#he earned his wisdom the hard way!

[amethysttribble]

Caught at Low Tide

Hey, @aeondelirium  (or rather, @aeondecember) I’m your Secret Santa! I hope enjoy this fic!!

Thank you to @officialtolkiensecretsanta for organizing this event!

Elrond mourns his brother, and so, naturally, he finds himself in the water and at the mercy of Ulmo, as his family always does in times of turmoil.

Today, the smells of muck and brine and smoke were thick in the sky. Everything felt heavy, weighed down by the oppressive moisture in the air that was trapped and pressed low by the dark gray clouds above. It wasn’t raining yet, though. No rain, but sharp wind, tumultuous wind.

“The king of Arda mourns,” Vardamir had said, eyes closed but lids fluttering, head tilted towards the stormy sky.

Elrond- and this was not his proudest moment- had snorted.

That certainly put a damper on the grim but glorious funeral proceedings of King Elros Tar-Minyatur. 

To think, the king’s Elven brother exhibiting obvious and loud disbelief at the idea of Manwe’s consideration. Disdain at the idea. 

And short-lived Men had so little personal experience with the Valar, they were so insecure and impressionable about if they were loved by Eru’s steward. Morgoth’s whispers still ran deep in their history and lore. Their fledgling faith lived on interpretable spectacle and small signs and little blessings. The weather probably was a sign from Manwe too! It was all just a harmless expression of grief and desire for comfort, and Elrond- 

Elros had always held so much respect and awe and love for the Valar after the War of the Wrath and Elrond successfully unwound a good bit of his work building trust for them in Numenor with one snort.

Stupid.

His nephew forgave him, though. How could he not? Vardamir was a father, a grandfather, and an eldest child. He was made of nothing but grace and patience for tempestuous youths.

Elrond did not feel like a youth. He wasn’t one, though the Elves eternally thought of him as Earendil and Elwing’s sad little boy, and the Men? His traitorous niece and nephews had aged to the point of graying and not respected him since. Even his little brother, in his last years, had treated him gently and sweetly, like he was a child.

It was humiliating, but what was more humiliating- Elrond felt as he sat in Elros’s chair in Elros’s study and felt small in the shadow of Elros’s death- was that he was validating them by acting like a child. 

Can’t I be forgiven today? he thought bitterly, twirling an eagle-feather quill that he gifted Elros in his hands. 

He already knew that he’d long since been forgiven for any indiscretion. He’d be forgiven anything this week. Fuck, but Elrond had been forgiven for everything his entire life, by everyone, with no hesitation, no quibbling, no reservations. Not even loving kinslayers or refusing the personal invitation of Manwe and Varda to join his parents in Valinor was beyond the good grace of Gil-galad and his court of the well-intentioned.

Ai, Elwing and Earendil’s little boy has suffered so much, give him time, we Elves have so much time.

Elros, though, noble Elros, Earendil and Elwing’s kingly son, he had not so much time and what wondrous things he did with it. He matured so quickly didn’t he?

But none of them- not the court of Lindon, not the children of Numenor whose predecessors had aged and turned over so many times the Elros was following in the wake of hundreds of his true friends, not even his nieces and nephews- knew Elros as Elrond had known him. They did not know him angry. They did not know him sad. They did not know him scared. They did not know him filled with regret and loss until his last, not nearly so unwavering as the many speeches given in his honor suggested.

My hands are shaking, Elros had said to him in their last private conversation together. I don’t know why. Fear? Excitement? Strain from hanging on? Or, perhaps it’s just death setting in.

He’d laughed.

All of that, maybe.

Elrond was taken with the urge to snap the quill in his hands in half. No one could get mad at him for that. He’d given this quill to Elros. No one could get mad at him for breaking it.

Slowly, Elrond set it back down.

He didn’t know why he was sitting here. Well, he did. He knew why. Vardamir wanted him to give a speech, and this was the only place where he might reasonably be left in peace to write one. The new king still balked at entering his father’s study. His siblings were not quite so deterred, but after Elrond glared Manwedil from the room, none had tried again to bring refreshments. 

Elrond didn’t want refreshments. He wanted to wail for his fucking brother, the version of him that only he knew. That was the only version of Tar-Minyatur he could think to write of, but no one wanted to hear of that boy.

An Elros who was not perfectly magnanimous, perfectly in control, perfectly at peace all the time? Perish the thought. No, really, perish it. The first King of Numenor could not be remembered as anything but perfect.

Whenever Elrond had complained about the spectacle he was currently living through to his brother in years leading up to his death- during the long planning of a funeral that wasn’t yet needed, something that still baffled Elrond- Elros had just smirked.

“Come now, I know you appreciate the importance of a good show. We were taught the same lessons after all.”

Yes, he had been, and Elrond was still sure that Maglor would find this week-long event just as macabre and odd as he did.

But Men were odd creatures. Well, at least as odd as Elves, but unlike the former, Elrond had never claimed to understand Men. He’d understood none but one, but through him- and Elros through Elrond- he’d felt like he’d understood the whole world. And now…

Now, Elrond pushed back from his brother’s chair to stand, and turned towards the large, open space at his back. Past two glass doors that were hardly ever closed was Elros’s ‘balcony’, though it was as large as a courtyard, strewn about with couches and chairs and braziers; cushions, tables, and children’s toys. There was a telescope mounted in one corner, a liquor cabinet in another. This is where Elros's family had practically lived. 

Deserted now, except for Elrond, at Elrond's own desire. He’d feel selfish for monopolizing this space in these days of mourning, which were different but no less hard for his nieces and nephews, but the weather was so bad. No one would want to sit out here anyway.

He meandered outside.

With the day so dark and gray and miserable, it was no wonder that it was starting to drizzle. Manwe must have had a hand in the weather, because this was truly how mournful days should look; all the poets and singers agreed. Strange then, how overcast always took Elrond back to days that made sense.

Back in the days where Morgoth’s smog clouded the sky so heavily and consistently, they hardly ever saw the sun and moon, and never the stars- except for one. Now knowing that the silmaril sailed the sky, even in those days, Elrond often mused that if he’d just put a little thought into it, he might have realized what that bright light up there was. Maedhros and Maglor certainly did. But they never told and Elrond and Elros never figured it out. They were far too busy.

Survival occupied their every day.

During their roaming march- never in one place for long for fear of assault; ostensibly from Morgoth’s forces, but assaults from other peoples was always an unspoken possibility- there was never any time for long bouts of contemplation. Everyone worked. Elrond and Elros gathered wood, set up tents, trapped animals, fished, cooked, cleaned, bore wine and water during war meetings between the Sons of Feanor and their commanders. 

And in between their chore, they learned, learned, learned.

“Are they not princes of the House of Finwe?” Maedhros had once growled at a former mathematician turned spearman who was foolish enough to question what the point of schooling in this day and age was. “They will learn how to compunct themselves as proper lords; polite, learned lords. Has Morgoth taken our pride, sir? Or just yours? No prince of the Noldor shall go uneducated.”

He’d spit that word like a curse, ‘uneducated’. That had always stuck with Elrond, it was so different to how their mother thought. Elwing had prioritized knowing the most beautiful songs- that sounded just a little prettier in her voice- and understanding the ebb and flow of nature. Maedhros wanted them to know grammar.

And Elros and Elrond hated it, they really did. The days went in and out like that, chores and lessons, lessons then chores, meals spattered in between, and it was exhausting. They slept hard at night. Things were simple, though. Those days were occupied with routine, with familiarity, with certainty. 

Routine, familiarity, and certainty can bring fondness to even the most gruesome of times, as long as they came with fairness. Or complete lack thereof. Nothing was fair in Morgoth’s Middle-earth, but that was its own kind of equality. It was the kind of cruel environment that brought clarity, like who you could afford to have as an enemy and who you couldn’t. 

Like grief is a feeling that is inevitable and should be dwelled on for as short a time as possible. Spending too long on grief just brought more of it.

Now, though, with Morgoth vanquished, they all just had too much time on their hands. At least, that's how Elrond felt about it. Too much time for funerals, too much time for kindness, too much time for thinking. 

“All I do these days,” Elrond muttered to himself, head tilted back towards the rain, “is think until I’m miserable.”

And now he did not even have Elros as a sounding board to tell him that he was being stupid.

A sob welled up again in Elrond's throat, and he swallowed it with a shout, stomping up and down. Dammit, dammit, dammit, he was tired of crying. He was tired of crowd-appropriate sorrow. He wanted to move, he wanted to-

 Elrond danced miserably- stamping his feet with great power every time he landed- around the patio where he and Elros had so many joyous moments, so much happiness and love that they couldn't even imagine as children, and he hated all of this.

Elros lived such a good life. He lived such a good life. A happy, full life, overflowing with legacy that was being celebrated and carried on, and he’d been content to die. Elrond had helped his brother make this choice, he thought he would be content to see Elros die when the day came. But he wasn’t.

He fucking wasn’t.

Taken by a manic fury, Elrond sprang across the balcony towards the telescope, climbing his way onto the balustrade it was perched on, and leaned. He latched one hand around the pole that held up the telescope, planted one foot on the slippery rock beneath him, and leaned over the edge, one leg in the air.

“Why does everyone leave me!” he screamed at the sea and the sky and the western horizon of Valinor.

Elrond received a mouthful of seawater for his efforts.

Hacking and coughing, he looked ruefully at the waters below. Elros’s study was a hundred feet above the shoreline and it was low tide. If water was reaching so high up just to make Elrond’s day that little bit worse, it must be…

Elrond started to climb down the cliffside.

Damn Ulmo, he thought as he started painstakingly maneuvering his way down the sheer, wet rocks of Numenor’s western edge. Damn his water and his oceans and his meddling rivers.

Oh, how annoying they had been when they were children, trying to sweep them down stream, away from the kinslayers. To where, Elrond had always wondered. Surely not all the way to Balar. The ainur efforts at liberating them never came to anything but inconvenience, they were always plucked out of the waters by worried guardians.

Maedhros always worried they would drown. It was Maglor who exhaustedly explained that, no, the grandsons of Tuor must be beloved by the waters. Ulmo was trying to send them home.

Elros and Elrond had no scope to appreciate either sentiment. They were just tired and wet and scared.

Elrond was tired and wet now. His hands cut open by cold rock, knees scraped, limbs straining, he was angry, he was also as angry at Ulmo as when the Lord of the Tides had stooped before him and his brother and told them of the boon he gave their mother. As his feet hit the mucky sand of low tide and he shoved his sopping hair out of his face, he had the same demand for him.

Could you think of nothing more helpful to do?

“Oi!” Elrond yelled as he strode forward into the sea, “Do you have something to say!”

The sea was massively loud, churning and twisting as it had been doing all morning, the wind whipping it up into a frenzy. Elrond had to fight every step, both against being pulled forward and by being pushed backwards by the tide. And down. The sand was soft and grasping. It seemed like Ulmo had quite a lot to say, and if Elrond was in a more philosophical mood, he’d unplug his ears and listen to what the Lord of Tides’ domain was trying to communicate.

But that was a habit that Elros always rolled his eyes at and called, “So Elvish,” with a stupid smirk and then Elrond would tackle him to the ground and they’d wrestle until one of them had mud forcibly rubbed behind his ears, and-

And those days were gone. Those days were gone without any possibility for recovery and Elrond scarcely comprehended how short they’d been. So long for Elros, so short for him. 

Battered and deafened by the sea, Elrond finally screamed at the top of his lungs.

He yelled until the breath ran short in his throat and then he drew in a large gulp of air, and cried out again, tilting his head back. This time, his throat burned when all the air was gone, but now that he’d started, Elrond wasn’t done. No one on Numenor could hear him here. No subjects to draw conclusions, no nieces and nephews to baby him, no Gil-galad so soon to arrive with his soft understanding that didn’t understand anything.

No Elf could understand this. No Man could understand this. 

To be separated in fate from the one person who had been consistent throughout your life? Even when you’d both made those choices with eyes wide open and sure, it was… The dissonance could scarcely be comprehended.

So Elrond screamed until his voice was raw.

He let his knees give out and collapsed into the surf. The sand was soft beneath him and ruining his black mourning clothes, but damn, it was the calmest he’d felt since…

When Elrond tilted his head back towards the misting rain, he closed his eyes and was lying in bed with Elros once more. His little brother was wheezing with each breath, so drained and weak he could hardly sit up, but it did not impair their conversation. They were talking about being younger, the wild years of Numenor’s construction, when Elrond would leave the equally unfinished Lindon and they’d roam, alone and together around the lands of Eriador. 

“It was Nîn-in-Eilph that I’ve missed in these infirm years. I loved it there. Every step was an adventure,” Elrod said in his creaky voice, and Elrond had smiled.

Lying on his side, face half covered by pillows, holding Elros’s hand, he said, “All of the Bruinen is beautiful. Do you remember that valley we found? I keep meaning to go back there, I keep thinking of it.”

Elros chuckled weakly.

“Only you would find yourself entranced with a patch of land so near troll dens. Oh, I worry about you, Elrond. What shall you do without me, hm? Without Numenor and the wisdom of Men to come running to when you are annoyed with your Elves?”

“And what about you?” Elrond replied softly. “What shall you do once you cross and you’re surrounded by only mortals? Where will Elrond be then and his Elvish wisdom to save you when you are annoyed by Men?”

Elros did not reply to that; Elrond supposed that they were too close to that eternal uncertainty for it to be funny.

He squeezed his brother’s hand.

“Don’t worry about me,” Elrond had whispered. “I’ll be fine. You know me. Comfortable everywhere.”

“And home nowhere,” Elros muttered in reply, squeezing back. He turned away with a slight smile, though, the knowing kind old Men and elder Elves got. “Too brave, too adventurous for your own good. But, no, no… You’ll be fine. I know it in my heart that you’ll find your home one day, Elrond. First, you just have to do everything and talk to everyone!”

“I will taste the world,” Elrond said, smirking. 

Elros had chuckled, and started to drift then. Elrond sang for him. His brother napped for the last time, because when he awoke in just two hours, he summoned everyone important to his side and said his final goodbyes. Elros was gone before sundown. 

Opening his mouth for the rain and the salty mist, Elrond thought they tasted very bitter. He did not want them, suddenly. He did not feel brave and adventurous; he did not feel like King Elros’s wild Elven brother with hands that could heal any ailment. Elrond felt very like everything he’d ever known was burning at his back and he didn’t want to run from the thing that caused that loss. After all, what did it hurt to embrace that which had destroyed you when there was nothing left behind you?

Not for the first time, Elrond wondered what it would be like to have made a different choice. Would he and Elros have died hand-in-hand as they’d been born hand-in-hand? 

But his heart tugged and pulled, and he found himself bitterly wondering instead what it would be like right not if Elros had chosen differently. He would have liked that better. It wasn’t how it was, though.

Nothing was ever how Elrond would have liked it. 

Which brought him right back around to the self-pity that had dragged him out to the sea which had stolen so much from him and still taunted. Mother, father, brother, Maglor, all of them stupidly entranced by the ocean water when Elrond thought he’d rather go rot in a river valley. Maybe he should just go lay down in the mud near that troll land and stay there for an age until he was subsumed and made part of the very earth, watching it all pass.

And when he awoke from that most natural slumber, perhaps the grief would be gone. Perhaps he would not mind being alone.

“Bah!” Elrond cried, letting out all his air with his exhalation. He threw himself back into the water, clueless as to what else to do with the storm in his chest. Under the water, Elrond drank and tried to say, Ulmo, if you’re to interfere, turn me into something else and let me fly away.

His lungs ached, his raw throat burned, and it felt good to focus on that pain. Everything was dark and white noise beneath the waves and he was free. 

Which was why he was so annoyed when a gentle hand cupped the back of his head and lifted him up. 

As he hacked and coughed and wiped at his salty face, Elrond glared miserably at the watery visage of Ulmo, Lord of the Tides. That transparent, saltwater form just raised a coy eyebrow at him, and Elrond spit some of the water from his mouth. It had been some time since he’d seen or spoken to this entity, but he felt no surprise; or awe.

“I knew you must be near,” Elrond muttered petulantly.

“I’m always near,” Ulmo intoned, voice bubbling like a creek, every word a song unto itself.

“Shall I find a desert, then, and see if you appear?”

“Cheeky.”

Elrond managed a strained quirk of his lips and not much else.

Ulmo blinked lazily at him, water flicking off his viscous eyelashes. Such a strange creature, even more timeless and unreadable than the most enlightened Elves. There was something alluring about such infinity to Elrond, but it did not come with reverence. Not for the first time, he was taken with the desire to stick his hands into an Ainur’s fea and dissect what he found there.

“Yet,” Ulmo burbled, “you were cheekier still in the days when we spoke often. Sweet child, sharp tongue. Wide eyes, stern stance. Gentle hands, long sword. You were scared, then. You are scared now.”

And Elrond sighed. 

“I suppose so, my lord,” he mumbled, holding onto his ankles and leaning back. He turned his gaze towards the setting sun and pretended to study the clouds.

“Fear is not something to be ashamed of.”

“I know, my lord.” “Especially when faced with situations we have never known before.”

Elronnd’s eye twitched, and for the fourth time today, his temper got the better of him. He splashed water at Lord Ulmo, dismissing him and his words, and glared. 

“Never known before and never again,” he snapped. “I only have one brother, one constant companion to lose. In fact, I am the only one who has ever known such a thing, and with a little luck, am likely to be the only one ever. So, yes, I am scared and cheeky in the face of such a thing. It is always I who is asked by Iluvatar to suffer strange and singular pains, so I hope you’ll forgive me for not acting with perfect grace.”

“The Valar have lost siblings to unknown and diverged fates,” Ulmo said and Elrond’s eyes went massive as shock and fury battled within him.

“Do not compare my brother to Morgoth,” he hissed quietly and the water around him grew unnaturally still, only the slightest ripple of tension emerging in a circle around him.

Ulmo did not look phased. 

He merely said, “I meant myself, truly.”

Elrond floundered. Anger and indignation had been building, and just as suddenly, they fled from him, the waves moving once more. Lukewarm sea water splashed up his back, and Ellrond merely stared, stunned and lost. Ulmo, thankfully, explained.

“Myself, and the others whom you know. Our Manwe, our Varda, our Yavanna, so on. And our Melkor. Those of us who came to shape Arda left kin behind and we knew when we did that we would never return. Tulkas feels this choice most keenly. We still miss those left behind as I’m sure they miss us, but it was a choice made with open eyes. To leave, to stay. It was what was desired, needed by each individual. Sometimes we must leave loved ones behind when our paths diverge too heavily, and that is as natural a thing as… Well, as my rivers diverging never to meet again! Some, most, rather, come back together in the ocean, but some lonely few do not. Only the breaking of the world will reunite us.”

Ulmo tilted his head, hair dipping and dripping back into the sea.

“Does that make sense?”

“Yes,” Elrond whispered, looking away. He was suddenly embarrassed by his outburst, by his… lack of perspective. Yes, of course the Valar might be the only of Iluvatar’s children who understood him. How strange to not be alone in this pain. How… bitter. “Yes, I see now. I’m sorry.”

Slowly and gently, a water-light touch lifted his chin. Ulmo had no eyes, not in the traditional sense. In the liquid facsimile of a face, there were pockets of light where one's eyeballs typically were. They were infinitely deep and Elrond wished for such a perspective. He wished he could see instead of being bound by his hroa.

“Do not apologize, like a child caught with dirty hands. You do suffer uniquely. But even with Elros’s equally unique existence diverged beyond you, you are not alone.”

“I do know that,” Elrond said, sadness gripping him. He did, he did know he was not alone. 

For all he dreaded having to see and feel Gil-galad’s grief and sympathy, Elrond knew he would embrace his almost, nearly brother like the world was ending all over again as soon as he saw him. He knew that Galadriel would be just as annoyed with the spectacle of this funeral and let him curse the world without judgement and Celeborn would hold him up without any fuss or trouble, easy to let love him. Celebrimbor would never flinch when Elrond wanted to talk about the strange and politically-difficult childhood he shared with his brother, and would let him cry bitterly for who wasn’t here. There was Thranduil and the other children of the War of the Wrath who would pass him a bottle, no questions asked, and not treat him as fragile.

But being alone and being alone were two different things. Elrond and Elros, Elros and Elrond… Who was just ‘Elrond’? He didn’t know. He was scared to find out.

As soon as Elrond’s face crumbled, Ulmo’s giant, watery hand began to caress his head and for the twelve-billionth time, he cried.

“When will it end?” Elrond blubbered around his tears. “When will it stop feeling like the right choice was to stay together?”

“Oh, child, never. You need be more concerned with if you ever start to feel like the right choice was for you to have made for Men. I don’t think you feel that way. I think you wish you could have had it both ways. That you could have had your choice and your brother. But you would have never wished miserable immortality on him just as he would have never wished miserable mortality on you. It is a tragedy; there were no perfect ends.”

“It hurts so much,” he wailed. His eyes and the sky and Ulmo were all so wet and blurry that it was hard to distinguish. The only thing clear was the star of Earendil rising in the sky. “We all keep having to make these choices and it hurts so much!”

“I know, child. The waters never stop moving, and it is cruel and it is glorious. My heart is filled with sorrow for you, but also hope.”

Elrond was hiccuping around his tears, shaking his head. Hope, hope, hope, what was it Maedhros said about hope? That it was for lovers and martyrs. Elrond did not want to be a martyr, but he did know love. He just… was so tired of that love bringing him pain. Of those he loved all but fleeing from him.

His love for Elros had not gone with his brother’s soul to the place of the Men. It was still here and it was heavy. Right now, Elrond had little hope of that love not drowning him.

“I’m scared,” he rasped, wiping at his eyes. “I knew it was coming, but I don’t know how to live with this eternity I’ve chosen without him. I’ve never done… anything without him.”

Ulmo made a noise like a rumbling waterfall, that washed away his fears as easily as cleaning up silt.

“Nonsense,” he rumbled. “You have made a home of Lindon without him. You have forged friendships without him. Traveled west of the Misty Mountains without him. Written treatises on the nature of the world without him. What you have not done is lived your life without him in your heart. You never will; I still remember our kin beyond the edge of Arda and you will always remember your brother. But what you will find is that the place in your heart he is held in will grow fonder and gentler in time. Lighter. Every weight feels heavier at low-tide.”

“Low-tide?” Elrond snorted, wetly and then had to cough around his tight throat.

“Yes,” Ulmo said, patting his head with one hand that just further drenched his hair while the other gestured at the drawn out tide around them. “Low-tide. The currents of life and time wash us up and pull us out, leaving us stranded for a time. But as long as we choose to keep trudging forward, the waters always come back.”

Elrond briefly considered telling Ulmo that this metaphor felt a little stretched, but… no. Woe betide him to reject poetry in times of pain. It was Elros who had preferred prose. 

“But we still come back to the main issue,” Elrond said. “I don’t know how to swim alone.”

Ulmo shook his head at him, but did not scold. He merely said, “You don’t need to know how, you have done so all along. But if you are so frightened, think of it this way. Like a duckling, it will come naturally to you, after a time. You just need to let life carry you, follow the flows of water down the diverging paths according to what feels strongest, and you’ll get there. I know you, Elrond. The never-ending chase inspires you. You are scared now because you have found yourself in one of life’s many low-tides. You are stuck. But the waters will pick back up again, in time, and take you along. Be scared. But know that you will keep going.”

“I guess that’s what I signed up for,” Elrond laughed wryly, “to keep going and going and going. My Eru. I’m already tired.”

“You’ve hardly begun, child. There are many more tired days ahead of you.”

“So the Men keep telling me when they call me child,” Elrond said, glaring at Lord Ulmo once more, but this time it was with a slight smile on his lips.

“You are a child,” Ulmo sang, and he was already melting back into the waters. “Enjoy your wandering feet, Elrond. Let them take you where they need you to go. Search for all the answers your heart and mind taunt you to find, and then enjoy the days where you might call others ‘child’.”

Elrond, small and alone, didn’t think he’d ever know enough to call another ‘child’ so surely. But he… he… When he thought of following Elros beyond, he balked, because he wanted to learn. There was so much more to see and understand. 

He was still sad that he did not have Elros to share it with.

On leaden limbs, Elrond stood. He could not sit in the sand forever. He was sure that his absence had already been noticed and Vardamir had sent people looking for him. Numenor loomed so largely before him, though. Elrond didn’t want to climb up its vaulted walls.

As he was considering the value of calling for help, he felt the water start to rise and come back in; and, more importantly, he felt the waters start to tug his legs to the left. 

A boon, a melodic voice whispered in his ear, and Elrond decided that, well, he wasn’t a child anymore. He would follow the waters of Ulmo where they would take him today. He did not have anyone else to go running scared to, after all.

The tides carried him around the edge of Numenor’s slopping cliffs where the oldest parts of the grand city were built. They dipped lower as Elrond trudged forward until they gave way to grassy beach. Still, the waters guided him onward. As his legs started to ache and his feet grew sore, this strange path towards an unknown destination did not feel like a boon.

The night was growing closer, the star of Earendil bright but far away. Elrond walked, confused, in the dark until a familiar song greeted him from a distance. He moved faster, after he heard that, until a strange silhouette emerged before him, and Elros’s whispers about a shadow that visited him in the night made sense.

Yes, there was someone who knew and mounted Elros the peredhil and not Elros the king.

Out from Ulmo’s waters, Elrond ran for Maglor. When the music stopped, he was greeted with open arms. He breathed in harp polish, brine, and seared flesh, and felt at peace for the first time since Elros’s hand slipped from his. 

Someone had come back to Elrond.

[immamapletreekid]

instead of grinding for finals i lost hours to a one piece wiki spiral

[ravengards-rogue]

WHAT SET YOU FREE, BROUGHT YOU TO ME BABY.

rdr2 men + short blurbs about their favorite sex positions.

ft. arthur morgan, john marston, javier escuella, and charles smith.

✧ tags : SPOILER HEAVY, fem + afab!reader, unprotected sex, light angst (in the horny post is crazy im sorry fdkjjkds), very gendered language, javier says one thing in spanish (thank u @nanamimizz), a little sprinkle of plot with each (and some canon divergency), john co-parents w abigail, otherwise just horny. 18+

✧ wc : about 1.4-8k each (6.3k total)

✧ a/n : sorry for making a multi character post for the cowboy game its cooking me to death. my john bias is showing rip. title is from rebel yell by billy idol but i listen to the bvb cover

sorry about charles and javiers but if i edit this anymore im going to level an entire city using hollow purple technique. please rb if you enjoyed i worked kind of hard on whatever this is.

sorry for . the THIRD repost of this i promise i wont after this. its just really bugging me. PLEASE

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆ ARTHUR MORGAN + PRONE BONE ; 

It’s an odd feelin’ for Arthur. 

Wanting something, he means. Wanting anything as much as he wants you. He’s lived a less than quiet life up until now. And he ain’t the brightest, certainly, but living this kind of life teaches you many lessons. One of them being, it’s better not to covet anything. Coveting something you’re not entitled to, well—it’ll lead you places you wouldn’t want to go with a gun. 

Arthur has made the mistake of coveting love before, dreamed of a future so completely out of his reach he almost convinced himself it was possible. Dreamed of it so foolishly he’d even go visit a woman he very well ought to forget. It’s his problem, his burden to bear - always desiring outcomes unsuited to him. 

He’s just that sort of man he reckons. But he learned his lesson. He tries (tried?) to stay away from it after that. Tried not to pine too much for normalcy when such hopes had failed him twice. The loss of his child completely on his account and the loss of his love at the same fate. 

So, wanting you - well, he feels like the world's dullest fool. Really. How is it that Arthur had fallen in love with someone again? It had all just happened so quickly. You were another woman he’d saved from the O’Driscolls, though it wasn’t like you were no damsel. A lot of those men were dead by the time they arrived. That sort of perseverance would stick with you while you traveled together. Much like Sadie, you didn’t take well to housework - you liked to earn your keep. Though you’re not nearly so trigger happy. 

You’re quiet, thoughtful, well-read. Plus you’re good at making money. That’s why Dutch don't complain about you joining them, he figures. 

(Arthur tries not to pry into it too much at first, but he eventually learns that you’re gambling. Which is how you’re able to make such a fast turn around. A prim little lady like you makes for a fine poker player, and you love to play men out of their money. He thinks it’s one of the funniest and most interesting things about you. He can’t help but love you a little more for it. )

When the feelings in him start to stir, Arthur tries to overlook it. Arthur convinces himself, time and time again - that there’s no way he’ll grow more tender about you. Eventually, it’ll die down. You’re a decent woman is all, a kind one - who’s easy for him to love and even easier for him to confide in. In your time together, you often come to Arthur and you always seem to have some profound wisdom he is so sorely lacking. Someone easy to love, who does not expect much from Arthur at all. It’s only natural a lonely, covetous man like him would start to dream about you. He tells himself, it will pass eventually. Should he simply let it run by him, it will pass. But Arthurs a fool, you’ll remember. 

 Of course, by the time he understood all that - he already loved you enough that he couldn’t bear it. It was already too late and it wasn’t going to change any time soon. Especially not while everything changed around him. 

So, Arthur is undoubtedly a fool, but he’s lucky. He felt divinely blessed when you’d returned his feelings for him so politely. A coy little smile on your face, a laugh like you thought he was silly for being doubtful. Arthur tried to explain himself but you wouldn’t hear a word of it. Maybe that’s another thing he loves so much about you. There’s nothing he ever needs to explain. 

In any case, all Arthur seems to do lately is want you. Wants you when it’s inconvenient. Wants you before he wants liquor or a cigarette or some other vice. Any time anything goes wrong, you’re the first thing his mind can conjure up for relief. That pretty smile and that self-assured way of living. It’s hard to get time alone in camp. And Arthur is a man in love, so any touch could be enough to set him on fire. Last week you hugged his waist a little before giving him a kiss goodbye and he had to listen to you laugh yourself into a fit as he waited for…little Arthur to settle down. 

He don’t get many chances to be with you. Lay with you in that way that grown folk in love do. Though, if the two of you book it somewhere for a few days - the camp knows better not to ask where you’ve been. But it’s not often you get to really be together, where it’s peaceful to do that. Someone’s always hounding one of you to do something. 

Arthur is a lucky man though, like he said. Today he had time. Today he’s alone with you in a beat up little saloon and today he gets to do as he likes. He gets to be greedy. And it’s an odd feeling for him, really, to want something so bad he disregards everything else in the world for a little while. 

Feeling you, though - absolves the guilt for wanting. He’d be stupid to want you any less desperately. 

Arthur’s favorite way to have you is on your stomach. Laid flat, just barely pushed up against him as he fucks you deep. You’ll fuck like rabbits for a little while and Arthur will wear you out just like this, maneuvering you until you’re pinned all underneath his weight. You lose any fight you might have, too exhausted to worry yourself with pleasing him - and when you’re like that, you let Arthur take care of you. 

(He really ain’t talented at much, but he’s good with his hands. Being dexterous is part of being a talented shot. When Arthur has the time to spread you sweet in his lap and make you cum all over his fingers, he does so for as long as he can. At least until you beg him so sweetly otherwise. The same hands, soiled with gunsmoke, look so good so deep in you. At least in his eyes.)

Wet and pliable and helpless. Arthur loves you like that. He knows, he knows you’re anything but - but he’d be damned to pretend this don’t feel best. Tight, wet cunt so welcoming from all the pleasure he’s ripped out of you. Your bodies pressed together, your heartbeat pulsing through your skin. All sticky, honeyed need and animal desire as Arthur lets all of him sink on top of you. His heavy, lumbering form crushing you in - trapping you somewhere you can’t run from him. The curve of your spine pushed against his chest, ticklish. 

Every inch of his body that so wholly wants for you, Arthur aches to make you feel. Burn it in you lest anything happens that risks your forgetting. 

He can feel his hips meet your ass, backside squished against him - desperate for deeper friction. Whining. You’re whining to him so pretty, a pillow pushed underneath you to give friction to needy clit. 

Arthur can feel how much you want more. Maybe Arthur is greedy, but he likes that look much better on you. Your pussy is sucking him in so tight, silken walls pulsing with every shallow little measured thrust. Arthur lets his arm wrap around your neck, your face pressing into his bicep. You moan again and he laughs. 

“Arthur,” Your words come out in a messy slur. He lets his scruffy face press against your neck, a kiss behind your ear. He wants to kiss you all over. There’s not enough hours in the day. “Oh, god, Arthur,” 

“Still feels good, then, I’m guessin’,” 

“Shut up,” You huff and press your cheek into his arm. He doesn’t bother stifling his laugh. “Still feels…big. Stretchin’ me out—hicc—so much,” 

You really don’t try to rile him up - but you do a damn good job of it anyway. He groans, grunts as he pulls back and pistons himself in you. A gesture half-way between a kiss and the warning shot of a gun. The sound of skin hitting skin echoes, noisy and vulgar. Arthur don’t pay it much mind. He laughs against your shoulder.

“One of these days, that moutha’ yours is gonna get me in real trouble.” 

You giggle back at him 

“What kinda trouble is that now?” 

Even from your side glance, you’ve got that lovely little smile on you. Fuckdrunk and ingratiating, like you know he’s wrapped so tight around your fingers. And he is, like nothing else in the world could have him. A wave of possession curls up over Arthur, makes him press more of himself into you. Onto you. Another deep push of his cock, sliding against the tenderest parts of you. Staking some silent desire in you. He wants and wants and wants, and hopes that whatevers above him can forgive him for making the same mistake thrice. 

“Dunno,” Arthur comments, teeth grazing your shoulder and kissing the indentations “Got our whole lives together to find out, I reckon.” 

“I’ll hold you to it, Mister.” 

Arthur laughs. “Hope you do, Miss.” 

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆ JOHN MARSTON + COWGIRL ;

John doesn’t say that he loves you lightly. 

Hardly a thing he says can be said that way. Could never afford too. In an alternate universe where nothing goes wrong in his life, maybe - but he has a hard time picturing what the hell that’d look like. A version of himself so untainted, without all of the violence and blood and gunsmoke? Foreign. John can’t picture it worth a damn. 

Who John is without a deadbeat father and a dead Ma is somewhere far beyond his reach. Ain’t nothing about his life, at any point, lighthearted. 

On top of all that mess, he’s got a boy at age four with a woman he ain’t married too. And that relationship is always on rocky waters, even though John’s decided to do right by his own flesh and blood sometime ago. Most things in the world he should feel good about he doesn’t, and most things he should understand render him clueless. He’s a mess on multiple accounts, and he still doesn’t know how exactly he’s meant to approach this life of his. He knows what he should do, but nothing about how to do it. 

John doesn’t come to love you easily ‘cause he wouldn’t know easy love if it hit him in his face. Quickly and painfully, but not easily. 

Your return to the gang was an odd one. You were an old presence and your disappearance was an even older story. John thought he’d never gonna see you again for sure. You’d been a part of the gang back long before all of the nonsense that took place in Blackwater and you left about the time Arthur’s boy died. John don’t remember why you left exactly. He thinks it was a fight with Hosea, of all things.

 Dutch weren't too happy about it neither, but Dutch back then didn’t make a show. 

So you left, and John buried every feeling he ever harbored. You found all them again up in Colter, where you’d been living out your days lately. According to you, in the middle of riding, you thought you’d heard Arthur. So, somewhat recklessly, you went chasing him. Didn’t matter if he was just something your mind conjured. According to you, if it was him, it was at least worth checking to make sure. You’d reunited with Arthur and after some tears, he rode with you back to camp. 

Upon your return, the gang welcomed you with open arms. 

You’d done a lot in your time alone.You spent most of that time just like that, a ghost wanderin’ the planes. You weren’t gonna stay with ‘em, but Arthur insisted and Hosea did too. That wasn’t enough to compel, so John was last to chip in. You should stay, at least until Valentine. 

(Silently he thought, you should stay so John can trace memories of you. It was so long ago, he should’ve forgotten all of it. You were a year older than John and always on his ass but easy for him to talk to. Didn’t fuss over his failures. You just barely grew into your womanhood when you set your sights on running away. You wanted more than this life, and John never really forgave you for it. His first heartbreak, maybe - but it’s all too blurry for that. 

You understood him though better than anyone, and one day you were gone. Nothing’s really the same.) 

You changed tremendously and not at all. He missed you. God, did he ever. Missed you a long time. Didn’t realize how much until you came back and everything in him felt right again. Your return stirred up old feelings and everyone noticed. He wasn’t trying to keep it a secret, but he really wasn’t trying to fall back into anything with you. Not how he did. 

Just like you did back then, you read John like an open book. And just like he did back then, he loved you all too helplessly for it.  It was just all too easy again, to be with you. 

You stayed out of the way at first, for the sake of his family. 

But, John ain’t a half-decent man even when he’s trying to be. So he set himself on being with you. It wasn’t easy - most things with him aren’t as you’ll see.  Having you around again straightened what was left of his common sense, at least. He told Abigail before telling you. He figured you wouldn’t even reply unless that was all out of the way. That turned out as well as you’d expect.

 It was settled between the two of you thereafter. He’s lucky she didn’t toss him into the street. 

Everything works out in a way. As best they can between broken people. You make peace with each other. His boy loves you like a third parent (you’re better with him than John is). Abigail commends you for straightening out such a worthless man though she’s a little melancholy.  John just tries to stay out of the way. You’ll be together in the end. There’s a plan with the five of you. 

But until it all falls apart, he doesn’t get all that much time with you. 

There’s moments like tonight, though. Rare ones. Together out robbin’, cooped out some place in the woods where no one is around. A place so shaded by nightfall that John can absolve himself of every sin he’s ever committed in his life and pray at the altar between your hips. John is convinced he might find worship like he’s always hearing about there whenever he touches you, the marred skin of his hands and knuckles reading the scripture of your body with careful precision. 

You might turn him into a literate man yet. 

John glances up at you. Only the light of the fire and the moonlight there to accompany as he watches you over him. You’re beautiful. John couldn’t picture a single thing more perfect in his life. 

Your hands against his bare chest, nails digging into the flesh as you lean forward. Your palm dug into the dirt, John finds his own hands rested at your hips. John looks at you awe-struck, cock twitching at the mere sight. His heart settles in his throat, but he’s calm all at the same time. With you, he forgets. All of it. The worst of himself. 

Bare naked and so close, he watches your face as you strain. You feel soft. Every inch of you in comparison to him is. A bead of sweat slides down the valley of your breasts. John cranes his neck up to catch it with his tongue, licking a stripe up to your neck - letting his teeth sink into the space between your jaw and neck. You want to make it last and John doesn’t blame you. It’s so rare you get to have each other so unrestrained. John can feel all the ways you want him, can see it in your face - all pinched with need. You’re holding yourself back, trying to get it to last as long as the night will allow. It’s cute in a way.

It’s different than how he’s used to seein’ you, all cocky or otherwise. You’re needy like this. Just needy. His stomach turns with lust, jolting through him like a strike of lightning. His cock twitches against your folds, sliding against them. Pure admiration watching the sticky mess of his pre-cum and your own arousal mix together and smear on your mound. You make a soft noise in the back of your throat, faint and tender as you fall forward just a little. John laughs against your neck. 

“Darlin’,” He says with a huff. Not malice. Something akin to bliss, where he can rarely afford it “Have I done something to piss you off today?” 

You pick yourself up and look down at him and frown. John kisses the corner of your mouth, resisting some crude desire to fuck up into you. 

“Just,” You grunt as the tip of his cock passes over your throbbing clit, your whole body wracking to a shiver. John looks awed. “Pent up. Goddamn it,” 

John figures it out quickly after that. It’s this part of it he likes. The proximity. The closeness. Feeling the tremble in your hands as they struggle to keep up right, muscles strained in your forearms. Being able to hold you, to keep the pace or let you take the lead. The clear view of your face as pleasure travels up through your spine and melts into you. He grabs your hips, the fat dimpling underneath his fingers as he moves you along. He can’t wait. You don’t bother to protest seeing John can’t seem to bear it anymore. You collapse into his chest, your tits pushed flat against his pecs.

His cock throbs near painfully, sliding against your soft cunt before finding himself lined with you. He thinks to himself that it’s this he was looking for, as he tucks your face against his neck and lets his tip stretch you out slowly. Such a vice like grip, stretching - resisting him like your whole body can’t anticipate the sensation of fullness. You gasp against his throat. 

“John,”  

What a sweet sound from your mouth, even sweeter as he bucks himself up. Keeps you steady and lets his cock stretch you full, feel you deep. “That’s right, my angel. Didn’t think you’d remember my name when you’re all worked up like this.” 

“You’re,” You gasp and John thrusts, thrusts hard until he’s buried to the hilt. You shudder, walls pulsing around him as he bottoms out and John laughs like the terrible man he is. He fucks you again, over and over - a wicked little smile watching “Awful. Just awful, John Marston,” 

“Ain’t that the truth,” He hums against your mouth as his hand snakes between your bodies, thumb rubbing against your clit. “Wonder what kinda woman that makes you,” 

“A foolish one,” 

John laughs. 

“I sure do love you for it,”

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆JAVIER ESCUELLA + SIDEWAYS ;

Javier hasn’t thought about much other than surviving. 

It’s been like that. Been like that for a while, probably much longer than he cares to admit. He’s sure any sane man would suffer the same plight if they lead the same life. Anything but survival is little more than a pipe-dream, so Javier tries not to go for anything too strongly. In that aspect he’s like many of the members of the gang he’s in, perhaps that’s why he sticks to them. There’s that phrase Hosea’s always saying - that misery loves company. Javier will take any decent company he can get.  He’s desperate for it just like he’s desperate for most things - inwardly, silently. 

Some of that desperation may be symptomatic of who he is. After he killed a man in a crime of passion for a woman he loved and ran from a government who would sooner exile him than change, Javier decided to not dream anymore. Every revolutionary who dreams too hopefully pays the price in blood.

(Javier thinks there’s probably nothing in the world as true as this. A form of gospel. He remembers the first dream he ever had after his uncle passed. Not a nightmare but a dream. He remembers the exact feeling of waking up, cold and confused. What is a dream, except a memento of survivor's guilt that loyal people cling onto fruitlessly. When hope starts to feel like a debt he’s going to waste his life paying back, Javier loses sight of everything. The beginning of the end in some way.) 

His mind doesn’t occupy itself with anything bigger than that. Since Dutch found him starving, there was never a desire to try and live off aspirations. He pays his penance with loyalty and honor. Practices some form of humility and tries, not too desperately, to carve a place for him to fit. All without drawing too much attention or caring too much. If you ignore the bleeding in his fingers, his penchant for knives over guns, and his refusal to talk too long about the place he comes from - it’s nearly believable that none of it matters. 

Except loyalty. All Javier honors is that. It’s the only thing he has some part in choosing, so he choses it every time. Living like that didn’t make any difference to him. He was surrounded by mostly decent people. He didn’t hate the life he was living. 

It wasn’t important. It didn’t matter. His directionless-ness, his floating. Hadn’t since he joined the gang. At least not to anyone but him. He didn’t know what he’s meant to do or if he was meant to proceed with this forever. He was (is)  loyal to Dutch. To the gang. 

He hadn’t thought much about what comes after. 

And it didn’t matter until he met you

He’d sworn off love after seeing where it got him, at least until he could love more dispassionately. When the women bring you back from their outing from Valentine and beg Dutch to let you stay, Javier doesn’t think much of it all. He thinks you’re pretty, if it counts for anything. But he doesn’t let himself linger on you too long. 

But that’s the sequence with you two, really. The whole time.  He doesn’t linger until he does. It doesn't matter until it does. He doesn’t think about you until it’s all he can think about. 

You go for him first. And it’s in little, unimportant ways that might not mean shit to you but mean a whole lot to him. You have some kind of tenderness about you that you wear deep, runs through your blood like love ran through his once long ago. Some softness he can’t really measure with his own. It’s not that that gets him. It’s that sometimes you look at Javier like he's … someone you want to see. He forgot what that was like all together. It felt foreign to him the first time it happened. Seeing how you light up when Javier is around. 

You wanted to see him. You noticed that he’s gone. If he sang by the campfire - you’d sit by him and listen.  If he was out in the trees keeping guard, he’d hear the soft call of your voice to Grimshaw ask Where’s Javier? And sometimes the girls will make fun of you - but you wouldn’t deny anything they said. It’s so small and ordinary. He would’ve never considered himself simple before meeting you. Nothing is simple. Nothing. 

(But then, Javier thinks of the kinds of songs he sings and the way he takes care of himself and the clothes he wears and maybe Javier has some kind of affinity for preciousness that explains all of it.) 

When Javier confesses his feelings for you - he finds the affair to be like most things between you. Ordinary love, not really between outlaws but people. It’s up against a tree while you share a drink and he’s looking at the curve of your mouth and the plum color Karen’s so kindly put on you. And his head fills with kissing you so he does. A breathless confession between alcohol stains and the feeling of your hands curled in the lapels of his suit. 

From there, Javier is your lover. He’s not interested in the business of secrets, but he tries not to let it show too much. Not that he doesn’t want to. He wants to show you off more than anything - at least some part of him does. But the other part wants to keep you away from prying eyes, keep his love for you only where the both of you can see. If he could keep that pretty lovestruck face you make all to himself forever he would. 

When he gets a chance to whisk you away from everything, Javier jumps at the chance. Not often, but Javier makes time for you. Makes time to indulge in love he thought he’d  never find again. 

That’s why he’s here with you in the middle of nowhere, a ghost town where no one knows you.. A reserved room with a bed and lowlights all to yourselves. 

Javier can’t keep his hands to himself and he doubts you expect him too. 

For Javier, this sense of proximity is what intoxicates him most. The warmth of your bare skin in the slivers of yourself exposed. Javier is fond of finding you like this after a long day of horse riding. Of sneaking touches to your waist as you push back against him to sleep, only to find his desire for you - laid clearly. He likes hearing you whimper feeling his length poke against your back, the embarrassment when it dawns on you that he wants you after all. Always surprised, even though Javier tells you it so often. Whispers it along your neck and shoulders whenever you’re at camp together.

You like the feeling of his hands so Javier always starts with them. He squeezes your hips. Planes his palms over your chest before squeezing your chest, pushing the fat between his fingers. You like the way  they look when they grope you, his chin resting against your shoulder as you spoon. In the lowlights of a cheap hotel - Javier gets the perfect view of your silhouette. Your body is sensitive over the fabric of your gown, heat prickling through you. 

Javier who is always so gentle with you, rouses so deep listening to your whining as he explores your body. The suffocating closeness of a single bed intoxicates him. 

“Javier,” Your voice is sweet and thin. Plays in Javier’s head like music and makes his mouth curl up into a catlike grin as you push back on him.  You look slightly over your shoulder, lips pushed into a pout. “Please,” 

He tugs at the fabric of your nightgown. The top half pulls haphazard underneath your tits, nipples perky and sensitive to touch while the skirt pools at your waist. What gets Javier like this is the desperation. Wanting so much but not being able to look too long. A way for you to mirror him, it’s a matter of possession. In some stupid way. Bunching your clothes up, pushing the fabric of your panties to one side, letting his arm wrap around your waist to touch and tease.  All of these are imprints of his longing, tucked faithful into your side as he whispers sweet nothings into your skin.

His cock twitches as it pushes past your folds with finality, your hands curling up at your sides.  You whimper softly, let your cheek rest against the sheets as Javier takes you on your side. Terribly close, you fuss as you feel him slide every inch into you slow, your hands reaching back for purchase. It’s the fit of you against him so perfect, the silent strokes of intimacy, the hush-hush giggles between the sheets that Javier loves most about fucking you like this. Too enamored with you to look too closely, he lets his eyes flutter closed. He could get drunk just being in your space. 

He carves out space for himself inside of you, feels your cunt accommodate for him like it loves him. A feverishness breaks out as his forehead rests on the space between your shoulders, an uncharacteristic whiny quality in his words. 

“Ser mío,” Javier says - as a reflection of what he really wants, to belong only to you. “Belong to me.” 

Darling as you always are, you nod softly. 

“All yours, Javier,” You whimper, finding his hand. “Forever,”

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆ CHARLES SMITH + MATING PRESS ; 

Wandering. 

He’s been doing it his whole life. Not something he’s proud of. Or ashamed of either, really. Just how things have gone for him until now. Charles doesn’t think his life has been any better or any worse than anyone else's. At least not when he weighs it with the same kind of pragmatism he does most things. It’s been a hard life, and a miserable one in so many ways. Still, it’s not something Charles is too keen to dwell on. 

There’s just something thematic about loss in Charles' life in a way he finds completely unpleasant. It’s more constant than anything. Loss of his home, loss of his mother, loss of his father in an attempt to find what’s best for him. It’s some overarching message that hangs over his head like a shadow. Everywhere he goes, trying to rectify his own solitude seems to come back to him. It doesn’t help that it’s an unfair world to start with, and would’ve been if he had just been black or just been native. But Charles is both, and has lived a life that reflects that specific injustice thoroughly. 

There’s not really anything Charles can do about it, at its baseline. When he left his father, the name of the game had simply been survival. He was well-equipped enough for that at least. But after survival comes trying to live and trying to live isn’t something so simple. Jumping in and out of gangs who thought they could get away with slighting him or generally being surrounded by unpleasant people. Trying to find something in pages of book and scripture, or in the way water ripples when it rains. 

He’s never felt any one way towards the gang. Even when he joined them all the way back in the Grizzlies. Lost in the cold, they’d crossed paths as Charles was out hunting. A lot of it feels like a blur. Of all the folks he’s met in his travels though, Dutch treats him fair and the rest of them (or most of them) are decent, honest folk. Charles stays in the Van Der Linde gang for such simple reasons as trying to stay alive and be somewhere that isn’t actively hostile towards him. He’s a good gunman, and a better fighter. The inner workings of gang politics and forging connection isn’t at the forefront of his mind, with the exception of the kindest few. 

The Van Der Linde gang is just a place where he can figure out what his purpose is meant to be, even if he doesn’t find it there. He’s never expecting anything to come out from his loyalties to it. 

Of all the things Charles expects of his life in the Van Der Linde gang, love is at the very bottom of the list. 

Maybe it’s about time he stops being surprised by these things happening to him one or way another.

 You were a member of the gang far before him, and someone Charles took to quickly. You’d joined the gang not too long after John from what Arthur tells him. Though the brunette speaks about you more fondly than he does his brother. A problem child at the start, according to Arthur - always getting into all sorts of trouble. Something you seemingly feel embarrassed about now and refuse to bring up. Charles has a hard time picturing it having only known you as you are. 

The woman you’ve grown into is someone else completely, and Charles sees that in you all the time. Compassionate like Hosea but charismatic like Dutch, and clever. And you’re beautiful, too, though Charles feels a little shallow admitting that’s part of what drew you into him. 

It wasn’t Charles that approached you first. You were the one who spoke to him, as often as you thought necessary but never in a way he found invasive. He doesn’t know what it is exactly about you that charms him near instantly. You’re enigmatic to a fault. It’s like you always know exactly what to say and exactly when to say it. Even more than that, you’re a terribly pleasant person to be around. Subtly warm and free of assumptions. When Charles talks to you about anything, you listen without making him feel like it’s any sort of burden to you. You don’t pry, don’t make missteps. Treat him fair, and then some. 

It’s unbearably simple, just how quickly and how easily he comes to adore you.  And, in some ways, Charles knows better than to believe that his purpose is loving someone. There’s more to it than that, surely - after everything. 

But then, he’ll watch you do something. Watch you do some kind of menial work that he could do for you instead. Thinks of skinning animals for new clothes and chopping wood and rubbing the soap off of you and all of a sudden it makes him feel anchored. Everything he could do for you. You anchor Charles easily, with a wispy smile. Make him want to find purpose in life with you. He never wants to be somewhere you’re not. 

He confesses it to you just like that, and like you do with most things - you accept and reciprocate without making too much of a fuss. 

For Charles, making love is an extension of wanting to ground himself in you. A distant siren song - the intersection of lust and bone deep adoration. Like most things, you’re the one to approach first every time. A soft hand on his forearm, a whisper that you want him. It’s with ease that he draws you away. Drags from you camp during nightfall with his horse and blankets and picks a spot with the perfect view of the stars. 

Charles watches you under the glow of moonlight, his vision adjusting to you easily. Naked underneath him, laid on your back with your legs folded at your knees - heaving deep breaths. He can see the sweat beading down your skin, your chest rising and falling - and the perfect view of your pussy. His hands and mouth are wet as you breathe out. He finds himself smiling at you, his own erection pressed against your thigh, pre-cum leaking out in a mesmerized haze. 

You lift your hands up and he leans down, surprised as you wrap them around his neck and pull him closer to you. Your mouths meet like that, and Charles laughs against your lips as you kiss him so eagerly. You blink at him, pretty. You’re always prettier than he remembers you being the last time he looks. 

“Charles,” You frown at him. “It’s impolite to keep a lady waiting,” 

He kisses the corner of your mouth. “Sorry, my love. I don’t want to hurt you,” 

“Well, I’m fine with it,” You repeat, almost petulant. Charles frowns. “‘Sides, it ain’t my first time taking you, you know?” 

“Well, I’m not fine with it.” 

You pout, looking at him all endeared. Charles couldn’t help but love you even if he tried. “You ain’t gonna hurt me. C’mon. Please?” 

“Please, what?” 

You look at him aghast before breaking out into a faux-scandalized giggle. “Now you—please fuck me. Pretty, please.” 

Charles feels something tickling against his spine hearing you say it. He couldn’t imagine getting sick of you in his whole life.  “Yeah, that’s good to hear.” 

You make an indignant noise but it’s silenced quickly as Charles positions himself against your entrance. He has plenty of discipline when it comes to matters like these, but right now - he feels like he’s going to lose his mind. Not nearly enough patience to wait. He lets his hands go up underneath your knees just to have something to hold onto. 

You make a little gasp as the tip of his cock pushes into you. Your walls are so soft, likely after all the orgasms he’d given you prior. You stop him in a shocked gasp, and Charles immediately readies himself to pull out. As if sensing his hesitance, you shake your head. 

“Charles,” You gasp, the words caught in your throat and hoarse “Deep. Want it deep,” 

His abdomen tightens, cocking twitching hard at your words. He agrees silently to your desires. 

When it comes to sex, there’s very little Charles dislikes.

But this is his favorite. He’s simple but no other position lets him see you so close. He likes the way your eyes widen as he pushes up underneath your knees and folds you underneath his weight. How you look pinned down under him, the perfect view of your eyes rolling back into your head and the proximity from your face to his. He lets his cock stretch you out slowly, throbbing each time your nails dig desperately into arms trying to keep your composure. Fuck you feel so tight like that. Soft pussy, dripping and sticky. You suck him in relentlessly, and Charles groans as he bottoms out. You take every inch of him so well. So perfect like the rest of you. 

Your eyes flutter open as he stays there, buried in you in complete bliss. You’re dazed. 

“Kiss?” 

Surprise followed by adoration, he abides by your request easily. Overwhelmed with it as he presses a chaste peck to your mouth, he laughs. “As many as you want.”

Anything you want, Charles thinks, he would give to you. 

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆

[risestarkiss]

Being Hamato Yoshi

Rise Ramblings #742

Splinter goes by many names.

Lou Jitsu is the name he used while clawing his way to fame in a cutthroat industry.

Hamato Yoshi is the name he was born with, a name that represented the Hamato legacy and the expectations of his family.

Then, when he found himself broken, mutated, and homeless, Splinter is the name that he took upon himself as he was now just a broken splinter off the once mighty Hamato family tree.

At that point in life Splinter was content with wallowing in his disenfranchisement and grieved over what once was and what would never be. The television became a comfort and a means to soothe his all-encompassing depression (as discussed in “What they Became.”)

Nonetheless, slowly but surely, something began to draw his attention away from mourning himself and his past life.

That “something” was his sons.

He falls into his role as a sensei simply enough (between cake, naps, and a commercial or two, of course.)

But, in due time, something within him changes as well.

It’s hard to tell when that change happened but the former ways of the Hamato clan eventually and intrinsically unearthed itself.

The same way that his grandfather pushed the Hamato legacy onto him is the same way that he ultimately pushes that legacy onto his sons.

But history repeats itself. Just like he did, his boys also buckle under the pressure of their family name.

This time, though, Splinter learns from the mistakes of his elders and apologizes, thus becoming the accepting and accommodating parental figure he needed all those years ago.

Likewise, over time, he begins to find a new purpose. His unique experiences have left him with a specific type of wisdom, a wisdom that only comes from being Lou Jitsu, Hamato Yoshi, and Splinter.

Therefore, instead of looking within, he begins the altruistic work of looking outward in order to help his family, friends, and the people he cares about the most.

With his healthier state of mind, he is finally able to move on and look forward at the brightened path of his future, their future.

By being Lou Jitsu the superstar, Hamato Yoshi, the carrier of the Hamato legacy, and Splinter the lowly rat, he finds himself with a new name, yet it’s his highest honor to date and is a name that can only be earned...

He’s their Dad.

○○○○

Previous | Being Big Red • Being Baby Blue • Being Purple ○ Part One • Being Purple ○ Part Two • Orange, Baby!

○○○○

Phew. And that's that!

This is the finale of the "Being" series. (What a journey that was.) Thank you for all of the love and support.

See you at my next project...

[gay-dorito-dust]

can i request hcs of gallagher, jing yuan and sunday falling for a criminal? would they try to bring them to the “good” side?

Sunday: I’m kinda 50/50 on Sunday tbh…

He could persuade/ manipulate you into abandoning your old ways into being with him with promises that he could provide the materials you want/need tenfold.

You had been causing issues for him and the family so why not have you under his roof as his partner? It gets the family off of his back and he gets what he wants.

It was a win-win situation.

You don’t get much of a choice in this situation as Sunday had already put everything in motion long before your fated meeting.

Sunday had kept an eye on you from the moment you started causing problems and ever since then had become a thorn in the family’s side and had grown somewhat of an obsession.

Was it healthy? No but anything Sunday did to earn your eyes on him wasn’t ever healthy, but he likes to believe it was.

While you did get out of a life of crime, was it really better when your new life was spent under constant surveillance from your loving partner and were often refused leave from the house in fear that you were still wanted by the family?

Sunday does love you but it wasn’t a healthy type of love people were tricked into believing…

Gallagher: would have a bit a fun with your little car and mouse game at first.

You being the criminal and him being the one entrusted to put a stop to you schemes.

As long as you weren’t making him work hard nor hurting/killing people and causing mass hysteria then Gallagher was more then willing to let you get away a few times cuz that’s his job

He’d even suggest that you should come to the bar he works on the side in his spare time for a drink and a chat.

You naturally thought this was a rouse and didn’t go but Gallagher was able to persuade you into coming by saying that Gallagher the bloodhound and Gallagher the mixologist were two separate people who ran on two different times.

Needless to say that you began to frequent the bar more often after that and even got to open up to Gallagher about the reasons why you’ve became a criminal.

Gallagher would then help you in getting on the right path by having you bartend with himself and or Siobhan -someone who quickly became one of your closest friends- who knew about Gallagher’s feelings towards you and will occasionally act as his wingman.

After awhile you’ve left the life of crime behind you and become a bartender for the DreamJolt Hostelry in the Reverie.

It wasn’t long before Gallagher asked you out on a date and then later be in a beautiful relationship with you much to everyone in the DreamJolt Hostelry’s relief. They’ve spent long enough not trying to comment on the evident tension between the two of you.

Jing yuan:

He would try to bring you to the good side but not just because he was a crush on you, but more so the fact that you were wasting your time and effort on something that he though was beneath someone of your calibre.

He sees your potential and is impressed but was saddened that your potential was dwindled by the fact that you had resorted to a life of crime.

I mean you must be something if you’ve caught the Generals attention for him to put so much investment in you.

So he would always seemingly be where you are and talks some wisdom into you about how you shouldn’t settle for less just because you thought that was all that your worth. When in actuality you were only relaying on the words other people have used to describe you, rather then let yourself determine your actual worth, which was far greater then the one you’ve given yourself to settle with.

Jing yuan will try to sway you into making the right decision. He firmly believes that you were the only one who should willing make the choice to actively make change to your lifestyle, no one else should have any say in what you do with your life but you.

Whether it’d be good or bad. Life was a lesson that we’re all constantly learning from on a daily basis. We’re not the same person as we were yesterday or the day before and Jing Yuan firmly believed this and was willing to wait as long as it took for you to make the right decision for yourself.

Which you do and from then does Jing Yuan focused on building your relationship in hopes of a potential chance of it becoming romantic.

[sydsaint]

A little taste of what's to come with our fav GM Reader and her boys. <3

Summary: GM reader flexes her hard-earned experience and the benefits that come with it to Ava at a draft meeting. But offering Ava some wisdom isn't the only thing that she's got on the agenda.

"Your boys lost the match fair and square, Pearce." You smile across the table at your fellow general manager. "Which means that Smackdown gets first dibs at the NXT roster, courtesy of Ava, of course." You turn in your chair to face Ava sitting a few seats away from you.

Ava flashes a friendly smile at you. This is her first WWE draft meeting, so she's still in the feeling-out process of everything. "I'm just happy to be here." She admits.

"And we're happy to have you here." Pearce nods. "But back to business. YN, do you have a pick from the NXT roster to kick the night off?" He turns back to you.

"I do, yes." You grin and twirl your pen in your hand before pulling open the vanilla folder in front of you. "Smackdown will be taking Carmelo Hayes as our first pick from NXT." You inform the room.

A knowing scoff escapes Pearce's lips. He taps his pen against his palm and nods at you. "Excellent choice, YN." He compliments you. "Your eye for talent never ceases to amaze me." He adds knowingly.

"What can I say, Adam? I can't help but have good taste." You laugh and wink at him playfully.

The meeting drags on for a few more hours while you and Pearce go back and forth on draft picks. Ava chimes in when one of you has a question about the NXT roster, but otherwise stays silent and soaks in all the information she can get. Ava especially keeps a keen eye on you. She aspires to be like you one day. A strong woman that commands authority and understands the inner-workings of the company like the back of your hand.

After the meeting finally comes to an end, both you and Pearce are feeling satisfied with your respective picks. The two of you shake hands and part ways until the next executive meeting or PLE show. You are just about shoot the boys a text that you're finished up with your meeting when Ava approaches.

"YN! Hey, again." Ava cracks a friendly and eager smile as she walks over to you.

"Hmm?" You glance up from your phone. "Oh, Ava! What's up, girl?" You greet her.

Ava bounces on her heels nervously and smiles at you. "Sorry to bother you." She bites the inside of her cheek. "But I was hoping that we could talk for a minute?"

"Yeah, sure." You nod and pocket your phone. "I've got some time before my date gets here."

Ava nods and the two of you move to a more comfortable spot to chat for a bit. You both take a seat out in the outdoor lounge and take advantage of the warm sun still hanging in the sky.

"You were great earlier." Ava starts the conversation. "I mean. It's so cool how you manage to control the narative when you're negotiating with Pearce." She gushes. "That's what I want."

"Thanks, Ava." You giggle at her awe of you. "You did good for your first draft meeting too." You offer her an encouraging smile. "I know you haven't been in charge of the NXT roster for long. But you seem to have a good handle on it. Your knoledge of everyone really helped Pearce and I out with our picks." You assure her.

The smile on Ava's face grows wider at your encouraging words. "Thanks, YN. That really means a lot." She blushes.

"Of course!" You nod. "You've got a bright future kid." You knock into her shoulder playfully.

You and Ava chat for a while about work. You offer her some tips about things that you had to learn the hard way in order to move up in the business. Ava soaks up the information and doesn't hesitate to ask questions, which you like.

"Hey, I actually have another question for you." Ava prepares to drop another ask on you. Not that you mind. "If you don't mind, that is." She adds.

"Ask away." You smile at her.

Ava picks at her nails for a second before nervously meeting your gaze. "Are the rumors true about you, LA Knight, Grayson Waller, and Austin Theory?" She asks you sheepishly.

A laugh falls from your lips upon hearing Ava's question. "Well it's no secret that Knight and I have a special relationship." You half-answer her. "But when it comes to Theory and Waller? Well, some things are better left to the imagination, don't you think, Ava?" You tease her and your phone buzzes in your pocket.

You take out your phone and quickly read the new message. Ava watches you curiously as you rise to your feet and pocket your phone before pulling down your sunglasses.

"You're doing great as the GM of NXT." You praise Ava one last time. "But don't ever forget that being the GM comes with it's own special perks." You grin at her as a fast-sounding car whips into the parking lot.

Ava watches you gesture for her to follow you as the luxury car sounds closer and closer. She follows you out to the front of the building where she spots the luxury car she heard now sitting still. LA Knight leans against the drivers-side door and nods to Ava when he sees her.

"You out here picking up strays now, darlin?" Knight peers at you over the rim of his aviators.

"Just giving a newbie some tips from a pro." You grin back at him. "You ready to go? The boys are starting the party without us from the text I just got from the pretty boy." You add.

Knight chuckles and walks around the car to get the door for you. "The party don't really start until you get there, sweetheart. You know that."

"Take care Ava!" You offer Ava one last wave. "Shoot me a message if you ever need anything, alright, girl?" You add.

"Yeah! Okay!" Ava nods, her eyes sparkling with awe as you dissapear into the car.

Knight walks back around the car and pulls his glasses down to get a good look at Ava. "You have a nice rest of your day, sweetheart." He shoots a wink at her before pushing his glasses back up and disapearing into the car as well.

Ava watches the car speed out of the parking lot and shakes her head. Oh yeah. She's definetly got a new role model to look up to.

In the car you laugh with Knight regarding your little display. "Oh her face was so cute." You giggle.

"She did looked pretty shocked, yeah." Knight agrees. "How'd the meeting go with Pearce?" He asks you.

You smile to yourself and look at Knight knowingly. "It went great. Smackdown is about to become the A-show again. Trust me on that, babe." You laugh to yourself. "Because I've got Carmelo Hayes in my office on Friday night. And he's all mine to work with."

"Hayes, huh?" Knight glances over at you for a brief second. "You ain't looking to add another boytoy to the roster, are you?" He asks you.

"We'll see." You shrug, plans for new rivalries and storylines already forming in your head.

[harmonysanreads]

Please please please expand on those Vampire Lord!Archon thoughts! Vamp!Zhongli who seems the most calm but you forget the fact he is one of the most feared lords for a reason. Vamp!Ei who wants to keep everything in a stasis, the one most tempted to turn you because it would lock your appearance for eternity. Vamp!Nahida who you trust the most due to her child appearance as compared to the adults, not telling the difference between her wisdom and lies. Vamp!Venti who teases you by playing songs of freedom which both soothe and hurt you. In love with it-

So am I :>

Vampire!Zhongli's sophisticated countenance is such a far cry from what lies underneath, regardless of how politely he treats you, you're never left feeling as though you aren't walking on eggshells around him. As the eldest vampire lord, he behaves and expects things to be in a certain way. You can tell that the characteristics of his youth still lay slumbering somewhere from how concise he is of his intentions to you and from how hard he bites down. Really, you would've never gotten the vaguest hints of something far more terrifying and carnal inside him had it not been for such moments.

Vampire!Ei is seldom present in the throne room, a puppet instead taking her place as she contemplates the affairs of the world. You were astonished when you came to know of this, for, what kind of artificial life form looks this scarily live? Who knows what else the Vampire Lords have hidden. Despite the vacancy of the feared actual Raiden Shogun, her claim is engraved in your being. She's the most adamant on eliminating the ephemera of your beauty since the start. You could put her obsession against Zhongli's possessive behavior and it would almost emerge victorious.

Vampire!Venti is unpredictable, a little too unpredictable perhaps. If you ignored his agonizing teasing, then he would seem to be so great. Granted, he's always dragging you wherever he pleases and maintains a suffocating hold throughout, never shy of his bloodthirst but still, at least you can be unrestrained in his presence. Though, you could appreciate his melodies more if they weren't always intent on hypnotizing you and required the interruption of the other lords to save your sanity.

Vampire!Nahida (platonic) has always had a soft spot for weak things. She's also second to Ei in terms of turning you. She's been neglected quite a lot by her people until recently so she knows the feelings of powerlessness, inferiority and fear better than the other Lords. She actually feels, thus, she has managed to earn a special place in your heart and you, in hers. Nahida is attached to you to a degree the wisdom she's crowned for steps down from making decisions. Her youthful appearance and erudite reputation always kill any suspicion at its incipiency as well. But you can trust this much that her care for you is far more sincere than the others'.

[syuga-s]

the art of seduction... and hair pulling

w.c. I genuinely don't know around 2.6k (???)

pairing. Oikawa x female!reader, implied Makki x reader & Iwaizumi x reader i'm sorry

genre. crack, suggestive

a/n. haikyuu girl what are you doing here!!! I got carried away. A lot. I was planning on doing a blurb, a short imagine for fuck's sake, BUT HERE WE ARE. be wary of guy friends who will tug on your hair with no warning, they're out there ☝️ curse words here and there 👍

Friends since high school, you and your close-knit group, the infamous Seijoh Four and your best friend Momo. It was just supposed to be a night out with your friends. Those four plus you and Momo. A casual night out. You had gone to one of your fave spots in town, an outdoor brewery, one of the few calm places where there was a table big enough for all of you.

Oikawa was deep into a conversation with Makki and Mattsun while you were talking with Iwaizumi beside you and Momo in front of you. Each group in their own topic. Tonight you were in the middle of Oikawa and Iwaizumi, while the other side sat with Mattsun, Makki and Momo in that order.

Momo leaned in conspiratorially, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "So, have you heard about Iwa's last ex?" she begins, her voice dropping to a hushed whisper.

Iwaizumi raises an eyebrow, clearly not thrilled about the direction the conversation is taking. "Oh, not this again," he mutters.

As Momo's words hang in the air, you can't help but lean in, curiosity piqued. "spill it," you urge, a playful smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

Iwaizumi lets out a resigned sigh, knowing there's no escaping the impending gossip. "Fine, but keep it down," he says, glancing around to make sure no one nearby can overhear. "What about her?"

"Oh, I've got to hear this," you declare, unable to contain your excitement.

Iwaizumi lets out a long-suffering sigh, shooting Momo a playful glare. "You know what, I thought we agreed to leave my dating disasters in the past," he grumbles with amusement in his eyes.

Momo waves off his protests with a dismissive flick of her hand. "Oh, come on, Iwa-chan, it's all in good fun," she insists, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

In the same table you could also hear,

"I'm telling you, guys, it's all in the wrist action," Oikawa insists, his voice laced with a hint of smugness.

Makki chuckles, shaking his head in amusement. "And here I thought you were just born with that perfect hair-pulling technique," he teases, earning a playful shove from Matsukawa.

Oikawa and your other two friends were talking about the proper way to pull someone's hair while you're at it, Oikawa was pretty sure, if not a 100% sure, he had the supreme technique, the mother of all of them.

"Alright, so picture this," Oikawa begins, his eyes gleaming with mischief as he leans in closer to Makki and Mattsun. "You're with a girl, right? And you want to add a little extra... to the moment."

Makki nods eagerly, a grin spreading across his face. "I'm listening," he says, leaning in closer to catch every word.

Oikawa flashes them a confident smirk before continuing. "So, you start by gently running your fingers through her hair," he explains, his voice taking on a theatrical flair. "And then, just when she least expects it, you give a little tug."

Matsukawa raises an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "And what's the secret to the perfect tug?" he asks, crossing his arms with an unamused tone.

Oikawa grins, clearly enjoying being the center of attention. "Ah, my dear friends, that is the million-dollar question," he replies, his voice dripping with faux wisdom. "You see, it's all about the timing and the angle. Too hard, and you risk pulling her hair out. Too soft, and it's just not as satisfying."

Makki and Mattsun exchange amused glances, barely able to contain their laughter at Oikawa. "Write that down, write that down," Makki chuckled while hitting Mattsun’s arm.

Having you next to him was perfect for the coming demonstration.

Unbeknownst to you, Oikawa's claims of expertise would soon be put to the test. In a daring move, he seized the opportunity to demonstrate his supposedly flawless technique, entangling his fingers in your hair and giving it a sudden tug. The shock of the unexpected sensation rippled through you, and a soft whimper escaped your lips, instantly catching the attention of your friends.

The air crackled with silent acknowledgment, each member of the group acutely aware of what just happened.

The suddenness of the noise caught you off guard. After that sound came out of your mouth, your eyes flew open in shock. Shocked of having done that noise? While in front of all your friends? Did they hear? The truth was – they had. Of course they did. Only someone who wasn’t paying attention didn’t get to hear you. All of the people in this table got to hear you whimper with the little action your dear friend over here did.

A single thought echoed in your mind. Oikawa what the fuck?

You blinked a few times. As your eyes met with Momo's amused gaze, you saw she was having a hard time keeping her laughter to herself. Next, you turned to Iwaizumi, noting how he was clenching his jaw and the subtle movement of his Adam's apple as he avoided meeting your eyes. Now Makki. His hand was covering his mouth not actually in shock, but with both of his eyebrows raised, you could see a blend of amusement and disbelief, a mirror to your own expression, while Mattsun's swift return to his beer signaled his desire to move past the subject.

“See? I told you it works. I’ve perfected it over time.”

You jerked your head to the side, eyes wide as you tried to process the startling words of this fucker. A fucker who dared turn you on in front of all your friends.

Oikawa's audacious declaration jolted you into reality. His casual demeanor only fueled the disbelief and arousal swirling within you, leaving you speechless and utterly flustered.

“Excuse me, I’ll be right back,”

As you excused yourself to visit the bathroom, the scolding at the table started, with a newfound focus on nagging Oikawa for his move. Momo took the lead, her voice carrying a playful reminder as she wagged her hand at Oikawa. "Oikawa, you can't just go around pulling people's hair like that!" she chided, though a glint sparkled in her eyes, softening the scolding tone. Iwaizumi chimed in with a mock-serious expression, his deep voice laced with amusement. "Yeah, next time, at least buy her dinner first or something," he quipped, earning a round of laughter from the group.

Makki and Mattsun joined in the teasing, their playful banter serving to diffuse any tension. "Come on, Oikawa, we all know you think you’re smooth and all that, but that was a bit much," Makki teased, his grin infectious as he hit Oikawa's shoulder. Mattsun, ever the voice of reason, poked some fun too. "You're lucky she didn't slap you," he joked, raising his glass in a mock-toast to their friend's boldness.

Oikawa’s gaze lingered on the spot where you had disappeared to the bathroom. An impish grin tugged at the corners of his lips. He pushed himself away from the table, something naughty about his aura.

‘I’ll be right back,’ he announced casually, his voice barely above a whisper but loud enough for his friends to hear. Without waiting for a response, he sauntered away from the table, his steps purposeful as he made his way to find you.

Makki and Mattsun exchanged a knowing look, their grins widening as they watched their friend’s calculated move.

“Do we all know where he’s off to?” Makki mused, his voice low enough to make the remaining ones at the table hear him.

Mattsun chuckled softly, taking a sip of his drink before offering his own theory. “Probably to continue his little game with y/n,” he replied, a hint of amusement coloring his tone. “That man doesn’t know when to quit.”

Their conversation was punctuated by Momo’s playful jab, her eyes alight with mischief. “I think Oikawa enjoys stirring up things with her just for the thrill of it,” she quipped.

Iwaizumi couldn't help commenting “Honestly, I think y/n knows exactly what she’s doing too,” he remarked. “She’s always had Shittykawa wrapped around her finger,”

"Wouldn’t surprise me if she gets him about to bust one before we even leave this place,”

"Yeah I remember that time y/n whispered something in my ear that had me blushing for hours. She fucking knows how play with you" Makki smirked.

Mattsun chuckles, shaking his head in amusement. “I guess we've been spared from y/n’s mischief so far,”

“Right, Iwa? Momo?”

Iwaizumi’s lips quirk into a knowing smirk, his gaze flickering briefly to Momo before returning to Mattsun. “Oh, yeah that's right” he replied cryptically. Plainly brushing him off.

Back in the bathroom you couldn't suppress the laughter bubbling up within you at the absurdity of the situation. Despite of having felt embarrassed for a couple of minutes. That actually turned you on. Of course, Oikawa and you have flirted a few times before. It was in both of your natures but tonight it opened a door. You bit your lip as you fixed your hair in the mirror, a mischievous glint danced in your eyes, reflecting a latent desire stirring.

Just as you left the bathroom, to your surprise, there stood Oikawa, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. His presence caught you off guard, yet you couldn't deny the rush of anticipation that surged through you at the sight of him. "Well, well, well, look who it is," he teased, his voice laced with amusement as he leaned against a door frame, his gaze locking with yours.

As Oikawa began to close the distance between you, his presence seemed to fill the entire room, enveloping you in a heady mix of excitement. You couldn't help but feel small in comparison to his commanding presence, his height and confidence casted a spell over you. Your eyes traced the lines of his figure, taking in every detail, from the confident tilt of his head to the way his shirt clung to his muscular frame.

The air between you thickened and got hotter. Feeling small under his imposing presence, you let your eyes roam over his figure, taking in the way he filled the space around you.

Now it was your turn to toy with him. In a moment of daring impulse, fueled by the charged atmosphere between you, you decide to trace the contours of his torso, your fingertips trembling with anticipation as they hovered over his defined muscles.

As your hand traced him, lingering over the defined curve of his pec, you felt a surge of boldness wash over you. With each deliberate touch, you reveled in the sensation of his warmth beneath your fingertips, relishing the way he responded to your teasing caress.

Oikawa was battling within himself, torn between the desire to reciprocate and the temptation to let you take the lead. He longed to tangle his fingers in your hair once again, or to feel the warmth of your skin beneath his touch. Yet, a voice of restraint urged him to hold back, to savor the moment and revel in your boldness. Wrestling with his impulses, he decided to wait, allowing you to dictate the pace for now, but eagerly anticipating the moment when he could fully engage in this game between you two.

Your eyes, locked in a magnetic gaze with his own, refused to waver, captivated by the depth and intensity of his caramel-colored irises. It was as if they held a secret language, speaking volumes without uttering a single word.

You could feel the heat radiating between you, a palpable energy that pulsed in the air around you. You edged closer to him, close enough to have him smell the intoxicating scent of your freshly shampooed hair mingled with your perfume, the very same perfume he found utterly irresistible and loved since years ago. It was a scent that consistently drew him to your side, the very reason he always sought out the seat next to you in any setting.

Your lips got dangerously close to his own, and he could swear that the same soft whimper you let out a few minutes ago was going to escape his mouth.

With a teasing smile, you leaned back slightly, the warmth of your breath grazing his lips tantalizingly. "See? I have my own tricks too," you whispered, your voice a playful melody that danced in his ears.

As your lips parted from his, a surge of anticipation rippled through him, leaving him longing to clash his lips against yours. But before he could act, your mouth moved to his ear, your words sending a shiver down his spine. "I had to even the score, don’t you think?" you murmured, the gentle tease laced with a hint of filthiness.

As you both return to the table, you notice a fresh round of beers waiting for you, courtesy of your friends.

Their eyes flicker between you and Oikawa, a knowing grin spreading across their faces as they take in his subtle change in expression.

Momo raises an eyebrow playfully. "Looks like someone's got a lot on their mind," she teases, her voice laced with amusement. Iwaizumi offers a knowing smirk, his gaze lingering on Oikawa for a moment before he takes a sip of his drink. "What's got you all worked up, Oikawa?" he asks, his tone light but not passing on the opportunity to embarrass him a bit.

Makki and Mattsun, sharing a silent chuckle as they await Oikawa's response.

Oikawa chuckles nervously, trying to maintain his composure as he feels the weight of everyone’s gaze on him. “Oh, you know, just contemplating the mysteries of the universe,” he quips.

“Bullshit my guy,” you finally said. Pride written all over your face.

Makki's mischievous grin widens as he leans in, unable to resist adding fuel to the fire. "Don’t tell me you’re actually blushing bro," his tone light-hearted but teasing. Oikawa's cheeks flush even more at the remark, and he shoots Makki a mock glare.

Matsukawa chimes in with a smirk, "I thought you were the 'Grand King' Oikawa. Can't handle a little friendly ribbing?"

Between his nerves and his brain recovering from what you did to him, what Oikawa actually heard was, “Can't handle a little friendly rubbing?" And Oikawa's eyes widened slightly, a subtle shift in his demeanor as he realizes the implications of Matsukawa's words.

Oikawa’s voice raised an octave in panic, “WHAT DID YOU SEE?”

Iwaizumi’s smirk widened as he saw his friend's reaction, "Relax, Oikawa," he replies. "We didn't see anything, but your reaction says it all.”

Makki, always the one to jump in with his comments, couldn't resist adding his two cents. "y/n, honey, remind me to never play with your hair," a playful wink sent to you.

bonus. because i'm in love with iwa-chan and i couldn't help imagine this part even though it doesn't fit the story anymore

As the night went on, Iwaizumi found himself gravitating towards you more often than usual, his protective instincts kicking in. Whether it was subtly adjusting his position to make you more comfortable, offering you his jacket when the evening air turned colder, or simply engaging you in conversation with a gentle smile, his actions speak volumes about his care and concern for you. You can't help but feel a warmth spreading in your chest each time he looks out for you. Iwaizumi ended up leaning over and pulled you into a sideways hug, his arm draped casually around your shoulders. With a warm smile, he squeezes you gently, his voice soft as he says, “You feeling okay?” Not sure if he meant something regarding your alcohol intake or something about what happened tonight. Regardless, feeling the comforting weight of his arm around you, you lean into his embrace, grateful for having him in your life, like this.

[barbika1508]

Vicious malevolent dragon (Dragon!Min Yoongi x Reader)

Words: 6,1k

Genre: Dragon AU, Romance, Soulmates/ Mates, Smut

Pairing: Dragon!Min Yoongi x Reader

Warnings: Mention of torture and abuse // Knotting, Possessiveness, Praise kink

Summary: Rural villages all hide secrets. Not this one. This one rejoices in the taking of a life once a year to pay for their foolish assumption of safety very much delusional. Not only does the chosen maiden get to live, she finds the love of her life who would burn the world down for her.

Author’s note: Hydria – water jar (pottery) This was inspired by a fic on AO3 which for the life of me I can’t track down.

/ BTS Masterlist /

The smell of smoke fills my lungs from top to bottom making it hard to breathe the burning taking up my attention as my eyes spill with tears, cries choked out of me specially thanks to the jostling of my body, tremors and harsh holds leaving nasty bruises and wounds in their wake.

Though haziness my attempt at escaping has been prevented as they’ve captured me. My feeble attempts at punching and kicking earn me harsher push backs, as I’m slammed onto the ground, my limbs pulled uncomfortably as restrains fasten inhumanely leaving me bound, unmoving and crying out in pain. The self-preservation part of me has me wiggle around.

In retaliation I receive a punishment in the form of a hit delivered to my right side cracking my ribs. Another follows as my legs get pulled twisted one over another the restraints digging into my ankles splitting skin and drawing blood.

Another scream leaves my parted mouth as the smoke remains enveloping me, the dizziness it’s bringing hurting the most. The ash-iness of it almost comforts me, lack of warmth terrifying as my body rests bare to many unwanted eyes the chill of the night air keeping me further awake into the nightmare.

Grubby hands force rings, bracelets, necklaces pounds of golden jewellery over my restrained limbs, breaking and twisting fingers and bones the added weight another restraint from freedom.

The chanting and cheering from people rise in volume, gleeful laughter piercing the air, manic in comparison to my torment and despair sinking its claws in me air something I’m able to sob for barely getting any as the townsfolk swing their blazing torches near my face my body, forcing me to inhale the smoke that’s ruining and eating up my lungs.

Through half blinded gaze I spot disfigured greedy grins, colourful and flower-patterned attire’s mocking me as they lead me towards death.

Even children aren’t merciful their giggle’s terrifying in the back as they shout insults that I’m sure they will get chided for come tomorrow. The devils come out at night they say.

A cry tears its way from my throat leaving me with an iron taste. I barely am able to spit it out the bile of the smoke halted as they slam me onto something metallic, the hit to the back of my head leaving my vision spinning as well as my thoughts, pain mercilessly keeping me awake. I register the way they pull my hands above my head, my twisted legs fixated.

The smoke of torches returns drying out my tears, as my head gets positioned to lie facing the empty vast night sky, stars beyond unrecognizable as the darkness overpowers the fog before my eyes. I can spot licks of flames from the torches that for the first time since regaining consciousness reman at bay as a man’s voice booms in the clearing, his croaking laughter ending whatever speech or words of supposed wisdom he pridefully spoke.

It goes eerie quiet while dark spots begin to swim in my eyes, consciousness finally slipping as I’m ready to accept death, to be relieved of the evens and the final moments of my life. I am almost thankful for the lack of vision as I’m spared from clear images of my disfiguration – of my own murder.

The roar from a beast is heard loud and clear rattling everyone till the bones, the sound petrifying as it echoes in the clear of the night.

As the crowd of murderess roar in triumph, cheers of supposed victory overpowering, deafening me in the protest only then do I feel fear sink into me. Pain demands to be felt there is no way out of it but to endure. But panic has its way of crawling under one’s skin, seizing up the body and mind taking mindless control of one’s actions and reactions.

The roaring of the beast whom we were all told since birth to always hide and run away from. And yet those fears I’ve had since I was a babe don’t compare to the horrifying shouts of joy and delight coming from none other than humans.

The monsters, devils that begin to leave to their festivities, they are the terrors to fear – their ruthlessness harsher than any mindless creature can deliver.

Still persistent my mind stays awake even if everything else begins to shut down, body ablaze with pain I cannot even comprehend anymore – cannot begin to describe as it has no beginning and no end.

I barely flinch at a whistle ringing out near my ear something like a breath fanning near my right side, a touch to my entangled hair adorned with jewels and gold unfazing me.

‘’You should have said yes to my marriage proposition.’’ The voice says with elation tutting after ‘’Such a shame.’’

The roar and flap of what I can only assume are wings sound closer the humming of the man taunting renewing tears behind my eyelids ‘’Sacrifices are always fun don’t you think?!’’

For starters I wake up gasping for air, lungs working double the speed to regain the loss of oxygen. My body lunges forth sitting upright fingers curling in fists as my eyes dart around the dark room searching for the danger present. Lucky, nothing of sorts looms anywhere near besides the dying embers coming from my left and the midst of the spacious room the bonfire serving to warm me during these cold nights and to cook meals from.

Despite the emptiness my senses remain on alert even as my hands fall over my lap exhaustion following. Drenched in sweat I smack my dry mouth a few times the taste unpleasant the nightmare having rattled me, the remnants of it causing shivers to run down my spine, goosebumps a side effect.

I contemplate moving not really wanting to leave the safe haven of the makeshift bed built from rich furs but the dryness in my throat only gets more persistent and the uncomfortableness of my night shirt clinging to my back growing.

Pushing myself up I crawl over until my bare feet press against the stone of the carved-out floors that have been smoothed out. Reaching for my boot’s my body aches muscles tense, even as I push myself onto my feet.

Stopping near the dying heart, I blow onto the embers a few times adding two smaller logs onto them the fire quick to catch on rekindling and growing anew providing more light to the closed off space.

The cold in the air isn’t bothersome or all that noticeable to my overheated skin, but it brings back that familiar odd sensation of feeling too exposed. Even if I am the only occupant of the mountain. Heading to the opposite side from the furs I peek into the closed off chamber the mountains of gold and treasures strewn across the cave room, additions of books and weapons thrown to the side the piles noticeably smaller signalling the novelty to the hoard.

Sidestepping past them, I reach the makeshift wardrobe that has been halfway built clothes lying folded instead of hung. By passing them I grab for the fur cloak I’m most familiar with, one than completely covers my body and keeps me warm no matter what I wear underneath.

Feeling slightly more comforted I make my way back into the living space towards a particular chest which contains some meat to be eaten tomorrow, along with one piece of bread and randomly picked fruit from two days ago. At the cheat’s side lies a hydria thankfully replenished with water from the stream just outside around the corner of the hidden cave I’m safely tucked in.

I greedily drink the cool liquid not caring of the possibility of a sore throat as I’m more starved of liquid than I assumed I was.

Once the water spills past my lips I slow down my haste catching my breath, at least feeling somewhat better. Tucking the jar back into its place I offer a glance at the empty furs, the appeal non-existent anymore.

My feet lead me towards the exit on their own passing the narrow passage newly built, a huge boulder having been laid in front of what used to be a vast open space into the cave now concealed.

The bite of the cold I welcome as it nips at my cheeks and nose awakening me further. The tiredness still lingers it always does but the change is welcomed as I lay my eyes on the vast forest stretching bellow. Walking to the edge of the ledge my knees buckle as I make myself comfortable sitting on the ground burrowing in the cloak, consoled by the smell of smoke that clings to the fur.

Yawning quietly, I observe the area my eyes drawn to the light protruding in the darkness peeking over hilltops neatly tucked away in shelter. I scoff turning my attention upwards to the half full moon my heart always fluttering whenever I see it and the stars. The constellations as always draw themselves inside my mind connecting right in front of my eyes brining a smile to my lips.

To think I almost lost my sight.

I sigh as my body begins to ache the familiar ghost of old pains arising, specially whenever the moon is nearing its fulness the magic tug from it always demanding to be felt. But as I once felt fear of its power, I’ve embraced its light instead.

I shudder as a breeze wafts past ruffling my hair that lays unruly around my head and shoulders. My teeth chatter together for a mere moment. I welcome the cold that cools my skin having turned it rosy, pink.

Closing my eyes, I let my head lull towards the sky, an old lullaby surfacing in the back of my mind brisk to make an appearance as my voice comes out in a hum the melody getting lost in the air.

Soon enough the familiar flapping of wings pierces gently through the odd haze I’ve lulled myself into. Upkeeping the melody my hum softens as my eyes fall open upturned towards the moon, a shadow passing by it – something that would alarm any normal being.

And yet here I am with my heart fluttering in my chest, my woes melting away, tension lessening from my entire being. As I fall silent the sound disappears leaving me all alone the whispers from the wind playing with the mountain peaks making its own song along. I try pinpointing his entrance liking to pretend I have a keen sense for him. As I glance above my head half expecting his descend to be dramatic, I’m left with a smile as I turn to look to my left straightening my back meeting with silver orbs resembling igneous silver.

The hulking beast that towers higher than any common house, larger than three wagons combined, bigger than life itself I’d say begins to shift, shrinking in size the sounds of bones shifting and cracking not fear inducting as it used to be. Throughout its change I keep my eyes fixated on its eyes relieved of the loneliness from the past two days getting erased instantaneously.

Remaining seated on my spot with my legs crossed – mostly due to his many chidings and scolding’s whenever I sit near the edge – I watch silently as a humanoid form of a man appears from the shadows two horns remaining atop of the male’s head his silhouette entrancing as always.

Stepping closer I pick up on coins cluttering together a sack revealing itself thanks to the light of the moon a moment further. Besides, it lay a couple of dead rabbits strung together they being small prey animals eliciting a raised eyebrow in question as I look up once more, glad to set my eyes on my beloved’s softened features.

‘’Looking out to get sick again?’’ his voice comes out gruff almost animalistic his loot and prey left forgotten dropped as he walks over quick to kneel, bare arms making contact as he attempts to pull his own fur cloak which I’m wearing tighter together as if to protect me.

‘’Alas not tonight.’’ I tease him, frown remaining on his face as his irises remain glowing silver taking me in. His warm hand comes to cup my cheek switching up as he presses the back of his fingers over my forehead ‘’I’m alright.’’ I roll my eyes pushing at his hand trying to reassure him knowing full well where this is going as he lets out a growl as I intertwine our hands together ‘’You’re here, I’m more than fine.’’ I switch tactic but smile genuinely as I take him in, his dark hair familiar horns sticking upwards, features sharp as he is not entirely convinced.

‘’As sweet as your words may be, don’t keep me a fool human.’’ He growls sounding annoyed but for a fact I know he isn’t. Keeping back a chuckle I end up nodding trying to put on a serious expression breaking immediately feeling nothing but love and adoration for him.

‘’I’d never ever dream of doing that oh mighty dragon from the north.’’ I find myself playfully squeaking in laughter as he growls threateningly but makes quick work of grabbing me. With ease I get lifted into his embrace thrown over his shoulder the change of position eliciting giggles to rush past my lips.

‘’She giggles.’’ He grumbles stepping over to his loot ‘’You should be begging for your life, human not giggling like a child at my presence.’’

Picking up his things I muse at the dragon holding onto his hips to not swing so wildly ‘’Can’t help it I’m afraid. You’re a very charming dragon after all.’’

His chest grumbles I’m sure pleased with my words. He carries us inside silent making sure to lay me down gently on the furs his handling bringing brief vertigo, which gets chased away swiftly his hand touching under my chin ‘’Be good.’’ Is all he says as he gets up and walks across the room storing the rabbits first while at the same time granting me the view of his bare skin and glorious backside as he bends over.

I tut to myself grinning widely once he spares me a look grumbling something to himself.

‘’Practically oozing charm.’’ I compliment further even as he straightens and ignores me heading off to check on his hoard.

Smiling to myself feeling hot thanks to his mere presence – as the fire is dying once more – I shrug of his cloak throwing my boots from the furs to burrow beneath them the difference of having him here tremendous.

And yet as I lie down and wait for him wearing nothing but his shirt, my joy diminishes the space I’m back in bringing the nightmare to resurface as I remember the clammy feeling and terror I felt when I woke up. My gaze darts to the small fire and the smoke as it rises towards the ceiling, a small opening a crack in the rocks enabling some to escape.

I can hear coins and heavier object in various sizes clattering. It should be reassuring that he is here, I should be fine just knowing he is at arm’s reach. But as I sit up my limbs begin to shake, cold sweat making an appearance as what I feel like my soul gets weighted – the heft of the gold I was forced to wear that night remains as a ghost feeling over my skin.

A whole-body shudder runs through me my vision getting slightly blurry but not from tears. I tear my gaze away from the fire sniffling quietly pushing at the furs prompting the makeshift pillow behind me lying on my hip.

Yoongi stalks forward silently still nude as the day he was born – hatched as he’d explained once – gaze intent as it fixates on me. I preoccupy myself with fluffing up the furs not wanting to have the conversation right now. Reaching the end, he’s quick to lie down and crawl closer taking my hand gently into his stopping me from moving.

Unable to look at him I stare at our joined hand’s letting him pull me into his embrace the warmth he is emitting familiar and like a fresh breath of air itself. Greedily I wrap my own arms around him hating that my body begins trembling, hating the lump in my throat and numbness settling in my chest as flashes of colour appear before my eyes.

‘’Shhhh I’m here beloved.’’ His voice is soft ‘’I won’t let anyone ever hurt you again.’’

 His caresses mean everything chasing away the torturous heavy weight of gold feeling from my skin, soothing my body tremors, easing my breathing as I match his heartbeat hand splayed over his bare chest between us. He attempts to hum a melody which impresses me tremendously given he has spent some time in his dragon form voice having gone unused.

It’s his effort and willingness, patience that keep me comforted and with a fluttery heart. Vicious malevolent dragon huh?

His tongue darts out licking a part of my cheek the action still after all this time having me jerk away his arms preventing me from backing away too much. Scrunching up my nose as I smile turning, he’s utmost serious as he stares at me, silver reappearing in his mostly brown irises.

‘’I don’t think you can fix night terrors that easily, my love.’’ I note reaching up to cup his face running both thumbs over the apple of his cheeks, the growl and showing of sharpened teeth not at all intimidating even as his frown deepens.

‘’You don’t know for sure.’’ He’s quick to retort long tongue making an appearance to which I attempt to cover his mouth, not at all bothered as his tongue brushes over the inside of my palm brining more chuckles to resurface.

‘’My love, my heart, my everything it’s alright.’’ I speak softly feeling how my heart blooms for the dragon holding onto me tightly ‘’You’ve done more than enough truly.’’ I pull my hand back and point silently at myself ‘’The dreams will pass, your mage friend said so himself. Don’t fret to much over me. Your scales are going to go grey to soon.’’ I muse towards the end, making a point to grab onto his left horn him letting me get away with it telling me he’s putty in my arms.

‘’I don’t care about that.’’ he grumbles remaining serious ‘’You’re my only concern of course I’m going to fret.’’ Leaning in I don’t stop him as he’s quick to connect our lips sharp teeth making an appearance but never drawing blood, as he kisses with somewhat of a buried need that’s only growling given the way how his grip tightens around me, strong hands firm but not hurtful.

It’s easy for him to upkeep the kisses his passion bringing a smoky thang to how he taste’s something I’ve gotten used to. Gasping once his tongue prods at my lips he breaks it off moving over my cheek, licking over the small cut I’ve manage to achieve by descending to the woods yesterday to pick some pomegranates.

I quiver upon feeling the skin healing itself, his saliva having magical proprieties. It’s how he literally mended me together so to speak.

Left broken and chained to an altar barely clinging onto my life he descended that very same night to claim the offerings of the village having been mostly of produce and gold, the year clearly being twisted into something vile – a human sacrifice.

It wasn’t hard to hear or feel him his beastly form something out of this world my brain far too gone to comprehend him in the first place. But through my blurry gaze his eyes were the first thing I’ve set my gaze upon. His deafening roar filled me with some type of energy – it was as if he called out for my soul to tether itself right back to my body. The warm he exuded felt scorching hot unbearable but not like the torches – his heat and warmth were like a blanket draped over me.

The few times I’ve asked him, prodded more so for an answer why he saved me in the first place given I was broken and beyond salvation even in my own opinion I’ve never gotten a clear reply. He either smiled knowingly or set his jaw tight remembering the night something causing him pain, himself.

‘’You were meant for me.’’

Those famous words of his still to this day keep ringing in my head from time to time.

***

‘’Holy fuck you feel so good.’’ I hiss in the beginning ending up whining, my body feeling like it’s on fire. Given the man in front of me literally can breathe fire, is just a bonus.

His chest grumbles against the palm of my right hand where it rests near his heart. Going past that detail my mind is entirely preoccupied with the feeling of him, as I continue for right now slow descent onto his cock, which is filling me already impossibly so. But given our practice and mainly his determination not to harm me I’m left tearless and aching for the pleasure, for the extasy that’s promised and within my grasp.

‘’Hmm, do I?’’ comes his raspy tone, a hint of smoke leaving past his lips his struggle with staying still evident in the tight hold he has over my hips upholding me more so than I am myself, as I sink down on him, stopping just above his knot the actions coming from his side. I reopen my eyes to look at him in question and amusement, finding his eyes screwed shut his control slipping which he’s trying to desperately reign in.

But there are more black scales making an appearance, humanoid form morphing into his dragon side the sight only arousing further, the tinge of danger always present in these moments, making it addicting whenever he begins losing some of his saint like control.

Speechless my mouth opens and closes uselessly, thighs starting to shake increasingly the harder I try to ride him, his hands pulling me down not entirely helpful.

‘’AH FUCK!’’ I find myself shouting at a particularly harsh pull coming from his end, making me sink almost entirely onto him, knot kissing my lower lips ‘’Ahhh Y-Yoongi-yahh…’’ I cry breathless tears glossing my eyes, my body trying to fold together which of course his hands prevent to do so, his right one suddenly getting placed over my chest.

‘’You are doing so great, beloved.’’ He praises coming closer, muscles tensing under my hands as his hands switch from my hips, arms wrapping around me touch tender tracing my skin ‘’So amazing. My pretty mate.’’ His tone lowers but grown more affectionate, kisses beginning to be spread over my face.

‘’Mate.’’ I repeat after him, enjoying the vibrations emitting from his chest, letting my hands trace his defined chest. I notice the amused smile he sports letting me to my own devices, the need to reach our releases momentarily not a priority.

‘’Yes, my mate. Mine. You are mine.’’ He confirms words holding heaviness. Without fail it makes me feel that we were destined for each other since birth. It’s what he loves to remind me, oh big dragon with an inkling to prophecy Yoongi is always so assured we are meant to be. I’ve long ago started believing him.

‘’Mine.’’ Again, I repeat eyes fleeting to his own, the power he holds nothing for me to be afraid of, the heaviness his irises hold. But also, the love, the amour, the baring of his soul I see whenever I look at him. I must admit it is the most amazing feeling in the world to know, be aware and accept someone’s love and adoration the only hard thing not to get to overwhelmed with it at times.

‘’Mine.’’ He agrees closing the distance mindful of bumping his head against my own – something he’s always been cautious about – horns a thing of magnificence even in their trait of harmfulness that could bring me. I’ve never shied away from them, eagerness a human trait he told me. It hasn’t stopped me before and it won’t stop me now, as I meet him halfway. It has been barely 2 days that he was absent but each time he leaves an emptiness appears in my chest. An emptiness I know he’s always willing to fill right up.

Its why I’m ready for our kisses to transition from sweet and almost timid into ones of hunger and lust his tongue shameless swiping over my lower lip, earning himself a wanton moan as I grant him entrance, tongue twisting with mine not keeping this at all shy anymore or reserved.

He is a beast after all, a mighty dragon known to take what belongs to him – and what doesn’t – known to be monstrous, strong, invulnerable. He is going to take what he wants.

He has taken my heart.

At his hands landing onto my hips again fingers slipping into the juncture where my thighs meet my torso my body gradually tenses up, knowing he has something up his sleeve the kiss getting broken ‘’Shhhhh, don’t fret beloved.’’ He calms kissing me once more ‘’Relax Y/N-ah, relax…’’ like a siren luring its prey with its voice alone Yoongi has this effect on me but not thanks to magic or his draconic abilities.

It’s because I’ve learned to trust him wholeheartedly, my body in-tune with him more so than my own thoughts at times proven now as my muscles loosen listening to him before I can register his words entirely, his actions clicking in my mind a moment after as he begins pushing me onto his knot.

My hands redirect from resting against his chest to wrap around his neck, having done this quite a few times I’ve learned to arch my back and focus on my breathing ‘’Ah that’s it, what a good girl you are for me.’’ The praises keep on coming, the kiss he presses to my temple a human gesture he picked up from me, sending my heart into a fluttering spiral.

I let my head fall sideways trying to watch how he begins to stretch me impossibly wide, pain always a factor in our intimacy but not to an unbearable point. It always promises pleasure to accompany and overshadow it.

As I sink onto his bulbous knot further whines arise automatically, being vocal something I can only do with Yoongi.

‘’My pretty mate.’’ He breathes out losing the composure he has gained, voice sounding strained finally his hands steadily pushing me down I’m certain listening to the way I’m breathing watching how I’m reacting. Known to be greedy, my dragon mate is anything but when it comes to me his love overpowering his most primal traits – he has proven it time and time again, love having overtaken us both entirely, Eros’s arrow entirely wound into our hearts.

‘’Ah p-pretty huh…’’ I half-chuckle ending up groaning as I sink on the widest part, whining in protest as it doesn’t stop, bottoming out not always my favorite part.

‘’Fffffff…you’re so tight.’’ Yoongi grunt’s his hold on the verge of leaving my skin bruised. He avidly tries to avoid marking me in such way, rather slathering his scent – or semen – or love bites in a controlled manner over my skin.

‘’N-noo…’’ I chuckle ‘’You are just big.’’ I grin widely, knowing my words always raise his confidence. And there’s nothing that I prefer more than seeing my mate happy ‘’F-fuck you’re b-big…’’ the realization always weirdly daunts me, as he shifts his hips the slightest my body in tune with his entirely.

It’s a sensation I’ve grown accustomed to – like many things – to be in sync with him, to be relaxed or calm as he is, temperature catching up to his but in a safe manner, body accepting more strain. It’s a whole another thing to be connected to him like I’m now feeling as one with my mate always a magical experience. Even if he finds my description of it being magic funny, he agrees it carries those types of properties.

‘’You keep flattering me tonight, beloved.’’ Chest rumbly his lowered raspy tone sends a shiver down my spine, my cunt clenching around him ‘’Have you missed me that much? Did I leave you alone for too long?’’

Instead of teasing me he turns soft. Regaining some thinking capabilities, I lift my head not concerned with my expression neither the way I look right now as I let my eyes feast upon him, how handsome he is and collected again.

‘’Hmm possibly.’’ I begin honestly ‘’I always miss you when you leave, my love. 3 days, 1 day, 1 hour.’’ I pause seeing a shift in his eyes surprise something that always delights me ‘’I always want you by my side, my mighty dragon. Call me greedy. All I want is you.’’

Speaking from the heart is not something I usually do, emotions hard to deal with most of the time. But never when it comes to him. I’ve always found it rather straightforward when it comes to Yoongi, the fear, the confusion, the realization when I started falling for him, and even after coming to terms with my soul calling for his it’s been blissfully easy.

Something suddenly fills my chest. Pride? Love? Complete and utter adoration? It can be all of those, his emotions reflected in his expression and eyes, heart feeling like it’s going to burst, our link stronger than ever my confession causing his dragon part to let out a roar, as he howls at the sky looking magnificent, and terrifying to whoever dares to send a look his way.

Like before giggles bubble up my chest, even as he manhandles us around mouth hot as he begins his assault of delivering as much kisses as fast as he can, to an overwhelming degree his antics always welcomed. He’s bubbling with emotions, another rarity that Yoongi’ doesn’t show too often.

‘’My pretty, pretty mate. All mine.’’ He begins to growl, and mutter under his breath like a man crazed hands having flipped us around, resulting in my upper torso lying on the piled-up furs comfortably, whist he keeps my lower part and legs wrapped around him, bodies still very much so tightly wound together and connected, his hard cock not having softened a bit.

‘’Yahh Yoongi-yahh…’’ I call out teasingly, the disrespectful title I’m addressing him with always softening him, till some degree ‘’Wahh, I’ll take it you’ve missed me too.’’ my giggles get cut short, as his hands begin to knead my breasts, the dragon always happy to pinch my nipples that are already sensitive enough his touches at times downright cruel.

‘’Missed you…’’ he finally slows his frenzy of kisses ‘’…I always miss you.’’ The confession follows as he slows to a stop, hands exploring my body touch more sensual.

I let my hands drift to his cheek’s thumbs caressing his warm skin ‘’My heart belongs to you, love of my life.’’

Lowering onto his elbows he comes closer expression neutral. It’s his eyes that reflect what he’s feeling, chest full of emotions, I can feel the heat radiating from him can almost hear how his heart is thundering ‘’As mine does to you, my soul.’’

Buckling his hips, I’m startled pleasantly the spark between us regaining igniting our bodies and their needs coming to the front, emotions taking a step back. We’ve deprived ourselves to long, almost cruelly so holding back, lust a gluttonous thing growing impossible to ignore.

Pulling back slowly he’s still mindful of my body even if he lightly begins to tremble vibrations from his chest something primal from within him, that he cannot always control. His eyes silvery and deadly, indicate he is ready to devour. And yet in all his glory, his power, reputation, his proving and sheer strength Yoongi holds himself back, until his knot pops back out making him hiss, heat hitting my face as he gasps, my body shuddering at the feeling of brief emptiness.

I have to raise my head to see where we are connected, ending up surprised how wet my folds are. The sight causes warmth to hit my cheeks and chest eyes almost shy as I look up watching him as he sits up, readjusting ending up hovering over me, propped on his left hand right holding me.

‘’Come on.’’ I breathe out before I can stop myself, his predatory eyes fixing on my own ‘’Please. I need you please take me, Yoongi-ah.’’

He grunts as in warning, everything he’s displaying shouting ‘DANGER’ loud and clear.

He’s going to wreck me, absolutely destroy me, that much I can see is a promise in his eyes. And I can only bite onto my lower lip in anticipation, awaiting the destruction.

Gone is time for words, for begging, or normal human function as a matter of fact. More dragon than human, Yoongi isn’t gentle as much anymore as he pulls back and thrust back in the flare of pain at his quickness and assertiveness making an appearance, sparks beginning to roll fucking finally, my body only now showing signs of depravity as I’ve began going sensitive, breath hitching.

His hips hitting against my own, begin echoing around the spacious cavern skin slapping against skin not a sound I find shameful anymore. The growling that’s coming from deep within his throat is an indicator I’m doing something right, that I’m giving my mate pleasure even if he is chasing it himself. He is absolutely mesmerizing, holding himself above eyes focused on where we are connected, brows furrowed in concentration. His body built, shoulders and torso muscular thanks to his dragon form he feels like some sort of divinity above me, enveloping me in all his might, protecting me from everything, my soul delivering an onslaught of pleasure that begins spiking my heart rate, my skin feeling like it’s on fire, nothing else mattering in the world, only him.

It’s not even humanly possible to register the amount of pleasure he delivers initially let alone now that he speeds up, grabbing me under my knees spreading my legs further apart changing the angle he’s pistoning into me with the intention of ruin.

My voice gone, moans the only form I’m able of communication tears have already painted my cheeks and the side of my face with trails of salty water, while my body is his to control, not many function left besides the burrowing of my hands in the furs the need to hold onto something for dear life an automatic response as I’m sent hurling into the abyss of pleasure that keeps on rolling out, thanks to my mate.

He is not so far from me either, the pressure bellow beginning to increase halfway through the haze I’ve fallen into, the world spinning only around us two at the moment, his panting bringing me back to reality, whines softening my heart all at once.

Letting go of the furs I open my arms wide eagerly accepting as he falls into me, hips for the last time hitting my own as he bottoms out, making me cry out as he fills me oh so good knot engorged locking us together, his own bliss achieved as my dragon, my Yoongi lies safely and warm in my arms, eyes floating into his own haze of pleasure.

Shuddering I attempt to readjust the furs to make us more comfortable, his warning growl once more brining out giggles from me, as I proceed to accommodate us despite my tummy beginning to grow. I’ve got us rather quickly and with practiced ease covered up and not at all dislodged in the process, Yoongi’s face buried in the furs next to my head body a welcomed weight atop of me.

Loving the warmth, the heat, and most importantly his embrace I always am fascinated when I feel his heart beating against me, our chest somewhat aligned. Patient like he was with me, I keep still hands treading through his hair occasionally running up his rigged horns silently appreciating him as I hum the lullaby from before.

‘’I should teach you common sense.’’ Is the first thing he says, voice half muffled by the furs. I hum in question curious at his words, hands stopping briefly as he moves his head to the side his breath ghosting over the right side of my face ‘’Giggling when facing dragons, or growling beasts. It is not a wise thing to do.’’

At his explanation I burst into laughter, my lover catching me entirely of guard, my voice echoing as light begins to flood slowly but surely into the cave morning rising.

‘’Ah human.’’ He growls affectionately ‘’My beloved human.’’

Copyright 2023© by barbika1508. All rights reserved.

[venriliz]

Ozan Demirel for @aniraklova's The Yasmine's Desire Bachelorette Challenge

"Good Night, Del Sol Valley! You're tuned in to RARE.fm and you should listen to good old Ozan here, the voice of reason and limitless wisdom when he's tellin' you - take good care of yourself and stay hydrated because things are about to get hot in here! Kiss your cutie, sway your hips and dance like no one's watchin' to this gem of a song - Al Sim!" - Ozan Demirel

He/him

Mid 40's (he's sensible, don't ask him for specifics!)

Radio host/has his own station called RARE.fm

Born and raised in Appaloosa Plains and currently residing in Del Sol Valley

Ambitious, Self-Absorbed, Music Lover

Story/Cas pics/Likes and dislikes↓

Ozan Demirel is one of the most recognizable voices of Del Sol Valley and beyond - or at least he was.

His star as a radio host rose almost 25 years ago when he felt that he was destined for more than being a cowplant farmer on his family-owned ranch in Appaloosa Plains. His family life always had its up and downs especially for him being the youngest child of 8 and constantly being picked on by his older siblings or cast aside by his parents. Due to a traumatic experience in his childhood he lived in constant fear of being eaten by the cowplants, the very thing that earns a living for the family, and at the age of 19 he left the farm behind for good.

Ozan hitchhiked to Del Sol Valley, dreaming of his very own rise to stardom but had to realize quickly that it's not as easy as they make it look in the movies. After unsuccessfully trying to strike up a deal with some of the big record labels in the city, Ozan had to learn the hard way that simply being able to play a few basic chords on a guitar won't necessarily get him to the top. Trying to make ends meet by working at a call center made him discover a new talent for himself though - his talent of speech. After taking on several loans and maybe (innocent until proven guilty!) cheating some people out of their money through backroom poker games, RARE.fm was born.

To his familys' and maybe even his own surprise, Ozans listener count exploded almost over night especially thanks to his distinctive voice, blunt personality and dry-as-a-desert humor. What began as a one-man show inside of an old camper van in the outskirts of Del Sol Valley quickly became a lucrative business and well-loved radiostation with Ozan at the helm.

Life was great and with the addition of Violet, an old flame from high school as his co-host, RARE.fm was unstoppable in the entertainment industry. But eventually things always change, right?

Now, over 20 years later and with Violet gone due to her untimely death in a freak accident, Ozan finds himself grief-stricken not only over the loss of his best friend but also the loss of his own fame. Money isn't the problem here, Ozan has plenty of that. BUT as RARE.fm seems to lose more and more popularity, he finds himself afraid - afraid of fading into obscurity, afraid of being one of many, like he's always been in his childhood.

Seeing the billboards of Yasmine's upcoming bachelorette show all over the place has set a plan into motion and Ozan decided to jump into cold water. This will be the first time people will not only hear his voice but also be able to put a face to it as well. A rather scary thought for Ozan who's never been on TV before.

Is he looking for love? Maybe.

Is he desperately trying to cling to whatever notoriety he has left and wants to use this show to do so? Maybe.

Does he think Yasmine is a gorgeous woman and wants to meet and get to know her regardless of his quite selfish motivations? Hell yeah!

Likes:

colors: grey - green - red - black music: dj booth - spooky - metal - alternative - nu disco - soul characteristics: hard-working sims - spirited sims - funny sims conversation: compliments - physical intimacy - small talk - gossip - jokes - discussing hobbies - discussing interests fashion: polished - rocker - streetwear activities: bowling - DJ mixing - guitar - mixology - photography - media production - dancing decor: industrial - mid-century - modern - contemporary

Dislikes:

colors: pink - orange music: kids - tween pop - ranch characteristics: argumentative sims - ambitionless sims conversation: potty humor - pranks - arguments fashion: country - outdoor activities: videogames - cooking decor: art deco - farmhouse

DL will be private :]

[myz-wykkyd]

My DMC oc and my take on Nero's mother/The lady in red. Her name is Julia De Bellona- an accomplished devil hunter and the former Supreme General of the Order of the Sword. Oh boy, this character, this character. Originally created her sometime when I was around 13 or 14 after playing the OG trilogy of games for the first time. She's changed a lot over the years and I honestly don't recall ever having worked this hard to develop a character before in my life LOL I haven't gotten everything written down yet, but I'm really proud of what I have managed to do.

Her wip TH profile can be found here. (Note- BIG WIP)

More Info under the cut. TW: for character death I guess?

NAME: Julia De Bellona

GENDER: Female (She/Her)

AGE: Early Twenties @ TOD | Immortal

SPECIES: Human (Formerly. See picture above.), Artificial Demon (Currently)

AFFILIATION: The Order of the Sword (Formerly) |

OCCUPATION: Holy Knight (Formerly) | Ruler of the Underworld (Currently)

RANK: Supreme General (Formerly) | Queen (Currently)

Prior to the rise of Sanctus, Julia's family, The Bellona, ruled over Fortuna as Feudal Lords- a position entrusted to them by Sparda himself prior to his disappearance. Throughout the generations, their primary goal was to protect humanity from demonic threats- which earned the love of their people and eventually led to the founding of The Order of the Sword; an organization of knights equipped and trained to defeat their evil foes. Julia was born from this long, accomplished line of devil hunters; but her abilities far exceeded those of her ancestors and allowed her to become one of the greatest devil hunters of her age- despite the fact that for most of her life, she was only a mere human.

Compassionate, capable, and determined, Julia rose quickly through the ranks of the Order and was the youngest Supreme General the Order of the Sword had ever seen- but she handled the position with a wisdom that surpassed her years. Under her careful guard, Fortuna was at peace for many years. But shortly after her promotion, she would meet a mysterious stranger who would change her life forever.

Vergil, one of the sons of Sparda, traveled to Fortuna seeking information on the Order and its former ruler in his quest for power. They begin in opposition, but the cold man would eventually win Julia’s heart. Though her compassion and plea to live a life of peace by her side appealed to her lover’s long buried humanity, Vergil chose to cast it and her aside to continue on his journey. Though heartbroken by the loss- she soon discovered that he had left a part of himself with her forever in the form of a child- A son she named Nero.

The following is a rough outline of the rest of her story.

A few months after Nero’s birth, Julia learns of the emergence of the Temen-ni-gru, one of the many gateways to the underworld sealed by Sparda after the war between humans and devils ended. Remembering Vergil’s quest for power, she leaves Fourtuna to stop him herself, but by the time she arrives in the city the events of DMC 3 have already unfolded. Wanting answers, Julia learns from several frightened locals that a white-haired man running a mysterious shop was responsible for ending the threat. Curious and slightly hopeful, she makes her way to the newly named “Devil May Cry” and meets Dante, Vergil’s twin brother, for the first time. 

Seeing the identical twin of her former lover is deeply off putting at first, but Dante doesn’t notice. He initially thinks she’s some kind of reporter when she asks for the story of what went on in the tower, and remains uncooperative until Julia successfully manages to bribe him with Pizza. He tells her everything but what she really wants to hear; but from their conversation Julia is able to piece together that the man who was responsible for the catastrophe died within the demon world.  

After leaving the shop Julia decides to investigate the ruins of the Temen-ni-gru. While walking amongst the debris, numb with grief, she is surprised to discover the Yamato amongst the wreckage. After pulling it free, she remains there for several hours debating with herself on the wisdom of her next decision, but she eventually gives into temptation and uses the Yamato to travel to the demon world to search for Vergil herself. 

Two long, brutal weeks full of fights and close calls with demons pass. Julia searched long and hard, but eventually, after she was unable to find any trace of him,  she was finally forced to admit Vergil was really gone. She retreats back into the human world using the Yamato and returns home.

Julia intermittently returns to the demon world to continue searching for Vergil. Almost a year later, she finds him (Or rather, finds Nelo Angelo) held captive and unresponsive. After a brief, but explosive battle with Mundas, Julia escapes with Vergil back to the human world. 

This encounter is witnessed by Machiavelli, the creator of Nelo Angelo, who is immediately intrigued that a human would risk her life for a demon.

Uncertain how to awaken him, she seeks out Agnus and asks for his aid in helping Vergil.

A/N: studying Vergil in this timeframe is what gives Angus the inspiration to build the false angels.

Agnus betrays Julia by turning in all his discoveries (her possession of the Yamato, her apparent relationship with a demon) over to Sanctus. Who takes it upon himself to execute the “traitor”. In a cruel twist of fate, he stabs her with Vergil’s own sword. The blade is shattered by a sudden, mysterious surge of power. My personal hc is that just as the sword recognized Nero, the sword recognized Julia, and it shattering was due to it being forced to do something that went against such an important connection.

A/N: Explaining both how the Order manages to get their hands on the sword and why it's broken.

As Julia lays dying, Nelo Angelo/Vergil finally awakens. Recognizing Julia on some level, he does not like what he sees, and slaughters Sanctus’ terrified guards. Forcing the Vicar and Angus to flee for their lives.  

With their enemies vanquished, Nelo Angelo/Vergil touches Julia’s face. But in that moment, Julia's thoughts are consumed by worry for Nero. And with her bit a strength, pleads with the Dark Knight to save their son before Sanctus finds him.

He obliged her last wish, taking an infant Nero from Julia’s home to the orphanage where Nero would grow up in.

A/N: Wrapped the crying boy up in his black cape before his departure. Staff of the orphanage would continue to call him Nero as a result.

Sanctus falsely frames Julia as a traitor to the people she had spent her life protecting- and Sanctus orders that all traces of her and her family be erased / never spoken of again. Explaining why she isn’t mentioned in game.

Julia’s body disappears afterwards/is never found by Sanctus. Debating, but my current thought is Nelo Angelo/Vergil took her to Machiavelli, whose spent the last 20+ years reviving her and turning her into the perfect demon. Knowing that she would be a Queen worth following.

A/N: Explaining that Machiavelli isn't dead, he's actually just been working on his Magnum opus this entire time.

After the events of DMC 5, Julia finally awakens and takes over the demon world in the absence of Urizen. She's lost most of her memory from her time as a human and doesn't realize how long it's been- but she recalls she has a son and that's in the human world, in a city called Fortuna, and is determined to find him-

[ariadne-mouse]

the long wind down

Shadowgast, rated G, 1276 words. An ode to burnout.

-

"Of course I am not fine." 

Caleb's tone was waspish, and only their growing familiarity with each other told Essek that the sharpness was not meant for him, though he had catalyzed it.  Strudel the tawny longhair cat had no such wisdom, and leapt down from Caleb’s lap, offended. 

"We are in the final waiting period of the old man's sentencing, Beauregard has unearthed new dirt on the Martinet that we cannot pursue yet because of political bullshit, and Soltryce has changed the composition of their teaching offer four times.  I am not fine, Essek.  I am going insane."  Caleb clenched his hands in the air as though he could seize reality itself and shake it, then sagged back in his armchair, strings cut.  He rubbed his forehead.  "I am tired and wired at the same time, in equal and contradicting parts.  It has been nonstop for months."

"Caleb Widogast." Up close, the lines creasing Caleb's face were even more evident in the flickering candlelight.  Essek sat on the arm of the chair and rested his palm against Caleb's scruffy beard. "What can I do?"  His thumb soothed the cheekbone beneath it.

"Nothing," Caleb sighed, turning his face into the touch.

"I can distract you, if you wish." 

The offer earned him a faint flash of a grin. "I do enjoy your skills at distraction, Herr Thelyss."  But he did not move, his posture still slumped, the weight of him and the world on his shoulders pressing down into the chair, and so the question and its answer passed between them unspoken in that tender space of knowing.

Essek frowned. "And you cannot rest?"

"Nein," Caleb looked up at him wearily. "My mind wants something to chew.  It is hungry.  But as soon as I try, and pick up this or that, I get lost in the details or else make stupid mistakes like a schoolboy trying his hand at advanced magic.  I have been going for so long, I can't stop, but I have hit a point where I can’t string two coherent thoughts together either." His eyes drifted shut, but his continued unease was betrayed by the way he plucked at his sleeve in his lap, a precursor to his bad habit of scratching.

Essek’s mind was not fully refreshed either, such was his life of evasion these days, but his retreat from his Dynasty connections was also a retreat from the obligations and noise that came with them.  It was rather the reverse of Caleb’s plight — while his friend sought to put down roots in his home country and make change, Essek was pulling up his roots and casting himself into the wind.  But he remembered the years he’d spent climbing through the Dynasty, and with that recollection, he found he had a solution.  

He tilted his head.  "I have just the thing.  Perhaps."

"Do you?" Caleb straightened up fractionally, focusing on Essek once more.

“Perhaps.”  Essek drew away, but only to free his hands for casting.  “It is a trivial invention of mine from my early days at court, when I first achieved the rank of Shadowhand.  There was always a great deal to be done, many things happening at once, but each with their own restrictions and tediums and frustrations.  Politics.  At times waiting, able to do nothing while some goal became more and more urgent.  Interlacing plans, advancing at different paces.  I found it hard to rest, then, too.  The mind is reluctant to let go, once put to such… hm. Overclocking?”

He traced some symbols in the air, leaving a softly glowing indigo afterimage.  These symbols unspooled themselves and rearranged into a new display: a blank rectangular grid with notation at each row and column. “The numerals are in Undercommon, but I never envisioned an application for this outside of my own personal use.”  He then touched a square in the grid with a spark of magic, and it filled with a soothing blue-purple color.  “It is a simple logic puzzle.  There is an underlying pattern — I took pains for the spell to generate it at random, unknown to the caster — and can be solved by marking the squares to match it.  I will tell you no more of the rules.  Try it.”

Caleb leaned up, the light reflected in his eyes.  He tapped a square, and it lit up like Essek’s had.  Another: this one flashed red and then faded dull and grey.

“An incorrect choice?”

“Yes.”

His eyes flitting over the puzzle, Caleb tested a number of other squares in rapid succession, noting whether they glowed a successful blue or a failed grey.  And he did fail a number of times, his brow wrinkling, but he had about him that drive of experimentation they shared when inventing spellwork: failure was not failure, only information to be utilized in the pursuit of understanding.

“Hm. I think I have it.”

Essek inclined his head.  “Show me.”  He waved his hand and dispelled the game board, replacing it with a new one of larger dimensions.

Caleb indicated a row. “Here there are 10 squares, and it is marked with a 1, 3, and 2.   This means there are groupings of tiles in that composition, in that order, that are neighbors but do not touch.  You must cross-reference with other rows and columns to surmise where they can occur to be in harmony with the patterns of other rows and columns.  And you cannot always do it all at once.”  He tapped a few successful tiles.  Then, quickly engrossed, he continued on.

It was unsurprising that Caleb had quickly deduced the Undercommon numerals by their context, and that he had figured out the simple rules, but there was always pleasure in observing his mind work.  Essek watched Caleb’s face instead of the puzzle.

In the work of a few minutes, he was tapping the last tile of the pattern. The whole grid pulsed with faint light, and dissolved into stardust.

“Oh, pretty.” Caleb tilted his head back to smile at Essek. “You invented this?  It is a remarkable bit of spellwork.”

Essek preened. “It is useless except for this, of course.  A pastime, nothing more.  But when the need arises… I have always found it soothing.”

“May I copy it down?”  Caleb rubbed at his eyes and cast around for pen and ink from the nearby table where their research papers were cast about like autumn leaves.

“Tomorrow.” Essek stayed Caleb in his chair with a hand on his shoulder. “It will take an hour or two, and we have just established that you are in need of rest.  Please, allow me.  I will cast them until you wish to stop.  They require minimal arcane power.”

Caleb’s eyes crinkled at the corners, and drew Essek’s hand from his shoulder and kissed the palm of it.  “If you insist, dear.”

Essek smiled.  “I do.”

Nine and half puzzles later, Caleb was leaned on his elbow, dozing.  

With a flick of his wrist, Essek dispelled the half-finished puzzle and eased himself off the arm of the chair, found a throw blanket, and draped it over Caleb’s lap.  The sleek tabby cat Bartolomew was quick to follow, and Strudel — the earlier insult forgotten — joined soon after, but Caleb did not stir at the added weight, used to his cats making themselves comfortable anywhere at any hour. 

Essek’s feet made no sound as he floated to the kitchen and puttered about making tea.  He would have to leave in the morning, but for now, in the quiet broken only by the clank of the teapot and Caleb’s snoring, this was home.

-

This ficlet is based off of nonogram puzzles. If you'd like to try one online, I recommend this site!

[torukmaktoskxawng]

tsamsiyu ta'em - the road to success

Masterlist - part seven

Summary: With her brother's family gone, Kayla gets to work becoming one of the People.

Pairing: Ronal/Tonowari/Original Female Character

Tag: #tsamsiyu ta'em fic

posted on ao3

Word Count: 9k+

Taglist (bold indicates “could not tag”): @mooniequeen @shit-i-say-shit-i-think @heart-an0n @amiets2 @slutforsmut4ever @yeosxxx​ @im-in-a-pansexual-panik @sucker4angstt @inolaphoenix @andyfromku

Warnings: canon-compliant, canon-typical violence, mature language, adult content, slow burn, polyamory, found family, cool aunt agenda, alien/human (technically avatar), jake sully sister agenda, time skips, I'm trying to hurry up and get to the good parts so bear with me, fluff, angst, adopted spider, tags to be added

A/N: Holy shit, you're telling me I have to stretch this fic out until 2025 now?! *deep breaths* We got this, ya'll. We waited thirteen years for a sequel... we can wait a little longer for the next one... *crying 'cause I'll be thirty-one when the last movie comes out*

More determined than ever, Kayla gets to work on earning her ikran. The faster she tamed a banshee, the faster she can search for Spider and hopefully bring him home. She didn't know Quaritch-- Hell, she didn't think she ever would considering everyone believed he was dead, but from the stories Kayla has heard, he sounded like a tyrant and she couldn't afford to think about what might be happening to Spider or if he was even still alive. That last thought she tried not to think about, instead she kept herself busy trying to work her way up to her Iknimaya. She desperately wanted to fulfill the promise she made to her nieces and nephews, hoping for their sake -and Spider's- that the kid was unharmed and still kicking.

Even she could admit that she worried for the teen, scared of what Ardmore could be capable of. The general was stone cold, inside and out, and Kayla couldn't imagine that her former superior was ever good with kids. If Ardmore is as incapable of empathy as Kayla had previously claimed, she could only imagine what harm that could mean for Spider, and honestly, it kept her up at night.

So she tried not to think about it. Instead, she worked hard trying not to be a nuisance to the clan. From dawn to dusk, she would do her part to see that the clan was working like a well-oiled machine. She tended to the ikran, but only to the ones who had riders or who had lost one. Norm explained those banshees were safe for her to care for since the ikran only know one rider in their whole lives. She helped weave any necessities, like baskets, despite still being a little worse for wear at the task. She didn't take part in many festivities, but she sang and cheered from the sidelines. Although she couldn't hunt yet, she helped clean any kills made during the day. Now almost a pro in the language, she would bless the body of the creature, thanking the animal for its sacrifice and bidding its soul return to Eywa. Kayla was still hesitant about the existence of the Great Mother, but she did what she had been taught in order to earn both the People's and Eywa's respect.

The Omatikaya were strong under Tarsem's orders. He was younger than Neytiri, likely only a child during the Last Battle of the Hallelujah Mountains fifteen years ago. Jake had complimented the wisdom Tarsem had for his age, but Kayla was skeptical at first, remembering what she and Jake were like at Tarsem's age. Then again, Tarsem was not a child of Earth, and Na'vi at his age had a great many accomplishments that even Kayla was envious of. Kids on Earth could learn a lot from the kids of the Na'vi, and the thought alone only made Kayla think of Spider until she was spiraling again. 

Tarsem was surprisingly respectful of Kayla, which she can only assume was an advantage of being the former olo'ektan's sister. He took it upon himself to help her perfect her archery skills and even brought her on some of his own hunting parties. It was a breath of freedom she had never gotten under Jake's leadership so she greatly appreciated Tarsem's. Even though she wasn't given permission to kill anything, it was a great learning experience. Norm accompanied Kayla on some of these hunting parties and he praised whatever skills she showed off, always claiming that she was getting better.

But that wasn't good enough for her, and looking back, Mo'at claimed that even the forest recognized Kayla's determination. The tsahik spun a tale about how Eywa gave Makaylasully her blessing that night, and the next day Kayla had gone hunting with Txe'la and Meui. They returned by midday with a killed and cleaned yerik dragging behind Kayla and wide smiles on each of their faces. The whole clan was happy for her, much to her surprise and excitement, the adrenaline still running through her veins. Norm and Max had apparently placed bets on when she would make a kill and Max walked away with a priceless bottle of whiskey Norm had been saving. Kayla wasn't gonna let Norm live that down.

To make up for doubting her determination, Norm offered to tag along when Kayla went to claim an ikran. Tarsem also accompanied Kayla along with one other young Na'vi warrior ready to ride. They all trudge back to the rookery, the same one Kayla had been visiting to tend to the banshees who wouldn't try to kill her. Now, with the knowledge that the only one that would try to kill her would be hers, Kayla had to admit her confidence was through the roof, and later she would talk about how reckless and stupid she looked. 

"Has there ever been an ikran in history who didn't want to kill their rider?" Kayla mocked a whisper to Norm when he explained this behind the waterfall leading up to the rookery.

The smile he gave her was genuine and sweet, "Kiri."

Her eyes widen and her jaw drops, "Kiri?"

"Yeah, she was young, younger than most Na'vi kids when they first gain an ikran. She had simply asked the beast to be her friend and that was that."

Tarsem scoffed, but it was fond and playful, "That girl is touched by Eywa. I could place her in front of Palulukan and she would befriend it... if her mother didn't kill me first, of course."

Kayla snorts and tilts her head back to feel the mist of the waterfall against her face, calming her excitement even as Tarsem leaned toward her, "Would you like to go first, Makaylasully?"

"Hell yeah," she grinned, opening her eyes that were practically sparkling with determination, "Let's get this over with."

"Got your catcher?" Norm had asked even though he was already staring at the wrapped-up frond strung to Kayla's hip.

She only nods and heads out without looking back, worried that she'd have second thoughts if she did so. She had been getting better with heights since her first trip into the rookery, getting used to the drop-offs ever since she forced herself to continue coming back here to tend to the ikran. Kayla purposely kept her gaze in front of her, stubbornly keeping herself from looking down. Already, she could hear the familiar flap of heavy wings and air-piercing screeches, her nerves slightly calmed with the familiar environment she had purposely gotten herself used to for this moment. 

Walking out into the heart of the nests, Kayla was completely surrounded by ikran, all of various different colors and sizes. Some greeted her with loud roars and some even fled the scene before she could even look at them. It greatly narrowed down her search. She kept her steps slow, making sure to make as much eye contact as possible with every ikran she came across, just to see if they were going to willingly take the bait. None did, however, flying or crawling away whenever she got too close with the banshee catcher now unwound and dangling in her hand. Each time she thought she had met her match, she took that last step forward and the banshee would suddenly retreat in fear and distaste. A small bit of doubt was beginning to form in her gut. Maybe none of the ikran would choose her. Maybe they smell the drive to rescue Spider off of her and decided that her suicide mission was not worth their lives. 

Whatever they smelled, it only angered Kayla further... but she wasn't the only one.

Kayla had sensed her before she ever saw her. The avatar stopped in her tracks when the hair on the back of her neck stood up, then slowly turned her head off to the left, in the direction where she had sensed danger. 

It was a large female, likely older than those who usually choose their riders. Just goes to show that both she and Kayla were awfully picky and determined. The ikran was a light green, close to the same colors found on reef ticks or the neon signs outside Kayla's apartment back home. Scattered across the old girl's back in complicated, intricate design was bright, extraordinary shades of purple, striking like lightning bolts across the vast, wide wings when she spread them open to show off the threat she was. Kayla smiled, teeth glimmering in the sun at the clear challenge. Both the avatar and ikran hiss at one another, showing off their fangs in the midst of the stand-off. Norm and the others stood off to the side, eyes and smiles wide in wonder, whooping and hollering in chorus as encouragement for Kayla. 

"You got this!"

"Sivako!"

The cheering sent a thrill down Kayla's spine as she began to rotate her wrist and twirl the meresh'ti cau'pla in the air, faster and faster as the stand-off drags on. She keeps her eyes trained on the ikran's, which clearly aggravated the creature to no end. Eventually, the banshee took the bait, enraged by the eye contact until she couldn't take it anymore. Jaw open wide, the ikran lunged forward with a fearless hiss, diving down to Kayla without a care in the world.

She's only given a split second to dive out of the way of those jaws before Kayla is forced to throw the frond without even aiming. Once she side-stepped, Kayla whipped the catcher around like she practiced and watched with amazement as the item dutifully stuck and wrapped firmly around the creature's jaws, clamping it shut. Thank Eywa for razor palms. 

"Yeah, Kayla, show her!" Norm cheered, blue fist raised in the air.

Kayla's mind could barely accept the fact that she got the beast muzzled in just one go before she was forced to remember that the ikran don't immediately give up after said muzzlement. Her harsh reminder came in the form of the banshee swinging its whole head back in her direction, hitting Kayla squarely in the nose, the blunt force drawing a large crunching sound to ring through the air and even make Tarsem cringe. Kayla flew backward from the impact, tumbling through the rookery and startling other ikran to fly away. Dizzy, Kayla shook her head to try to rid the fatigue and struggled to her feet, groaning in pain as she stood. With the ikran momentarily forgetting her in exchange for trying to get the muzzle off, Kayla takes the time to bring the back of her hand up to her face, pressing gently against her nose. When she drew her hand back to see, Kayla immediately recognized the blood, a crimson liquid running down her blue skin. 

The avatar snarled, death glare piercing into the ikran's flesh, "What a bitch."

It was muttered under her breath, but the ikran reacted as if she had heard it. Whipping its head back in her direction, the banshee hissed dangerously back at Kayla, lowering its neck to get in a charging stance, and rearing its wings back. Kayla didn't wait it out this time. This time, she was pissed and instead took charge, screaming in frustration as she ran full speed ahead at the creature.  

When the ikran reared her head up to possibly strike down against her opponent, Kayla took her opening and dove, just in time to miss the brunt force of the ikran's jaw hitting the dirt where Kayla had once stood. Briefly stunning the beast from the harsh impact, Kayla casually whipped her kuru braid around and stood in the juncture of the banshee's neck, and grabbed the creature's own tswin. The ikran isn't given any time to react before tsaheylu is formed, the tendrils of Kayla's queue mending with the creature's. 

"Enough!" Kayla demands out loud.

All screeches from the surrounding banshees suddenly became a buzzing white noise as everything else in the universe halted between the Na'vi and the beast. The ikran stopped struggling, her entire frame shivering in response to the bond. Kayla lets out a gust of air, exhausted and in disbelief. Behind her, she could hear Norm and the other Na'vi cheering, whilst the rest of her senses were now focused solely on her new spirit sister.

After catching her breath, Kayla lifted herself up onto her new mount, settling her legs on either side of the ikran's strong neck. Kayla runs her hands up the creature's neck, feeling a pleasant shiver run between their bond as if the ikran was mimicking a purr. Norm eventually jogged up to the pair, beaming up at them, "Wow. You made it look so easy!"

Kayla flashed an unimpressed look down at her friend, blood still dripping out of her nostrils. Norm nervously chuckled before pointing his arm out in the direction of the open sky, "Don't let me keep you waiting. The first flight cements your bond and it's best you go now rather than later. Remember what I told you."

Kayla nods, briefly thinking about how it felt to command a direhorse forward before her thoughts are interrupted by the ikran screeching in response and flapping its powerful wings. Shit, Kayla forgot the beast could hear her thoughts. She's barely given enough time to cling onto the ikran before it takes flight, nearly knocking Norm off the edge before he narrowly dodges the wings. 

For a moment, the flying felt an awful lot like falling, but not like Kayla could blame her ikran. After all, the only thing her rider could think about was her fear of falling, therefore the beast had no choice but to do just that. They fell for what felt like hours, Kayla keeping her screams inside her head as she clung onto her mount for dear life, just waiting for them to finally crash at the bottom, but it never came. By the time Kayla was brave enough to open her eyes, she realize they were still falling, not exactly calming her fear of heights. Steeling her legs and squeezing them around the ikran, Kayla yells over the wind, "Straighten out and glide!"

The ikran did as told, immediately catching the wind underneath her wings and slowing their descent, drifting peacefully through the sky instead. Kayla took a moment to catch her breath and relax her heartbeat, blinking rapidly against the brightness. Her arms shook like a leaf but she forced herself to keep her grip firmly on her banshee's two queue antennae like reins on a horse. As they soar peacefully through the air, Kayla relaxes enough to look around, but never down. Her breath is stolen by the sights-- much similar to the first time she rode an ikran as a prisoner. It was so quiet up here, unlike all the other sounds constantly in her life, like the murmurs and yips of the Omatikaya clan and the beeping machines at the biolab. Up here, no sound touched her, and Kayla felt all the muscles in her body relax.

Her ikran calls softly into the wind, grabbing her attention. The creature is far more docile now, calm and serene. The banshee ate up Kayla's attention like a cat, much to her amusement, the creature shaking her muzzle when Kayla scratched the right spot with her nails. Such a mighty, elegant creature, needs a mighty, elegant name. Kayla took a moment to ponder on a name as the soft wind brushed gently through her hair like a mother would to her child. The avatar and ikran were gliding instead of flying, but neither complained as Kayla's thoughts were elsewhere. She wanted to think of several names before she could decide on one, but for some reason, she couldn't get past the first one that came to mind without much thought process. She didn't have a clue why she thought of that name, but it came to her within a split second. It was an Earth name, but one born from Greek mythology and just as mystical as her newly found friend. It fit so well, for some reason.

Eclipse was slowly approaching so Kayla decided to turn back, telling her ikran where to go with only her mind and returning to the rookery. There, she could hear Tarsem and Norm before she could even see them as they whooped and hollered in greeting. The young warrior that traveled with them was gone, likely out flying their own new ikran, while Norm and Tarsem stayed behind to greet the new banshee riders upon their return. Kayla's descent was a little rough, like trying to feel the rollback when hitting the brakes of a car for the first time. When the ikran landed, Kayla hopped off and disengaged tsaheylu, taking a moment to run her hand over the length of the beast's neck in gratitude. 

The ikran chirped in fondness just as Norm approached with a wide grin, "What'd you think?"

"I'm speechless," Kayla beamed, adrenaline only now beginning to wear off.

Norm laughs and placed his hands on his lips, looking up and down the length of Kayla's new ride with a smile that can only be described as amazement, despite the fact that Norm's seen it all for fifteen years. Apparently, you can never really get used to it, "So! What did you decide to name her?"

Kayla shrunk in on herself, turning a little bashful while trying to hide her smile, "Promise you won't laugh?"

"Promise."

"Thena."

~~~~~~~~~

When Kayla and the young warrior both returned on top of their ikran, the whole clan erupted in triumph and celebration. And they were not the only ones who were happy for the new warriors. All the scientists-- both avatars and humans alike, ran out to Kayla and her ikran to either embrace her or offer their congratulations. Kayla soaked up the praise with pride, smiling from ear to ear, her tail leisurely swaying to show her contentment. Preparations for a celebration were made as night closed in, with dancing and music and several firepits all circling each other to accommodate the amount of Na'vi and humans taking up the space. Mo'at had blessed both Kayla and the young warrior for their achievements then led the dancing and songs. 

Even Kayla found herself dancing and singing willingly, despite her prior insecurities. She would get small bursts of sadness throughout the whole night, thinking if only her family could see her now. The Sullys had only been gone for a week. Had they stayed just a little bit longer, perhaps Kayla would've been able to go with them now that she achieved what was holding her back. She never had time to pity herself, however, since either a friend of hers or a complete stranger would easily pick her up and pull her into the next dance. Both Na'vi and humans danced, together in person and spirit, sharing the same ideals for the future and for once not fighting each other. 

After hours, the celebration was technically over and the Na'vi were all settling down for the night, but Norm and Kayla were far from done. Now back in their human bodies, they decide to continue drinking in celebration of Kayla's success in the confinements of her trailer. She had burst out laughing, already a little tipsy, when Norm snuck in the whiskey he stole back from Max that night. 

"Shh! You want me to get caught?" Norm snapped at her under his breath, though he, too, was smiling as he closed the air decompression door behind him, "I had been saving this bad boy for a special occasion and I'll be damned if I let Max take that from me."

They drink out of some old glassware that had been left behind in the trailer back in the war and Kayla had recently cleaned and utilized them. They drank at the small dining room table that had been dusted and cleaned once more, but Kayla had kept some of the old things in their place out of respect. She understood that Jake and Norm once spent months here, confined to these four walls with only each other for company. Well... each other and the two women Kayla now spotted from the picture lying on the table, right where she left it.

She takes a sip of her drink before sliding the picture over to Norm, placing her finger above the redhead standing behind Jake, "So is that Dr. Augustine?"

Norm took a moment to tilt his head back and swallow the remains of his whiskey before inspecting the photo. His eyes widened comically as if forgetting he had left these pictures behind when surrendering the space to Kayla, "Oh! Yeah, that's what Grace looked like."

"She's pretty," Kayla hums behind her glass, maneuvering her finger to point at the woman in the ponytail and aviators, "And her?"

Kayla carefully watched as Norm took his time answering again, his eyes carrying some sort of heavy burden while staring at the photo of the woman. He swallows down whatever emotions were swimming behind his eyes, quickly sobering up while nodding, "That's Trudy. She used to fly all us scientists around."

"So you all knew each other pretty well?"

"Yeah. She tried to fight and help the Na'vi in the end."

Kayla caught onto the past tense words and slowly tilted her head toward him, "What happened?"

"... Quaritch's ship shot her down during the battle."

The faraway look in his eye brought Kayla to the conclusion of a certain mystery she was trying to solve in her head. She solemnly nods as she states, "You guys were a thing."

"I guess," Norm shrugged, staring down at his whiskey glass with a small smile, "Enough to scar Jake for life."

"You miss her? Her and Grace, I mean?"

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry."

Norm propped both of his elbows on the table, leaning forward to inspect the picture more closely, although it was likely an excuse to hide his face from her, "Thanks."

"Wow. That sounds familiar." She tries to joke, though it falls flat on her tongue when remembering her first interaction with the man sitting in front of her. She gently nudges his elbow with hers, "We sound like two broken records."

Norm scoffs halfheartedly, "Jake didn't seem as thankful when I gave him my condolences the day we met. 'You sure you guys are related?"

Thinking back, Kayla made a small 'iffy' motion with her hand, "Jake, uh... well, he had heard it all by the time Tommy's funeral came around. Over time he got sick of hearing people say they were sorry."

"Not you?"

Kayla simply shrugged, "Not many people said sorry to me."

"What...?" Norm leaned back in his chair to get a better look at her, confused and maybe appalled, "Kayla, how old were you when Tom died?"

Her blood runs cold when she realized she had said too much. Finding it hard to look Norm in the eye, she instead focused more on watching her whiskey swirl around in the glass she gently rolled in her hand, "I think I was... maybe eighteen?"

Norm's eyes widen while doing the math in his head. And as a scientist, it wasn't hard for him to solve the puzzle that had been troubling him since he met Kayla. She was clearly younger than Jake, but for some reason, she had treated Neytiri as if the Na'vi woman was younger than her. Putting that into perspective and adding Kayla's age during the time she lost her brothers, Norm felt sick to his stomach, "And Jake left soon after?"

One single nod.

"Eighteen years old... and no one thought you needed any condolences?"

She shook her head, expression impassive, "For Jake... I guess people thought since they were twins, Tommy's death was harder on him."

The snarl Norm let out was deep-rooted and vile, "That's stupid. Seems like everywhere I go, someone puts Jake on a pedestal."

The words made her freeze, eyes slowly flicking back to Norm out of suspicion, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I mean--" And just like that, Norm exploded, laughing out of disgust, a side of him that Kayla had never seen, "I spent several years training for the opportunity of a lifetime. I worked my ass off to get to Pandora, to learn under Grace, to have my own avatar, and to learn and experience this world as one of the People. But then I get here and all of that is freely handed to Jake, a guy who only read a manual on neuro-links! It felt like a punch to the gut, and honestly, it felt as though Tom's memory was being flushed down the drain all because of his jarhead dropout of a brother! Jake wasn't even grateful for everything he had been handed until he met Neytiri."

Kayla's eyes briefly widened at the new bit of information, then she relaxed her expression and nodded, trying to hopefully defuse the situation, "All it takes is one person... Up until now, you didn't appear jealous of Jake."

He shook his head, "I haven't been for a while. Back then, Trudy helped. After that, I just accepted and even admired Jake. He's one of my closest friends," the compliments plummet, however, when Norm meets her eyes again, a shadow forming over his face as past years of resentment began to flood, "But after meeting you? I'm sorry. I didn't know I wasn't the only one he screwed over. But all the shit he put you through at eighteen-fucking-years-old?"

Norm abruptly stands, the chair beneath him scooting back in protest as he begins to pace the room, trying to relieve his anger somehow, but it only appeared to make it worse as his voice gradually rose, "It's not fair. It's screwed up and it only reminded me of the last time I saw Jake get everything handed to him while leaving others in the dust. Even now, he's upped and left, leaving the rest of us behind. Leaving you behind. I've never had a sister, but if I did I would rather shoot myself in the face than abandon her, especially if she was only eighteen years old!"

The small trailer rings in the aftermath of his shouting, the silence only interrupted by Norm's attempts to catch his breath. After realizing what he said, he shrunk a little and guilt immediately replaced the anger. Kayla only carefully watched him, face blank as she observed his behavior. He tries opening and closing his mouth to say something, anything. How he was sorry for his attitude toward Kayla's brother, how he shouldn't be complaining when his past doesn't compare to hers, yadda yadda yadda. But the words don't come, and even if they did, Kayla wouldn't have given him room to say anything. 

Instead, she stood up without warning and without any inclination of what her next move would be. Face still blank as paper, she took the two steps forward needed to raise her arms and proceed to pull Norm into a hug. The embrace shocked Norm at first, causing his whole posture to stiffen under her grip, but eventually, it smoothens out and he allows his arms to wrap around her, holding her back.

Kayla let out a shuddering breath, a newfound appreciation blooming in her chest for her friend. It was... nice. Nice to have someone, for once, tell her that she had every right to be angry, instead of telling her that Jake was a different man and that he would never do that to her again. It was nice to finally have someone in her corner, to tell her that her feelings matter and that she's not alone in the resentment and betrayal she felt all those years ago. She has never had anyone like that in her life since her brother Tommy died. 

For a moment, even for just a split second, she allowed herself to imagine Tommy being there for her here and now as she whispered into Norm's shirt,  "Thank you."

~~~~~~~~~

Kayla took Thena out for flights every single day, though they were not meant for fun and exercise. Thena could tell through their bond that they were on the hunt, searching for something... or someone.

They flew several different routes, always keeping their eyes downcast at the forest canopy below, hoping to catch any sign of Spider. Kayla knows that the kid could very well be strapped down in Bridgehead, but on the off chance they took him off-site, Kayla wanted to be able to spot him before he was missed again. 

Norm often tried to accompany Kayla on these flights, flying on top of August, his ikran. He couldn't fly with her every single day since he was trying to juggle this and all the work that was starting to pile up back at the lab, but he wanted to try just as hard as Kayla was to find the kid. He had watched Spider grow up, and even though he wasn't his guardian in any way shape, or form, Norm still helped raise the kid, along with all the other humans who were accepted into the Omatikaya clan. Norm cared for the kid just as much as Kayla did. Norm appreciated Kayla's loyalty and dedication to the boy, even though she had only known him for a little under half a year. She was determined to bring him home, even for the sake of her nieces and nephews. In many ways, bringing Spider back could mean that the Sullys could also come home, just as long as Spider never gave Quaritch or Ardmore any information about Jake or the High Camp. So even if Kayla didn't care about the kid -which would be a lie she could tell herself and it still wouldn't be true- it was still vital that Spider be rescued if it meant Toruk Makto could return to lead the war efforts.

Some days, Kayla couldn't be persuaded to take a break. On other days, she was so exhausted from wind burn and all-day flying, she could hardly lift a finger. On these particular days, she'd cut the neuro-link and let her avatar recover while she did work around the camp as a human. These were the days' Norm could find something to keep her mind off of things so she wouldn't someday snap and likely hurt someone, mostly herself.

Norm was beginning to run out of ideas before he stumbled across some old, recovered data that they had taken with them after evacuating Hell's Gate. When he briefly looked them over, he came across quite the nostalgic discovery that he just had to share with his new friend. Downloading the data onto a flash drive, he went in search of Kayla and easily found her in the greenhouse with Max, listening as he gave her a rundown of every plant they possessed in the manmade shack. 

Norm made his appearance known and asked Kayla if she could come back inside, "I need to show you something."

They both made sure Max had everything together to continue by himself before they made their way back into the lab, walking into the first door and waiting for the oxygen to become breathable before taking off their masks and heading inside. Norm brings her over to a private corner of the lab and wheeled out a chair in front of a computer for her as he explained, "Apparently, all of Jake's old video logs are still available, stored away in our old database. I thought... listen. After our talk the other day, I thought I should apologize for how I ranted about everything I despise about your brother. Obviously, you have a lot more to hate about him than I do and I shouldn't have made it all about me."

She scoffed, brushing off the apology like water on a duck's back, "I don't think you did."

"Even so, I'm sorry. I think you should see these video logs," Norm offered the flash drive to her, "I'm not trying to justify his actions, but I just thought you deserved to see these because, in a way, it'll catch you up to speed on everything you missed in your brother's life. And you deserve to know all about it, including the parts he left out."

She raised her eyebrows and had to blink to bring herself back to reality, remembering to reach out and take the drive from him before nodding, "... Thanks, Norm."

He left her to it, leaving her in the lab by herself for privacy. Kayla sat down in front of the monitor, her movements slow as she inserted the flash drive, waiting for the information to load with bated breath. Within moments, nearly hundreds of video logs flash over the screen, scrolling up all by itself until it got to the very top of the list, stopping right at the thumbnail of the first video log. Kayla touched the screen, clicking the first video log and it sprung to life before her very eyes. Her breath is caught when the screen reveals a younger, human Jake, sitting as if he was right across from her at the table. He stared directly at her, looking just how she remembered him before all this happened. He had buzzed his hair before leaving for Pandora and Kayla could see his tattoos peeking out from under his T-shirt. He looked like a marine, his voice kind of monotone as he spoke into the video log.

Log Entry: 01

Location: SCI MOD

Researcher: SULLY, J.

P.I.: AUGUSTINE, G.

Date: 05/19/2154

"--And the concept is that every driver is matched to his own avatar so that their nervous systems are in tune... or something. Which is why they offered me the gig because I can link with Tommy's avatar which is insanely expensive-- Is this right? I just say whatever to the video log?"

Kayla's eyes widen and a brief laugh escapes her when Jake looks over his shoulder and the camera reveals a younger Norm and Max looking back at him. They all look like babies in these videos, younger than Kayla has ever seen any of them. After the first video log, she was much more anxious to get the others started. She had gone through each and every one of them, bug-eyed most of the time but otherwise quiet as she eagerly listened to her brother's voice.

Log Entry: 12

Location: SITE 26

Researcher: SULLY, J.

P.I.: AUGUSTINE, G.

Date: 05/30/2154

This log was different compared to the rest. The setting was different and Jake looked a little different. Something had shifted in his attitude. Maybe it was the lighting or the rest of the atmosphere, but Kayla noted how her brother looked more alive than ever compared to the previous videos. Behind Jake sat a familiar red-haired woman, looking into a microscope, either completely unaware of Jake's video log or intentionally ignoring it. Kayla could briefly see Norm moving around in the background again before her attention returned to Jake as he spoke,

"Okay. This is video log twelve, time's twenty-one, thirty-two-- Do I have to do this now? I really need to get some rack."

He had turned around and Grace did not hesitate to turn him down, glaring back at him, "No, now. When it's fresh." 

Kayla snorted, amused by this older woman who knew how to straighten out her hard-headed brother. Jake turned back to the camera, huffing in annoyance just as a live version of Trudy walked past him and off-screen, "Okay, location: shack and the days are startin' to blur together. The language is a pain, but, you know, I figure it's like field-stripping a weapon. Just repetition, repetition. Neytiri calls me skxawng. It means 'moron.' Norm's attitude has improved lately. It's good he's back on board, but he thinks I'm a skxawng, too."

Kayla couldn't help the laugh that escaped her lips, trying to imagine what it must've been like for Norm and Neytiri to teach a dumbfounded Jake. Neytiri always appeared complimentary when it came to teaching Kayla her ways, and Norm was more than happy to help, but with Jake, fifteen years earlier, it didn't appear that way. Kayla continued to go through each of her brother's video logs, taking notes in her head when important information popped up.

Log Entry: 42

Location: SITE 26

Researcher: SULLY, J.

P.I.: AUGUSTINE, G.

Date: 06/29/2154

"--My feet are getting tougher. I can run farther every day. I have to trust my body to know what to do. Every day it's reading the trails, the tracks at the waterhole, the tiniest scents and sounds. She's always going on about the flow of energy, the spirits of animals. I really hope this tree-hugger crap isn't on the final."

"This isn't just about eye-hand coordination out there, you know," Grace interrupted, again sitting at the microscope behind Jake, "You need to listen to what she says. Try to see the forest through her eyes."

"Excuse me. This is my video log here." Jake snipes back at her, pointing back to the camera with his thumb. He then turned back to the camera and continued. Several video logs after this were just a compilation of what Jake had learned from Neytiri every day, one after the other. 

"--With Neytiri, it's learn fast or die."

One--

"--I talked Mo'at into letting Grace into the village. It's the first time since her school was closed down."

--After the other. 

Every video log told a story, even if it was just Jake rambling on about his day. In a sense, it made Kayla feel as though she was there. She felt as though she was sitting across from him as he was telling her all the cool, new things he learned, kind of like how she used to tell him and Tommy about her day after school when she got home. 

Sometimes Jake steered away from his Na'vi teachings and would rant about the people he was practically living in that trailer site with. He talked about the sight he came across when he returned from a long day and wheeled into Trudy and Norm in a compromising position. Kayla had laughed, especially after seeing how horrified Jake looked from reiterating the story, his face paling at the memory. 

Other times, Kayla would often watch Jake drift from his thoughts, slowly shutting down from exhaustion. One video log was just Jake slowly falling asleep until he was out cold, his head leaning into his hand that he had propped up for support. It must have been late into the night and cold as Grace finally approached Jake from behind, her shawl wrapped warmly around her as she quietly leans over to inspect him. The older woman bore a fond expression, her smile small and gentle as she leans over Jake to turn off the camera, ending the video log.

Kayla would smile at those moments. She appreciated Grace in more ways than one now. She felt as though she knew so much more about Dr. Augustine than she did before, and in a way, Kayla was able to get to know her the same way Kiri did, by watching her in videos like this one. Seeing a past version of Kiri's birth mother just casually walking around in the background of Jake's video logs felt so domestic and at the same time haunting. Grace never knew Kayla, yet the older woman was putting a smile on her face, even in death. Kayla made a mental note to one day find a way to thank this woman for everything she had done for Jake.

When there were happy videos, there were also heavy ones, reminding Kayla of her reality and the world she now lives in.

"--I'm trying to understand this deep connection the People have to the forest. She talks about a network of energy that flows through all living things. She says 'All energy is only borrowed, and one day you have to give it back.'"

Log Entry: 87

Location: SITE 26

Researcher: SULLY, J.

P.I.: AUGUSTINE, G.

Date: 08/13/2154

Jake looks tired, thinner, and has an unkempt beard in this video log. Kayla could hardly recognize him. Even on Earth, he never allowed himself to look this bad. His words are as heavy as the bags under his eyes, "Everything is backward now. Like out there is the true world and in here is the dream. It's hard to believe it's only been three months. I can barely remember my old life. I don't know who I am anymore. They're not gonna give up their home. They're not gonna make a deal. For what? Lite beer? And blue jeans? There's nothing that we have that they want. Everything they sent me out here to do is a waste of time. They're never gonna leave Hometree."

Yet again, Kayla felt as though she was actually there, experiencing it all through Jake's eyes. He makes several more videos, talking about every event that led up to the battle, then the videos are abruptly cut off. The next and supposed final video was dated days later after the fight was over. Kayla felt her eyes water as Jake spoke of Grace, Trudy, and even Tsu'tey's deaths, along with several others, but she firmly kept her emotions in check, not allowing a single tear to fall. Jake tells all the events he could remember happening during the battle, then spoke of the aftermath. 

Log Entry: 98

Location: LINK CENTER

Researcher: SULLY, J.

P.I.: AUGUSTINE, G.

Date: 08/24/2154

"--The aliens went back to their dying world. Only a few were chosen to stay. The time of great sorrow was ending. Toruk Makto was no longer needed. Well, uh, I guess this is my last video log. 'Cause whatever happens tonight, either way, I'm... I'm not gonna be coming back to this place. Well, I guess I'd better go. I don't want to be late for my own party. Yeah, it's my birthday, after all. This is Jake Sully signing off."

Kayla had let out a long, gust of air, leaning back in her seat to process all of this. Looking around, she noticed the sky outside the biolab getting darker, close to eclipse. She must have been sitting there for hours as her back and legs began to scream at her. She groans, ready to stand up and move around before she looked back at the screen and froze.

There were more video logs after that.

The thumbnail for the next one made Kayla freeze. Instead of the Jake she knew growing up, she could clearly see the face of his avatar, piercing yellow eyes staring directly back at her. Her eyes flick over to the date, noting that the next one is only a few weeks after the last log. Her fingers shake as she moves over to click on it, letting the video come to life.

Sure enough, the Jake she had been learning to know sat in front of her, or more so the camera. He wasn't in any environment she recognized, the camera was now placed in front of scenery of trees and plant life. Jake looked to be alone, no one wandering around behind him, as he sat his tall self down on top of a large root sticking out of the ground, facing the camera while his ears flick nervously, "I, uh... I guess I have a bit of explaining to do. I thought I was done making these video logs, but... if there's any chance that this data finds its way back to Earth, I... I wanted this to somehow get to my sister."

Kayla's eyes widen, fingers growing cold as Jake spoke, and this time, he spoke directly at her, "Hi, Kayla. You probably don't recognize me but in case you haven't been told, it's your brother, Jake. I have so much to tell you if you haven't already been told. Needless to say, I can walk again, just not in the body you're used to seeing me in. I'm healthy, I'm the leader of my clan, I have friends, and... I'm gonna be a father pretty soon."

Kayla sucks in a sharp bit of air, eyes starting to water again as he continued, "I just thought you might wanna know. I understand if you don't. If you could, I bet you would tell me to go to Hell, but... if there's a chance that you can see this, or even hear this, I just wanna let you know how I'm doing. Alright. Uh... Jake Sully, signing off."

The video barely has time to stop before Kayla is greedily clicking on the second one, not hesitating this time. A nonconsensual smile graces her lips the second the next video plays, revealing a small, Na'vi baby settled peacefully in Jake's arms as he spoke, his voice so soft and gentle, Kayla barely recognized him.  

"Hey, Kayla. I thought you'd want to meet your nephew," he tries his best to lift the sleeping baby up to the camera without disturbing the child, and Kayla takes the time to count all of the baby's fingers and toes, recognizing the baby immediately before Jake could properly introduce him, "This is Neteyam."

A tear slips down her cheek as Kayla smiles uncontrollably. Jake obviously can't tell by her reaction and continues to monologue as he brings the baby to nestle back in his arms and stare down at him like he was the most precious thing in the world, "Neytiri named him. It means 'not the end' or something like that. She wanted his name to be a sign of new beginnings after everything we've been through. A sign of new life after war. It's a good name. I like it because it's similar to hers. He looks very much like his mama, don't you, little man?"

He cooed softly to the baby, who made no noise or reaction, still very much asleep. Jake's smile is so contagious, it was hard for Kayla to stop. Jake finally looks away from the child and stares directly at the camera, "I guess I'm a dad now, huh? Not sure whose bright idea was that. Who would've thought? Anyway... I hope you're safe wherever you are, Kay. And I hope, somehow, you know that you're an aunt now. I'll try and make more video logs as Neteyam gets older for you. Okay... Jake and Neteyam Sully, signing off."

She immediately wipes away her tears just as another video pops up. This time, the baby that Jake's holding has more hair and even has eyebrows and more fingers and toes. Jake practically holds the child up to the camera with just one arm, making sure his hand was supporting the back of the neck so Kayla could get a better look at the baby's face.

jake was beaming, proud and joyful, "Hey, Kayla. Meet Kiri. She's technically not mine by blood, but Neytiri and I adopted her. I'm not sure if I've mentioned or if you know about her, but Kiri belongs to my friend, Grace. She... she's unable to care for her, so we decided to step up and love her as our own."

Kayla felt her heart melting at how gentle Jake was for Grace's child. As Kiri begins to fuss, Jake brings his undivided attention to her, whispering softly, "Isn't she beautiful? Hey, baby girl, shh, it's okay. Kiri's name means 'light' I think, but it's also similar to Grace's Na'vi name."

Jake looks back at the camera, smiling and ranting like one would when telling someone their favorite subject in school, "You see, the Na'vi don't have the letter 'G' in their alphabet so they substitute it with a letter that sounds similar. 'Grace' in Na'vi is 'Kìreysì'. 'Same goes for my name. The Na'vi don't have the letter 'J' either. My name is technically Tsyeyk. I guess if you were here, your name might stay the same, I'm not sure. They have all the letters of your name in-- you know what, never mind. Even Kiri looks bored."

Kayla laughs as Jake holds Kiri up to the camera again, "I suppose that's it for now. This is Jake and Kiri Sully, signing off."

The next video is yet again, a different baby. This one also has eyebrows and ten fingers and toes, but it wasn't Kiri. This one's hair was shorter and their limbs were everywhere, unable to stay still in Jake's arms. Jake, on the other hand, was getting a kick out of it, even when the baby kicks his ribcage, "Kayla... this is Lo'ak. He's a feisty one. Neteyam and Kiri are still so little, it's a little odd to have another one already, but it's nice to have them all so close in age. I don't think they understand that they have a little brother now. I tried naming this one instead of Neytiri this time and I don't think it's half bad. So I think lo'a means 'amulet' and Lo'akur means 'Toruk Makto Amulet' which... if you don't already know, I'm also called Toruk Makto. It's a long story."

Jake's smile is soft and yet... sad at the same time, "He's... already so much like me, or at least that's what Neytiri says. It's both exciting and terrifying. Can you imagine? A little mini-me running around? Pandora's gonna have some problems."

Kayla rolls her eyes but in good faith, smiling as Jake holds Lo'ak up to the camera for her to get a better look, "That's all for now. Jake and Lo'ak Sully, signing off."

The video changes again, but this time, the dates are further apart and Jake looks as though he's aged a bit. In his arms is, yet again, another baby, but she's smaller and bears Na'vi traits like Neteyam. Jake's voice is soft while lifting the sleeping baby to the camera, "Tuktirey. Ain't she a cute one? The kids can't pronounce her name right so we just call her Tuk. The closest Lo'ak has gotten is Tuk-Tuk. She came as a surprise. Neytiri and I didn't know if we were gonna have any more rugrats."

Kayla laughs at the reference, immediately silencing herself when Tuk began to cry. For a moment, Kayla thought she had woken the baby before stupidly remembering that this was a video of the past. As Tuk cried, Jake shushed her gently, patting her bottom and holding her in the crook of his neck. He had become more of an expert between video logs. Jake chuckled to himself before looking at the camera, "I guess we'll have to cut this one a little short. This is Jake and Tuk Sully, signing off."

Thinking that would be it as Kayla got to the last of her brother's kids, she stood up to stretch. Turning around to try and relieve the stress in her back, she froze when she heard another video begin to play, "Kayla... I'm sorry."

Whipping back around, Kayla saw Jake, alone, sitting in front of the camera. He's older, yet again, as he rubbed his face tiredly, struggling to get the words out, "I miss you, Kayla. I miss you so much. I wish I could find a way to reach out to you. I wish I had taken you with me. You would've loved it here. I... I just hope that wherever you are, you're safe and you're happy."

Despite her resentment, Kayla's heart breaks seeing her brother like this, broken and regretful. Jake clears his throat, trying to rid it of emotions while his gaze shifts uncomfortably, tail wagging nervously behind him. He was looking around as if afraid he would be caught before whispering, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. You deserve better. You deserve a brother like Tommy instead of the asshole you got stuck with. I don't regret leaving Earth. Staying there any longer would have killed me. But leaving you there was my ultimate regret. I failed you as a brother, and watching my boys love their sisters unconditionally is a constant reminder of that. I don't want my boys to end up like me. I want them to be their own person, to stop trying to be like their father who would abandon his sister at the drop of a hat."

He sucks in a sharp breath, the words clearly making an impact on him as his tail and ears lower in distress. Jake had always been one of those people who couldn't cry unless he finally said certain words out loud to make those emotions a reality. As long as he didn't say anything, he wouldn't cry, like when Tommy died. He hadn't said a word during the funeral, but Kayla has expected it from him. He didn't cry when their parents died and he didn't say a word back then, knowing he would.

His breathing is shaky when he tried regaining a bit of composure, looking off to the side instead of directly at Kayla, "I miss you... I wish you were here."

The video ends and it's finally the end of the logs. Kayla checks the date of the last video log and realized it was filmed almost a year before she arrived on Pandora. She was already on the way. 

Kayla sighs through her nose, in and out, "I miss you, too."

~~~~~~~~~

Norm never asked what she found on those video logs and Kayla never said. Instead, she got back to work finding Spider. Again, Norm would join her on occasion, but realistically he couldn't as long as she could. Norm had tried finding the link limits between a driver and their avatar but hadn't been as successful as Kayla. She's proven she could go far and beyond with the link, going days without breaking it. Perhaps it stems from whatever soldiers learn during military training. All that discipline tends to stick around for a long time, and perhaps that discipline is why Kayla can resist the urge of jumping between human and avatar. Norm once told her that Jake's record in the neuro-link was sixteen hours straight, to which she scoffed and puffed out her chest, "Amateurs, the lot of ya."

Most of the time, Kayla is flying by herself, her, and Thena, constantly searching for Spider and sometimes not returning home for days at a time. She knew it was suicide to fly anywhere near Bridgehead, so she had to spread her search elsewhere. But knowing Ardmore, she wasn't stupid enough to keep Spider anywhere other than their headquarters.

Kayla would spend countless sleepless nights looking for the kid, and every day she was left disappointed, losing hope little by little. Lost in her haunted thoughts, she nearly falls off of Thena when she suddenly receives a call from her earpiece, shattering the calm, muted winds around her. 

"Dirty Falcon to Desert Fox, do you copy?" Norm's call sign rings through and Kayla hurries to answer, pressing her fingers to her throat mic.

"I copy, Dirty Falcon, over."

"Send your air traffic, over."

Kayla takes a glance down at the compass she now had attached to the bottom of her songcord "About twenty clicks west, over."

"Report back ASAP. We got a call coming in from Devil Dog, over."

Her blood runs cold, the very mention of Jake making Kayla worried that something was very, very wrong, "Copy that, Dirty Falcon. I'm Oscar-Mike, over and out."

She turned Thena around so fast the ikran hissed at her with distaste, despite feeling the urgency through their bond. Kayla had commanded her banshee to fly as fast as she could with the promise of large slabs of meat later. And no ikran can say no to a tasty bribe like that. Thena flew as fast as the wind could carry her, and within no time, they returned to High Camp. A horn is blown to warn people of her arrival and to let people know she was a friend and not a foe. Before Thena could properly land, Kayla was already disconnecting tsaheylu and jumping down, her feet landing on the floor of the cave mouth gracefully. Her eyes had not looked anywhere else other than the gunship covered in warpaint being loaded up with what looked to be a lot of medical supplies. Humans and avatars were assisting one another with the task and so Kayla beelined for them, immediately spotting Norm in his avatar.

"What's going on?"

"Kiri had a seizure."

Kayla's heart plummets, "What?!"

"Kiri had a seizure and she hasn't woken up," Norm was in scientist mode, serious and logical as he goes around packing up some last-second supplies, "Jake has asked us to come and help her in case the tsahik of the Metkayina can't do anything."

The Metkayina? This was the first Kayla has heard about any of this. Was this where Jake had taken his family? With nothing else on her mind other than Kiri, Kayla firmly nods her head, "What can I do?"

Max walks up to the towering avatars, face mask on and ready to fly, "I think it would be best if you flew separately on Thena. If the Metkayina village sees a rogue gunship flying toward their home, they might turn us away if Jake's unable to stop them. With an ikran by our side, we'll have a better chance of landing and helping Kiri."

"Okay. Let's go."

A/N: The reason why I named Kayla's ikran Thena is the same reason Kayla named her… because it was the first name that came to me at the top of my head and for some reason, it stuck. It just felt right. singing It's tiiiime to meet the love interestssss!!! Next chapter :) Thank you for the support and for hanging on so long!

[ch4nb4ng]

Over the 8 seas: Felix

Pairing: afab!reader x felix, older woman/younger man

Words count: 6.5k

Warnings: oral (fem. receiving), teasing, clit play, tit play, ass play, kissing, mentions of penis, intercourse, orgasms, both people are switches, felix more dom

Summary: Felix, the new rookie lifeguard, was giving you a hard time, so it was up to you to punish him the way you wanted.

Note: Hi! this is the second instalment of my mini series. based of this video (trigger warning: it’s literally porn). The link for the masterlist can be found below, hope you enjoy :) Also tagging Tan @j-0ne25 because they asked to be tagged so here you go !

Over the 8 seas masterlist

Ah, the end of spring, and the beginning of summer. The air was thicker, windier, especially at the beach, yet much hotter. The fluctuation of people bringing their beach bags, umbrellas, and throwing out their towels was coming, and it made you do nothing but smile. It was the best time of the year, but that didn’t mean that it also came with its challenges.  The summer interns arrived today, either ready to go and happy to get started, or very reluctant. They either knew what they were doing and came to earn money over summer vacation, or they were forced to try something new because their parents made them. Nevertheless, you were grateful that you had the ability to share your knowledge and wisdom with others. 

This very morning you walked into work with a great grin, walking straight to the locker room and changing into your yellows, putting your belongings into your locker and heading to the team room, brewing the morning coffee pot before getting into the admin of things. Although the skills that were being taught were physical, there was a lot of paperwork to get through. The pristine powerpoint presentation, the obligatory contract; it was a lot of work. Pouring a cup, you sat at the table, taking a deep breath as you prepared yourself for the fresh new faces that would now become your responsibility.

“Morning Y/n,” Changbin whispered, making sure not to scare you from behind, “you look excited.”

“Ah yes, morning, I’m very excited.”

“They look like a keen bunch,” Jisung chimed in, following behind the older lifeguard.

“Let’s hope they are as keen as they look.”

Putting your game face on, and spitting out the last of the coffee back into the cup and then over the sink (which earned you a look of disgust from both of them), you were ready (after popping in some gum; coffee breath was never a good first impression). It was the room next door, so it wasn’t like you had to go far. A triumphant smile came to your face as you walked in, all eyes plastered on you, the head of the operation as you opened the door and closed it behind you.

“Good morning everyone,” you practicaly squeaked, causing a few of them to laugh, “my name is y/n, and I am the head lifeguard here at Bondi. We will go through a quick seminar over the basics and then we will get into the physical stuff. Does anyone have any questions before we start?”

“I do.”

The sound came from far, the back part of the crowd. Your eyes trailed quickly, meeting the face behind the rich timbre voice. His look was soft, gentle, like he could never hurt a fly. But the voice, it was deep. Probably one of the deepest voices your ears had been blessed by. He was cute, looked to be younger, but not much more than you.

“Yes, uh, and what if your lifeguard number?”

“4598.”

You opened your binder, the list of all 25 students sprawled across the page. Fingers guiding down the list, it came to a halt, finding the number and reading his name aloud. 

“Felix?”

“Yes,” he rumbled, “just wanted to know how old you were before we start?”

For some reason, the question created a heat on your cheeks. Maybe because it was so unexpected. No rookie had ever asked you such a question. Not to mention the smirk on his face; it was leading. Like he had an ulterior motive asking. You scoffed, kind of exaggerated, not wanting to show the others that you felt caught out.

“I'm 25 Felix, how old are you?”

“22.”

“Are you single?”

More heat creeping onto your cheeks, “none of your business.”

“Right,” it was your turn to smirk, feeling the upper edge of your age (and experience) giving you the advantage, “any other questions relevant to our job?” 

A class of snickers fell over the group as Felix’s question is what is assumed to be flirting to be shut down quickly. It wasn't out of the ordinary for things like this to happen. Most of the rookies were alway hormonal young adults, looking at anything that moves to smash. However, as you broke away from Felix, your heart became sad. As you turned on the projector and waited for the monitor to warm up, you took a quick glance behind, eyes landing straight on him. It was when he was already gazing at you did you become embarrassed. There were 24 others here, yet you could only focus on one. Someone younger, a rookie? This was not right.

The rest of the presentation was quick and easy. Exchanging eye contacts with other students made life much easier, but you could feel the slight sizzle that came from his glare. But the fact that he was younger eased the intimidation. The last slide came up, and so did your presentation.

“Great, so now the formalities are over, who’s ready to get into our first aid class?”

A loud roar of cheers erupted in the room, making your heart melt. The enthusiasm for a shared passion always got to you. It was nice for others to share the activities you enjoyed. Lifting your wrist, you checked the time, smiling when you noticed the spare time before the next class was scheduled.

“Okay so it’s 9:45, let’s have a break and start at 10:15. If everyone could be in the room downstairs, that would be great, see you then.”

Most of the students nodded, making their way out and most likely to the beach. Time for another coffee break for you.  It was all fun and games, looking at the newbies. From one glance you could tell who was new, who was experienced, who was doing this because they’re parents wanted them to find a hobby/job. You minded your business, however, seeing as it was not necessary to pry into their personal lives. It’s not what you were here to do. Most of them you never saw again after the three months of vacation. Heading back to the break room, you took out a cup, pouring yourself from the kettle as you sat back down and opened up your binder once more, going over your notes and making sure you had everything right. It was silent, assuming that most of them did actually head out and absorb the warm sun rays. Shit. The CPR mannequins hadn’t been set up yet. Swiftly making your way down the stairs, you entered the room, opening the cupboards and taking them out one by one. Fuck, they were heavy. It was hard, but not anything you had done before.

“Yeah I bet, she’s so fucking fit tho.”

Your head snapped up, hearing a somewhat familiar voice speak. You knew you shouldn’t have, but you brought yourself to a halt, creeping to the door frame, wanting to hear the juicy gossip. It was bound to start sooner or later. Like you thought prior, it was a group of hormonal adolescents, there were definitely flings and romances that would start. 

“You’re insane Felix,” someone else laughed, “she’s too old for you.”

“So? Shes fucking hot, I dont give a fuck about her age.”

Who were they even talking about? They seemed to be friends, joined up together, because it was a super crude conversation for people that had just met. It didn’t stop you from listening however. As soon as you heard his name, you were like a leech, dying to know who and what he was talking about.

“Bro, have you ever been with an older woman before?”

“No but I fucking want to be,” he sighed, almost like one of desperation, “she could be perfect you know. She's smart, hot, and knows how to handle things. She’s the bloody head of Bondi beach.”

Oh my god.

“I want her. I think I’m in love.”

Jesus, he was talking about you. It couldn’t be anyone else. Fuck, he did have an ulterior motive asking about your age, relationship status. The ache between your legs was dull, and you wanted to slap yourself across the face. How could the simplicity and vulgarity of his words affect you so easily? You lifted a hand, removing the beads of sweat exasperating from your forehead. Everything felt hot suddenly, and you thought it would probably be better if you stopped eavesdropping. Part of you felt guilty, but the other part of you was extremely aroused, and you couldn't even deny that it did. A younger person shouldn’t have such a foul mouth about an older person. Yet it was that exact lack of disrespect and vulgarity that turned you on.

Lifting your wrist, you checked your watch, a poor attempt of dragging yourself out of the eavesdropping session and to focus on the task at hand. The clock striked 10:15, and your pupils flowed in, one by one, including him. It was unclear whether that smirk on his face was his resting facial expression, or it was because of what he just said. Does he know you heard him? Oh my god what if he did? It didn’t matter anyway, because that’s not what you were here for. Although, part of you was lying if you were not saying you wished it were.

“Okay,” you yelled, clapping in a successful attempt of getting everyone’s attention, “everyone find a dummy, we are going to need partners.”

Everyone was hesitant at first. Not many people knew each other, which is always why you had a backup plan. Lifting the binder from the floor, you opened it to the numbered lifeguards again. Finger wafting through the numbers, an idea sprung into your mind.

“Right, seeing as none of you really know each other I will assign you based on your number in the order of my spreadsheet. This will be a good opportunity for you to get to know each other, seeing as you will have to work together to save people from drowning.”

The room was silent, an anxious tension rolling over at the intensity of your words. You began to list each number, picking random partners to be together. This was a good idea, until the forgetful moment where there were 25, an odd number of people in the class.

“Please raise your hand if you haven’t been assigned a partner.” 

Of course, to your dismay, it was he who shall not be named that raised his hand. Great, you thought to yourself. Of course you would be dumb enough to leave Felix by himself. His expression never changed, that stubborn thing, and he didn’t even let you speak, knowing that you would be his partner. To say he was satisfied was an understatement. He shot a wink at his mates, before conveniently standing next to you. Like he was your little sidekick. That’s what you wanted to do; kick him in the side. 

“Okay so, Felix, who is my partner, will help me give a demonstration on how to administer CPR to an unconscious person. We will do two assessments: one with the dummy, and one with your partner.”

“Oh sick so we can do-”

“No Felix,” you scoffed, pretty much over his antics already, “you don’t need to do mouth to mouth in the person assessment.”

A collective of snickers erupted across the room as you got onto your knees, heat creeping onto your own inviting him to do the same.

“Okay so what we are going to do, Felix, could you please kneel down in front of the dummy.”

He did as he was told, already getting his hands into position. Great, he already knew what he was doing. An even greater addition to his arrogance and ego. Boy he was cocky. This had happened before. Of course in your many years of training, your own and helping others, there was always arrogance; most lifeguards are men so what did you expect? But Felix’s was different. Like he was cocky, but not because he was skillful. Maybe it was just his personality. Although part of you was curious (attracted, but you didn’t want to call it that), it was going to be a long three months if this was anything less than a facade.

“You’re going to place your hands in the center of the chest.”

You want to roll your eyes. Fuck he was irritating.

“Here?”

You huffed, his feigning innocence was not a cute look. You scurred over, wrapping your arms around his, fingers delicately attached to the ends of his wrists, fixating his palm in the actual center of the chest. It was easily audible, the soft gasp that left Felix’s lips when he felt your chest press into his back. Only you could hear it though. It was cute, especially since he most likely wasn’t expecting you to be so close so quickly.

Honestly, Felix was seeing this as more of a slowburn. He was one of those kids that didn’t really want to become a lifeguard. He would have much preferred to be traveling, going to any and all music festivals he could with his friends. It was, however, when his mum caught him rolling a joint in the deep corner of his very private bedroom, that got him grounded and doing what his parents made him do over the summer. That didn’t mean Felix wasn’t going to find a way to enjoy himself out of it. Things just happen to line up the moment he laid his determined eyes on you. He was a high achiever, and you were the prize. He was in love already. Felix was always attracted to women with a high work ethic, and you were nothing short of that.

“Correct.”

“I can’t wait to do this to you,” he whispered, now your turn to return the gasp. It could have been innocent. That he was eager to learn the skills required: but the both of you were not that naive. Every part of your being was doing your best to not just slap him then and there. Felix knew what he was doing, which was very much inappropriate and just flat out outrageous. 

Deciding to ignore his suggestive comments was much easier than to actually acknowledge. The compressions started, and he followed the beat correctly, the first thing that Felix was actually able to complete without any smartass comment or motion. 

“See how he is pressing hard enough, but not too hard?”

The others nodded, their curious gaze bringing you back to zen mode: sharing your knowledge and wisdom of others. 

“Does anyone have any questions? No? Okay, one person from each pair starts, the other monitor after two cycles. Don’t forget, 30 compressions, 2 mouth to mouth.”

The practice went underway, most of the students getting it correct on the first try. You were already proud. What you were not proud of was the way you were watching Felix practice not only his compressions, but the way his lips attached to the dummy. To say you were jealous of a dummy just sounded flat out ludicrous, so it was better to stay in denial. There was nothing attractive about giving mouth to mouth, but he somehow made it arousing. Thighs were clenching, and they were not anyone else’s except yours. What you couldn't stay in denial about was the way his arms flexed each time he pressed downward. Felix didn’t have the biggest arms going around, but god were his muscles defined during contractions. One could describe it as sickening. He took a pause, wiping the thick beads of sweat amounting across his forehead. Fuck. The way you could make him sweat; the list was growing with no chance of slowing down any time soon.

“Am I doing okay Miss?”

The way his gaze shifted toward you, still kneeling, forced to look up. Now an innocent fawn in the woods. Fuck he was cute. It was taking every part in you to not just take him and make him do you right there. Trying to read Felix was becoming more confusing as time went on.

“You’re doing great, but if you were giving compressions to a real life person, you can’t just pause.”

“Fuck,” he cursed, somewhat loud and making other people stare, “I’m sorry.”

What was he trying to do? Was he wanting your validation? Was he still being a smartass? He was clearly upset that you criticized him. It didn’t matter regardless, it was time for the practical assessment.

“Okay everyone looking good. Now we are going to practice with our partner. Now instead of doing mouth to mouth, I want you to just lean over slightly, whisper 1, 2, then go back to compressions.”

Kneeling back to his level, you chuckled, already seeing Felix laying on his back. You moved to his side, leaning over as you followed the compression protocol. You called the number of compressions out loud. All he could do was watch it awe, and the grazing feeling of his eyes burning into the side of your face was making you heated yourself. Nonetheless, it was not going to distract you from the job at hand. Reaching 30, you leant over, slightly, but it didn't matter. Felix’s stare was intimidating, and he did not shy away. Your counting became quiet, eyes silencing your voice. Whispering, “1,2,” before forcing yourself to tear away. Another cycle, and your pulse was rising. CPR was hard, but that was not the only contributing factor. As you pulled yourself closer, for the breaths of course, Felix lifted his hand, the one that was facing away from the others, before placing it on your leg. His finger dragged subtlety across the exposed skin on your thigh.

“You’re doing so well baby.”

 It caused you to buckle for a split second, a quick skip in your compressions before making it to 30 again. Your lean was closer this time, teeth gritted as you muttered, “Knock it off before I make your life a living hell.” 

He cannot be fucking serious. He was probably trying to get kicked out, which wasn’t surprising. After his mum came to you, begging for her son to be let into a program of ‘reform’. To be honest, you thought it was a little dramatic, surely her son was not that bad. But maybe you were wrong. Maybe he was unable to be contained. He was already getting on your nerves, but there was no way to pinpoint it on whether it was because he was being inappropriate, or if it was because you actually liked it. 

All he did was smirk as you swapped positions, now what felt like giving Felix all the power. His compressions were fine, it was not what you were really focused on if you decided you were going to be honest with yourself for the day. It was the proximity, or lack there of when he came down for his breaths. His eyes were not mistaken, focused solely on your reaction, the hitch in your breath, each time he got disgustingly close to you. It was supposed to be counted, but the number was far gone, out of the window and thrown into the crashes of the waves. 

Felix stopped, leaning back on his knees as you arose, core aching in a subtle manner. Pushing your hair behind your ears, you adjusted yourself, making sure to not look as disheveled as you felt. Thank god the first day was a half day, because you needed to relieve yourself in some way. A swim, shower, touch, anything, because it felt illegal how aroused your body had become at such a simple gesture.

“Okay, thank you everyone! It was very nice to meet you all and I will see you here at 8:30 tomorrow for our first lesson in the water. If anyone has any questions, please stay back and I’ll be more than happy to answer.”

An array of ‘thank yous’ filled the room as you turned your back to pick up your binder. You should have known better. Taking an eye off them, him was a rookie mistake, because it was only left to the two of you left, alone. For god sake, what could he possibly ask for?

“Ms, y/l/n, Y/n, did you need help putting the dummy’s away?”

“Oh,” you dazed, a somewhat confused expression pondering across your face, “that would be great actually, thanks.”

There were no ulterior motives as Felix went silent, not pushing your buttons, no attempt to provoke you as he watched you open the cabinet, and place the dummy’s one by one. It was kind of humorous, really. See he had the intention of helping you, but instead, just stood there, admiring the way you bent your knees, the way you scooped the dummy into your arms, the way your biceps bulged from lifting. It wasn’t that you were even doing anything special, it was solely the fact that it was you. He was in deep shit if this was what he had to do the rest of the summer. There was no way you would go for him? 3 months of torture is what Felix predicted, but not work torture: horny torture. 

It took you a while to notice him gawking at you, and the idea made you blush. Avoiding his gaze, you locked the cupboard, not wanting to emphasize this situation by any means. You could feel the atmosphere beginning to change, and the heat in temperature was increasing, which was normal being at Bondi, but this was different. Without knowledge, Felix had stepped forward, closing the gap between the two of you. A sharp gasp escaped your lips, Felix really putting you in a bind.

“You okay Felix?”

“I want you.”

The admission was so blatant. It really wasn’t what you were expecting him to say. His digits were lingering on the outside skin of your arm, hair raising in adrenaline coated fear as he continued to stay close. Closer, and closer, and closer. Fuck, this was getting really hard. He didn’t do much, but it’s not like he needed to. It was time to come clean. The moment your eyes landed on him, it was inevitable. Your face was leaning, hesitant to just go for it without asking for clarification first.

“What?”

“You heard me,” his voice was a deep whisper, tone laced with honey that was having detrimental effects on you, “I fucking want you.”

Fuck. Fuck this. One kiss isn’t going to hurt. Felix however, was one step ahead of you, reaching to attach his lips to yours. A soft groan, one that sounded like relief from his mouth as your lips moved together. Felix’s lips were so soft, but that felt irrelevant when his hands were on your neck, thumbs caressing your jaw as you opened your mouth,  allowing his tongue to intertwine with yours. Felix’s kissing technique was so rough, sloppy even, but his touch was so gentle, caressing; his age was showing, and it filled you with nothing but admiration. 

A kiss, one kiss. That’s it. It was done. All you had to do was move away. 

But fuck, was the impossible. Felix’s hands had moved away from your face, traveling down your sides, right until your pelvis. Wrapped around your delicate hip bones, Felix pulled away, sucking on your bottom lip, keeping it between his teeth as his thumb pressed into the flesh skin just above. Another gasp reached from your mouth.

“Fuck, where did you learn how to do that?”

Felix now bit down on his own bottom lip, a look on his face that reeked of ego and arrogance at how he was able to get what he wanted. His fingers were very soothing, easily able to put you in a trance. A hallucination. The callused skin of his fingers would feel so much better in other places. Anyway, the dull ache that had been persistent throughout the rest of the day was at an all time high. It was getting too hard to ignore, and it’s not like you had gotten any action from a man in a while. This could be fun. A nice little summer rendezvous, what could go wrong?

“I have my ways. What do you say we get out of here and you know, continue this?”

“Fuck you’re confident aren’t you?”

He said nothing, instead, using his fingers to talk, they moved closer, and closer, right until his index and middle finger were right in the center of your shorts.

“Felix I-,”

“Shhhh,” he cooed, beginning to rub gentle circles over your clothed core, “feels good, right?”

“Yes, but I-”

“It’s ok baby,” Felix continued to coo, applying just that little bit more pressure that felt like heaven already, “just give me a chance.”

Impatient for your response, his fingers traveled up to your waistband, dipping underneath, passed your panties and straight in between your folds. A panicked hand grabbed his wrist, planning to stop him immediately. But it was already too much. Your hips were already grinding on him, gently, Felix did most of the work himself. Burying your face into his neck, a small whimper escaped from your lips, Felix able to feel you right where you needed him. 

“Fuck, Felix,” you breathed, deep and hard, “we shouldn’t do this.”

“I know baby,” he agreed, withdrawing his hands from your pussy, “maybe we shouldn’t.”

Your jaw dropped, feeling completely duped and betrayed from the sudden lack of touch. He took a step back, walking slowly until he reached the door. Thank god the windows were tinted, because you would be busted and you know it. Turning the lock on the door, the room was shut off to everyone else. That was when he came back over, dropping to his knees, simultaneously and swiftly dropping your shorts and panties with him.

“Oh my god Felix, wait.”

He looked up at you with nothing but concern, identifying the sudden hesitancy in your eyes.

“Everything okay?”

Yes, Felix was a cocky bastard, but he was also caring, something that you were just able to realize. It’s like it suddenly hit you like a brick where you were, what you’re doing. Was it wrong?

“No it’s just, are you sure you really want me?”

Felix slouched, confusion written all over his face as eyebrows furrowed, freckles shining under the artificial light. God he was pretty. His fingers spread across the front of your thighs, soothing rubbing up and down with an encouraging tone.

“Yes, what made you think I’d change my mind?”

“I’m just, it’s just, I’m a few years older than you and-”

“Y/n, in the nicest way possible, I dont give a fuck.”

His face was now perfectly eye level with your pussy, left hand leaving your leg and gently massaging your folds. The contact felt so good, and he wasn’t even touching you yet. His lips were getting closer, puffing out as he bumped into your inner thighs. He wanted to keep going, but he refused to do anything else, not until you gave him permission to touch you, lick you, drown in you. He was dying to do all of that, but not if it meant it made you uncomfortable.

“I know I look younger, but respectfully, I want fuck you so hard that you’ll forget about my age.”

Fuck it.

Your hands were locked in his hair, the long, blonde hair, dragging him even closer, Felix’s tongue subconsciously sticking out as he licked a long, deep stripe in between your folds, and all the way up to your clit. Your hips shuddered, the anticipation definitely unsuccessful at overthrowing the reality of how Felix’s tongue actually felt. His mouth, like his hands, were rough, sucking harshly on your core. God his tongue felt so good, nothing had ever felt like this before.

“Fuck,” you whined, back resting agasint the wall behind. It was all you could say.

“Mhmm,” he hummed, replacing his tongue with his fingers, “how’s that y/n?”

“Really good,” you huff, hips gently grinding on Felix’s fingers, “Felix.”

“I really like when you say my name like that.”

If he was being honest, it could make him cum right on the spot. The more finger fucked your pussy, the more infatuated he became. You were so wet, and Felix was 100% sure he’d never seen a cunt juicer than yours. He just wanted to bury his face in it, have you coated all over his face. It was something he was very much looking forward to, because he was sure he could do it. Make you a shivering mess over and over and over.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he growled, before diving back into your pussy with his tongue. Felix had turned into an animal. It was driving you crazy, the way he became primal. It was unclear that someone younger than you could have so much sexual maturity, yet simultaneously having the technique of a sloppy mess. You were a fixation, something he couldn’t get enough off. His gaze does not move. Solely focused on the way you looked. Each crevice if your lips, eyes, forehead turning up or down. It almost felt criminal to look away. But when you did, it was there, you could see it.

The tent in his pants was big, implying that Felix was probably at his hardest right now. Your legs were tensing up, and you weren’t sure much you could take. 

“Mmmm,” Felix mumbled to you, moving his face and sticking his tongue out, “you taste so good Y/n.”

There was nothing you could say, the only sound of moans and groans, which were only yours, filled the room. The all too familiar tightness at the pit of your abdomen was developing. Hips were bucked, running along Felix’s tongue as you took advantage of his helpful decision to let you use him as a ride.

“Shit, I’m gonna-”

“Shh,” he pulled away, index and middle finger plunging back into your now wet and needy hole, thumb substituting his thumb as he whispered to you, “I can feel the way you’re clenching around me, need to cum?”

His pace was unforgiving, but granting Felix the satisfaction of making you orgasm so easily was something you did not want to give. The last, very small rational and logical part of you was stubborn, really not wanting to give this up. It was too late however. Your legs were already shaking, and Felix was ogling at how easily he had made you come undone. If anything, it shocked you as well. You really did not expect it. He slowed his speed, letting you ride out your high before standing up, pecking your lips, but quickly replacing his tongue with his fingers, slowly slipping the pussy covered digits in knuckle by knuckle. 

“Fuck that’s hot,” Felix gasped, praising how enthusiastically you took him in your mouth. His mind was already wondering about another scenario, one where another part of his body would be enthusiastically buried in your mouth. 

But now was’t the time. Felix was way past the point of that. Once his fingers were ejected, he was patient, painfully, awaiting for the hastiness of your chest heaving up and down with intensity, while gently reattaching his lips to yours. A kiss of affection and gratitude. The last of your high had washed over, but for some reason you were still needy. Wanting more. Felix kept your legs spread, knee on your core as he continued with his delicate lips.

“Felix,” you pulled away, somewhat out of breath, “that was wow, I wasn’t expecting that when I came to work today.”

He chuckled at your ironic statement, that all too familiar smirk coming back to his lips.

“Bet you didn’t expect someone like me to make you shaked hard like that.”

“Yeah,” you giggled, wiping your juice off of the bottom of his lip with your thumb, “there must be some way I can repay the behavior.”

You had never seen someone’s facial expression change in a matter of seconds. 

“Oh, uhm, I wasn’t expecting that.”

If you were being honest, neither did you. But it was already too far gone. The man just licked your pussy for god sakes. This was your chance to take control of the situation. Up until now, Felix had all the power, but that was about change. In some way, you wanted to punish him for completely disobeying you the majority of the day. There was a chair next to you. Hmph. Gently nudging Felix away, you sat on the chair, legs spread wide and on display for him. Lifting your fingers, you motioned to him, hithering your fingers as he sat back down on the floor, maintaining eye contact as the lust began to fill your own eyes.

“Let me show you what it’s like to fuck a woman, a real woman.”

Felix gulped at your statement, swearing he could cum just from your words. Your arms were over your head, removing the last of your shirt and unclasping your bra as you climbed on top of Felix. Looking closely at him, teeth marks sinking below his bottom lip as he knew to pull down his own pants, boxers and shorts in one go. It was cute how desperate he had suddenly become, bottoms barely past his thighs as he watched you intently. Naked body hovering over this pathetic little boy; it was empowering.

“Would you like that?”

“Mhm,” he nodded, sound barely audible as you grabbed his cock, a harsh sounding hiss escaping his lips as you pumped him a few times, sinking your hips milliseconds away from his cock, tip brushing your clit in the most subtle way. His hands came to each side of your ass, wanting to somewhat guide you closer and closer. He could burst at the seems the amount of time you made to tease him. He didn’t do it to you; to him it was unfair to him.

“Come on y/n,” he whined, kneading each cheek, “please don’t tease me.”

“Fine,” you scoffed, however doing a 180 so you were not facing him, “there you go, seeing as you like my ass so much.”

The descend onto Felix, the filling up, the feeling of his cock buried deep inside your pussy hole; the entirety of it was humbling. Felix was bigger than you thought he would be, bigger than you were used to and it was easy to tell that his cock was stuffing you to the brim. 

“Fuck oh my god,” you chocked, gently rocking back and forth on him, “you’re so big.”

A strangled moan was all Felix could reply with, not expecting you to be so tight. Hands still firmly on your ass, Felix watched with intensity as you gyrated back and forth, struggling to take all of him and out. 

It didn’t take long for you to lose yourself in the moment, hands out in front of you to concentrate hard. The veins in Felix's hit all the right spots you could possibly ask for. Losing yourself however ,caused you to lose your concentration, Felix’s grip on your ass getting stronger as he grabbed hold of the reins once again. His aim was to assist you as much as he could, seeing as you continued to struggle to take all of him. There was no pain, no discomfort, just pure bliss and you fucked the shit out of Felix. Or he did to you. The lines were currently blurred but ti really did not matter; it felt way too good to give a fuck about something as trivial as that.

“Cock feels so good Felix,” you whined, a string of curse words muddled in between, “so big.”

“You’re pussy was made for me Y/n,” he grunted, hips dancing to reach yours. The comment made your hips jolt forward. You stopped moving, instead giving Felix all the control to clench those cheeks, hips barely moving as he silently pounded you. His pace was fast, but you could tell there was desperation. He was getting tired, but he wanted nothing more to please you. He was searching for it, that validation from his teacher, you. Maybe because his parents denounced him at any chance they could get, he was getting it from you in the forms of moans, groans, and your legs struggling to keep you up. He suddenly understood everything about your body and the way you wanted it to work, and with much confidence, believed that he could bring you there.

“Please don’t fucking stop,” you cried, “fuck me.”

“You want me to fuck you?”

“Felix please, make me cum,” you gritted, voice hoarse from the constant vocalization of your pleasure, “please.”

“Of course I can,” he whispered, “I’m so close too, just a little longer baby.”

You really could not handle much longer, but somehow you managed, getting Felix to slow down, allowing his thrusts to become languid and deeper, each time brushing against your g-spot with less vulgarity and want. Your eyes were screwed shut, Felix’s jack slack open as his hips commenced their sporadic movement.

“Fuck I’m gonna bust,” was all he needed to say to bring that familiar pit back to your stomach. His left hand spread near the center of your ass cheek, thumb long enough to reach the rim of your asshole. The digit danced slowly, tip slightly poking in, an almost shriek escaping your lips. Fuck, was that your weakness.

“Fuck Felix yes please keep doing that I’m gonna cum.”

He continued his playful assault, whining at the way your pussy clenched around him each time his thumb inched more and more into your ass. No fuck this, you couldn’t hold it anymore.

“I’m cumming,” you exasperated, upper body completely collapsing as he cooed you through your orgasm, slowing his pace down to a minimum. He was dying, wanting more and more of you, but also careful as he did not want to overstimulate you.

“That’s a good girl, Y/n,” he chuckled, “so much pussy juice.”

Hah, what a young person to say. You were still lying down as you turned around, face inline with Felix’s cock as you grasped the base of him firstly, tongue on his tip and you pumped him dry, spurts of cum roping over and over and over until he couldn’t take it anymore, placing a hand on your wrist as a sign to stop.

“So much cum,” you giggled, rubbing any that missed your tongue into your mouth. Hmm, very sweet.

“Jesus,” Felix huffed, completely out of his breath as you helped him lift his hosts and undergarments back up to his hips. Yourself redressing after him. For some reason it was more important for him to be dressed before you were.

“Well,” you smiled awkwardly, tucking your hair behind your ear once more, “that was fun.”

“Fuck yeah it was,” he chuckled, causing the smile to stay on your face.”

“You know you cannot tell anyone about this, uhm, encounter.”

“Oh of course,” imitating his lips to be locked, throwing the zip away, “I don’t even know what you are talking about.”

A look of gratitude was given before the two of you exited the room, parting ways at the departure. 

Fuck, you were in for a long summer because you were too dumb to acknowledge that this would definitely happen again.

[yostresswritinggirl]

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐎𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐬

pairing -> Cyno x Reader; before present timeline

word count -> 4,824 words

themes -> scholar Cyno, pre-trauma Cyno, pining and strangers to friends to crushing, angst, Sumeru racism themes, slight mentions of blood and injury, open ending, origin story of how Cyno got his wolf spirit

(teaser) (summary) His own devotion became his downfall, doomed to pay the price of repeating past mistakes. But to Cyno, you were akin to an oasis in a blazing desert, who is he to refuse his own heart? (fan sequel)

Despite their devotion to the God of Wisdom, the people of the Akademiya and the people of Sumeru in general do not take kindly to desert dwellers.

Even to their fellow scholars who earned their rightful place to be admitted, worked hard for it. This was a hard pill to swallow, but Cyno had expected this treatment from the very beginning, hardened his will for it. Perhaps that was the reason he wasn't so keen with being a zealot; if it was simply the call of wisdom they follow, then there would be no excuse to discriminate when they too share the same vigor for knowledge.

Origins should not be a deterrent when they all share the same goal. And that is the simple pursuit of knowledge.

Cyno may think it abhorrent, but he has kept to himself, not letting the way the crowd parts in his presence like he has his own Wall of Samiel around him bother him.

Doesn't let the empty chairs in his table in the House of Daena distract him.

Doesn't let the unsubtle murmurs and side glances irate him.

So, how exactly does he react when the direct opposite happens?

"-guistic anthropology, the study of human languages..." Subconscious murmurs and the sound of a pencil repeatedly being rolled on the wooden table. "-structure, history and relation to social and cultural contexts..."

Cyno had long lost concentration on his own reading when he felt something tap against his resting hand, looking up to see your pencil roll away until it reached his hand. His red eyes would follow the trail of the rouge object, only to see your hand patting around the table to look for it.

But your divided mind continued to read your book, not noticing the missing writing utensil nor the intense gaze sent your way.

You two haven't introduced yourself to each other officially, but the white-haired scholar knew your name from simple investigation alone (read: it's written on the cover of your notebook in custom calligraphy) and many other details he'd heard out of curiosity.

You're a newly admitted scholar from this year's entrance exam in the same darshan as him, eager to learn and eager to research. Your naivety to the inner workings of Akademiya culture had made you gullible to his reputation, and as such, landed you in this predicament.

It wasn't even an eventful first meeting to begin with, but it was all so important to him. The House of Daena was full of people due to a lot of new books joining the inventory, books so new that it wasn't inputted in the Akasha system yet. Despite the traffic, Cyno found himself alone on his designated table again.

Until you nonchalantly pulled the chair in front of him and made yourself at home. He was sure he looked like he'd seen a ghost upon looking up from his book - disbelief so obvious but easily mistaken as something else by someone who didn't know better.

Meeting your eyes, you gasped at his attention and whispered an apology, believing that you had spooked him from his reading. But before you could mind your own business for good, your eyes widened a fraction as your attention moved higher.

He expected a smile sent his way to be out of pity, the kind he hates the most - but when you gave him a bright smile, that was another outlier to his expectations. Slightly turning your head you giddily pointed at the darshan pin on your scholar's hat and gestured to his.

No words were exchanged that day out of respect for the silence expected in the great library of the Akademiya, but Cyno took more time forcing himself not to obviously stare at you than actually read his book. Fortunately, or unfortunately, you don't seem to notice his poorly concealed glances.

"Hm?" He was pulled out of reminiscing with a quiet gasp as he felt your fingertips brush against his. "Oh, sorry about that." You hummed and took the pencil still resting by his hand, his fingertips twitching at the graze of your cold hand as you do so.

This has gone on for too long. "anThRO-" Take two. Cyno coughs into his hand to hide his high pitched attempt to talk to you. "That's introduction to anthropology, right?" Cyno felt his throat close up when your whole attention landed on him. He found it scorching, just like the sun in a desert without shade.

"Yeah - wait, was I reading outloud again?" But you were no bother. At least, not the kind that you were thinking and he made sure to erase your doubts then.

It was all so foreign to him and you had no clue. The smiles, the chatters, the company. All that was there, all that is you.

But in no way did he regret that day as it started off your friendship. Even if... even if focusing on his reading on that lonely table became harder to do after that. The innocent attention could not be any more endearing now that you weren't being overtly respectful of his boundaries.

Seating across from him changed to seating next to him, sneaky glances became curious looks, pens and pencils shared and exchanged. At one point, you accidentally switched hats after not noticing the passage of time.

The mix-up wasn't that obvious seeing as you have the same pins. But the way the one-size-bigger hat slipped off your head far enough to cover your right eye had him smiling silly. And you openly laugh at the sight of the tiny hat simply placed atop his mop of white hair, seemingly drowning in it.

But he was no fool, and Cyno had prepared himself for the worst possible outcome out of this outlier.

Even if he believed himself to have a good judge of character, he still had you at arm's length if you were to turn your back and tell him you were just playing with him, that you hated him just like the rest of the forest-side scholars. So that he can confidently tell you "I knew it" when you come clean with your intentions - that you were using him.

The worry ate him up so much that at one point he WANTED it to be true. Just so he can let go and go back to how things were. Where it was predictable, explainable, and within his boundaries.

Exploit him, use him, utilize him -

"Can you teach me that?" His hand stills and he once again gives you his full attention (never divided, no matter how hard he tries to have some sense of self-control) only to see you looking at the pencil resting on his knuckles.

"What?"

"The thing - this." Your own pencil finds it way between your index and middle finger, aggressively flipping it repeatedly as a mock replica of his skillful pencil twirling. "It looks cool."

You didn't expect him to laugh openly at the request, the corners of his eyes tearing up from pure, unadulterated mirth. Before you could overthink that he was making fun of you, your mouth shuts when the eraser end of his pencil taps the center of your forehead, his smile and gaze on you endearing.

"You." Cyno's smile widened at the sight of your nose bridge wrinkling when he tapped the pencil again for emphasis. "Are unbelievable."

"The hell does that mean?"

While he's confident in the sincerity of your heart to approach him for his company, he can't say the same for others. Which is why he isn't so keen about group projects.

Or maybe he just hates how incompetent his classmates can be. Or how obvious they were on staying away from him.

Despite the circumstances, Cyno's intellectual capacity is undeniable and he has the merits to show it. Sometimes he thinks that perhaps that could be a part of the apprehension towards him but he can't be too sure, after all, he's no Vahumana scholar.

'Looks like I'm doing this solo again,' Cyno sighs tiredly as he looks around the classroom filled with scholars and loud chatters. A particular desk generating a crowd took his attention easily. The one where you sat.

Through perseverance alone, you've advanced your studies and ended up sharing a subject together. It's nothing unheard of but it doesn't make you less amazing. Unfortunately that easily brought attention to you outside of the library.

He couldn't help but frown at the uneasiness practically radiating from your discomfort and the obliviousness of your crowd to it. Your smile was obviously forced as you try to find words to refuse their suggestions and nudges to partner up. Even veterans of the Haravatat that had been in the Akademiya for years are desperate for the hope that you can help them finally graduate.

Yet he doesn't want to hover over you and turn possible friendships away because of his presence.

But his resolve falters the moment your eyes meet, pleading gaze finding his in the middle of that chaos. Cyno's bored gaze hardened as he kept the eye contact - just say the word, ask for his help, and he will take you away in a heartbeat.

"I'm sorry but I already have a partner in mind." Slipping past the scholars, Cyno found himself reaching out to your outstretched hand as you approached. Your smile becoming more genuine the moment you felt his touch, the kind he couldn't help but give back. "Right, Cyno?"

It seems like this time, he doesn't have to do things alone.

Cyno liked to believe that was where the mistake started.

Because any sooner than that would mean the friendship you had was at fault. It was always... easier to blame himself, to carry the burden instead of blaming others to be responsible.

First, blame himself for being too weak to refuse you.

"I have an idea." You spoke in a tone that made Cyno look at you suspiciously. "It's a GREAT idea, I swear."

"Opening the topic this way doesn't make this appealing from the get-go." He crossed his arms and leveled you with a gaze, but you weren't intimidated as you smacked his arm with your journal, making him drop the teasing facade. "Alright, shoot."

Everything about your interest was poured into this familiar journal. Even before your admission to the Akademiya, you've always been fascinated by the desert and its unexplored ruins, believing of the grandiose stories made up to make said abandoned temples ever so appealing to explore.

Temples of the past filled with untold stories, histories buried in the sand that none of the modern scholars are privy to.

The Temple of Silence.

"From the texts I've gathered from the Akademiya and hearsays of Eremites, it houses great spirits of powerful gods back in the age of the Scarlet King." Cyno has never seen you this passionate. "With the Akademiya's funding, I can finally get funding to at least start an initial exploration into the ruins."

"How sure are you that this isn't a made-up place?" He placed the journal down before he managed to rip it apart with his unusually strong grip.

You're oblivious to his skepticism. "That's why it's initial exploration! If we find it, great! If not, then there are more obvious ruins here and there that we can investigate along the way!"

He took a second too long to reply before you doubled down. The feeling of your breath fanning over his lips, the touch of your fingers intertwined with his, the sight of your pleading eyes so close that he could see his own reflection.

"I know you know the desert more than I do, you're the only one I can trust with this."

If you were exploiting him, using him, utilizing him, things would have been easier. But the sincerity of your heart overshadowed the rational part of his mind, long gone was his will to keep his guard up as he spoke -

"I'll keep you safe."

Later on, Cyno had a dawning realization and he knew he was too far gone by then -

Even if your intentions were impure, he couldn't find it in his heart to refuse you either way.

The Great Red Sands is unfamiliar territory to you, yet your confidence on Cyno made the experience tolerable and less anxiety-inducing. Unbeknownst to you, the three weeks that passed after you've decided to make this trip hadn't been so easy for him.

"Did you bring what I told you to pack?" Cyno hovered over you like a doting parent, adjusting the hood of the black cloak to cover your head from the golden star above. You silently nod as he then adjusts your long sleeves, loose and cotton as instructed. "Are you sure about this?"

It sounded like a simple question, but to him, it was his last attempt to get you to back out. Despite his promise, the desert is still full of dangers that he can't be 100% sure he can account for.

"Yessir! Don't worry, 'keep close and do whatever you say.' I'll be in your care." He should have known you wouldn't be moved so easily. And he does, hence why he'd been meticulously preparing for this trip for the last few weeks, even honing his polearm skills if things did go for the worse.

If things go to plan, you wouldn't even have to camp out in the ruins, perhaps a trip to Aaru Village to spend the night would be feasible. His hometown, he would love to bring you there, too. If this wasn't for educational purposes he would have loved to tour you to cooler sights.

At one point, Cyno silently followed behind you as you changed roles, now guiding him with the map in your hands. Your clear cut focus at least gave him time to recover from the painful squeeze in his heart and lungs. Is now really the right time to be feeling this way? He needs to get ahold of himself.

A few more twists and turns around a huge cliff soon gave way to discovering a passageway between the rocks, the precarious trenches hiding a way deeper down into the sound until the bright sun could reach it no more.

Jumping down the eroded pathway, Cyno couldn't help but be surprised when his feet touched water as it splashed upon his landing. "Careful, don't slip." Taking your backpack, you made your way down the steep incline to join him deeper into the cavern.

This time the both of you were left in silent awe at the sight of what you had just unearthed. A temple stands grandiose in the distance, enticing you both with a flight of stairs leading up to its closed gates. Yet the outside looked just as spectacular.

"How is light filtering through here?" Squinting at the holes on the ceiling were sunlight seeps through, Cyno tries to remember if there were holes in the surface that you passed by. "And the vegetation -"

"Look at the statues!" How did he even miss those? Your white-haired companion felt his jaw slacken at the sight of the sculptures, standing taller than the ones you have seen outside, larger and more imposing. Some had a head resembling an avian, some had crocodiles, and others a goat.

Even without eyes, its ghostly gazes felt like it was staring straight to his soul.

"This should be it. This is it. Cyno, Cyno, it's real." Tugging at your backpack still hanging by his shoulder, he turns for easy access as you pull out your journal and pen, immediately documenting your findings.

Shaking his head with a smile, he grips his polearm and follows your preoccupied self on guard. While it might seem that the place is untouched, it's at this moment where you're vulnerable that he had to step in and keep watch. Even if at times he finds himself meeting eyes with the statues.

It's safe, he'll keep you safe. Cyno soon finds himself climbing the steps closer to the temple - how are these torches lit? "We have places to be, the outside isn't the only place we're investigating." He couldn't help but huff through his nose at the sight of you scrambling to climb the steps after realizing he was already by the temple's entrance.

But as soon as you stepped on the landing where he awaits, a cold gust of wind suddenly blasted over you two, stone grating on stone overwhelming your ears. The temple's gates - it was opening on its own!

Stumbling back from the harsh wind that came from within, the torches lining the grand staircase had been snuffed out by the gale, leaving you both shivering from the cold biting through your thin clothing. Did you end up triggering a mechanism of sorts? "I have a bad feeling about this."

Yet you both made your way inside. Practically invited in. It felt like you couldn't refuse.

The inside was hauntingly beautiful without the aid of the sunlight, but the greenery inside glowed in cold blue and violet colors. How is any of this possible? Following the roots of the colorful trees, your eyes took notice of the glowing glyphs on the walls.

"Ancient Scarlet King script?" Cyno nods in confirmation, scrunching his eyebrows in frustration.

"Both of us haven't mastered reading that yet." Not wanting to freeload, your companion resigned to copying the texts himself. You two can decipher it with a manual back at the Akademiya, at least. It's just unfortunate that there's a lot to note down.

It was only after six pages in when you called out to him, finally snapping him out of his hyperfixation. You were deeper into the temple than he was, overlooking something in the dark distance

It was only after six pages of writing did he finally snap out of his hyper focus, hearing your footsteps approaching with splashes. Even inside, the floor still had a couple inches of water covering it.

"Cyno." Ah, looks like he messed up on that last symbol. "Cyno." He hums but doesn't stop. "Cyno!"

The only warning sign he saw was the sudden intrusion of bright light before he was pushed down to the wet floor, groaning at the pain blooming on his hip from the crash. But he had no time to worry about that now after seeing where the brightness came from.

"Primal Constructs! Shit, we have to get out of here."

"Can't! The entrance is sealed shut when I checked!"

Pulling his eyes away from the ancient technology a good distance away, Cyno's face blanched when he finally got to look at you. Parts of your cloak were singed from the blast, and you were desperately gritting your teeth as your hand gripped your forearm.

You're hurt.

"My staff won't be effective against it and we can't fight while out in the open." Without any other choice, Cyno pulled on your good arm to lead you deeper into the ruins while the enemy was still charging up.

But it seems like in every corner there's always one littering the area, either dormant or active, they were inescapable. Cyno feels his composure slipping more as the bad feeling in his gut resurfaced and heightened. Too many close calls, too many dead ends.

A hiss escapes him as the pointy edge of the triangular technology grazes his side, quickly delivering a blow to its core. "That should be the last one here. Are you okay? Is it deep?"

It's a flesh wound, but damn did it hurt like hell.

"Why are we here?" He hissed out at the feeling of the cotton grazing the inflamed wound, hearing your sorry's as you gently applied the antiseptic solution.

"Because we wanted to investigate the ruins where remains of the spirit of the Scarlet King's retainers -" Another groan, tho it wasn't from the injury this time. That at least shut you up.

Cyno didn't mean to come off as rude or blaming. But the guilt of the predicament won't stop piercing his heart at the sight of bloodied smudges on your cheek and hands. It must have been so obvious when you immediately reacted, quickly patching him up. "None of us anticipated this, you shouldn't -"

"We were expecting enemies, it's the main reason I'm with you."

"Enemies like bandits or maybe scorpions, sure! Not - not ancient tech that shoots out lasers! No weapon can fight against that!" His silence after wasn't out of surrender, however, still falling deeper in his remorse.

Blaming himself for being too weak to keep you out of harm.

You parted your lips to speak and tell him off when a hand cups your cheek instead, the words dying before it even reached your tongue. There was a gentleness in his calloused hand as he wiped the drying blood off your face, worry still evident on his face.

You sigh. "You're hurt too, Cyno."

"Your pain hurts me more than my own." From that one confession alone, your heart stutters under his gaze. The regret in his eyes turned into longing, the pity turned to curious. Never had he looked so resolved.

Yet he couldn't find it in his heart to try fate another time. "Let's go back. We've done enough here." You hide your frown on his palm, the heat of your cheek warming his hand. "Please, I don't want to risk losing you." A cold shiver wracked his frame suddenly.

"Alright." You mumbled quietly, pressing a kiss to his palm. It's not the response he was expecting, but it was a silent nod to his own unspoken feelings from before. "I trust you." It wasn't the appropriate time and place for a confession.

And that makes it even more crucial that he brings you home safe and sound.

The temple's grand halls felt more like wide mazes, obstacles and flooded rooms always forcing you two to turn around to retrace your steps. The routes are dwindling and your hope for escape is starting to dissipate at the sight of another dead end.

Cyno watches as you crouch down near the edge of the broken bridge, the gap too wide to jump for any human. Peering down below, the water that somehow eternally covers the floor flows down to the abyss below like a waterfall. It sounds like a long fall.

The time for idle chatter had long passed after exhaustion ate your energy from speaking. It was something he was used to, Cyno echoed in his head as he kept staring in the darkness below, yet it felt like he wasn't alone. He finds himself looking over his shoulder, gaze lingering on corners where the light doesn't dare touch.

No sounds, no beams, no constructs roaring to life.

The longer he stayed in this temple, the more he could feel his sanity slipping off his fingers. There are no eyes here yet he felt exposed to his own insecurities.

And then his fears turned to worries for you. Were you feeling this way too? Toeing the line of delirium the longer you are in silence? Checking every corner to make sure the violet eyes in your peripheral was just your imagination?

He hasn't seen you smile since you both ran away from the first attack.

He needs to be strong. He has to be.

'Your tenacity is admirable.'

A small glow caught your fatigued minds in confusion, trying to make sense of its existence. Soon the small dot grew larger and closer, the heat emanating from it being the first warning sign - it was a beam from below.

"Another one?!" Cyno jumped back from the explosion, the laser only missing a few feet as it hit the edge of the bridge. Debris flew as the unstable ground shook, and only when he opened his eyes did he realize the direness of it all too late. "Wait, move away from there-"

Another bright ray tore through the darkness, forcing him to close his eyes before it burned his pupils.

One blink and you were gone.

Cyno's mind was too weak to fear that he didn't think twice to jump after you.

It was only when his lungs burned in need of oxygen did he realize he was underwater. Adrenaline pushed his body to move and swim what he assumes is up, grappling at the solid object his hands touched to pull himself up. Not even second guessing the weight that seemingly pulls around his ankles.

And the moment he was finally able to speak, the first thing that came out of his mouth is a frantic scream of your name.

The light from the lit torches in this part of the ruins does not pierce through the water he was in earlier, and despite it being futile, Cyno was almost ready to jump in again just to look for you.

The feeling of eyes on his back pulled him back to his senses. Yet like the instances before, there was nothing to look at when he turns. Except for another set of staircases leading up to another landing -

'Perhaps it was fate who wielded it that the child of the desert remained intact.'

Cyno doesn't remember when he had walked past the discarded bandage left on the stone steps, when he found himself kneeling on the sandstone, when he pulled your body off the pedestal into his arms.

Cold. His calloused hand tried to wipe the water off your face, tucking your drenched hair behind your ear. It felt like he was still underwater, movement heavy and lungs struggling to breathe - he couldn't even hear his own voice as he called out to you.

"(Y/N)," there's a still a faint pulse. "Open your eyes, please. You're okay, you're gonna be okay." He bit back the bile threatening to escape his lips at the sticky feeling behind your head. "We still have to get out of here, and - and celebrate our findings -"

But how could he do that when he was too weak to even stand at this point?

"I can't..." He tries to blink away his blurry vision. "Someone, please. Help us." His cry for help was weak and quiet.

In the Temple of Silence, his only audience are the cold gazes from the statues of the past. His ancestors boring down his weak form, judging him.

'You should have been stronger. There is no place for traitors who cannot keep their oaths here.'

Is this his punishment for your kindness? To taste the rare flavor of love and warmth, to be humbled of your soul, then ripped away from him so painfully.

Call him selfish, broken and cruel, and all the bad things others may say about him - but Cyno worshiped the ground you walked on, never had he taken you for granted. And now, you are cursed to die in his arms.

He didn't deserve you, and you never deserved this.

It was all his fault, right? He was the one who didn't stop you, the one who let you in despite knowing better, the one who loved you first and foremost. So then, why are you the one paying the price?

It should have been him. Take him, trade with him, blame him

"- anything but them."

'Yet the scales do not deem you guilty.' The chill that ran down his spine is not superficial, not when a shadow looms over your forms, almost engulfing your world in shadow. 'Rather, the lightness in your heart rivals that of a feather. It is remorseful to your fate, child, why are you so keen to forgive the people that hurt you?'

In the presence of this being, Cyno couldn't move his lips. Anything he can think to say would never be enough.

Slowly pulling his eyes away from the shadow, he turns his head to peer down at your face instead. Nothing had changed, still almost lifeless in his arms.

Somehow, that was enough of an answer.

'Truly, the influence of the Scarlet King lives on. But where he failed, you will prevail.' Cyno pressed his forehead to yours. 'Know that you cannot reap life anew, leaving nothing left to sow.'

As he seals his promise by grazing his chapped lips to your bloodied ones, your face is the last he sees as he closes his eyes.

"I will sacrifice anything."

Sharp claws wraps around his neck.

'Truly a child of the desert, your devotion makes you blind. You will live soon with open eyes.'

He hides discomfort as he ducks his head deeper into his book, red stare locked on the middle of the page he has long ignored to understand. But his efforts will always be in vain when it comes to you.

"I never took you for a guy that's into chokers."

Cyno steals a glance and regrets it. For even in a teasing tone, the coldness of your once-scorching gaze was a testament to the things he

Lost

Sacrificed

Offered that day.

This took longer than I had anticipated - lemme tell you, the first half is the only thing I'm proud of lmao. I left the ending open to interpretation because I couldn't pick between three possible meanings/endings to it hah

[floating--goblin]

so logamin

I feel like it's rightfully weird to a lot of people, considering the whole canon dynamic between them, but the way that I like to think about it is like

You have Logan. Orphan, thrust into the real world all too early, put in charge of an immense kingdom that only got united some 50 years prior. Only the second generation of Albion monarchy, with all too little wisdom left over from his predecessors, most of which were just mayors of Bowerstone. From what it looks like, his only guidance came from Walter-- who was all too busy with his little sibling-- and Reaver, who is... Reaver. Currently-busy-sucking-the-continent-dry, human sacrificer, industrialist extraordinaire, literal inventor of capitalism in Albion Reaver. Who tried to kill Logan's parent at least once, mind you.

And then you have Ben Finn-- sweet, idealist, loyal to a fault Ben Finn, whose allegiance you earn once and forever. You could break every promise, raze everything to the ground, leave thousands of innocents to die to the Darkness, and he's the only one who won't leave. Good, devoted, collared dog Ben Finn. Because he gets it-- you're trying to keep the country from crumbling. So what if he doesn't agree with your means to that end? He'll grit and bear. He knows all too well by now what sacrifice means and what the world will take from you, that life is short, that where he's from people don't live to half his age.

He knows what it's like to watch your parents die, to have what flimsy safety net you had unravel beneath you. He knows deep, undying love for his siblings, which Logan clearly has as well-- the same way little Ben Finn tried to protect his much older brothers with his peashooter and his scrawny kid fists, Logan tried to protect his sibling by keeping them locked up and in the dark about his work. Shelter them, bear the brunt of it, so others won't have to suffer. Same mentality as Ben.

When Logan has Major Swift executed, we get to see a rare glimpse of true wrath in Ben-- that was his father figure, the last thing he had resembling a family, ripped from him. He vows to make Logan suffer, advocates for his execution after the revolution; and yet, still fights by his side in the Battle for Albion, still stands by him at Walter's funeral without complaint, still tolerates his existence. A year passes in between the coup and the Battle-- do you think, in that time, he got to see Logan more? The Allies must've had meetings to strategize, and judging by his clothing Logan's been living in the castle; they couldn't have not interacted during that year.

Do you think, then, that Ben Finn-- self-sacrificial as he's always been, now having to see his best friend struggle to run the country and avoid falling into the same pitfalls Logan did-- looked at the disgraced former king and... Got it?

He's had comrades drop like flies left and right-- honest, hard-working people with families back home, who nonetheless were in it for the greater good-- and had to get back up, dust himself off and crack a joke for the sake of morale. He's lived in Bloodstone, a festering wound on the face of Albion, doing Avo knows what; death and decay have always followed in his footsteps, and yet he's chosen to take that as just another piece of the puzzle.

Because when you're talking about saving the world, you come to see people as distant, abstract notions. And he'll always resent that Logan was pushed to those depths of madness, but he can't not get the need to take extreme measures in the face of certain doom.

After all, his best friend, his Hero, is one step away from doing the same. And in their place, he might, too. For the greater good.

So he leaves Bowerstone. Tours the world once over, relives his youth-- which wasn't so long ago, but he feels ancient by now. He's quieter now perhaps, a little more skittish; more alert to a glint of something metal in the corner of his eye, more prepared to jump into action at the groaning of a wooden floor behind him. He comes back to Albion years later, maybe a little more gray and scruffy, but still Ben Finn. Despite everything, still good old Ben Finn. In a decade or so, tensions between Samarkand and Albion will be rising-- in another four or five, Darkness will descend upon Albion once more. New Heroes will have to be made.

But for now he's home, and his friend welcomes him with open arms-- gives him a room in the castle perhaps, a generous allowance, and the odd adventuring job to keep him from getting bored. Page is still down in the sewers, directing her energy toward workers' rights and children's education, building a system that'll ensure no one's left to rot in the street. Sabine's passed by now, perhaps, but the Dwellers have been given their lands back and are represented in the Court; as are the Aurorans, who have their own embassy by now. Kalin sends letters sometimes, discusses everything from philosophy to petty gossip with the Hero. She's delighted to hear Ben's back, invites him and the Hero over sometime, maybe for a festival-- You should see Aurora nowadays, Ben, it's like a phoenix risen from the ashes! the Hero might say. And it's true-- with the Darkness gone, the "City of Nightmares" has become anything but.

He takes it all in, and something's missing-- and it's not that he, personally, misses Logan, but Logan's absence is... impossible to ignore. Like a vital piece of the scenery that's been plucked out. The Hero probably doesn't mention it, but it's evident that it stings. And maybe Ben inquires about it one night, when it's evident the Hero would like to reminisce-- lets them talk about their childhood, about growing up to see Logan go from a timid, good-hearted boy to a monster. About the way he hid his encounter with the Crawler from everyone and sunk deeper and deeper into his paranoia, convinced that no one will believe him if he tells them what he's seen. Tormented by the vision and doomed not to be trusted, the Seer's curse.

And maybe Ben decides to leave one day-- sick of rescuing chickens from wells and children from trees, he decides to surprise his best friend. And so he tracks Logan down to whatever corner of the world he's cooped up in; most likely in the libraries of Samarkand, a lonely shadow from far away lands, that talks to no one, keeps his face covered, and seems to be seeking something ineffable in the hundreds upon hundreds of yellowed pages he devours each day. Ben's arrival startles him-- he, too, is more skittish these days. And when he sees that familiar face pulled up into a scowl, Logan's sure his end has come for him.

Instead, Ben invites him home. Talks about his sibling, the way they'll never admit it but have him on their mind every waking hour. He tells Logan this isn't forgiveness-- they aren't friends. But he gets it. And after so many years, it's time to let the dust settle. Everyone should come home.

They travel back together, take the long trek from province to province until they reach the coast of Samarkand, board a ship and set sail for Albion. They live off the same small hunt, wild berries and hardtack over the journey back, drink from the same battered old flask, huddle together during storms, ward off bandits side by side. For better or worse, they become comrades-- Ben talks at length around the nightly campfire to stay sane, and eventually Logan joins him. Shares some of his own stories, perhaps-- and that's how Ben discovers the former king never wanted to be a king at all, that he did it for the sake of his parent's legacy and that he clung desperately to his moral compass until his mind broke too far to be trusted. That he always dreamt of being a scholar, perhaps an alchemist or a craftsman of some sort. That he can recite hundreds of poems and epics, that he loves literature just as fiercely as Ben does.

That he'd do anything for his friends and family, no matter how big the sacrifice.

And Ben doesn't forgive him yet, can't do it-- but they reach Bowerstone, and he watches the Hero burst into tears at the sight of their brother, older and more disheveled but alive, and he can't help but think back to being small and helpless and praying every night that his brothers might somehow, through some miracle, return to him.

And maybe sometime down the line, Logan musters up the courage to approach Ben one night and apologize. He speaks quietly, there's a tremor in his voice that's hard to miss; but Ben can tell the apology was composed with care and rehearsed heavily beforehand, and it's thorough. Logan makes no demands, he recognizes he might never be forgiven; he'll live with that, it's the consequences of his own actions, for which he'll take responsibility. Still, he apologizes.

And maybe Ben, good old Ben Finn, who by this point has only been thrust further and further into misery each time he thought he'd come to understand the horrors of the universe, finds it in his heart to forgive him. It won't undo the damage, but... he gets it. There's an understanding that goes unspoken, that Logan's actions will never be forgotten-- but they can live with that, some way or another.

And maybe as time passes, they fall further and further into each other. It's not the youthful, blazing kind of love that's all butterflies in your stomach and grand gestures-- more like furtive glances over the dinner table, correspondence during absences, or sparring matches as an excuse to spend time together. It's slow, a quiet yearning that could be tuned out, but is all the sweeter for being there at all.

They're old by the time they fall into place-- or well, older than they ever thought they'd get. Thirties, fourties perhaps. Long life still ahead of them, but an ache in their bones that's aeons old. Doesn't matter anymore. They'll nurse the ache together.

By then, perhaps, they get a house far from the bustling city life; somewhere near Brightwood perhaps, where the land's decent for farming and the past is alive-- the good parts of it, at least. Somewhere they can wake up to fresh air and rustling leaves, keep a few animals, focus on writing. And The Life and Adventures of Benjamin Finn can come to a close in a way Ben never dared to imagine, one that'll have audiences satisfied:

I lived.