#i feel like impulsively she would but then she reminds herself that this is a totally different realm so teyvat rules can't really be applie

[freshl6ve]

𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓. 𝐒 | 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃?

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑─𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐊

₊⊹⁀➴ : Late at night, Y/N lies awake, her mind racing and the familiar ache of insomnia gnawing at her. Weed always helped her sleep, but ever since she cut ties with her old habits, she hasn’t found relief. It’s been months since she last saw Matt, her ex-dealer, and she’d promised herself not to fall back into old routines. But tonight, the restlessness is unbearable. Desperate for peace, she grabs her keys and drives through the dark streets, the memory of Matt’s place pulling her in. Before she knows it, she’s standing at his door, heart pounding, unsure of what she’ll say when he answers.

⭑.ᐟ : SMUT, dealer!matt x reader, unprotected sex (be safe!), oral (y/n receiving), p in v, dom!matt x sub!reader, mention of drugs, pet names (baby, sweetheart), dirty talk, switch(?) and more.

𝐀 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐇𝐋𝟔𝐕𝐄 𝐎𝐍𝐄-𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓 𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋

˚⊱🪄⊰˚ : 𝐈 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐞𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠, my mind racing with a hundred thoughts. It was late, the world outside my bedroom window was pitch black and silent. I rolled over, trying to force myself to close my eyes and drift off to sleep, but it was no use. My mind was a whirlpool of worries and anxieties, refusing to let me find peace. Hours seemed to pass, the clock on my bedside table ticking away the minutes. I tossed and turned, my frustration growing with every passing moment. I knew I had to find a way to calm my mind, but nothing seemed to work.

I sat up in bed, rubbing my eyes in frustration. It was as if my mind had its own agenda, refusing to cooperate with my body's need for rest. I glanced at the clock and saw that it was now 3:00 am. I sighed, feeling like I had been battling the demons of insomnia for an eternity. I decided that lying in bed was not going to solve anything. I needed a change of scenery, a distraction.

I felt a pang of guilt in my chest as my mind drifted to the familiar escape it had always sought— weed. I immediately pushed the thought away, reminding myself of the promise I had made to myself. No more falling into old habits, no more dependence on substances to numb the pain. But the more I tried to forget about it, the more the memory of its calming effects lingered in my mind.

I lay back down on the bed, my body tense and restless. I knew I had to find a way to distract myself from the temptation, but my thoughts kept returning to the past. Matt's face flashed in my mind, and my stomach twisted in knots. I had cut ties with him months ago, and the memories of our tumultuous relationship still haunted me. Seeing him again would only stir up old emotions that I was desperate to keep buried.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady my thoughts. But the restless feeling within me didn’t subside. It was as if a part of me was still clinging to the past, refusing to let go.

“Fuck it”

Before I knew it, my car keys were in my hand, the familiar route to Matt’s house etched into my memory.

The drive to Matt's house was a blur. I wasn't thinking clearly, my mind was a mixture of nervousness and adrenaline. I tried to think of what I would say when I saw him, to justify my impulsive decision to show up at his doorstep in the middle of the night. The streets were quiet, the city seemed eerily still. I felt a pang of doubt, but my mind was too clouded with restlessness to turn back now.

I parked my car and turned it off immediately, not wanting to alert Matt of my presence just yet. My heart was pounding in my chest as I walked towards his driveway. I could see the lights were on in his house, a sign that he was still awake. I took a deep breath and walked up to the front door, my hand hovering over the door.

Matt stood in the doorway, his expression calm and almost nonchalant. He looked at me for a moment, his eyes scanning my face and taking in my disheveled appearance. He leaned casually against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest.

Matt's eyebrows raised slightly as he looked me up and down. He gave a half-smile, a hint of surprise in his voice.

“Well, fancy seeing you here,” he said, his tone casual and almost amused. “I wasn't expecting company this late.”

I looked up at Matt, my voice slightly sheepish. “I couldn't sleep,” I admitted, the words sounding weak in the quiet night. “And, well, I'm all out.” I paused, my eyes locking with his. “I was hoping you might have something.”

Matt smirked slightly, leaning against the doorframe. “I thought you quit,” he remarked, a hint of amusement in his voice. I gave him a firm glare, my voice firm.

“I'm not here for small talk,” I snapped, my eyes meeting his. “I just need a quick pick-up, pay you, and leave. That's it. Don't get any ideas.”

Matt chuckled, his eyes scanning my face as he spoke. “Well, you showed up at my house in the middle of the night,” he said, a hint of teasing in his voice. “You can't blame me for being surprised. I figured we might at least exchange a few words.”

I took a deep breath, my patience wearing thin.

“Matt, please,” I pleaded, my voice weary. “I'm exhausted, I can't do this right now. I just want to grab what I need and go home. I'm desperate for a good night's sleep.”

Matt chuckled, pushing himself off the door frame and gesturing for me to come in. “Alright, alright,” he said, his tone slightly amused. “Come in, then.”

I entered his house, my body tense and my mind still racing. The familiar surroundings brought back a wave of memories, but I pushed them out of my mind. I was here for one thing and one thing only.

I followed Matt into the living room, my eyes darting around the space. The room was cozy and familiar, but I felt out of place. Matt gestured for me to take a seat on the couch, and I sank down onto the cushions, my body feeling weary.

“I'll be right back,” Matt said, disappearing down the hallway and into his bedroom.

I sat in the silence, my mind still racing with thoughts and memories. The room felt too quiet, too empty. The minutes ticked by slowly, and I found myself feeling restless again. I fidgeted with my hands, my eyes darting around the room. Just when I was starting to wonder how much longer Matt would take, I heard footsteps approaching again.

Matt returned from his bedroom, his footsteps heavy against the hardwood floor. He looked calm and collected as he took a seat on the couch, a few feet away from where I sat.

“So,” he began, his voice casual, “what do you need?”

I met his gaze, my voice steady. “A quarter ounce should be fine,” I replied, not wanting to linger on the details. I just wanted to get what I came for and leave.

Matt looked at me, his expression still nonchalant, and chuckled softly. “Want me to pre roll them for you?” he asked, his tone casually, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

In my mind, I couldn't help but think about the past. Matt had always been good at rolling joints, his hands skillful and swift. He had this way of making them look perfect, and they seemed to smoke better too. I remembered watching him roll, his fingers moving effortlessly and the end product always being a thing of beauty.

I knew that when Matt offered to pre roll my joints, he knew damn well that I would end up watching him, admiring his skill. It was a part of the ritual, a small pleasure that came with the transaction. His hands were like magic, and it was impossible to look away.

I nodded my head, unable to resist the offer. “Yeah,” I said, my voice slightly huskier than I had intended. “That'd be nice.”

Matt chuckled, not missing the change in my voice. He got up from the couch and walked over to the table where all his supplies were laid out. I watched as he grabbed the papers, the grinder, and the rolling tray, his movements efficient and smooth.

It was as if he was in his own little world, his mind completely focused on the task at hand. I couldn't help but admire his skill and precision as he started to roll the joint, his fingers working the paper and the weed with ease.

As Matt focused on rolling the first joint, his hands working in a practiced, smooth rhythm, I couldn't help but break the silence.

“It's really quiet,” I said, my voice tinged with curiosity. “Where's Nick and Chris?”

Matt answered without looking up from his work, his tongue quickly sealing the joint with a precise lick. “They're out,” he replied, his voice casual. “Went to some party or something. Probably won't be back for a while.”

I nodded, watching as he moved on to the next joint, his dexterous fingers working quickly. The sound of paper and weed being ground and rolled was the only sound in the room, along with our steady breaths.

It was almost soothing, the repetitive motions and the familiar scent of weed. I glanced at Matt, taking in the slight furrow in his brow as he concentrated on the task at hand. He was like a damn maestro, a master of his craft.

I couldn't help but ask, my curiosity getting the better of me. “How come you didn't go?” I inquired, my voice soft and low.

Matt sealed the second joint with another precise lick, his eyes meeting mine for a moment before he looked back down at his work.

“You know I don't do parties,” he said, his tone nonchalant. “Too much noise, too many people. I prefer my own company.”

I chuckled softly, realizing the irony of my question. “Right,” I said, my voice tinged with a hint of amusement. “I forgot you prefer solitude.”

I took a moment to reposition myself, shifting on the couch until I was comfortable. I placed my arms on the headrest, my head resting on them as I watched Matt across the room. The L shape of the couch allowed me a clear view of him as he continued rolling the joints.

I couldn’t help but speak my thought aloud, letting the words slip out before I could censor myself. “You know, it’s one of the things I always admired about you,” I said, my voice soft and honest.

There was no use denying it now. It was true. Matt’s preference for solitude and his ability to find contentment in his own company was something I had always found admirable. In a world where everyone seemed to be constantly seeking company, Matt’s self-sufficiency was a breath of fresh air.

As he sealed the third joint, his hands moving deftly, I continued to watch him, my head still resting on my arms. I couldn’t help but feel a pang of nostalgia as I remembered all the times we had spent like this, him rolling joints and me observing, both of us comfortably silent.

The words slipped out before I could stop them, my voice filled with a mixture of emotions. “Why didn't you call, Matt?” I blurted out, my tone laced with longing and regret.

Matt freezes, his hands pausing mid-roll. He sets the half-rolled joint down on the table, his movements deliberate and slow. He leans back against the edge of the table, his fingertips gripping the edge of the surface. His back is tense, his shoulders hunching ever so slightly.

The room falls silent, the weight of my question hanging in the air. I can feel the tension between us, thick and palpable. I know I’ve crossed a line, bringing up the past and stirring up memories that we both had left behind. But something in me had compelled me to ask, a desperate need to know why he hadn’t reached out to me.

Matt's voice is quiet, his grip on the edge of the table tightening. “I just thought you needed space,” he says gently, his eyes meeting mine across the room. “I didn't want to push you or make things worse.”

The simple admission hangs in the air, the truth of his words making my heart ache. I had wanted space, yes, but in my silence I hadn’t realized how much I had missed his presence, his calm voice and steady demeanor.

Matt lets out a small sigh, his grip on the table loosening slightly. “Trust me,” he replies, his voice tinged with regret. “I tried to reach out, to make things right. But I couldn't forgive myself for what happened, and I didn't want to put you in a position where you were forced to forgive me.”

Matt takes a deep breath, his eyes downcast as he continues. “I was in a bad place,” he says, his voice quieter now. “And what I did to you… using you like a toy, when you were something special to me. I couldn’t see it then, couldn’t appreciate what I had. The addiction had its claws too deep into me.”

I nodded, a silent acknowledgement of his words. Matt's voice is soft and sincere as he continues.

“Our argument that night made me realize what I had lost,” he admits, his eyes still avoiding mine. “Since then, I've given up on the hard drugs and stuck with weed instead. It was tough, a rough road, but it's been worth it.”

Matt pushes himself off the table, his movements fluid and deliberate. He walks towards me, his steps silent as he approaches. I continue to look up at him as he places his hands down on either side of me.

“You don't need weed to help you,” he says, his voice a low murmur in the closeness. “You're just inside your head a lot, and you don't know how to shut it off.”

I couldn't argue against his words, because Matt had hit the nail on the head. I had always been prone to overthinking, my mind a never-ending whirlwind that refused to quiet down. It was as if he could see straight into the depths of my being, knowing me better than I knew myself.

I hated how accurately he had summed up my struggle, how easily he had picked apart my thoughts and laid them bare. It was both irritating and endearing, how well he understood me despite our months apart.

Matt's eyes hold a mixture of pain, regret, and longing as he gazes down at me. His voice is earnest and pleading as he speaks, his words ringing with sincerity.

“I’m sorry for everything,” he says, his voice slightly shaky. “I’m sorry it took me 5 months to apologize. I don’t want you to forgive me, I don’t deserve to be forgiven. I’m a bad person.”

Without thinking, I reach up to bring him into a kiss, my hand threading through his soft locks - a familiar sensation that I had missed dearly.

We slowly pull away, our lips reluctantly parting, yet our faces remaining close. I look up at him, my voice soft and earnest, as I speak.

“You're not a bad person,” I say, my hand still cradling the back of his head. “You just had a rough time.”

Matt's gaze locks with mine, his eyes swimming with emotion. When he speaks, his voice is raw and filled with vulnerability.

“I missed you,” he whispers, his thumb gently brushing against my jawline.

I can feel my heart swell at his words, a mixture of emotions swirling through me. I had missed him too, more than I cared to admit. The months apart had been a painful reminder of just how deeply he had become rooted in my life, and just how much his absence had left a hole in me.

I looked up at him, my eyes meeting his, their depths filled with a mixture of pain, love, and forgiveness. “I missed you too,” I whispered back, my voice barely above a breath.

Matt's hands grip my hips as he effortlessly lifts me up from the couch, my legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. Without breaking our kiss, he carries me across the room and down the hallway towards his room. The hunger and desire in our kiss grow with each step, and by the time we reach his bedroom, we're pawing at each other like we can't get close enough.

He gently sets me down on the bed, his body following closely as he hovers over me. The kiss deepens, our tongues hungrily seeking each other, and his hands begin to wander, running up and down my sides and slipping under my shirt.

His touch ignites a trail of fire against my skin, and I arch my back, pressing my body closer to his. In that moment, nothing else mattered but the feel of his hands on my body and the heat of his skin against mine. The past months of separation faded into the background, replaced by the pure sensation of being with him again. I wanted him, needed him, and was willing to surrender to the storm of emotions and physicality between us.

There was no denying it— I was powerless against him. Despite the hurtful things that had happened between us, I couldn't resist his touch, couldn't deny the pull I felt towards him. I wanted him close, wanted to feel the weight of his body against mine, to have his hands on me, to lose myself in the sensations he stirred within me. I would let him do anything, give him anything he wanted if it meant having him near.

Matt breaks away from the kiss and begins to trail his lips down my neck, his kisses hot and urgent. He nips at my skin, his teeth grazing against my pulse point, his tongue soothing the pain afterwards. I shiver at the sensations, my hands gripping his shoulders, my breath coming in short gasps.

He kisses further down my neck, his hands gripping my hips, and I arch my back, offering myself to him. His mouth finds a sensitive spot, and he sucks on it gently, his teeth biting down just enough to send a jolt of pleasure through me.

“Matt...” I moan, my fingers digging into his shoulders.

His hands trail down to my thighs, slowly sliding down my sweats. I part my legs for him, inviting him to touch me. He chuckles softly against my neck, knowing that he has me wrapped around his finger.

His touch is gentle at first, his fingers slowly caressing my inner thighs. He takes his time, enjoying the way my breath hitches with anticipation. “Please...” I whisper, my voice barely audible. He smirks, knowing that I'm begging for him.

He slides my underwear to the side, his fingers tracing the length of my folds. I'm already wet for him, my body aching for release. He slips a finger inside me, Pumping it in and out slowly, his palm grazing against my most sensitive spot.

“You're so wet,” he whispers, his breath hot against my ear. He adds another finger, filling me up even more. I moan loudly, my hips bucking against his hand. He knows just how to touch me to drive me wild. “Nobody is here, be as loud as you want to be, Sweetheart”

His fingers curl inside me, finding that spot that makes my eyes roll back in my head. His mouth latches onto my neck, sucking and biting as his fingers pump in and out of me. I'm so close, my breathing growing ragged, my hands gripping his shoulders tightly.

I reach down and grab onto his wrist, my nails digging into his skin as my orgasm crashes over me. “Matt...oh god, Matt...” I moan, my body convulsing in his arms. He continues to finger me through my orgasm, drawing it out as long as possible.

He pulls his hand out of my pants, leaving me feeling empty. But then he reaches for the hem of my sweats and underwear, pulling them both down my legs in one swift motion. I lift my hips to help him, my body still tingling from the aftermath of my orgasm.

He buries his face between my legs, his nose pressing against my heat as he spreads my lips apart with his thumbs. I gasp as his tongue dives into my pussy, licking up every drop of my juices. He pushes my legs back over his shoulders, giving him full access to feast on me.

I reach down and tangle my fingers in his hair, holding on for dear life as his mouth works its magic on me. His tongue delves deep inside, curling up to hit that magical spot. I grind against his face, shamelessly riding his mouth as the pleasure builds again. “Matt...”

“Oh god, Matt...” I moan, my body writhing beneath him as his tongue works tirelessly on me. He brings me right to the edge, only to back off and start all over again. I'm a moaning, begging mess, completely at his mercy. “Please...”

“Please what, baby?” he murmurs against my flesh, his breath hot on my soaked skin. “Please...please don't stop...I'm so close...” I beg, my hands fisting in his hair. He hums against me, the vibrations sending me spiraling out of control. “Matt!”

With a final swipe of his tongue, he sends me hurtling over the edge. I shout his name, my back arching off the bed as waves of pleasure crash over me. He keeps going, drawing out my release until I'm a quivering, boneless mess beneath him.

He finally lifts his head, his face glistening with my juices. I watch through hazy eyes as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “You taste so fucking good,” he growls, crawling up my body. I can feel his hard cock pressing against my thigh.

He catches my lips in a searing kiss, allowing me to taste myself on his mouth. As we kiss, I reach down and unbuckle his belt, then slip my hand into his pants to wrap my fingers around his thick, hard length. He groans into my mouth, his hips jerking forward.

I start stroking him, my small hand moving up and down his shaft. He breaks the kiss to throw his head back, his eyes rolling shut as he fucks my hand. “Fuck, yeah...just like that,” he grits out, his fingers digging into my hip.

His movements become more urgent, his hips snapping forward as he thrusts into my hand. I tighten my grip, loving the way his face contorts with pleasure. He suddenly pauses, his breath hitching. “Not like this,” he rasps. “I need to be inside you.”

He grabs my wrist and pulls my hand out of his pants, then shoves his own pants and underwear down his hips. His erection springs free, curving up against his abdomen.

He reaches for the hem of my shirt and pulls it up and over my head, tossing it aside. He quickly dispenses with his own shirt, revealing his toned chest. He leans down to kiss me again, his hands roaming over my bare skin. “No bra? You’re insane.”

He chuckles against my mouth, his hands reaching up to cup my bare breasts. “You're killing me, you know that?” He breaks the kiss to trail his lips down my neck and chest, pausing to lavish attention on each peak. I arch against him, my fingers tangling in his hair.

“Matt...” I whimper as he sucks one hard peak into his mouth, his hand squeezing and massaging my other breast. He lavishes attention on each breast in turn, bringing them to hardened peaks before moving back down my body.

He kisses and caresses every inch of my skin, making me squirm with need. When he settles between my thighs, I wrap my legs around his waist, my heels digging into his backside. He lines himself up with my opening and slowly pushes inside. We both moan at the sensation.

He takes his time, gently rocking his hips as he gradually buries himself to the hilt. Once fully sheathed, he pauses and leans down to kiss me. “You okay, baby?” he murmurs. I nod, my nails scoring his back. “More than okay. Please move...please...”

He starts to move, his hips rocking slowly at first and then picking up speed. He thrusts deep and hard, hitting all the right spots inside me. I meet him thrust for thrust, our bodies moving in perfect sync. The bed creaks and shakes with the force of our lovemaking.

As he continues to thrust into me, a sharp pinch of pain mixes with the pleasure. It's been months since we last did this, and my body has clearly forgotten just how big he is. I gasp, my nails digging into his back. “Fuck...it hurts,”

He pauses mid-thrust, his eyes filled with concern. “Want me to slow down?” he asks. “Or maybe stop?” I shake my head, wrapping my legs tighter around his waist. “No...just...give me a sec...you're just so big...”

I take a deep breath, trying to relax my body and adjust to his size. “It's been a while since I hooked up with anyone,” I admit, my cheeks flushing. “And you were my last...so my body forgot how big you were.”

He smirked, brushing a strand of hair out of my face. “Good,” he murmurs. “Then maybe I should remind you.” He begins to move again, his hips slowly pumping as he gradually eases in and out of me. The pain fades, replaced by warmth and pleasure.

I arch against him, my nails scoring his back as the sensations build inside me. “More...” I whimper, wrapping my legs tighter around his waist. He responds by quickening his pace, his thrusts becoming deeper and more intense. The sound of our bodies slapping together fills the room.

His breathing grows ragged, his face buried in the crook of my neck as he pistons his hips back and forth. “You...feel...so...good...” he pants between thrusts. I can feel the pressure inside me building, coiling tight like a spring ready to snap. “Fuck, Matt...”

I grip his head, my fingers tangled in his hair as he pounds into me harder and faster. My vision starts to blur, the room spinning as he hits that spot inside me just right. “Ah! Matt! Matt, please!” I cry out, my voice hoarse from screaming his name.

He buries his face in my neck, his hot breath sending shivers down my spine as he speaks in a guttural tone. “Fuck, you're so tight...so fucking tight around my cock. I'm gonna fuck you until you can't walk...until you can't think...”

“...Your pussy is the only one I care about, the only one I craved for. I missed your sweet little cries, your desperate pleas for mercy...I missed fucking you senseless until you passed out from exhaustion...I missed being the only one who gets to hear you scream my name...”

“You're mine, and only mine. No one else gets to touch you, to hear your beautiful voice beg for more...no one else gets to see your face twist in pleasure...That's my right, my privilege...and I've missed it so much...” With each word, he thrusts into me harder, his voice growing darker, more possessive.

I'm a moaning, writhing mess beneath him, my body completely his to command. My back arches off the bed as he grinds against me, his hips rolling in a circle as he hits that sweet spot deep inside. “Oh god, Matt! Yes! More! Please, more!”

He responds to my begging by capturing my mouth in a searing kiss, swallowing my cries as he increases his pace. His body slams into mine, each thrust punctuated by a sharp slap of skin against skin. He tears his mouth away from mine, his jaw clenched. “Louder...”

“I want to hear you scream my name for the whole neighborhood. I want them to know who's making you beg for mercy...who's making you fall apart...only me” His hands wrap around my thighs, tilting my hips to take him even deeper. “Matt! Matt, it's too much!”

His answer is to grab my ankles and pull my legs up to my chest, completely changing the angle of his thrusts. The new position has him hitting my g-spot with every stroke, sending me hurtling towards another orgasm. “NO! STOP! I CAN'T...OH FUCK, MATT!”

He grins mischievously, his eyes locked onto mine as he continues to pound into me mercilessly. “You can take it, sweetheart...You can take all of me...Look at me,”

I force my eyes open, meeting his intense gaze as he drives into me. “See how hard you make me? See how much I love fucking you?” His thumb presses against my clit, sending electric shocks through my body.

The combination of his thrusts and his thumb is too much, and I come apart with a scream, my vision blurring as my body shakes with the force of my orgasm. Matt keeps thrusting through my contractions, his own release approaching. “Fuck, fuck, FUCK!”

I reach out and grab his wrist, my nails digging into his skin as another wave of pleasure washes over me. “Matt...I...I can't...” I pant, my body overwhelmed by the intense stimulation. He leans down, his lips brushing against mine as he speaks.

“You can...”

“...And you will...Now, hold on tight...” With that, he begins to move faster, his hips slamming against mine as he chases his own release. The sound of our bodies colliding fills the room, along with our labored breaths and desperate moans.

“Fuck...I need you to ride me...” He gruffly pulls out of me, flipping us over so that I'm straddling him. His hands grasp my hips, lifting me up and guiding me back down onto his cock. “Ride me, baby...”

He leans back against the headboard, his hands gripping my thighs as he watches me intently. I slowly rise and fall on his lap, my hands resting on his chest for balance. His eyes flutter closed as I pick up the pace, his head tilting back against the headboard. “Just like that...”

His hands squeeze my thighs, his fingers flexing against my skin as he tries to guide my movements. “Oh god, Y/N...You're gonna make me lose it...” He lets his head fall forward, his gaze locked onto where our bodies join. “Look at you...taking me so deep...”

I whimper, my nails digging into his chest as I continue to ride him. The sight of my body sliding up and down his cock is incredibly erotic, and I can feel my own arousal growing again. “Touch yourself,” he commands, his voice tight with impending release.

I reach down between my legs, my fingers finding my clit. I start rubbing it in tight circles, the sensation combining with the feeling of his cock inside me pushing me closer and closer to another orgasm. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I chant, my hips bucking wildly against his.

Matt brings his hand down on top of mine, pressing my fingers harder against my flesh. “Come on, sweetheart...show me what you can do...just like that...” His voice is low and commanding, pushing me closer to the edge. “Matt...it's too much...”

Matt increases the pressure, his hand moving my fingers in even faster circles. I arch my back, screaming in ecstasy as the pleasure becomes almost too much to bear. I hold onto his thighs, my nails digging into his skin as I lose control. “MATT! FUCK!”

He slides his hands up my body, resting them on my waist as he leans in, his mouth hovering over my breast. His breath fans over my skin, making me shiver. He sucks a nipple into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the hardened peak as he slams into me from below.

I bring my hands up to rest on top of the headboard, gripping it tightly as Matt pounds into me. My head falls back, my hair cascading down my back as he continues to devour my breasts.

Matt looks up at me, his eyes locked on mine as he continues to fuck me. He pulls back slightly, his mouth leaving my breast with a soft pop. “Look at me,” he commands, his voice husky with desire. I meet his gaze, my eyes glassy with pleasure.

He brings me into a passionate kiss, his tongue tangling with mine as he continues to move inside me. I bring my hand up to his hair, my fingers threading through the brown strands as I lose myself in the moment. “Y/N...” he whispers against my lips, his voice tight with impending release.

As he whispers my name, I melt at the sound, my heart skipping a beat. I loved how he says it, how his voice cracks slightly with emotion, how his lips form the words perfectly. It's like music to my ears, and I craved hearing it more and more with each passing day.

The way he says my name...it's different coming from him. It's passionate, full of need and desire. It's like he's branding me as his, claiming me in the most intimate way possible. And I love it. I love how it makes me feel special, cherished, desired.

Our kiss becomes more heated, our mouths devouring each other as if we can't get enough. His hands grip my hips tightly, his fingers digging into my flesh as he continues to thrust into me. I moan into his mouth, my cries muffled by his kiss.

Matt's movements become more urgent, his hips jerking up to meet mine with each thrust. He pulls away from the kiss, his head thrown back as he moans loudly. “Fuck, I'm close...” His words come out broken, his voice tight with desire.

His hands tighten on my hips, his fingers digging painfully into my flesh as he thrusts into me one last time. He lets out a low growl, his whole body tensing as he finds his release. “Fuck! Y/N!” he moans my name, his voice filled with passion and devotion.

He releases into me, his warmth filling me completely. But with how full I am, some of it spills out. He lets out a shaky breath, his body still trembling with aftershocks. He lays his head back against the headboard, his eyes fluttering closed. “Oh god…”

I giggle softly, seeing Matt so spent and relaxed. His brunette hair is damp with sweat, making it look even darker. The damp strands stick to his forehead, accentuating his chiseled features. He looks so handsome like this, all relaxed and boneless from our passionate encounter.

I shift slightly, intending to move off him, but Matt's hands fly to my hips, stopping me. “No, no baby don’t move,” His voice is low and lazy, his eyes still closed.

I chuckle and lower myself, kissing his jawline before moving to his neck. I mark him with my kisses, my love bites, claiming him as mine. He moans softly, his hands tightening on my hips as he enjoys the attention. “Y/N...” he whispers, his eyes still closed.

His hands roam over my back, his touch gentle and soothing. He runs his fingers through my hair, tugging lightly. I continue to mark his neck and jaw, loving the way he moans my name. “Baby, please...I can't take much more...”

His breathing hitches as I continue to kiss and bite his neck. His grip on my hips tightens, his fingers digging into my flesh. “Y/N, please...baby, you've gotta stop...I can't...I'm going to cum again..” His voice is hoarse, his breathing uneven.

His hips jerk up against me, his hard length pulsing between my thighs. I look at him, his face flushed, his eyes closed, his lashes casting shadows on his cheeks. He looks so vulnerable, so open...and I love it.

Matt's body jerks as he cums again, his hips thrusting up against me with a desperate urgency. There's no space left inside me, so his release spills out onto the bed, a thick stream of cum coating the sheets. I giggle, feeling incredibly full, my pussy stretched to the limit.

I cup his face in my hands, peppering his lips with soft kisses. He grins, his eyes still shut, his face relaxed and content. “Mmm...I love you, sweetheart” he murmurs, his voice lazy and sleepy.

I continue to kiss him, my hands caressing his cheeks. “I love you too” I whisper against his lips. He hums contentedly, his arms wrapping around me, pulling me closer.

I continue planting gentle kisses on his lips, his nose, his cheeks, anywhere I can reach without breaking our embrace. He sighs happily, his eyes still closed, letting me shower him with affection.

Matt finally opens his eyes, looking at me with a soft, loving expression. “Come on, let's clean up.” He carefully picks me up, his hands gently supporting my waist. As he lifts me off him, our combined juices spill out, coating his abdomen and the bed sheets.

He carries me to the bathroom, setting me down on the counter. He grabs a cloth and wipes himself clean, making sure to remove every trace of our intimacy. Once he's done, he turns his attention to me, gently wiping between my legs with a warm cloth.

He turns on the shower, testing the water temperature before helping me in. “I'll join you right now,” he says, his voice gentle. “Let me just put the sheets in the washer and put new ones on the bed.” He gives me a quick kiss before leaving the bathroom.

I step under the spray, sighing happily as the warm water cascades down my body. I lean against the wall, watching as Matt hurries back into the bathroom a few minutes later. He steps into the shower with me, pulling me into his arms. “Mmm...the bed's fresh now”

He tenderly washes my hair and body, taking extra care to clean between my thighs. He rinses me off, his touch gentle and loving. He steps out of the shower and wraps me in a fluffy towel, drying me off thoroughly. “Come on, let's get you into some clothes.”He picks up our discarded clothes from the floor, balled up and thrown haphazardly. He walks across the room to the closet where the washer and dryer are tucked away. He throws our clothes into the washer, starting a load.

He rummages through his dresser, pulling out a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. “Here, these should fit you.”He helps me into his clothes, his touch gentle.

He picks up our discarded clothes from the floor, balled up and thrown haphazardly. He walks across the room to the closet where the washer and dryer are tucked away. He throws our clothes into the washer, starting a load.

I sit on the edge of the bed, watching as Matt returns from the closet, his chest still glistening with droplets of water. He's wearing nothing but a low-slung towel around his hips. I admire his physique, his broad chest, lean muscles, and toned abs.

He walks over to his dresser and begins to sort through the drawers, picking out a pair of grey sweats and a black hoodie. As he does, he hears me speak up from the bed. “I always loved how you looked when you came out of the shower with a towel wrapped around your waist, by the way.”

He pauses mid-movement, his head halfway through the hoodie. “Oh really?” he asks, a playful smile tugging at his lips. He finishes pulling the hoodie over his head, his damp hair peeking out from the hood.

“I always admired you whenever we had hookups back then each time made me fall more in love with you” I admited. Matt steps closer to me, standing between my knees. He reaches down and gently tilts my chin up, forcing me to meet his gaze. “Is that so?”he murmurs.

I nod, my heart racing in my chest. Matt's eyes sparkle with amusement as he leans in, his smirk against my lips. “Good thing you'll be seeing me more often now, so admire how much you want,” he teases, his warm breath fanning over my face.

I can feel his smile against my lips, and I'm drowning in his eyes. “More often?” I repeat, my voice barely above a whisper. Matt nods, his lips brushing against mine gently. “A lot more often,” he whispers back, his hands resting on my knees.

“Because you're mine now,” Matt says, his voice low and possessive. “Something I should've said a long time ago.” His grip on my knees tightens, pulling me closer to him. “And I won't be so blind this time.”

I gasp softly at his words, and Matt takes advantage, pressing his lips to mine in a searing kiss. His hands slide from my knees to my thighs, his touch firm and gentle. I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him closer as our kiss deepens.

We break apart, our breaths heavy and entwined. Matt rests his forehead against mine, his eyes fluttering shut. “Let's get some sleep,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse. He steps back, releasing his hold on me, and offers me his hand. “Come on.”

As we're settling into bed, the door to Matt's room bursts open. “Matt, what did I tell you about leaving the weed out?!” Chris, exclaims, storming into the room. Matt groans, flopping back onto his pillow.

As Chris is about to launch into another lecture, he notices I was there with Matt. “Y/N… nice seeing you back around here. Did my dumbass brother apologize for what he did?” he asks, crossing his arms. Matt groans louder.

“Yeah, he did,” I responded. “Don't worry, if he hadn't, you wouldn't be seeing me anywhere near this house.” Matt grumbles something under his breath. Chris smirks. “Good, thought I was going to lose my best friend because my shitty brother can’t think about anyone’s feelings except his own”

Chris says, still smirking. “Glad to see you two worked things out.” He starts to leave the room, then pauses at the doorway. “And Matt?”

Matt looks over at him. “Don't leave the weed out if you're going to be fucking for so long, guessing that’s what you both did to make up” Chris says, wagging his eyebrows suggestively.

Matt sits up and glares at Chris. “Chris, get the fuck out!” he yells. “Alright alright no need to yell it’s 5 in the morning, Goodnight or should I say Goodmorning.” And with that, he pulls the door shut behind him. Matt looks over at me, rolling his eyes.

I look back at Matt, stunned. “We fucked for two hours?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. Matt chuckles, pulling me back into his arms. “It would seem so,” he says, nuzzling my neck.

I sigh contentedly, my hands finding their way into Matt's hair as we drift off to sleep. His breathing evens out, and his body relaxes around mine. Outside, the birds begin to sing, signaling the start of a new day.

a/n: THANK YOU FOR 300 FOLLOWERS!!

THIS IS A MORE LONGER ONE-SHOT THAN MY OTHERS

SO I HOPE YOU ENJOYED

I APPRECIATE YOU ALL THANK YOU AGAIN !!!

— 𝑮𝑯𝑶𝑺𝑻 ♡︎

[apollos-boyfriend]

the instant downwards spiral of danganronpa’s female characters after thh is so insane to me. like while thh has its issues and is no way perfectly written its female cast is largely treated like Normal People with real motivations and complex inner lives on par with the male cast. and then you get to literally every other game in the series and it’s like. killing women off to enhance male characters’ development. obscenely obvious pedo bait. literally 0 character. sexualized sa victim. killing women off to enhance male characters’ development. killing women off to enhance male characters’ development.

[solsays]

Lifers x Crane Wives

I saw someone comment on a life series TikTok or something to try and pair all of the lifers to a crane wives song, without repeating songs. so obviously I spent an hour doing it

Grian—Tongues & Teeth (self explanatory if you’ve EVER heard this song)

Scar—Steady, Steady (this whole song is about how their partner is walking out but they still want to be “wild and free” which is just SO Scar coded)

Tango—Ancient History (he keeps teaming up with Skizz and I feel like this song vibes with that, it also just feels very Tango)

Skizz—Icarus (this man always gives himself up for his teammates I swear, and he fuels them to keep going. It also says “oh brother, brother” which feels like Skizz talking to any of his teammates to me)

Impulse—Allies or Enemies (Impulse has been very iffy on a lot of his alliances throughout the seasons, especially in third life and with the amount of playing all sides that man has done this songs feels right)

Cleo—The Glacier House (this. this is literally just her leaving Fairy Fort. The song is talking to/about her from probably Lizzie’s perspective, but like the last line is 100% as if Cleo was speaking)

Bdubs—Unraveling (Bdubs relies so heavily on his teammates, and when he doesn’t have that stability *cough* Etho *cough* he just kinda doesn’t know what to do so this song fits)

Mumbo—Keep You Safe (this man is by no means an aggressive/reckless player [see: Joel or Martyn] and he feels like he’s just here for the vibes and honestly? Love that for him. This song is about fear not keeping you safe and watching your friends run high risks, which just is very accurate to how Mumbo plays this series. I also feel like he could fit Rockslide when he goes red cause he goes from standstill to “drop dead sprint” in terms of aggression)

Lizzie—Shallow River/New Colors (Lizzie is the only one I put as two because both of these songs are just so fitting. Shallow river—“wasted all for the title, wasted all for the crown” reminds me of Lizzie trying to kill Scott and ending up dying herself instead. I also feel like parts of it could be dead Lizzie talking to Joel, the only person who is really mourning her. New Colors—“don't tell me that I can't, I need this“ and “I give up my air, to breathe” also feel very accurate with how she is trying so hard and just keeps failing )

Jimmy—Canary in a Coal Mine (no further context needed, we all know Timmy)

Scott—Little Soldiers (this is very flower husbands, but also just feels like Scott looking back on the last seasons including Pearl, Jimmy, Martyn, all his reluctant exes. Also this man is the watchers’ like least favorite person ever and this gives that vibe)

Pearl—Ribs (i changed this from New Discovery because Ribs is entirely about somewhat angrily protecting and helping yourself because nobody else would, and it really strikes me as Pearl with the some things having been good (Gaslight Gatekeep Girlboss) and some being bad (divorce quartet))

BigB—Not the Ghost (this man is so incredibly odd, he just constantly feels like he is being haunted by the watchers and just going about his life, he is the human personification of gaslight and we love that for him)

Martyn—The Hand That Feeds (he HATES the watchers with every ounce of his being, and with Ren gone I think this guy’s only purpose is just to spite them)

Joel—Sleeping Giants (go listen to it. That’s all there is to it, it just feels very Joel-ish, this lad is absolutely fucking mental)

Ren—Once & for All (this song feels like war and being betrayed, and Ren has been betrayed so much so it just fits. I mean come on “my blood’s forever on your hands” tell me that isn’t 100% something Ren would say)

Gem—Show Your Fangs (Girlboss moment, we love Geminislay. This woman is not someone to be underestimated and this song very clearly says that so it’s very Gem in my head. She doesn’t have enough lore yet to make it angsty but ONE DAY)

Etho—Never Love An Anchor (I can’t explain it, this song just has Etho vibes. I mean “It’s a secret I keep tucked inside my chest” just seems very him, I can’t really tell you why)

[basketonthedoorstepofthefbi]

"anything" - emily prentiss x liaison!fem!reader

summary: you take an unnecessary risk out in the field

wc: 1.4k

cw: flangst? typical cm violence, but mostly just mentions, pre-establish relationship!

this is my first emily fic plz lmk if u like it!

A steady beeping slowly drags you awake. Your eyes flutter open and you take in the hospital room around you. The first thing you notice is the source of the beeping, from the patient monitor beside your bed. Then the pain hits you like a muffled train wreck, crashing into you but hitting a wall, so it doesn’t hurt quite so bad. They must have you on some strong medication, because it doesn’t hurt nearly as much as you thought it would. The worst feeling of all, though, comes from your abdomen, and when you shift in the bed, it aches and this weak little whimper uncontrollably escapes you. 

“Don’t move,” the velvet voice beside you warns. You didn’t even realize Emily was in here, that’s how knocked out you feel. When you turn your head, you see she’s got the chair pulled up as close to your bed as it can go, her elbows connected to her knees in a C-shaped hunch. “You’ll pop your stitches, and it still wouldn’t be the stupidest thing you’ve done today.”

You hear the sternness in your girlfriend’s voice and feel the color drain from your face. She always said you could never control your face, at least not around the people you love. In family interviews, or talking to the press? You could be stone-cold, unreadable. But once you’re comfortable around someone, your visage has a mind of its own. 

“I’m-”

“I know, you’re sorry,” Emily scoffs. Her voice reminds you of bitter, dark chocolate right now. She’s clearly irritated, but remains by your side loyally. That’s how you know she loves you. “That doesn’t change the fact that you made a thoughtless, reckless decision.” 

“I was actually going to say that I’m not sorry,” you huff, groaning softly as you move your rear back to sit up a little. Emily leans back in her seat and her jaw hardens. “Maybe I did act on impulse, but you would have done the same thing.” 

“You disobeyed Hotch’s direct order to stay put,” Emily’s chocolate eyes darken, and she rises from her seat, towering over you with her arms crossed over her chest. “And it got you shot.”

“I thought you were in trouble,” you grumble, your voice just barely above a whisper. 

“Excuse me?” 

“You and Hotch and Morgan all went in different directions, and I heard a scream and a gunshot from where you had gone,” you rattle off, your words all stringing together from the drowsiness. 

You recalled the vast farmland property where Garcia had nailed down the Unsub, how Hotchner didn’t want to wait on SWAT to show up because the guy’s endgame was so close to playing out. He killed at exactly noon with every single one of his victims, so the team had three minutes to find this missing girl. 

“And I couldn’t just stay put, Emily, not when I thought you’d been hurt,” you wring your hands over the top of the scratchy hospital blanket, your knuckles going stark white. “I couldn’t just wait to see what had happened. I couldn’t be helpless like that, not when I thought you might be hurt.” 

Emily’s got her eyes closed and she’s breathing in and out sharply, like she’s forcing herself to calm down, to filter through her initial thoughts so as to not say anything irreversible. “But Hotch told you to stay put,” she repeats in a defeated murmur, lifting one arm to run her hand through her hair. Her fringe is all over the place, and you’re just now noticing the dirt on her milky white cheek. She’s not rested since the farm, you realize, not even taken a second to wipe the dirt off her face. 

Guilt pours over you like a rainstorm, and you feel angry, frustrated, self-reproaching tears well up in your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall. “I didn’t do it to scare you,” you whisper. “I’m sorry, Em. I’m sorry that you had to worry about me like that. But I’d do it again in a heartbeat if it meant knowing that you were okay.” 

“Don’t Em me,” her voice cracks and you see tears start to fall from her eyes. She must be so tired. You don’t know how long you’ve been out, but you can tell from her posture, from her expression, that she’s not had a moment of respite since she saw the bullet take you down. 

You recall the look on her face - horrified, when she hovered over you, lying in the dirt. She shot the Unsub directly after he shot you. Hotch and Morgan made it in time to help the victim out of her ties, so she ran over to you the second the Unsub was down. 

“What were you thinking?!” she shrieked, lifting your shirt only to find blood oozing from the hole in your stomach. 

“I thought…” you murmured breathlessly, your eyes immediately feeling heavy. 

“Someone get a medic over here now!” she shouted, holstering her gun and pressing her hands onto your stomach. You woke up in the ambulance a little bit after that, but were too hazy to say anything. 

All you remember is Emily crushing your hand between both of yours and muttering something under her breath repeatedly. "Stay with me, baby." You hear it now. "Please don't go."

You reach gingerly for her hand as she stands over you now, unable to stretch your arm out too far for fear of popping a stitch. She helps you out and shuffles forward a step, sitting back down in her chair and pulling it next to the bed. Your fingers grasp hers, and then your palms are flush together. “I’m still really pissed at you,” Emily says. “So is Hotch. Says he has half a mind to take you off active duty altogether.” 

You purse your lips. Surely that’s not totally true. “Well, then he’d have to deal with the press on his own, and he’d want to rip his hair out,” you say. Emily squeezes your hand and you squeeze back. 

“I think he’d do it if it mitigates the risk of you getting shot,” Emily admits seriously. 

“It’s just a graze,” you grumble. Emily’s glowering at you again, and you concede. “A graze that required emergency surgery, but still a graze.” 

“Baby, I don’t think you know what a graze is,” Emily says. “They had to remove a bullet from your stomach. That’s not a graze.” 

You feel your cheeks tingle as they turn pink and you shrug your shoulders, pretending to be none the wiser. “Tomato, tomahto,” you wave your free hand nonchalantly. 

“You feel okay right now? D’you need any more pain meds?” Emily asks, the caretaker in her taking over, despite her frustration towards you getting into this situation in the first place. 

“I’m alright,” you say quietly. Emily’s eyes, beautiful orbs of brown so dark they’re almost black, float down to where your wound is. “Em, hey,” you insist, and those eyes snap back up to yours. “I’m alright. Promise.”

“You’re an idiot, is what you are,” Emily chastises with a sigh. 

“How long are they keeping me here?” you ask in a feeble attempt to change the subject. 

“Probably just a couple of days,” she says, lifting your knuckles to her lips and kissing them gently, like you’re made of fine china, like you could shatter at any moment. “Everyone wants to see you. I told them you probably wouldn’t be up for visitors until tomorrow,” she says. 

“That’s fine,” you agree, leaning your head back against the pillow. Whatever medications flowing through the IV in your wrist has you feeling very low-energy. “And how long are you gonna be mad at me?” you ask, sticking your bottom lip out a little in an attempt to earn some sympathy points. 

Emily shakes her head a little, but you see the faint uptick of her mouth that gives her away. “At the very least, however long it takes you to recover,” she jokes halfheartedly. 

“Does my punishment come with a ban on kisses?” you ask, tugging her hand with your own. 

Emily leans forward in her seat, her lips mere centimeters from your own. “That would be a punishment for me, too, and I didn’t do anything wrong,” she teases, then pecks your lips briefly. 

Your eyes are feeling heavy, and you heave a small sigh. “Love you, Em,” you say softly as the room goes dark. “Do anything for you, Em.” 

“I know you would, baby,” Emily sighs as well, but you feel her thumb swiping over the back of your hand. “That’s the problem.”

[maidragoste]

Chapter Three: He ruined it

The Hunger Games AU

Katniss!Jacaerys x Peeta!Reader

Chapter One Chapter Two

A/N: I'm happy to bring you a new chapter of this series, sorry for the delay in publishing and I hope you enjoy it. Please let me know your thoughts in the comments or reblogs. Thank you for reading 🥰🥰💖💖

My inbox is open so I’m always willing to read your headcanons, opinions and answer your questions 🤭💕

Disclaimer: English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes

The elevator ride takes less than a minute since the training rooms are below the floor of your floor, but Jacaerys could still feel the tension in the air. He doesn't know if it's because you're nervous like him about seeing who they'll have to face in a few days or if, like him, you're upset because Larys told you two to spend all your time in public close to each other. Jace doesn't understand the reason behind his uncle's instructions, first, he made you two hold hands at the parade and now it seemed as if he wanted you to become friends while training. Jace doesn't like this, he doesn't want to get attached to you. That would only make things more difficult in the arena, but when he complained his uncle reminded him that he had already promised that he would do whatever he told him. He had to do it if he wanted to return home to Lucerys and Joffrey.

When they both get out of the elevator they find a giant gym full of weapons and obstacle courses. It's not even ten o'clock, yet you two are the last to arrive. The rest of the tributes are gathered in a tense circle, each one has a piece of cloth attached to their shirt with the number of their respective district. While they give his number, Jacaerys in a quick assessment realizes that you two are the only ones who are dressed alike. Was it another way to appear like a united front to others?

Once you and Jacaerys join the circle the head trainer steps forward and introduces herself as Atala and then begins to explain the training schedule, how each position has an expert in the skill in question, that some positions teach tactics survival and other fighting techniques. She also warns that it is prohibited to perform combat exercises with another tribute and that if someone wants to practice with a partner, there are assistants.

“We don't have to be together all the time if you don't want to,” you whispered to him, once Atala finished reading the list of skills and gave them the freedom to start training.

“But Larys said”

“Larys isn't here,” you interrupted, making him frown. “He's not going to know if we don't follow what he tells us one hundred percent.”

“If you don't want to train with me just say it” he snapped, feeling annoyed although it made no sense because he should be happy that you don't want to train with him either after all Jacaerys wanted to avoid spending as much time with you as possible.

“I'm not the one who complained at breakfast,” you reminded him, making him blush and feel ashamed of himself for his attitude. If he weren't so impulsive he would have at least waited for you to go to your room before complaining to his uncle.

“I'm sorry about that,” he apologized, scratching the back of his neck.

“Okay,” you shrugged, downplaying it, but even so, your district partner still felt like a fool because of his attitude. “Where do you want to start?”

“Let's tie some knots,” Jacaerys responded, thinking that his uncle had said not to attract attention so he was forbidden to take a bow at least until the private session with the gamemakers. Besides, Jace had no desire to be around the professional tributes, who had gone straight to the weapons that looked more deadly and handled them without difficulty, nor the trembling tributes who received their first class of knives or axes.

The stall is empty so the coach seems excited when the two approach. When he realizes that Jacaerys knows something about traps, he teaches them how to make a simple trap that would leave another tribute hanging from a tree by their leg. They practice for an hour until they both master the technique well and then move on to the camouflage station. Jacaerys notices that you seem more excited in this position as you mix mud, clay, and berry juice on your skin. It also seems easy for you to braid costumes out of vines and leaves. The coach for this position is excited about your work.

"I make the cakes" you blurt out of nowhere.

"The cakes?" He had been concentrating on watching Royce Baratheon swing a mace directly into the chest of a mannequin.

"Those from the bakery. I make the decorations"

Jacaerys remembers those cakes, which are on display in the shop window, with flowers and other pretty designs on the icing. Before he went to live with Uncle Larys he was never able to eat one of those but since they lived with him there was always cake for special occasions like birthdays and New Year's. Every time they went to buy the cake Joffrey and Lucerys always argued about which one looked the best before choosing which one to take. If he came home he didn't think he would be able to accompany them back to the bakery. He couldn't see your father and brothers in the face again. Nor could he see the disappointment in his brothers' eyes when they saw that the cakes were no longer as pretty as before.

"They're cute, but you won't be able to glaze someone to death," he hadn't meant to sound so scathing but thinking about your death, your family, and his siblings put him in a bad mood.

"You never know what might be in the arena what if…?"

"Let's continue with another position" he interrupts you, he wasn't in the mood for some joke.

"Okay, go ahead with whatever you want, I'll stay here a little longer. I'll catch up with you later" you responded.

The smile on your face had disappeared and Jacaerys felt a tightness in his stomach but he decided to ignore it, he just nodded and went to the fire-making station. He is so focused on the coach's instructions and getting the technique right that he doesn't even realize that he has spent so much time there until they announce that it is time for lunch. Jacaerys looks at you with the idea of telling you to have lunch together. He frowns when he sees that you are no longer alone but are talking to Jason Mallister, the thirteen-year-old boy from District 4. What were you doing? Larys said not to attract attention and you found yourself talking to one of the professional tributes, of course, that would attract attention.

Annoyed, Jacaerys went to the carts that had been brought with food and began to serve himself and then sat alone at one of the tables. Professional tributes gathered around a table. They were loud, unlike the rest they seemed carefree, as if they were not afraid.

A few minutes later you sit next to him. Jacaerys can't hold his curiosity for long so he asks you.

“Why were you talking to him?”

“Stop frowning, we're supposed to be friends,” you scold him in a whisper and he struggles to put on a friendlier face. “He reminds me of Joffrey,” you admit.

“My brother is nothing like him,” the brunette denies instantly. He wouldn't tell you but when you two saw the District 4 reaping he also thought about his brother when Jason appeared on screen. But he couldn't allow himself to see his brother in one of his opponents, that would only hurt him in the arena, so he instantly forced himself to push that thought away from him. The only thing in common between the two of them was that they are both thirteen years old, he just repeated to himself.

"I just showed Jason how I made my camouflage and I remembered when I tried to teach Joffrey how to frost a cookie." Jace must have made some funny face in his surprise because you were smiling again. "He made a mess, I don't know how he ended up with frosting on his hair and face, the only reason my mother didn't get mad is because Joffrey bought the cookies he ruined. If you ask me, he didn't ruin them, he just took artistic liberties" You said the last thing as if you were telling him a big secret, leaning towards him and putting your hand a few centimeters from your face, hiding it from the other tributes, as if you didn't want to they will try to read your lips. At your antics and the image of his younger brother covered in icing, Jacaerys can't help but laugh.

"I didn't know Joffrey spent so much time at the bakery."

"And with you", he added in his head. He couldn't help but wonder why his brother never told him. Although he shouldn't be surprised because at home there is always some bread or cookie from the bakery, but he always thought that the one who was going to buy it was Uncle Larys. He might have missed some things by spending so much time in the forest and the Hob with Baela.

"Your brother is addicted to sugar so he usually comes often after school to buy something. He says he deserves a treat after spending hours locked up in hell."

Jacaerys notices the affection with which you speak of his brother and he can't help but feel warm. He has the feeling that you have even more stories to tell about his brothers and he wants to hear them all.

"Yeah, that sounds like Joffrey," he agrees with a smile.

During the rest of the days of training, Jacaerys feels a whole mix of emotions fighting within him. You two continue training together in some positions such as setting up shelters, recognizing edible plants, and throwing knives and spears, but at some point, you always end up separated by your decision because you want to train with a partner so you look for one of the assistants. In those moments Jace can't help but distrust you because for a while he sees you fighting with the assistant but then the next time he sees you you are in the same section as the professionals, he never sees you talking to one of them but he still can't avoid feeling restless. On the other hand, he can't continue denying that something is forming between the two of you; it's impossible not to form a kind of friendship after sharing so many anecdotes during lunch. At first, you were the one who did most of the talking, telling him more about Joffrey's visits to the bakery, but then Jace wants to know about you and starts asking you more about you and your brothers. And before he least realizes it, he is also sharing his own stories. He tells you how Uncle Larys once made them believe his house was haunted only to make them stop wandering around at night because they wouldn't let him sleep. You laugh when he tells you how he once challenged a bear to fight in the woods to keep a beehive and how his father had never scolded him so much.

On the second day of training before you go to train with an assistant you whisper to Jacaerys that he has a shadow. When he turns to see Rue, the little girl from District 11 spying on them, you encourage him to talk to her but Jace refuses because he has no idea what to say to her and also because he is afraid of meeting her and she will remind him of his brothers or Baela's little sisters.

When the private sessions arrive with the gamemakers it is evident that both you and Jacaerys are nervous because neither of you tries to have a conversation while waiting your turn or even when the two of you are alone after Rue enters.

"Good luck," Jacaerys wishes you as he stands up when he is called. He couldn't tell you later because once a tribute finishes the session he has to go to his apartment "Try throwing the weights, impress them."

"Thank you" It is evident that you were not expecting his words because you keep looking at him impressed "Lucky for you too. Remember to shoot well" you smile at him.

He nods and starts walking towards the door.

He ruined it. What the hell was he thinking? No, he didn't think about it. He just let his anger get the best of him, he was outraged that the guards had stopped paying attention to him after he missed his first shot, he was furious that he could die within a few days and they wouldn't deign to watch his entire performance, so he took the arrow and shot at the gamemakers' table. Of course, he didn't shoot any of them, his arrow hit right where he wanted it, in the apple that the pig had in its mouth. When all eyes were on him he sarcastically thanked them for their time while bowing. He didn't wait to be fired, he stormed out of the training room still feeling his blood boil. Only when he was alone in the elevator did he feel the weight of what he did, he felt like his heart was about to jump out of his chest and his throat was burning. He ruined it. He hadn't tried to kill any of the gamemakers but maybe someone would think that. He was sure he must be the first tribute to do something like that. He lost any chance he had of winning the games. But what scares him the most is that because of his attitude, they will now punish his brothers. He would never forgive himself if something happened to them because of him.

When the elevator doors opened, tears had already begun to roll down Jacaerys's cheeks. He ignored the questions from Effie, who was waiting for him in the hallway, and locked himself straight into his room. It didn't take long for knocks to sound on his door and the woman's voice asking him to come out but he didn't move from the bed. When silence came he thought that he had finally given up and they would leave him alone. But minutes later he heard the cold voice of his uncle:

"Jacaerys, open the door. Stop acting like a child."

Jacaerys was about to ignore him but then he realized that the only one who could help him protect his brothers was his uncle. So he took courage and got out of his pile of blankets. He unlatched the door and nervously opened the door. For a moment he thought he saw something different in his uncle's eyes. He couldn't figure out exactly what but that only made him more nervous. Without saying anything he went to sit on the edge of the bed while he watched Larys enter and close the door again. Surprising him, did his uncle think that he would try to escape in the middle of the conversation?

Larys took the chair that was at the desk placed it in front of the bed and then sat down.

"I ruined it," said Jacaerys, his voice breaking when he saw that his uncle did not seem willing to start the conversation. "They are going to punish Luke and Joff because of me." The teenager's desperation was clear by how he tugged at his curls as he spoke."You have to do something, uncle, please. It's my fault, let them punish me."

"What did you do?" the victor demanded to know.

Then Jace told him everything, how the gamemakers were drunk and how after he missed his first shot they stopped paying attention to him, missing the circuit he made and how he hit the center in the rest of his shots, that he didn't think about his actions, that he got carried away with anger and shot at the apple that was in the mouth of the pig that the gamemakers were about to eat, gaining their attention again and how he left the training room without waiting to be fired but not before thanking them sarcastically for their attention. As Jacaerys continued speaking Larys's hand turned white from the strength with which he gripped his staff.

"I told you that you won't attract attention" his uncle's biting tone only made Jacaerys' discomfort increase and he couldn't help but take one of the blankets again and wrap himself in it. It's not like he expected Larys to comfort him but he also shouldn't have been surprised that the first thing he did was scold him. "But you can rest assured, they're not going to punish your brothers." There was that strange look in his eyes again.

"Are you sure?" The uncertainty in his voice was clear, he wanted to trust his uncle but at the same time, he couldn't help but think that Larys would tell him any lie as long as he kept concentrating on the games.

"If they are going to punish Lucerys and Joffrey, they would have to tell what you did in the entertainment center so that it has some effect on the districts, but they won't because it's secret," Larys explained with a little more patience. "The only one you hurt with your actions it's you"

Upon hearing that nothing would happen to his brothers, Jacaerys felt that part of his discomfort disappeared. He still had to worry because surely the gamemakers would now make his life miserable in the arena but at least he knew that his brothers would be safe.

"I know, the gamemakers will make my life miserable in the arena" he stated "And today they will give me the worst score so I won't have any sponsors" he sighed thinking that now it would be even more difficult for him to survive in the arena without sponsors, the food wouldn't be a big problem because he knew how to hunt but if he got hurt then he would need medicine.

"Don't worry about the sponsors, I'll take care of that," Larys promises and this time Jacaerys doesn't doubt his uncle because he looks too confident. "Well, it's done, it's not something we can change. Stop getting depressed and let's go have dinner before they give the scores."

During dinner, Jace barely joins the conversation and feels your worried gaze the entire time. It seems that Effy told you about the state he arrived in after his private session.

In the middle of dinner, Effy can't stand his curiosity anymore so he asks them both how it went. Jacaerys wasn't going to say anything until he heard you speak.

"I don't think I impressed them, some paid attention to me but others were more focused on whatever was on the table," you said resignedly.

"It's my fault. I'm sorry" he apologized, feeling guilty because apparently he had also harmed your private session.

"How is it your fault?" Cinna asked curiously.

"I shot them an arrow," Jace replied.

At first, he ignored Effy's indignation and the rest of the team's questions, focusing more on your reaction. You still looked at him with concern. He was relieved to not see you angry. The truth is, he couldn't blame you if you got angry with him after all his act had attracted the attention of the gamemakers when it was essential for you to have a better score.

"I actually shot an arrow at the pig's apple they were about to eat. They were drunk and I got angry because they weren't paying attention to me."

"And what did they tell you?" You asked anxiously and looked at the doors as if you were expecting that at any moment the peace officers would come in to look for him.

"I don't know. I left"

"Did you leave without permission?" Effie asked to see if she understood correctly.

"I gave it to myself" Jace replied and a laugh escaped your mouth, you quickly stifled it with your hand before Effie's gaze. Jacaerys was pleased to see the worry disappear from your face.

"Larys, aren't you going to say anything about it?" Effie questioned evidently expecting the victor to side with her and scold them.

"It's done, Effie. There's nothing we can do," he responded boredly as he buttered a piece of bread.

"What was their face?" you asked, looking at him curiously.

"They seemed terrified. A man stumbled backward and fell into a punch bowl." At the time Jacaerys had been so angry that he couldn't enjoy the watchman making a fool of himself but now he remembered it with fun.

Everyone laughed, except for Effie but she seemed to hold back a smile so Jace didn't take it the wrong way.

“Oh, I would have loved to see that,” you said with a smile. If Jacaerys hadn't been so focused on you then he would have noticed that his uncle seemed to be studying the two of you.

Once everyone finishes dinner they go to sit in the living room to watch the scores announced on television. How every year a photo of the tribute appears while Caesar Flickerman and Claudius Templesmith announce the score. What is striking with the group of professionals is that this year not everyone has a score between eight and ten like previous years, but the boy from District 4 gets a seven. The same score that Rue gets, Jace can't help but wonder how she managed to get that score. But any thoughts of the little girl from District 11 disappear and are replaced by euphoria when he hears Caesar announce his score. An eleven.

Applause and congratulations filled the room. Jacaerys smiles until he realizes that his uncle is quiet and doesn't look as excited as the rest about his eleven. He starts to feel the anxiety in his body and he wants to ask his uncle what the problem is but he doesn't want to have this conversation in front of everyone.

“Good” is the only thing Larys says after they also announce your eight. And Jace feels stupid for worrying so much, surely his uncle didn't say anything before because he was still hanging on to your score after all he wasn't the only tribute Larys had in charge. “You should go to sleep, you have a long day tomorrow” he ordered them while motioning to the avox to bring him more wine.

You and Jacaerys say goodbye to the entire team and head toward the hallway where your rooms are.

“Tell me, what does it feel like to break the bad streak of twelve and go down in history?” you said while leaning on your door.

“You're exaggerating,” Jace said, trying to sound exasperated by rolling his eyes, but there was no annoyance in his tone.

“I'm not,” you shook your head, smiling. You just beat the score of the professionals, I think it's impressive” you said while crossing your arms. “Surely the entire Capitol is talking about you and you are going to monopolize all my sponsors.”

Your last words brought Jace back to his senses. You two were in a competition and his live were at stake. He couldn't keep joking with you. He should be focused on making a good impression on Caesar and the people at the Capitol tomorrow.

“We should go to sleep,” he said abruptly, resting his hand on the handle of his door, trying not to feel guilty as he saw how the spark in your eyes seemed to go out at his tone. “Have a good night,” he didn’t even wait for you to respond before walking into his room and closing the door. His father would be disappointed in his treatment of you.

a/n: I'm grieving because I had to delete the scene I had with Larys and Sea Dragon bc if I left it, then there were going to be things in Cathing Fire that didn't make sense 😫

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, as I always say the comments and reblogs are very appreciated 🥰

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[rosemarydisaster]

I made some sort of alignment classification based on whether they're impulsive or if they plan ahead for the Batfam. Feel free to correct me (politely please, I'll cry) or to add your opinion. I'm not trying to be super canon, just based on their characters' vibes.

Bruce Wayne: 100% planner. This man could be a Bene Gesserit, plans within plans, and they always work even if they shouldn't (because DC can't have him be wrong). It's like a choose your own adventure, you follow the plan and each time something new happens that is sure to chase things up he pulls a subsection specifically for it. Senior Justice League Members just don't question him anymore no matter what. "You had a contingency for getting invaded by mind controlling ballerina spiders? Yeah, sure, tell us all about it".

Barbara Gordon: she plans around her impulses. She is self aware enough at this point to know she's a bit of a hot head. It is what it is, she's called Batman an Emo Boy's idea of Therapy enough times to his face to know she just can't help herself with some stuff. So instead of working against it she plans around it. In the end, it was her plan all along. Canary thinks she could just hold her tongue, but considering the vigilantes Oracle manages, her experience in planning for these situations is invaluable.

Dick Grayson: Impulsive, not because he can't make plans or because he isn't smart. Quite the opposite. He just has that ADHD dog in him. He would be guiding the Titans through a mission and they'd be thinking "Woah, everything is going according to his plan", meanwhile inside his head is Bear Grylls saying "Improvise, Adapt, Overcome". It's not so much that he comes up with plans on the spot but he ends up changing it along the way because he thought of something better for that specific situation. He may use B's protocols for a general structure but then trusts his instinct to come up with something better on the spot.

Cassandra Cain: Neither. She's not one to be coming up with elaborate schemes but, as much as she relies on her instinct, she's able to stop before jumping. She doesn't need to plan, she knows what works. She observes and then takes the best course of action. When Bruce goes on and on about the importance of planning she just answers "Skill issue" and leaves.

Jason Todd: impulsive planner. This is a man that makes plans, okay? He's theatre kid coded, he needs to know his little monologues by heart. The thing is, he's also very emotional and has the impulse control of a toddler in front of the cookie jar. He can't help himself, he has to punch the asshole and make the witty comeback or he will explode. The outlaws have been grilled to death on the importance of following the plan but then watch him like ten minutes later throw it out the window. They find it both endearing and annoying.

Stephanie Brown: Queen of Chaos. She can plan. She's good at it too btw, she just doesn't want to if she can avoid it. She works best when she's improvising and it drives Bruce and Tim up the walls. They just hate to see women winning. She's the best one out of all of them at turning a mistake to her advantage in a matter of seconds. It's quite impressive.

Tim Drake: Chaotic planner. Everyone is so sure Tim is a mini Bruce and to a certain extent, if you squint your eyes, then yes. But Young Just Us know the truth: his plans are extremely effective but only in the most chaotic way possible. There's the Batman plan, and there's the Red Robin plan, which is like the first one but faster and with more fire. He also has to be periodically reminded to take into account his own wellbeing when making his little schemes.

Duke Thomas: plans on the go. I don't know how else to explain it but it's like those sequences in the Sherlock movies (the ones with RDJ) where he's watching his surroundings and opponents almost in slow-mo till he puts together a plan. It's similar to Dick from the outside, but if you pay attention you can see the wheels turning in his head as he goes along. He actually stops and thinks (metaphorically, most of the time his thinking is done while he distracts enemies).

Damian Al Gul Wayne: he's a strategist, not a planner. This is an important distinction because whenever Batman or Red Robin are explaining one of their convoluted plans he feels like he's actively losing braincells. He's closer to Cassandra in the way he prefers a more direct solution. He also gets palpitations anytime Jason or Stephanie just start doing things without thinking. If he knew what Dick's thought process was he would have probably developed an anxiety disorder in his time as Dick's robin. He doesn't understand the need for such high detail planning and hates the idea of making it along the way. No, he just needs to come up with the most efficient strategy and that's all.

[vivgst]

Bodyguard!Valeria

Okay first of all I kinda hate this, I'm posting it again bc I had posted it privately (bc I'm stupid like that) Uh and it's not proofread so sorry in advance

Valeria was no stranger to hard work, everything she had achieved was because she had broken her back and cried tears of blood but she did not complain.

Right now she was cursing her life and all her ancestors though, she couldn't conceive that you were the most difficult thing of all, you were unbearable, so annoying and stubborn that sometimes she wanted to just vanish into thin air and forget about her damn plan, that's how much of a pain you were for her.

Not only were you putting your life at risk but also hers, you were the wife of the spider's son and one of the reasons why she had been almost forced to watch over you was so that that fucking man wouldn't beat the crap out of you anymore because of his jealousy, however, you weren't making it easy for Valeria.

You were so manipulative, you knew very well how to use your beauty to your advantage and you were so persistent that you managed to get her into your bed and it was so inevitable for her not to give in to your pleas, those caresses that drove her crazy and those kisses that she still couldn't forget.

That night was permanently on her mind, torturing her and reminding her that even though she always had you close, she could never touch you again or her plans would probably be ruined, she had already gained the trust of too many people to make such a carnal mistake as giving in to her impulses.

“Please, it's just a-” You slurred your words out of drunkenness and she rolled her eyes, her hand pressed to your throat, you could see she was upset but you didn't give a damn, like usual.

“Shut your damn mouth, do you want to get killed? Behave". Valeria snapped and she was so sick of you, you could see it, she was tense and her jaw clenched as she looked around to make sure no one had seen you as you rubbed against her and tried to kiss her, luckily the VIP area of ​​the club you two were in was quite secluded and no one was paying attention to you.

She kept her distance for the rest of the night, she stayed alert and watched you to make sure you didn't do something stupid but she didn't let you get too close until you arrived back at the mansion, she helped you go upstairs because you could barely walk properly and when she was going to leave you in the room you pulled her in and closed the door behind her, your husband was not there and you always took advantage of that, or at least that's what you tried to do.

"I have to take a shower". You murmured and kept pulling Valeria by the arm until you got in the bathroom, you weren’t letting her escape from you. “And you have to take care of me, what if I fall and hit my head? It will be your fault.” You grinned cynically at her and she scoffed as she shook her head, the worst part was that you were right and she hated it.

You got in the shower as soon as you undressed, the cold water ran through your whole body and made you shiver.

Her gaze inevitably ran over you from head to toe and she had to swallow hard and remind herself that the woman in front of her was forbidden, having you once had been greedy of her, she couldn't allow herself to have you again even if she wanted to... and oh how much she wanted to.

You, on the other hand, knew very well what you were doing, you slid your hands over your breasts, over your stomach until you reached your belly, you felt the heat between your legs as intense as ever, you had never been in a situation this erotic and you felt breathless, just like Valeria.

The only thing between you was the glass door, she couldn't take her eyes off your body even if she tried. It's not like she wanted to, she felt enchanted as if she was in a spell.

"Don’t do this to me". Valeria spoke almost out of breath, her voice was strained by everything she was feeling and you smiled as you put your hand between your thighs, you leaned against the shower door, the glass fogging up from your gasps and you began to massage your swollen bud that was soaking your fingers, your soft flesh was begging for another touch, it missed her hands. The water that fell on you was cold but not even that helped calm the heat you felt, the burning throughout your body.

Valeria was frozen in place, she couldn't stop looking at you, the way you touched yourself, your face, your whole body, she wanted to get into that shower and taste you until you couldn't stand up anymore, she wanted to turn you into a needy mess and feel your skin and your body against hers, it was a necessity at this point.

She couldn't control herself anymore and since she knew how things would end she preferred to run away, she left the bathroom and went into the room that your impertinent husband had assigned her, if you were sober enough to torture her that way then you were sober enough how to finish taking the damn shower without killing yourself.

She wasn't calming down, she was still panting and saying she was dripping was an understatement, she lay down on the bed and took a couple of deep breaths before cursing under her breath, doing that was giving in to all your fucking teasing but she couldn't help so she unzipped her pants in an attempt to calm the longing she felt for you right now.

And you went into the room, just what Valeria didn’t want... She growled, the tension she was feeling was enough to put her in a bad mood and now you were there to just make her feel even worse, it was a bad night, it was a bad job.

“No, get out.” Valeria spoke and you couldn't help the mischievous grin that adorned your face when you heard her, you knew that voice very well, you nibbled on your lip as you approached her bed, straddling her, your hand wrapping around her neck and the other going down her breasts, all over her torso until you put it inside her pants, you could feel how wet she was just from brushing her underwear with your fingers, her walls clenched around nothing, craving, longing to feel something inside, it was painful.

She was staring at you as she let out heavy pants, her body felt on fire and she knew she could take you off her lap if she really wanted to, you weren’t the strongest woman so she could just push you away, she could.

The question was... did she want to?

You gently caressed her over her underwear and put your hand inside, rubbing her flesh that was unusually soaked and you narrowed your eyes at her as you bit your lip, you were finally touching her again.

You lowered your fingers to her entrance and slowly sank them inside her, her walls clung to you, milking your fingers and your breath hitched in your throat, she was never this wet and the realization made you smirk, this was a first and you promised yourself right there that you would enjoy it.

“Oh… Are you ovulating?” You murmured in a mocking tone but Valeria didn't answer, she just glared at you as she gasped and you curled your fingers, rubbing that spot inside her that made her feel helpless and she whimpered. “That's why you're wet like a bitch in heat, right, honey?” You whispered softly, increasing the speed with which you massaged her g-spot.

“Screw you.” She snapped, feeling breathless, her moans were more audible now and it was killing you, you had never seen her this turned on, it was just making you feel desperate and needy.

You started grinding your hips against her thigh as you massaged her insides and she was so tight you felt like she would rip your fingers off, which meant she was close.

You pushed your thumb against her swollen nub, her thighs started to shake and you brought your lips to hers, you were doing what you wanted with her, but it wasn’t enough.

“I want you to get me out of here”. You spoke hoarsely as you kept working your fingers inside her, the heat of her insides were driving you insane. You loved feeling pleasure, but the most exciting part about having sex with Valeria was pleasuring her, making her weak until she couldn’t stop squirting.

“I will.” She breathed out, her arms clasping around your waist so she could feel you closer as her orgasm was crushing her whole body, you could feel it in your hand, the way she was tightening and tensing up, it was hot. And you moved your fingers harshly, harder just like you knew she liked it.

“I want to be with you, I don’t want to be with him”. You spoke close to her lips and she nibbled on your bottom lip, her body felt like it wasn’t hers anymore, it was yours, yours to control, to posses, she gave you the right.

“We…” Her words were silenced by her own moans, she couldn’t keep quiet like she intended to just a couple minutes ago because the feeling was overwhelming, it wasn’t just her wet cunt that was sensitive, it was her entire self, her nipples were stiff and you couldn’t see it because her bra was hugging her chest, it was uncomfortable, she wanted your soft hand around her breasts, circling her nipples, playing with that delicate skin you loved so much.

The sound of your fingers fucking her was so obscene, and soon enough you could hear how wet she was getting so you knew it was time to took them out.

Your gaze fell over your fingers, glistening with Valeria’s’ juices and you felt thirsty, you put them in your mouth and moaned as you felt her taste spread across your tongue.

The front door creaked and took you both out of the little cloud you were in. You quickly got off Valeria's lap and snuck to your room, just in time for your husband to come in and lie down next to you, thinking you were asleep or maybe not even thinking about you at all.

And you couldn't help but smirk as you imagined how happy you would be when this nightmare was over, just you, Valeria, and the empire you knew she would build.

[linktotheheart]

I feel like so many people misunderstand BOTW/TOTK Link especially (Zelda too, but that's another topic entirely)

His lack of expressiveness IS a personality trait. It's a direct result of the pressure on his soldiers to be a perfect soldier, hero, and savior. No, he's not Skyward Sword Link, and never will be, because his story is completely different.

"But [other Link] hugged Zelda when he got her back!" and this Link maintained a respectful distance as his princess's subordinate - but ALSO out of respect for Zelda as a person, because she spent her whole childhood having her agency denied and he wants to let her initiate even something as simple as platonic contact whenever possible. He's being kind!

(And yes, I know that primarily only the "he is a knight and she is a princess" part is directly supported in the actual game, but I'll remind the people making comparisons that the dynamic was COMPLETELY different in their favorite comparison game, Skyward Sword. But also... look at the gentleness with which Link interacts with Zelda, the tenderness that he shows so few other characters - Mipha probably being the closest example. Look at the way he looks to her first to see what to do in every scene they're in together, unless he's protecting her from an immediate threat to her life. Notice how outside of that, Zelda IS usually the one to initiate any physical contact)

I also personally hate it when people describe quiet, not very expressive people as "lacking personality" because... my partner IRL is like that. If she expressed herself at all around most people, it's in a very flat, reserved way. I've seen how it hurts her that people treat her like she doesn't have a personality, like she isn't even a full person - and I know that's real life and Zelda is fiction, but come on, do you think all the people that aren't highly expressive and extroverted don't hear that about very popular characters and internalize it?

Being reserved is a personality trait. Being cautious and not impulsive is a personality trait. In fact, I'd even say just because you as an expressive, extroverted person see Link as a blank slate to project your own personality onto, doesn't mean he actually is or was even intended that way.

(I also think this is a very US-centric point of view, honestly. There's plenty of cultures where even BOTW Link would be considered at least close to average - Finnish culture specifically comes to mind, even if he's still slightly exaggerated in that regard as, y'know, a character.)

Idk, this is as much a silly little vent post as anything, it's not that serious, etc, but whatever

(and don't get me started on "oh Zelda got no agency in TOTK and she learned the powers she was struggling overnight". No, it's called a time skip, and just because she learned her powers before the 13th hour this time - which yeah, she would get them easier this time with a mentor who could actually use the same powers, and having already learned to use her light powers - doesn't mean it just "happened overnight". And... she didn't express agency? She was actively influencing the entire flow of the timeline, changing the actions of her ancestors by convincing her ancestors to act, learning to control her powers and fighting Ganondorf, and finally expressing the ultimate form of autonomy in choosing to sacrifice herself to save the world. Some of the criticisms of TOTK didn't even seem to play the same game. Just because a heroine isn't a pop feminist badass who *gasp* wears pants and easily and perfectly kicks every villain's ass, doesn't mean she "has no agency" and is being sidelined. Like, a princess engaging in courtly politics is neither powerless nor "doing nothing")

[venusphoriia]

— The Second Act

;; ₍ # ₎ ⁀➷ Clarisse La Rue x Aphrodite! Reader

─ loving you is her greatest weakness, but also her greatest desire.

cw ཿ⠀ afab! reader. wlw. 377 word count.

ପ a/n ; a quick one, proofread a little. current trying to get out of a writers block. my requests are open and i hope you enjoy (⊃｡•́‿•̀｡)⊃♡︎

She wanted to abandon you. She wished to rid herself of this weakness. Selfish and prideful, her thoughts had prayed for salvation from what, in her eyes, was considered a curse.

But her heart knew she could never forsake you.

With love brought vulnerability—a sort of weakness that she loathed as if it was her sworn enemy from birth. The hunger for glory and acknowledgment often clouded her judgment. Impulsiveness was her payment and discontentment was—more often than not—her price. Time and time again, a test was set and again she failed. Nonetheless, the lesson repeated, each one more tribulating than the last. Yet, still her stubbornness remained unshaken—her pride, her very shield.

She tried to ignore the way her mind would linger towards you at any given moment, no matter how small the reminder. Her gaze always drifted towards you, her eyes chasing yours for any sign that you may feel the same. Even when she was forced to face the fast beating pace of her heart at your nearness, she dismissed it as superficial attraction.

Even now, as her glare hardens and her fist tightens as a poor attempt to contain her anger—she refuses to acknowledge it. The bitter ache in her heart as she watches you laugh with another. Your eyes are teary with joy, the smile on your lips never faltering for a second. You love him. The thought—fear—causes a bitter taste in her mouth as she forces herself to look away.

She wanted to ignore you. To convince herself that what you two had was nothing, but a small diversion to keep her entertained. Admirable is her stubbornness, but distasteful is her prideful desire to constantly be perceived as strong—it’s borderline toxic. Still, like all others before her, the nonchalant act begins to crumble. Her wants, wishes, and prayers fall on deaf ears and she can ignore it no longer.

She has fallen. The favored daughter of Ares, God of war and courage, has completely fallen for a daughter of love and beauty. The stage has been set, the second act begins. Driven by a new sense of yearning and desire—a new goal to be accomplished, she plans to win you back by any means necessary.

For it’s what her heart demands.

© venusphoriia 2023 — do not copy or repost any of my works on any other platform, please and thank you !! ( ˘ ³˘)♡

[shinobushaori]

Hey dere 🤓🥸. I love yapping on here when I’m not writing 😛. Favorite aritst??? And any head cannons u have for Shinobu on how she’d react to (Y/n) bringing home the biggest and furriest cat ever.

Hii!! And I can relate lmaooo, even when writing this I can't seem to stop yapping😭

My headcannons on how Kochou Shinobu would react to y/n bringing home the biggest furriest cat ever:

Imagine Shinobu's skyrocketing stress when she got home from Hashira duties, hoping to receive comfort from you just to find you cuddling with the most furry looking menace she's ever seen.

I feel like she'd definitely be instantly annoyed and agitated.

If you wanted to adopt a cat because it needed a home to stay, okay that's cute and she really appreciates your kind heart but she'd be angry that you didn't get her permission first.

I can see her refusing to be close with you, especially with the furs and hair that had stuck itself on your clothing. Best believe she'll also warn you to not ever let the cat wander too closely to her own belongings nor even in the ward. She'll ask you to relocate the cat as soon as possible because she does not permit you to keep it.

Basically, she's going to be sulky the whole day.

If you're stubborn and really, really want to keep the darn cat, sorry for you but Shinobu would rather take a bullet to the head, it's a battle of who's more hardheaded than the other at this point.

If you know better than to beat Shinobu in her own game and placed the cat for adoption with a sad face, Shinobu would coo and tease you from afar with a grin. Reminding you it's the consequences of being too impulsive in your decisions and that it's good to think, even just for once for you.

She'll only giggle if you give her a soured expression.

While she may have a soft spot for you, I feel like she'd still badly scold you about taking furry animals in and if ever a single thought enters your mind that is even a small bit related to possibly taking a stray animal in, always talk to her first because she'll make you forget you've ever thought of it.

Once the cat has been adopted, likely by either Mitsuri or Himejima, she would be annoying you for a while. Constantly reminding you to clean up after yourself before touching her, throw away clothes that are severely covered by fur that its no longer repairable, and she would definitely bring up what you did everytime she's in the mood to tease. Every. Single. Time.

"My, I can't seem to trust you, can I? Well, knowing how you have a habit of bringing animals in without my permission, I can't say I'm surprised!"

"Nope! I prefer to walk with you than coming home with possibly another stray in my Estate."

She's so petty she would probably bring it up every occurring argument.

If you get sad that the cat was given away, Shinobu will make sure you're too distracted to ever think of any stray furry animal ever again. Either by giving you tasks you would need most your thinking skills on or by distracting you herself with her tender touches, which seem to work well seeing your flushed expression.

Not to mention..why get a cat when Shinobu's practically one? She might not agree nor even entertain that idea and would even downright deny it but she also has tendencies that make you remind that of a cat.

She had a tired day? You will drop the task you're doing just to cuddle with her to sleep, no questions should be asked. Also do not ask why she's humming while tightly hugging you from behind.

She's stressed? She'll bury and rub her head on your neck, teasingly giving small lick kisses before laughing when she feels you shudder.

She has free time? She'll follow you everywhere to either just stare at what you're doing or to tease you with anything. When I say she'll follow you everywhere, I mean everywhere.

"Uhm..Shinobu, baby, darling, I love you but.. I really need to pee."

"So?"

Cats are overrated, just get a Shinobu instead.

I wrote this on the spot and I just woke up so there's barely any thought put into this ;3

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

Can you do mini hcs or hcs of Mc having a really shy familiar? And how m6 would get them to warm up to them? Also I love your content, it makes life a lot more bearable

The Arcana Mini-HCs: When MC has a shy familiar

Julian: wants your familiar to like him, but the discomfort with closeness goes both ways given his own aversion to magic. ends up bonding with it during late nights when he thinks out loud to it

Asra: trusts their bond with both you and Faust enough to leave the familiars to bond with each other first. waits patiently for Faust to befriend it into pranking you and then ask for their help

Nadia: feels the same impulse to care for it the way she cares for you. goes out of her way to make herself as approachable as possible and will wait for a low-pressure, safe environment to pamper it

Muriel: he gets it. he thinks your familiar should have as much space to be shy as they want to. Inanna thinks they should practice being more social. Muriel bonds with it by letting it hide behind him

Portia: the shyness is making her twice as determined to win over their trust and affections. she's going all out, building it a corner in her cottage, reminding Pepi to give it space, spoiling it, etc

Lucio: takes the shyness as a sign of rejection at first and gets genuinely hurt. ends up bonding with it because he too would prefer to stay in bed rather than get up and run around with M&M at dawn

[seireitonin]

Can you make Toby headcanons

I can’t believe I haven’t already done this?? He’s literally all I think about lately. Also sorry for the lack of posts life is busy. Anyway! (Some of this will be canon)

“Ticci” Toby Head Canons

Toby was in and out of the hospital all his life

CIPA will do that for you

He constantly had to lie about the bruises he got from his dad while he was in the hospital

He didn’t want to be separated from his sister in foster care

Toby got bullied and outcasted at school

But he also was a bully kinda

The violence he was experiencing at home made him violent at school

He would beat people who teased him bloody

He’s impulsive and cynical but also empathic

He would use his body as a shield against his father to protect his sister and mother

Purposely behaving bad so he would get it the worst, sparing his sister and mother

Slenderman was trying to get both Lyra and Toby to become proxies and Lyra had been experiencing the slender sickness and seeing Slenderman

So she purposely crashed the car so her and Toby would both die, but he was none the wiser

Only Lyra died and Toby has survivors guilt

Not only because he’s alive but because Lyra was a better person in his eyes

She took care of him, she was sweet, she was gentle

Toby was rough, standoff ish, and rude

Toby thinks he deserved to die, not her

Wishes he died instead of her

Slenderman only targeted Toby after that

The hallucinations getting stronger and worse

Him seeing his dead sister

Constantly feeling sick

Toby looked at all his neighbors with jealousy

Why did they get the perfect suburban life?

Why was he given a life of suffering?

Slenderman was breaking him down day after day

On top of all that the abuse didn’t stop

Slenderman was able to take his mind over easily with all that Toby was going through

Toby’s grief, anger, sadness, pain and suffering making him unable to fight off Slendermans influence

The night he killed his father he was under Slendermans control completely

Only snapping out of his trance for a few seconds before being taken over again

He didn’t really want to kill his father but his body wasn’t his

Luckily he was able to snap out of the trance before he hurt his mom

But he still burned the neighborhood down, ready to accept death

Then Slenderman took him in

When he was 19 he acted a bit like the teen he never got to be

Not super upbeat but he was more playful and free

Masky and Hoodie do care about him, just in a rough love kind of way because they didn’t want to see him die

Also he was so young, they know what it’s like to loose your life and mind to Slenderman at a fairly young age

So they trained him hard and kept reminding him that he’s disposable so be careful and not so reckless with his body

Toby’s not only good with hatchets but knives as well

Also good at hand to hand combat and dodging

Has infinite stamina and is really strong and fast

Dated Clockwork from ages 19-24

He died at 25 but was resurrected by Slenderman and became possessed fully (which is another reason why he’s so sickly pale)

Slenderman attempted to make him kill Clockwork, but luckily some of Toby was still in there and he was able to hold back from killing her

She was able to fight him off easily after that but couldn’t bring herself to kill him

But she doesn’t want to see him ever again

The one man she trusted tried to kill her and it was too much for her to handle

Toby was heartbroken for months and killed a lot of people, letting himself become a puppet for Slenderman completely

Toby came to the realization that his body was never his to own

His body belonged to the doctors when he was a kid to experiment on, the shield to protect his family, a puppet for Slenderman to use, even his Tourette’s controlled him sometimes

Toby is bi but leans towards women because women were kind to him all his life

Total horndog

He can be manipulative but honestly it’s not on purpose he’s just scared to loose people

“You shouldn’t leave. You’re all I have. My family is gone. Please. You’re the only thing I love.”

Very clingy with people he cares about

Especially because he knows he’s a lot to handle

His emotions can change very quickly

Since his mind has gotten used to Slendermans influence, his memories come back in full force

He vividly remembers everything that happened to him and will sometimes have breakdowns

The memories come at random times too

He’s full of himself and not insecure at all

Blunt, rude, will say what he wants whenever he wants with no filter but is nice to people he likes

Constantly has bloody and bruised knuckles

Smells like the woods/ outdoors and campfires

Made a promise to his sister when they were young to never be like his dad. So he’ll never hit a woman he loves

Belive she’s not meant to be loved. Everyone who’s loved him has either died or left one way or another

Wears neutral colors to blend in with the forest

Touched starved, due to not getting much gentle touch and affection in his life

Wants a normal life so bad but knows that will never happen

Wants to have kids. He wants to be the man his father never was

Hides his face gash with bandages and gauze when he goes out in public

He’s handsome and he knows it. He uses that charm to lure in/ manipulate his victims

Dark brown eyes and hair and pale pink lips

29 years old

Started dating Nina at 27

Toby is 6’0 flat

Very lanky but his back and arms are toned because of constant axe throwing and swinging

Toby is much more mature now that he’s 29 but can still joke around and stuff

Has scars all over his body not only from his father, but fighting since he was 17

He’s so full of himself and cocky especially when he’s manic

He’s an extremely jealous person and can be very possessive especially over the person he’s dating

He’s just scared to loose anyone

Hes violent as hell when it comes to killing

Very very messy because he’s impulsive and reckless and doesn’t care about getting hurt because he doesn’t feel it

Sometimes will target abusive men and will beat them to death with his fists while looking them in the eyes, smiling

Just because he was manipulated into killing at first doesn’t mean he doesn’t enjoy it now

Because he really enjoys it

Especially when he’s angry or emotional

Still needs constant check ups and has to check for injuries on his body because he can’t feel them

Eats people on occasion. Since he chewed on his hands a lot he likes the taste of flesh

Likes fucking with his victims before he kills them sometimes. He learned that from Masky.

Has nightmares but doesn’t tell anyone about them

Doesn’t drink alcohol often because he really doesn’t wanna be like his dad

Midwestern emo

Looks like his mom. It makes him sad. He misses her.

When he’s by himself he wears grandpa sweaters and loose jeans

Nina is the only other person who can wear his clothes

Anyone else? No way.

Is close with EJ because of the constant medical checkups

Close with Jane too since Nina became friends with her

Actually can cook pretty well since he had to survive on his own a lot

His hair is mid neck and curly because he doesn’t bother to cut it

His beard is prickly and it started growing at 23

Has a bunch of piercings because he can’t feel pain (eyebrows, snakebites, tounge, septum, a bunch of ear ones) he also did it to match with Nina

His favorite food is ramen

His ADHD can make him upbeat and happy sometimes but it doesn’t last long

He likes to sit in the woods by himself sometimes and just enjoy his own company

He has quite the reputation working for Slenderman and all

Masky, Hoodie and Toby are called the triple threat

Hoodie handles ranged combat like guns. Masky is a hard hitting melee fighter, using crowbars, bats etc. Toby can do both by throwing hatches and using them in hand to hand combat. But he can also use his fists.

That’s all I got 4 now I’ll make a part 2 when I can remember more. Also this isn’t proof read sorry :3

[the-orange-tabby-cat]

GIF by @pedgito

Wings Of The Dawn | Chapter 7

Joel miller x fem!reader

Summary: You are Jackson's librarian, a doll with a good heart, that has your life changed when a handsome man decides to take his kid and start again in your small town after completing their cross country journey. Having a hard time ignoring Joel's dark brown eyes, you find yourself wishing to have him close as you both navigate through love triangles, teenage drama, city gossip, and ghosts from both of your pasts. This is a comfort fic filled with slow burn and small town dynamics. Chapter summary: Joel mumbles Tess name and makes you insane.

read on AO3 | fic masterlist | masterlist | playlist | next chapter

Rating: 18+ (allusions to smut in this chapter)

Warnings/Tags: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Slow Build, Friends to Lovers, Age Difference, Small Town Dynamics, No use of y/n

Chapter Word count: 6,2k

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CHAPTER 7

Long fingers slowly caressed his scalp, curling the hair at the end between the fingertips. A song hummed near Joel’s ear in the early hours, waking him up gently. He always let her get what she wanted in those bitterly sweet moments, to savor whatever he couldn’t put into words when fully conscious.

Tess showed her affection by touching him in private. Her hand always found a way: brushing his fingers with hers when they were cleaning up the ammo, staying longer in his face when checking up bruises, resting above his stomach when cuddling. One touch per time in a small reminder that she was there another day, still alive for him, perhaps because of him.

She never demanded Joel to put into words whatever they were, she knew that he would do anything for her and it was enough. That morning, while her fingers petted his hair so sweetly, Joel felt like floating on cloud 9, somewhere where he wasn’t a hurt man.

Turning in her embrace, he lazily opened his eyes and saw her smile up close. Different from the tough woman he would follow anywhere, she was herself in their bed. Her eyes were looking everywhere on his face, paying attention to all the details as she hummed her song.

The sun entered their room, illuminating her blonde hair and shining on her green eyes. Something burst in his stomach, a feeling he would constantly avoid, one he knew could demise him if said out loud.

Opting out, he kissed her wrist as she kept caressing his curls. He felt safe in her arms like they were constantly open for him to crawl and find peace there, on her body. Her eyes twinkled with an impulse, as he leaned on her touch.

“I love you,” she said enouncing all the words softly. A second pass and he couldn’t get himself to say it back.

Her touch became errant, his body got cold even if the sunlight was all around their bed.

His only response was to kiss her wrist once more before resting his head between her neck and shoulder, holding her body tight to his and finding console on sleep again.

“Tess,” a sleepy Joel murmured on your neck, making you shiver.

It was the first time you slept in his house, and by accident. Yes, things were getting serious, but the relationship (could you call it that?) was so brand new that you kept self-conscious of every little milestone while doing your best to be the chill girl. Guys like the chill girl, right?

You couldn’t fully remember the details of the so said being the chill girl since the outbreak happened before you were old enough to watch whatever you wanted, but you grew up listening to Jason's comments on the girls at school and how he always kept them an arm's length of distance.

The chill girl doesn’t get clingy, this you were sure, but how could you not when Joel made sure to see you whenever he got time? It made you melt that he wasn’t happy not getting around so much after he started to patrol and your schedule didn’t match anymore, so he created space for you.

If he wasn’t on patrol or helping Tommy with the renovations around town, he would grab lunch for two and eat at the back house of the library just like when you first connected. Often he would sit and eat together at the mess hall, hand in hand above the table so everyone could see that you were his. He went as far as to get himself a DVD machine so you could watch movies cuddling.

One movie led to another, some making out on his sofa (thank God Ellie was always hanging around at Cat’s), the night went by and it became a little too late for you to walk home by yourself. In his sleeping clothes, you went to rest with him all around you just to wake up with him naming another woman.

Who was Tess? You hadn’t heard that name around town. He was softly snoring on you, at peace as you couldn’t get back to sleep. Your mind created new theories as you stared at the dark ceiling.

What if Tess was a sister? One who couldn’t find a way to Jackson, letting him and Tommy alone? Joel hadn’t given you that many details on his life before coming to town.

Could Tess be his mom, maybe? Or a high school sweetheart? Was he dreaming of a memory? You knew glimpses of what Joel was before the outbreak, no more than that.

Esther sounds awfully like Tess.

Nath could spot from a mile away that you were angrier than usual on your little walk of shame. Your eyes were glued to the pavement, round shoulders pointed down, not the darling who walks around looking straight ahead and greeting everyone.

“Good morning, Dolly,” Seth said a little unsure and you nodded at what seemed to be his direction instead of saying back. Damn, Nath would need a fuckton of wine to solve whatever Joel did.

Getting closer to the counter, Nath and Seth exchanged stares as you sat in silence. Noticing, you opened your mouth.

“What?” Furrowing your brows, you tried to maintain your posture, but it was too late.

“You know that I have a gun somewhere on behind this counter. Do I need to take it out and bounty hunt a cowboy?” The blonde was giving you a death stare, Seth whistled in the back as he found something to do.

“It’s fine. He didn’t do anything.” You were biting your lip, not focusing on her. At the weight of the death stare, you finally surrendered. “Can we just cut out the cowboy references and relax a little?”

Nath liked to believe that she was optimistic. Quick to anger, the type of girl who will punch someone just because they crossed the line with someone she loves. And yet, so good hearted when in private as she would be the one to kiss every bruise of their loved ones until cured. Not much in this world made her go insane, except for Maria.

“I’m not trying to get you madder at them, just quit it. Let it be.” You sighed as her eyes never left yours.

Oh Maria, that fucker. Of course, she would have something to do with your despair. Why wouldn’t she?

“C’mon, rip it,” she urged and you scratched the nape of your neck in preparation. It was a silent accord in your friendship: don’t hold to yourself, no matter how bad, just rip it like a band-aid.

“Have you ever heard someone using Tess to call Esther?”

Esther hadn’t shown up to Jackson that much before you, a year top. Getting surprised with the sudden question, Nath roamed her memories trying to think of any instance where it might have happened… No, she couldn’t remember.

“Nope, but why are you asking? Don’t get me wrong, an odd question to make after leaving Joel’s house.” She scanned you up and down, who inhaled a lot of air before replying.

“He mumbled Tess while sleeping. And I’m not going to even try to understand how you knew that I slept at Joel’s.” That made Nath giggle a little.

She knew because she spent a large time of the last days monitoring Esther up close. Nath was a strategist and knew that observing her enemy was the first step to winning at whatever you would name her beef with Maria.

As she left Ellie at the alley scared for whatever was to come, Nath spent the rest of the day in a perpetual state of anger. How haven’t she noticed that something was happening right under her nose? Mad at how she left her guard down for the damn girl, she went home that night practicing how she would scowl Ellie for her scheme.

Turns out she is soft. Because the moment the girl sat in her backyard with big doe eyes and gulping in shame, she swallowed her fury to be shown later.

“From the start. And don’t trick me, I know everything already.” She bluffed, Nath only knew what you had told her and to be fair, it was just a little. The rest she got from pressuring one of her usual clients who hadn’t been a regular in a while.

“Huh, okay,” Ellie started while toying with the drawstring, trying to gain some time, “Jesse got one of your wines a while back. Don’t ask me how, I think he robbed someone. He traced the origin back to you, being the bar owner and so.”

Nath knew exactly who had it slip into Jesse's hands, she connected the dots to when Edwin asked for another bottle without making a new deal. And fuck no, she wouldn’t give her alcohol like that. Getting annoyed, she made a motion for Ellie to continue.

“He’s friends with Cat, well, more like they knew each other already. We became friends, he tracked me down one day doing a delivery and I told him because he had seen everything. I know, I know, I was stupid! But I thought he was harmless…?”

“Yeah, and your harmless friend got a scheme out of my scheme.” Nath frowned making Ellie shiver.

“Look, he offered to help me make deliveries so I wouldn’t get in trouble with Maria. It was a good offer! Two can do faster than one, you know?” She tried and Nath huffed, impatiently. “Fine, whatever. I was stupid, I get it! But you do stupid shit too. I’m fifteen and you’re ancient, who’s the real trouble here, huh?”

Nath knew that deep down, Ellie was right. She was the one who blackmailed the girl into her scheme and covered her shit. If anyone got to be a part of it, she was the one who would have a hard time explaining to the town folks about it.

“What was his function in this little deal of yours? I don’t care about the boy meets girl story.” Ellie took a deep breath and got up, walking side to side.

“We started to use your place to make our beverage. Not from the start, of course, we would steal part of your batch whenever you and Seth weren’t around.”

That made more sense, Nath argued with Seth accusing him of making less of their usual batch. How dumb as she, huh? Her first impulse was to believe that the man was getting senile, not that teenagers were sneaking around.

“Jesse would find us the clientele, mostly the rookie patrols. They gave us shit they found when patrolling, we gave them the beverage they’re too young to drink. We have a waitlist, that’s why you found the pink paper.”

“You have a wait list of eleven people? In a town of three hundred? How?” Either Ellie was bad at math or they had a hell of selling speech.

The teen smiled proudly stopping in her tracks.

“Jesse is good. Like, real good. He convinced me!” She said in a smuggling way, making Nath look up and give some credit to the girl: she had a hard time convincing Ellie to accept the blackmail.

“Fine, take me to him.” Getting up and putting her beaten suede jacket on, Nath was ready to leave the backyard, but Ellie was confused. “I didn’t invite you to just hang out, let’s go. You’re on my blacklist right now, it’s the bare minimum to introduce me to your partner in crime.”

An hour later Nath was inspecting the kid: Asian, not tall nor short, athletic body and good-looking face. He looked like the goofy guy of a chick flick that was there to be funny and contra point the jock, but you ended up thinking he was too cute to be unpopular. Jess could hold the hell of her death stare in his direction. Ellie was still smiling, she saw from a mile away that Nath had liked the boy.

“So, you want to share our goods?” Jesse asked in a dull tone, not blinking once. His dark hair was reaching his shoulders, like a petulant teenager before the outbreak.

“You mean my goods? The beverage is mine, jackass.” Nath pouted, ready to start a fight with the kid. Ellie kept staring at them as if she was waiting for a truce.

Jesse grinned and looked at the girl, sharing some secret between stares that Nath couldn’t decipher. She used to be the cool kid before they showed up and now she was a 30-something lost soul, cool, that was nice to know.

“It might be yours but our scheme it’s better. Plus my associates give me the same amount of info as their parents for less the price.”

That made her think, Jesse could be right. Kids are more impressionable, what if she…

“No, that ends here. I won’t be dealing my shit with kids. And to be clear, you both depend on me to have access to the merchandising. You rely on me for your scheme, not the other way around.” Her chest was puffed, she wouldn’t forgive herself if some poor kid made bad choices because they were too intoxicated.

Vice was the family business, that’s true, but her Pawpaw taught her better than being greedy.

Jesse's face fell a little and Nath smirked, she was back on track. Ellie shoot her eyebrows up not expecting the woman’s reaction.

“Oh, you both thought I would just accept as it is? Nah. The girl already works for me, my word is what it goes.” She added looking at Ellie, who audibly swallowed. “Now, Seth indeed needs some help around the kitchen, get it? Don’t test me. Say no and I’ll tell your parents everything. I’m on the council, remember?”

“Seth is kinda cool,” Ellie said trying to lighten up the mood. Jesse was chewing his cheek, trying to look tough, but at the end of the day, he was just a kid to Nath. He nodded angrily in response.

“Cool. You’ll start tomorrow after school, tell your mom that you’re volunteering to help the patrols, I don’t care. Now you,” she turned her body to Ellie who gave big eyes in return, “I have something different for you. No more deliveries for a while, I need your attention somewhere more urgent.”

Ellie worked in the garden with Chad who, in all fairness, was sweet and tried his best to make her time there valuable. Gardening was growing on her, it was nice being around plants a few hours a week and ignoring the weight of the world around them. Who else was spending a few hours a week inside the communal garden with her sheep? Esther.

Nath knew her routine inside the city walls and how close the woman was to Chad, she needed someone to keep an eye on her. For good or bad, Ellie was inside the Miller realm and could eavesdrop on anything that could be said there, after all, Esther was living under Maria’s roof for as long as she would be in the council. She needed trained eyes and a trustworthy person to watch Esther closely.

And this is what Ellie did over the last days, instead of making deliveries and plotting world domination with Jess, she kept her eyes and ears open. Nath had a daily register of what was happening in Maria’s street via Ellie, who stopped by and said that you had slept at Joel’s. Esther saw when you went inside the house and looked to the ground before entering Maria’s.

“I know everything that happens around this town, Dolly. Even more at the Miller’s street.” Nath said before motioning to Jesse to get closer. “Check with Seth if the sandwiches are ready, the patrols will be here soon.”

What else Nath knew?

You had no time to absorb how ominous that phrase was because the boy smiled politely at you, who tried to smile back, but it came out as a grimace. Damn your bad mood. You were ready to leave the bar when a big warm hand sneaked into your lower back, turning around to check it you saw Joel giving your cheek a little kiss.

“Ma’am, hope I’m not interrupting your chat,” he said in all southern politeness to a Nath who greeted him with a nod.

“Not really, the lady is all yours, but if you came for the sandwiches SOMEONE is a little slower in that,” Nath sighed and went to the kitchen screaming at Seth and Jesse.

Joel chuckled, at least he was happy. His hand on you was enough to get your head spinning, whenever he was close it was easy to forget why you were mad. This morning he seemed oblivious to what had happened late at night, like it was something you imagined.

He looked at you winking and you nestled yourself on his chest a little, searching for comfort. God, why were you like this?

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” He asked petting your hair as you leaned on him. You nodded quickly and he chuckled again. “I’ll be back soon, promise.”

“I know. I’m just a little tired, that’s all.” Smiling, you leaned back on your stool as Joel pinched tenderly your cheek before getting his sandwich from the counter.

“Hope my snoring didn’t keep you awake. See ya later, ‘k?” He said walking towards the door, leaving you alone once more.

Your mind was still wondering about who was the mysterious woman in his mind. No matter what you did at the library, how you made yourself feel useful around the place, the name kept coming back. Tess. He was nice in public and in private, so considerate, even if he didn’t show passion.

Since the night in your house, many days ago, he has been going slowly with you. A little too slow for your taste. Not even your heavy make out on his couch was enough to make him take you on his bed, even if you felt him going hard. It was like you were made of porcelain. “Old men have penises problems”, Nath had told you but you desperately wanted him to take you.

To use you, to break you, to take you as he wanted. His big hand on your neck, his fingers on your mouth as you clenched around him. Whispers of sweet nothings late at night, maybe telling in your ear the dirtiest things as he held your jaw aggressively. You didn’t know what you wanted first, to go slow and deep or to have it hard and rough?

You crave it. He was giving you all the signals he wanted you with the same intensity, but no more than sweet touches on your body. Maybe you should make a big move and take all of your clothes in front of him, would that help? Would he stop everything and mark your body everywhere he wanted to?

Cat came to the library as you daydreamed of amazing sex, making you get out of your head for instance. Instantly you noticed that something was off with her.

“Bad day too, huh?” She asked casting down her hazel eyes, her voice was low. Damn, even the bummed-out girl could see that you were off.

“Something like that. And you?”

She just sighed in return, not bothering to roam around the shelves. Going behind the counter, she got closer to you hesitantly. Looking up, she searched for words almost as if she was getting ready to tell you a secret.

“How do you move on from someone?” Her hands were fidgeting in her lap, her eyes avoiding yours. At that moment you remembered that Cat didn’t have a mother to ask these questions, another woman to guide her through puberty.

Even if Susan wasn’t mother of the year material, she did her best once the outbreak happened. Her belief system, her identity, everything disappeared in one faithful night and she became a new woman as time went by. Towards the end, you could see on her face that she didn’t love Albert anymore, it was obvious.

Strange as it was, the more she grew apart from him, the closer she would get to you. Not to Jason or your siblings, but to you who made a bigger effort to understand why she was still following a madman that once she called her husband. Not that you understood, but you imagined that love could make a person act recklessly.

Perhaps you and Cat were on a similar path. The idea of being alone and not understanding human relations so easily wasn’t lost on you. Sometimes it seemed that no matter what, your skin was constantly on fire from your feelings.

“I don’t know. Do you really want to move on?” You asked in a low voice, giving a thought about it.

“I need to.” She replied watching the ground, deep in her head.

The library bell rang, Ellie came inside for the first time since Joel banned her. A big grin was adorning her face as she recognized Cat, who scoffed instantly. Oh. Oh.

“I was looking for you! You left school in a hurry and we couldn’t talk,” Ellie spoke fast, as if she couldn’t sense that Cat was avoiding her, the same Cat who was not looking into her eyes.

Getting amused, you watched them like a romcom on a Saturday night. What was happening in your library?

“Yeah, because I don’t want to talk with you.” Cat spat out bitterly cutting the rest of Ellie’s phrase, just to gain a pained expression from her. You were still, hoping they would forget that you existed at that moment.

“Wait, what?” Ellie’s puppy eyes got into action, you narrowed your eyes remembering how Joel made the same trick when she fought with him at the library. Have you been played by him?

“You only remember me when he isn’t near, just go!” Cat growled as she walked to the back house, leaving you and Ellie alone.

You sucked your cheek and looked apprehensive at Ellie, who was stuck in the middle of the library still in shock. Gaining her conscience back, her eyes found yours and you could read a big “I fucked up, haven’t I?” there.

Of course, she fucked up. It wasn’t clear to her as how, but she tried to force her memory to when it was the last time she got alone with Cat and oh god, it seemed so long ago… Even at school, she wouldn’t get too close.

You were still looking at her confused, she gasped and quickly said goodbye. She needed to head back to the garden, at least there she could think properly about what just happened.

Shit, why was she so bad at this? Awkward as fuck, of course, Cat would get mad with her because she couldn’t properly behave. Her steps were shy on the pavement like she was a baby learning how to walk, in this case learning how to deal with a pretty girl.

She couldn’t blame herself so much, though. At least she was better than Joel at it.

For someone with a stoic way, Joel could make a big fool of himself at the smallest things. A day before getting cornered in an alley by a psychotic blonde, Ellie was having “family” dinner with Millers and Maria’s girl toy (Joel said she shouldn’t call Esther that, but fuck him).

Preparing herself for a boring evening, she helped the invasor to prepare the table as Tommy and Maria spoke in the kitchen. Joel was nowhere to be seen and she desperately needed a familiar face to survive the night.

“So, are you happy to be in Jackson?” Esther tried to break the ice, forcing Ellie to remember she was still in debt with Maria and couldn’t just ignore the woman. At least she had pretty blue eyes.

“Yeah, it isn’t that bad.” She mumbled looking nervously at the door, where the fuck was Joel?

“When I got here the first time my feet were almost pure blood after walking so many days. It felt like breathing for the first time being able to rest, you know. That and getting hot food, I was starving!” She smiled fondly as she sat at the table.

Ellie forcedly smiled back trying not to engage further. Like magic, Joel appeared by the door and she breathed in relief, at least someone she didn’t have beef with.

Except he was weird, she smelled something strong on him when he scrunched next to greet her with a ruffle on the head. He was a little more playful than usual, whatever he had done it was acting on him. Nobody seemed to notice, Tommy and Maria didn’t even glare at him when everybody sat down at the table.

Maria was looking between Esther and Joel, smiling to herself as she served dinner to everyone like a goddamn housewife. Ellie wanted to roll her eyes but was afraid that they wouldn’t return to the place if she did. Old people were boring as fuck.

“It looks delicious! You’re a lucky man, Tommy!” The invasor joked and Joel smirked in a good mood. Joel didn’t smile at most things, why was he smiling at that?

As Ellie ate (it was indeed fucking delicious), she noticed the conversation around her. Tonight she and Tommy were a little misplaced at the table, observing the others as they were chit-chatting. She noticed how Joel wasn’t frowning deeply, but relaxed, even if Maria was studying his expressions from her seat. He was interacting without the classic asshole voice he used around everyone. Well, not everyone, whenever you were around he was soft.

Yeah, fucking Dolly, man. She saw how you held hands walking down the street, how Joel got stressed on Sundays when you weren’t around. If you came around their table at the mess hall, Joel would stop everything and look at you with twinkling eyes. He was down bad for you, it was a little cute see him so lovey-dovey – not that she would ever say that to him.

And yet, here was she watching him with blushed cheeks laughing Esther jokes.

Joel made a mistake, taking liquid courage in alcohol wasn’t the best move before dinner with Tommy and Maria, but he needed a fix before facing everyone at the table. Thank God he wasn’t making a fool of himself, people were reacting okay at his sudden eloquence.

Joel found Esther easy to talk to. She seemed at peace next to him, more than her natural way of being. They were having some parallels through dinner, getting looks from Ellie mostly. Tommy had stared too, but a little unbothered by it.

"You should visit me sometime at the sheep farm, I would love to hear more about your travel with Ellie," Esther softly spoke to him. Her blue eyes shone with a big smile. Something about her made him believe she wanted more than his friendship.

"It would be my pleasure, ma'am," Joel answered not knowing why he did in the first place.

Ellie kept staring at them, he knew what she meant: "What about Dolly? Does she know how fond you are with Esther?"

He had no interest in the woman, of course. She was pretty, but that’s it, she lacked something he found in you. In the haze of the recent happenings, the night at your house was replaying in his head. He wanted so badly to take you in that blue dress, but something was holding him back.

The moment you looked at him with tender eyes confessing that you wanted to touch his hair his stupid mind went back to Tess in his bed. He had no clue why, you were two different people, but something about how you acted so lovingly toward him was flooding with memories of a life not so long ago.

As he left the library, he searched for his cabinet for something strong so he could bury this thought and never come back to it. He might have exaggerated a little since he was being talkative at a dinner when he was the “yeah, hum” guy.

Esther didn’t mind, mending one topic on another. He wanted to stop, but he was hazy and couldn’t keep his mouth shut. Ellie got something on him because she was looking at him angrier and angrier…

As the night ended, Esther took them to the door and tried to hug him, but thank God Ellie was quicker and pulled his arm down the street. Smart kid, he raised her well. Well, he didn’t raise her exactly, maybe that’s why she was so smart.

He was in the dark, in the middle of the kitchen ready to take a big gulp of water in the hope of a normal morning and not a hangover that would last for days when he noticed Ellie staring at him.

“I’ll say this once: get your shit together, Joel. She doesn’t deserve that.” Ellie said holding the back door open, ready to leave for her room.

He knew what she meant, how could he not?

In the days after the dinner, in a sober state, he did his best to ensure that he was present in your life. Holding tight to you, he hoped that it would be enough to get him out of whatever was happening inside his head. He wouldn’t lose you to his bullshit. He couldn’t.

From his window, Tommy watched you leave Joel’s house in the morning. This was a first, that he could remember at least. Joel was giving you a bear hug, laughing to your ear with a big smile on his face. That was also new.

He hadn’t seen his brother so happy in such a long time, it felt like another life. You, however, he had seen happier.

The moment Joel closed the door, the smile disappeared from your face, like magic. Tommy wasn’t close to you but he knew that something was off by the way you chewed your lip as you strolled down the street.

Maria called the shots around the house and the city, Joel was too busy trying to find sense in a new life and he was there, in the middle of both. His wife made clear over and over how worried she was that Joel was getting too close to you, that Ellie behaved like a wild kid always getting in trouble, walking with the wrong company.

Tommy always preferred to confront, to scream instead of silence. After leaving the Fireflies he became a calmer man, more focused on his surroundings than acting on impulse. He was at peace with not being the hero for someone. It was a stupid vanity, if Maria wanted to be the boss he wouldn’t argue with her.

He just really wished that Joel had proved her wrong like the man he used to be 21 years ago. Life wasn’t as simple, the domestic love bubble he had with his wife was about to burst with Joel getting a drinking problem, his surrogate niece, and worst of all, his crippling fear of becoming a horrible father.

He just want peace for a while, before the baby was born, he wanted to trust Joel to solve his shit so he could make Maria happy for a fucking second. They were constantly in a weird mood, ready to fight, but not putting into words whatever was happening between them. He felt weak, she called the shots and he just followed along. Could his big brother take a hint and stay in his lane?

Finishing his tea, Tommy took another look in the mirror taking courage for what he was about to do. Meeting Joel on his sidewalk, they started walking to the stables.

“So… Dolly, huh?” He started, checking the response.

“Yeah,” Joel limited to say avoiding his eyes. Up for a bad start.

“That’s all you have to say about it?” He tried again, this time Joel sighed.

“No, why don’t you ask me the right question then?” Joel frowned getting impatient, he knew what was coming.

Tommy pondered a little about it, how to ask “Hey stupid, you are losing it and I need you to take your shit together a second before causing drama in my marriage, what about that?” without sounding so harsh. Not that Joel couldn’t take a hit, tough guy, but taking one from your baby brother who used to give you hell?

“What’s going on? ‘Cause I saw how you were close to Esther the other night and now I see Jackson’s doll leaving your house.” It was more direct than he wanted, Joel sighed again chewing on mouth corners.

His brother’s eyes were looking ahead, like something was pulling him under. Joel had no words like he was ashamed of whatever was inside his head.

“When you closed your door, her smile fell the same second. What’s going on, Joel?” Tommy insisted and gained a panicked stare from Joel.

“What do you mean her smile fell?”

“I mean that she started walking looking as if she saw someone die. She is a fucking ray of sunshine, man. Whatever you have done…” They stopped by the stable entrance, far from the gossip eye.

Joel has both hands on his hip, a knee popped as his tongue peaked on his lower lip. For a few seconds, he was anywhere else but Jackson. Tommy patiently waited for his response.

“I dreamt of Tess today.” Joel’s eyes were glossy, his frown got deeper. “I’ve been thinking of her for a while now. I swear I haven’t acted on Dolly, I’m just so goddamn inside my head. Whenever she gets close, real close, I’m stuck on memory, and my body shuts. We only slept tonight, no funny business ‘cause I can’t start it. Something is holding me back.”

“And Esther?” Tommy asked trying to process everything Joel had just said.

It made sense, his brother's anxiety, how he needed things to be black and white and not gray to feel at peace. He was delicate with you, on touches, on how he talked about you when you weren’t around. Tommy saw the spark when Joel first laid eyes on you that day at the Bison, but he never imagined that Joel would pursue you.

“Ellie already had that talk with me. The liquor is so far in the cabinet that I have no idea of where I put it. I swear, okay? It was just that, I would never hurt Dolly doing that.”

Joel's stare was harsh like he could read inside Tommy’s mind and see all the judgment. They were men of little words, whenever feelings were on the way they had a heart to heart but no more than that. Tommy knew that his brother could see everything on the weight of his stare back at him.

“Well, why don’t you do something good for your doll and go to the Bison to get our lunch? She must be there thinking about whatever happened this morning.”

Joel didn’t need to hear twice before strolling down the street.

At dusk, your house was quiet. You were still wrapping around who Tess could be. A whole day distracted by a woman you never saw or met, even worse if she was Esther. Why were you like this? Why hadn’t you asked Joel in the morning when he was so sweet?

Putting your head on your hands, you groaned in anger but got distracted by someone tapping on your front door. Thinking it could be Nath coming to check on you or with the big answer to your question, you opened in the blink of an eye just to see Joel tapping his feet on the doormat.

His hands were on the pockets of his jeans, biting nervously on his lip. You frowned at how agitated he appeared to be. His pupils were somewhat dilated, he looked like your Joel, but so different still.

“Hi. I saw the other night on your CD stash that you have Halican Drops. Huh, came by to check if I can borrow it.” He rushed the words, looking all over the place.

“Yeah, of course. Are you sure you want to listen by yourself? Why don’t we play it together? I can make you some tea.” You offered pulling him inside the house, touching his skin to make sure he was there. As he got closer, you could smell the liquor on him.

With silent motions, he nodded and sat on your sofa. Awkwardly, you came back to the living room with two cups. He accepted mumbling his “thank you” under his breath, as you put the album to play.

Sitting next to him, when the opening song started your heart dropped seeing the tears at the corners of Joel’s eyes. Confused with everything, you offered your lap for him to rest. He accepted without resistance, with both arms around your torso. You held him tightly, caressing slowly his hair as a wet patch formed on your outfit with every tear from his crying eyes.

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[yannaryartside]

I am tired of Sydney being a “knight in shining armor” for these immature men

The trailer of s3 made me reflect on a big problem with the show for me so far. The use of Sydney on the plot overall and in the character arcs of men. This is a rant, if you happen to be on the side of the fandom that think these men are perfect and Syd is valued as their support, feel free to scroll.

Part 1: the woman

Sydney Adamu is insecure on her leader/social skills and her creative habilities. That, and her kindness, is what makes the audience root for her. She is releatable but most important she is real, she has taken it impulse by impulse, creating on the fly ways to succeed in a industry not very welcoming to people with her personality (or that look like her). All of that makes sense in a story of an underdog.

But yet, the show has normalized at this point how much shit she takes from a group of really emotionally immature people. And how much they expect her to figure it out answers to the problems that they themselves cause.

Thinking about it like an animal getting into a new pack without the capacity to defend herself from any attack. The shitshow she tolerated in s1 has never been properly addressed and it seems like the worst storm is yet to come in s3. She fixed the logistics of the beef and implemented a hierarchy. Things that Carmy was incapable of doing due to his story with the staff and his own mental turmoil. In s2, she was the only professional chef actively making decisions and efforts in the future of the restaurant. Carmy even reprimanded her for not making the decisions he was supposed to do. And she reminded him “you wanted the final say, this is on you)

Syd is not helpless in any way, but she has applied kindness and fairness most of the time to this point, and I wonder if this time that is gonna cut it. I am mostly tired to get her back to that scenario again. If anything, the part that got me the most excited of Richie’s redemption is how she could actually rely on him. And then it came the trailer.

Part 2: the men

The part that got my blood boiling in the trailer is the response “Show me a functional one” from Richie and Carmy.

We are in season 3, and with all the growth and all those balls, these men seem to expect her to fix an issue, wich core is actually their own emotional immaturity. I am sick of it. “Mother, maid, therapist”🎶

She must deal with Carmy’s recklessness and the fight between him and Richie. A very green new staff and a unqualified old staff mostly. All of that creates the dysfunctionality in question, and I wonder where her character will go to resolve it. The restaurant had a shaky base (particularly on front house staff and line cooks) and now Carmy is getting on everyone’s nerves. Putting fire to an already unstable chemical.

Part 3: Heroine’s Journey

It would take a pro to resolve all of this shit, and the people involved (and responsible for the problem) turn to this young, inexperienced woman for guidance and answers because the only person in the kitchen with actual industry experience is trapped in his own destroying tendencies.

That is not only the underdog story that is human vs forces of nature, another common plot structure. Forces of nature incarnated in unstable men and our hero is a woman. That is so fucked up and yet so real. That is the value I give to this scenario.

I really don't think that, besides Tina and Nat, there is a single member if that kitchen aware of how much Syd was alone last season picking Carmy’s slack. And even they were barely able to help her. Everybody else was to happy for Carmy loosing his virginity apparently. All this scenario could very well repeat itself this season on how much they are insisting on Claire and Carmy getting back together.

I know the show is about leaving toxic cycles and the people who can help you get better. Sydney is supposed to be made from a different matter than the Bearzattos because otherwise, the toxicity will continue. I just wish she could coldly let them know how much of a pest they can be sometimes. And not be treated as unfair because she left her “role” in creating a new system. Anger is boundarie setting emotion and it can be very constructive, and expressed without the chaos of the Bearzattos. She did this in s1 and if done again I think this time the general audience (except the racist/misogynistic obviously) will understand that this tough love is necessary as well.

Let's not normalize (in this show) women taking shit to be good women and a reward for seeing the potential of men. It is not like society is not doing that for us already.

Sydney is not a punching bag, and she knows it, she definitely will stand her ground this season, wich can be very encouraging to young woman entering a workforce that is not designed to support them. I think she will go to Ember to work closely with Chef Terry (Olivia Coleman) to get knowledge of how women can shape this toxic places. It will be her version of forks. The toxicity may escalate to a turning point for her. She tolerated (and transformed) s1 and s2, we know what is in her heart. The point will definitely come, because this is the time for evolving or dying, for everyone.

But again, I need these men (besides you, Marcus, you are going to be her rock) to start taking responsibility for the shit they are fucking up. That would be nice. I am sure there will be moments of it since this growth is literally the show's theme. I am just kind of tired of the “Mother, maid, therapist🎶” undertone of it all. It could be applied to Nat and Tina as well.

[nerdanel01]

Here's an ask about Agnes and Emmrich that I hope leads to a slutty little drabble: we know Agnes has fantasized about Emmrich, but is the reverse also true? What would that look like for Emmrich? When would it have happened in their relationship: before or after she left? How awful did he feel about it?

*laughs nervously* the short answer is… a lot?? And in the most Catholic way possible??? 4k+ below the cut very NSFW

9:48 Dragon

Though he would never admit it to Agnes, the truth of it was, Emmrich found the opera to be just fine. Catching a performance with Agnes was a lovely way to spend an evening, but by no means did that make Emmrich himself any kind of aficionado. It was Agnes’ avid interest that first brought him to the theatre, and Agnes’ continued fervor that kept him coming back: he went, not to see a performance, but to see her —so engaged, so happy.

This opera, in particular, he was finding impossible to enjoy. Agnes had practically begged him to take her to The Marriage of Figaro, and by the title alone, Emmrich had thought it would be innocuous enough. Another light, romantic comedie, like the Donizetti works of which she was so fond. 

It was most definitely not that. If the opera was humorous, Emmrich found it to be a dark, almost sadistic kind of humor. The plot centered around the titular servant Figaro and his bride-to-be, Susanna… and their escalating attempts to prevent the master of the house, Count Almaviva, from asserting his droite de seigneur. Emmrich could not fathom how it was that Agnes could so breathlessly throw herself into a plot that all too well reflected what little he knew to be true of her own conception; of the cruelty and the violent torments Agnes’ mother had suffered at the hands of her father. And yet, she seemed unperturbed.

As if that were not bad enough, he could not help but feel (irrationally, of course) that the entire premise of the opera was pointing an accusing finger directly at him. Agnes was not his servant, of course—she was far more than that—but he could not help but feel that his longing for her shared a similar, lecherous undertone to Almaviva’s licentious pursuit of Susanna. Certainly he held professional power over Agnes, as the Count did Susanna; the fact that he was often reluctant to wield it did not wish that fact away. And just like the Count, his advantage of age he held over Agnes was… considerable. 

And so, by the second act of the opera, Emmrich had more or less mentally checked out of the performance entirely. Pleasant as the music may have been (when it was not pulsing, throbbing, thrumming with anxiety; imminent danger; repressed sexual desire) Emmrich found his eyes wandering across the theatre: at the orchestra playing below, at the audience seated at the level of the stage, at the wide balconies where even in the dim performance light he could make out figures packed in the seats. He had never been a particularly devout man, but sometimes, when the mood was just right, being in the opera house reminded him of the most peaceful moments he’d ever spent in a Chantry. He would give Agnes that: there was something special about all these people—strangers—gathered in the dark, assembled in the worship of a great piece of art. It was peaceful, to look upon all those dark faces. Something almost holy about it. 

Which made what Emmrich saw next all the more upsetting. 

As the adolescent servant Cherubino took to the stage, preparing to sing his invented love song for the Countess Almaviva (with whom, Emmrich had gathered, he was hopelessly infatuated), movement drew his eye to the theatre box opposite his, on the lefthand side of the stage. 

At first Emmrich blinked, resisting the impulse to shake his head—surely he was seeing things? Were they—? They couldn’t be—! And yet, they were: cozied up in a balcony box all to themselves, a young woman had snuck her hand into her companion’s lap and, by the white flash of her arm in the dim light, Emmrich could tell she was pumping that hand up and down quite enthusiastically. Though her date had taken care to conceal his lap from view by fanning his performance program wide across his legs, it was all too clear exactly what was going on from the open-mouthed, slack expression on his face and the way he was tilting his head back against the chair. 

This late in life there was not much that could still shock him, but Emmrich’s jaw fully dropped. At first he merely sat there, stunned, staring… before his senses returned to him, and he snapped his eyes (wide with disbelief) back to the action on the stage, thoughts an absolute whirl. What should he do? Agnes’ attention was fixed on the stage, deeply engrossed by the drama unfolding (though he still could not really understand why); he did not want to draw her focus to the absolutely debased act that was happening just across the room. Should he excuse himself? Rise from the box and alert one of the theatre’s ushers? Was this even something they were trained to deal with?

Perhaps they had stopped; perhaps he had imagined it. But when Emmrich let his eyes slide, as innocuously as he could manage, back to the opposite box, he saw not only that their public affair failed come to a conclusion, but that the man had thrown his arm around the woman’s shoulders, and was rather obscenely squeezing at her breast over her bodice. 

´Andraste have mercy!’

Never in his life had he witnessed such indecency, and as one of the most senior members of the Mourn Watch, his presence had been requested at some extremely indecent parties hosted by the noble class. His face was burning with shock and embarrassment. Trying to get ahold of himself—hoping that if he ignored it for long enough, they would cease or (Maker’s breath!) reach the natural conclusion of such affairs and settle down. He turned back to the stage, watching over Agnes’ shoulder at the scene playing out in the Countess’ bedroom, the teenage Cherubino, all hot-blooded and virile, singing at center stage:

“You women who know what love is, Look and tell me if it is within my heart?”

Truly, they were no better than teenagers, those two nobles in flagrante delicto across the theater. Certainly if he, Emmrich, had endured the past three years of his increasingly inescapable (and increasingly inappropriate) desire for Agnes, they should have been able to keep their hands off of each other for three hours. 

And yet, as if summoned, he felt the tickle of those depraved imaginings in the back of his mind. He watched the stage at Agnes’ side, over her shoulder; his eyes slid away from Cherubino to trace the delicate black lace of the blouse she wore over her bodice—the woven pattern of the fabric offering a rare, tantalizing glimpse at the bare skin of her shoulder, her collarbone, her neck… the tops of her breasts, straining against her bodice as she took in the aria with ecstatic, rapt attention.  

“Let me tell you what I am feeling: It is new to me, and I cannot understand it.  I feel affection, I am full of desire, A desire both delightful and miserable…”

He wanted to brush tenderly at the lock of raven-black hair that had escaped her chignon, curled and coiled charmingly tight by the summer humidity. He wanted to lean in close, to breathe hot against her neck, to take the lobe of her ear between his teeth.

“I sigh and lament without wanting to…”

Intrusive thoughts of what it would be like to pull off his dress gloves, to put his hand on her knee. To draw, slowly, inch by inch, her skirts up over her leg, revealing calves clothed in deliciously sheer stockings, the clips and straps of the garters that kept those stockings secure… to round his hand around her knee, for fingertips to creep past the band of her stockings and along the soft skin of her thigh…

“I tremble and I throb without knowing why…”

…and climb higher. To find her swollen? Wet, already? Slick with anticipation at the promise of his touch—

—and at once, the sudden, mortifying tightness in his trousers brought Emmrich back to reality. He pulled the inside of his cheek between top and bottom teeth and bit down hard, trying to anchor himself with the pain and will away his arousal. Agnes, thank the blessed Andraste herself, kept her eyes glued to her opera glasses; she did not turn to see, and so he did not have to excuse, the flush across his cheeks and his ears, nor the far more conspicuous evidence of arousal tenting his trousers. 

He did not know what would be worse: if Agnes assumed, rightly, that it was her own presence that had pitched him into the throes of desire, or if she assumed, wrongly, that it had something to do with Cherubino, a woman in men’s clothes playing as an innocent, virgin, teenage boy on the stage below them. 

“Though I find peace neither day nor night, Still, I cannot get enough of the feeling.”

Inconspicuously, taking a queue from the deviant across the theatre, Emmrich laid his paper program over his lap. Focused his eyes on his hands. Picked idly at his nails, willing away his desire. 

Knowing pettily, venomously, that if he happened to encounter the couple in the opposite box on his way out of the theatre that evening, he would do everything in his power to trip them on their way down the opera house steps. 

But of course, in the sudden throng of activity as the curtain fell and the theatre emptied, the offending exhibitionists were nowhere to be seen. Probably gratifying themselves further in the powder room, Emmrich thought with disgust (and though he would never admit it to himself, even under pain of torture or death: envy.) 

He wanted nothing more than to get back to the Necropolis, to put the evening and the terribly obvious handjob and horny little Cherubino behind him. But when Agnes threaded her arm through his and tugged him towards the champagne bar, he was as incapable as ever of refusing her—though he almost certainly should have. Though he knew it was ill-advised, he tried (and failed) to put the memory behind him with drink. By the time he had finished his second glass, Agnes was still sipping politely at her first. 

But all the drink in the world could not break the spell of her beauty. In the walk from the opera to the bar, more tendrils of hair had shook loose from her bun, and the flyaways curled like tender pea shoots around her head. He loved her most like this, he thought, when the facade of perfection and rigor and discipline she worked so hard to maintain began to fall away. His eyes lingered too long on the crimson print her lips had left on her apricot-colored coupe glass.

Desperate to shake himself out of it, Emmrich confided in her, at last: “Nessa, you will not believe what I witnessed at the theatre tonight.”

She lifted her glass to her mouth, and her bright grey eyes met his, full of curiosity and innocence. “What?”

But he was not even sure how to politely say it. He licked his lips, a wry, disbelieving grin tugging at his mouth as he told her at last, “A noblewoman in one of the balcony boxes opposite ours… manually stimulating her companion under the cover of his paper program during the second act.”

Agnes’ eyes widened; she set her coupe down forcefully enough for the glass to clink on the table top, covering her mouth politely as she coughed up the drink she had accidentally inhaled in surprise. 

“You saw what?”  

A lovely, delicious color was rising in her cheeks, red to match the stain on her lips. 

“Should I repeat myself?” he asked, full of dry humor. “Believe me, I was not sure myself, but when he started groping her over her dress that more or less quelled any lingering doubts I had in my mind.”

Agnes lifted her glass to her mouth once more, her eyes boring holes into the table before her. Whispered, lowly, “Andraste have mercy.” 

“That’s exactly what I thought!” Emmrich said, pleased to see her scandalized, to have his own reaction to what had transpired mirrored and confirmed. “I mean, really. It would have been perfectly easy for them to step deeper into the recesses of the box, into the cover of darkness where no one could see them. But did they? No, and I do not believe for a minute that is because concealing themselves did not occur to them. I think they wanted to be exposed. To be witnessed, to be seen.”

But as he continued to speak, Agnes’ blush receded. She watched him, too keenly, over the rim of her glass; she was neither as outraged nor as scandalized as Emmrich wanted her to be. Needed her to be, to draw a line: to stand in firm opposition to the Agnes he had all too readily conjured in his mind: the fictive siren that would gasp at his touch, that would part her legs all too willingly for his hand, without regard for the risk, without a care for who might see them.

“It bothered you quite a lot, didn’t it?” was all she asked him, softly, probingly, when at last he had finished his tirade.

He blinked at her a couple of times. His fingertips found the stem of his third glass of champagne, and he spun it back and forth between forefinger and thumb. “Well—yes,” he managed, at last. A terrible, traitorous heat rising in his cheeks, in his ears. “Did it—does it not bother you?”

Agnes only shrugged and offered him an indifferent smile. “I did not see it,” she said, at last, “engrossed as I was in the music. I am sorry, however, that you found it so distracting.”

“You think it was merely distracting?” Emmrich prompted, in a state of disbelief. “Not… not shameful—nor disrespectful? To the performers, to the rest of the audience?”

The blush had returned to her cheeks. With a nervous smile, she confessed, quietly, “Perhaps I am not as disciplined as you.” She was not looking at him now, staring into the fizzing depths of her coupe glass. “Perhaps… I understand how easy it is, to be suddenly overcome. By the music, by… by desire.” 

Obscene scenarios clamored for attention in Emmrich’s mind. An arched back, a cry of pleasure—how beautiful she would look, how desperately he wanted to see her overcome, to be the one responsible for bringing forth such pleasure and desire within her—!

Without looking at him, Agnes lifted the glass to her mouth and drained the rest of it in a single sip. Placing the coupe down with something like a grimace, she raised her hand, motioning for the waiter to bring her another. As soon as he did, she took a second generous gulp.

“But enough of that,” Agnes said at last, reasserting her control over herself, redirecting the conversation. “What did you think of the music?” she asked, then teased him: “The parts of it you were not too distracted to pay attention to, that is.”

The music? She was just going to drop that explosively erotic phrase into the conversation, and then she wanted to talk about the music? Emmrich fumbled for something intelligent to say. “I thought the basso who sang Figaro had a very fine voice.”

“Oh, did he not?” Agnes effused; and then she was off, chatting a million miles an hour about everything she knew about that particular Rivaini singer, his training, the roles he had performed in other venues, the lyrical quality of his singing. Emmrich nursed his champagne, happy to simply listen to her as he fought to subdue the heat in his face.

By the time they returned to the Necropolis at last it was late, the halls silent. Agnes had held his arm the whole way back—not, he feared, out of affection for him, but out of concern that he had drank too much, that without her support he might stumble and fall. He had drank too much, which was both embarrassing and most unbecoming. Worse still, the drink had done nothing to dispel the ludicrous fever those idiots in the opera had set in his blood; it had only fanned the flames. When they had reached the door to his bedroom, Emmrich had stopped for a moment, hovered awkwardly in front of Agnes as he debated, then decided against, pressing a grateful kiss to her brow. He did not think, in his current temperament, he could manage to keep it appropriately chaste.

Indeed, as soon as the door had closed behind him and he was left to his privacy, all the intrusive thoughts he had fought in the theatre and the in the bar and on the long walk home returned to him, tormenting him: the light rasp of his nails along the inside of her thigh; the fine hair of her legs standing on end in the wake of those touches; the damp warmth of her smallclothes as he’d push them aside; her anxious little whisper, aroused, anticipatory, cautious: “Emmrich, your nails…” and how he might respond, lips brushing against her ear, “I will be most careful with you.” Throbbing and freezing and burning like poor Cherubino, like a young man a quarter of his age as he imagined her wetness, the slickness of her beneath his fingertips as he circled her bud—

(There was nothing for it now but to see it through. Only one way to truly relieve himself, to exorcise the thoughts that haunted him so at last he could rest. Hastily, inarticulate drunken fingers stumbling over buttons, he unfastened his trousers and dropped onto the edge of his bed.)

—her parted lips, the little hitches in her breath, the pleasure sounds she would try to stifle as (carefully, so carefully, true to his word) he would slip middle-and-forefinger deep into her hot wet heat—

(Ragged edge to his breath like torn parchment as he closes his hand around himself and begins to stroke. Delicious tightness in his core, feet arching against the floor.)

—placing a kiss on her neck. Breathing hotly against her ear. Agnes’ hands trembling, her opera glasses shaking in her hands as her satisfaction builds, mounts; a keening cry; the way her back would snap, her hips driving his fingers into her, grinding against the palm of his hand—her cunt tightening reflexively around him—

(Free hand white-knuckling, twisted in his bedsheets. A gasp and low groan as fist tightens over the slick head of his arousal. It’s rotten, it’s foul, it’s wrong in a thousand ways to imagine her this way—but it feels much too good to stop.)

—would she follow him back after? Rise before the curtain had fully fallen, before the applause had concluded, racing with him back to the Necropolis, creeping into his room? The blush of her face in the champagne bar: “Perhaps I know how easily it is to be overcome by desire.” To hold her in his arms, to kiss her in this room—! Loose the buttons on her blouse and slide the lace past her bare shoulder, bare neck, bare clavicle… lifting her skirts, sinking into her—

(“Hha—ahh! Nessa—!”)

—with her legs wrapped tightly around his waist, her hands clawing across his back for purchase, enveloped in the smell of her, by her warmth… here, in the privacy of the bedchamber, where she would not have to hide her pleasure sounds but could pitch his name upon them like a storm-tossed ship, scream it as she reached the height of her pleasure—

Tension in his body snapping white-hot, shooting sparks through his limbs and coiling in his core, Emmrich held the back of his hand firmly against his mouth to stifle his own obscene, satisfied groan as he spilled into his hand. He came so hard it left his toes curling; thighs shaking; short of breath.

The next day, he did not arrive at their study until nearly noon. 

He had woken hungover, head pounding, light-sensitive. But that discomfort was nothing compared to the agonizing guilt and shame that washed over him when he recalled the events of the night prior. Why couldn’t he have minded his own business? He should not have let what he saw in the theater get under his skin; it was inconceivable to him in the sober light of morning that he had thought telling Agnes about it was a good idea. Had he really used the words ‘manually stimulating’? How uncomfortable had he made her? He recalled how quickly Agnes had changed the conversation, cringed at how long he had lingered over it. Fighting through the hangover to shower and shave did nothing to cleanse the pervasive filthiness he felt. 

He could not remember the last time he had attended Chantry service—but some habits were difficult to break. Seeking even the slightest reprieve of absolution, he left the Necropolis shortly after dawn, heading towards the Chantry in Nevarra City. But even among the incense and the singing Mothers, he could not escape from his regret, the Canticle of Threnodies echoing among the vaulted ceiling in accusation:

Marvel at perfection, for it is fleeting. You have brought Sin to Heaven And doom upon all the world. 

He had something beautiful—a partner to stand by him, to protect and care for him—and he was going to spoil it, desecrate it as thoroughly as the Tevinter Magisters of old had corrupted the Golden City of the Maker. Every lurid imagining he indulged in, he knew, brought him closer and closer to doing irreparable harm to the thing in his life most precious to him. 

When at last he returned to the Necropolis, Agnes was already in the study, waiting for him. The smell of lavender oil was thick in the air; she must have spent the morning cleaning, a task which he had repeatedly told her she need not take upon herself, and one to which she repeatedly insisted upon undertaking nevertheless. Now she stood at one of the tables with Wilfred at her side, watching him with scrutiny as he clumsily tried to grind down some fresh herbs, his bony hands struggling with the mortar and pestle. 

She looked up at him the minute he entered, her bright eyes full of anticipation—and was that a hint of concern?

“Where were you?”

Beaten down by his excessive drinking and shame alike, Emmrich did not have the willpower within him to lie. “In Nevarra City. I attended Chantry services this morning.”

Agnes smiled, like it was a joke. “No, really, where were you? You missed breakfast. I was not sure you’d want to eat after last night, but I saved you a bit of toast, just in case.”

Emmrich took a deep breath, following the slender line of her arm to the table near the hearth, where four slices of toast were stacked on a plate beside an artful dollop of jam and a pat of butter. Though his stomach still felt wretched, he knew eating would probably help. “Chantry services, really,” he repeated, again, in answer to her question, his tone resigned. He walked to the table, tore a slice of toast in half and lifted it to his mouth without bothering with the  ornamentation of butter or jam—he did not think his stomach could endure the grease nor the sweetness. “Thank you, dear, for saving me something to eat.”

“Seriously?” Agnes asked. Emmrich did not have to look up to know the look of incredulous disbelief on her face. It was plain by the tone of her voice.

Emmrich chewed through the dry toast, swallowed. His stomach gave a discontented growl, awakening at the prospect of food. “Quite seriously,” he answered at last. “Though I am far from the most devout among the Mourn Watch, old habits are difficult to shake. Every once in a while, it’s like an itch that needs to be scratched.” Not that the debasement and self-flagellation he frequently associated with Chantry service had done him any particular good this morning. 

Agnes gave a low huff of amusement. Without needing to be asked—knowing, as she knew him so well, that the toast would go down easier with a bit of tea to help it—she crossed the room, cast iron teapot in hand, and bent before the heart to suspend it over the fire.

“So did it?” she teased him. “Scratch your itch?”

With her back turned to him, she did not see the ugly grimace he made, the way his lips curled into a frustrated scowl at his own lack of discipline. Nor did she see, blessedly, the way his eyes were fixed upon her: her narrow waist, the pert swell of her backside as she bent over the fire. 

“No, I’m afraid not,” Emmrich said, tearing his eyes away to stare at his toast. “Not this time.” He recalled to himself the verse from Threnodies, repeated it in his mind, beating himself against it until it obliterated the image of her (legs spread, back arched) that had begun to resurface in his mind:

Those who had once been mage-lords, The brightest of their age, Were no longer men, but monsters.

[freesia-writes]

Ch 32: Disorientation

Master List ~~ Previous Chapter ~~ WC: 2.3k

Song: “when the party’s over” by Billie Eilish

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“I’m sorry,” Lyra began, voice thick with emotion as she choked back tears. 

Hunter finally turned to face her, heart hard and eyebrows low. He took in her pounding heartbeat, the adrenaline coursing through her veins, the minute trembles that wracked her body, and he was surprised to feel anger welling up where he would have expected sympathy. 

“Why are you apologizing?” 

“I don’t know. This. All of it,” she sighed, defeated by an uncooperative brain and a thoroughly overactive body. She wrapped her arms around herself, tensing as though she wanted to turn and go but remained where she was, much like a child receiving discipline and not allowed to leave.

Hunter didn’t know what to do. A thousand things to say were crashing into each other in his mind, all tainted by the hurt he’d stuffed away and refused to fully acknowledge. 

“I’m gonna go,” Lyra whispered, apologizing with her eyes rather than saying it again. “Thank you?” she offered, as though searching for the right thing to say, then she ventured down the alley, around the corner, and out of the main part of town, stopping only when the path turned into a more rural route through trees and homes. She hesitated, looking fearfully into the darkness. 

Hunter remained where he was for a moment, trying to ground himself. Strategy. What was the strategy here? Coming up with nothing, he sprang into action on a gut impulse, stalking after her with heavy steps. He saw her standing at the edge of town, still quivering, and walked loudly until he was a few feet behind her. 

“Need an escort home?” he muttered, still startling her despite his efforts to make his approach obvious.

“I… You don’t need to do that,” she demurred, eyes on the ground as Hunter stared, jaw clenched and stomach churning. 

“Come on,” he said gruffly, jerking his head toward the path and leading the way, assuming she would follow. He heard soft steps close behind, so he focused instead on a quick scan of the forest ahead as well as the nooks and crannies of the last few tall buildings behind them. 

“Thanks.” The softness and shakiness of the single word tugged at his heart, but he patched it up quickly with a reminder that it had all been a facade. Somehow. Although, why hadn’t she continued her mission to turn him in? Perhaps she still was. Perhaps he could take advantage of her shaken state to pry enough information from her to put the matter to rest once and for all.

They walked in silence past cozy houses as the waves crashed against the distant shore. The clouds had grown thicker, dimming the moonlight fighting to get through, and the storm inside Hunter grew with each passing step. Finally, they came to her fence, and he yanked the gate open forcefully, simmering in stillness as she walked past him, making herself as small as possible. 

When she was a couple of steps from her porch stairs, he stopped abruptly with a loud sigh, and she turned to face him as he stood firmly planted a few paces behind, the glow from her cottage windows softening the sharpness of his face. He stood up straighter, chest expanding as he opened his mouth, prepared to begin a verbal assault, but the words were different than he’d planned as they came tumbling out. 

“If you’d stand up for yourself, things like that wouldn’t happen.” 

“I know,” she conceded, staring at his feet. Somehow, that made him angrier. 

“I mean all the time, not just tonight. He’s been bothering you for months, no?”

“Years, probably.”

“And you just take it? Try to avoid it? Try to run away? You see where that gets you?” His questions grew louder until he caught himself, glaring at the horizon instead of at her. Distant thunder rolled overhead, and he could smell the rising humidity in the air.

“Why are you lecturing me right now?” she lamented, throat tight but eyes flashing. Riling her up gave him a sense of satisfaction. He didn’t know why. 

“Because you… You’re just a pushover. You just run away from your problems.” The outpouring of emotion and resentment was noticeably disproportionate to the situation at hand. Or perhaps not. But his words weighed heavy with unspoken hurt. “Just… giving up,” he finished, more quietly now.

“What am I supposed to do?” she challenged, eyebrows drawn together in rising indignation. “Tackle them head on? You know where that got me. I lost everything.” Her voice cracked. The clouds above grumbled their displeasure.

“Yeah, kark happens,” he said brusquely, fists clenching. With a louder, more insistent rumble, the sky began to release its onslaught, thick raindrops splattering all around. Hunter rolled his eyes, emotional scenes from cheesy romantic holofilms springing to mind as they stared at each other, growing increasingly wetter in the rain. He felt rooted to the spot, but Lyra lifted her hands to her head in a futile attempt to block the droplets. 

“We’re going to get soaked.”

“Alright. Go inside.”

“You’re going to get soaked.”

“What do you care?” he spat, wiping his face with an angry hand. She turned in a huff, stalking up her porch steps and stopping to face him again from beneath the eaves of her cottage. 

“I cared a lot, Hunter. I still do. You have no idea…” she choked, roughly brushing away the tears mixing with the raindrops on her face. “You kept secrets too. To protect yourself. And those you love. Right? I told you the truth. I told you everything. And it’s still not enough. So what do you want from me?”

He clamped his mouth shut, furious at the complete lack of anything to respond with. Water seeped into his tuxedo and dripped along the curves of his hair, chilling him to the bone. He relished it, a cold contrast to the heat of the erupting volcano within.

“Besides,” she charged on, gaining momentum as her lip trembled around her words, “What do you care? You’ve moved on. You’ve got your new life. Why not just forget about me and go enjoy her?”

Her observation stabbed him in the chest, drawing forth a new wellspring of pain. Lyra pressed her hands to her face, covering her eyes as a shiver ran down her spine, then she looked back down at him in complete despair and hopelessness. 

Hunter turned and stalked away without another word. 

* * * 

The next day, the storm had passed but the clouds lingered, painting the island with cool gray tones, and Luci drew her jacket more tightly around herself as they walked along the beach. They’d finished a run, both going extra hard with no explanation, each dealing with their own issues. Hunter was confused by the tension and discomfort he was picking up from her, and he wondered what had happened to affect her in such a way. She’d greeted him with her typical bright smile and kiss on the cheek, but it lacked the usual warmth. Although at the moment, everything did. 

Having regained their breath and settled down into a gentle stroll, Luci finally looked up at him, eyes narrowing in scrutiny, yet she kept the rest of her features carefully neutral. 

“I saw you leave with Lyra last night,” she said simply. She never did beat around the bush. His heart skipped a beat as he quickly tried to read the situation as best he could, but her walls were up. “Rooftop party. I thought I’d enjoy the view of your sexy backside. But that was a bit of a surprise.”

“It was nothing,” he said flatly, meeting her gaze with focused honesty. “Her coworker was drunk and trying to hurt her. I walked her home and left her on her porch.”

“Hmm,” Luci tilted her head, face softening a bit. “Well that was kind of you.”

He shrugged. They kept walking. 

“She still alone?” she asked nonchalantly, although it seemed an odd question. 

“As far as I know.”

They continued in silence. 

“Well,” her tone took a turn into casual business, “I’m glad you guys can be friends. It’s nicer than living in spite.”

That surprised him, and he furrowed his brow as he studied her profile. Her face was relaxed, the usual hint of a smile at the corner of her lips, and she looked back at him, nodding with comfortable reassurance. 

“We’re not friends,” he muttered. 

“Alright,” she said with a light chuckle, reaching over to take his hand. “Whatever you want. I just don’t want you to feel like you have to hide anything. No secrets between us.” The contrast between her and Lyra when it came to trust and openness was as consoling as it was taunting.                                                     

* * *

The next week passed uneventfully. Hunter busied himself with extra time at the shop and longer hunts due to the seasonal migration of some of the herds. Omega and Wrecker made everything feel like business as usual at home, and family dinner came and went with blessedly plain conversation. Luci wanted to spend time together more often, coaxing him into workouts, hikes, dinners, and coffee dates, and she seemed more curious than usual about his daily activities. 

They strolled through the farmer’s market together, her arm firmly around his waist, and they chatted idly about the new foods and plants available from some of the other islands. It was a warm day after a week of overcast weather, and there was a general sense of refreshment as the sun-loving locals conducted their business in the Town Square. 

“You alright?” Luci asked gently, giving Hunter a little squeeze. “You’ve seemed a little down lately.”

“Yeah,” he replied automatically, pasting a smile on his face, but she wasn’t fooled. She stopped walking, coming around to face him, and slid her hands up his chest, searching his eyes with gentle invitation. 

“Hey. I care about you, Hunter,” she said quietly, reaching up to run her fingers through his hair and noticing how it always seemed to soothe him a bit. “You can share anything with me. But I also understand if you’re not ready or you need some space. Just know that I’m here, even if you want to simply cuddle in silence.”

He appreciated that, a hint of authentic warmth softening his face, and nodded, allowing himself to lean into her hand as she cupped the side of his face. He noticed her expression change, however, and she stiffened a bit as she looked over his shoulder. Following her gaze, he saw Lyra at one of the vendor stands, trying to fit a few more vegetables into her bag. But he was more distracted by the odd vibes emanating from Luci, despite her breezy smile as she returned her attention to him with a light shrug. 

They continued walking until they came to one of the stalls that displayed a variety of sparkling jewelry, ornate boxes, and embellished mirrors. It was a visual nightmare for Hunter, but Luci was drawn to the shiny contents and immediately dove into an enthusiastic conversation with the artisan, who was all too eager to share the details of each piece and its inspiration. Hunter’s mind began to wander, seemingly random thoughts beginning to surface. 

Why had there been a tracker on the shuttle to Keytoll, and who had put it there? Lyra had been with him, so what would be the point? And if she had been telling the truth, and the far-fetched possibility that she hadn’t sold him out was in fact the case, then why had the Imperials been searching for him specifically? They had even pursued him directly as he fled. But why would she return to the island and seem content to leave him alone? He frowned, deeply disturbed by the complexity and mystery of it all. Why was she content to leave him alone?

“Did you hear that?” Luci squealed, smacking him in the stomach without even looking. “This crystal harnesses the energy of all three moons here, so it’s extra powerful to provide a grounding sense of peace and inspiration.”

“Oh, wow,” he said disinterestedly, but she was already enchanted by the next piece the vendor was holding up. He fought the urge to roll his eyes at what seemed like a ploy to sell simple gemstones, but then again, he’d heard about other fancy crystals that the Jedi revered, and he himself had received a glowing flower from a “magical cave”, so he wasn’t in a strong position to judge.

As she continued chatting, his eyes wandered emptily over the silver chains laid across the table closest to him, and a particular one struck his eye. It was made of three tiny strands that were woven together in an intricate pattern, somehow managing to remain thin and dainty overall. It reminded him of something, although he didn’t know what, and he felt drawn to it for some reason. After the owner packed up the handful of crystal necklaces and earrings that Luci had selected, Hunter held it up for purchase, exchanging the credits for it with a small nod. 

“Might make something with it,” he offered in response to Luci’s quizzical glance. She gave him a knowing smile, confident that he was planning to use it for her, and tucked her own little bundle into her small purse. 

“Okay, you’re allowed one secret,” she chirped playfully, looping her arm through his as they continued. 

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Song: Lord Huron - The Night We Met

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