. 

“How is it?” Casey asked quietly, and vaguely. After a small pause in which Alex blinked at surprise, not expecting the olive branch, she realized Casey was referring to the salad she had ordered. The blonde’s mind raced, trying to formulate a response that wouldn't kill the small hope of conversation. It was hard to say anything thoughtful about salad, though.

“It's okay,” she said finally, “I’m not usually the type to eat Caesar, most of the time I order something with a vinaigrette, but- new things, right?” 

“Mhm,” Casey replied noncommittally, as though she were barely focused, which made Alex wonder if she actually was or if that was a front. 

After another small pause, the redhead sighed.

“You normally don't eat lettuce, right? You used to only have spinach or arugula in your salads.”

That statement made Alex blink again, because it was right. She didn't normally eat lettuce, for a rather stupid reason- iceberg lettuce, like the one this salad contained, made too much of a crunching sound when she bit down, and she preferred eating greens that didn't. She remembered faintly that she had informed Casey of that, at some point, but she hadn't expected Casey to remember that about her after all this time, let alone bring it up. 

Because that was another olive branch, then, Casey was offering up the knowledge she remembered the late night conversations they used to have about the most random subjects. She wasn't pretending like it never existed, and she was trying to show Alex that. Briefly, Alex celebrated the small victory that was. Casey, despite her discomfort, was trying to show Alex a window she could sneak her way into was still open. 

Alex did her best to smile encouragingly, arranging her face into an expression of mild amusement. “That's right, I don't. I’m surprised you remember that- but you never liked penne either, did you?” 

Casey mirrored her smile, although her eyebrows tilted as if pained. “There's not many options here.” 

“It's a hole in the wall Italian place,” Alex said with a half shrug, glancing down at her plate and the food that was possibly the furthest thing from authentic Italian, “If I had taken my car today, I would've taken you somewhere nicer, but it was walking distance. I came here with Liv, once.” 

At the mention of Olivia, Casey’s expression retreated back to blank, and Alex internally winced. She has misstepped, apparently.

It hurt, the difference between this awkward silence and the way they had never really been silent before. Months ago, before the shooting, they had always been engaged in some kind of chatter, nonsensical or meaningful, loud banter on walks to the DA’s office or quiet whispers in the hallways of the courthouse building. Talking to Casey had been as easy and as natural as breathing, and no subject had ever been uninteresting when it was the topic of the conversation. Anything in Casey’s husky voice had been enchanting to her, and Casey had eagerly responded to whatever Alex mentioned or asked- but now? It was like there were walls surrounding her, a labyrinth of rejection and hurt that Alex couldn't navigate. She didn't know how to figure out what topics were off limits until she tried them, but every misfire only drew them farther apart. 

Out of fear of rejection, Alex didn't want to try anything else. Work seemed like a bad option, and mutual connections had just been used- before, she could've brought up anything, but now she had no clue what to say that might appease her. So Alex remained silent, and Casey didn't offer her anything else.

Alex began to eat her salad in small, overly controlled motions, covering her mouth with the back of her hand when she chewed and trying to bite slowly to avoid the crunching sound Casey had brought up her dislike of. Casey continued to push pasta around her plate, staring at the now-cold food as though it was boring her.

A child on a table nearby broke into sobs, and an elderly woman- most likely a grandmother- hastening to comfort them. A frazzled looking young waitress came over to offer assistance, but ultimately didn't help the situation much other than making the grandmother switch attention from coddling the kid to reassuring the server. Alex watched the situation unfold, unmoving, without much interest but with the bystander air of one who isn't at all involved but is observing simply due to the presence of stimuli- something to respond to, even if she wasn't doing anything about it. Casey didn't even look up. 

The child had long since been quieted, tucked in the lap of a doting granny, before either of them spoke again. 

“How have you been?” Alex asked, hating the way it came out and the way it sounded and what it implied, but she had absolutely no idea what else she could say. Casey wasn't going to be honest, Alex knew this already, but perhaps something in her response could clue her in. 

Casey placed her fork, unused for anything other than pushing morsels around in circular motions, back onto the table and stared at Alex. Her face was blank, but her green eyes showed an unimaginable depth to them- Alex knew she’d never be able to fully comprehend the thought process of the younger woman.

“How do you think?” She countered, her words carrying a snark her tone strangely lacked. The redhead sounded exhausted, rather than sarcastic.

The silence fell again, heartbeats in which blue eyes tried to study as noninvasively as possible the green ones across from them. It didn't work, they were both much too tense and too hesitant for any more silence to not feel oppressive. 

“I think you’ve been … toughing it out.” Alex murmured carefully, her tone hushed as though already assuming she was saying the wrong thing, “I know the sex crimes job takes a lot, and it seems like you’ve been doing it with no support, but you’ve been holding your own regardless of that.” 

“It was a rhetorical question, Cabot.” Casey breathed, closing her eyes. 

It struck Alex as though Casey was about to tip over from exhaustion, the lines in her face born from stress suddenly very evident, but then her eyes flickered back open and her composure was restructured and gone was the hint of vulnerability. It was clear Casey needed to break down, but she wouldn't do so in front of Alex. 

“I know,” Alex tried, because Casey probably already knew she had been aware, “but I …” 

There was nothing she could use to finish that sentence. She didn't want to say anything formal, but anything that drew on the connection they used to share would come off as inappropriate in this moment- she wanted to say something borderline sappy, something to show Casey the depth of her care, but she knew it wouldn't be received. 

Alex began to grow slightly frustrated- this was unnecessary. Yes, Casey was hurt, and she was allowed to dance the steps the way she saw fit, but- this was so uncomfortable, so frustrating, they used to love each other and the only thing to end that had been sheer circumstance- how had Casey so easily forgotten that? Casey acted as though she had no clue who Alex was, as though they were strangers. They weren't, they both knew that, acting like this was only making it worse. 

And Casey looked so… so done, it was hurting her secondhand. The spirit in those green eyes and the shine that pale skin used to sport so effortlessly was gone, and with the air as though it hadn't been present for weeks. Why couldn't Casey just let her help? Why did she have to be so- so fucking stubborn? 

“Casey,” desperation spurred through her tone as the whelm of emotion lapped at her expression, and her words burst forward, far less carefully formed than any of her previous had been, “Please, would you just eat something?” 

The younger attorney made a small, low sound in the back of her throat, somewhere between a grunt and a growl, and Alex sighed again, cursing herself for allowing the slight outburst. She didn't want to lose progress, but then again, it seemed like there was no way to make any.

Casey stared defiantly at the wall for what Alex estimated was a minute, although it could've easily been shorter or longer and she wouldn't have been able to tell, before finally granting her a response. 

“Switch with me,” she said, “I don't mind lettuce, and you like penne.” 

Alex’s immediately thought, strangely enough, was that she wanted to ask if Casey only ‘didn’t mind' lettuce, or if she did like it, because she didn't want to advantage herself to the other woman’s dish if Casey wasn't going to get anything good out of the exchange- but Casey had suggested it, and maybe this was another olive branch, so she wouldn't dare refuse, not when it meant possibly being shut out entirely. Besides- she really didn't like lettuce.

The plates were slid around the furnished wood of the table, and Casey lifted her fork, stared at the salad adamantly as if having a conversation with it, before beginning to eat in slow, controlled movements. Her chewing seemed mechanical, but a small trace of something caught Alex’s eye that made her heart stir in her chest with hope.

Between motions, Casey's eyes would flicker up, eyebrows furrowed as green eyes scanned Alex’s face for some sort of approval or any sign of reproach, before quickly darting back down to the table. Casey still wanted her approval- Casey cared, to some degree. Cared enough to see what expression she currently wore. Perhaps that was enough.

“I’m sorry,” Casey muttered under her breath, “I’m being difficult.” 

“It's okay,” Alex tried to assure her, “Your stubbornness is something I admire about you. Even if you're … being stubborn about shutting me out.” 

Casey snorted, but a half-smile toyed on her lips as she raised her eyebrows at that, so Alex decided it was a triumph she could celebrate. 

Alex stayed, observing Casey with a pleased expression as the redhead averted her eyes but was unable to quench the shy smile, and it struck her again how beautiful Casey was. She really was gorgeous- even with the observed symptoms of malnutrition and exhaustion, Casey was easily the most beautiful person she had set eyes on. It hurt her to realize that- well, relearn it. She had known Casey was gorgeous. 

“Stop looking at me like that,” Casey muttered again, under her breath, and Alex realized she wasn't smiling anymore- she looked unnerved, frustrated again, but her tone seemed more pleading.

“I missed you,” Alex blurted out in a breath as a response, hastily biting her tongue immediately after hearing how it sounded, and Casey’s brow furrowed with irritation.

“You could've responded to my calls, then,” at this, the blonde woman winced, “Could’ve replied to my texts- You ignored me for months, Alex.” 

Alex didn't know how to answer that. She bit her lip, swallowing anxiously, before letting out a small, defeated sigh.

“I’m sorry, Casey.” She sighed again, eventually, and Casey shrugged as if accepting it, although it was clear she didn't. 

They returned back to loaded silence, and even though Casey had just been eating, she went straight back to just pushing blades of lettuce around aimlessly with her fork. Alex kept eating, because if her mouth was full, perhaps that would be a reason to not have to keep badgering her brain over finding something to say. 

She wanted to tell Casey not a day had gone by that she hadn't agonized over what to reply with, how to break the layer of ice that had formed due to the shooting, and by the time she had come up with something, it had been far too late. The thin shield of ice had become brick-hard blocks, and Alex had chewed on her lip and tried to ignore the ache in her heart instead of putting herself out there.

She tried to tell herself that if she had known Casey was in so much pain, she would've texted, and maybe she would have, but that wasn't an excuse. She had slept with her and then vanished, of course Casey would be pissed. 

But it was wrong to leave it like this, then, this couldn't be the last time they ever shared a table. This would not be the last time Alex was able to sit across from here, even if she had no clue how she’d be able to make sure of that. 

The silence seemed palpable, though, a tenseness that couldn't be penetrated by any apology or offer, any plea or desperate beg. Casey was stubborn, and she had decided she was locking Alex out, and any move the blonde made might just drive the final wedge between them and the shriveled, decaying flower of what used to be a promising relationship. That thought terrified her. As long as she hadn't seen Casey, she was able to suspend the relationship in some temporary state of disbelief- but now, reality had set in again, the very real, harsh awakening that Casey was hurt and Alex was going to lose her for good.

“I saw Munch in the break room, earlier,” Alex started, suddenly compelled to say something, although it was a risky bid to do, “and he was staring at a glass of grape juice very intently. Why do you think that was?” 

Casey looked up, her eyes set with a wary bewilderment. “What?” She was asking clearly in regards to the question entirely, not as a natural response to the question’s contents, but it worked in its place as Alex pulled off the wryest joke she thought she might’ve ever made. 

“Because the label said, ‘concentrate’.” 

Silence fell again. 

Casey stared at her blankly, jaw slightly agape, her green eyes rounding before narrowing into a puzzled squint, as if she couldn't see where Alex had found the audacity. 

Then, after a silence in which Alex’s heart beat very uncomfortable, Casey huffed, placing her face in her hands to hide her pained yet amused grimace, rubbing her index finger along the length of her eyebrows as if trying to nurse a headache.

Alex’s next exhale came with relief, and her heart was a bit pleased at the bemusement on Casey’s face. She tilted her head to the side, blonde hair swaying along with the movement as she leaned forward and interlocked her fingers, placing her elbows on the edge of the table. She wanted to be closer. She wanted Casey to think she was open. 

“You're fucking unbelievable, you know that counselor?” Casey snorted, but her husky voice was lighter, almost appreciative. That, too, made Alex feel a bit lighter. The silence between words was less painful. 

“I take immense pride in it, in fact,” She jested, interjecting her tone with some signature Cabot snark and accompanying it with a playful flex of her eyebrows. Casey responded again with another huff of mild amusement. It pleased Alex immensely, the way her attempt at humor had made Casey relax slightly.

How they’d proceed from this, though, was a refreshed battle. For a few moments they simply stared across the table, blue eyes fixated on the green ones that couldn't seem to tear away and break the connection, while both waited for something to happen.

The child and grandmother that Alex had been watching earlier had paid their tab minutes ago, and were now standing up and departing from the diner. Alex noted that out of the corner of her eye, but barely- she couldn't look away from Casey, and she didn't want to. 

“Your hand has been shaking,” Casey said bluntly, suddenly, “Why?” 

It was. Alex hadn't noticed. She had begun to adapt to the occasional twitch and tremor, the way it shook when she tried to make precise moments, but it was her dominant hand, so it had been the one she was holding her fork with- Casey was a lot of things, but the furthest from being stupid- of course she had noticed it. She was perceptive, she was calculating and she was unimaginably intelligent. She was smart enough to fake her examination into a mask of indifference. She had been studying Alex as intently as Alex had been studying her- but Alex had wanted Casey to know she was interested, and Casey was too anxious to put herself forward like that.

Alex’s immediate reaction to the question itself was to lie, or to redirect. To close up. But that wouldn't be productive in the slightest. She was asking Casey to be vulnerable and open and take a second stab at something that had already hurt her- it was her turn to lay out the painful grit of life and see what resulted. It scared her, though. She tried to convince herself the fear was navigable.

“When I … was shot,” The blonde attorney started, taking cautious to make her voice as soft as possible, “The nerve function was impaired. I … I attended physical therapy for a while, and it's been better … I’ve been told it’s expected to make a full recovery.” 

Casey swallowed, her eyes softening at the show of vulnerability. Tentatively, her eyes drifted to examine Alex’s hands more obviously, and Alex unwinded her fingers from each other and held it up so the slight tremor would be emphasized for Casey’s inspection. This, too, seemed to soften her, Casey hadn't expected her to be this forthcoming. 

“You work miracles for everyone else,” Casey said after a small pause, reaching out to trace a line from the center of her palm up her thumb, which sent a small ripple of a shiver down Alex’s spine at the feeling of contact, “I’m sure karma will do the same for you.” 

Alex was hit by a sudden impulse of a want, her heart clenching painfully as she realized how much she desired to have Casey kiss her knuckles, her wrist, and up her arm. It occurred to her that if she had simply called Casey, just once, in the days after the shooting- if she had sent a message through Olivia, if she had done anything at all- perhaps Casey would have.

Once, months ago, during the stint of time at which Alex had around five cups of coffee a day and gotten decent at speed-walking around in heels hoping to run into Casey at the cart in the DA’s office hallway- the one closer to the white collar offices, hence the need to make haste back and forth- she had burnt her hand. It was embarrassing, she had been looking at Casey instead of where she was pouring coffee, but it was just a minor twinge of pain she had dismissed almost immediately. Casey had cradled her hand and kissed the small reddened area, and although she was making a joke out of the other woman’s clumsiness, it had been incredibly sweet. 

Alex wanted that feeling, again. She wanted to be able to look at Casey, admire her cheeks and her nose and the softness of her lips as the younger woman’s gaze fixed intently on her injuries, on wherever it hurt, to kiss it better. 

The look in Casey’s eyes, now, made it clear she wouldn't get to have that. They were near-strangers, two stiffened and tense women with a complicated history and their own isolated grievances. Casey would not kiss her hand until Alex forgot how much it hurt. It was a privilege she had once had, and since lost. 

“Is that why your hand was clenched on your desk during the court case?” Casey murmured, and Alex realized she had looked back up at her and she wasn't sure how long she had been doing so, so she was quick to answer. 

“Yes,” she confirmed, and then in a fit of bravery, “and it's why I’m not allowed to return to work.” 

Casey's brow furrowed. “What? Why would having a slight tremor restrict your ability to prosecute?” 

This was territory they hadn't explored previously, and Alex didn't particularly like that they were delving into it now. The surface of the table suddenly seemed very interesting to her as she lowered her gaze to examine it. 

“My family has high expectations,” she said carefully, “I would not be able to meet them if I … if I have,” 

“You don't have to tell me,” Casey interrupted her softly, and when Alex looked up again, the younger attorney looked very sympathetic, almost guilty. Alex let out a relieved, shaky exhale. She wanted to be the type of person who could bravely admit all her struggles and her weaknesses, but some topics were just too much to lay bare, even in the attempt of reconciling with Casey. Her arm had been one thing, her family dynamics were another entirely. She contemplated telling Casey about her diagnosis, but that seemed irrelevant now that it had been repealed regardless. 

“Alex,” Casey started carefully, opening her mouth to continue and then closing it again thoughtfully, before finally following up with another rhetorical question, “You want to talk about us.” 

Alex wanted to deny it, because it seemed like an altruistic thing to respond with something more noble like ‘No, I just wanted to make sure you were okay’. That would be a lie, though, and she wasn't stupid enough to lie to Casey Novak. If ensuring Casey wasn't in a state of serious harm was all she wanted to do, she could've left far earlier.

“Yes,” she admitted quietly, “but we don't have to.” 

“I don't want to,” Casey stated bluntly, her tone firm, adamant and flat, “Not right now.” 

She was testing her, Alex realized, Casey’s eyes were hovering intently on the muscles near her eyes, the ones around her eyebrows, gauging the reaction, which emotion would be expressed. Alex tried her best to simultaneously to steel against any minor twinge of rejection or frustration, and to soften her eyes and her heart. She didn't want to fail the test, and she didn't want to reinforce whatever assumption the other attorney had made during her months of sudden absence. Casey had thought that Alex didn't care at all about her, she had been living under the conclusion that Alex had used her as a one-night stand. Alex attempted to reflect in the way she did nothing that she did care. She cared to the extent she would let Casey go if she wanted it, if it meant assuring she’d be okay, which Casey currently wasn't. She hoped that was conveyed properly.

“It's been a rough couple weeks,” Casey continued, then, after apparently making her decision, “I’ve attempted to be nonchalant, but you’ve seen the state I’m in, and I don't want to be reckless. I don't want to throw away any chance we have at fixing anything because I’m too tired to think straight.”

She wants to give fixing things a chance, Alex’s heart rejoiced, skipping and dancing inside of her chest. Her more reality seeking brain told her they still had a long way to go. Regardless, this was definitely something. Casey was thinking about her seriously. 

“I understand completely,” Alex hastily tried to reply, but at Casey’s numb expression she cut herself off again.

“I appreciate the effort you've put in today,” Casey murmured, “I am hurt, and I am angry, but you’ve made me realize I’m not angry at you, just what you did.”

“But I also realize why you did what you did,” Casey blurted out before Alex could respond in any way, not that Alex had had a response prepared in the slightest, “and that's why this is so- god, Alex, this is fucking impossible.” 

Alex watched with a furrowed brow as Casey put her elbows on the table and rested her head in her hands, rubbing at her dry eyes and hiding her face from Alex’s view.

“Everything inside of me is sore,” the redhead groaned, “and I’m so tired. I can't figure out how I feel, I can't figure out anything like this, okay?” 

Alex wanted to wrap Casey up in her arms and kiss her forehead. Casey had once told her physical comfort was one of her favorite ways to be reassured or recharge. Again, though, that was a right granted to those close to her, which Alex definitively was not. Still, though, she wanted too exceptionally badly. With Casey’s head in her hands, short red hair barely drifting around her shoulders, Alex kept noting even more detailed which spoke to Casey’s state of dishevelment- her hands were dry and cracked, some of her knuckles were slightly swollen, and there were bruises blooming on her wrists that only showed once the fabric of her sleeves rolled up slightly. She wanted to kiss it better like how she had wanted Casey to do for her. She couldn't, and that frustrated her. It didn't frustrate her enough, though, to resign herself that her irritation was misguided.

She pictured, though, days and weeks of waiting next to her phone, eyes flickering back and forth between her book or her laptop and the screen, waiting for any notification to pop up. Dread filled her heart already at that notion, especially without work or therapy to distract her from it.

“I have a request,” Alex said carefully, “and I know it's a lot to ask of you, but it’ll make me anxious if we don't have at least some type of arraignment for a later discussion. I don't like when things are in the wind.” 

Casey nodded slowly, raising her head from her hands and threading her fingers through her hair to rearrange the fallen locks. 

“There's a long weekend later this month,” she mumbled in her husky voice, “I’ll have Friday, Saturday and Sunday off. How about we reconvene on that Sunday? I’ll have the next two weeks to recover, and then that double day break to figure out what I’d like to discuss, and then we'll talk.” 

“That sounds great,” Alex breathed, slightly relieved, “How about I take you out somewhere nicer, then?” 

Casey nodded, albeit slowly. She chewed on her bottom lip, not meeting Alex’s eyes for a long moment- the blonde took that time to signal the waitress to pay. 

Alex settled the tab while Casey remained still and quiet. Casey stood without another word, and when Alex offered her a gentle, “See you in a few weeks, then?”, Casey nodded and turned to leave. 

Alex watched her go with slightly downcast eyes, her heart thrumming in her chest, and tried not to let tears prickle at the edges of her water lines in a public restaurant.

They'd speak again in a few weeks. It was an uphill battle against her anxiety until then. There were so many things she still needed to take care of- finding a more long-term therapist, struggling against her uncle to let her start working again despite losing her first case since and still having a hand tremor, and needing to figure out what she could possibly do so that her next discussion with Casey would not be wracked with as many uncomfortable silences as this one. 

A few weeks, then. She’d see Casey again in a few weeks.

[maryaandmorevna]

A Song of Swan and Dragons ch.3

ao3 link, ao3 ch.1

Summary:

Following Princess Rhaenyra as one of her ladies-in-waiting, Arianne Swann was woefully unprepared upon arriving at the Red Keep.

No scroll or tome could have captured the astounding amount of gossip that thrived within the Targaryen court. For a mere lady like her, it felt as though she had made a catastrophic blunder before even having the chance to place her pieces on the board.

Yet, if she allowed her heart to guide her—especially toward the man it had chosen—Arianne believed she could endure anything and emerge triumphant. Prince Jacaerys Velaryon would one day be king, and though her father often said that hope was a fool’s errand, she dared to dream she might one day be his queen.

If only his boor of an uncle would stop tormenting her.

tw: safe for now

Tagging my lovely beta @kyonkyon69 and the person responsible for turning me into Aemond simp, who has developed the idea for this story with me @lacebvnny

Chapter 1

3. hāre

Charm me. Furiously. Torment me. In detail. - Hermann Hesse

"Lady Tarth." Aemond nodded, his irritation all but hidden under a pretense of genteel leveling his voice.

Willowy and quite tall, the older woman curtsied before bringing up her full goblet.

"I was enjoying dear Arianne talk about my famed ancestor," Lady Tarth continued, much to Aemond's chagrin.

"She had questions only us living near Morne can answer."

Dear Arianne seemed to look everywhere but him.

He felt the muscles in his jaw tighten.

"How generous of you to indulge her," Aemond cut in, his tone as sharp as Blackfyre.

"Does Lady Swann not discern between fanciful tales and facts then, if she truly believes a dragon was slain with a sword?" His mouth bloomed into a veritable sneer once her gaze of polished malachite settled on him.

A twinkle of annoyance swirled through the evergreen depths of her eyes.

Lady Tarth scoffed at his words, which Aemond found rather insulting as his station was above hers.

He shifted one of his legs forward and straightened up.

Although the older woman was truly imposing, his stature effortlessly eclipsed almost everyone's.

“Yes, I am aware that you Targaryens believe nothing can slay a dragon. Yet, poor Queen Rhaenys — Seven bless her soul, perished in Dorne—“

“Are you suggesting a knight could take a sword and slay a creature like Vhagar?” Aemond scowled indignantly, tired of always hearing about the stupid scorpion bolt and Dorne.

It was an extraordinarily lucky shot.

Lady Tarth tensed with indignation but it was the little courtesan who spoke.

“Perhaps it was a smaller dragon? Not to mention...” Arianne lifted her chin.

"Garin the Great's army did kill two dragons at Volon Therys."

Aemond stilled, momentarily robbed of the acrid retaliation he had already formulated in his head. Two heartbeats passed before his eye narrowed and he glanced down, studying Arianne Swann anew.

How does she even know that?

He'd managed to keep his scornful grimace from faltering.

"With a combined strength of Chroyane, Sar Mell, Ny Sar, Ar Noy, and Ghoyan Drohe. Two hundred and fifty thousand men." The One-eyed Prince blustered, his thoughts in disarray.

Ladies were not schooled in the brutal histories of the Rhoynish Wars.

By the time he'd been lectured on Valyria's most enterprising of enemies after the Old Ghis, Helaena was whisked away — to focus on skills more suited for womankind. For a mere country bumpkin like Lady Swann, differentiating between Essos and Westeros on the map would've sufficed.

This was a fluke, surely, much like her prowess in cyvasse, because he'd already realized what lay beneath her pleasant facade — a vapid, grasping, and shameless courtesan.

Saera's blood might have given her a prepossessing visage, but that was all she was.

"Not even that mattered in the long run because three hundred dragons destroyed his entire army." Aemond finished, his voice bleeding with derision.

Arianne merely blinked.

"That does not refute what I've said."

"The Perfect Knight is just a story." The retort spilled through his tight lips before he could stop it, betraying his irritation at her little diatribe about Volon Therys.

Lady Tarth, who had just finished her wine, offered Lady Swann a smile before turning to him.

"Have a pleasant evening, Prince. I am far too old to discuss this with a man who has lived through just one winter and two summers."

Arianne appeared as if she wished to float after the crone, to become her shadow or lady-in-waiting so that she could avoid him again. Some traces of manners seemed familiar to her because she dipped into a proper curtsy, even if her eyes pored over the assortments of cakes on the table.

"Prince Aemond..."

His temper flared immediately upon hearing her address him with a caustic bite to his name.

"Lady Swann...I had thought my dear nephew wouldn't let you fly around without him. Yet, here you are, discussing matters beyond your understanding."

He leaned slightly forward, his pale eye boring into her.

"Hontī gerpi ēza iā Garino vējo?" (Do birds enjoy reading about Garin's doom?)

Arianne felt her nose scrunch at his insulting question. She turned to face him and crossed her arms.

"The symbol of my house is indeed a swan, but I would prefer not to be referred to as a bird. Considering I am a human being, even if only a woman." She afforded him a level, icy tone of her own.

Aemond blinked.

"And yes, I did enjoy reading the History of the Rhoynish Wars, Your Grace."

"Udrizi Valyrio ȳdrā?" (You understand Valyrian?) 

He rasped, his voice low.

The One-eyed Prince was so taken aback, that he forgot he was supposed to torment her for her various transgressions against his royal highness.

She shook her head.

"Issa se Daor," (Yes and no.) Arianne muttered, fidgeting with her long sleeves again.

"My brother and I were educated on basic phrases...but Princess Rhaenyra let me study with her children when I arrived at Dragonstone...so I can understand some of it. I don't...speak it."

"Not a very satisfactory education, then." His taunt was almost a reflex.

Arianne bristled.

"You are aware it is a difficult language that takes years to master. Jac — I mean Prince Jacaerys has been teaching me as well."

Aemond clicked his tongue, observing the way her eyebrows drew together and her cheeks erupted with heat.

"Meri nadresy. Kostos iksā ao udrir zaldritos. Ao azh ydragon."  (He is merely a bastard, he cannot teach you properly the language of dragons. You will never speak it.)

Arianne's eyelashes fluttered several times and she grabbed the honeycake if only to hide her face behind it.

A bastard...could not teach? Dragon...dragon...language?

"The Prince speaks too fast for me." She grumbled with a hint of embarrassment before taking a small bite.

She'd choke on that sweet before ever telling the self-important twat how ethereal he sounded, like a dragonlord of old — ho w she thought the language beautiful when spoken so perfectly.

"Clearly." Targaryen Prince snarled.

"My nephew is as incompetent as I've thought and you are ill-suited for —"

"Your Grace, why are you again conversing with me when your dislike is clear and made known?"

Aemond's limbs locked.

Why was he?

I wrote you a note after we met and you didn't answer. — he'd hang himself before saying it.

He'd perish from a bout of Shivers before giving her any leverage.

He shouldn't have written anything.

Not to a spoilt, ungrateful, witless — no,no, much as he wanted, he could not call her dimwitted. She bested Tyland in a game of tactics, and she seemed to read —

Aemond sensed the surge of something awful lap at his spine.

He consciously flexed his fingers, as if to keep it at bay.

How could a bastard possess a paramour not only pretty but erudite as well? And of Valyrian blood!

No.

It was a fluke. She had to be as vacuous as the most unpalatable of Aegon's mistresses.

She'd glimpsed those pages by accident. It must've been so.

He frowned before speaking, "I wished to make one thing clear, Lady Swann. You are an insult to my family. Your grandmother was banished from here and for a good reason. If you think you'll wed Jacaerys Strong and be Queen—“

Aemond’s laugh was as cold as the Bay of Ice.

“ You are simpler than I thought. No one will ever accept you and him as rulers.”

And then he leaned down to whisper just loudly enough for her ears..

"Whatever flowery lies your bastard whoreson plied you with, make no mistake — you do not belong here."

She needed several moments to recover from the sheer impact of his vicious remark.

It was a grave offense — to call Rhaenyra's sons bastards and her a... word any noble lady refused to use. How could he pierce at all her worries — that she would never be good enough, that she'd never shake off Saera's shadow — with such ruthless precision.

An arrow loosened hitting the bullseye.

Arianne took in Prince Aemond's cruelly beautiful face, not knowing how to react other than to keep still.

"You speak treasonously. And unkindly."

Aemond sneered.

"You are the only one who heard me. Now...you can try outing me, but who will believe your word over mine? Hmm?"

She bit her lower lip.

"No one," Arianne stared at her half-eaten cake, honey dripping from its edges.

"But it is no less treason."

Aemond let out a low, drawn-out hum, saturated with disdain.

He grabbed a goblet and drank — swallowing a proper mouthful of wine for the first time this night, knowing if he didn't stop before someone else heard him address his nephews as such he'd cause a commotion.

"I meant no offense, even if you don't believe me." Arianne turned her attention to the hall and the moving figures.

The crowd had resumed dancing while they conversed about Prince Aemond's displeasure with her person.

Perhaps if she were to apologize for her lapse two nights ago, he'd leave her alone. Even if privately she'd always consider him the instigator — his insults came first.

The sharp crease between his pale brows deepened.

"With the earrings, I apologize...I forgot myself, it wasn’t supposed to be…"

She shook her head.

"An affront."

The One-eyed Prince said nothing, his sole eye following the way her mouth formed words.

Arianne swallowed — was he not going to accept her apology? How inconsiderate!

Aemond’s lips curled into something sinister, as though the thought of her confession amused him.

“You think a few words of regret will make me forget your little performance?” he said, his tone laced with hemlock.

“You are mistaken, Lady Swann. I’m not so easily placated.”

Arianne swallowed, pins and needles nicking at her dry throat. She could not stomach the rest of the sweet she'd taken — had a honeycake ever tasted so bitter? Prince Aemond was such a malevolent boor that everything around him suffered from it.

"I was frightened—"

"So you threw pearls at me out of fear, hmm? Was it my nephew who instructed you on attacking your unarmed opponent?" Targaryen Prince cut her off, clasping his hands behind his back and circling the chair next to her.

Arianne realized he had trapped her between himself and the table.

Did he intend to make her cry again and not let her escape? So everyone could see how pathetic she was?

Mother help her!

"It would not be a surprise, my sister's children were always spoilt and favored." Aemond pored over her guarded expression, his tone dissolving into something softer.

Arianne had to crane her neck to see his face properly when he stood right in front of her.

Almost inappropriately close for a stranger.

"Tis them who attacked me for claiming an unclaimed dragon." Aemond continued, unperturbed.

"You prattled about Ser Galladon's honor earlier, do you find it honorable to attack one with four companions?"

She stared at him with wide eyes.

Aemond thought his heart might've dropped into his stomach, heavy as a stone.

How green they were, and those lashes, long, long, fluttering — He found himself unable to look away.

He swallowed.

"No...it is not honorable," Arianne muttered, a slight discomfort settling against her spine.

It felt like a betrayal.

Did Prince Aemond not attack Baela first? Was that not what Jace had told her?

But what reason would he have to lie — to her of all people? A woman he scarcely knew and disliked.

Aemond was already on the verge of another retort when he heard her. Her voice was barely more than a murmur against the merriment of the crowd.

A servant had placed another plate of candied fruit to Lady Arianne's right.

The corner of his eye crinkled.

"Careful, hontes. If they heard you championing my side..." the sardonic tilt of his voice made Arianne shudder.

She realized she would have to ask him directly to step aside if she wanted to escape. Not to mention, he was so much taller than her that he was obstructing her view of the hall.

"Why do you think the stories about Ser Galladon are ridiculous and untrue? A-and please stop naming me a bird." Arianne decided to move their conversation away from her friends.

If he was attempting to pry information about them, he wouldn't be successful.

Perhaps, it might even lessen his clear anger with her previous actions. If Prince Aemond were to not forgive her...how was she to survive until her father arrived? Lord Swann would certifiably think her behavior unruly! Oh, what if he took her back to Stonehelm because of this...and forced her to marry pox-faced Lord Horpe as a punishment?

Facing the Stranger would be preferable!

She peered at the pale-haired Prince, his fervent, knife-like stare almost taking her over the vertiginous edge. At least he could not shame her attire this time, because her dark gown bared no skin save for her neck.

Only the embroidered sleeves and skirts — swan's feathers gleaming from tiny jewels sewn into the fabric — distinguished it as hers.

"Apart from the invincible sword that he refused to use?" Aemond's silvery eyebrow lifted to match the snide undertone of his question.

"There aren't enough accounts to even confirm his existence, and Morne was ruled by petty kings when storm kings waged a war against them. Do you not think they would have remembered they had a perfect knight with Maiden's favor in their ranks?"

Arianne pulled on her sleeve absentmindedly.

"Well, that is just one theory. If he was a warrior from the age of heroes there wouldn't be much surviving other than tales."

"Then he wasn't a knight. Let me educate you —"

"I do know the Andals were first to introduce knighthood," Arianne interjected, slightly put off by the way he'd assumed she had such glaring holes in her theories.

Did he believe himself the only one capable of opening a book!?

"I've read my histories. But Ser Galladon was a real person, that much is beyond discussion. Mayhaps, he was a great warrior whom people later dubbed a knight. I think they did it precisely because he wasn't using Just Maid against his opponents. He was fair."

She paused briefly, her fingers reaching for the goblet.

"Decency, fairness, integrity...call it as you will, but only the truly great can wield fairness, for it calls for a sacrifice of pride and vengeance."

Aemond smirked incredulously.

"You think using your advantage against opponents is unfair?" His response was dripping with condescension.

The slow, deliberate tilt of his head only emphasized his clear ridicule of opinions someone like her might hold.

The court's newest darling.

Bastard's supposed paramour. Citing Grand Maester Aethelmure to him!

 "If an enemy army invades Westeros, wouldn't you want us to use our dragons? Or would you rather be slaughtered, fair as it may be?" Aemond cocked his eyebrow.

Only a woman would find something so ludicrous honorable. What'd they know of war? Though he found himself enjoying their conversation, and that she was clearly an avid reader like himself.

A shudder of disquiet cascaded down his neck. He'd forgotten himself, much like he did when they played cyvasse.

She wasn’t merely recalling some passage memorized from the scroll — no, she had understood it. Used it.

It rattled his bones.

She was meant to be simple, clumsy, a blight —beautiful blight, yes, but in the shallow, ornamental way of a gilded bird. Saera's granddaughter ensnared droves of men mere days after arriving. She had Rhaenyra's favor, and her prowess in outsmarting an opponent with figurines fascinated many.

That simpleton Jorlan Wylde thought she was delightful.

Aemond settled his countenance in a firm glower as if the severity of his expression could anchor him against the tide of something far more dangerous than disdain. A pull.

No.

Not him.

He was a dragon, trueborn son of Old Valyria.

The treacherous allure of Arianne Swann did not even move him. He was above this base fancy. He was above her and those like her.

"You're twisting my argument!" Arianne insisted with honest earnestness.

"He wasn't fighting invading armies, he was fighting duels. Every account I found states he fought in duels, so using a sword given to him by the Maiden herself would've been an unfair advantage. Cyvasse is a great game precisely because both players have the same starting position."

"So great a game that you declined my offer to play again?!" Aemond snapped before being able to stop himself.

Seven fucking hells.

Now she'll think he wanted to play against her again. That he would want anything pertaining to her would make him seem weak. Weakness was unacceptable.

Arianne's eyelids fluttered in confusion.

"I didn't...realize there was an offer..." Her rasp did nothing to appease his ire. Aemond thought the perplexion painting her features was perfectly strikable if she were a man.

How long her eyelashes were, and her mouth provoked —

"I sent you a note," He managed to hiss through gritted teeth.

"I thought it was a threat." Arianne pursed her lips, the gesture sending a fresh wave of fury— and something far worse— coursing through him.

How fucking lovely, full, and heart-shaped and she hadn't ever been kissed. He should just —

His fingers twitched around his goblet.

"And you insulted me before that." The tone of her voice carried something sharp in it, as if daring him to deny it.

"I had thought letting you walk away after an attempt on my life, feeble as it might have been, was worth more than words."

Arianne balked.

He had to be jesting!

"Attempt on your life!?" She bemoaned, eyes ricocheting left and right. If anyone even heard them, she'd be carted off into the dungeons.

Aemond grinned self-indulgently.

"That is how I see it."

She gasped in horror.

"I would never —" Arianne felt her hands bathing in cold sweat.

"I just...You insulted me and...I lost my temper. Please do not even repeat it!"

"I had thought you were a lady." One-eyed prince continued, smiling despite himself.

Perhaps Jorlan had been right — what delight to see her beleaguered, whimpering for his mercy and favor.

 "Do you generally throw things at people when angered? Ñuhe zaldritoso anogar issa??"  (Is it your dragon's blood?)

Arianne's forehead creased as she tried to translate his words. They must've been talking for a while as her throat turned dry.

She grabbed her goblet again and drank deeply, glaring at Aemond while she did so. His sole eye was focused on her with such intensity it made her legs weak.

It dawned on her that his voracious gaze hadn't strayed from her for a moment.

Arianne glanced away, at the golden platters filled with fruit and tried to find them interesting.

Aemond observed her, wondering if she understood him. His attention drifted to her attire once more, now that she was distracted. It was tight around her bosom and he couldn't help it but to look. Aemond could punish himself later for it.

She was so goddamn soft and womanly. He could still imagine her in that white dress, with the tops of her perfect, pert tits —

He should make her his mistress.

Clad in nothing but myrish lace and jewels — emeralds, sapphires, rubies, he’d gift her all of them. He’d be more generous than whomever gave her this dress.

No one would know...he could.

It could help this dreadful fancy go away.

Aemond wondered how Aegon went about those things, as he not only sullied himself with whores and maids but court ladies as well. Should he just tell her he wanted her?

Absolutely not.

What humiliation!

To admit that he found himself thinking of her —

Not to mention it would be tedious to find her a husband who would stay at court so that she could warm his royal bed. Some old, fat minor lord he could intimidate.

So that he was the only one who fucked her. The children she'd give to her husband would be dragons, because he'd make it certain his seed took root —

Aemond cut his train of thought with cold disgust.

Bastards.

They'd be contemptible baseborns.

He wouldn't have bastard children.

"Oh," Arianne finally peered back at him. "Anogar is blood. Dragon's blood. You are insulting my grandmother again, are you?"

He shifted on his feet and inhaled, straightening his spine.

"I was merely asking a question. Besides, your grandmother was of pure Valyrian blood, despite...the choices she made." He offered, clasping his hands at his back again.

"You should be proud that you have dragon's blood, even if...dilluted."

Arianne shook her head.

"I am proud of my house. My grandmother abandoned my father when he was a babe, I'd rather not be proud of her."

"Your house? Even your great aunt?" Aemond's lips morphed into a foul grin.

He didn't know why was he questioning her, or hacking at her pride. What did he even want her to tell him?

That he was right and so much better than her, with the right lineage, with no blemishes —

That she despised these whores and that she was a virtuous, Seven-fearing woman, a perfect daughter and pliable to be a perfect wife?

Aemond shook the rotting anger away, though it clung to him like brambles in his mind.

No, he thought, his keen stare dipping to her lips again, you might gallivant around the Keep with your bastard and have your pick of husbands, but I am your better.

He could practically taste the bitter triumph of the thought, yet the satisfaction was lacking.

It should have been enough to declare it to himself and dismiss her entirely — but it wasn’t.

She is beautiful. Clearly educated beyond the expectations of her lot. Of well-enough breeding. The admission slid into his mind like a thief in the night. It mattered little.

His future wife will be chosen for him, for an alliance, or for whatever his grandsire deemed necessary. There was no room for his preferences, no place for him to desire something as indulgent as beauty or intelligence or a spark of defiance that teased his loins.

He couldn't possibly daydream about a woman, even one with perfectly shaped hips as Arianne Swann's were.

"My great-aunt is a good person! She has developed a system to help the poor Lyseni children. She rules Lys as a queen would." She hissed indignantly.

"She is," Aemond managed to stop the word 'whore' from leaving his lips.

"...a courtesan. Does your father know that you esteem her so highly?"

Arianne inclined her chin stubbornly.

The Targaryen Prince found the expression coupled with her delicate features endearing.

"That does not concern you, Your Grace. If you haven't read about the war in the Stepstones, my great-aunt was captured and sold — she didn't choose to be a courtesan of her own will. From the dawn of time, it had been men who waged their wars and women and children suffer. If the gods switched our lots, so many tragedies could be avoided. "

So she was one of those , he thought, without much surprise at it. Wishing to trespass into men's domain of governance — like Queen Alysanne with her laws, like those dornish wenches, or like her abhhorent aunt, ruling Lys through her cunt.

Like his whore of an older sister , Aemond remembered morosely, assuming herself an heir when the King had trueborn sons. As if the Realm would accept a woman on the throne, when dominion over land was the prerogative of men.

His mother had ruled in all but name, but that was out of necessity.

There was a certain insolence in the way Arianne carried herself — like she derived perverse pleasure from refusing all those lords who asked to dance with her, like her proximity to his whore-sister somehow made her better than her station implied.

"Men also protect women and children from evils that be." Aemond spat tonelessly. "But do go on, explain to me how the world would be better with women holding power. Hopefully, the men who court you do not listen to such rants, otherwise, my lady Swann, you'll remain an unwed maiden until you die."

Her fingers curled into fists.

Jace did not hold her views against her. He'd let her be his equal, Arianne mused while frowning.

Prince Aemond was the most strikable man she ever had the misfortune to meet. She should pray for the poor woman born under the most rotten star — his future wife.

"Even Grandmaester Gawen writes how Queen Visenya was better at certain aspects of governance than King Ae—"

"Using my family's history against me, are you?" Aemond clicked his tongue in vexation.

He couldn't deny it anymore — she intrigued him.

Was not even Gawen safe from her? One of his favourite accounts on The Conqueror's reign. She read. Not skimmed or parroted scraps overheard at court, but read.

"You said it yourself, through my grandmother, it is my family too. So please, stop interrupting me!"

"I already know what you were about to say,"

Aemond glanced at her lips.

"We seem to read the same books."

His growing irritation coiled tightly around the bottom of his spine. He judged her a creature of basest charms and no wit, and yet he had even forgotten to eat while debating with her.

How could a woman like her fancy a bastard?

The tips of his fingers were tingling.

"Well, you are quite rude," Arianne said, crossing her arms.

"With all due respect, my Prince."

She bit her plump lower lip and Aemond felt an almost overwhelming urge to kiss her right then and there.

It would quiet her.

But he'd be the one yielding, ensnared like all those other fools.

He cleared his throat.

"You wished to murder the prince at his own court, and I am rude?"

"I did not!" Arianne professed with urgency.

"Please stop saying that! If someone hears you, I could be hanged!"

She seemed to match pulling on her long sleeves with the spiraling tone of her voice — like a bird fluttering its wings nervously in flight.

"I apologize for hitting you...and throwing earrings at you. B-but you have called me...a bad word. Can't we just be even now?"

Aemond cocked his head and chuckled. They could be even when she properly occupied her place beneath him.

When she surrendered like the lands did before Aegon the Conqueror, waving their white flags.

He could wave her chemise for all of court to see that it was him who had enjoyed their darling. His whore-sister's bastard's face alone would be worth the scandal.

"No, we cannot."

"It is rude not to accept an apology. I do not wish to continue this conversation."

The moment she uttered those words, it dawned on Aemond that he didn't want to let her take leave. He wanted to converse with her, drink in more of her peculiar thoughts, and observe the way her lovely mouth shaped words.

Gods be cursed, what was wrong with him?

"Perhaps one of your suitors would defend you against...my bad words, lady Swann." He sneered, without the real bite to his words.

"If they dare..."

With great amusement, the long-haired Targaryen watched how her full bottom lip quivered in annoyance.

"What my suitors do is not a concern of yours, Your Grace," Her response was a veritable hiss.

"Certainly, you're not one of them, so it matters not."

"Because I have no desire to be," Aemond hissed back, frankly insulted that she stated it openly — as if she found him less than what she deserved.

There was a twinge of disappointment creeping around his upper spine. Suitors, plural. Minor lords weren't a concern, but his nephew...

"If I only wished it so, your father would give me your hand tomorrow!"

"I wouldn't be so certain. He already has someone in mind for me." She flicked her hand dismissively at him.

Blood crashed against his temples, setting his veins on fire.

"Does he? And who is a more coveted match than a Targaryen dragonlord?" Aemond snarled on an impulse.

It passed through him as a bolt of lightning — a reflex at a perceived insult.

Arianne's eyes widened, the inhale of breath sharp and burning.

"As I've said," She muttered. "It does not concern you."

The One-eyed prince pressed his lips tightly together and stretched his fingers to appease his temper.

She was right, but he found it hard to pretend he didn't want to know — despite having an inkling it was his Strong nephew. Bastard as he was, Jacaerys was still the supposed heir to the Iron Throne once that old whore inherits it.

She dared to wave her hand like that at him!

If Arianne Swann were a man, she'd have found herself lacking that same hand. Ought he bring her to tears again?

"I merely wanted to know if he is as brave as Ser Galladon of Morne." Aemond lied easily enough. The little line appearing between Arianne's brows as she drew them together told him enough.

"Ser Galladon is a legendary knight…" She sighed and glanced towards the crowd gathered in the middle of the hall.

"Do you enjoy tormenting me? Is that why you returned my earrings, so you can hold it over my head?"

Yes.

Clever girl.

"It was the proper thing to do," He almost laughed at the feigned propriety in his voice.

“After I no longer feared for my life.”

With the way her doe eyes glittered, Aemond mused if he truly might make her cry again. He wasn't even doing anything to her. And he wanted to do so much, starting with tasting her pretty, pink lips.

They were now set in a worried frown.

“Why would I even attempt something like that?” Arianne stomped her foot, unladylike. She’d had quite enough of his insidious accusations. To think she’d ever dare it! Not only was it a sin and a crime, Aemond was her kin.

A distant cousin, yes, but the curse of kinslaying would still fall upon her.

“They were ready to toast to you, a cyvasse champion…You must hate how I’ve snatched it away.” He mused.

Her face seemed to gain an entertaining shade of valyrian firebloom when she was rattled.

“I do not care so much about winning,” She muttered with a significant effort to not feel it was a lie. A low hum slid through Aemond’s lips when he parted them.

“Here I thought you spend your days playing cyvasse, lady Swann.”

“I do not,” Arianne snapped. “Unlike the princeling, I have duties to attend to.”

“The princeling at least knows how to dance without making a fool of himself."

Flabbergasted, Arianne ran her eyes over his face, over the epicurean grin raising the corner of his mouth up.

He'd seen her trip.

This hateful, hateful man.

“The princeling…ought to read a certain scroll on proper manners and gallantry. With respect, Your Grace.” The undertone of her voice was brimming with liquid fury she had to constrain.

It amused Aemond to no end.

He had an inkling to pinch her rosy cheek to see if her skin could redden further.

“I do wonder what scrolls keep your interest, lady Arianne. A children’s story about Galladon of Morne, or perhaps doltish, women’s fairy tales such as Jonquil and Florian?” He taunted, though already too aware of the breadth of her readings. Much alike his.

She took a sip from her goblet.

"I am reading The Fires of the Freehold now. Have you read it?" Arianne firmly decided to not give him the satisfaction of rising to the bait.

The tale of Jonquil and Florian was indeed one of her favorites, but what would a callous, heartless boor appreciate about romance?

"Of course," Something imperceptible danced in Aemond's voice.

"But all known copies, all six of them, are here or the Citadel. How did you get your pretty hands on the tome?"

"Well, I...", She started, realizing her own stupidity at the same time she realized he'd called her hands pretty.

"I asked to borrow a copy from the Royal Library."

Aemond's pale eye narrowed in suspicion.

"You're not a royal, so you couldn't have."

"Well, Jace had gotten it for me,” Arianne confessed, waving her hands frantically.

”I will return it! As soon as I finish it. I would never harm a book!"

Much as he wanted to chastise her for it, Aemond had stolen the only other copy from the library for himself. It was safe and cared for in his chambers.

"How far into it are you? It's...quite heavy for someone who does not read High Valyrian well." He was genuinely curious, though a spark of something darker ignited within him — a strange thrill was now coursing through his vessels at the thought of her engrossed in his ancestors' history. Not his, theirs, The One-eyed Prince reminded himself. She was of Valyria as well.

"Siege of Norvos, ah— " Arianne smiled, elated to share her excitement with someone — even if that someone happened to be Jace's cantankerous uncle.

She couldn't help herself any more than a moth could help flying into a flame.

"I intend to ask Jace to translate it… well, I wouldn’t wish to be a bother, and…I've been stuck on this one passage because the sentences are so long but, it is so enthralling — the siege, a hundred dragons descending upon Qarlon to defend the city! So many dragonlords! It makes...it almost makes you feel sorry for his army. From what I discerned, it was the first blunder he committed, and also his last. But how was Quarlon to know Valyria would aid Norvoshi! They'd closed the river on him —"

The audible inhale of breath she took almost broke the silver-haired Prince out of his trance.

He shifted his weight, his hand brushing against the leathery hilt of his dagger as if it could tether him to the polished marble beneath his boots.

But Arianne's voice drew him back in, her hands trembling slightly as she spoke, gesturing here and there, a physical rhythm to match her words.

And how her lips curled into a smile — Stranger, had he ever seen something so tantalizing— so unguarded, so genuine, it caught him like an arrow to the throat.

It lit her face with flames so arresting, Aemond could scarcely follow her soliloquy.

And Siege of Norvos was his favorite part.

"Well, what other choice was there for him but to besiege the city, a reliable water source is essential in a campaign...and then I couldn't really find what vēzos rhaeshisar meant when Valyrian dragonlords appeared above Norvos to defend—"

Arianne faltered, suddenly aware of the torrent of words spilling from her lips.

Her eyes darted to  Aemond.

His gaze was fixed so intently on her that she concluded he wanted to see through her. Blood rushed to her cheeks.

She had been blabbering— again. How many times had her septa chastised her for it — it was unladylike! Rude!

 "I apologize," she added sheepishly, her fingers brushing her braid.

"It's just that I couldn't stop reading until morning."

One-eyed prince swallowed, his heart beating uncomfortably. She was so infuriatingly lovely. More so when she wasn't glaring at him.

He could not think.

Aemond profaned several Valyrian deities for mucking his proficiency — he knew what vēzos rhaeshisar, an army commander meant. What was the title they used to refer to him?

Much as he itched to neatly skim through the vast dictionary in his mind, all he could focus on was her — The way her heart-shaped lips parted with each word, the delicate tilt of her head.

A delight.

His breath burned as it traveled through his lungs, his body mutinying against his better judgment — leaning just enough to feel the warmth of her presence more keenly.

He couldn’t tear his gaze away; he didn’t want to.

Seven hells.

This is absurd.

He could not allow this.

Aemond's gaze darkened as he became aware of his heart pounding like the drum of a war march.

He wanted her.

The air grew dense, and his body ached, responding to her in a way he could not control. It was maddening. He couldn't allow it.

Was the bastard's courtesan doing it on purpose? Was she even aware of the effect she was having on him?

"I could translate it for you if you'd like, my Lady." Aemond's throat formed words without his consent.

He succeeded in preventing himself from inviting her to his chambers now — he'd translate all the Valyrian she wanted, he'd speak such filth in her ear using the language of dragons and then he'd kiss and taste her quivering cunt.

He'd teach her to pronounce certain words properly so that when he buried himself in her warmth, she could keen and cry out how she was his to tarnish and enjoy.

He'd find out if her cunt was as pretty as she was, if it was tight and silken and — what was the word those dolts used? Magical. He might even tell Aegon about it — watch his imbecilic brother go into shock.

He'd ruin her as thoroughly as Valyria ruined Lorath.

Arianne only stared at him with a girlish smile decorating her face, unaware of how deep his depravity went. How this sudden lust clouded his judgment and how he needed to be rid of it.

"You would truly transla—"

"Arianne!"

She almost jumped and hit herself against the table at Rhaena's voice.

Peeling her eyes away from Aemond, Arianne found her royal friend waving at her, with Jace and Luke in tow.

"What are you doing, Arianne? Come, we'll dance together." Jace noticed his uncle and eyed him with palpable confusion.

How much time had it passed? She had been talking to Aemond all night.

"Ah, excuse me, Your Grace," She gave him an apologetic smile.

"They wish to kill me with dancing."

Aemond did not move, his muscles locked tightly together.

He did not want to let her go, and found the thought terrifying. It was a weakness and it was pathetic, and clearly her suitor was his bastard nephew. It seemed as if he regained some clarity at last, because he remembered vezos rhaenishar was a general.

"Dance with me?" He unclasped his hands and offered his right to her, palm up, open, inviting.

Arianne felt the bewilderment bubble up in her belly — she beheld him completely flummoxed.

"I...I already promised —"

"Dance with me," Aemond repeated levelly, shoving his impatience violently into the bottom of his spine.

"and I'll consider us even."

Even.

He'll no longer torment her over hitting him. Arianne glanced at Rhaena who furrowed her pretty, ivory eyebrows.

Hadn't she heard a rumor that Aemond Targaryen disdained frivolity, that he saw dancing as beneath him unless demanded by ceremony?

It would be scandalous if she refused him when he openly asked, wouldn't it? But it would be exponentially worse if she were to trip and tumble to the floor, taking him with her.

"I...I would rather try my luck with cyvasse," She murmured, wiping her hands down her sable skirts.

"Perhaps Your Grace would offer me a rematch—"

"You refuse me?!" The thrum of Aemond's voice cut like a dagger.

Arianne flinched, resisting the urge to seek refuge with her royal companions.

"No, I — it's just that I..." She stammered, biting the inside of her cheek.

'Mother Above, grant me mercy. And Warrior, grant me courage. And please just do not let me stumble this one time...I don't want to die!'

Nodding, Arianne consciously ignored the way something searing and lethal brimmed in his single eye — as if promising her retribution should the next words to leave her lips displease him.

"Alright, b-but I am...not a very good dancer, Your Grace."

She placed her hand in his, a sudden rush of something traveling up her arm.

Aemond's skin was cool to the touch and his hand was large — long, slender fingers closing over hers in a secure grasp.

Perhaps he knew how cold he was for his thumb began circling over her knuckles, so gently it made her blush.

"Pasagon vūs, nyke rūal vestri ropagon." (Trust me, I will not allow you to fall.) He led her between the moving figures while Arianne tried to see her friends' reactions. Jace wouldn't really be mad at her, would he? Aemond was seemingly cordial with her tonight and she didn't want to insult him. He would be her uncle-in-law if gods were to will it. Rhaena might be less forgiving but it was too late to think on it now.

Aemond had easier ways of ending her life than dancing.

She wouldn't trust him, but at least she believed he wouldn't harm her in front of the courtiers, the guards, and his whole family.

Aemond's skin was tingling.

Her hand fit easily in his, and as his fingertips slid over her soft skin, h e noticed she was so pleasantly warm.

Distracting and completely preposterous musings attempted to invade his mind — how it would be most useful to share a bed with Lady Swann. He’d coil around her heat and never suffer the stab of chill again.

Would she share her bed with him?

The rumors about her proclivities were baseless and clearly as untrue as the whore of Dragonstone claiming Laenor Velaryon fathered her children.

She tensed and flushed — swathes of crimson erupting over her cheeks when he touched her.

She took his hand so unsurely, not like a prolific courtesan who welcomed bastard lovers into her bed.

Which mayhaps meant she really was telling the truth about her virtue.

Which meant she was for him to enjoy alone.

They stopped and she cast a nervous glance at the shoes protruding under her long, dark gown as if they were not her own.

He offered up his other hand, as the dance required, and this time Arianne grabbed him quickly.

"Relax, it is merely a dance, not a battle." He advised softly.

The One-eyed Prince could afford to be accommodating now that she truly was holding onto his hand and depending on his whims.

 Jacaerys Strong was glaring at them so obviously that Aemond had to make a conscious effort not to laugh. Was he a craven little bastard, if he hadn't kissed her yet?

"Easy enough for you to say, Prince Aemond. I...well, it is of no matter." Arianne waited for the music to start, feeling increasingly aware of his closeness.

He scared her, and if she fell down and embarrassed him, she was sure he would toss her to the gallows.

The music started and Aemond decided he'd just lead her gently through the moves. Arianne followed him well enough, not placing a foot out of place so clearly she knew the correct steps.

Yet, she was rather stiff and nervous — he could feel her delicate pulse beneath his touch, ticking erratically.

It was even more obvious when their hands parted and they side-stepped each other. Arianne was so completely absorbed in her own movement that she almost collided with him — a rather humiliating spectacle he avoided by adjusting his turn to match hers too wide one.

Her breath hitched as she realized her misstep, her fingers tightening around his forearm for the next twirl.

Aemond could practically taste her embarrassment at the tip of his tongue.

"Jurnegon vūs,” (Look at me.)

 He commanded, flexing underneath her fingertips.

“Not at your feet." He added, softer now, his lips inches away from Arianne's ear when their turn brought them closer.

She blanched.

He was jesting, wasn't he? She couldn't stare back at him when his eye on her was so intense it made her stomach gallop and wallop.

Why would he stare at her like that?

Like when they met —

Like —

He twirled her around and Arianne was in awe of herself when she hadn't stumbled.

Aemond was so sturdy, yet light on his feet, and his hand was a steady anchor that ensured she wouldn’t fall, even if she tried— unless, of course, he willed it.

"Vāedan?" (ready?) Aemond asked, his pale eyebrow quirking.

They had to change hands mid-step.

"Daor," (No.) she protested, much to his amusement.

 With effortless poise, Aemond seized her other wrist and adjusted their stance without hesitation.

Finally, as her ordeal was over, Arianne took a steadying breath and allowed him to lift her — completely modestly, of course — by the waist and twirl her around a final time.

Seven, he did it as if she weighed nothing!

Oh, it's over.

Arianne blinked several times to confirm she was now on solid ground.

"Did your ladyship survive?" Aemond's lips crooked at her astonishment.

One of the smaller curls fell out of her tightly bound braids, cascading softly to rest against the side of her neck. It appeared so playful, so inviting, and he fought the sudden urge to reach out and trace its curve.

He would sooner disembowel himself with a rusty sword than admit how perfectly her svelte waist fit within his grasp.

How he could hold her as tightly as a lover should while she rode him, his cock sheathed inside her. She'd take him so well, his courtesan donned in the finest Myrish lace and jewels.

With unbound, wild hair and constantly bruised lips from how often he would require a taste.

"Do not jest with me," Arianne lightly slapped his arm when he had finally released her.

Aemond glanced at her hand before reaching for it, his fingers brushing lightly against her skin. At this moment, after the dance, no one would think it inappropriate.

"You dance so well, Your Grace." Arianne swallowed hard, her pulse drumming against her temples, flapping like a hummingbird's wings — and managed to meet his gaze for a fraction of a moment before her eyes darted away, seeking refuge in the crowd.

Why was he still holding her hand?

"Come." the Targaryen Prince placed his other hand on top of hers.

"If we stay here, I'll think you want me to dance with you again."

Arianne pouted.

"You asked me! And we're even now."

He held his grin at bay — how swiftly her boldness returned when the music stopped, and it was no longer a matter of dancing, but of words.

"Not if I translate you the passage." He hummed, a secretive lilt to his voice.

Aemond was fairly certain he knew which one she meant if it pertained to the siege of Norvos and the later scouring of the Lorathi islands.

"Lorath rūsīr perzys, kīrīr ūbra zaldryos zaltan jerdar —" (Lorath was bathed in fire, as three hundred dragons burned its skies.) 

 Aemond drank in her awed gaze, his fingers stroking wistfully over her knuckles.

"It is an older form of High Valyrian, a hymn for the scouring of Lorath. Unless you visit the Citadel or somehow talk to my dying father and King, you won't be able to understand it properly."

"But you would translate it for me?" Arianne blurted, completely forgetting she was supposed to be wary of Prince Aemond — he was a twat and a rude, prejudiced man regardless and yet... He spoke the language with such effortless fluency that one could almost believe he was a traveler from the Valyria of Old.

Not just that, but the way he carried himself, the way he looked — with a chiseled jawline, nose and cheekbones carved from marble, and those lips, ever so slightly curled with disdain.

Even compared to all his siblings, he seemed more...more...hen zaldrīzes. (...belonging to dragons.)

"My Prince." She added quickly, observing the fair silver of his tresses.

The blood of the ancient Valyrian lords ran thick in his veins, far beyond the Targaryen name alone.

Aemond leaned in conspiratorially, and Arianne felt her breath lodge somewhere underneath her throat. His single eye— sharp as tempered steel — lingered on her face.

"We could take a walk along the inner courtyards and I’ll translate it now. All this merriment is growing rather tedious.”

Did he know he was still holding her hand? His other one drifted to the hilt of his dagger, his thumb tracing the leather grip in absent circles.

Arianne sensed her palm turning clammy inside his.

“Translate what? We don’t have the text here.” She uttered, the booming voice of her septa clanking at the back of her mind instantly.

 "The text? A properly raised lady would immediately refuse to go anywhere with a man her parents do not know! Even if the inner courtyards are lit and chaperoned, it is still unseemly to leave the feast with that man. Young lady, you will sew until you learn!" 

“My memory serves me well.” Aemond retorted in a measured cadence. He’d never confess he’d read that particular scroll a dozen times.

Her septa would be furious, but Arianne was considering it.

She lowered her chin, noticing the stark contrast of their hands. Hers were small and rather unremarkable, but his – broad palms with long, tapered fingers held her rather firmly.

Aemond’s hands were far from soft with calloused pads, and faint scars —  A warrior’s hands and yet there was an elegance in the way they moved— deliberate, assured, almost mesmerizing.

"Arianne!"

She blinked, the sound of her own name grabbing her roughly by the neck and forcing her to abandon Aemond’s fervent stare.

The One-eyed prince leaned back.

It wasn't his cousin this time who interrupted them, it was his bastard nephew. Aemond beheld him with venomous irritation.

"Jace, there you are." He loathed the cheerful tilt of her voice when she addressed Jacaerys Strong. He loathed even more the improper way they seemed to converse with each other.

"I think you have suffered my sullen uncle long enough." The plain-featured bastard had the nerve to glare back at him.

"Besides, you promised me all dances tonight." He pouted like some child.

Surely, Aemond thought, Arianne couldn't be considering this boy as her husband. Although Jacaerys was less than two years younger than him, he was coddled and doted upon, and it made him weak in the long-haired Targaryen's eye.

The feathers etched upon her sleeves glinted when Arianne moved to hide her lower face.

"It was just one dance, Jace. Do not be mad!"

Aemond's eye narrowed, his fingers tightening almost imperceptibly around her wrist.

Mad?!

What right did the bastard have to lay any claim over her? His mind drowned in indignation and something darker that he refused to acknowledge.

Aemond cocked his head, refusing to release Arianne's dainty hand, even when he felt her attempt to pull away, twitching within his grasp.

"Gīda mandia tresy, iksis ziry aōhon syt ao naejot gaomagon zirȳla hae iā zaldrīzes āeksion."(Calm down, nephew. Is she yours for you to guard her like a jealous dragon his gold?)

She in question glanced back at him, trying to comprehend his quick retort.

His nephew understood easily enough, from the frown erupting across his face.

"Issa." (Yes.) Jacaerys Velaryon spat, helping morph Aemond's features into a nefarious glower.

"Aderi, ziry kosta nyke vestri." (She will be my betrothed, soon.)

So he was her suitor — which Aemond struggled to make sense of. Wouldn't his bitch sister need the Velaryons on her side? And would his uncle, ever ambitious, let his wife's heir marry someone who wasn't his blood? Certainly, the marcher lord’s only daughter, Targaryen princess’ granddaughter, was never a poor choice, but did Rhaenyra think one bastard wed to Laena’s daughter was enough? When that bastard wasn’t even the one who would end up on the Iron Throne?

"Jace!" Arianne chastised him, as she understood the last bits of their exchange.

" W-what are you talking about?" Her vision swam.

Was he serious? Her pulse quickened into a steady, violent staccato of a blood rush. Hadn’t he known she held him dear to her heart? He couldn’t jest with her in such a way! Could this mean Jace wanted her hand? Did Princess Rhaenyra approve of it?

Aemond's not-quite-princely snort cut through her rumination.

The One-eyed Prince tilted his head haughtily, his long fingers drumming against the bottom of Arianne's palm.

"The Lady seems unaware of your claim?"

It was Jace whose features now took on a visage of offense.

" 'Tis none of your concern, uncle." He blustered, his dark, turbulent gaze finding Arianne.

She went rigid — her eyes wide and terrified as if suddenly she became aware of the crowd and the murmuring surrounding them,

“ Come, Arianne. Aemond hates dancing either way." Jacaerys Velaryon offered her his hand, beckoning her. His invitation fueled the bile picking at the One-eyed Prince's insides — he had to forcefully still his muscles so as not to scoff and send him to the Stranger.

It was true enough that he hated dancing, as he did all the tiresome courtly stupidities, but it wasn’t the bastard’s place to assume as much.

Nor should he relinquish the woman to him.

It was enough that the Strong whelp felt entitled to the Targaryen throne.

Subconsciously, Aemond squeezed Lady Swann’s hand too harshly — her prepossessing green eyes immediately met his with confusion.

"It is her ladyship’s decision. " Aemond sneered, his bones sizzling with disagreement.

It should be his prerogative. He was trueborn blood of the dragon — the king’s son, Vhagar’s rider, and if he desired so — the little courtesan should warm his bed.

Yet, Arianne Swann was nothing to him. To give voice to the budding desire to keep her hand in his and find out more about her secrets felt both a folly and a crackling fire. This passing fancy was his burden, and he shouldn't indulge it any longer.

But when her countenance turned apologetic, it slashed at the edges of his resolve like valyrian steel.

Aemond felt the dreadful rejection licking at his pride before she even spoke.

How dared she?!

He swallowed, measuring his breath.

"I should…I should go. I’ve taken enough of your time already." The faint tremor of her lips only made Aemond madder.

Jacaerys Strong appeared so smug, that the other Targaryen prince had to swallow the intrusive thoughts of pulling his dagger and slicing his bastard head clean off.

The warm skin between his palm and fingers moved and he debated whether to abandon his hold or to press upon her knuckles until her bones broke.

She hadn’t even kissed anyone.

Infuriating, deceiving little temptress —

Aemond’s blood was boiling and it crashed up his neck in a vehement thud until it reverberated inside his temples.

She was fucking provoking him, staring at him with those wide, malachite eyes, her long eyelashes fluttering like some — some timid maiden. When in fact she was —

Of course, she was also a whore! Saera’s granddaughter and his whoresister’s lady-in-waiting.

The muscle in his cheek twitched.

Stranger take her!

He wasn't even sure what exactly that little whoreson was saying because he battled an overwhelming surge of rage that demanded he spill blood.

Aemond wanted to remove himself from there quickly, before he did something stupid like telling Prince Strong he could have Arianne only if he defeated him in a duel at the back of a dragon. Because he wanted to claim her for himself.

He wanted her. In the basest, most humanly disgusting way — he wanted to delve between her thighs and take her as a man does a woman. The thought was hideous enough, let alone to act on it.

He was above it.

He was above desiring a willful, left-footed, granddaughter of a blight among his grand ancestors. She didn’t even have a dragon. She’ll never be able to claim a dragon. Her Valyrian blood was already too diluted.

She was nothing.

So when Arianne pulled her hand back this time, Aemond let her.

"I meant it, Your Grace. You are a wonderful dancer." She had enough fire in her to dare smile at him. After this little humiliating stunt. The honest mirth in her eyes would've sent shivers down his spine, had it not been for the fact that she led him on.

"And you were, as it happens, correct, Lady Swann. You truly are an awful dancer. Clumsy as Seven hells." Aemond hissed in her ear and lingered only a few moments longer — enough to see the delight vanish from her green eyes and her smile turn into a dejected frown.

"A tavern wench has more grace than your ladyship. Even a bastard," he added pointedly, venomously.

"— should see that."

Her jade irises shimmered, the edge of her bottom lid brimming with tears.

He'd hurt her.

Good.

Stranger take him, rather,  she was even beautiful when on the verge of crying with those dark lashes battering to keep tears at bay.

The desire to whisk her away with him only infuriated him more.

To seven hells with you, Arianne Swann.

"I apologize —"

Aemond scoffed and trudged away, his boots striking the ground like hammer blows. He would not stay to watch her bawl to her bastard bitchson.

He glanced at his family — he’d let his guard down, unforgivable! What if Daemon tried anything, what if his mother and his sister were hurt while he dallied with —

Aemond pressed his lips tightly together when he realized everything was fine and found his mother looking at him with worry etched between her brows.

Next.

[dtrghost]

closeness and proximity part.5

pairing: ghost x f!reader

synopsis: callsign is sunshine, because you're anything but. team 141 thought ghost was bad? at least they could crack a smile out of the guy from time to time, you? you were stone faced, all day, every day. until one day you're not, not with a certain someone anyway.

warnings: inaccurate military language and sequences, mega angst, allusions to mental illness (reader has sociopathic tendencies) you get the gist. violence, torture (reoccurring themes i know), angry ghost cause yes. FLUFF. YAY. Sexual situation to gain advantage over the enemy.

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT:

word count: 3.7k

Simon sat with his team, his eyes trained on the seat she'd sat in when she was there last. It had been a week. A long, gruesome, week with her still out there. He was tormented each night by nightmares, some where he followed through and killed her that night, others where he had saved her, only to wake up to the harsh reality that he didn't.

He failed. She was gone, and she may never come back because of him. They cleared all the bases that came up on their radar, and for once he was glad she was such an asset to HQ. They had all available teams looking for her, Price being at the forefront of the search.

"Let's call it a night then." Soap sighed, everyone nodding in agreement, except for him as they expected. His head shot up, his eyes lighting in a rage that they'd been subjected to since he woke up after his rescue.

"Like hell we're calling it a night." He growled at him. The anger made Gaz and Johnny shrink back, Price squeezing the bridge of his nose.

"Ghost, please-"

"We've got nothing! No leads! No updates!" His hand pounded on the table with each mention of what they lacked.

"We're sittin' at this table like a bunch of lazy fuckers while she's out there-"

"And what would you have us do?" Price interrupted. The room grew tense as two angry, powerful men glared at each other.

"You don't think I wanna find her too? You don't think I'm doin' everything I can? We're tired, and we need to regroup. Nothing good's coming out of us like this." He knew he was right, he hated that he was right. He felt useless, and it pissed him off. He stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

"He's not lightening up until we find her."

"Can't blame him. Get to bed the lot of you." And with that, Price left too, feeling a similar anger to his officer when he slept.

~.~

Cold water pushed her weight back, shocking her awake as the liquid shot up her nostrils and soaking her completely. They used a powerful hose to wake her up after her beating her unconscious the night before, thankfully avoiding her face.

"Morning Sunshine, piss baby callsign yes?" His accent was thick, laughs going around the room as the water turned off. She forced her eyes open, taking in her situation once more. Not the best, not the worst. Her legs were kept free of restraints, but they just barely hit the ground with her hands chained to the ceiling. She spit the water in her mouth out, chuckling lightly as she nodded her head towards them.

"You'd know a thing or two about piss babies wouldn't you." His fist connected with her stomach, but with a puff of her cheeks, no reaction came. He tried again, and yet, nothing, no wince, her feet cementing into the ground so not even a swing either.

"Right~" She drawled out, a bit breathless as she took a look around the room as they stared back in mild shock from the lack of reaction.

"After a while they all feel the same. Let me out and I'll show you how to punch sweetheart." This was her play. Intimidation, sensuality, it worked on the weaker ones, and when she caught the gaze of some of them, she knew she got em. The plan formulated in her mind, and for now she'd tune it out. It was a messy technique, as while she was gone she'd have no idea what happens to her body, so deep into her mind that she couldn't feel anything. It was a severe form of dissociation, but it worked.

"They don't want us touching your face. But they didn't say anything about the rest of you." He pulled out two high power shock sticks, and she knew she was in for it. The pain was excruciating. She could taste the blood in her mouth as she bit down her lip to keep her screams in. It took her back, the feeling of her first round of ECT.

Soon he moved to just beating her, pounding on her body as if she were a punching bag.

Her eyes went blank for a minute, focusing on a spot on the floor as she slowly slipped away, all the pain in her body disappearing.

~.~

"Mrs. L/N. I asked you a question." The lawyer spoke, stepping closer to where she sat on the stand, the courtroom watching this young girl getting berated consistently for the last 10 minutes. Her siblings watched as she was nearing tears from behind the plaintiff, having already been on the stand testifying against their own parents.

"I-uh.. can you say that again?" It was the job of a lawyer to break the client, to force the truth, or whatever would benefit the person they were meant to defend, but this was a child, someone just trying to get by with her life.

"What happened 10 years ago, to your recollection." He repeated calmly. She refused to look at her parents, because if she did she'd lose her words, her ability to speak. So she stared at her siblings, her older sister giving her a smile in attempt to calm her down. But nothing that came out of her in the next few moments would keep that smile on her sister's face, in fact it wiped it from the face of the planet. The flood of words that vomited out her mouth left everyone floored.

Her mother screamed at her from the defendant's side, throwing the first thing she got her hands on at her daughter. The jury watched as a notepad hit her in the head, and all she could do was cry and cover her face. She accused her of lying, screaming profanities to anyone who listened as she was dragged out of the room. Her father on the other hand, he broke down.

That's not fair. She thought. Why is he crying? He was the reason why she was here, why she was confessing her shame, her disgust with herself in front of a room full of people. Why did he have the right to cry? She wanted to tell him to stop. To stop trying to steal their moments of recognition. But the words got lost somewhere, and she stayed quiet as she was escorted off the stand.

When she opened the door to leave, she noticed Simon leaning against the wall in front of her. She looked down at what she was wearing, and suddenly she was an adult again, wearing a ripped black tank top and dirty cargo pants.

"Time to wake up love. Things to do, noses to break."

"It's not looking too good for me Simon. Feels like my body's gonna give out before I get my chance." He shook his head.

"Told you about a week ago that there's not a thing you can't do. I intend to make sure you stick to that. Now get your arse out there and give em hell." She sighed, giving him one last look until she shut her eyes, ripping herself out of her trance.

Her eyes opened and she came to, the room empty with a single guard sitting at a small table next to her.

"Hey." She called to him, blinking the haze out her eyes. He looked up to her, his face lighting up in a way that made her internally grimace. She saw the desire in his face, and she fed into it. He made his way to her with a sultry walk. He was on the shorter side of the spectrum and she looked down at him.

"Hey honey." He hummed, his finger trailing down her cheek for a moment. She ran her eyes down his body, faking seductiveness to get a glimpse on what he had on him. A pistol, standard issue belt with some stuff she could use on it.

Bingo, keys.

"They call you a siren from where I'm from." His accent wasn't as thick, and his words were easily understood. She leaned forward, him following as she leaned towards his ear.

"Let me down and I'll show you what kind of noises I can make." As cliche as it was, it worked. His eyes darkened, his hand twitching over his keys as he felt her lips graze over his ears. Slowly, he flicked through the set he had, and with little work done on her behalf, one unlocked, his hand quick to grasp her wrist. Before he could get the other one, the door slammed open, revealing her original capturer.

"Hey!" He shouted. In a flash her head slammed on his, her foot kicking his gun from his holster, watching it fly from his waist towards her hand, and with a stretch she caught it. She swung it in her hand, putting a bullet in his head before turning it the idiot who let her out.

"Siren's a new one. Maybe that'll be my next callsign." And with that he dropped dead. She had to be quick, her arm now released allowed for one foot to have a farther reach, the keys hanging on her toe as she carefully tossed it up to her hand, the gun now being held in her mouth. She tried each key carefully, knowing if she moved too fast she'd fumble and risk dropping it with the uneven weight now causing her to sway. Her weight was on one arm, and it quickly got sore, so when she dropped to the floor she felt heavy and wobbly.

The pain she pushed off had began coming back to her, and before she knew it she was crouching to the floor, her head between her knees as she gasped for air.

She crawled to the door, having to use all her body weight and strength to push it closed due to it's steel material. She locked herself inside as heavy thuds raced to the room at the sound of the shots fired. The room was designed to lock from the inside so nobody from the other side could pick it, but it quickly became a detriment as they had to use what they had to try and open it another way. She unclipped the vest from one of the men, quickly putting it on herself. It was large on her, the chest piece hanging lower than she'd like, but there was no helping it.

Better than nothing.

She searched the bodies, finding two grenades, she could work with that. She unlocked it, rushing back to the corner on the left of the door, and when it burst open she pulled the pin, watching the soldiers jump back in terror at the explosive in their face. she rushed to the door, shutting it again and listening to the boom from a safer distance. She tuned in to her environment for any more steps, and when she heard none she pried it open again. She picked up someone's rifle that had been flung to the side.

No doubt people heard the explosion, and she was in for it when they came down. So she stocked. She went to any body that was still intact and took whatever gear they had, shoving it anywhere she had room. She was likely underground, noticing the long staircase up as she took in her surroundings.

With the heavy thud of boots, she inhaled and prepared.

Life or death.

~.~

Simon had stayed up that night, finding himself unable to sleep without being haunted by her face. He found himself jolting awake with a shout of her name, and he decided that if she couldn't sleep, and likely she couldn't, he wouldn't either. It wasn't until Soap burst through his door, out of breath that he moved an inch from his position.

He shot up from his cot, looking at him with hope.

"We've got something. Someone in a base near the border of Verdansk reported a need for reinforcements. Bodies dropping like flies from a single prisoner they had held there." It had to be her. HQ had hacked into radio frequencies since she had disappeared, hence the amount of missions TF teams were being sent on recently. The team scurried into the aircraft waiting for them outside, Simon anxious and itching to get there as fast as he could.

When they landed he was the first one out, hearing gunshots from inside the facility. Reinforcements had shown up the same time, and before they could rush in they were shot down, directing the attention to them rather than the person currently fighting for her life.

She twisted an arm, ducking under the arm of another and sweeping him off his feet with her leg, dragging the other down and slamming his head into the floor. She shot the next two before flipping a man attempting to grab her over her back and onto the floor.

She heard footsteps, the barrel of her gun being the first thing to face the front door.

"Hey! It's just me! It's Ghost." He called out to her, immediately putting his hands up in surrender as they finished clearing the ground outside. He noticed her deep, uneven breaths, her eyes mistrusting as she kept her gun up and pointing at him.

"Ghost-" His hand silenced his teammate for a moment, slowly taking steps to her. He watched her eyes flicker as his hand gently rested at the top of her rifle, pushing it down at an unhurried pace, not wanting to trigger her with quick movements.

"It's just me.. lovie." She could've cried. His hands went to her shoulders as she dropped her gun off to the side.

"You're safe now. Nothin' to worry about." She felt herself relax, all of her adrenaline fading as she soon collapsed. Whatever he was saying to her was left unheard, her ears muting as her eyes closed from the sheer exhaustion and overexertion of her body.

"We need to get her to medical now." Price told him, Simon one step ahead as he held her in his arms and rushed out the door.

She didn't wake up for 3 days, and for a full 72 hours he had not left her side. He ate his meals in her room, slept in the uncomfortable hospital chair, and when he used the bathroom he waited until he couldn't hold it anymore and rushed that too, his hands still wet from the sink when he sat down. He was gone for a maximum 20 minutes for the entire day, and only that long because Price volunteered to sit with her as he showered, wearing the clothes he brought from him.

One night it was pouring rain, the drops slamming against the window with lightning brightening up the room every so often and powerful thunder that shook the building. She awoke to it, finally, her eyes crusty and her throat dry as a bone. Her memory failed her for a moment, shooting up in her bed in a panic that jolted Simon awake. He immediately rushed to soothe her with a gentle call of her name, dragging her attention to him as his hand cupped her chin.

"You're safe. You're in a hospital, recovering. Deep breaths alright? Like mine." He placed her hand on his chest, guiding her through mimicking his breathing until she was calm. He gave her a moment to take in her surrounds, her voice hoarse and raspy.

"How long was I out?" He handed her a cup of water, watching her gulp it down hastily.

"Fuckin' hell. Slow down you're making a bloody mess on yourself." He muttered, watching the water flow down the sides of her mouth and down her neck as she exhaled after finishing.

"You try getting the living shit beat and shocked out of you for a week straight. Had to seduce my way out. Dirty fuckers." She scowled at the thought, placing the cup on the table next to him.

"Did anyone..." He trailed off, too afraid to finish the sentence.

"No. No they didn't." Relief had lifted off his chest, his body relaxing for a moment before looking back up at her. His guilt never left him, and he wanted nothing more than to apologize.

"I-"

"I'll call HQ in the morning for the team switch-" "No!" He should've felt embarrassed by how quickly he cut her off. She looked at him confused. Is that not what he wanted?

"I'm sorry, for what I said, what I did... It wasn't right. The last thing I want is you off my team." She didn't understand it. He saw what she was, a monster. She killed and tortured how she pleased. "Why the sudden change of heart? Don't tell me you're getting soft on me." She teased, making him roll his eyes.

"It's not your fault. You need help... Y/N. Which is why with some fighting with those bloody wankers at HQ you're on leave with mandatory therapy sessions." Her eyes widened, and for once, she had something to be happy about. She could make her therapy jokes become real. Her breathed hitched for a beat, a sudden realization dawning on her.

Someone fought for her.

She felt the familiar pad of his thumb stroke under her eye, and it wasn't until she felt a wetness sinking into her mask that she realized she was shedding tears again.

"Comere lovie." Lovie. She liked that one, she was certain about that. He pulled her into a hug. For the first time in years, someone embraced her. She felt herself crack, every guarded aspect of her mind shattered in that moment as sobs flooded through her body involuntarily. Just like he promised himself, Simon was there to help her through it. His arms around her were tight, as if she could share the weight of the world she carried on her shoulders and he'd help her lift it until she could do it on her own.

"I need to get a nurse to check on you." He muttered in her ear, feeling her shiver at the feeling of his breath dusting over her skin. She only tightened her grip.

"Can we just, stay like this for a while. Please." Her voice was small, quiet, and he couldn't help but agree, maintaining a constant vice grip around her. She felt protected, and she needed that. So she clung to him as if her life depended on it, and he held her for as long as she needed him to. He felt her weight eventually slump against him, her arms dropping as her breath evened out to the same one he'd memorized from her 3-day slumber.

He laid her back, pulling the sheets up to make sure she didn't get cold before finding a nurse. They checked her vitals, blood pressure, wounds, everything.

"She's healing well. Everything looks good. We'll keep her one more night for observation and then we can discuss taking her home." He nodded, and she awkwardly smiled and walked out, shutting the door behind her. Simon sat back down in his seat, feeling more relaxed than he had before.

Healing well, looks good. Those words repeated in his head over and over. He leaned forward, pushing his mask up to the bridge of his nose as he hovered over her for a minute. The serene look on her face, even in the dark was enough to make his heart stutter. The way her hair, now in it's natural state, free from a balaclava, looked as it sat around her head like flowers in a meadow. She still wore a mask that covered the lower half of her face, but this was the most he'd get to see her for a while, so he took what he could get.

He pressed a slow kiss on her forehead, embracing the moment for what it was before he pulled his mask back down and released the breath he was holding, letting himself fall back asleep to the gentle exhales he heard from her.

~.~

Next thing she knew, she was holding a duffle bag with all her work stuff in it, Team 141 standing with her as she stood in her front door. They escorted her home, filling her in on her therapy sessions, when they start, how participation and progress were necessary for her to be allowed back in the field after her leave was up. Price had been assigned to live with her for the time being to make sure she was adjusting well and attending her sessions. She had half a year, which was enough, and it was mandatory to continue during work.

She dropped her bag off to the side behind the door before looking back at her teammates, Price flopping on her couch with a sigh as his eyes closed.

"Well, bye." She went to shut the door, only for Simon's foot to stop it from shutting.

"Fuckin' hell. No thanks for the people who saved your life?" Soap scoffed, watching her roll her eyes as she reopened the door.

"Thank you my saviors. What would I have ever done without you." Her voices was monotone, clearly bored and wanting to lay down for a bit.

"Alright then. Just don't get yourself killed in the next 6 months before we come back yeah." Simon grumbled, rolling his eyes too.

"You're not visiting?" She questioned, eyebrows shooting up in surprise.

"We wanna see a full transformation. Adds to the extra shock factor." Gaz smiled, watching her sigh before she painfully opened her arms for a hug.

"One for the road I guess." The embrace was horribly awkward and lasted a solid 2 seconds before she pulled herself back with a clear grimace.

"Do we get to see what's under the mask?" Soap pressed.

"Do you ever not ask questions? No? Then there's your answer." She quickly shut him down, watching him deflate in minor amusement before turning to Simon. He grunted as her arms wrapped around his middle, frozen in place for a minute.

"Hug me back dickhead." She muttered. His arms wrapped around her with a huff, though they both knew he didn't mind.

"Why the hell does he get a special hug." Soap whined, watching her pull away.

"Because he doesn't piss me off. Now bye." She shut the door in their face, kicking off her shoes and throwing a sock at Price's head. He groaned and turned, looking at her through bleary, groggy eyes.

"When's my first session again?"

The last part will be next!! I hope you enjoyed this one, more ghost fluff!! LOVIEEEEEE. My all time favorite. She's getting somewhere, finally getting some much needed help. Again I hope you guys enjoyed this part and the next one will be out fairly soon because I'm impulsive!! See ya next time!

@thaprilks @bowtruckleninja @almightywdm