#kaleidoscopic complexity

[rotzaprachim]

not to stan a classical fiction man but people who are like odyseeys is a rat bastard. a dick. well lads that’s kind of the point. the odyssey is about what it means to survive a war. that’s the point. it’s asking if you even can without some part of yourself dying. that’s the point. it’s about being a broken survivor 

[mrschtappen]

𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊 𝐓𝐎 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐄

I : The Call of the Circuit -> II : Dreams Ignited (soon) -> III : Untitled (soon)

masterlist

Max Verstappen x Schumacher!reader

Synopsis: childhood friends Max Verstappen and you, the daughter of racing legend Michael Schumacher, evolve from best friends to fierce rivals to teammates. maybe then to lovers....?

Monday, 10th December, 2018 Faenza, Italy

You sat alone at your new office, your eyes fixed on the glowing screen of your phone. The Twitter announcement you had posted earlier that day was still causing ripples across the internet, igniting a firestorm of reactions and responses from fans and followers around the world.

As you scrolled through the flood of comments, memes, and well-wishes flooding your feed, a smile tugged at the corners of your lips. The overwhelming wave of support and excitement from your supporters served as a poignant reminder of the incredible journey that lay ahead.

You made sure you turned off the lights of your new office when you were about to go. Settling inside your Audi R8, the soft chime from your phone took your attention away from driving.

As you read Max's message about bringing a Michael Schumacher merch from Germany, a wave of mixed emotions washed over you. The mention of your father's name, especially in connection with Germany, brought back vivid memories of the ski accident that had changed your lives forever in 2013.

your heart felt heavy, a subtle ache resurfacing as you recalled the challenging times that followed your father's accident. The uncertainty, the hope, and the unwavering support from loved ones, including Max, during those difficult years played like a reel in your mind.

Despite the pain and the bittersweet nostalgia, you weren't angry with Max for bringing up those memories. In fact, you felt a sense of gratitude for his thoughtfulness and the comfort of your shared history. Max had been a pillar of strength and understanding throughout your journey, and his genuine care and friendship meant more to you than any merchandise ever could.

Sitting alone in your car, you took a moment to let the emotions wash over you. You reflected on your journey and the pivotal decision to join Formula 1, a deep sense of determination and purpose filled your heart. Since you were three years old, the dream of racing in F1 had been a beacon of hope and ambition, driving you to push boundaries and defy expectations.

You knew that stepping onto the track wasn't just about fulfilling your childhood dreams; it was also a tribute to your father and the legacy he had built. The memories of watching Michael Schumacher's triumphant moments, especially his 6th championship title, had ignited a spark within you, fueling her passion and commitment to chase after her own aspirations.

Despite the challenges and the weight of the past, you felt a profound sense of gratitude and pride. You knew that your journey was a testament to your resilience, determination, and the unwavering support of those who believed in you, including Max.

Sunday, 12th October, 2003 Suzuka, Japan

As a three-year-old, you may not have comprehended the complexity of Formula One racing, the excitement buzzing in the air, the infectious energy of the crowd through the grandstands. The vibrant colors of the racing cars zooming past, the deafening roar of engines, and the flashes of cameras captured your attention, painting a kaleidoscope of sensory impressions.

Although your understanding was limited at such a tender age, the sight of Michael Schumacher, dressed in his iconic red racing suit, elicited a sense of pride and admiration within your young heart.

"That's my dad !" your little fingers pointed at the red car zooming the finish line, practically screaming at everyone as you started clapping then. 

The warmth of your mother's embrace welcomed you as you cheered together, caught up in the euphoria of the moment.

your eyes wide with wonder as you watched your father bask in the spotlight and as Michael Schumacher descended from the podium, triumphant and beaming with joy, his eyes sought out you, your mother and your older brother Mick in the crowd. With a tender smile, he reached out to scoop up his young daughter, lifting you into his arms and hoisting you high above the crowd.

the cameras flashed and the crowd erupted into applause, you enjoyed the attention, feeling like the luckiest girl in the world to be held in the arms of your racing hero.

The image of your bond captured for all to see, you knew that this was a moment you would cherish forever—a moment when you felt truly seen and cherished by the man who meant the world to you. 

your dad, Michael Schumacher. 

Saturday, 27th November 2003. Gland, Switzerland

you stepped onto the karting track for the very first time, your heart pounding with excitement and nerves. The whole family was there along with your dad's friend's family, the Vertsappens. With your tiny hands gripping the steering wheel of your go-kart, you were confused on how the whole kart operates. 

"You've got this schatzi !" You heard your dad cheer for you from a distance, calling you a nickname that means sweetie in German. 

Frustrated, you spoke 

"How do I do this ?"

Max Verstappen, the seasoned six-year-old racer, flashed you a mischievous grin as he leaned over to offer his expertise.

"Watch and learn, little rookie. First, you gotta push down on the pedal like this..."

With a swift motion, Max demonstrated, his foot pressing down on the accelerator pedal with practiced ease. You watched intently, your eyes wide with fascination.

"Like this?"

you mimicked Max's actions, but your foot hesitated on the pedal, unsure of the right amount of pressure to apply.

Max chuckled, reaching over to gently guide your foot.

"Almost there, y/n ! You just need to press a little harder."

you nodded eagerly, determined to master the art of go-karting with Max's help.

"Got it! Thanks, Maxie !"

As you zip around the track, the conversation turned to your shared love for Formula One racing.

"Do you think we'll ever drive in Formula One, Max ?"

Max grinned, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes.

"Of course! And when we do, I'll be the world champion, then Mick and you will be my trusty sidekicks."

you rolled her eyes playfully, a giggle escaping your lips.

"Dream on, Max! I'll be the one leaving you in the dust!"

"Hey, you two ! How's it going ? " a familiar voice chimed in from behind you, causing both Max and you to turn around 

Max grinned, giving Mick a playful nod.

"We're having a blast ! little rookie here is a natural behind the wheel."

you blushed at the praise from Max 

"Thanks, Maxie ! And hey, Mick, I'm going to beat you someday !"

Mick laughed heartily, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

"Is that so ? Well, I look forward to the challenge ! Let's see who can get to formula one first" 

Your banter filled the air with laughter as the three of you raced around the track, your friendship growing stronger with each passing lap. And as you crossed the finish line second, just a few millisecond behind Max, a smile grew wide on your face.

"Looks like you've got a prodigy, are you sure this is her first time ? She's a natural" Max's dad said, a chuckle escaped from your dad

You crossed the finish line just 4 tenths of a second later than someone who was 3 years older than you. You can feel the pride surging even when you were just so little.

"wow you're fast" your older brother said, giving you a high five as you returned it enthusiastically with a tiny jump

"yeah, not so bad little rookie !" Max also gave you a high five

you smile with your tiny teeths showing, your dad embraced you, lifting you up in the air

"my daughter is a soon to be formula one racer, and the world shall know you as for you are, not the daughter of a six time world champion but y/n Schumacher."

you couldn't help but feel grateful for everyone's guidance and support, knowing that with them by your side, you knew you were able to achieve anything.

Thursday, 14 March 2019 Melbourne, Australia ROUND ONE

As you took your first steps out to greet the fans, a wave of exhilaration and gratitude washed over you. The energy from the crowd was palpable, a mix of excitement, anticipation, and overwhelming support. The sight of fans waving flags, holding up banners, and wearing team colors was a surreal and heartwarming experience for you.

Walking along the barricades, you were met with a sea of merchandise bearing your name and face, along with the iconic Michael Schumacher memorabilia that fans had brought along. The presence of the Michael Schumacher merchandise added an extra layer of emotion to the moment, reminding you of the legacy you were a part of and the immense responsibility that came with it.

As you greeted fans, signing autographs and posing for photos, several fans couldn't help but comment on the striking resemblance between you and your legendary father, Michael Schumacher. Their kind words and compliments about your beauty and resemblance to your father filled you with a sense of pride and humility.

Amidst the flurry of interactions, one fan caught your attention with a cheeky remark that left both of you laughing.

you backed away with laughter, cupping your mouth, looking at a marriage certificate by an older fanboy, a good looking one you couldn't lie.

"I'm 19 !" You exclaimed, a wide laugh still visible on your face

"Maybe in a few years !" You joked, before moving to another fan, signing her cap with the number 57 on it, a number you chose to drive for.

It was media day today which means there's no driving and the press conference began with Lewis Hamilton from Mercedes, Sebastian Vettel of Ferrari, Daniel Ricciardo from Renault, Max Verstappen of Red Bull Racing and of course yourself, y/n Schumacher from Scuderia Toro Rosso.

"We’re gathered under very sad circumstances, following the news that Charlie Whiting, the FIA’s Director of Formula One died during the early hours of this morning. I’d like to start this press conference by asking each of the drivers present for their thoughts and memories of Charlie. Lewis, could we start with you, please?" Lewis spoke to the mic

"I’ve known Charlie since I started in 2007. I made some comments this morning on my Instagram. It may have not worked, as I think it’s down but obviously incredibly shocked this morning to hear the sad news and my thoughts and prayers are with him and his family. What he did for this sport, I mean, his commitment… he really was a pillar, as Toto said, such an iconic figure in the sporting world and he contributed so much for us, so may he rest in peace."

as the other drivers stated their comments regarding the passing of the late Charlie Whiting, it was your turn to answer

"How about y/n ? I believe this has come to a big shock as well as your father was also racing when he was the f1 racing director ?"

"yes, my father raced during Charlie's tenure as F1 Racing Director. I've met Charlie a few times and found him to be a wonderful person. His dedication to safety and fairness in Formula One was unmatched. Charlie's ability to connect with everyone in the paddock and his unwavering passion for the sport made him irreplaceable. My thoughts are with his family, friends, and the entire FIA community during this tough time. His legacy in Formula One will always be remembered"

as they continued tho the next question, you were shocked as to how bold and daring for this male interviewer to ask the whole lot of drivers with you

"Given the whispers around the paddock about nepotism getting y/n Schumacher this seat due to her father's legacy, and considering she is the sole female on the grid, do you drivers genuinely believe she is as competent as the other drivers, or do you acknowledge a potential gap in her skill?"

As the interviewer's words cut through the tension of the room, your face tightened, a blend of disbelief and frustration clouding your features. The weight of the question bore down on you, amplifying your discomfort and vulnerability in that moment.

You felt exposed, the spotlight glaringly bright, intensifying the scrutiny you felt as the only female driver on the grid.

Sensing your discomfort, a subtle shift occurred amongst the drivers on the panel. Eyes darted towards you, expressions reflecting concern and empathy.

Among them, Max Verstappen's gaze lingered a moment longer, his usually confident demeanor softened by genuine concern for his fellow driver.

The collective silence that followed the question seemed to stretch on, the atmosphere thick with tension. But within you, a resilient fire ignited. Drawing strength from the supportive glances of your peers and your own unwavering determination, you steadied yourself. You would not let this moment define you or shake your belief in your own capabilities.

"could we start with you again Lewis ?"

Lewis's expression tightened, clearly upset by the nature of the question.

"Honestly, I find it disappointing that in this day and age, we're still having these discussions. Women have proven time and time again that they can compete at the highest levels of motorsport. I've been a staunch supporter of women in racing, and I've seen firsthand the talent and determination they bring to the track."

"Look, in Formula 1, everyone's path to the grid is different. Yes, some of us come from racing families or have certain connections, but ultimately, talent and hard work are what count. I've faced skepticism throughout my career for various reasons, and I've always chosen to let my performance on the track speak for itself. As for y/n, she's shown promise and skill in her journey to F1. The sport is better when we have diverse talents, and I believe she deserves her place here"

"Thank you for the answer, could we move on to Vettel next ?"

Vettel's brows furrowed, eyes narrowing with a mix of disbelief and growing indignation. "It's disappointing, really, to hear these questions. Every driver on this grid has earned their seat through dedication, hard work, and skill. Formula 1 is a tough environment, and to suggest that anyone is here purely because of their name or gender undermines the effort we all put in. I've met y/n and seen her commitment firsthand. She belongs here as much as anyone else."

Then they moved on to Danny. His jovial demeanor momentarily shifted as he heard the interviewer's pointed question directed at you. Being someone who often exudes positivity and fairness, Daniel values meritocracy and respects the grind every driver goes through to reach Formula 1. Hearing a fellow driver being questioned on the basis of nepotism and gender struck a chord with him.

"Ah, the old nepotism and gender card. It's not a new question in F1, but it's one that misses the mark. Sure, having a famous last name might open some doors initially, but it won't keep them open if you can't deliver on track. As for being the only female driver, I think it's about time we focus on skills and capabilities rather than gender. I've had the chance to get to know y/n, and she's got talent. End of story."

Then they moved on to Max, who is known for his fierce competitiveness and straightforwardness. It was clear that he was infuriated by the audacious implication and the discomfort it caused you.

Seeing you visibly uncomfortable only intensified Max's emotions. He felt a surge of protective anger, recognizing the unfair scrutiny and challenges you faced as the only female driver on the grid. In that moment, the friendship among drivers was evident, as Max's concern for your well-being was palpable.

His eyes flashed with fury as he seized the opportunity to address the interviewer's audacious question. His voice dripped with venom as he unleashed his pent-up frustration.

"Firstly, the audacity to question anyone's place on this grid based on gender or family name is just absolute garbage. She's earned her spot on this grid through sheer talent and hard work, just like the rest of us. Anyone who suggests otherwise is either blind or just plain ignorant."

His words were sharp and cutting, each syllable laced with disdain for the backward mindset behind the question. Max's aggression was palpable as he continued to tear down the baseless accusations.

"In case you missed it, Formula 1 is about racing, talent, dedication, and hard work, not gender or who your parents are. It's disappointing to still be facing these backward stereotypes in this day and age. We should be focusing on racing and the incredible talent we have on this grid, not trying to create controversy where there isn't any . For the record, I've raced alongside her, and I've known her my entire life. Y/n is an extraordinary racer through and through, and she's proven herself time and time again."

He paused, taking a breath to temper his rising emotions before continuing,

"So, how about we focus on the actual sport instead of dredging up this garbage ?"

Max's aggressive defence reverberated through the room, leaving no doubt as to where he stood on the matter and silencing any further attempts to undermine your place in the sport.

As you listened to Max's vehement defense, a mixture of emotions washed over you. Initially, there was a sense of relief and gratitude. Max's and the other drivers' unwavering support and fierce defence of you felt like a shield against the unfair scrutiny you had faced. It was reassuring to know that your fellow drivers stood your her and were willing to call out the injustice.

Your eyes briefly met Max's intense gaze, conveying a silent thank you and mutual understanding of the gravity of the situation.

Then it was finally your turn to answer

With a poised demeanor, you addressed the room, your voice steady and confident.

"I'd like to extend my sincere appreciation to my fellow drivers for their support. It speaks volumes about the fellowship and respect we share as competitors."

Pausing momentarily, you continued with a touch of irony,

"Regarding the questions raised about nepotism and being the only female on the grid, I was under the impression that Formula 1 valued skill, determination, and performance above all else. My presence here is a testament to my commitment, capability, and qualities I believe are fundamental to every driver on this grid."

Maintaining your composure, you added, "While these questions may have been posed, my focus remains unwaveringly on racing. I am here to compete, to challenge, and to succeed, just like every other driver. I look forward to letting my performance on the track speak for itself. Besides, I don't see 19 men ahead of me, I see 19 challenges to be conquered."

With this response, you gracefully but firmly addressed the issue, highlighting your professionalism and determination to rise above the noise and excel in your chosen profession.

[cupid-styles]

daisy 3 - the epilogue (english profrry x quiet TA!yn)

the final part!! sorry it took forever for me to finish this series. I really hope you guys enjoyed it and like this little part that wraps everything up :)

part one | part two

word count: 2.9k

content warnings: inappropriate relationship, minor age gap (4 years), not ramadan friendly

main masterlist | talk to me

. . .

Y/N and Harry shift into a relationship — or what feels like one — faster than either could have ever anticipated. 

In hindsight, Y/N supposes it makes sense. They’d been suppressing romantic and intimate feelings for each other and now that it’d all come to a peak (no pun intended), tangled between Y/N’s cotton sheets, it felt oddly… natural.

The entire thing made her warm with happiness, a busy kaleidoscope of butterflies fluttering through her tummy every time she even thought of waking up next to Harry. They hadn’t had another sleepover since that evening, and admittedly, she’d been a bit scared that she would wake up to rushed apologies and explanations of “I need to get out of here, this was a mistake”, but it had been quite the opposite. 

The following morning, when her sleepy eyes cracked open, she felt a warm weight pressed up against her back. It took her a moment to come to, but when she did, she remembered the strenuous activities from the night prior, and blushed and rolled over to find the object of her affection waking up from his own deep sleep. 

“Morning,” he’d croaked before smiling through puffy eyes. “Can I make you breakfast?”

That had been two weeks ago, and it seemed like the cotton candy cloud they were floating on had yet to touch the ground.

It went without saying that they were still extremely careful on campus — however, now that the temperatures were shifting into a more comfortable number, jackets were being shed and bright tulip bulbs and crocuses were beginning to pop up from the moist soil. They were telltale signs that spring was steadily bolting their way, which meant that the end of the semester was, too. Between the hopeful weather and the pastel-hued beginnings of a relationship between the two, it was enough to pull Y/N from the inklings of her seasonal depression and Harry from his own existential dread. 

In short: It was good. Things were finally good, even if they hadn’t talked things through or officially decided on what they were doing yet. Y/N thinks she was okay with that, as long as it meant she was on the receiving end of Harry’s gentle kisses or his sweet goodnight texts. 

Yeah. She could most definitely live with that.

. . .

“I found a kitten last night.”

The words make Y/N blink her eyes open. Their lips hadn’t even been fully disconnected by the time his words were ghosting over the seam of her mouth, an apparent eagerness to verbalize this new development from the past 24 hours. 

“Oh?” Y/N asks with a quirked brow, fingertips focused on the feeling of his soft knit cardigan. 

“When I was taking the garbage out,” he quickly explains. “She was hiding behind the trash cans.”

“She?”

Harry shifts from foot to foot and Y/N immediately identifies his body language as nervousness — he’s nervous to tell her about this cat he found near his building complex, and the thought, for some reason, makes her body bubble with giggles. 

“I looked to see if she had a collar or tag or anything and she doesn’t. I took her in and washed her off. She was starving, but I was thinking of taking her to the vet when I leave campus today.”

Y/N hums, “Well if she was starving and dirty, it’s a good thing she found you.”

A pinkish flush flowers over Harry’s cheeks and he shrugs his shoulders. “The vet in town is always swamped with college kids impulsively adopting animals. I was thinking of taking her to the one a bit further away.”

“Oh, that’s smart,” Y/N nods, tugging the strap of her tote bag a little closer to her body. Harry normally isn’t so slow in his goodbyes to her, and she really needs to get to the library to work on an essay outline. 

“Will you come with me?”

Her eyebrows nearly fly up to the ceiling. They’ve never done anything in public together — not since they saw each other at Target a few months back, and that doesn’t even count because they weren’t seeing each other back then. It was something that made Y/N toss and turn at night. She knew that in the eyes of the university, their relationship was forbidden — neither of them were that dim to understand that — but in any other context, there was no reason why a couple of their age couldn’t be together. It sometimes made her wish that they did meet under different circumstances, like at a bar or even swiping right on a dating app. 

“I was thinking maybe you could stay over afterwards, because the only appointment they had available for this evening was at 7 pm and I’m not sure how late we would get back,” Harry tacks on, and the addition only makes her stomach continue to swarm with nervous butterflies. “You can say no. I just thought it would be nice. A stay-at-home date, maybe.”

She’s nodding like a robot before her brain even allows her the opportunity to think it over. And yeah, call her childish, maybe, but the thought of him calling it a date — she supposes this is the closest they can get to one in the near future — makes her heart skip a beat.

“That does sound nice,” she agrees with a smile. “Do you want to pick me up at 6? I’ll… I can pack a bag and we’ll go from the vet to yours later on?”

He nods, mirroring her own enthusiastic grin. “Okay.”

. . .

After a marathon at the library (she was in the beginning stages of doing research on a comparative essay on Emily Brontë’s work), Y/N trekked back to her apartment, stuffed some food down her throat, showered, and packed a bag for Harry’s. 

She was a little nervous — okay, maybe fairly nervous, considering the last time they did anything close to this, it had all been very spur of the moment. Things weren’t awkward because of it (it was the opposite, actually), but the rest of their relationship had been spent in Harry’s tiny office. They played footsies while they graded, ordered takeout to the English building while they spoke about their days, and snuck loved-up smiles when they passed each other on campus, but this felt more… finite, maybe. Real. Like they could exist outside the confines of their university.

Harry texts her when he’s on his way and then when he’s downstairs at 6 o’clock on the dot (here xx, which makes Y/N’s heart flutter). She has her usual purse on one shoulder and a tote bag on the other, where she’s packed pajamas for the night, an outfit for tomorrow, and all of her toiletries. She swallows as she locks the front door and turns to see the familiar navy sedan parked right outside, biting her lip when she sees the curly haired brunette in the driver’s seat. 

“Hey,” he greets the second she gets in the car. She flashes him a smile, though his own facial expression exudes an air of nervousness, “Do you know much about cats?” 

“Um, my sister brought a stray in when we were kids. We only kept her for a few days, but I guess I know a little.”

Harry nods, “I’m scared she’s anxious back there. I tried to make the carrier as comfortable as possible for her, but she’s probably nervous, right? She’s in a weird guy’s car and she doesn’t know where she’s going.”

Y/N breathes out a laugh as she twists her body to look in the backseat. Low and behold, there’s a brand new carrier with a small kitten inside. She coos at its salt and pepper fur as she unlocks the gate, gently reaching in to grab the cat. She can’t be larger than a few pounds, and Harry’s right about her being nervous — she’s trembling, whether it be from the confusion of the situation or an issue the vet will likely tell them about. 

“Here, I’ll hold her for the ride,” Y/N murmurs, pressing a delicate kiss to the top of her head, “She just needs some love, hm?” 

“She kept slipping on the hardwood floors in my apartment last night. I felt so bad.” Harry replies as he puts the car in drive, a slight pout on his lips. Y/N laughs lightly at the thought, stroking her forefinger over the kitten’s back. 

“Poor baby,” she glances up at Harry, blinking when she realizes he’d been glimpsing down between them and the road, “Did you think of any names for her?”

He coughs and flicks his right signal on, “Um, yeah. I thought of a few. Haven’t really decided on anything yet, though. I guess it depends on whether or not the vet thinks it’s a good idea to keep her.”

“Sure,” Y/N hums, though she can already tell from her brief knowledge of pets that the likelihood of this little kitten having a home is slim. She’s tiny and underweight and doesn’t have a collar, which means she probably isn’t chipped, either. “I think you’d do well as a cat dad. Maybe you can adopt if this little one doesn’t work out.”

“You think so?”

A small smile cracks at the edges of Y/N lips. It’s apparent that Harry’s scared and needs some sort of reassurance from someone, and she’s happy to be the provider. “Of course I do. I think you have a lot of love to give, Harry.”

She watches as his throat bobs before his own lips form a gentle smile. 

“Yeah. I think I do, too.” 

He reaches over and carefully intertwines their fingers together. When she gives his hand a small squeeze, she thinks she sees his body visibly relax. 

. . .

As Y/N anticipated, the kitten Harry found doesn’t belong to anyone. 

The vet does a thorough check-up and the results are relatively positive; she’s just on the malnourished side and will need a lot of food, love, and care to get her to a place where she’s considered to be healthy. She advises Harry to bring the cat back in a month to do another weigh-in just to make sure her diet is nutritionally-dense enough, and he has no problem agreeing. 

Y/N scoops the kitten up and gently scratches and pets at the back of her head as Harry talks to the receptionist, supplying information about his name and phone number for the follow-up appointment. It’s only when he’s asked for the kitten’s name that he somewhat freezes. Y/N peers up, assuming he’s just nervous because he hasn’t settled on anything yet. It’s understandable, she supposes — if her parents had let her and her sister keep that kitten from their childhood, they probably would have named it “Princess Muffins” or “Little Lady Kisses”, which Y/N just thinks is embarrassing for the cat.

“Ophelia,” he murmurs lowly before coughing into his hand. The receptionist doesn’t question it as she quickly types it in, but it makes Y/N’s eyebrows raise. She continues scratching at Harry’s newly named cat, using her blunt fingernails to slowly rub the patches of fur behind her ears. She’s not sure if she’s being too fussy and self-centered, but if she remembers correctly, the first time she and Harry met, they talked about how Ophelia from Hamlet was a big inspiration for Y/N’s capstone project. She shrugs it off, especially when they’re done at the vet and they step into the low light of the evening. Silently, they walk side-by-side and back to Harry’s car. 

Daylight savings, despite being a stupid concept, arrived just a few weeks prior, which means they’re now privy to a few more hours of daylight before night stretches over the sky. It’s nice — spring hasn’t completely sprung up yet, but there are little reminders here and there that it’s coming. It isn’t freezing tonight but there’s a slight chill in the air, so both she and Harry are bundled up beneath cozy crewneck sweatshirts. He pulls the sleeves of his over his knuckles and the small action makes Y/N’s heart squeeze.

“Are you fine to hold her on the drive back?” Harry asks once they’re back in his car. She nods happily, content with having a small, cuddly kitten curl up on her lap for the next 30 minutes. The evening sunlight bathes the interior of the vehicle as Harry pulls out of his parking spot, flicking on his left blinker to take them back to his place. 

“D’you wanna get Thai for dinner?” Y/N asks, suppressing a yawn as she turns her head to look at the male beside her. Again, she watches as his muscles melt a bit, less rigid than they were just a moment or two before, and a smile edges at his lips as he nods his head. 

“That sounds great. Could go for some pad thai.”

“Mm, me too,” she agrees, taking her phone out to pull up the ordering app, “Can we split some dumplings, too?”

“I’d love that.”

She smiles to herself and they chat aimlessly and quietly about their respective orders, each of them deciding on noodle dishes (Harry opts for a veggie-only option while Y/N picks shrimp) and an order of mushroom dumplings. She asks if he’s vegetarian or trying to be — she presumes it’d be a rather important thing to know about the person she’s… dating? Casually seeing? What were they doing? — but he shrugs noncommittally, as he does for many questions she asks. It’s almost as if he’s not used to people asking him about his likes and preferences, and she thinks that’s dumb. She wants to know everything there is to know about him. 

When she prods him about his vegetable forward habits, he finally explains that no, he’s not a vegetarian, but he likes to eat meat-free when he can. This prompts her to ask him about his other tastes: His favorite ice cream flavor (Ben & Jerry’s Phish Food, which she approves of), his favorite flowers (pink tulips because his mom used to grow them), and his go-to drink when he goes out (“I never go out, I’m an old man, but I am partial to a tequila soda”). 

Her time playing 20 Questions is finally up after he picks up their food and they arrive back at his place. By now, the sun has fully retreated and Ophelia is sound asleep in Y/N’s lap. When he puts the car in park, he stops her before they go inside. 

“Why are you asking me all these things?” he asks with a wrinkle between his eyebrows. She resists the urge to reach out and smooth it with her thumb.

“I just wanna know. I’m curious.” she replies, shrugging.

“You wanna know about the first album I ever bought and how old I was when I had my first kiss?”

“Of course I do,” she pauses, confused. “Why? Do you not want me to know those things?”

He shakes his head. “No, no. I just… I don’t know. I’m surprised.”

“I don’t know how much more forward I can be with my feelings,” she says softly, nibbling on her bottom lip, “I know this is technically against the rules or whatever, but… I like you. You know that, right? That what I feel for you goes beyond sex and some silly fantasy.”

She watches as he swallows tightly. 

“I like you too,” he murmurs, reaching out to take her free hand into his. “I’m sorry I let my insecurities get the best of me but it’s just… odd, I guess, to imagine that you really, truly like me. I sound like a middle schooler, god—”

“Don’t do that.” she quickly shakes her head. If it weren’t for Ophelia still perched atop her thighs, she’d reach forward and take his face between her hands. “Don’t belittle yourself. I like you, Harry. So much that I’m willing to risk my status as a student. You get that, don’t you?”

“Of course,” he nods swiftly, “And you understand what I’m risking, right?”

It’s not meant to be a one-up — it’s genuine and it’s real, and she nods her head and swallows the small lump of tears that’s developed in her throat. It’s the reality of their relationship and it’s necessary to address, especially if either one of them wants to go any further. 

With Harry, he has more to lose. He’d be fired, of course, but his degrees could be taken into question, too. His license as a professor. Everything he’s worked for, all potentially wasted on Y/N.

It’s a heavy weight for her to wear.

But, as if he can read her mind (or maybe he can just read her facial expression), he gives her hand a squeeze. 

“And you’re more than worth it, Y/N.” he says with soft eyes. 

“Will you be my boyfriend?” she blurts out without thinking. Her eyes immediately widen while Harry’s crease with happiness, and she’d contemplate taking back if not for the massive grin that stretches across his face. 

“Truly, I thought you’d never ask,” he replies cheekily, and Y/N responds with a gentle swat to the chest. He laughs. “I did name my cat after you, after all.”

. . .

That night, when Harry has Ophelia tucked into one side and Y/N into the other, and she’s half-asleep as they watch another episode of whatever docuseries she convinced him to turn on, after they’ve eaten themselves into a Thai food coma and talked about the latest books they’ve read with promises to exchange them, he realizes he’s never been so happy in his life. 

Y/N can comfortably say the same. 

[sleepydeprived]

A Chance for Redemption

—A mysterious high school student appears out of the blue, bearing the face of the late Martha Wayne and puzzling even Gotham’s greatest detectives.

[chapter 1]

| Platonic!Yandere!Batfam x Reader

| Inspired by the work of @e-nonsense “GHOST OF A LONG GONE WOMAN”

The Gotham City skyline stretched across the horizon, its towering structures standing as silent guardians in the night. Inside the dimly lit study of Wayne Manor, Bruce Wayne sat alone amidst shadows that mirrored the complexities of his own mind.

A sudden beep from the Batcomputer broke the stillness. Bruce glanced at the screen, and his piercing gaze narrowed at the news report flashing across the monitor. The headline sent a ripple through him.

"Wayne Heiress Emerges: Striking Resemblance to Late Martha Wayne. Who is she?"

His heartbeat quickened as images of the young girl filled the screen. The uncanny resemblance to his late mother, Martha, struck him like a blow. The gentle curve of her smile, the warmth in her eyes — it was as if a much younger version of Martha had been reborn in a face he had never known.

For a moment, the air in the study thickened with silence. Bruce's jaw tightened, and a flood of memories surged, carrying him back to the night of his parents' tragedy. He saw Martha's face, radiant and full of life, before the darkness took her away. Now, that same face stared back at him from the screen.

"What is this?" Bruce muttered to himself, his fingers tapping impatiently on the polished surface of the mahogany desk.

With a decisive gesture, he rose from his seat and moved toward the Batcave. Alfred, his ever-watchful confidant, observed the turmoil in Bruce's eyes.

"Master Wayne, might I inquire about the cause of your distress?" Alfred's calm voice cut through the tension.

Bruce handed Alfred a tablet displaying the news report. As Alfred scanned the images, the lines on his forehead deepened in concern.

"An unexpected development, sir. Shall I investigate further?" Alfred offered, his loyalty unwavering.

"No, Alfred. I'll handle this myself,"

In the heart of the Batcave, surrounded by the symbols of his dual life, Bruce Wayne accessed the Batcomputer with purpose, initiating a search that would unravel the truth behind the possible Wayne heiress.

As information unfolded on the screen, Bruce's stoic demeanor flickered with a kaleidoscope of emotions. The mystery of his potential blood-related daughter, bearing the face of his beloved mother, demanded answers that eluded even the World's Greatest Detective.

In the shadows of Wayne Manor, a silent storm brewed. All veiled behind the haunting gaze of a daughter who bore the visage of a long-lost woman.

[ceesimz]

I Did It All.

"Alexia Putellas, what do you have to say about leaving the pitch for the final time?"

Twenty years done, not enough. Twenty years more, too much. A discrepancy far more complex than it needs to be.

Days spent treading the same grass that legends of the past had once done, winding and weaving fluidly through near faultless defences, roars of awe following as stars returned back to their rightful place in the sky with each jump of celebration.

Nights spent in clubs and restaurants, surrounded by people high on glory with medals around their necks, a privilege some may argue wasn't warranted. Though, when stadiums filled to their capacities chanted just one name over and over as if it was the holiest sacrament of Catalunya, fighting against that was as close to blasmephy as one could get.

To now slip off into the unknown, leaving behind only a name that no longer gave way to the presence of a figure the fields didn't deserve. The future would never know her, only her name, only her stats, only her achievements. Perhaps it was best to keep it that way.

Decades of critics speaking in such a way it was almost sacrilegious, months of shame in the media for purely being a human in the worst era of her life, weeks of slander and insults for fighting for rights in a system built to spite her, twisting her kindness into a weakness. But always, the rightful figure rises, pulling the sword from the stone and raising it to the skies in triumph. The crown could get heavy, but not once did it falter. Not once did it fall.

With the final few imprints of her boot studs as she stepped off of the turf, she simply relinquished the responsibility and handed the legacy over to the next generation, trusting them indefinitely to carry the honour in the same way she did. It wasn't just the handing over of a torch; it was the exchange of a rite of passage, a way of life, and a promise to uphold the standards of excellence and righteousness she had engraved into the sport she gave her life to. This passing of the baton wasn't solely focused on the end of something though, no, it was the beginning of something far more important than people could understand. It was time for the up-and-coming stars of the sport to take the pen and write their own chapters into the history books, encompassing the opportunity to build something even more empowering than those before them.

Allowing the armband she had worn with great pride to slip off her arm, she shed the weight of a thousand battles, all of the lessons she had learnt from each victory and each defeat now etched into every fibre of her being. The world watched as she exited the field for the last time, an understanding wordlessly divulged between millions at the recognition that this was a landmark moment.

Kaleidoscopes of nostalgia flitted past her eyes as if it were an old film roll, freeze-frames of time portraying unimaginably euphoric moments. Only for them to never be experienced again. Though every cheer, every chant, and every image of a shirt worn with her legacy stitched into the fabric of it, flooded through her veins, and would for evermore.

The high regard her peers held her to, whether she had come across them on the pitch time after time or never met them at all, was a testament to the irremovable mark she had left on the beautiful game. Other countless memorable figures that were desperate to meet her, brands desperate to work with her, all these examples of her undeniable impact.

Alexia Putellas never cared about being immortalised in her sport. She was just a girl from the outskirts of Barcelona, chasing a dream with her loved ones holding her hand along the journey. Some of those hands had slipped away as time went on, but that meant she only gained more guardian angels to watch over her. With a family as tight-knit as hers, each member past and present a constant reminder of her purpose, she never lost faith. Sure, there were moments where it faltered a little, but no matter how much people tried to make a mockery of her failures, she would step back up; each comeback better than the last.

Her longevity was unrivalled, performing to the highest standards near enough all the time, even when others didn't deserve to witness it. Still, she gave away every part of herself to a sport that tried to silence her and failed to give equity until the latest moment possible. Always undervalued and unappreciated in her place of work, but did that stop her? Dampen her spirits? No, of course it didn't. And she had ample evidence to prove it; awards, trophies, medals, and most importantly to her, an easier path paved for those following in her footsteps.

The final chapter was about to finish though, the book of a near flawless career soon to slam shut.

Football would feel the loss of her absence, but like the story of Ozymandias, the dust will blow over and erase her stature, the nature of the sport will run its course and she'll be a figment of the past. Her time had come, and she had done everything and more of what she needed to do.

She moved from an ever-present figure to just a silhouette with a few steps.

Here, now, at the crescendo of a note-worthy career run, there was only one way to answer such a question.

"I did it all."

[cherryredstars]

OH MY GOD REQUESTS ARE OPEN💃🏾💃🏾

gosh cherry i love you and your blog sm it makes my day😭

could i please have a college or highschool au where reader studies subjects like social science and business and literature and he does stem subjects and he at first has like a superiority complex, he doesn’t intend to, but he can’t help it, until he sees the reader like talk about social issues or how she can remember 17 step procedures and shit and he’s like…wow. maybe they can be together and he sees her pretend to teach people to learn and he’s learning stuff from her and it’s wholesome asf

god i don’t know i’m sorry im rambling😭😭 you don’t have to ofc but thank you anyway

and again, love you!!

Thank you, love!!!

He's the smartest person he knows.

It's not narcissistic if it's a fact. He's the top of his major program, already has offers for Ph.D programs nationwide mailed to his door. He's sure to get into any genetics department he wants for grad school. He's the star of the industry-path students. He's just that good, and what's the harm in taking pride in your accomplishments?

But he's never met someone like you before.

Usually he wouldn't care for people like you, with their abstract liberal art degrees in nonsense majors that'll just collect dust in a box in an attic somewhere. But there is something so enduring about you, about everything you do. The way you just know what people are thinking based on the twitch of their fingers and why they think it. The way you're so open to everything in a way that would make his lab buddies laugh with their one-way minds. It amazes him, the way your view is so wide in a way that something like genetics or STEM can't comprehend. In a way they don't allow. There is something so breath-taking about the way your mind has this endless freedom that he can't even grasp. Like a kaleidoscope of colors that are simultaneously beautiful and overwhelming to the senses. Something his factual mind craves.

The first time he had seen you, he was in the library. It isn't a place he would usually go to, but he had to collect some textbooks for his professor in the storage closet. He had gotten in a bit of trouble that day for taking so long, but how could he resist when he had heard the sweet cadence of your voice through the open door of a mini-lecture room. Very few students were in the room, it looked like a side presentation; one of those assignments that forced students to present their ideas on a topic to a group of people to try to captivate them into agreeing with your findings. There was a sort of fiery passion in the way you spoke, a hardened steel in your eyes that showed your resistance to back down. It was... enchanting, siren-like. So much so that he had been forced to sit in one of the empty seats in the back of the room, eyes stuck on you as you paced the front of class and rebutted comments from your peers.

He had no idea what you were talking about, but it still had that overwhelming effect on him. One that had him pressing the surface of his stomach against the hard edge of the lecture tables, his senses honing in to hear every last syllable that departed from your lips. There was this dream-like quality to you, something that consumed the mind and made them listen. A sort of intelligence that he would never know or understand. One that he would spend hours trying to learn if you were the one explaining it. He can't remember how long it took for him to start breathing again when your eyes scanned the room and locked onto him, clear confusion on your face at the random presence of college's most-awarded student. He could feel his heart bursting against his ribs, mouth parting slightly from the honor to be the center of your attention for even a few seconds before you looked away and carried on.

Suddenly, he didn't feel like the smartest person in the world. Not when you left him absolutely stupefied.

[my-autism-adhd-blog]

Hi there! First of all I just discovered your blog and it helped me understand a lot about autism. I was recently diagnosed and I had maaany questions, and going through your blog gave me some answers. So thank you so much for your dedication! ✨

I was wondering if you could share some stuff about burnouts? I saw the post of the signs of burnouts, but I was wondering if you had information about what are the common causes or how to deal with them?

Have a great day/night!

Hi there,

I found some information in burnout recovery and causes:

Text

Signs

* Lack of motivation (hard to care about goals when everyday life is overwhelming)

* Loss of executive functioning abilities (decision-making, organization, etc.)

* Difficulty with self-care

* Easier to reach overload or meltdown

* Loss of speech, selective mutism

* Lethargy, exhaustion

* Illness, digestive issues

* Memory loss

* Inability to maintain masks or use social skills

* Overall seeming "more autistic" or stereotypical

* May have period of high energy before collapse

causes

* Passing as neurotypical / suppressing autistic traits

* Doing 'too much', too much stress

* Aging: needing more downtime, having less energy

* Changes, good or bad (relationships, jobs, living arrangements, belongings, environment, routines...)

* Sleep deprivation, poor nutrition, dehydration

* Illness

* Sensory or emotional overload

strategies

* Time

* Scheduling breaks, managing spoons

* Leave of absence

* Stimming, sensory diet

* Exercise

* Reassured and supports

* Routines

* Better environment/job/etc.

* Boundaries, saying 'no'

* Dropping the mask/façade

* Solitude

* Absolute quiet

* Creative projects, passions, special interests

* Paying attention to reactions and your body

Here’s another Infograph I found:

Text

Sleep and rest as much as you can. We often need more sleep than allistics and it is especially crucial to meet our need for extra sleep while in burnout.

Reduce your energy expenditure. Within reason, reduce social time and the amount of information you are taking in on a daily basis. This often means saying no, even to things you think you

"want" to do. (ex. re-watch TV rather than start new shows)

Engage in special interests at a comfortable and sustainable level. Rather than doing in-depth research, try decorating your space with posters or objects related to your special interests or watching a TV show related to one of them.

Focus on your hypersensitivities. Use earplugs/ headphones/sunglasses, use dishwashing gloves and a mask while cleaning, wear comfortable clothes, eat safe foods, leave spaces that are too bright, loud, or fragrant.

Stim!! MOVEMENT: dance, rock, tap, flap, stretch, walk, stim toys.

TOUCH: soft fabric, self-massage, play with hair. VISUAL: watch

TV/ movie, kaleidoscope, coloring book, satisfying videos

AUDIO/VOICE music, singing, echolalia. REPETATION/SORTING: solitaire, puzzles, sorting objects, repetitive doodles, counting.

VERY slowly create systers/routines that automate your care needs and implement them very slowly. This can look like visual aids, timers, lists, bullet journols, weekly routines, Expect if to take time and trial and error to get into these habits. Pick I-2 habits or systems to implement at a time, starting with the ones you're most excifed about.

Autistic burnout and Complex PTSD have a lot in common and executive dysfunction often increases during burnout, so resources made for these can be very helpful.

Burnout Recovery

I hope this helps. Thank you for the inbox. I hope you have a wonderful day/night. ♥️

[herlondonboy]

The Songbird and the Rebel

pairings: lucy gray baird x gn!reader

summary: you love lucy. you would do anything for her. including throw yourself in with the wolves in order to protect her.

warnings: canon typical violence, minor SPOILERS FOR TBOSAS!!!! reader is gender neutral BUT takes the spot for male tribute, first person

word count: 2.3k

a/n: my first fanfic in a while (leilani if you see this leave) part 2?

Lucy Gray Baird was a name known to most in District 12.

If you don’t know her from when her and her covey arrived in District 12 with an array of songs, then you definitely know her from her singing in the bar or by the hanging tree.

In the quiet corners of my heart, there exists a profound narrative woven with the threads of affection and admiration for Lucy Gray Baird. To gaze upon her is to witness a kaleidoscope of beauty, each facet revealing a unique charm that, when combined, creates an enchanting tapestry of allure. Her presence is a gentle breeze, weaving through the tapestry of my days, leaving me breathless with the ethereal magic she brings.

Lucy Gray's eyes are like pools of liquid moonlight, reflecting a depth that seems to hold the secrets of the universe. When she casts her gaze upon me, it's as if time itself pauses, and in those moments, I find solace in the silent language exchanged between our souls. Her laughter, a melody that dances in the air, resonates with the sweetness of a thousand songbirds. Each note is a reminder that joy is not just an emotion, but a symphony composed by the mere existence of Lucy Gray.

Yet, it is in the cadence of her voice that the true enchantment unfolds. Her words are like a lyrical river, flowing with grace and carrying the weight of untold stories. The timbre, a harmonious blend of warmth and tenderness, wraps around my heart like a comforting embrace. Listening to Lucy Gray speak is akin to traversing a forest of ancient trees, each word a delicate leaf that rustles in the gentle breeze, revealing the wisdom etched into the very fabric of her being.

In the quietude of twilight, as the world settles into a hushed symphony, Lucy Gray's voice becomes a lullaby, a soothing melody that cradles my thoughts and lingers in the corridors of my dreams. It is a voice that navigates the complexities of emotion, painting vivid landscapes of understanding and empathy. With every syllable, she unveils a tapestry of connection, forging a bond that transcends the mundane and elevates our shared existence to a realm where love is not just a sentiment but a living, breathing entity.

To be in love with Lucy Gray Baird is to be immersed in a story where every chapter unfolds with the grace of a sonnet, and her enchanting voice serves as the narrator, guiding me through the intricacies of emotion with eloquence and poise. In her presence, time becomes an ephemeral concept, and the symphony of our shared moments resonates in the chambers of my heart, an everlasting ode to the captivating magic that is Lucy Gray.

As the calendar inches closer to that dreaded date, the annual arrival of the reaping, a shiver courses through my veins, and the spectre of fear looms large in the recesses of my thoughts. It's a perennial nightmare, a cyclical horror that etches its mark on my soul with each passing year. The looming prospect of the reaping casts a long, foreboding shadow over the days leading up to it, like an impending storm gathering its strength.

In the district, where life is a delicate dance on the precipice of survival, the reaping is the grand conductor orchestrating the symphony of anxiety that grips every heart. The Capitol's merciless tradition, designed to remind us of our vulnerability, is an annual ritual that plunges us into a maelstrom of uncertainty. As the day draws near, the atmosphere becomes thick with a palpable tension, a collective holding of breaths that echo the unspoken dread etched across the faces of my fellow citizens.

The fear is not merely a response to the capricious nature of the reaping; it is an acknowledgment of the ruthless lottery that defines our existence. Every year, the odds are a cruel reminder of the fragility of life, and as the names are drawn, the spectre of mortality hangs heavy in the air. It's a twisted game where the stakes are nothing less than life itself, and the chances of escape grow slimmer with each passing year.

Yet, in the recesses of my consciousness, a tiny flame of hope persists. Three more years, I tell myself, just three more before the shackles of this annual torment are lifted. The countdown becomes a mantra, a whispered reassurance that carries me through the darkest hours leading up to the reaping. I imagine a future where the weight of this fear is but a distant memory, where the spectre of the Capitol's malevolence no longer casts its sinister gaze upon my destiny.

Survival becomes an art, a delicate dance between evading the Capitol's scrutiny and navigating the treacherous currents of our district's harsh realities. With each passing reaping, the lessons learned, the alliances forged, and the scars accumulated become badges of a silent resistance against the Capitol's oppressive grip. As the clock ticks away, the urgency to outlast this infernal cycle intensifies, and I find solace in the belief that resilience will be my shield until the dawn of that promised freedom.

The reaping remains an annual crucible, but with each passing year, the embers of hope burn a little brighter. Three more years—a finite horizon that promises liberation from the perennial terror that shadows my days. Until then, I navigate the minefield of survival, driven by the unyielding determination to defy the odds and emerge from the crucible of the reaping with the scars of endurance etched upon my soul.

Lost in the tapestry of my daydreams, where the edges of reality blur into the realms of imagination, I found myself wading through the ethereal landscapes of distant thoughts. The cadence of a country twang, like a gentle breeze, pulled me back from the reverie, and there she was – Lucy Gray Baird, a vision of warmth and southern charm.

"What's wrong, darling?" Lucy Gray's voice, dripping with honeyed tones, sliced through the cocoon of my musings. Startled, I looked up to find her gaze fixed on me, a playful twinkle in her eyes that made my heart flutter.

Shaking my head to dispel the lingering fragments of my daydreams, I stammered out a feeble response, "Oh, nothing, just lost in thought."

Lucy Gray's expression shifted to a quizzical 'really?' as she cocked her head to the side. It was as if she could read the unsaid, decipher the hidden nuances beneath the surface of my demeanour. Unable to support the charade, I sighed and admitted, "Just thinking about tomorrow."

Her brow furrowed with concern, and Lucy Gray, with a sincerity that belied the playful banter, insisted, "We're not getting picked, darling. Trust me."

The assurance, while comforting, collided with the grim reality that haunted the eve of every reaping. "Lucy Gray, you can't be sure. The odds are never in our favour," I argued, my voice laced with the weight of impending dread.

An animated debate unfolded, our words clashing like opposing currents in a tempestuous sea. Lucy Gray, with an unwavering confidence, insisted that fate would spare us, while I, burdened by the grim statistics of our district, could not share her optimism. The tension escalated, transforming a mere disagreement into a storm of conflicting emotions.

With a heavy sigh, I declared, "I can't afford false hope, Lucy Gray. I need to face the reality of our situation."

Lucy Gray's eyes darkened with disappointment, and her lips formed a thin line. "You don't have to face it alone, darling," she murmured, her voice now devoid of its earlier playfulness.

In the aftermath of our heated exchange, the room echoed with the haunting silence of unresolved tension. Unable to bear the weight of the unspoken, I stormed out, leaving behind a tumultuous atmosphere that lingered in the air like a palpable storm. The door swung shut behind me, closing the chapter on a disagreement that lingered in the corridors of my conscience.

As I walked away, the shadows of doubt and fear clung to me like a relentless spectre. Tomorrow's reaping loomed on the horizon, and amid our clash, the uncertain fate that awaited us cast a shadow on the camaraderie between Lucy Gray and me.

The morning of the reaping dawned with an eerie stillness, the air thick with tension as I stood flanked by my brothers, a tight knot of apprehension settling in the pit of my stomach. The proximity to them, a meagre comfort in the face of the impending ordeal, offered a silent solidarity that spoke of shared fears and unspoken bonds.

As the announcer's voice echoed through the square, a collective hush fell over the assembled crowd. My gaze scanned the sea of faces, searching for Lucy Gray amid the sea of anxious expressions. But she was nowhere to be found, and a gnawing unease crept into my thoughts.

The dread reached its zenith when the familiar twang of the announcer's voice pierced the air, uttering those fateful words that sent shockwaves through my world. "Lucy Gray Baird."

Time seemed to grind to a halt as her name reverberated through the square. A sharp intake of breath echoed through the crowd, and my brothers and I exchanged glances, our eyes mirroring the disbelief that clung to our collective consciousness. Lucy Gray, the beacon of defiance and warmth, had been ensnared by the merciless claws of the reaping.

A murmur rippled through the crowd as Lucy Gray emerged, her steps deliberate yet exuding an air of unrestrained rebellion. As she approached the podium, the atmosphere crackled with a palpable tension. Instead of submitting to the Capitol's ritual humiliation, Lucy Gray took matters into her own hands.

In a daring act of defiance, she slipped a snake into the folds of the mayor's daughter's dress, a calculated rebellion that unfolded like a subversive ballet. Gasps of astonishment and screams of fear spread through the crowd as Lucy Gray stood there, an embodiment of resistance against the Capitol's oppression.

Her gaze, a beacon of unyielding determination, sought me out in the crowd. Our eyes locked in a silent exchange, a communion of understanding that transcended the barriers of the Capitol's surveillance. In that fleeting moment, I saw not just defiance but a plea for solidarity, a shared understanding of the injustice that had befallen her.

The Covey, recognizing their songbird in distress, began to sing. Their harmonies, a haunting melody of sorrow and defiance, wove through the square, amplifying the rebellious spirit that Lucy Gray embodied. It was a serenade for a fallen comrade, a hymn of resistance that reverberated through the hearts of those who dared to challenge the Capitol's iron grip.

As Lucy Gray stood there, surrounded by the harmonies of the Covey, I felt an indescribable mixture of emotions. Anguish, for the injustice that had befallen her; admiration, for her unyielding spirit; and a lingering sense of guilt for the moments of doubt that had clouded our camaraderie. The reaping square transformed into a stage for a silent revolution, and Lucy Gray, with her audacious act, had become the unwitting protagonist in a tale of defiance and sacrifice.

Driven by a surge of emotions that transcended reason, I pushed forward through the tightly packed crowd, determination burning in my veins. The air crackled with tension as I reached the front, and my heart pounded in my chest like a war drum. Lucy Gray's name lingered in the air, a haunting echo that reverberated through the square.

As I stumbled towards the platform, the weight of the moment settled on my shoulders. My voice trembled, but a resolute conviction carried me forward. "I volunteer!"

Lucy Gray, standing defiantly on the podium, shot me a perplexed frown. A silent exchange passed between us, a question lingering in her eyes. Why would I jeopardize my own safety for her? But there was no time for explanations as the Capitol's relentless proceedings demanded swift adherence.

Shaking her head in disbelief, Lucy Gray gestured towards me, her eyes mirroring a silent plea for me to reconsider. But I couldn't back down now. I couldn't let Lucy Gray face the Capitol's brutality alone.

"I volunteer to take the place of Jessup Diggs!" The words hung in the air, a courageous declaration that seemed to confound the very fabric of the reaping ceremony. Murmurs of uncertainty rippled through the crowd, unsure if such a deviation from the Capitol's script was permissible.

The Capitol's enforcers hesitated, caught off guard by the unprecedented turn of events. The air was thick with uncertainty, the collective gasp of the onlookers amplifying the tension that permeated the square. Jessup Diggs looked bewildered, unsure whether to be grateful or worried for the unexpected twist of fate.

Before the Capitol's enforcers could make sense of the situation, Jessup was roughly thrown down from the stage. A jolt of realization surged through the crowd, the unspoken understanding that the Capitol's machinations brooked no dissent. I was seized by unseen hands, dragged up to the platform, and away from the tumultuous sea of faces.

As I was pulled away, my eyes sought out Lucy Gray, who now stood alone, a solitary figure in the midst of the chaotic spectacle. Her gaze met mine, a silent acknowledgment passing between us. In that moment, I saw gratitude mixed with an unspoken sadness, a recognition of the sacrifice made in the name of defiance.

The cheers and protests of the crowd faded into the background as I was led away from the square, the consequences of my impulsive decision looming ahead. In the face of the Capitol's cruelty, I had dared to challenge the script, to rewrite the narrative of the reaping. The road ahead was uncertain, but as I cast a last glance at Lucy Gray Baird, standing alone on the podium, I knew that the seeds of rebellion had been sown, and the repercussions of my choice would resonate far beyond the confines of the reaping square.

[fangsandfracturedhearts]

Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Chapter 15: Reclamation

Summary: After embracing eternity as a vampire spawn under Astarion's wing, the Crimson Palace becomes a haunting symbol of the man he once was. As his personality unravels into a dark abyss, you flee. A year of hardship unveils the harsh reality of existence as a vampire spawn.

Just as all hope seems lost, a twist of fate reunites you with Astarion, revealing a glimmer of hope amidst the shadows. As you navigate the complexities of your relationship, you must confront the unsettling truth behind the Rite of Profane Ascension and the devilish secrets it holds.

In a race against time, you embark on a daring quest to save Astarion from his descent into darkness. With each choice you make, the stakes grow higher, testing the limits of your courage and determination.

Will Astarion find redemption, or is he destined to succumb to his own inner turmoil?

Word Count: 6.6k

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x female!Tav Spawn

Warnings: [Will try to continue to add more, but in general expect explicit content for mature audiences]

Possible spoilers. Eventual Explicit Content. Slow Burn. Thoughts of Suicide. Violence. Blood. Injury. Mature Content. Self-Harm. Mentions of in-game content. Completely fabricated camp events. Mentions of Astarion's Trauma.

If you notice a very critical tag missing, please don't hesitate to let me know

Rating: Explicit 18+ - [Meant For Mature Audience]

A maelstrom of emotions dithers over the union you share. He seems unsure of what exactly he should be feeling as it fluctuates between fear, doubt, and bewilderment in a tumultuous outburst. His thoughts are akin to walking on the dark side of the moon - frigid, wilful in their grip on him with an undecipherable sapidity.

“What do you mean?” He shakes his head, eyes bouncing around as his brows pinch, creasing his forehead. His voice is detached and reticent, a masterpiece of regret and dolour. “I wouldn’t do such a thing, surely. Would I? Hells below. Did I?”

“You must have,” you conclude, wiping your tears with the back of your hand. “I don’t remember you doing it, but I can’t hear or remember it.”

Astarion jumps to his feet, nearly pitching you off his lap in haste, but he grabs you at the last minute, dragging you up with him. He pulls his trousers up but leaves them loose as he paces fitfully, muttering and mumbling to himself and wracking his fingers through his hair.

“I don’t understand,” he utters, half to himself and half to you. “I just do not understand. Why would I do such a thing? How long ago did I do this? What the fuck is wrong with me?”

It’s not your fault.

“I think it was before I…” you trail off, squeezing your eyes closed at the memory of Astarion stalking you through the Crimson Palace hallways like a predator, caustic venom spitting from his lips, every word eating away at your soul.

“Left me,” Astarion finishes with a note of despair, like a cold hand laid upon your bare soul. “You can say it.”

You nod sullenly, dropping your head, deject and wayward.

His emotions are flickering through your mind and body like a kaleidoscope of lightning strikes, each blinding flash incomprehensible in its intensity. You focus, but Astarion stops dead as you try to catch and hold them, and the connection is severed.

You are once again empty, a barren midnight sky that’s misplaced the stars and moon. Your eyes snap to Astarion, but the scarlet of his eyes looks hollow with madness as he regards you with the wariness of a wounded animal. He looks at you like he doesn’t know who you are, and it sends a wave of alarm coursing through you, causing your palms to heat.

He retrieves his shirt from the floor, always keeping a close eye on you as if you might pounce. He’s unreadable and cold, the iron countenance of the Vampire Ascendant shrouding him like an icebound veil. Without a word, Astarion darts out of your room, descending the stairs at a whirlwind pace that would be perilous for anyone who wasn’t so agile.

“Astarion?” In confusion, you chase after him without much thought, nearly tumbling down the stairs, and grab his arm. “Where are you going?”

He rips his arm out of your clutches with a bestial snarl. “Don’t touch me!”

“Just wait,” you plead with him, casting Misty Step and blocking his trajectory to the door. You can’t make heads or tails of this shift. “Please. Tell me what’s going on. Let me help.”

“You can’t help me.”

Astarion tries to get around you, but you won’t secede any ground and hold your position with foolish defiance. He grabs your arm, pivots, and thrusts you backward, throwing you to the floor. When you look up at him, those crimson eyes are starting to flick and fade like a star in the throes of death.

“Do not try and stop me again,” he growls, taking stalking steps toward you with a choler tinge in his voice. “Bad, pet.”

Astarion laughs, leans down, and grabs your ankle. He squeezes until the bones are wailing and threatening to break under duress. You whimper, beseeching cries for amnesty, trying to crawl away.

“Master, stop! Please.” You barely recognize the word as it jumps off your tongue in your agony. The haunting palette of bruising is immediately stained on the ghostly white canvas of your skin.

His grip is suddenly snapped away, and he springs back, grabbing his head with a pained groan, shaking it from side to side furiously as he roots himself in place. His breath falters as his eyes meet yours with a hysterical acidity as their claret shifts from deep and warm to shoal and dull as if covered by a thick layer of dust.

“Sorry,” he totters unsteadily on his feet, his lips parting with erratic breaths that make his chest jump aperiodically. His heart beats so hard in his chest that the sound is almost ear-splitting. “Hells. I’m so sorry. I— I— must go.”

Astarion does not even close the door in his urgency, and you’re left naked, clutching your ankle on the floor, staring into the street with your mouth agape. You cast Telekinesis to throw the door closed and limp around the manor, closing the heavy drapes to block the sun.

“Fuck!” You scream at the emptiness surrounding you as you pull yourself up the stairs on your lame ankle.

As you bathe, you allow your body to submerge into the spacious tub. You force yourself to forgo the useless impulse to breathe the air you no longer require and sink. The water’s surface contorts above you like an uneven mirror, twisting and warping reality. Everything is falling apart, and you feel like the sand of a beach being dragged away piece by piece with every crash of another wave upon the shore of your life.

Your heart would be beating recklessly in your chest if you hadn’t been alleviated of life. Colourful promises of love and breaths of forever in a realm of temporary fill your eyes with tears that seep into the water. Time stands still, and your doubt settles and masks your bravery. You’re one step closer to losing him entirely, but you must be fearless. Neither you nor Astarion can afford for you to fall.

Closing your eyes, you run headfirst into memories, searching your soul for all the places that feel like home.

The thudding of boots, the drip of rain that sneaks through the fissures in the bricks, the skittering and squeaking of vermin — everything echos off the stone in Moonrise. The fire throws foreboding, eerie shadows in slinking shapes across your tent that make you uneasy. No one wanted to camp here for the night, with the Absolute Cultists only floors below, but it had been a long journey through the Shadowlands, and the hungry shade had sapped everyone’s strength.

You flop restlessly on the furs in your tent, unable to trance. You had been counting the cultists inhabiting this wretched place as you made your rounds, trying to familiarize yourself with the layout. The omen of the arduous battle hangs over you, and you’re trying to devise some semblance of a plan to wipe them out in stages. You were never a very strategic planner. Typically, showing up and raining fire, violence, and death have worked for most of your life. Even with the help of the Harpers, one mistake could spell disaster.

Your ears twitch as you hear the rumbling murmurs bounce off the walls, and you’re out of your tent in a blink with fire ablaze in your palm, fearing the cultists have figured out that you don’t fit within their ranks. Taking a lap around, you take a quick headcount, checking your friends off one by one until you hear a soft, breathy whimpering.

Astarion…

Crouching by his tent, you whisper his name, but he does not answer. You recognize a nightmare when you hear one, and your hurt lurches in your chest, fingers hovering just over the door of his tent, but you don’t open it. Your proximity is usually enough to calm him without waking him, and this time seems no different. The trashing has stopped, and his muttering has ceased.

You sigh, relieved, and lay down at the door, curling up on the hard stone. You will rest here tonight if it means you can bring him even a scrap of peaceful rest.

“Darling,” Astarion purrs in a rugged timbre, heavy under the weight of drowsiness. “Whatever are you doing?”

You smile and flop over to peer into the hypnotic, heavily-lidded eyes. Astarion yawns, fangs peeking from his lips, and grins back at you.

“You were having a nightmare,” you whisper, making sure to keep your voice down so it doesn’t wake the others. “I didn’t mean to wake you. Go back to sleep. I’ll stay here tonight.”

“You were going to sleep out here on the stone?” He cocks his head, quirking a brow at you. “Why?”

“It seemed to comfort you,” you shrug.

"I meant, why would you sleep out here when there's a perfectly good bedroll in my tent with me?”

“Oh,” you say, sitting upright with a jolt. “That’s okay, Astarion. Really. I’m perfectly fine out here.”

“Get in here, weirdo," Astarion giggles, grabbing your arm and giving it a gentle tug.

You hesitate, but he tows you harder, and eventually, you relent and crawl into his tent. You sit in the corner, trying to make yourself small, wrapping your arms around your knees.

Astarion huffs exasperatedly, “You do realize that we’ve had sex, yes? You were hardly shy during our little late-night expeditions.”

“I’m not shy, not with you,” you giggle but avidly watch how Astarion’s jaw clenches, fingers tangling into the furs. “You’re hungry. I can see it. I can’t imagine it’s comfortable to be so close to a food source in a confined space.”

“I’ll admit, it’s not easy when you’re so very delicious with that lovely neck, begging to be tasted,” he grins, an artificial smile meant to put you at ease. Astarion notices that he cannot fool you, and his fingers rifle through his hair. “I’m fine. Truly. You’re not in any danger around me. I can control my hunger.”

“Danger? Oh, Gods! No, Astarion.” You shake your head at him, offering your hand, and he takes it. His thumb sways softly over the back, “I’m not afraid you’ll hurt me. I just don’t want you to be uncomfortable. When’s the last time you fed?”

“Oh, I don’t know, darling. There was that cultist I made a snack of a couple of days ago. You needn’t concern yourself with it. I’ve gone much, much longer without a meal.”

There’s a bleakness shading the sculpted angles of his face that makes your heart palpate with empathy. You don’t have to ask for confirmation. Cazador obviously starved him as some form of punishment. It makes your palms heat in reflex as you seethe. You don’t care what it takes. You are going to kill the motherfucker who dared torture this man that’s stolen your heart.

“Astarion, whenever you’re hungry, I’m happy to offer my neck. All you have to do is ask.”

“That’s very… sweet, but the very shadows of this place are hungry.” Astarion sighs, wrapping his arms around his waist to smother his hunger pains. He smiles, “As much as I would absolutely love to take you here and now, you need your strength. We have many battles ahead.”

“Don’t be dumb," you tut, moving your hair away from your neck. “I need you strong. I am capable of deciding this for myself. I don’t need you to do it for me.”

“Dumb? Darling! You wound me.” He theatrically scoffs, hand to his forehead, falling back as if you slapped him, with a shallow chuckle, “I have received many slights in my life - Insufferable, insolent, insignificant, but this might be the first time I have been accused of being dumb.”

“Well, they say there’s a first time for everything,” you smirk, levity uplifting the lilt of your baritone. “Consider this your first.”

“You are racking up quite the catalogue of firsts,” he chuckles, shaking his head, propping himself up on his elbows. “Are you sure? I am truly of sound mind. No one is in any danger.”

You crawl toward him, heart rate accelerating with every forward movement of your hands and knees, “Will you please shut up and bite me already? Before I berate you for believing I think you’re a danger.”

Astarion’s hand wraps around your arm, persuading you closer with pressure, but he does not so much as glance at your exposed neck. He’s fixed on your eyes as if he’s found heaven hidden within them.

“Then allow us to dine together,” he nods slowly, eyes still moored to yours as he sits upright, prompts you to turn, and holds your back steady against his chest. He kisses under your earlobe and hints his lips down the column of your neck until he settles on that rhythmically pumping vein. He kisses it, long and lingering, and groans, “Are you ready?”

“Yes,” you sigh, barely able to contain your body’s excitement as it trembles in his arms.

His fangs puncture your skin like icicles, impaling the soft flesh, but it ebbs and dulls to a paradisical strumming before your mind has time to react and withdraw. For a vampire that has not fed on thinking creatures much, he’s remarkably gentle and has only become more tender since you started these little meals. He draws from you in unhurried pulls, tallied and modulated as he listens, and his palm splays across your chest over your heart to determine its pace in case he does not hear it accurately.

You feel your ethos skimming through his veins, warming his skin, flushing the tips of his ears, an antidote to his pain. You sigh mellowly, and your fingers untwist from his trousers, going lax. His arousal hardens against your back as he removes his fangs from your neck, tongue lavishing at the residual weeping wounds with broad, flat strokes and moaning a chilled breath over the shell of your ear.

Astarion turns your head toward him, catching your lips in a blistering kiss tinged with the coppery piquancy of your blood. His hips buck into you with a growl, and his hand veers toward your aching clit. You stop him short, grabbing his hand with a shudder.

“What are you doing?” You breathe against the needy, silken embrace of his mouth.

“You’ve been ever so generous,” he purrs. “Allow me to repay your charity in a language I speak proficiently.”

“No,” you break away from the kiss and his arms. Your head swims, bloodless and faint. Your heart hammers, trying to pump the blood no longer within your veins. You sway on your knees, and Astarion supports you with a hand on your shoulder lest you faceplant, “This isn’t a tit-for-tat offer, Astarion. There is no repayment. I am just one friend assisting another. That’s all.”

“I— You don’t want me?”

His genuine confusion encases your heart in a boiling bubble of sorrow, “You know I do, but not like this. I don’t want you if it’s compensation for my blood.”

“I’m sorry. It’s the only thing I know,” he looks bashful. If you didn’t know better, you would say he’s blushing, but that must be the rush of your blood through his veins. “Would you at least rest with me tonight while you're woozy? I will hear if anything untoward happens in camp, and I can protect both of us if need be.” He puts his hands up innocently, “I will keep my hands to myself. You have my word.”

“Do you think--" you trail off, bringing your hand to your forehead that seems to beat in time with your angry heart and groan. “That is to say— Could we —“

“Good Gods, sweetheart,” he chuckles. “Spit it out already before you lose consciousness. I did not take that much.”

Your arms drop by your sides, and you giggle with him, suddenly lethargic, “Never mind. I’ll sleep over here.”

“Now, who is being positively dumb,” he scoffs, clicking his tongue at you. “If you want to cuddle, you have but to ask. You know I do rather like cuddling with you.”

“If you know what I want,” you huff, rolling your eyes. “Why are you making a spectacle out of me?!”

“Entertainment,” he shrugs, laughing carefree and alight with humour.

“You’re terrible,” you mutter.

“I know,” he smirks, lying back and extending his arms, twitching his fingers in the come-hither motion. “Come on, love. Let’s have a cuddle, shall we?” 

The bath water has turned cold by the time your eyes slide back open. You’re still lying at the bottom of the tub, in a watery grave like a sunken ship. How long have you been in here? Once your brain recognizes that you haven’t taken a breath in what could be hours, instinct takes over, and you propel yourself upright, coughing, sputtering, and gulping down the air furiously.

You scoff at yourself with antipathy. How long will it take for these responses to abate? When will your body just accept that you’re fucking dead?

Wrapping a plush towel around yourself, you listen for the comforting thud of Astarion’s heart but are only met with tomblike silence. It frightens you, making your stomach feel aflutter in your abdomen, reminding you of the Gur attack when you thought you lost him.

You slip into a long-sleeved, purple dress and tentatively peek outside. The velveteen embrace of twilight has cloaked the sky, but the cloud cover is thick, eclipsing the moonlight. You can smell the rain before the heavens have decided to cry. Reaching out to the bond, Astarion does not answer your call.

Fuck this.

You trot through the street, smelling the air. You wince with every step as the injury to your ankle smarts, but the bruising is already receding. It will not be long until it’s healed.

Unfortunately for you, the streets are still relatively busy, and your bloodlust is ever-present and a daunting task to control as you swerve and juke around people. Your mouth waters, and you shake your head like a wet dog to rid yourself of the smog that dampens and threatens to dwarf your self-restraint. The rain starts to drizzle, just as you predicted. The drops plane down your face, and you curse the skies because the scent of the rainfall on the dry stone of the street hampers your ability to detect much else.

You arrive at Wyrm's Crossing and follow the strong scent of blood outside a structure you are familiar with - the flophouse where Astarion's siblings were. The building is ominously dark and far too quiet. You sniff the air. It tastes almost bitter on your tongue, and it’s hard to focus on anything but the metallic richness, but you vaguely make out notes of rosemary and bergamot. You try to open the door, but it’s locked. Locks are hardly a challenge. You cast Knock and crack the door open. The fragrance of blood wafts so thickly in the air that you swear you almost see technicolour as you swoon.

It’s pitch-black inside, and your feet immediately come into contact with a stiff, cold mass on the floor, tripping you. Fire bursts to life in your palm, and mutilated bodies greet the illumination with milky eyes. Some have their intestines spilling out of their abdomens like gooey red ribbons. Others are missing the bottom of their jaw with their meaty tongues lolling out. These people were not just merely killed. They were brutalized, mutilated, and mauled.

A thick slick of congealing blood sloshes around your boots. It drips off the ceiling and down the walls like scarlet raindrops shed from dark skies, softly signifying sorrow's sharp sting. If your heart had not already hardened to macabre scenes like this, you imagine you would be sick. Instead, true to the monster you’ve become, it takes considerable effort not to drop to your knees and start lapping up the sanguine nectar like some thirsty mutt.

You are veritably shaking under the duress of temptation as you crawl over bodies to the one heartbeat that remains. Astarion sits at a table in an alcove in the back with a bottle of spirits clutched in his hand, several more littered around his feet on the floor. He stares abstractly at nothing, a million miles away, bleak and cold.

“Astarion…” you whisper, trying to get a decent look into his eyes.

“Darling?” His brows round when he looks at you, frowning and narrowing his glossy eyes. “You are afraid. Oh, no-no. Don’t be afraid. I didn’t mean to…” He’s confused, and it breaks your heart. “I killed them all, but I don’t remember. I am me now. I’m me - Astarion.”

“I know,” you purr, noticing that he seems to have to remind himself of who he is. “It’s okay.”

“Okay?” He scoffs, bringing the bottle to his lips and tilting his head back. He sways in his chair, causing it to creak, “This is about as far from okay as it gets. Did you not hear me? I killed them. I killed all of them.”

“I heard you,” you cradle his cheek and walk his gaze away from the body he seems fixed on. “We need to go home, Astarion. Before somebody finds us here.”

“Why?” He snaps, gesturing around with a satirical chuckle, “I will probably just kill them too. Or perhaps I will simply compel them to forget their names or their entire lives. Why stop there? How far do you think my power goes? Do you think I could compel them to forget how to breathe?”

“Astarion, please,” you slip the bottle from his fingers and crouch with your hand on his thigh. “Come with me.”

“I hurt you again today,” he sighs, staring at his empty hand with furrowed brows. “How do you sleep with me in the same residence? The same bed? How can you even stand to look at me? Gods. You must fucking hate me.”

“I don’t hate you,” you cannot help the tears pricking your eyes. He looks lost as his eyes roam aimlessly, climbing toward the ceiling. “I love you.”

“You love me… Do you regret it?” He whispers, curling his empty hand into a fist repeatedly as if he’s unsure if the hand he’s looking at belongs to him, “Helping me complete the Rite, allowing me to turn you, falling in love with me.”

“No,” your answer is immediate, and the uncompromising intonation surprises even you. “The only thing I regret is that we did not know enough about the Rite.”

“You’re lying,” he concludes, hollow, distant, and abject.

“Open the bond and check my truthfulness if you wish,” you retort. Your whole body shakes as you try to make sense of this broken man before you, “I wanted to be with you for eternity. Everything has a cost. I paid it willingly.”

“Do you know why I turned you?” He asks, face contorting with an anguish you did not believe you would ever see adorn his features again. The corners of his mouth are downturned, eyebrows dropping at the ends, “Do you know why I was so adamant that this was the only way our relationship could continue?”

“I don’t know, Astarion,” you sigh soft and sullen. “I don’t care. What’s done is done.”

“Tell me!” He snarls, slamming his fist into the table and cracking it down the middle, “Tell me why you think I did it! Tell me why you think I fucking killed you!”

You finally relent and sob openly. “Why do you do anything now, Astarion? You wanted to possess me, control me, own me, and make me your obedient puppet.”

“No, my love,” he heaves a tremulous sigh, shaking his head. His eyes are vacant and unseeing, blinking slowly. “Nothing so sinister as that. I was afraid. I was still fucking afraid. I knew you would age and die while I remained the same forever. You would leave me alone again, and I feared a world, a life, without you. I took your life and bound you to me for eternity for no other reason than selfishness, but I always was remarkably selfish. Wasn’t I?” Astarion gazes around at the grisly affair of his making, “Why can’t I remember? I am sick. Aren’t I?”

“We will save you,” you slip your finger under his chin like he’s done to you so often and direct his gaze to yours. Your eyes blister with resolve, and your voice bleeds the same, trying to fill him with strength, “But I need you to keep fighting, Astarion. You must not give up.”

“For you,” he murmurs as his eyes finally appear cognizant. Astarion slides out of his chair, descending to his knees before you like you made you do a lifetime ago, and wraps his arms around you. He presses his cheek against your stomach and whimpers, fingers curling into your clothes. “I will fight to my last, my love.”

Sunlight filters into the window, golden rays bathing the room as your eyes flutter open. You nuzzle against the silk pillowcase before your mind bombards you with memories of your skin loosening, dripping, cracking, and the agony that arrested even screams from your throat. You nearly leap off the bed in terror, but solid arms wrap around your waist, pulling your back against the strong muscles of a warm chest.

“It’s okay,” Astarion purrs, grappling with your trashing. He places a soft kiss on your shoulder. “I am here. The sun cannot harm you. I’ve got you, sweetheart.”

It takes your still hazy consciousness a moment to accept the promise of safety before you relax in his embrace with a sigh and roll over to face Astarion, looping your arms around him and burying your face in the crook of his neck. You can smell his blood pumping through his veins just below the surface of that pristine, silken skin, and your mouth waters. Your body urges you to bite, stomach knotting into cramps with the promise of that aromatic, richly decadent blood.

So close.

Before you know what you’re doing, your mouth is open, fangs hovering, and your body seizes. Astarion laughs genuinely, such a sparkling, airy rumble from his perfect lips as they pull into a smile against your cheek.

“Well, good morning to you, too.” He giggles, pushing you away, shaking his head with that playful glower, “Can’t get enough? I’m not surprised.” Astarion sinks his fangs into the fanning veins of his wrist and holds it out to you. “Remember, no biting and mind your teeth.”

You’re almost drooling at the oneiric vision of the weeping wounds. The scent of his blood is intoxicating - warm, full-bodied ferrous. The bright red drink of the Gods is a stark contrast to his pale skin, and it takes everything you have in you not to lunge for it. The offer of his blood is new and a little unsettling if you’re being honest.

“Go ahead,” his eyes dart to his dribbling wrist, brows furrowing at your hesitation. “This is no trick. Feed.”

He looks contrite, but there is a new tenderness in the way his eyes are fixed on you like you are shelter from the storm brewing behind his scarlet irises. You cannot handle it any longer. You take his wrist as gently as your fumbling fingers can possibly manage in your near frenzied bloodlust, bringing your lips to the wound. It tastes even better straight from his body, and your eyes roll back with a moan as you focus with a substantial amount of effort on drawing in slow, measured sips instead of trying to drain him dry in an instant.

“That’s enough,” Astarion instructs eventually, tugging his wrist just slightly. You could never get enough of this ambrosia on your tongue, descending into your stomach and making your nerves combust with delight. Your grip tightens on his wrist, and you growl at him, low and throaty.

“Hells,” Astarion groans pleasurably, eyes rolling back. His body trembles with excitement and pleasure. He enjoys this as much as you. He shakes his arm roughly and commands a little more harshly this time. “Love. I said that’s enough. Don’t be a greedy thing now.”

It’s enough to crack the haze that’s fallen over your mind, and you throw yourself from back, detaching from his wrist with panicked breaths. You’re sure when you look at him again, you will be staring at the embodiment of Mephistopheles psychosis, “I’m sorry, Astarion. I’m sorry.”

“Hey-hey,” Astarion coos deeply, like a warm auditory hug on a cold winter’s night. “It’s alright. I’m not angry.”

“You’re not?” You cannot help the stain of surprise that blooms in your voice.

“No, love,” he chuckles, his fingers pressing into your waist, encouraging you to cuddle, and you curl up against his side. He sweeps his thumb across your lower lip, gathering the blood smeared on it and pops it into his mouth with a sly grin. “I was a young vampire too, once upon a century, and I was certainly over-enthusiastic with my consumption of you the first time. It takes time. I can help you with it. We can practice like this.”

Your brows furrow, creasing as you try to think through the residual film of mist. This man is entirely too perplexing. It feels like you’re always trying to run from him, convincing yourself that everything is a trick, that you must be on guard at all times so you don’t get close, but is this just a way for you to hide from what you fear most of all - that you will be unable to save him, and you will lose him all over again.

There’s just no fucking time for this anymore. There is no more time to lose.

Astarion directs your gaze to him, “What’s going on in that beautiful mind?”

“Do you remember what you said last night?”

Astarion’s brows round, and the corners of his eyes crinkle, “Yes.”

“Was any of it real?” You murmur, pushing yourself upright so you can look at him. You request the bond, and Astarion and you unite, transcending time and space, melding together. It takes you a moment to gather yourself, “Or were you just drunk?”

“I meant every word.” Astarion turns suddenly serious, sitting and sagging against the headboard, “I wish to speak to you about something.”

“Are you okay?”

“I am fine.” He combs his fingers through his hair, “You called me Master. I do not wish you to call me that - think of me in those terms. Is that how you see me? As your… ugh,” he casts his eyes to the ceiling, “Master ?”

“No,” you snap, but it’s a lie, and you know it, which means he knows it through the union. You backpedal, “Yes. It is what you are, Astarion. Whether you or I like it, I am your spawn, and you are my master. This is just reality. It will do us no good to pretend that the dynamic of our relationship is different.”

Disappointment slashes across the bond like a blade cutting into your heart. It’s so strong that it physically aches in your chest, and you splay your hand across it and whimper.

Astarion shakes his head, eyes downcast, “I do not want to be your master, little love. I never did. I did not make you a regular spawn.”

“I’m not sure I follow, Astarion. What do you mean you didn’t make me a regular spawn? What other kind of spawn is there?”

Astarion squeezes his eyes shut momentarily, taking a deep breath, the muscles in his jaw twitching. He leans, opens a drawer and produces a book that looks ancient. Its cover is dulled by timeless centuries, and its spine is broken with loose pages precariously tucked in. His fingers tap the book, staring at it as if he dreads what he’s about to do.

He gives you a skeptical sideways look and passes you the book, “Page 152.”

Opening the book, you flip through the musty, yellowed pages until you reach page 152, titled “The Dark Kiss.” You scan the page, reading it once, twice, three times while Astarion stares at you with an unreadable expression. You can feel him in your head, looking through your eyes, thrusting into the folds of your mind, penetrating the softness of your soul, caressing your most intimate thoughts.

There’s trepidation in him. Your soul practically quivers under the weight of his unease. He is afraid of your reaction, and the entity within him is stoking those glowing embers of worry with its babbling breaths of affirmations, trying to ignite an inferno of fear that will melt through the shackles of his control.

“You need to explain this to me, Astarion,” you gawk at him, swallowing thickly as the information slowly sinks in. You’re unsure if the nervousness making your stomach warp is truly yours or his.

“I made you my bride – consort,” he does not look at you when he speaks. His eyes stare blankly at his twitching fingers. “How many times did I bite you that night?”

“Uh,” you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to recall the memory fogged over from blood loss, “Three. Once when we had sex, once on my wrist, and then my neck.”

Astarion nods, “I don’t remember much from that night, high as I was on the power of 7000 souls, but I do recall my intent. I bit you three times, as described in the book you’re holding, and then gave you my own blood. I told you this bond was unique to you and me because it’s only shared with a bride.”

“I’m sorry.” You rack your fingers through your hair, tousling it into an incomprehensible mess to match your whirling, tangled thoughts, “Are you trying to tell me that we are - what? Vampire married?”

Astarion smirks at the bewilderment adorning your face but looks bashful, “I suppose that’s an accurate description, yes.”

“And you declined to tell me this until now because?”

“Honestly?” Astarion’s eyes drift once again to the ceiling, “I meant to. I had every intention of telling you the truth, and then... I enjoyed the power, the superiority I had over you. I saw fear in your eyes when you looked at me, and I liked it. I liked you believing you were nothing. I wanted to revel in it. It fed the sickness within, and then I was... lost for a while.”

“What does this mean for me exactly?” It takes incredible effort to keep the rising panic from your voice.

Astarion’s eyes widen as your whirlwind of terror is added to the mixture of emotions between you, “It means you’re not quite a spawn, not quite a True Vampire, but as close as one could get while still being bound to me and under my control should I choose to exert it over you. I believe it can be reversed, should you wish it so. I’d have to do a little research--”

“No!” you blurt out in a yelping retort that makes Astarion flinch. He assumes your anxiety is due to being bound to him in such a way, you realize. The truth of it is your panic is a shadow looming over the increasingly dire odds of everything you stand to lose.

A friend. A lover. A partner. A... husband?

You smirk at the notion, pushing away that worry - you have time to worry later. Right now, you want to enjoy this. It’s the closest you have gotten to Astarion telling you he loves you. Perhaps, the closest you will ever get, and some sad speck of your soul laps at that wound and dabs it with this new information as if it might cure the incurable.

“Well,” you shift into his lap, leaning into the asylum he’s promising you through the bond, “I’m definitely going to start calling you husband now. I hope you’re prepared for that.”

“HA!” Astarion giggles, shaking his head with an endearingly lop-sided grin. His unkempt silver curls fall and bounce carelessly, “But of course. I can deny you nothing, wife. I wish to try and undo what he,” he corrects himself. “…I did - your name. I might be able to reverse it, but I’m not entirely sure how. You need to trust me, and I can feel you do not.”

You’re a little bemused that there is something Astarion doesn’t know how to do, and you grin at him, your fangs peeking out of your lips.

“Good Gods,” he rolls his eyes at you with a heartwarming smirk. “I am all-powerful, not all-knowing. Compelling is instinctive. Releasing it is another story entirely.”

You want to trust him. Gods above, you long to trust him like you used to, but how can you, given what you know? You wrench on the tide of the bond, causing it to spill and break over you as ocean waves crash upon boulders that dare protrude from its surface. You scour the chords of the harmony, picking them apart note by note, feeling for any sign of manipulation, deceit, or ill intent. Astarion flinches, squeezing his eyes shut with a wheeze, but he does not attempt to stop your search. You find nothing, but then again, he is the Vampire Ascendant. If he wants to hide something from you, he will.

If you want to get your name back, you have little choice.

“Do it,” you confirm.

“Look into my eyes,” Astarion purrs in a deep baritone. “Remember, I don’t know exactly what I’m doing.”

Bringing your eyes to his, the crimson in his eyes sparks alive, like little matches aglow in the red sea, and you have never seen sparks quite so beautiful.

The sensation starts mellow, like the flow of a calm spring, as it trickles through your mind. It feels like liquid fingers whispering against your psyche. The sensation makes your skin prickle, and goosebumps erupt all over. You want to shudder, but your body cannot move. Tributaries branch off and stream until your whole brain feels like it is being grasped by a hand.

And that’s where the pain begins in a sudden influx, a steely, jarring stab, and it feels like his fingers are in your brain, parting every crimp, crease, bend and wrinkle like you are a tome to be read. You’re unsure how long you can take this as he picks your mind apart, looking for whatever compulsion does. You manage to let out a whine, and his eyes flick.

“I know it hurts,” he soothes. “Just a little more, I think. Can you hold on?”

You can only whimper your response. You’re not sure if it sounds like a no or a yes. He continues his dismantling forage, ferreting around in your mind. Suddenly, something changes. All those tributaries and calm, flowing springs snap into one spot, and white-hot pain blooms in your eyesight, blinding you. You’re positive he’s cutting a piece of brain matter right out of your skull. You want to writhe, to scream, to beg him to stop, but you cannot.

You wonder if you might pass out, and then you hope you pass out as the pain becomes more than you can bear. Sharp, like a red-hot blade, has punctured your skull, pierced your brain, and is now broiling against your grey matter. Your vision starts to tunnel, black borders encroaching, blurring everything but the glow from Astarion’s eyes.

Just as you think you're going to lose consciousness, a knot untangles, an invisible barrier crumples, and the bondage on your body eases.

“Hey,” Astarion jostles you, fingers brushing sweaty strands of hair behind your ear. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you breathe shakily. “It’s fine. Did it work?”

“I think so?” Astarion rubs the back of his head. “There’s only one way to know for sure. Do you remember your name?”

You think hard, trying to pull it from the deepest recesses of your memories, but you can’t remember it. “No.” You sigh, “Can you say it to me?”

“Illyria?” 

Big thank you for everyone who takes the time to read/reblog/comment, and all the other magnificent things. As always, please enjoy ☺️

AO3 [Crossposted]

Master List of Chapters: Fangs and Fractured Hearts

If you're interested I write another fic with Spawn Astarion x Tav called - Shadows of the Past

Small Notes:

Yay! Tav can hear her name, but does she actually remember it?

I'm leaning into the "Dark Kiss" bride/consort theory because why not?

[bipp-bopp-time-to-stop]

Kaleidoscope

I finally got Four's spotlight fic done. To be honest, he's one of the harder characters for me to write given that I just don't know much about him (game wise) and that handling the Colors can sometimes be rather complex. Still, I did my best to portray our favorite littlest man of the Chain. I hope you all enjoy!

TW: Yandere themes, Neglect, Mental Breakdown (Four), Talk of/ descriptions of blood and gore, Use of brightly colored text, All is Not Okay in Fourville

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It was secret to none that Four was picky and rather strict when it came to handling weapons and armor. While the usual victim of his scolding was Wild and his reckless use of his equipment, he wasn’t afraid to chew out anyone else. Plus, he wanted to make sure for himself that the tools and weapons at the group’s disposal were in tip-top shape. Besides, daily maintenance was something he could do blindfolded.

So, when Time came over to poke around at what he had in his bags, Four was instinctually on edge. He knew well that Time wouldn’t abuse the weapons he had stored away, but he knew the purpose for his perusal.

“Do you have anything blunt? Like a mace or hammer? Warhammer, even? Anything that’s a spare will do, honestly…” Time finally questions as he looks the little smithy in the eye. Four lifts the sword he had been sharpening off of the grindstone before him and puts it to the side to show Time that he’s listening and thinking. After tapping on his chin for a bit, Four slowly nods.

“I have a mace and a warhammer. Both need some fixing up, though. So our… newest arrival will have to wait a few days before they can be armed,” Four answers. His eyes flicker over to the other side of the camp where you, along with a few others, were “training”. Wars and Sky were trying to take it more seriously; one was beside you to help adjust your… everything, really, and the other was your sparring partner. The rest that were huddled around were smiling and laughing at just how clunky you were with a sword in hand. It seemed like you were out to prove that people could have two left hands rather than feet.

“Whatever you can get will work. They may not have finesse, but they do have an arm. I suppose they’ll just have to loot weapons from monsters for the moment. Or see if they can get Wild to fess up any bokoblin clubs,” Time tutted while also watching the scene. Four nodded and hummed in agreement before swifty going back to what he had been doing. Time left to go supervise the rest to make sure no one was getting too rowdy and Four was now left by himself. Well, selves.

“I don’t trust them as far as I can throw them! And with how big they are, I couldn’t do it far!”

“I can’t really tell what to make of them. Everything they’ve told us about who and what they are seems genuine…”

“Let’s not put much faith in them at the moment. They’re no Hero of Courage, they barely know how to protect themselves, and their whole presence here is accidental. They’ll undoubtedly either split from the group, find their own way back home, or die.”

“Do we have to be so harsh on them? Even in the face of our judgements, they’ve still been kind and understanding!”

Safe to say that Four was, and would easily remain, uncertain of your presence. Experience told him that the nicest faces and friendliest smiles could still put a knife in your back. A part of him- a very small part, he had to emphasize, wanted to believe that you were truly genuine. Whether or not you were or were just putting on a convincing act, Four was ready to respond how he deemed just.

“Hey! Uh, Four, right? Time said that you may have some weapons for me to use?” You spoke up as you approached the little smithy. He was perplexed as to why Time had sent you over when Four had just told him the weapons wouldn’t be ready at the moment. Given how the oldest member was currently talking with the rest of the group about something he couldn’t make out, Four surmised that it was his turn to watch you.

“Give me a moment to get them. They aren’t in the best shape right now, but you can at least give them a few test swings,” Four finally responded. He got up to go dig through his supply of spare weapons to find the aforementioned mace and warhammer. They weren’t hard to find as their state was an absolute eye sore. The metal heads of the weapons were rusted over and the leather strapping on the mace’s handle was coming undone. There were some noticeable splinters along the wooden body of the warhammer- to the point he may have to ask Sky in helping him create a new one. Their sorry states were enough to embarrass Four. Spare weapons or not, this was unacceptable!

“Oh, uhm… I can come back for them later. I don’t want to break them,” You mutter and give Four a sheepish smile. It only makes the deepening blush of embarrassment on his face worse.

“You can give them a few swings, at least,” Four allows although he knows well it’s not a good idea. It’s clear that you know it too due to your hesitance, but you don’t let it stop you from picking up the warhammer first. Due to its splintering body, its impossible to wield it properly without gloves to protect your hands. As such, you only get a few swings out of it before it slips from your grip and lands on the ground with a thud.

“Okay, uhm… sorry…” You mumble before picking up the mace to try instead. Whereas it may have been a sizeable mace in the hands of a Hylian, it seemed far more normal sized in your hands. Based on your nearly white knuckles as you gripped the mace, you didn’t plan on letting it slip from your grip this time. Four still made sure to give you your room.

As you swung around the mace, it was clear to Four that Time hadn’t lied about your arm. Even if you said you had lived a rather quiet and mundane life beforehand, it was obvious your human genetics were on your side. With enough training, Four could see you trading blows between a Gerudo or a Goron.

With a cry, pop, and then another thunk, the head of the mace was on the ground. The spiked ball of metal had luckily landed far from anything delicate. Before Four could say or do anything, you nearly thrusted the mace’s handle into his hands before taking off. In your eyes, you had just broken two weapons in the span of a minute and most likely thought that Four was angry with you- livid, even. Four was upset, yes, but far more at himself for his neglect than anything else.

Thus, Four began to get both weapons back into tip-top shape over the course of the next few days. Despite their sorry state, it wasn’t like he was having to forge a new weapon. The metal just needed some polish and refining, the wooden rods of the body needed to either be resanded or replaced, and the leather wrapping of the handles needed to be redone. With skilled hands, and some help, the mace and warhammer were nearly as good as new before the week was over with.

When you had been given the weapons, you didn’t act how Four expected you to. Typically, when someone was given a new weapon, it had about the same effect as getting a new tool. That’s really what weapons were- tools.

But you acted like a child finally getting the toy they’ve been wanting for ages. You smiled and laughed as you swung around the fresh steel like it weighed nothing. Your joy was infectious as a few others helped set up makeshift targets for you to smash or even tried their hand at sparring with you now armed with a weapon you could handle. It was a refreshing sight to see- to know he had made someone so happy.

It was that night, Four believed, that everything changed for him.

He didn’t notice it at first. He had begun to have your two weapons fixed up first before anything else. He had excused it as being efficient as you had nothing else in your arsenal besides the two weapons. Plus, they regularly received a heavy beating and Four needed to make sure that they weren’t about to break in the middle of battle.

As you began to handle battle and training better and better, Four began to think more and more about getting you a better mace. It was your preferred choice of weapon as having a free hand in battle was useful. Rather than a replacement, maybe he could get you a different style of mace instead? Maybe see how you’d handle a ball and chain?

It was when Four got a good look at your hands one night did his plans change.

You sought him out to pick up your weapons and then be on your way. Illuminated by candlelight did Four see how quickly your skin had calloused and scarred. They were the hands of a fighter, sure, but they’d quickly grow pained and stiff if they weren’t taken care of. Something Warriors and Hyrule were likely already chiding you for, but Four knew of something that could help out. Something that only he could provide as far as he was concerned. Not like he’d let you be serviced by any other blacksmith or get near that sleazy merchant friend of Legend for equipment.

Thus, Four began to work on a fresh set of armor. It had originally started out as nothing more than brainstorming up a pair of gauntlets, but it’d be wrong not to have the whole set.

While most of the boys preferred leather armor with a layer of chainmail beneath it, Four felt like something more robust was in order. You were big and strong without a doubt, yes. While you easily outclassed any typical Hylian in that regard, you weren’t as nimble on your feet as it took time for you to accelerate into a full sprint or scale a ledge. Leather or chainmail didn’t fit you in the eyes of Four’s mind, but full plate certainly did. Why worry about having to dodge if the enemy couldn’t even get past your armor, after all.

He knew it would be a momentous task to fulfill given that he didn’t have access to a ready forge every day. Still, Four was determined. “If there’s a will, there’s a way” the saying goes. And oh does Four find himself willing when it comes to you.

His hands wouldn’t stop shaking when it was finally time to start the measurements. For days and nights on end did he brainstorm your armor. From its design to how it’d be forged, it all had to be perfect. He was too young and too early on in his craft to already be creating a magnum opus but dammit he would just for you only ever for you.

Measuring the dimensions of your hands was the only easy part of this for Four. Even though hands were a complex shape to work with, that wasn’t exactly the part that had Four jittery. No, Four had to brace himself for touching you anywhere else. The arms were fine as well and the shoulders… sort of were. But… then he got to your neck and he really tried not to stare at the way your throat bobbed up and down as you swallowed or how his eyes followed the tiniest drop of sweat as it ran down your skin and along the line of your collar bone. The skin was mostly untouched and unblemished so what would it look like if it was littered with kisses and love bites and licks and-

Four shakes his head and you give him a raised brow but say nothing. He moves past your neck and his hands are quick as lighting to get your chest done and over with. Then it was time to deal with your abdomen and he couldn’t help but let his hands linger there for a bit. It’d be a crime not to, really- you’ve done well to hone in your build and the effort shows. The lines of the abs are gentle and subtle thanks to the soft plush of fat Wild is keen on you keeping. Four can recall many nights where he used the expanse of your midsection as a pillow. When you were dead asleep and he couldn’t get a wink, kneading the flesh beneath his hands was a welcome sleep aid. There were also night when he wondered how the flesh would twitch as hands ran down them or even jiggle like it did in his fantasies where he-

Four nearly has to slap a hand across his face to shut Vio up. He plays it off the best he can by carding a hand through his hair. He hunches over a little bit to get a better angle of your lower body since you were kind enough to sit down for him. He got the measuring tape ready and began to take in the size of you thighs and he really, really had to not focus on the fact that his hands were all over your thighs. He can’t blame anyone but himself for this torture as he told you he needed you to strip to your undergarments to get an accurate measurement. He’s just doing his job, nothing more! A-And if he happens to squeeze your thigh here and there its not like he means to! And he really, really has to not think about what the sheer strength they contained would do to, say, a hydromelon or a pumpkin or maybe… someone’s head. Or… or how they would clamp down on his head like a vice if he were to-

“Uh, Four? You okay bud?” You call out. Four startles and looks up at you with wide eyes. Your expression has gone from perplexed to concerned and you were even reaching your hand out to the little man to ground him. Four gulps and winces at how dry his throat was but he didn’t feel like going off to get a drink of water not like he needed to when one was right in front of him.

“F-Fine. I’m… I’m fine,” Four lies through his teeth. It was the most obvious lie he feels like he’s ever told, but you don’t press him on it. You let him continue on and he is fine. He’s fine finishing up the measurements on your thighs and he’s fine with finishing up your calves. And he is fine when he get to your feet. He is perfectly fine- the epitome of fine-ness. So what if your feet are too? It’s not like he’s some weirdo, you just have nice feet! But not like that, you- you crazy! They’re strong and have carried you well in life! Did he mention that they’re strong- like, really strong? Strong enough that he’s watched them, even clad in nothing more than leather boots, stomp in the head of a bokoblin. O-Or that one time that you managed to subdue a group of bandits with a few of his sword brothers and forced their leader to kneel by planting the heel of your foot between their shoulders. Goddesses, he has to admit that that was one of the hottest things he’s ever witness- especially with how you berated the pigs like dirt beneath your boot, which they were. He can’t recall a time in his life where he’s been so simultaneously surprised, spooked, and horn-

“And done! Y-You’re free to go and get dressed and I’ll go do what I need to do!” Four announced as he stood straight up like an arrow. The action startles you and raises your brows to your hairline, but Four is gone and out of sight before you can even open your mouth. Rather than thinking about the smith’s strange actions, it’d be easier on the mind to just go about your business as planned.

The days pass by but with a distinct lack of Four. Not that he was missing from the group, but it was clear he had chose to distance himself. It was worrisome at first but when he threatened to cave in Wild’s skull should he try to tear him away from his work again, it was decided that he sooner needed his space more than anything.

Crafting your armor was something that quickly consumed Four’s mind. He had to get it done as soon as possible but he couldn’t let it be a botch job. If it was a botch job, you wouldn’t like it. If it was a botch job, it could sooner harm you more than help. If it was a botch job, then Four might as well be handing the others a golden opportunity to woo you.

Yet his absence also meant that they had more time with you than he did. It ate him up inside to see others always next to you or doing something he could easily do for you. Were it not for Vio and Green’s combined patience, then he’s sure he would have gone ballistic by day three.

Slow and steady wins the race. When the armor would finally be finished, he’d be there for every buckle you fastened and every strap you adjusted. He’d be there for the first steps you took while covered in steel and for every battle from then forward. No matter how many scratches or dings the armor may get in it, it’d be top priority above anything else to get it fixed back up.

His brothers could tire themselves out and make his life a lot easier when it was time for him to shine. He would sit by and let the lot of them buzz around you like fruit flies to honey. If he presented himself as lesser competition, then they’d sooner focus on one-upping each other even more. He could observe their tactics and strategies at a distance while he kept his cards to himself. And when it would be time for him to strike, he’d tear through the competition like it was nothing.

He didn’t mind, let alone care, about how he had to get resources. If he had to buy his metals from merchants and haggle about the price for an hour, so be it. If he had to venture out into the wilderness to source his own ore or hide, he’d do it. Even if he had to steal or pull what he needed from the bodies of his slain enemies, he didn’t care. If it all resulted in him getting your armor finished and receiving your love and praise sooner, he’d do it all.

Despite now constantly working himself to the bone, he still needed breaks- and to treat himself whenever he made good progress for the day. Nowadays, you were rarely allowed to do night shifts in guarding the camp. Four would watch you like a hawk as you slowly sunk deeper and deeper into sleep. When he was sure you were fast asleep and whoever was on shift wasn’t looking, he’d shrink himself down, down, down until he was the same size of a Minish. He’d scurry over to you and carefully scale your sleeping body until he was sat on your chest. He’d put his ear to your sternum and listen to the steady and solid beat of your heart. And, if he was feeling a bit cheeky or had to hide or maybe just cold, he didn’t mind crawling beneath your shirt for the night.

The days led to weeks and then the weeks to nearly two months. Two months, Four had toiled away on this armor as if his life depended on it. It may not have, but his future and happily ever after did. Were it not for the endeavors of you and his brothers, he’d have worked himself to the pits of neglect and more. Still, it wasn’t a far off statement to say that he’d seen better days.

But that didn’t matter right now! Finally, finally, his work was finished. Every buckle and strap of the armor was secure and every plate was as polished as a mirror. It was practical and protective but it didn’t lack in any ornate fashion either. Truthfully, the set sooner looked like it had been forged by a royal blacksmith. Now, he just had to present it to you!

“Hmm? Ah, Four! There… you are? Four, bud, what’s in your hands- are you okay?” You questioned as the smithy stumbled walked over. His usually straight golden bob of hair was messy and tangled with soot. His face bore a shaky and unsteady smile like he was ready to either crash right then and there which he was or go mental that too. Your obvious concern over him was something Four may have relished earlier, but it wasn’t important in light of his accomplishment.

“Look! I… I got yyyyyyyyooooourrr armor finishhhed,” Four slurred. His tongue felt like cotton in his mouth and his arms were as steady as gelatin as he presented you the cuirass of your armor. You snatch the armor away from him and Four’s elation only lasts a moment when he sees just how upset you were. You… you didn’t like it?

“Four, buddy, look at you! By the goddesses- I knew you were overexerting yourself for the past few days but I didn’t think it was like this! Y-You’re filthy! Gods, when was the last time you ate something more than fruit or nuts?!” You fretted as you began to check over Four. Your worries were but static in his ears as Four focused on the now discarded cuirass. It laid on the ground like trash. Was that what you thought of his work? Trash? Was that what you thought of him?

“You… don’t… like… it?” Four whispers out as his eyes remain laser focused on the armor piece. The ever twisting and bright colors of his eyes were dull and stagnant. You groan- growl, even- and pinch the bridge of your nose.

“The armor is cool and all Four, but I could care less about it right now. Look at you- look at the state you’re in! I need to get you to help fast,” You whine. Your tone was dismissive and your words were so choppy when referring to the armor. Golden Three, you… you really didn’t like the armor. You must hate it! You must hate him!

“Why… what… am I doing wrong?” Four sobs out as he falls to his knees. He crumbles like a wet paper towel and is little more than a sobbing, snotty mess on the ground in seconds. “What am I doing wrong?!”

“Whoa-kay there, Four. L-Let’s calm down, okay? You’re not feeling well right now and it’s making you feel sick and bad about yourself,” You hush and reach out to soothe him. He grabs your hands with a bone-crushing grip you think not even Twilight was capable of as Four looked up at you. It was a look you’ve never seen before- and a look you’d never want to see again. It was pained, crazed, violent, and insane. His eyes threatened to bulge from his head as his lips formed a dangerous smile- like a snarling animal.

“Tell me- TELL ME! WHAT AM I DOING WRONG?!” Four demands. It’s scary to see him so out of control. You expected to see his eyes alight with blue but every color in them was perfectly proportioned. This cry for an answer was from all of him.

“Four, that’s enough! You’re starting to scare me,” You admit as you try to break free from him without hurting him.

“Scared? You, scared? You’re not the one scared, I am! I put blood, sweat, and tears into your armor and you throw it to the ground! Two months of painstaking work- work that bled into every ounce of my time is just… chucked aside!” Four yells and doesn’t let up.

“Four, please-”

“Is it not the style you wanted? Did you want it embellished with gold? Embedded with jewels?! Tell me, dammit, tell me!”

“Will you shut up about the armor?!” You finally scream back. Being gentle wasn’t working, so the only choice in the panic of the moment was to yell right back at him. “It’s not the armor I’m angry about, Four. It’s you.”

“Me…? I’m… I’m the problem?” Four mutters out as he seems to loose all the color in his skin. You grimace and realize the very poor choice of words that had just left your mouth.”

“Shit- Four, I don’t mean it like that. I’m angry with you, yes, but it’s not about you! It’s about your actions and-”

“I’m… the problem. I’m the problem. You hate… me. You hate me. You hate me!”

“No, Four, I don’t-”

“What do I need to change?!” Four howls as he throws himself at you. He latches on like some sort of stubborn parasite. He’s practically yelling in your ear as he hounds you for answers. “Well?! TELL ME! Do you not want to be seen with a blacksmith?! I-I can change careers! It’s not too late to learn something like carpentry or-or tailoring. Hell, I can learn those skills from Sky and Legend! Please, tell me what you want me to be! I’ll do it- I’ll do it all! I can prove that I’m better! I am better! Whatever it takes for you to love me and be with me, I will do it!”

“Four, are you even listening to yourself?!”

“I hear myself loud and clear, (Name)! Loud and clear! Maybe it’s all this time we’ve spent apart- yes, that’s it! I’ve barely been around you for two months while my brothers practically did everything they could to be by your side! You haven’t had time to know me, but I can fix that! I can make up for all of that lost time in so many ways! I can take you to where I grew up, I can take you to meet my grandfather- I can even have you properly meet the Minish! That sounds like a good first date, right?!”

“Fucking hell, what the fuck? I can’t do this-”

“Not into classical romance? That’s fine- perfectly okay, in fact! I’m nothing but charged nerves right now, so why don’t we go off and just kill some things?! Monsters or bandits, it doesn’t matter! Watching them fall to our blades, cowering at the sight of our blood soaked figures- it’ll be great! Plus you look absolutely amazing when you’re caving someone’s skull in, have I ever told you that? Your focus, your intensity, and your strength? Goddesses, even I can’t help but wonder what it’d be like to be turned into muck and mush by you!”

“TIME! TWILIGHT! WARS! FUCKING ANYBODY!-”

“NO! NO! You DO NOT call out to them! You just need me- you’ll only ever need me! I can do so many things that they can’t- I’ll prove it! I’ll spend every waking moment of the rest of my life to prove it, (Name)! I cannot be without you and I’ll prove that you cannot be without me! I love you, (Name). Heart, body, and soul- I love you. Just say it back, (Name). Say that you love me- say it! Tell me that you cannot live without me! Show to me that under all of your walls and layers that you are just as depraved as me and everyone else! Say it! SAY IT!”

THUNK!

Four’s body sags down before flopping over onto his side. In his fleeting vision, he can see your eyes ablaze with nothing short of raw terror. Tears he hadn’t noticed before streamed down your cheeks as your body shook like a leaf in the wind. Four barely caught the sight of large arms reaching for you before he finally blacked out.

~~~

When Four came to, he half expected to either be a specter floating above his corpse or waking up in his bed to find that everything had just been a dream. What he didn’t expect, though, was to find himself being slowly cascaded in water. In fact, most of his body was submerged in bubbly water that was pleasantly warm. Fatigue still hung heavy in Four’s bones and the relaxing water to the pleasant smell of sage and lavender in the air made it tempting to fall back asleep.

“Don’t you even think about falling asleep on me, mister. Not after what you did,” a voice croaks out from beside him. It takes Four a moment to register that it’s you and gosh do you look like you’ve been through Hell. No offense, but it was one of the worser states the young man had seen you in.

Four’s head aches and throbs as the mother of all headaches grapples him. He whines- it’s all he feels he has the strength to do. You don’t bother to massage his temples as you’re still busy washing his body. He’d derive pleasure from the action were it not for the terrible headache and the looming sense of unease in the room.

It was clear to Four that he had done something. He vaguely remembered confronting you about… something. The most vivid part of the memory was the agony and fear etched into your face before the blurry memory ended. Regardless of what happened, he knew he was going to get chewed a new one by every one of his brothers when they got the chance.

“I’m.. not mad about the armor. It’s a beautiful set, really,” you mutter and Four’s gaze flickers over to you in surprise. The armor? What about the armor? Oh, that’s right! He finished it! He must have given it to you then but it sounds like something went wrong.

“Then… what are… you mad at?” Four whispered out. Gods, his throat hurt like hell too! Did you and him get into some sort of argument? Maybe? He couldn’t recall but it felt more complex than that. Anger wasn’t the only emotion that seemed to be brewing within you. Disappointment? Concern, as well? Maybe even sadness?

“I’m mad at how you’ve been treating yourself, Link. You had basically become slave to your craft while you forged that armor! It was scary, Link- really scary. I’ve… I’ver never seen you go ballistic like that- I didn’t know you were even capable of it! Once I know you’re cleaned up and rested up, I’m having Hyrule and Wars check you out. And don’t think I’m gonna let you be unsupervised any time soon! Even if I have to be the one with you 24/7, I’ll do it!” You hiss. Your eyes light up with more than just anger or disappointment- dedication and a sense of duty are evident within you. It’s a beautiful look, if Four could be so bold. Not only that, but you’re referring to him by name! Progress!

“Oh… okay. I’m… sorry… for what I… did…” Four apologizes.

“No, it’s… don’t worry about it, okay? Your lack of sleep and food had clearly pushed you off the deep end. You just ended up snapping and I know that the neglect you’ve been through just made it worse. Not to mention what it must have been like with the addition of the Colors,” You sigh. Despite your dismissal, things were not okay. Four had said and done things that had upset you and certainly hurt you in come capacity. He wanted to apologize again but you had dropped the topic and clearly wished to no longer discuss it.

The bath continued on in silence as Four soaked in the moment. Even with the pain and exhaustion hounding his body from overworking himself, it felt worth it in the moment. You were so attentive and tender as you helped him. Even after he was out of the tub, you assisted in drying him off and basically swaddling him like a babe in towels. You even pulled out fancy creams or pastes Four hadn’t seen before. Beauty products, he had to guess, that were most likely given to you by Wars. Four let himself be pampered as its what he deserved. This moment, along with likely future pampering, was his reward for what he went through. Although he wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Four was curious as to how far he could stretch this pampering and affection. Hyrule and Wars would undoubtedly tell him to rest for some time which could then easily be turned into time with you.

“Hmm… (Name)?” Four piped up as you searched through Four’s belongings to find him any clean clothes to wear.

“Yeah?” You respond and look up at the man. No matter how quietly he said anything or did anything, you’d perk up at full attention towards him. It made him feel special- to so easily have your attention.

“Can… I sleep with you for awhile? Until I’m better?” Four asks as he tries to make his tone as innocent as possible. Excitement was gnawing at his bones and trying to push through his exhaustion. He couldn’t let it show- not yet. He’s finally secured his way into your arms and he can’t blow it.

“Uhm… sure, I don’t see why not. If it’ll help you sleep easier,” You agree and Four is only a little miffed by the statement. It sooner sounds like you’re fulfilling his request just to make him feel better- not to spend more time with him. Oh well- at the very least, it’s a starting point. All relationships start somewhere, right? Even if there was a… bump in the road earlier (of which he still finds himself still incapable of fully remembering- Twilight had to have hit him hard).

He’s finally- finally by your side.

He’ll do every task you give him to a T- you deserve nothing less.

He’ll rip out the hearts of your enemies and put them on a silver platter for you.

He’ll show you what it means to be loved by him- every inch of his being, physical or intangible, belongs to you.

He’ll do anything it takes to be by your side for the rest of his life and after. Even if it’s something as simple as putting a ring on your finger or finding out if it’s possible to go from being Four to Five. Don’t think he’s above anything anymore. Everything he does now, big or small, is going to be for you.

And the only thing he’ll never do, no matter how kindly you ask or how desperately plead, is leave.

[alast4r]

Oρρσʂιƚҽ Aƚƚɾαƈƚ (Aʅαʂƚσɾ x HҽʅʅႦσɾɳ Fҽɱ!Rҽαԃҽɾ)

Okay so I am rather more motivated by how some people enjoyed my first post and I feel motivated to write more stuff! I really love those who enjoyed the "My Deer Assistant" somehow so here's another treat for adoring little Alastor fans like me. This may slightly have smut so MDNI (Minors do not interact) I'd refuse to have minors make contact with works involving non-friendly posts, especially sexual intercourse. And the plot may be dumb

⭒❃.✮:▹　Natsu　◃:✮.❃⭒

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺ Professionals often say that an ideal partner should have great similarities and easily agree with your tastes. However, in your case, dear reader, your relationship defied this norm. You and your beloved partner shared few similarities, yet your love for each other was unconditional. Overlord Alastor, the Radio Demon, was known for his enthusiastic and smiley demeanor, a stark contrast to your moody and perpetually frowning disposition. Despite his sweet nature, Alastor preferred bitter flavors, while you, with your cold and bitter personality, had a penchant for sweets that never waned.

Alastor exhibited patience, a trait you often lacked, as your short temper could flare up in an instant. He found solace in Jazz, whereas you found comfort in classical music. His powerful presence juxtaposed your fragile nature. He thrived in lively environments, while you preferred to observe from the sidelines. Despite these differences, you two fit together like perfect puzzle pieces, complementing each other in ways that transcend conventional compatibility.

After a long absence, you felt the bonds of your relationship with Alastor slowly fraying, yet you managed to cling to them, determined to keep them intact. It was during this delicate time that you stumbled upon a grand edifice that commanded attention: The Hazbin Hotel. This was no ordinary establishment; it exuded an air of mystique and charm that drew you in for the concept of redemption but someone like you had no chance or worth of being redeemed. What particularly caught your eye was a captivating commercial playing on a nearby picture show. Amidst the kaleidoscope of colors and images, there was a figure, just out of focus, yet undeniably intriguing, their presence teasingly enigmatic.

As serendipity would have it, the Hazbin Hotel beckoned you not as a mere guest but as a member of its staff, a twist of fate that led you back into the orbit of your beloved partner, Alastor. The reunion was a tapestry of emotions, woven with threads of nostalgia, hope, and perhaps a tinge of apprehension. Yet, as you reunited, the past seemed to melt away, leaving behind a renewed sense of connection and understanding. Together, you embarked on a journey to rediscover each other, navigating the complexities of your relationship with a newfound appreciation for the depth of your bond.

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

Alastor's persistent insistence on wearing a smile seemed almost comical against the backdrop of your somber mood. The parlor, with its plush seats and the lingering aroma of delightful sweets, provided a momentary respite from the chaos of your usual days. However, Alastor's playful banter shattered the tranquility as he urged you to smile. "Smile, my dear! As they say, 'You're never fully dressed without a smile!'" he quipped, his voice filled with playful encouragement.

Seated in the soft chair, you couldn't help but frown, your thoughts consumed by the weight of your responsibilities. "Alastor, you know as well as I do that I'm not one to feign cheerfulness," you replied, your tone tinged with a hint of exhaustion. Despite your protest, Alastor pressed on, his determination unwavering. With a light chuckle, you decided to play along, grabbing a small pastry and deftly stuffing it between his lips.

The unexpected gesture left Alastor momentarily stunned, his expression a mix of surprise and amusement. Slowly, he devoured the pastry, his enjoyment evident despite his attempts to maintain a facade of displeasure. "How sugary, my dear," he remarked, a hint of genuine amusement in his voice. With a playful grin, he continued, "I suppose I'll have to put more effort into coaxing that smile from you."

As if on cue, Alastor scooped you into his arms, cradling you like a precious treasure. Despite your initial resistance, you couldn't help but be swept up in the moment. There was a certain charm in Alastor's playful antics, a reminder of the unique bond you shared. As he carried you with effortless grace, you couldn't help but smile, if only slightly, at his undeniable charm.

Upon entering your room upstairs, the door clicked shut behind you, sealing you both in a cocoon of intimacy. As you settled onto the soft mattress of your bed, Alastor wasted no time in closing the distance between you. His body pressed against yours, as he buried his head into your neck, peppering it with gentle kisses that sent shivers down your spine. You instinctively stretched a bit, offering him better access to your neck, relishing the sensation of his lips against your skin. Each kiss was like a gentle caress, igniting a fire within you that only he could quench. His movements were deliberate yet tender, each one filled with a silent promise of love and passion. Despite the simplicity of the moment, there was an undeniable intensity between you. Every touch, every kiss, was a testament to the deep connection you shared. In that fleeting moment, there was only the two of you, lost in the sweet embrace of each other's love. "Al.." you murmured softly, a moan of pleasure escaping your lips, sending a shiver down his spine. Despite the sensation of bliss, your expression told a different story – furrowed brows and pouty lips indicating a hint of discontent. Alastor looked up at you, his hand gently cupping your cheek while the other held you securely by the waist. "What's troubling you, dear?" His voice, now devoid of the usual radio filter, sounded clear and earnest as he awaited your response.

You glanced at the clock on the wall, its hands ticking away precious moments, before returning your gaze to him. "I only have 10 minutes left, Al..." you confessed with a sigh, a sense of urgency creeping into your tone. Alastor met your gaze with a mixture of understanding and determination before lowering his head once more, his tongue tracing a wet trail along your neck, eliciting another groan from you. "Then I shall hasten my efforts, my darling," he declared softly, his warm breath tickling your earlobe as he nibbled on it gently, eliciting a mixture of pleasure and frustration from you as your hands gripped his shoulders, fingers digging into his back in a silent plea for more.

Feeling the ecstasy of your erotic sounds escaping between your parted lips, Alastor tugged the hem of your skirt, lowering it to your knees. His touch was electric as his index finger trailed along your inner thigh, drawing tantalizing circles on your soft, plump skin. Capturing your lips in a fiery kiss, he skillfully tangled his tongue with yours, saliva mixing in a heated exchange that left you breathless. As he pulled away, a thin string of saliva briefly connected your mouths, a visible sign of your shared desire. With a mischievous grin, Alastor teasingly tugged your underwear down, leaving it bunched around your knees. Your expression was a mix of flustered embarrassment and raw desire, which only seemed to amuse him further. "My darling, you never fail to surprise me with our differences," he remarked, his voice laced with a teasing tone. As you buried your face in a pillow, letting out a frustrated groan, he chuckled softly, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. Taking advantage of your vulnerable position, Alastor leaned down, his breath warm against your ear as he whispered, "Let's explore those differences, shall we?" His hands roamed your exposed skin, igniting a fiery passion between you. Each touch, each kiss, sent waves of pleasure through your body, building up to an intense climax that left you both gasping for breath.

As his thumb circled your clit, sending waves of pleasure through your body, you looked down at him with pleading eyes. "C-Can you please hurry~...I only have seven minutes.." Your voice was filled with urgency and need, but Alastor seemed unfazed as he laid his head on your stomach, his eyes locked with yours. With a jolt of shock and a gasp, you felt his finger slip inside you, the sensation slightly painful due to his sharp, pointed fingers. Despite the discomfort, you couldn't deny the pleasure that followed, and you arched your back, a mixture of pleasure and pain coursing through you. "Oh, Alastor..." you moaned, your voice a mix of pleasure and frustration. He sighed, his breath warm against your skin, before licking your cheek in a teasing manner. "Ma Biche, I truly wouldn't wish to rush you," he murmured, his voice filled with a hint of irritation, ", especially with how delicate and oh-so frail you are and I haven't felt my excitement to this pleasure. But I suppose I wouldn't wish to waste your time and my chances." His words were teasing, yet there was a hint of sincerity in them as if he truly wanted to please you despite his playful demeanor. As his fingers continued their tantalizing dance inside you, you felt yourself nearing the edge. The sensation was overwhelming, and you couldn't help but lose yourself in the pleasure he was giving you. With one final, intense wave of pleasure, you cried out his name, your body trembling with ecstasy. Alastor watched you with a satisfied smirk, his eyes filled with wicked delight at having driven you to such pleasure. Time seemed to blur as you were lost in a whirlwind of pleasure, each thrust of his fingers driving you closer to the edge. After three minutes of intense ecstasy, you reached your limits, your frustration coating his fingers as you buried your head into the pillow once more. Alastor chuckled, his amusement evident as he tasted your sweet fluid, helping you tidy up with the remaining time. He fixed your outfit and carried you to sit up, his voice soft as he said, "I suppose I wouldn't want you too drained for now, my fawn." Planting a gentle kiss on your forehead, he then assisted you downstairs.

There, you found two cups of different beverages waiting for you. Lost in your duties at the hotel, you mistakenly grabbed Alastor's cup of bitter black coffee, immediately spitting it out as you exclaimed, "How bitter.." He quickly cleaned you up with a napkin, chuckling softly. "Haha, my dear, be more careful, will you?" Groaning, you wondered if the day could get any more stressful. Deciding to relax, you played some soothing classical music and sat on the counter, Alastor stroking your head gently. "Do you wish to fall asleep to this music?" his voice was soothing, calming your frayed nerves. The gentle touch of his fingers on your head was comforting, and you felt yourself slowly relaxing into the music, the tension of the day melting away.

"Maybe.." you uttered softly, finally finding a moment of peace. You wrapped your arms around your head, feeling the warmth of the unfinished cup of tea in front of you. The soothing strains of the classical music filled the room, calming your mind.

Alastor approached and scooped you up in his arms once more, carrying you to bed. He gently laid you down, tucking you in with warm sheets. You mumbled, "I love you, Alastor.." His face softened, a smile of pride and adoration spreading across his features as he looked down at you. He leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. "I love you too, my fawn." It was moments like these that made you realize how perfectly you complemented each other, filling the empty spaces in each other's lives with love and understanding.

End

[hwaightme]

Use me (part 1)

THIS IS 18+ ONLY MINORS DNI FOR HALAZIA'S SAKE (nsfw tags under the cut) (masterlist)

🌌 pairing: nonidol!mingi x afab!reader 🌌 genre: smut, angst, emotions 🌌 summary: You had a routine. Every Friday night, you would meet with your friends to hit the clubs, looking for fun. It was easy, it was emotionless, it was carefree. But what will happen when your usual wingmen are not around, and you only have your shy friend, Song Mingi to keep you company under the neon lights? 🌌 wordcount: 9.7k 🌌 warnings/tags: language, alcohol, intoxication, indications of past bad relationship experiences, not believing in love, emotional suppression, some of them want to use you, some of them want to get used by you... 🌌 taglist: @layzfeelit @honey-lemon-goose here's the drop 🌌 a/n: Hello there! This is my first attempt at smut, so please do be warned. Hope you enjoy, MINORS DNI, nsfw tags and content under the cut. (note: song referenced is BTBT by B.I)

🌌 nsfw tags: sub!mingi, dom!reader, mingi is a pretty princess, pet names, degradation(mingi receiving), cunnilingus, protection IS USED, one night stand energy, mistress, a lot of dirty talk, teasing, denial, overstimulation.

You were the centre of the universe. A modern-day Venus, swaying your delicious hips in time to the music, arms in the air spelling seduction. The earth-shattering bass was resetting your intoxicated heart like a defibrillator. The kaleidoscopic haze was surrounding you and embracing you like the sweetest hit of anaesthesia right before you went under. Nothing existed except you and the gazes that were scanning you, devouring every inch of your body as you made the dance floor your bitch once again.

It was all but a blur, just how you liked it.

The neon was your weekly escape, something of a routine that you had established with a couple of your closest friends: Wooyoung and San. You three were the lives of any party, igniting the atmosphere and not letting the scalding hot flame die out until you said so. And even then, in the hearts of all those lucky enough to witness your miraculous, dizzying passion would linger the burning remains of an unforgettable night.

Over time, your trio had established ground rules and fool-proof strategies for how to get the most out of any night out. From the elaborate preparations, dressing to the elegant elevens but ready to offer just the right amount of sleaze if need be. To the selections of drinks that give just the right buzz without letting you lose your head. To your personal favourite – the complex tango of aiding one another to capture the next beauty and wring their everything dry until they knew nothing except you, Wooyoung or San. All to experience the satisfaction of hearing another heart break the next morning.

This was your idea of love – a hit every Friday night, a fuck with no strings attached. If what drove them wild was for you to call them your beloved - you did not care. Things said in the night died a small death and turned to ghosts in the morning. Remaining in the afterglow. At least you did not have to remember their name. Their bodies also faded from your memory quickly enough. So, you came back, again, and again. In search of a wondrous, lust-filled temporary high.

It was the same tonight. Same club, same throngs of bodies glistening in sweat under the strobe lights, just belonging to different people. The DJ had recognised you, so he changed the set to play a couple more of your favourite songs. His wolfish gaze revealing a lot more than he wanted. Oh, how simple all these people were. And how easy they were to wrap around your finger. If only you had the same drive today. But San’s girlfriend, well now ex-girlfriend, decided that today, of all days of the week, was just right to break up with him, and Wooyoung being his roommate could not leave the blubbering dejected mess alone.

No amount of convincing could coax the two out of hiding in their newly renamed ‘bachelor’ pad. Not wanting to let the two buzzkills completely destroy your energy, you still tugged on your best dress, and strutted in, head held high, hair in captivating locks. There was something truly devilish about you, and you were normally not afraid to use it to your advantage. But there was something different about tonight. Probably because you had to settle for the company of another one of your friends. Someone a lot more demure, for the lack of a better word.

Even though it was a six-foot-tall man with a toned physique and the most attractive hands that you were talking about, you could not help but think of him as a pretty little princess. He was just so untainted, so harmless and prey-like. You could feel his nervousness whenever you approached. His fluttering eyelashes, a quick, shy bite of the lip as he attempted to conjure up a response to whatever you asked. This was Song Mingi. A friend who you had no idea how you made, and why he stuck around still.

He had just appeared one day, an acquaintance you had met through one of those closest to you back in university. Funnily enough, it was the mutual friend that you had ceased to speak to. Mingi was doing a different major, had a different lifestyle, behaved differently, even interpreted things differently, but he had been accepted into the group, nonetheless. Probably because one of your friends had an undeniable thirst for him. Not that he had ever noticed though.

Mingi had always been like that. A gentle creature. A ball of cuteness. If your whole friend group had ever sat together, it was always as though there was one soft, fluffy cloud amidst hurricanes, tornados and thunderstorms. Not a single drop of rain on anyone’s parade. He had the desire to please, and would always volunteer to do errands for others, even if it was so far out of his way it was foolish to do so.

He had stopped once you had explained to him that others were using him. Including your own friends. You had pointed out that he had the power to refuse, and that they were not going to admonish him, as a matter of fact, they would not particularly care. Mingi had taken your words as gospel, and since then, had taken to treating you like his saviour of sorts. Or at least that was how you had initially seen it.

First thing he had done for you after you had merely pointed out the obvious was gotten you your go-to order at the café near campus. How he knew or had found out – you never managed to pry out of him. Then there had been the ‘accidental’ (read: intentional, because Mingi looked like he had been loitering in that corridor for a weirdly long time) run ins during your transits from one lecture hall to another, so that he could walk with you to your class.

The attention had been a bit much at first, but you had grown to accept it as usual ‘Mingi behaviour’. After all, he was the princess, the fluffy cloud, the ray of sunshine. That had to be just how he was. And as such, you had never taken him seriously. A couple of your friends had pointed out that maybe he was trying to make advances, but you shut that down rapidly by reminding them that you had no desire to love, nor could you see anyone wanting to love you.

You had never seen that side of your life be so peachy. It was almost as if you had been born into heartbreak and were nurtured by it. The antithesis to love was where you had comfortably resided for so long, and only stepped out to reach for comrades in misery. That was how you had found your people. Your chaos. These amazing idiots with whom you could share everything, and they would accept you for the idiot that you were. And having someone from the other side, from so-called ‘paradise’, trying to trace your steps and meet you halfway – it felt wrong. It was wrong. It was not what you had written out for yourself in your own blood and conviction after you had seen and felt too much. You made a decision and turned it into an aspect of your identity. Like some people were awfully co-dependent, or mentioned their significant other in every sentence, you were proudly solo. Unaffected by that nonsense.

It was not meant for you, that whole ‘written in the stars’, sappy romance, soulmates bullshit. All of that was mere theory. A concept invented by some people who had no idea how reality worked. Your reality was all about giving into carnal pleasures if you needed to relieve some stress or craved some intimacy. The emotional satisfaction came from being with your crew. Your collection of people who were ride or die. As time had shown, even that could not last forever. At least you still had San and Wooyoung. The two who had you had instantly clicked with.

The two who were currently sitting at home, with San probably watching some guilty pleasure drama and sobbing into a plushie while Wooyoung had likely made his killer dakgaejang for the ultimate comfort. Thereby officially abandoning you and leaving you to your own devices. Well, almost. Tonight had to be the night when you had all agreed to invite Mingi along after a few months of his stagnancy in that department. Your trio wanted to show him how to unwind and have a good time. But now that responsibility fell solely to you, and you could not help but feel a little awkward. No matter how hard you tried, you could not get the man to loosen up. And in turn, he was ruining all plans you had in finding yourself a little fun.

With the glares he inadvertently sent every potential midnight suitor who approached you, Mingi was acting every bit a pouting, jealous boyfriend. This had only gotten worse after he had a couple of drinks. His eyes were only ever following you. Tracing your curves as you grinded against yet another ‘possibility’, trying to see where it could go. But that stare. It would not leave neither your body, nor your consciousness. From your position on the dance floor, you could only barely make out his form, leaning, arms crossed, against a black pillar. But it seemed that no matter what you did, Mingi would still find you. Much like he had done in the past and acted like your loyal puppy. A pesky little sunray.

With no success after a total of five songs, you decided to retire to the side lines and take a breather. Sauntering over to Mingi, you pointed at his hand, and received your drink that he had been keeping safe. A refreshing dilution of whatever the beverage was supposed to be. After taking a greedy sip, you spotted a more secluded seating area in one of the corners of the venue, which had not been reserved nor was occupied, and strode on over before anyone had the same idea as you. You did not need to check if Mingi was behind you. The only answer, ever, was yes.

Crash landing onto one of the couches, nearly spilling what you had left of the liquid nonsense, you gave a little yawn. It was a little too early for you to be getting bored, but without Woo and San to be the two devils on your shoulders and wingman collaborators, you were contemplating calling it a night and just leaving. If Mingi wanted to stay for a little longer he could: he was a big boy who could go clubbing on his own. But to you, the past couple of hours have been a continuous mission failed.

“Hey, if you are feeling tired, we could-”

That choice of pronoun, ‘we’, rubbed you the wrong way. You did not need this ‘we’ right now. You needed another someone, anyone to make that ‘we’ happen.

“Nah, don’t worry about me I just needed to sit down for a second. All that dancing and not taking a break? That’s how you know a person is on something.” You gestured at the dance floor again to emphasise your point.

From a distance, it really did look like an unstoppable, pulsating jelly fish that emanated neon fluorescence. Your natural habitat. Your rhythm. Fuck it. You were going back. You did not want to be in the company of this cutesy dullard. At least not right now. In a few quick moves, Mingi was left standing alone by the couches, as you clicked your heels across to the dance floor, joining the chaos once more.

How breath-taking you looked. Mingi was stunned as your lithe form glided past him, in that little black dress that beautifully hugged your figure. You were royalty under the moonlight. A seductress out on the prowl, unknowingly having laid claim on his soul long before you had ever thought you could. Mingi had never understood how he had fallen so hard for you, but this was an abyss that he would never be able to get out of, as every waking day gave him a new reason to love you.

He had been the only one out of his school to go to the university that he did, and since it was a distance away from the family home, he had to move, live alone, work alone, sit alone. There had been some positive aspects to that lifestyle, like he had all the time in the world to study, but the loneliness began eating away at him, gnawing into his anxieties until it had become almost unbearable. That was when he had reached out to someone he knew had good social networks in the university, and in a matter of weeks had found himself a group to be in. Your group, to be more specific. Everyone had been welcoming, but he had convinced himself that he could not be anything except a burden, and as such he had turned into something reminiscent of a butler. A boy at beck and call, just because he wanted to have friends and thought he had to continuously prove himself worthy. It was exhausting, but once he had started, it was near impossible to stop. People got used to good things far too quickly.

But then, there was you. An angel who had taken him by the hand and led him out of the maze of his own making. The only one who had stepped in. The one who had shown they cared. At first, he just wanted to show you his gratitude and help you out as best as he could in return for your gesture, but the more time he spent with you, the more he found out about you, the more he ended up wanting everything to do with you. Sure, you had presented yourself as being above feelings, he knew that, but he was not bothered by it. It was your comfort that mattered to Mingi. If that meant keeping everyone besides a select few friends at arm’s length, then so be it. At least it was your arm, and you were not refusing his company entirely.

That was how he had ended up being a sort of satellite to your system. A little moon orbiting around you while you and your friends were a galaxy, and order of planets. It was clear that the group was not as impressive as it had been, and that he was still the odd one out, nevertheless, social outings were still being organised, and he could sometimes attend them. His heart had swelled when you, Wooyoung and San had reached out to him with an invite to a night club. And now, even more so that the duo could not make it, albeit for an upsetting reason.

Mingi knew why you went to this club in particular. It had a good crowd, quite a few ‘lookers’, and people did not hesitate to spend their money. You had frequented it enough times for you to be very amiable towards nearly all staff, even recognising that one of the barmen was a new hire and wishing him luck. You were so amazingly attentive, and your ‘focus face’ had not changed at all since Mingi had known you. Forever his first love that never seized to threaten to break out of his chest in a burst of pent-up affection.

Of course, there was another reason why you were here, one that did not sit quite as well with him and was why he was rather sulky and unable to appease you in being more carefree and becoming one with the heavy beat that was roaring over him. And it was that you had your focus trained on others. Studying man after man for their ‘potential’, checking their energy or whatever it was that you could feel through their trousers. You were a dangerous balance of audacious and coquettish, able to physically entice and mentally capture.

But the disgusting, lascivious leers that those you tested the waters with sent you, and them groping your ass, snaking their arms around your waste, or openly palming their groin as they approached you was about to make Mingi go insane. Was this the kind of treatment you suffered through every single Friday night just to satisfy your own needs? Did you have to listen to drunkards call you vile names just for a night of passion? He could not comprehend how anyone could ever deserve it just because they wanted something special.

Fuck it. He could not stand you being attacked in that way anymore. He needed to join you on the dance floor before this could continue. Not for one second could he believe that you were enjoying this. It was dangerous. It was degrading. It was… it was not the you that had been his friend. It was the you that had evoked a different kind of desire within him. An insatiable want for you, and you alone. As he stalked forwards, closer to the centre where you were currently swaying to the more melodic interlude of rhythm and blues as a man clearly double your age was trying to woo you, trying to roam your body with his grimy hands. One look to the left and there was another, a woman who looked to be in her early thirties, unabashedly looking you up and down, likely having undressed you a thousand times in her mind. You were unstoppable, but Mingi desperately wanted to try. So, he silenced his mind’s protests, tuning into a darker hedonism, and swept you away from where you had been dancing and pushing you deeper into the mass, making both of you disappear into its music-enchanted waves.

You were astonished at your friend’s bout of bravery. Raising an eyebrow in suspicion, you studied him as he tried his best to guide you in the dance, however failing to do so without a newbie’s rigidity. A smile crept onto your face as you placed both of your hands on his upper arms, taking note of the well-sculpted muscle concealed by his shirt, and slid them down, nice and slow until you could guide Mingi to rest his own hands right on your waist. Now tonight was getting interesting. Finally. Without as much as a one word exchange you two continued indulging in the trance, and as the song changed, and changed again, time allowed the two of you to completely sink into the addictive feeling.

When my eyes are on you

숨 막힐듯한 전율

Oh, you know you get me loose

Make me go 비틀비틀

It was a push and pull. You wanted to take Mingi to the limit. Since he finally wanted to communicate with your senses, you wanted to show him all that you could do, what this atmosphere could do. The electricity between you and him was undeniable, and as you got more confident in one another’s presence you had fallen into a shared rhythm, taking every breath together, translating every beat into body language.

A dance floor made for two

달이 부르는 선율

Oh, it's only me and you

Make me go 비틀비틀

This ray of sunshine called Song Mingi was glinting in a much more tantalising manner than usual. All that following you around did appear to do some good at least – he could match you well. Almost frighteningly well. His movements were smooth, and he was very light on his feet. And most importantly, he was fully immersed in being your dance partner, to the extent that a club had the space for and considered as paired dancing. At some point during the song, his gentle grasp on your hips had become more needy, and he transferred it to your hips, while still keeping time to the song. As he pushed you closer to him, you could feel heat rolling off his body, and spot a single bead of sweat making its way down the side of his face.

Without thinking about it much you moved to swipe it away, which made Mingi stiffen and falter. He responded to your touch, leaning his head in which you took to be a sign that at least you would have a good night in the club. He was not going to go anywhere and was at your mercy. Very loyal. And all over you. You did have to admit, that once he had dropped the observation game and acted, he was turning out to be a lot more of an exciting person to have around. On top of that, you were getting your fill of more personalised attention, with an enviable man as your companion.

Again, the song changed to a slowed rhythm and blues piece, and both of you took it as a sign to get even closer. Your arms were now draped over his shoulders and loosely crossed behind his neck, and your lower bodies were mere centimetres apart. The previous energetic sequence was all gone, replaced instead with an unmistakeable burning. As your orbs met his in a near-showdown fashion, you could see Mingi’s irrefutable change in demeanour. How did you not consider this man before? This other Mingi? It was like you were meeting somebody for the first time. Somebody who you would not mind making your body.

Your breath was becoming his breath as he inched closer and closer to you, so tentative as though he was asking permission for every tiny movement. He halted right when your noses were touching, and so dangerously close you could almost taste him.

Mingi was going into overdrive. His everything, you, were right within reach, and yet your soul was nowhere to be felt. You were a succubus, tempting him by the way you were toying with his hair, so carelessly, like you did not know what you were doing to him. Tempting him by the kittenish expression you wore, your half-lidded eyes hinting at a future that he had only dreamt of with you. His sinful fantasies about you had all awakened; episodes that he had drafted in solitude wanting to be re-enacted. How he yearned for your touch. For him to be able to melt into you and give himself up. Be only yours. Forever. So, you did not ever have to do what you had been doing all this time before tonight. He let out a shaky breath, affected by the lust that was already clouding his vision. Voice low, and a little hoarse, Mingi momentarily shut his eyes and whispered right against your cheek:

“Use me.”

You tried to step back a little, surprised at Mingi’s sudden proposition. But he would not let go, instead pressing you flush against his frame. You could now feel that he was not kidding, his blooming arousal greeting you through the layers of fabric. Because you had not responded to him, nor showed any signs of being interested, the notes of roughness in his tone disappeared entirely, leaving behind something closer to a whimper:

“Y/N… please. Use me. You… you don’t need anybody else. Can just use me.”

In awe, you were staring at Mingi. Now this was something you had never predicted for this Friday night. In your musings, you had bet that by now, you would have been in your own bed, watching a music show and drifting off to sleep. Not about to make a decision that could change the course of your life while in a not so lucid state of mind.

“Then tell me, darling, how do you want me to use you?” you asked back, hearing a sharp and shallow gasp from Mingi. He was unwinding right in your hands, and you had barely done anything.

“I’d rather show you, Y/N, if you will let me.” He mumbled, beginning to trace your jawline with soft, feathery kisses.

“And I’d rather bend you to my will.” The retort sent a shiver down his spine, and he ceased to pepper you with the manifestation of his desirous state. “After you take me to your place.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“I could get used to this. Lead the way, darling. Your place.”

With one arm wrapped around your waist, tracing abstract patterns on your dress, and the other being used as a wedge to part the tightly knit bodies, Mingi immediately answered to your request. He had not changed his positioning as he flagged down a taxi, and continued holding onto you, although now it was your hand in his, for the duration of the drive to his home. Whilst the tiny droplets of possessiveness masked most of Mingi’s disposition, there was an endearing aspect to it. In some ways, Mingi was like a little kid who had just discovered something extraordinary and was ready to tie himself to it to ensure that it did not disappear. Even with his present actions unveiling nothing but an unprecedented lust and unbreakable certitude, Mingi still had remnants of his day-time self clinging onto him. Which was the first thing you focused on ripping way once he had finished fumbling with the keys to his front door.

You were tightly bound in each other’s arms. The air was thick with anticipation while Mingi closed the door with his foot and haphazardly threw off his shoes. You followed suit, and upon having done so, observed your ‘human offering’. You could see that he was not sure in how to proceed, having stopped midway through the entryway corridor, but the grip he had was on the contrary, more possessive. If he wanted to be used so badly, then he would not mind if you ruined him.

A harsh pull of the shirt collar and a stifled mention of your name later, your red-tinted lips locked in with his in a perfect harmony. In that moment, he was like your oasis, a discovery of a paradise after eons of suffering, a salve to your numerous wounds. The kiss swiftly transformed from the first phase of introductory exploration, luxuriating in the delectable tension, to a faster and more fervent collision of sexual ardour.

He was so malleable in your hands, giving into your control and honouring it with the unholy groans that were building up in his throat. To think that you had such an effect on someone and so quickly! It sparked a stronger desire to make him unravel and proudly share with you just how good, how satiated you made him feel. You wanted to hear him submit to you and follow your laws.

As you toyed with the hem of his trousers, pulling at the belt and letting your noticeably colder fingers glide against his skin, you elicited a growl from Mingi, who broke away from your lips to trail kisses down your neck and stopped right at the base, nuzzling into it and masking his responsive eagerness.

“Bed… room…” his demand came across more as a suggestion due to his feeble tone, but you felt nice, for now, and obliged, and let him take the lead in your tango across the living space and through the half-open door straight across from where you had been.

You were illuminated only by the moon and the streetlights that shone through the window, leaving you standing in an ethereal glow. Shadows that fell across Mingi’s face as he pulled away from you, his breathing ragged, only amplified the near-animalistic want etched onto him, another mark of his submission to you. He did not dare make a single move, again, standing in wait. An obedient boy, letting you turn his back to the bed, pushing him down until he was sat on its edge. You straddled him, your dress riding up to reveal the panties of a lacy lingerie set, and languidly grinded against him a couple of times to drive up his desire. He stifled a moan by biting his swollen bottom lip in an attempt to hide his craving for you, but that bashfulness was not on your agenda.

Motivated by his shallow pants, you slid your hands with fingers spread far apart under his white, now crumpled shirt, sliding them lazily up his torso, feeling for every ripple, every response to you. You stopped at his chest, paying particular attention to his nipples as you stimulated them, repeatedly making circular motions with your index fingers and pinching them until you saw Mingi tilt his head back a little and make haste to adjust his hold on you, moving to your voluptuous ass. Pushing himself against you he tried to chase his own high, giving into the first gifts bestowed upon him in the form of your caresses. But not so fast, you were not going to let him have so much fun so early on. Not when he had pledged to listen to you. To let him be your toy for the night. With a devilish smirk, you abruptly stopped, making Mingi’s eyes shoot wide open, and dart across your features. The nervousness did little to make you merciful, for instead you found you took pleasure in taking away what others enjoyed. He was confused, unable to read your expression. Just as he was opening his mouth, still decorated with your sweet saliva, you used his lowered guard against him and toppled him backwards. You took him by the wrists and pressed them by his head, right into the disturbed sheets. He looked so pretty under you. Pretty little princess. Those doe eyes, searching for an answer from you. A command. Anything.

“Did you not say I could use you, hm, darling? And now what do you think you are doing?” you purred, hovering over him.

Mingi let out a desperate hum and tried to buck up his hips against you. You knew that he could overpower you at any moment. And that made your present power of him that much sweeter. You held your ground and ignored the heat rising in your core. When he denied you a response, you removed your hold from one of his wrists, instead taking his chin and gripping it to make him see only you through his daze.

“I will repeat, what the fuck do you think you are doing, huh?” you were centimetres away, hissing the question right into his ear before softly exhaling, leaving a few kisses and cautiously biting the lobe. Mingi’s chest rose and fell sharply as he took in the sensation.

“I… I want you. I want you so bad, Y/N. Please.” He begged, letting his free hand rise to try hooking the strap of your dress, but before he could slide it down your shoulder, you switched your position again, now no longer holding him down, but tearing his shirt apart to feast your eyes.

“And where did your obedience go, darling? Do you think you deserve what you want?” you applied pressure on his clothed member, mocking how you could so easily ride him.

“I… sorry, Y/N, I cannot think, I-”

“Shut up. You said to use you. Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“Yours, Y/N I am yours-”

“That is mistress to you, you little bitch.” You snapped, back to peering into his clouded orbs. On instinct, you moved to give his throat some ‘affection’, applying light pressure on either side as you continued: “Pretending to be so innocent, whoring yourself out to me. I bet this is what you do on the daily, batting your eyelashes looking all pretty and in a matter of minutes becoming a lascivious little slut.”

“Y/N-” he yelped, but you were not having that kind of disrespect, so you tightened your rip and moved one hand behind you to fish for his belt.

“It’s mistress, darling.” You uttered, an ominous darkness dripping from your words. Mingi shuddered as he felt you masterfully removing the pesky accessory, discarding it with one throw.

“Okay, m-mistress, ah fuck…” he moaned as you let go of his throat and fully exposed his throbbing member, taking it in one hand and rubbing its tip with a thumb. He desperately wanted to see how you unwounded him, but you remained sat right on his pelvis, hiding your act with your body.

“Is this what you want, darling? Me pleasuring you? Me taking you apart with my touch?”

“Ah- yes! Yes, mistress!”

“What a good boy, see it was not so hard to learn. Now tell me how far do you want to go.” You broke your act just a little, to check if Mingi was still on board. You had no idea of his experience, nor of his boundaries, so it was a matter of respect.

“All… all the way… Y/N, sorry, mistress.”

“Good. Then I expect you to follow my every command. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes.”

“Good little fuck toy.” You praised, sliding your hand down his dick, spreading his precum down the length and giving him one pump, only to fully remove yourself from his body and sit on your knees by his side. You traced his abdomen as you pondered out loud, amused at his dedication – he was not moving a single inch, wrapped up in your presence.

“I have been far too generous, don’t you think? Giving you all the pleasure, whilst you are making a mess and not thanking me for all I have done. Filthy.”

“Thank you. Thank you so much, mistress.”

“For what?”

“For treating me so well. For making me feel so good-”

“Oh, you eager little slut, such a pleaser. Sweet talking your way into getting some more. How greedy!” you laughed, crawling closer to his head and running your fingers through his locks. “I will need a lot more than that to forgive you for being so demanding.”

“Anything.” He answered airily.

“Then make me come with that mouth of yours. Show me what your tongue can really do.”

“Yes, please, mistress.”

“Tsk-tsk, how cute. Then on your knees, darling right there. In front of the bed. So I can see just how delightful you look worshipping my cunt.”

In a matter of seconds, he was making his way off the bed, and simultaneously discarding the rest of his clothing that you had unbuttoned. Stark naked, he dropped to the ground, just as you had commanded him to. The moon illuminated him once more. A lustful little angel.

You took your time in removing your dress, feigning a lack of want. As if you were doing Mingi a favour by being here, and by letting him eat you out. You wanted to make it a point that your orgasm was his highest reward, and that he better get used to it quickly if he wanted to be used by you. Mingi gaped at you as you were left in your bra and panties, the article now leaving barely anything to the imagination. On all fours, you crawled towards him, every bit a dangerous wildcat ready to pounce. Before taking a comfortable seat for your pleasure, you cupped his chin once more and pulled him into a sultry kiss, tilting your head to seek entrance with your tongue.

Mingi gripped the sheets and tried to rise to pull you closer into him, but upon seeing the too positive response, you sat right back, and slid your legs down into position. You rested your weight on one arm, while the other absent-mindedly played with Mingi’s hair as he placed his hands on your thighs, and began to take your panties off. For a couple of seconds, you played along, sitting up slightly so that the material could escape from under you, but just as he thought he had it all in his power, you stopped him by yanking him to attention by the hair.

“Now, not so fast, did I say I wanted to see what your hands could do?”

“No, mistress.”

“Exactly. Use your mouth, pretty boy.” He obliged, even going so far as to put his hands behind his back. He took the material between his teeth, and worked at it, little by little, downwards, until it appeared as though he was bowing to you, right at your feet. In one final move, Mingi tugged them off you, and rose up once more, an entertaining look of pride on his features.

You committed each step of this intimate sequence to memory and continued watching the show that he was putting on for you. The throw of the panties away from him with a move of the head, his gaze trailing down your body, his kitten-like nudges to your thighs, pleading you to spread them further apart. Not wanting to wait any longer, you did as much, and wriggled yourself forwards a tiny bit more.

As he kissed your clit and ran his hot tongue between your already soaked folds, you realised just how riled up you were. He would do anything for you, and that turned you on unbelievably. You tightened your jaw and shut your mouth to suppress any sound as you let your head fall back a little, your hair streaming down behind you in a waterfall. He was lapping up your nectar like a parched man, not leaving a single bit behind. With a flick, he switched his attention back to your aroused bud, and began to circle it with his tongue, occasionally pursing his lips to give the sensitive blossom intemperate sucks.

It was challenging to hold back any more of your sinful moans as he returned to your wet hole, penetrating it with his tongue and twisting in an unrepeatable motion. You felt your core begin to tighten, as a high was alerting you of its imminence. You tugged gently at Mingi’s soft hair and praised him for being such a good little boy, such a good darling, for fucking you so good with his tongue.

His delighted hums sent a vibration against your dripping cunt, and you groaned in pleasure, only making Mingi pick up his pace. His tongue was moving in and out, gliding against your folds and playing with your clit. As he buried his face in your pussy, wanting nothing more than to drown in your juices, your climax was fast approaching. As your breaths turned shallower by the second, and you pressed Mingi’s head right against you, he took the signal and gave your clit one final lick and curled his tongue upwards, right inside your hole. He was beckoning you, begging you to cum for him.

“Ah fuck, Mingi I-” his name slipped out of your mouth as you gave into the awaited orgasm, shuddering at the unforgettable feeling. He reacted to your exclamation with unexpected vigour, kissing your sex and hastily drinking in your release. This further stimulated you as you let go of him and leaned back onto your elbows, to not fully collapse.

Taking deep breaths in, you composed yourself and returned from your high. You glanced at Mingi, whose lips were glistening with your wetness. He dared to give you a shy smile after noticing your observation, like he was awaiting more praise for his hard work.

“What a good little slut my pretty boy is. Making mistress really happy.” It was hard to keep your voice steady, but you tried your best, seeing as you had to maintain dominance.

“And I am so happy too mistress. Thank you… can I ask something?” he inquired, as you rose onto your knees again and unclasped your bra, making him lose track of his thoughts for a moment.

“Go on ahead.” You enjoyed when men scrutinised your so hungrily. How your shapely breasts managed to make them forgive and forget anything you wanted them to. As you watched Mingi swallow some spit, eyes trained on your chest, you began to knead them for full effect, “you were saying?”

“Oh… I… I liked when… when you called me by my name… mistress…” he forced out, rising up onto his feet as you motioned for him to do so with your index finger. Now this was problematic. You never liked using your temporary lovers’ names during sex, as you felt it to be a little too personal. Yes, there had been times when it slipped, but Mingi had been the only one to take notice and express his liking of the fact.

“Well, one time’s enough baby boy. You need to work harder for me, you hear me?” you turned the game around, evading the possibility of him asking you to stop with the pet names and degradation. After what looked to be a flash of disappointment, Mingi returned to his obedient state and mumbled a low ‘yes mistress’.

You commanded that he lied down, just as he had before, his member now completely in the air and almost unbearably hard. You moved to sit right before it, your legs spread and straddling his thighs, pussy just within reach. But not just yet. You had a little more you wanted to do; you wanted to return the favour – you were just that nice.

Mingi was in a state of pure bliss as you spat on his cock and rubbed the viscous liquid over it. It was only a matter of moments before you heard him emit a low, husky moan. He cursed at the feeling, eyes rolling back a little as he gave into you, again. It was almost more pleasurable watching him plead for you to go faster than satisfying yourself. How his cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink when you played with his tip. How he shivered when you decided to give his dick a blow of cold air, making Mingi’s mind go into a frenzy. He wanted you to take him whole, bucking up his hips as he noticed you moving closer, but that only made him receive a slap on his abused member, and a sharp command:

“Princess. I make the rules here. And if for one second you think that I am going to let your whored out dick touch my lips, I will not hesitate to punish you until you can’t walk.” You threatened, and continued pumping rhythmically as you heard a series of melodic whines in response.

He was so easy to read. Spread on the palm of your hand, a simple, innocent Song Mingi. So, you knew exactly when to cut his pleasure short, abruptly recoiling and removing your legs to be positioned to his right. You observed his pulsing cock as Mingi cried out in frustration, moaning for you to continue, just a little bit longer.

“Silence, darling. I am bored again, and I think you will like what I am planning.” You explained, twisting at the waist to reach for your handbag that you had thrown in the direction of the side table in the corner.

Upon fishing out a condom and unrolling it on Mingi’s member, you thanked your lucky stars that it was the right size. The friction made him tense up again, and you chuckled. So sensitive. So malleable. All yours to use for the night.

“Are you ready, darling?” you threw the question out in a manner similar to that of asking about someone’s day. Like this really meant nothing to you. Even though your core was pleading for you to hurry up.

“Yes, mistre- ah!” he could not finish his answer as you directed his cock right outside your entrance, and eased it in.

As you took Mingi’s whole length, you put your hands on his abdomen, and peered over, glazed over from the sensation of him filling you up, against your walls in all the right places. You needed a moment to get used to it, as the impossibly ideal match left you on the verge of sanity. The heat of your pussy, and its clenching as you wiggled a little to get your positioning just right was making Mingi see stars, detuning from any reason or logic that he may have had left. Now, there was only you and him. Bound by the night.

You commenced your ritual. The sensual rise and fall of your body as you engulfed him more and more with every move. His whimper as you rocked forwards to glide over his length made you groan in response, and you leaned in to kiss him, still managing to taste your own climax on those soft lips. Before you could move away, he cupped your face and pulled you in closer, nearly making you lose balance – you had to move up and push into his chest.

He gazed right into your eyes. It felt like a fire, burning through you. You were comfortable with lust, and had seen it many times before, but there was something deeper, something more lethal behind Mingi’s carnality. But in your present disorientation, you dismissed it as a building thrill to accompany the knot that was steadily growing within you. It was impossible to look away as he powered through the numbing gratification and kept you level with him. The way he looked to be committing you to memory, your every freckle and blemish forming constellations in his universe, was almost frightening.

As your pussy began to pulsate with more frequency around his member, Mingi clenched his jaw and let out a low growl. Unable to stay at the same pace any longer, but still having to remain in his place, he began to toy with your breasts, just as you had done while undressing him, flicking the sensitive nubs until you dug your nails into his skin, feeling the stimulation totally collapsing on you.

“Y/N… please… please mistress… can I… can I please fuck you harder. I want to make you feel so good. As best as I can…” he pleaded, his wish being granted almost instantly as you guided him back to your hips.

Just as you had done while moving a little way up before, he rocked you in the same direction, his length almost completely escaping you, only to be sheathed back again. As he got more comfortable with you in his grasp, he picked up his speed, the gentleness being replaced by steady pounds. He rolled his body up against you, joining you in the race to a long-awaited high. Your moans were becoming uncontrollable as you struggled to stay on top of him, which led him to flip you over and take his position on the bed. You were too hazy to protest as he kissed your neck, your cheeks your nose, your lips, and intertwined his fingers with yours as he quickened his pace even more.

The sound of your juices being pumped again and again was making you and him lose your minds, feral from the sexual delight. You could not care less that he was now groaning out your name with every stroke, and that his face was showing nothing but adoration. You were using him, after all, he had to fit to your demands. And how he was now having his way with you was making you go mad with lust. Your cunt could not take this perfection much longer, and you could feel it cramp around Mingi’s dick, signifying your unravelling.

“Ah… shit… darling… I… I am about to...”

It was challenging to find the words, let alone form them into a coherent sentence as you cried out and came undone once more. You wrapped your arms around Mingi’s broad shoulders, bringing him to you as you muted your yelps with his kiss. He continued pumping into you until he, too, began to falter, and soon enough was moaning right into you. Both of you collapsed into one another, your sweaty bodies becoming one in the moonlight as he relished in the feeling of your ecstasy warming his cock.

Using the last of the strength he had left, Mingi pushed himself off you and rolled over onto his back. Breathing heavy, you focused on the settling silence of the room. As your eyes had fully adjusted to the semi-dim illumination, you could finally take your surroundings in, and when your inhalation and exhalation returned to a reasonable pace, you could make out the noises of traffic coming from outside. Barely there, but a reminder that you were not on cloud nine.

It was time to clean up. You were quick to regain your senses, thanks what could be considered as training, while the same could not be said about Mingi. He was practically motionless, only the beating of his heart and breathing giving away that he was a living, but totally spent man. You removed the condom, tying it in a knot and throwing it in a bin you spotted in the corner.

It was fairly easy to find the bathroom, with its entrance being right outside. As you dolled yourself up again, which was pretty much just wiping away some mascara and eyeliner that had decided to stain your cheeks, you wondered whether Mingi was already asleep, or if he was going to meet you in the shower. Not wanting to wait, you took the liberty of stepping in and dousing yourself in the cooling water, careful not to ruin your hair more than it had already been tousled by passion.

No change. You unceremoniously dried yourself using the closest available towel, throwing it into the laundry basket under the sink. Mingi was definitely asleep. Or just so exhausted that he could not function. You chuckled to yourself, your ego swelling – a common occurrence on a Friday night for you. But a little seedling of suspicion had risen within you as you turned of the light and stalked back to the room. The intimate eye contact, the kiss to ride out the climax, the hand holding. This was a little… personal. Much like his reaction to you calling out his name. You were using him, you repeated to yourself. He just offered himself to you. A loyal friend, right? Helping another in need, apologising for cockblocking you for nearly the entire evening. What the fuck were you even saying? There was something off about this. You could not place a finger on it. But Mingi, poor Mingi, answered all your doubts in one go.

As you stood by the bed, about to lie back down to let yourself drift into a peaceful rest before exiting the scene in the morning, he stirred. You chose to not make any further motions to join him. You glanced at his form, now curled up and reaching towards the side where you had been. This pretty little angel. Who had fallen for the night to satisfy your sin. Just as you were about to step towards the window to take in the scenery, Mingi mumbled out the one thing you were terrified of.

“I love you… Y/N…”

Your heart stopped, and you froze in place.

You knew he was irrational. You knew he was fucked out and on the verge of slumber. Hell, you heard others say this to you before in a post-coital bliss. But something about how those three little words fell out of Mingi’s bruised lips tore at you, and how he said your name was a direct shot through the heart. By barely doing anything, just giving into his nature, his mind’s calling, Mingi made it clear that this really was a truth that he had harbouring for so long, and that only at his most vulnerable, while with you, could he reveal it.

In those couple of seconds that it took to utter the sacred confession, he had unlocked his world, one that revolved around you. If the past did not exist, and this was all a movie, the audience could almost believe that this was all domestic. That in a matter of seconds you would be crawling back into bed, to someone with whom you were sharing your life, to fall asleep in his embrace.

And not to be scrambling for your belongings that had been strewn around on the floor, careful not to alert your ‘not so much a friend anymore’. You felt panic rise in your throat as you let out a couple of shaky breaths.

“I love you”

Was it that easy for him to say?

“I.”

“Love.”

“You.”

Why were you so affected by it? Why was this the first time that these words, in that order, did matter?

You sent one apologetic glance over your shoulder as you tip-toed out of the bedroom, sex still heavy in the air. Your high heels were still in your hands as you crept out of Mingi’s apartment, out of fear that he could awaken at any moment, and you would not be able to stay indifferent enough to brush his pleas away.

Would he say your name in the morning?

Would he miss you when he realised you were gone?

Shit. You were in deep trouble.

You pulled down your dress a little, flipped one of the straps that decided it was not the time to look neat, and shoved the tights that you had not had the time nor the courage to stay and put on into your handbag. There was no chance you were going to stay in that same space as him. The adoration was borderline suffocating. It was so pure. So… honest. It made you sick to your stomach, and you were not sure if it was from disgust or from butterflies.

This was supposed to be just like any other Friday. A satiation of basic human instincts. A moment that was meant to be erased and the space filled by somebody else. But you had committed a fatal error. And you were sure of it. You had foolishly chosen Mingi: the one person who could not comprehend, nor have ‘no strings’ with you. In fact, all strings that he had ever been bound by led only to you.

In retrospect, it was obvious. All the years you had known him, he was always on your team. That silly boy. In university, he had brought you medicine when you were sick. Followed you and your ‘gang’ of troublemakers around almost like a groupie would follow a rock band. Stayed up with you in the campus library just to keep you company as you crunched out some report.

And now, even when life had thrown peers around different cities and countries and your friend group had whittled down to a tight-knit squad, he was still there. Loyal to you. Satisfied even if it was just you rejecting him repeatedly, selecting man after man, sometimes right in front of him, to bring home for the damned Friday night. All because at least before that moment, he could spend some time with you.

What were you thinking, falling for the trap of accepting a lover’s self-sacrifice?

A true libertine, you had chosen the primrose path of dalliance to tread. It was only a matter of time before you had to pay for it in full, for there was nothing in the world that could fix Song Mingi’s heart of gold if it were to break.

You stumbled outside of his apartment building, finally remembering to tug on the heels as your bare feet hit the biting cold concrete. It was barely three in the morning. Much earlier than you had ever left a one-night-stand’s place before. But this was different. In every way it was really fucking different. You hobbled away, cursing yourself over and over as you fished out your nearly dead mobile phone out of your bag, searching for the number of the only one you could call when the apocalypse was upon you.

He picked up after the third ring, just as you were passing under a streetlight. The roads were completely deserted, the residential district wrapped up in a cosy blanket until the morning. Somnolent trees lining pathways and sidewalks were barely rocking, and the only sounds that filled the air were the rumbles of distant traffic.

“Yeah? Y/N? What happened? You normally don’t call-”

“Wooyoung. I fucked up. Really badly. I really, really, badly fucked up.” You felt tears beginning to well up and sting you, threatening to spill over at any moment. Your friend was so concerned about you, launching to try and comfort you. It made you think back to those damn words that had imprinted themselves in your mind. Replaying again and again.

“Wait, wait, what happened, hold on? Are you okay? Are you safe? Where are you? San and I are coming to get you right now-”

“I slept with Mingi.” You cut him off. You were no longer walking; your legs were barely supporting you anyways.

“WHAT?” silence on the line as you heard shuffling and hushed, indecipherable whispers. “So, by that do you mean like, uh… heavy petting and foreplay or-”

“Since when does SLEEPING WITH SOMEONE mean THIRD BASE in our vocabulary, Woo?” you yelled, though without much conviction – you sounded too choked up.

“Fair point… well was it worth it at least?” you were not surprised that Wooyoung would inquire after that even when you were on the verge of melting down right on him.

“Oh, for fucks sake, YES, yes it was good. Very good in fact. More than good.”

“Then hey, at least that’s a positive. Then why are you so distressed? I know he has eyes for you but you know, so do like seventy percent of the guys at work.”

“He said he loved me.” You forced out, attempting to regain some nonchalance.

“No way.” Wooyoung muttered under his breath.

“Yes way.

“Fu-u-uck… Okay Y/N where are you this needs some wine and a good game plan.” You heard the rattling of keys and rapid footsteps. You tried to imagine the layout of your friend’s pad. Anything to get you away from what you had just done.

“I am… you know what let me send you my live location.” You could not bring yourself to take a single step back, even though you had seen a street sign. Going back would mean getting closer to him.

“Cool, stay put,” Wooyoung ended your conversation, but before hanging up you could hear him shouting at San to ‘stop sulking over that bitch there is a real catastrophe happening out there’.

No better words to describe it.

You used Mingi.

While Mingi loved you.

[theheirofthesharingan]

Itachi is the main character without plot armour, don't you think?

That's a good one actually. After all, he is Itachi 'I'm not the main character but I stole the show' Uchiha. So why not. Majority of the fandom cannot afford to be indifferent towards him and it's been 14 years since his death (in manga he died in 2008).

In mathematical equations these numbers would be considered negligible. In spite of this he's one of the most popular characters in Naruto.

I feel he is more suited for seinen manga that deals with the darker themes. Though, I haven't read any seinen so far myself. He is a very complex character with multiple layers to him, all equally authentic, the colours that form a kind of a kaleidoscope. I'm not blind towards Kishimoto's shortcomings as a writer but Itachi is one of the reasons I will defend him.

To me, he better works as a supporting character (or a minor character) because that allows him to be chaotic without being shackled to ethics or morality. His short appearance usually ends up triggering bigger events and for as long as he's there he wants you to chase after him, and he keeps the audiences curious about him, the answers to some of those queries never come.

Main characters give you something to root for, even if they're not exactly the "good guys". Naruto, for example, makes you want to root for him on his journey to be the Hokage. Sasuke makes you want to root for his journey towards justice. Itachi... well. Within the context of the narrative his motives are simple and he has no lofty goals. He wants to keep Sasuke safe, that's all. That's something he can achieve and he will. That's not to say there's no scope, but in the context of canon material, there isn't much.

Majority of the Naruto fandom would agree for them it's Naruto before Itachi's death and after his death. That's the checkpoint for most of us. Whether one likes him or not his backstory is the most important one to decide how twisted the world actually is. If he were present all the time and was all over the place the impact of his character wouldn't be as powerful. So, he's great as he is presented with minor changes here and there.

[anakin-pilled]

SILVER SPRINGS (Lo'ak x Fem! Reader)

pairing: lo'ak x fem! reader

wordcount: 7.6k

warnings: angst, fandom cliches, amateur writing, bantering, unrequited love (?), complex family dynamics, A LOT OF CLICHES IM SORRY, bad pacing (my bad bro idk how to pace a story im new to this), not sure what else as this is pretty tame

rating: SFW! though my blog is 18+ because i interact with nsfw content, anyone can technically read this?

taglist: @teyamsatan

author's note: okay hi this is my first fanfic that i've ever written before? not counting fanfics i wrote in middle school anyway i got the idea for this fanfic after listening to silver springs by fleetwood mac and i was so obsessed with this idea that i had to make it come true? im a huge neteyam girly so this is a shocker that my first fic ever is about lo'ak (he's my babygirl, just not the LOML like neteyam). uhhh im only familiar with academic writing and this is my first time EVER dipping my toe into the waters of creative writing so pls bear with me if this is not perfect. i actually think this is quite flat and tbh i hate the pacing like its actually awful and there is so much room for improvement, but hey what can i do? IM A NEWBIE AT THIS!! with that being said, if you do decide to read, please treat me with some grace because i am sensitive and i did this purely for fun!!! i know my lo'ak stans are starving for fics and im here to deliver!!!! i am not a professional or seasoned writer by any means but i really tried my best to create something enjoyable ): i don't know why this ended up being so long but it did and there WILL be a part two, i already have it outlined. SO WITHOUT FURTHER ADO, here is my first avatar fanfiction!!

proofread and edited but i got lazy toward the end LOL if you see any mistakes, please tell me kindly <3

You could be my silver spring

Blue-green colors flashin'

I would be your only dream

Your shinin' autumn ocean crashin'

The forest blended into a mixture of vibrant colors as you ran away from the incoming threat. Beautiful shades of blue, green, and purple passed around you. The feeling of the bare ground, soft and pliant from the morning dew, normally imbued you with a sense of stability and peace. As long as your feet were on the ground and connected to Ewya’s bountiful moon, you knew everything would be alright. However, this time, the feeling of the bare ground underneath your feet felt the opposite of stable and peaceful. The ground served as a reminder of how much longer you had to run until you reached the safe confines of the Omitikaya clan. 

You stopped running with a quick halt. Your chest heaved up and down as you tried to catch your breath. The beads in your hair clacked together in a cacophony as you looked around in different directions. The sun broke through the tree canopy and highlighted the forest like a kaleidoscope. Swish. You quickly turned your head to the other side to catch sight of what made the noise but all you could see was the rustling of the bush–as if whatever you were looking for was looking for you too before running off. Without a second to spare, you dashed in the direction of the village. But you only made it a few feet ahead of you before you were tackled by something heavy and shoved to the forest ground.

“I win.” said the voice from above in a triumphant, but annoying, manner. 

“You got to be faster than that, ‘eylan.” As you shaded your eyes with your hand, you were met with the illuminating picture of Lo’ak on top of you. The sun shone above on Lo’ak and cast him in beautiful rays of light. He looked like an angel–like a celestial being sent straight from Ewya’s heart and into your eyesight. Though you have never seen an angel, Norm described them as ethereal and pure religious beings. And at this moment, Lo’ak was an angel. 

“Get off me, fatass.” You said as you pushed Lo’ak weight off your body. You secretly loved the weight of his body on yours and how it radiated a warmth that hugged your body and soul. Lo’ak rolled off with ease and laid next to you on the foliage. “Hey! No need to insult me because you lost yet another round of hunter and prey.” 

Hunter and prey. A game that all Omitcayan children played growing up. And though you and Lo’ak were no longer children, you continued to play this game. Lo’ak claims it’s a great way to burn energy and let loose. You suspected he liked playing so often because it allowed him to avoid whatever daily chores his father, the Olo’eyktan, assigned him. And while you could think of better ways to spend your time, you indulged in Lo’ak’s childish whims because it brought him happiness. What type of best friend would you be if you didn’t? 

“I’m not insulting you because I lost. I could care less about losing,” You explained. “I’m insulting you because tackled me to the ground and put your entire weight on my body. Lay off the yovo fruit and I might insult you less.” 

Lo’ak scoffed at your response and stuck his tongue out in a mocking manner. “You mean the yovo fruit that Spider and I specifically collected because you asked for it? Yeah, I got put on ikran pen duty for a week after that since we missed curfew.” 

You simply rolled your eyes and aimed your middle finger at Lo’ak. Yeah, you definitely spent way too much time around Lo’ak. 

You both basked in the sun and listened to the sound of the forest: your home, your comfort place, the lifeline of the People. You thanked Eywa every day for the forest and the way it provided for you endlessly–from the delicious yovo fruit, to the medicinal herbs, fauna, and everything in between. There was a gentle rustle in the air as it approached low afternoon. If closed your eyes and listened hard enough, you could hear the faint buzz of the insects and the leaves fluttering. 

As you turned on your side to face Lo’ak, you noticed he still had his eyes shut. Your eyes raked over his stripes–the stripes that would forever be engrained in your brain–and focused on the armband that fits snugly on his upper arm. The weaved armband was made out of dried, violet stalks from the tstxa'a plant and braided into a traditional, intricate Omatikayan pattern. You added tiny clay beads that you hand-molded and painted a color very similar to a marigold–you captured copious amounts of juice from the banana fruit just to have enough pigment to create a dye. A small smile appeared on your face as you recall how long it took you to make the armband. 

Your eyes slowly made their way toward his face. They widened as they realized Lo’ak’s eyes were open and staring at you too. The air was charged with tension as you both continued to stare at each other in silence. 

You and Lo’ak always had this weird ability to communicate through eye contact alone. Your friendship, which was forged in childhood, ran so deep that words failed to represent what your eyes could. He was your other half as much as you were his. In these small moments of intimacy, you remember just how much you love Lo’ak. There was an unspoken bond between you two–a bond that went beyond friendship and teetered on the edge of romantic love. And while it was undeniable that there was something more happening between the two of you, your relationship stayed on that flimsy edge. 

“What are you thinking about,” you whispered in a tone so soft that it reached Lo’ak ears like a tender caress. 

“Oh, nothing. Just thinking,” Lo’ak replied with a teasing lilt in his voice and a glitter in his amber eyes. While everyone in the Omatikaya clan had the same shades of bright, yellow eyes, you thought Lo’ak had the prettiest. You raised the muscle on your face, where your eyebrows would have been if you had, and furrowed your forehead in suspicious knowing. 

“Thinki-” “I’m thinking about how funny it would be if I beat your ass in another round of hunter and prey! Last one to the village has to take over foraging duty!,” Lo’ak shouted with a boyish smile as he got up quickly and ran in the direction of his kelku.  

You got up from the lush grass and ran after him with another exacerbated breath.

The day drawled along as you patrolled the forest for the dandetiger tree. You looked for its long, azure leaves and armored trunk. As a healer in training, you were tasked by Mo’at to look for the tree for samples of the resin-like substance that it leaked. The sticky substance was extremely helpful to the Omatikaya clan in many ways as it behaved like an adhesive. It was especially important to healers as they used the dangetiger tree as part of treating wounds and ensuring bandages stuck and protected healing wounds. The healing hut ran low on its supply, thus you found yourself wandering through the forest. Kiri offered to accompany you, but you could tell she rather focus on perfecting the paste she was mixing. A major perk of being best friends with Lo’ak is that you also became close with his family and found a small niche within the Sully family.

You were an extension of Lo’ak, but also the opposite of him in some ways. Whereas Lo’ak was more energetic and impulsive, you were calmer and sensical. You both balanced each other perfectly; you were the yin to his yang. While Lo’ak’s nature often got him in trouble with his family, namely his father and older brother, you loved his high energy and zest for life. Sure, he could use more pragmatism in his daily thinking, but you saw Lo’ak’s personality as a blessing more than a hindrance, especially in times of war and destruction. If Lo’ak was your sun, then you were his moon–stable and outer-worldly. You were unwavering. Your nurturing nature and kind soul always amazed Lo’ak, even in the worse of times, you took it upon yourself to think and act as an optimist. You carried yourself with a sense of dignity that Lo’ak wishes he could replicate.

Though none of you ever admitted it out loud, you and Lo’ak knew that you loved each other in a way that best friends didn’t.

Despite your differences, you both had a passion for exploring and adventure. If Lo’ak went anywhere, you followed. And if he got in any trouble, you were only a few steps behind him. While Lo’ak intention for mischief was partially caused by the motivation to piss off his father, you believed that Eywa made Pandora for the purpose of exploring. Why would she make Pandora so magnificent and rich in life if not to experience every single crevice, nook, and cranny of it? While the forest would always be your home and the place you want to spend the rest of your life in, you could not deny the appeal of a nomadic lifestyle like the Olangi clan. However, with the return of the sky people on Pandora, your exploring had been cut to a short. Unable to venture into the unknown parts of the forest, the parts that resulted in a scolding or two from both your mom and Mr. Sully, you were forced to stay within the clan’s boundary lines.

Your thoughts were cut short as your heard movement in the background. The bag on your shoulder was discarded to the ground as you took out your bow and arrow. You were no warrior, but you begged Lo’ak to teach you enough to be able to defend yourself. Any Na’vi should know this little. You prayed to Eywa that it wasn’t a palulukan, or worse—a sky demon. A bead of sweat rolled down the side of your face as you aimed your bow in the direction of where you heard the noise. You aimed at the bushes before letting your final finger release the bow.

“Relax, syulang! It’s just me, Lo’ak!,” he said as he came out from the bushes of loreyu and walked to where you were standing. “Lo’ak,” you huffed with annoyance in your voice. “Don’t scare me like that, you skxawng! I was really focused on finding a dandetiger tree. Tsahik’s orders. What are you even doing here? I thought you were training with your father.”

“Lo’ak,” you huffed with annoyance in your voice. “Don’t scare me like that, you skxawng! I was really focused on finding a dandetiger tree. Tsahik’s orders. What are you even doing here? I thought you were training with your father.” 

As Lo’ak walked closer to you, you noticed the downturn expression on his face. Your immediate heart softened. He must have had another fight with his father, you thought to yourself. Lo’ak turned his face toward yours and you saw the unshed tears in his eyes that threatened to fall any second now.

“I, uh, I was training with my father until we got into a fight and I stormed off,” he said with a shaky breath. You could tell Lo’ak was trying to keep his composure, not wanting to show that vulnerable side he desperately tries to hide away. Yet, you knew better than that. Every time Lo’ak tried to shut down and hide his emotions, you came running after him and knocked down the fragile walls he built around himself. The walls were fragile because Lo’ak knew he would and could never shut you out completely. He took a deep, shaky breath before continuing, “I’m just so sick of it. He expects me to be this perfect son and soldier all in one, but I’m not Neteyam. I’m just Lo’ak.”

You always thought Lo’ak was the most complex person you ever met. He was the second-born son of the revered Toruk Makto and mighty Palulukun Makto. But, Lo’ak was so much more than that to you. He was more than both of his parents. Though he would never admit it, Lo’ak was a lost soul. Not quite like Neteyam, the mighty warrior and dutiful son, or the spiritual Kiri who was literally like Ewya’s disciple. Hell, even everyone knew Tuk would grow into a fine, strong-spirited woman! Lo’ak didn't know where he fit in his family. Of course, the Sully family loved him, and Lo’ak loved his family just as much. But that still didn’t stop the gnawing, deep feeling in Lo’ak’s subconscious from telling him that he would never amount to greatness like the rest of his family. You wished Lo’ak wouldn’t be so hard on himself because you also had a deep feeling in your subconscious that Lo’ak was destined for greatness–the feeling was embedded so deep in your bones that you would bet your left on it. 

“I know that I’m a fuck up.” 

“You’re no-”

“It’s okay, syulang. I know I’m a fuck up. I can see it in the tribes’ faces every time they hear my father lecture me, or worse, hear Neteyam lecture me. I can see it in my fathers’ eyes and in the way the rest of my family pities me.”

“Your family doesn’t pity you, Lo’ak. If anything, they pity the way your father has been forced into this weird dichotomy of the punisher and protector ever since the sky demons returned and how it’s taken an effect on your relationship,” you tried to explain as sweetly as possible. 

You took a step closer to Lo’ak and examined his face. Though his tears had dried and his eyes were now puffy, you could still tell there was a great sadness within him. You wished you could take all his pain and suffering so he didn’t have to. 

“I don’t know who I am besides the fuck up, or the troublemaker. I feel like my entire existence is defined by all the things I am not. Defined by the way I’m different from Neteyam or Kiri. I want to be defined by who I am, but I don’t even know who that is most of the time,” said Lo’ak. “I try so hard, but it is never enough to satisfy my father. Or myself. I feel this heavy pressure in my chest and no matter what I do to relieve it, it stays. If I am not meant to be the next Olo’eyktan or the next Tsahik, then who am I meant to be? Sure–I am training to become a warrior, but I’m not sure if this is something I want or if it is a role I am forced into. I know I’m impulsive and reckless and irresponsible, but I try so hard, but what if that isn’t enough to look over all my flaws and mistakes?”

You moved even closer and tucked one of Lo’ak’s front braids behind his ear. You always loved his hair like this. It suited his face so well. His braids were adorned by various beads, each with its own significance and memory attached to them. The beads he wore today were a pretty amethyst color. Your mind quickly flashbacked to the day you both created the matching beads. You both swam all day in one of the forest’s ponds trying to find the purple stones underwater so you could both craft new beads. Lo’ak almost passed out from lack of air twice and your hair was so tangled by the end of the day that it took your mother three hours to undo the gnarly knots. It was totally worth it, however, because you gained new accessories and memories to match. But before you could let yourself get too far away in the past, you shifted your attention towards Lo’ak and began to speak.

“I see you, Lo’ak. I see all of you. I know that you feel like a lost soul and that you get too caught up in comparing yourself to the rest of your family. And I truly wished you didn’t compare yourself to others so much because you are so special.” Lo’ak’s face grew warm at your words. Before he could respond, you interrupted him and continued to talk. “You feel like you are too different from your family and think you do not fit in, but you do! You are the light of your family; you bring laughter and happiness. The Sully dynamic would not be the same without you–it would be too serious and no one would have fun! Lo’ak, you have a strong heart like your father. Even though you could use some impulse control, I know you never have ill intentions. We are still so young and have so much more maturing to do. Do not let yourself be defined by the mistakes of your past. Mistakes are bound to happen–they are as natural as birth and death. You’re the light of my life too. Without you, there is no one else in this clan that could make me smile as much as you do. No one to explore with and quench our thirst for curiosity. You say that you are impulsive, but there is too much excitement in your body to contain it. I love seeing your excitement and wander–it is a reminder of Pandora’s goodness and the way Eywa intended us to live. You are not irresponsible, you are just learning along the way like we all are. There is no one like you, and my heart is torn because you do not see yourself in the same way. I pray to Eywa that you could see yourself through my eyes.” You then placed one hand on Lo’ak’s chest, right above his heart.

“​​Nga yawne lu oer, Lo’ak.” There was no going back now. You said it–the words that would either be fatal to your soul or make your heart sore higher than the Hallejuah Mountains. And though there was a risk of Lo’ak rejecting you completely, you jumped off the fragile cliff that your friendship lived on. All the intimate moments, the knowing smiles, and the lifetime of shared memories led you to this moment. 

A moment of silent pass as you waited for Lo’ak’s response to your confession. Lo'ak did not expect you to confess, but he knew at some point it was bound to happen. Just not right now, under these cruel circumstances, in a time of devastation.

You shouldn’t have confessed. Lo’ak wasn’t ready for it.

The look in your eyes was so sincere and so full of unconditional love. You are the only person who could truly see Lo’ak for everything that he is and everything he was meant to become. The light hit your eyes in the right way and Lo’ak could swear they were glittering. Ewya blessed her with both heart and beauty, he said in his head. Lo’ak could only stare as he still reeled from your heartfelt speech. He wasn’t an idiot—Lo’ak knew that there was a special chemistry between him and his best friend. And he also knew that it was the type of chemistry that only two people in love have. Lo’ak has known ever since he was a small child that you were his endgame. Your years spent together only solidified his hypothesis. 

Life on Pandora could be unforgiving and unrelenting, but you were the complete opposite. You were forgiving, always ready to accept Lo’ak back into your arms and heart after every mistake he made. Though these mistakes were rarely made towards you, you still welcomed him every time. You were always there for him. But, Lo’ak didn’t fall in love with you because of the fact you were always there for him. It did play a big part, but Lo’ak knew that would be a selfish reason for falling in love. Instead, Lo’ak fell in love with you because you were…well, you. You were kind and always treated your fellow clan members with the utmost consideration and respect. You were perceptive, never wanting to misconstrue a situation and analyzing all nuances before speaking on something. Because of this, everything you said or did was genuine. Lo’ak loved this the most about you. Where Lo’ak felt everyone in the clan (excluding his family and Spider) give him fake niceties, you were 100% authentic towards him. You never condescendingly spoke to him or treated him like a chore that had to be put up with. Compassion and understanding were what you treated Lo’ak with. These are all things he rarely experienced with other Na’vi. Yet, you also weren’t afraid to call out Lo’ak on his bullshit and humble him. You somehow balanced outspokenness and tenderness all at once. This lit a fire in Lo’ak soul.

This thought both excited and scared him. The thought of loving someone unconditionally, and being loved unconditionally, seemed like something too good to be true. Only something reserved for people who deserved it. Lo’ak knew you deserved unconditional love, but it couldn’t be with him. Despite everything you said about him and the way it almost glued together his broken self-esteem, Lo’ak could not return your confession in good consciousness. It’s not that Lo’ak didn't love you–hell, he loves you more than anyone or anything on this moon! But, his insecurities would not allow you to love him or allow him to love you. He didn’t deserve to love or be loved, not when his insecurities kept up awake at night, taunting his brain with “You’ll never be good enough” or “You’re a failure of a son and brother.” You deserved better than Lo’ak and all of his broken parts. You needed someone who was the best–someone like Neteyam, but not Neteyam himself because that would be the final nail in Lo’ak’s coffin. Lo’ak knows his recklessness, impulsivity, and natural gravitation toward the unknown was acceptable because he is young. These may be the traits you love about Lo’ak now, but he knows very well these are the same traits that can make you fall out of love with him too. After all, you won’t be young forever and it won’t be cute forever. But what if he never grows out of this? What if this is who he is meant to be? No, Lo’ak would not subject you to this fate. 

And so, for once in his life, Lo’ak let fear take over his decision. Your face morphed into an expression of shock and confusion before settling on a still face.

“I am sorry, syulang. I can’t do this right now.” 

You watched Lo’ak retreat from the spot you both stood in. What the fuck just happened?

You spent the next few days in a strange haze as you processed what happened between you and Lo’ak. At first, you were angry. How could Lo’ak just leave you hanging like that? For Ewya’s sake, he could have said anything else and it would have been a better response than what he said. You laid your fucking heart out on your sleeve, waiting for Lo’ak to take it and claim it forever. After your initial response to the situation, you started to worry. Maybe you misinterpreted your relationship. What if Lo’ak didn’t love you and you just thought he did because of how close you were? No, that didn’t sound right. You knew Lo’ak loved you too. Not even in a delusional way to comfort yourself, but there was no denying you both loved each other. Did you just confess at the wrong time? Perhaps it would have been better if you confessed when Lo’ak wasn’t fighting with his father. But, you didn’t even mean to confess! Well, you did mean to confess but not at that exact moment. You were trying to comfort Lo’ak and reassure him that he was wrong, that someone could love him. It just seemed like the right thing to say. What if it wasn’t? What if it overwhelmed Lo’ak and pushed him away? Now you felt like the jerk for confessing at such a moment. But Lo’ak was a jerk too for just leaving you! You really wished you could talk to him, or that he would talk to you, but the timing was horrible. The war party went out a few days ago, and it was Lo’ak’s first time joining the mission. But of course, things never go as planned. Over-enthusiasm from Lo’ak’s and an injured Neteyam caused Mr. Sully to put Lo’ak on lockdown for the last few days. This was the first day Lo’ak was allowed some freedom to explore, that’s what Kiri told you before she left with her brother, Spider, and Tuk. You wanted to join them in their adventure today, but you were still reeling from your last conversation with Lo’ak and decided it would be better to stay in the village. You needed one more day to unscramble your thoughts before approaching him.

The tension between you and Lo’ak had been festering, but it quickly came to a stop once you saw him walk back into the village with his entire family. Jake and Neytiri walked walk in front of their children with heavy looks on their faces. Jake looked angry, yet worn at the same time. His mouth was pressed in a tight line and the wrinkles in his forehead looked more apparent than they ever have before. Neytiri walked beside Jake with Tuk’s hand in hers in a tight grasp, as if she never wanted to let her baby go ever again. Her expression was harder to read, but you could tell the tsakarem was worried by her stiff posture. Kiri trailed behind her parents with a slouchy form and arms across her torso. She looks dejected. And finally in the back were Neteyam and Lo’ak. Spider was nowhere to be seen, which you found odd as he went with the rest of the Sully children into the forest, but you assumed he must have gone back to the human outpost before curfew. 

I wonder what happened. Something must have happened if the entire family walked in like that. 

Jake and Neytiri quickly made their way to their kelku and closed the opening flaps before any of their children could come in. The Sully children then made their way toward the side of their kelku and leaned forward on their hands as they attempted to listen to their parent's conversation. You wanted to make your way towards them and figure out what the hell happened. Just as you were about to walk over to them, Lo’ak turned around and his eyes scanned the village as if he were looking for something or someone. Lo’ak’s eyes then met yours and with a small nod, you understood what he was trying to say. Later. At our spot. 

Your stomach turned to bubbles as a feeling of cold anxiety washed over your body. You weren’t sure if it was because of Lo’ak or something else, but you knew whatever it was, it was not good. 

Lo’ak was already sitting on the bioluminescent forest floor when you arrived at the small clearing which was designated as our spot. It was a hidden clearing–away from any of the main trails and hunting and gathering spots that the clan used. You first found the clearing one day after playing a round of hunter and prey with Lo’ak and Spider. 

Flashback

You were both 12 years old. Your hair was cut in a sharp, shoulder-length bob because you claimed long hair only got in the way. A bright orange and yellow ombre feather decorated the underside of your hair. A simple beige-toned weaved top and matching ‘tewng adorned your small body as you ran away from Lo’ak. He loved playing the role of hunter–you assumed it because of the way Lo’ak looked up to his father.  He wanted to be like the Olo’eyktan in every way possible. This was before their relationship had a strain in it. Both you and Lo’ak were unmarred from the harshness of war. The only thought that filled both of your minds was what adventure you would get into next. 

As you giggled profusely and thought of where to run next, you noticed that you were in a different part of the forest that you never visited before. You searched for any familiar landmarks, or plants that would signify where you were. The giggles that previously escaped your mouth quieted down as the situation dawned on you. You were lost in the forest all alone! Your mom was going to kill you, but only if a nantang or palulukun didn’t kill you first. 

“Lo’ak, are you there!!!!!,” you screamed at the top of your lungs. That probably wasn’t the smartest move. A predator could be attracted to your sound. But you figured it would be better to call for Lo’ak. If any predators came, you could climb a tree and wait it out. 

“Lo’ak!!!” you continued. Worry was starting to creep in. If you didn’t find Lo’ak soon, there was no way you would be able to survive the night in the forest. 

As you looked around the clearing again, you noted that it was quite pretty. A small pond, decorated with pink paysyuls, sat in the middle of the forest. The sun streamed through the trees and you could see the fishes elegantly swim in the water. A pack of loreyu sat directly across the pond, along with eanean bushes right next to it. The clearing was simple, but you knew that it was much more than that. Like everything else Eywa created, the clearing served a purpose and was spiritually connected to the Na’vi. Perhaps its purpose was unknown until this moment. You decided that the purpose of the clearing would be a secret spot only known to both you and Lo’ak. The thought excited you, and you quickly imagined a lifetime of moments here.

Flashback Over

Lo’ak sat with his arms extended behind him with his back facing you. You could see the tension in his back muscle as he sat there, looking up towards the night sky. One of Polyphemus’ moons was shaped like an ikran claw. Despite the moon’s brightness in the sky, the stars still twinkled. A soft, minty green glow emitted from the bioluminescent leaves Lo’ak sat upon. His tanhi, patterned perfectly on his body like Ewya directly hand placed each freckle herself, glowed like the sky above him. Lo’ak was lost in his thoughts as he silently spoke to Ewya, questioning what her intention was. You cleared your throat to grab Lo’ak’s attention.

“Hey…” he muttered under his breath. You replied with a soft hello before taking your place next to him. There was still an awkward tension lingering between the two of you, but you pushed it away. Whatever happened a few days ago didn’t matter anymore. You knew something serious happened in the Sully family and you knew your best friend needed you right now. 

“Do you want to tell me what happened this time?” you quoted Lo’ak as you looked into his eyes for the first time in a few days. The dark lighting only enhanced the rich shade of his honey-colored eyes. They glowed brightly in the dark. His eyes resembled the shiny topaz glass jewels located deep in the rainforests’ many caverns–both were a sight to behold. 

Lo’ak thought he should rip the bandage off. There was no point in delaying the traumatic news he just received from his parents. 

“My family and I are leaving the forest.” 

You were confused by his statement. Leaving where? There was no other place to go. The forest was your home, his home. “Do you mean that you’re visiting another tribe for diplomatic reasons,” you asked with a slight tilt in your head to match confusion. Why would this be so important that he needed to meet you at your spot? This wouldn’t be the first time the Sully family has left on diplomatic retreats.

“No, (Y/N). My family and I are leaving the forest permanently,” Lo’ak replied. Your heart dropped into the pits of your stomach. Now you were just getting annoyed. You haven’t spoken to Lo’ak in the days, and the first thing he does is try to pull at your leg. “Lo’ak if this is a joke, then it’s not funny. What are you talking about?” you said with a stern voice. Lo’ak stared at you as if he didn’t want to explain further. It’s true, he didn’t want to explain further because it meant that what was happening was real and there was no way to delay or stop the situation.

“Earlier today, when we were exploring the forest, we saw footprints in the dirt that didn’t belong to any Na’vi. It was sky demons. We followed the footsteps to an abandoned shack. I knew we weren’t supposed to be there, but then we spotted a group of uniltìranyu in military gear. I quickly paged my father and let him know what we found. But as we were trying to leave back to the forest, the uniltìranyu captured us and held us hostage…”

“What?” you let out in shock. The magnitude of Lo’ak’s words hit you like a poisoned arrow. Dreamwalkers? How could that be true? The last dream walker to walk the ground of Pandora was Jake Sully…and that was 14 years ago.

“I-I  thought we were going to die. They treated us like we were animals. As if we were the ones who invaded their planet and deserved to be captured and hung. All I felt was primal fear and the instinctual reaction to protect my family. We were held hostage until my parents and brother came to our rescue. But, it was too late by then. They figured out who were and our relation to my father.  They even captured Spider…” Lo’ak had to stop speaking. The familiar tightening of his throat began. You could tell he was about to cry, but you pushed further. Honestly, your brain was fuzzy at this point. It was so fuzzy to the point that you didn’t even process the news of Spider, your tiny human friend, being captured. It completely slipped your mind. You didn’t have time to think about the implications of this news as you could only process one thing and one thing only: Lo’ak was leaving. The Sullys were leaving!

“What does that have to do with you leaving the forest?”

“Don’t you understand, syulang? They know who we are. Our lives are at risk! The whole clan is at risk if we continue to stay.” Lo’ak explained in frustration. “I don’t want this, I don’t want to leave the only place I’ve ever known. How can I leave the forest while Spider is out there, going through Eywa knows what, with those demons? How can I leave you?” Fat, wet tears streamed down Lo’ak’s face as he spoke. 

Crack. The sound of your heart breaking reverberated in your ears. All you could hear was a dull ringing. Your best friend, the love of your life–how could he just leave like that? You questioned the will of Eywa. How could she be so cruel to tear you both apart? Especially after your confession the other day? You wanted to curse and scream and cry all at once. However, you knew you had to be strong for Lo’ak. 

You held Lo’ak’s body in silence. You were both in a catatonic state. An hour or so had passed since his initial confession. The atmosphere was serene, a heavy contrast from the dark storm brewing in both of your minds. This may be the last time you would ever get to hold Lo’ak like this and fully enjoy his presence. All of the years spent together slowly meshed in your mind as you tried to calm yourself down with memories of happier times. You honestly didn’t know how you could survive this life without your other half. 

Lo’ak wasn’t faring any better than you. His continuous sniffles vibrated on your body. He barely looked up, wanting to savor the feeling of your bodies pressed together in such an intimate way. His mind was in a haze as he processed the situation. This wasn’t real life, it couldn’t be real life. His life was perfectly balanced with you. If Eywa sought to protect the balance of life, why would she take you away from him? Why would she take away Spider? 

Tomorrow is never promised. That is a cruel lesson you learned today. It was probably best that you and Lo’ak head back to the village and sleep, but you didn’t want this night to end. You wanted to savor every last moment. Memorize every stripe on Lo’ak’s body, every green speck in his eyes, the way his eyebrows moved, and how his body felt right next to yours. How could you say goodbye to 14 years of memories in one night? It seemed impossible. 

As you stared at the light reflecting off the pond, you knew there was one topic you had to broach. You weren’t sure if this was the right time, but it was the only chance you had. After all, Lo’ak only had one more day in the clan before his family set off to Eywa knows where. You knew the forest of Pandora held many clans, but you suspected his family would be going somewhere even further than that. You tried to calm the rapid pace of your heart, but your nerves refused to settle down. So, you sent a quick prayer to Ewya, turned to Lo’ak, and quietly said, “The other night, when I said I love you, why didn’t you say it back?”

You didn’t want to fight with Lo’ak–not on a night like this, where blood has been shed and a family has been torn from normalcy. But, you had to talk to Lo’ak about this. What if you never saw him again? You couldn’t live the rest of your life with unresolved feelings. It would drive you utterly insane and wreck your soul for as long as you live. 

(Y/N)...”

“I’m being serious, Lo’ak. Why did not you say it back? I know this is the last thing on your mind right now, but you cannot leave me hanging. You owe me more than that and you know it,” you said with determination in your voice. 

You then stood up. This was not a conversation you could have sitting down. The anxiety coursing through your veins made it impossible to sit still. Lo’ak followed your actions and stood up too. 

“I was afraid,” he replied.

“Afraid of what Lo’ak? We have always been so honest with each other.” You thought you would always understand Lo’ak, but perhaps you were mistaken. You didn’t understand what there was to be afraid of. You both loved each other, shouldn’t that be enough? You failed to realize that love isn’t enough sometimes. There are forces beyond your control that make love unsustainable and out of your reach, despite how close you are to it. Eywa did not teach you this lesson. Lo’ak did. 

Lo’ak was faced with two choices at this moment: he could confess his love to you or he could deny it. He so desperately wished he could choose the first choice. Something within him would not allow himself to whether it was because he was about to leave and he could not promise himself to you, or because he was so far deep in his inner turmoil. Lo’ak felt anger bubbling in his chest. This anger wasn’t directed towards you, but himself. He cursed his inability to allow himself to fully love you because of his internal issues. No, he justified the second choice in his mind with weak reasons as to why he could not confess his love. 

If he said confessed, Lo’ak knew you would spend the rest of your days waiting for his return. If he ever returned. You deserved more than that. You deserved someone who could love you now. The prospect of you waiting for him, only for Lo’ak to stay the same Na’vi he was now, a version of himself that wasn’t proud of, haunted him. Yeah. Lo’ak framed his reasoning to focus on you, rather than himself because it made the harsh reality less painful. Damn the fact he was leaving, he would wait 100 years for you too if he confessed. The reality was Lo’ak could not confess his love because he couldn’t give his all to you, not when his judgment and self-worth were clouded by thoughts so dark that Eywa would be heartbroken to learn one of her children, whom she created with love and adoration, did not love himself. 

Either way, he was about to break your heart for the second time within days. 

“You are the other half of my soul and if there is any person who can understand me, it is you. But, I cannot love you. I’m sorry syulang.” There was a sorrowful look across Lo’ak’s face. Your body deflated at his words and the familiar sting of tears gathered in your eyes. He didn’t want to continue, but if was going to break your heart, you at least deserved a proper explanation.

“You are the most lovely and wonderful woman on this planet; the idea of you not being in my life hurts more than a palulukan attack. But I swear on my life to Eywa when I say this, but it is not you. It’s me. You have always been this positive being in my life, and I always hoped it would rub off on me and make me a better man. I thought, maybe if that ever happened, we could be together in the future. I would finally be worthy of all the love you have to offer. I am not good enough for you. I would only drag you down with the weight of my heavy problems,” Lo’ak finished.

“But it’s not your choice to decide who deserves me,” you let out with an exasperated tone. “How can you stand here in front of me and deny the bond we have? The love we have? The other day when I confessed that I see you and you ignored it, I brushed it off my shoulder because I was sure, with every fiber of my being, that you see me too. That you love me. But now you are leaving, and Eywa knows when the fuck you are coming back, and you can't even admit it out loud?” you questioned. 

“Don’t you get it? I am not doing this because I want to deny the bond we have. I feel our bond every day from the time I wake up to the time I go to sleep. Even in my dreams, you are there. Your essence is built into the foundation of my bones. I just can’t love you. No good would come of it. I’m the clan’s outcast. Yes, we are best friends and we know each other like the back of our palms. But I won't let you carry the burden of my imperfectness,” Lo’ak choked with a sob at the end. 

Without missing a beat, you tirade, “I think everything you are saying is complete bullshit. How could be absolute about something that has not been realized? We have spent the last 14 years together. I know you better than I know myself, Lo’ak. And I know you see me too, so what are you so afraid of? There is nothing that you could ever do that would scare me away from loving you. I love you for who you are–flaws and all. I notice everything about you, the good and the bad. I know you have feelings so big and nerve-wracking that you do not know how to handle them except by convincing yourself that they are true. But you cannot stand in my face and claim that this is for my own good. No, you are saying all this because you are too scared of the possibility that I might see through all that and decide that you are not worth the trouble, that every judgment the clan and your father says about you is right.”

You stepped a few feet away from Lo’ak and then turned towards the direction of the village. He hadn’t said a word since you finished your speech. Your entire back was facing Lo’ak until you turned your head over your shoulder to look back at him. The tears that pooled in your eyes began to flow like a sad waterfall that was dying, the tears slowly rolling down your stripped cheeks in an antagonizing matter. Your golden eyes stared into Lo’ak’s. He could see the hurt etched across your iris and he was sure his eyes looked just as pathetic and broken. It was a moment that would forever be engrained into Lo’ak’s memory. You opened your mouth and delivered the final blow to this already crestfallen night,

“Maybe I was wrong, maybe you don’t see me. Because if you truly did, you would know that I would not care about your weaknesses. I don’t even care about them now. I refuse to believe that you cannot love me too. You are a lot of things Lo’ak. A coward is not one of them. I’ll see you tomorrow to say goodbye.” 

And at this moment, Lo’ak knew this was the biggest of all his fuck ups. He had managed to ruin a lot of good things and moments. Never knowing when the party is over and when the business began. When it came to you, his sweet tìyawn, Lo’ak never made any serious mistakes. So why was he doing it now? Lo’ak’s eyes burned as he stared at your figure walking away from him and the future you could’ve had together. 

translations: eylan - friend, Olo’eyktan - male clan leader, tstxa'a - canalyd, kelku - home, palulukan - thanator, syulang - flower, loreyu - helocordian, skxawng - moron, Toruk Makto - toruk rider, Palulukun Makto - thanator rider, Tsahik - clan spiritual leader, Nga yawne lu oer - i love you, tsakarem - successor to the tsahik, ‘tewng - loincloth, nantang - viperwolf, paysyuls - water lily, eanean - blue plant, tanhi - bioluminescent freckle, uniltìranyu - dream walker, tìyawn - love

credits for dividers: leafs (x) green line (x)

[millerscoffee]

dancing is a dangerous game | part two

i've got a few years on you, baby, that's all.

5.6k | joel miller x f!reader

this is part 2 of the "dancing is a dangerous game" series | other parts below:

part one | part two | masterlist

rating: 18+ MDNI

warnings (for this chapter): post-outbreak au. no ellie. no clickers. character development and plot!, age gap (joel is 56, reader is late 20s or early 30s), soft!dom joel, masturbation (f), eye contact, trauma recall (reader and joel), grief, mentions of sarah, pining, kissing, angst, fluff. no use of y/n.

summary: joel is a survivalist who (after putting you in your place™️) has invited you to stay at his homestead for one (1) month, so that's cute

A/N: ok hi, bee here! reminder that this fic is inspired by "cowboy like me" by taylor swift. i couldn't stay away from these two! this is... a loose adaptation of post-outbreak world in all honesty. i enjoy writing fluff and angst a little too much to always incorporate the heavier topics such as clickers or things of that nature. maybe it'll come to me! i hope you enjoy this chapter, it's been a fun adventure so far. thank you so much for all of your kind comments!!! ♡

Still, you wake to the smell of Joel making coffee. It’s years old, but it’s coffee. You sit up from the couch, hair in different directions. "Hey, I'll have some of that." "Where’re your manners?" "Hey, I'll have some of that… now?" Your eyes are sheened from sleep, but you're almost certain that pulls a grin from him. You hear an exhale through his nose that translates something along the lines of fine. The sound of pouring fills another cup.

Dreams like these come to you more as flashbacks. The ones of your father, of his death – most of the time in different places than where it actually happened.

At the shoreline of a beach, on top of a mountain, in the bottom of a cave. This time your night terror happens exactly where it took place.

It wasn't nearly as poetic as you would've wanted it to be for him.

An abandoned town with old buildings and a valley just outside of it.

You can feel the heat of fire even in your slumber.

Your legs twitch in your sleep. Tears crawling out the sides of your eyes as they spill and expand into kaleidoscopic shapes on Joel's couch.

Even in your dreams, your hands shake. You can make out his face tonight. The sorrow painted on his features. The end he knew he had to face. You raise your loaded pistol.

You wake up and you don't remember it.

---

The first day you wake up in Joel's cabin, it takes you a minute to know where you are.

A gasp of air brings your awareness to the surface, a sudden need to fight as your hypervigilance snaps your eyes open.

"Oh...," you mutter, subconsciously, too groggy to make connections but you ease rather quickly. A chill comes over your sweat-covered body.

From your perspective, your eyes fix on the ceiling. The pattern of wood, the feeling of your teeth against the inside of your lips. Your body unconsciously doing everything it can to regulate itself.

You didn't expect to fall asleep the night before, much less so easily, considering you were under a stranger's roof. So it caught you off guard to be so... warm under the blanket Joel gave you that smelled like him. Despite the slight stickiness of sweat. From a dream you now aren't aware you even had.

Then again, it helped the said stranger wasted no time in getting to know you. The insides of your thighs ache, a clear marker for that moment in time.

Your stomach felt like things were working in reverse. The situation so complex you don't know how to approach it.

Still, you wake to the smell of Joel making coffee. It’s years old, but it’s coffee.

You sit up from the couch, hair in different directions.

"Hey, I'll have some of that."

"Where’re your manners?"

"Hey, I'll have some of that… now?" Your eyes are sheened from sleep, but you're almost certain that pulls a grin from him. You hear an exhale through his nose that translates something along the lines of fine.

The sound of pouring fills another cup.

When you begin to move up to get the cup from him, Joel makes a grunt signaling you to stop and you sit back on the cushions. Your hands reach up to grab the hot liquid, ignoring the rush of blood pool towards your middle when you brush your fingers against his.

Too early for this shit.

You grumble a satisfied sound when the hot, bitter, old liquid reaches your tongue and your shoulders soften. You take a contemplative gaze into the cup. At the black. You wonder if the indulgence of milk ever graces Joel's mouth in a place like this.

Strange thought, but it passes.

In reality, you're doing anything, thinking of anything to distract yourself from looking up. It's inevitable, and when you do, Joel seems to be using the same tactic you are.

Very interested in a cup of coffee rather than initiating conversation.

Both of you finding easier to go with physical gestures than unraveling or understanding the other's personality. Much less small talk.

You clear your throat to break the silence.

"Thanks." You chew at your cheek. Joel's orbs pour into yours and it's more fervent than you'd like it to be.

Like you were just coming to your senses from the nights sleep you had, and he was fogging it all over again.

You look past his temple at the wall instead and he mumbles something resembling you're welcome.

It's quiet for five more minutes.

There's something about it, though, that is easy fall into.

It's not intolerable the longer you sit with it. Feels like there's no pressure to do or be anything, and that sends an unfamiliar sensation through your nervous system.

You decide to lean into it than see it as a threat. Somehow, it works. Between the rare sniffs into the air and slurps, it doesn't feel necessary to speak and you find yourself sinking into the armrest of the lumpy, yet comfortable enough, couch.

"You need help today?" You finally ask. You're here for a reason, after all. Joel needed help with... well, something. You're weren't quite sure as he was vague about it in his proposition to you, but you weren't one to take handouts.

You didn't take handouts, but you did steal them.

No need to owe anyone that way.

"Uh," Joel clears his throat, a bit jarred at the break of silence as he precedes his words with a nod, "Yeah. Stables need cleanin'. That could be a good start."

"Alright then."

Joel looks over at you with a raised brow, wondering if you had fewer words than he did. The thought washes away, and soon you're both on your separate duties.

---

Joel walks out with you to the stable where a lone, but sweet looking black horse greets you. She looks fed. Actually, she looks rather taken care of and you can tell Joel has spent a lot of his time in making sure she lives a comfortable life.

You become aware the stall could use some work – there’s some wood missing, hay is scarce, but the horse seems happy enough.

"Does she have a name?" You ask, hand tempting out for the animal to engage with. Your mind quiets at the touch of her nose brushing against your skin and your eyes gaze over the large ones she has.

Her personality is a lot like Joel's in the quiet moments you spent with him this morning: calm, kind, but generally disinterested. That tugs a grin to your cheek.

"She don't have one," Joel says behind you, his voice laced with a backstory and soaked with a mysterious pain. "Don't wanna get attached."

You don't think you've heard something so relatable.

You leave it alone.

Most of your morning is spent hammering planks of wood into the gaps of her majesty's stable while Joel takes her for a joyride. Ensuring she has plenty of exercise for the day.

She's a fairly young horse, but Joel has to makes sure her joints are warm in case he needs to go somewhere. You come to learn he does this every day. Early in the morning, he makes sure she's fed and brushed. Groomed at her feet when it's needed and exercised.

When he comes back, he hums appreciatively at the work you've done. "Looks good." You deny the way his shoulders broaden in this taut position before he climbs out of the stirrups. The way his thighs tighten in their straddle.

And you barely acknowledge his civil words, much less the tightening at your jaw from them.

"Seem pretty attached to me."

"Shut up."

A sound so unusual hits your ears and vibrates your chest. You laugh. Genuinely, not the awkward one you let out when you were undressing in front of him. Not when his eyes were fucking you. A genuine, hearty laugh.

---

You promise yourself: one month and that's it. You're out of here.

It's not that Joel has made it unbearable. In fact, it's the opposite.

There's this sense of calm at Joel's. Like even though something bad could happen at any moment, it's tucked away from the pain. Like Joel made a determination in keeping one solid buoy amidst the world of chaos. Joel made that his home.

Part of you gathers you interrupted his peace by being there. Maybe the violence you brought? Nah, couldn't be.

Yet there's another part of you that can see glimpses of his gratitude in your presence. How he cooks for the both of you, not just himself. How he's taken the time to learn your name.

Lets you use his hot water for you to take a shower. Pawning it off under some snide comment on how you needed one. You see the playfulness caper around the age in his eyes.

He shares with you what he saved all those years ago and things he's acquired now.

It's in the small nods of acknowledgement when you go out of your way to make sure he has the supplies he needs, or when you both sit on the porch only to not say a word.

Then within that there's a third, silent part of you that selfishly doesn't care whether or not he cares because he invited you, and you want to soak up every moment of these simple comforts while you can.

You dance the scales of balance. Nothing and everything at once.

---

In your time at Joel's, you learn the layout of his cabin. It's a simple thing, open layout. The living room and kitchen are side by side, bathroom around the corner.

Upstairs, 'well more like a ladder' you'd hear Joel say, that leads up to his loft bedroom. The sheets are dark, the bed is humble. But it's safe up there and he has a good lookout for any danger.

There's a second door downstairs to a make-do basement that is mostly dirt and smells of sawdust. It has supplies he's collected over the years. Things he's picked up, tools, equipment, non-perishables.

This is guarded by endless locks, and hidden by a bookcase. You find it on accident somewhere in the middle of your first week staying with him. The bookcase was off to the side, the door was open. You were already looking for him, so when you walk downstairs to find him working on something it causes you both to jump.

"Sorry! I'm sorry... I just, I was looking for you. Did you need me to till the garden?" Your question is asked quickly in a heated rush, too many words flowing from your mouth to make up for how undeniably in trouble you were.

You see Joel's eyebrows drop like you weren't supposed to see this. Not supposed to know all of his secrets. But he keeps the door cracked for ventilation when he's down there and you were supposed to be busy doing something else.

"Yeah, go ahead." His voice booms. You turn around and make a beeline back up.

He doesn't like that you know, but now you do. And it's either shrug it off, or kill you. The apathy grates at your nerves considering these are things he'd probably fought over at one point.

You take it personally that he doesn't punish you in some way for finding it out, forcing you to reflect on how fucked up that is.

You go for a walk instead.

---

You sleep on the couch the first week you're there.

The two of you haven't touched each other and it’s such a stark difference from Joel having his hands in your hair, his cock buried in your cunt the very moment you two are confronted with each other.

Confronted. That's the appropriate word. Unsure if the interaction were predator versus prey, predator versus predator. Prey versus prey.

It was animalistic and visceral when the memories flood you after the two of you say goodnight. In the dark you feel comfortable enough to explore your body, even if it’s only to touch.

It feels like a luxury to let your body be soft.

You try to not think about it too much. It happens slow.

Joel's snoring just adjacently above and it gives you incentive to traverse into your pleasures.

Your hand pushes past your shorts, languidly prying your folds apart just to find release. A soft sigh from your mouth when at touch your fingertips brushing against your clit.

You think of Joel. It's hard not to. His stupid frown, the way he takes things seriously, but holds space for you. It's easy for you to get aroused by the things he does, but more difficult to think of how undeniably attractive he is.

How everything he does sends your blood racing straight to your core. His staggering breath when he works during the day, the sweat at his brow.

You want desperately to see the sweat at his brow from between your thighs. Want his mouth to work your cunt, tongue flick and swirl at your nub of thousands of nerves that you're rolling quicker and deeper in circles.

In your wandering mind you recall seeing Joel shirtless one morning. The event caused your breath to snag while you were making breakfast. It was so out of the blue considering when the one time the two of you did have sex, he was clothed. It felt intimate. That you got to see his scars, the hairs that adorned his chest.

Like he was letting you know not only did he want you, but he was waiting for you. That it was your turn to make a move. You really wanted to, but you weren't sure you could.

Your fingers run over your slick folds, over your clit harder at the thought of how the next move would go. If you were brave enough.

Maybe you'd ride his cock, your back to him. Let him get a good view of his cock buried inside of you. If you close your eyes, you could almost feel the stretch you felt a week ago. His warmth, the scent of sawdust and musk. The skill he had in making your toes curl.

Just like they were in this moment. Biting your free fist, the rush of heat greets your climax. You try to cut the whimper from the air, but it's a struggle.

"Joel," your whisper of a moan cuts the air and you hold your breath when you feel rustling from the loft. Which really sounds like a whine, and it doesn't help much at all.

You hold your breath at the peak of your orgasm, shuddering and rolling out of it when Joel's thick voice with sleep fills the space.

"Y'call me?" There's a yawn in there, too.

Your body is spasming, coming down, and the urge to exhale is so strong it stings your lungs. Your breath hitches on the way out.

It takes you precisely 45 seconds to respond.

"No, I'm fine."

Your voice sounds broken. Fucked.

"Alright." Joel doesn't seem to phased by it. Sounds annoyed he got woken up more than anything. "Hope it was good."

That leaves your cheeks redder than they could have by touching yourself.

You roll onto your side, sleeping off the wave of embarrassment.

---

"Up. Gotta go fishin'."

You groan, stretching on the couch and he tosses your pack in your direction.

"Quit whinin', y'did that enough last night."

You groan a whine more in humiliation. "Shut up," you yawn, not quite at the point of clarity where you can fight back.

"Whatever you say. Need food. So if you wanna eat, gotta work."

You've walked pretty far out from Joel's place. You know of the river he's referring to when he says he wants to go fishing, but the two of you hadn't been there together and you certain hadn't seen the collection of fishing gear the way Joel had.

Though he only brought enough for the two of you in case of raiders. In case of someone akin to yourself, your guilt reminds you.

It's not long before you're at the riverbank. Your eyes mesmerize over the water, the presence of Joel warm at your side.

He's physically closer to you today, and you know why. Your core flutters at the thought and frustration is its close friend of your nerves. Because why would it take him so long to be this close, and why did it take something slightly humiliating happen to you for him to want the proximity.

Joel tugs at your pack that's on your shoulders and you make a slight noise of surprise. The way he thinks he can have easy access to you like that, even for something simple like putting things in your backpack, sends your mind in a yo-yo.

Going back and forth between he likes me, he likes me not. You aren't used to this, and it makes you feel weak. Like you are under his whim. You grow increasingly vexed at the thought.

When you turn around you see him holding a can of corn, and it makes sense. Cordyceps and insects don't really mix with the need to eat. Opening a can of corn, Joel baits his hook with it then yours and you scoff.

"I can do that, you know." You roll your eyes, sending your line out into the water.

"Oh, you can? Thought your wrist might be out of commission. Was doin' you a favor, really."

"Month can't go by fast enough."

"No one's makin' you stay."

That's when you're quiet, your frame facing his as you hold out your rod with one hand. You look at him like he said something he shouldn't have. Like he knows you couldn't just leave now.

"I still have my gun, you know."

You threaten. It's all you've ever known how to do.

"Jesus Christ." Joel shakes his head, averting his gaze from yours.

You don't speak much after that, deep in thought of why the idea of him running you off evoked such strong emotions within you.

Neither of you have much luck which makes you both irritated that so much effort has been put into something that is clearly proving not to work today.

Worse yet, you're proving to be distracting to Joel. Especially with events from the night before burning in his mind.

He could be stoic all he wanted to, but he's not immune to the way you fill out your jeans. The curves that accentuate your frame as you send lines out. It causes his cock to stir, come to life at the thought of him pinning you against some tree. Of slipping those jeans down just enough to slide himself inside you. To stretch you.

To get you to shut the hell up.

He shifts to conceal himself.

Yet he remembers, still, of wet you were the moment you met. How eager you were to submit to him.

Joel could feel himself being called to you, and that made things... complicated. Made it harder to just fuck you. This challenged a certain lifestyle he spent years cultivating. He couldn't touch you. Not yet.

When you get back to Joel's cabin, you're both quiet. More annoyed with each other than anything. You're sweaty and your arms are sore and come back with one trout that you have to share.

Joel cleans it, you cook it, and you barely make acknowledge each other during dinner.

---

At night, you hear Joel moan something in his sleep. His body shuffles from the loft above you while you're tucked in and he sounds scared. Heartbroken. Like his world collapsed on itself. "Sarah, baby." Even in his sleep, you can hear the pain his voice.

You don't know who that is, but she must have been important. Must have been hard to see her go, if that was the case.

For yet another reason, you find resonance with Joel and it erases your tough day with him. Somehow.

The bed rattles as he flips from what you assume is his front to his back. The sounds of his night terrors pervade the night until slowly they resolve to silence. That almost seems more unnerving, but sleep takes you with him anyway.

You don't mention it in the morning.

---

In the evening, it's the last day of your first week. Somehow you made it through, you sarcastically think to yourself. Joel, despite his rough night, seems downright chipper. Like he wants to hang out with you outside of the routine you both have inadvertently created for yourself.

So you break open a bottle of whiskey and stack wood for the fire.

Although there's a generator that allows power, most of the time Joel uses candles and fire to save up on the supplies he has. The generator takes work and requires things that quite honestly are beyond your comprehension. He's obviously smart (annoying), and it shows in the things he tries to teach you – as if you'll be here longer than your verbal agreement.

It would feel like a dream if not for the constant worry someone or something could attack you at any moment. Especially when more times than not that person is yourself.

The location is pretty remote, but that doesn't mean much for the world you live in. Everything abandoned, including most people's empathy. Maybe even your own. Shame creeps up your spine to remind you just how you got here in the first place.

Taking the stout glasses from the cabinet, you take note of how soft your hair feels for the first time in a long time when you tuck it behind your ear. Focusing on not pouring the liquid anywhere but the glasses. Bringing the amber liquid over to Joel, your make it a point to brush your fingertips over the warm but solid hand that takes from you.

"Thank you, honey." You make it seem casual as you hold onto the edge of the couch to keep your knees from buckling at the term of endearment. Fuck him, he's not playing fair.

Like cat and mouse, when you think you have him, he buckles you under. Make you understand that he has more control over you than you care to realise.

A tangle that begs to be undone.

By the fire, you curl your legs when you sit on the couch and though at first it is quiet, by some weird miracle the two of you get to talking. The whiskey doing its job, you write off.

Joel keeps his cards close. That's plain to see.

So when he brings up the past, it blindsides you. He brings up his past. On his terms.

When he mentions life before all this, it's brief. No mentions of the people that would fill out spaces in your mind. No Sarah. It was more of what he did. Construction company. Football on Sundays. You see a genuine smile fall over his face, and he almost looks peaceful.

As the fire turns to embers, his gaze stays focused on the dull-orange glow and he looks tranquil.

"Enough about me, tell me 'bout you," Joel's eyes twinkle against the flame, and you'd give up the rest of your time here just to see that for a little while longer.

His voice sounds thicker like this. When he drinks. Like honey stuck inside his throat, the southern words are easy to string sentences together fluidly. You don't hide how it causes your heat to tilt to the side before realising just how hard-hitting that curiosity is.

A puff of breath exhales from your puckered lips when you lift both eyebrows. "Loaded request," you swallow the rest of the liquid courage and don't react when it stings your throat.

You tell him where you're from, parts of where you've been.

"Well. 'Was born a few years before... everything. Don't know much outside this type of life. This is probably one of the nicest places or... experiences I've ever had. You really know how to treat your bandits."

Even more indistinct than he was. Doesn't seem to bother him much.

Joel's toothy laugh startles you initially, but you soon register it's safe to do the same and your eyes gleam in response to each other. He keeps that contact with you as he finishes off his own drink to match you.

"Guess I got a soft spot for ones like you."

"Like me? What type of one might that be?"

"Nosy. Tender. Too mouthy."

You brush at your cheeks, exhaling a laugh and quiet slips again between the two of you. You're unsure of what to say, of how to keep the conversation going.

Your lips press together while you scan the room.

"You know, I've been here a week and I ain't seen you use that thing...," you wander off, changing the subject as you point at the record player collecting dust.

"That's 'cause it's for special occasions."

"Sounds to me like the 1988 Texas Longhorns NCAA National Championship should be a special occasion enough."

"Nosy. Mouthy."

"Inquisitive. Communicative. Tipsy, maybe."

"Definitely the latter."

You get your way.

Both of you stand from the couch to walk over to the record collection, and you see him pull out a record like it was made of glass.

"Texas's very own," Joel says with pride while gazing over the worn vinyl sheet of some Waylon Jennings record. The singer has a cigarette hanging from his lips in the picture and you stifle a giggle.

"What?" He asks, instantly defensive.

"Nothing! Just not used to seein' this type of stuff."

"You're in for a treat, babygirl." Shit. Your cheeks grows hotter if the whiskey didn't do it already.

Crackling starts off as the record adjust, and there's a part of you that feels sadness over the fact that you don't remember the last time you really heard music. Produced music before the outbreak.

You both sink into the couch again. The start of the record is upbeat, and equally your taste but not your taste at all.

You see the satisfaction slip over Joel's face though, and that makes it easier to get into as you pour you both another round.

"Neil Young wrote this song," you hear Joel drawl, unusually giddy and if you weren't at the edge of your seat hanging onto every word before, you are now.

Because you're getting a lesson and you're seeing him come alive. There's a part of you coming alive too, and you don't even get weirded out by the fact that this type of enthusiasm reminds you of your dad. It feels safe, familiar, and enjoyable to be around.

And so uniquely Joel, you don't get lost.

A completely different individual that somehow has entered your life and flipped it upside down.

If you weren't caught up being wrapped up around his finger, you could see yourself getting emotional over the ease of this interaction.

"Yeah?" you press, fist curling in your chin as you take a swig of your drink.

"Part of Harvest right after 'Heart of Gold'. Waylon changed the lyrics a little bit. He was known to do that."

You don't realise it, but you are grinning from ear to ear.

Like you detonated something you can't undo. Like you're watching the man's mind work in real time.

"That's pretty cool. Sounds like he did what he wanted to. Texan trait?"

"Somethin' like that." Joel grins, going back to his stillness and while you respect it, a part of you wants to say something to get him back on that train. You don't.

Joel turns the record and it's not long before you approach the end of it, a song that seems to resonate to him on an instant note causes him to close his eyes. Causes him to take in the music.

You begin to wonder what it's like when his fingers strum over a melody. If it's anything like what you just witnessed.

Whether it was the whiskey or attraction, Joel stands up. His hand reaches out for yours, and it looks so small in his hand when accept.

Joel doesn't give you much say in if you want to dance or not because he's pulling you to him, overwhelming your senses as your lips brush against the fabric of his shirt. You tiptoe to just graze his shoulder. "Ooph," you flush at the feeling of his head heavy against your own shoulder.

His arms wrap around you and you both sway. Your hands finding his hair, arms snaking around his neck. You don't move your feet very much. Instead, it's more you're holding each other. Like the drinks are kicking in and you're able to feel without the looming presence of consequence at your door.

The lyrics feel pointed, like they're saying everything he can't.

- I've got a couple more years on you, baby, that's all. -

Joel's chest vibrates at the response of his humming when his nose brushes against your hairline. Your skin heats, palm soft against the flesh of his neck and you know, unmistakably, that causes him to shiver.

Neither one of you able to look at each other yet. Despite it all.

Despite the obvious sign rearing its head.

- That's not that I'm wiser it's just that I've spent more time with my back to the wall. -

You tempt your cheek to brush against his. His stubble tickling and poking your skin at once while your thumb preoccupies the other side of his face. Against his temple, the shell of his ear.

Your eyes close because you feel so overwhelmed, all you want to do is memorise the way his body feels against you.

The solidity of his chest. The way his exhales filter through the hairs of his mustache. It causes your fingers to move from the side of his face to twist in his hair, pulling it gently if only to hold on tighter to him.

This stirs something within Joel. Makes him turn to face your neck.

There's a sort of dichotomy in the pound of your heart and how delicate it feels against the very ends of his lips. It takes you back to when you met. How he wouldn't touch his lips to the structure holding your head, and now he's brushing against it. Like he's wanting to be let in.

Even though it's feather light, it causes you gasp quietly. Your face goes crimson, moving your chin to face him.

Your lips now a sliver between each other.

You could run. You could scream. You could kiss him and let the throes of this take you under.

Definitely the latter, you decide. Pushing your mouth experimentally against the plush set, your ears ring in a way you weren't sure how they ever could.

- Saying goodbye girl don't ever come easy at all, but you've got to fly 'cause you're hearin' them young eagles call. -

Joel's lips chase yours, one hand cupping the side of your face and you feel the heat from it along your chin all the way up to the side of your head and behind your neck. It's inviting and feels discernibly uncomplicated for something the two of you resigned would be very complicated.

When the song ends, you pull away from him. You don't notice it straight away, but his arms have wrapped around you so tightly you can't get out of his grasp. And it doesn't feel overpowering, it feels tender. Joel's eyes soft like a doe's. Like the song absorbed into his blood. Like he feels that way about you.

You don't want him to let go, but there's an understanding when you pull back so does he and his grip is fleeting. Even if you objected, he still would back off. Leaving you warmed by the ghost of where his heat was.

The touch of him stays through your clothes.

There's two songs left on the record, but you aren't sure either of you are really listening to it. Joel turns around in the direction of the record player and is even more cautious than he was before in putting back the album, enveloping it in its label. Label in the sheet.

His hands careful, delicate amongst the thickness and roughness of them. You shudder, knowing he was this way with you. Protective.

When Joel back turns around, his eyes are dark. Like he's thirsty, but would only drink if you let him. He's deliberate in brushing past you on his way up to the loft, his presence lingering just at the end of the stairs.

"Come to bed."

It's simple, and what you come to learn, is Joel's way of asking. He don't. But he gives you room to make the choice.

You don't recall your eyes even scanning the living room. They only land on the broad frame in front of you, and you follow it like a beacon of light.

Beginning your second week, you don't sleep on the couch anymore.

---

It's in what you don't know. How Joel wakes up the night you hear his dream – covered in a cold sweat from a loop he has continuously gone through for years. What he could have done differently, how he could have positioned his body. Flashbacks.

His hands bracket over his eyes as he rubs them. Silently begging for peace. An end. Something.

You don't realise it, but the sight of you makes him calm. Even in your stubbornness and unwillingness to let him in. Even within his own set of inabilities to trust.

A true stillness invades his mind that hadn't experienced since the very subject of his nightmares.

He doesn't quite believe in fate, but if he did, Joel would be willing to bet she sent you.

Even more, he'd be willing to bet she would have liked you.

A/N (con't):

"a couple more years" by waylon jennings is the song they dance to. the lyrics the lyrics – cries in joel coded

[ctitan98official]

Eating Alcina out part 2

18+ Minors DNI

Smut! Precious Alci gets finished ;) Read the first part here! Let’s get into it!

The moment Alcina’s soft, warm lips touch yours… It’s over. Is it possible to fall in love this fast?

Alcina is like no one you have ever known. She’s complex and intriguing. You wanted to spend every waking moment of your time with her once you started working at the castle. You feel a deep desire and need to unravel this mysterious woman, to see what makes her tick. While you’ve found that some firsthand accounts of Alcina’s personality have turned out to be rather accurate (From people who told you about her as you were growing up)… Alcina is dynamic. She’s different from moment to moment. This only serves to fuel your excitement when you get a chance to interact with her. You never know what side of Alcina you’ll get the pleasure of seeing. Will she be focused and professional as she works diligently on paperwork for the wine business? Will you spot her act as a loving disciplinarian to her three precious daughters? Will she allow others to witness her breathtaking smile after a good conversation with Mother Miranda? She truly is a beautiful kaleidoscope for you to admire.

Alcina definitely has high standards. Both for herself and those around her. She conducts herself with regality and grace, but… This moment right now is showing yet another side of her… And you swear you’re spellbound. It’s rather heartwarming to see someone as composed as she typically is acting so nervous. As you pull back from the kiss and look at her, the rosiness of her cheeks gives away her bashfulness.

“I… Um. I… Haven’t kissed anyone in a really… Long time,” Alcina admits.

You give her a gentle smile. “You did wonderfully, my lady. I’m very impressed,” You wink playfully. “Seems like you’ve still got it,” You joke softly.

Alcina can’t help the nervous giggle she lets out at your flirtatious answer. Whatever you say always seems so effortless. Your easy-going nature is an attractive quality. For her, it feels like she overthinks everything. What she says, what she does… It’s exhausting. She just wants the ability to be herself. After meeting you only a few short weeks ago… She already feels safer with you than anyone she has ever met. She doesn’t have to put up walls around you or pretend to be somebody she’s not. You accept her just as she is. That’s… Really comforting.

She looks into your eyes and you can see the happiness glittering in them. You reach out to gently take her face and bring her into another kiss. Your tongue quickly finds its way inside her mouth and glides delicately against hers.

Alcina’s eyes roll back as she feels your hands moving lower to cup her breasts.

But, you suddenly pull back, which makes Alcina whine impatiently. “Would it be alright if I undid your dress?” You ask, wanting to move as slow as she needs you to.

Alcina’s golden eyes widen as yet another blush erupts across her cheeks. “Oh! I, um, of course! Please! I-I mean… If you want. I don’t care,” She shrugs, trying to rein herself in.

You chuckle at her adorable attempt to seem slightly aloof. “I’d love to,” You answer and move her glossy hair to one side so you can undo the clasp. You gently pull the dress off of her and set it to the side. You stand and hold your hand out to her. “Why don’t we move to the bed?” You suggest.

Alcina almost chokes on her own saliva at your question. She can only manage a weak nod as she puts her hand in your own.

You guide her over to the bed before gesturing for her to sit. “I’m going to take off your bra and underwear, alright?” You ask.

Alcina once again nods silently, but this time she is biting her lower lip in anticipation. Oh, goodness. This is really happening, isn’t it?

You lean in to take off her bra and place gentle kisses along her breasts as you do so.

Alcina sighs erotically and the sound really revs you up. She’s so sensual, she can’t help herself. Everything about her is drawing you in even more.

You take the bra off and gently push her to lie back on the pillows.

Alcina moans as your kisses make their way down her soft, plush tummy.

Your tongue eagerly laps at the silvery stretch marks that adorn her skin. This is your new favorite feature of her body… Well, that is until you make your way down to her soaked panties. You take a deep breath in, savoring the sweet scent of Alcina’s arousal. You feel your mouth begin to water. You look up at her one more time. “Is it okay if I take these off?” You ask huskily.

Alcina is practically panting as she hears and sees the complete lust that has overtaken you. She nods her head, whimpering pitifully. “Yesss…” She hisses in anticipation.

You waste no time as you carefully tug off her panties. You look down at Alcina’s glistening sex and lick your lips. You’re about to make a complete meal of her. Your licks are long and harsh as you begin, savoring the taste of the woman you have been crushing on for the past few weeks.

Alcina clenches up the sheets in her hands and throws her head back as you work. “Yes, yes!” She cries as your tongue slides along her sensitive folds. “P-please, keep going!” She begs, a single tear slipping down her cheek in pleasure.

You grin and pick up the pace of your tongue’s swipes. You continue your ministrations for a bit, but you can feel Alcina is already close… You know what will send her over the edge. Your greedy licks quickly transform into rough thrusts as you fuck her with your mouth.

Alcina is losing all sense of herself. She, unintentionally, grips your head like a vice, shoving your face even deeper into her sex. “Yes!” She finally screams as she comes harshly. Alcina catches her breath for a moment and her hold on your head eases up, but… She realizes just how rough she was with you.

“Oh, my gosh! You’re bleeding, Y/N!” She cries, horrified as she looks at the deep scratches she’s left on your face and head.

——————————————————————————

You tilt your head in confusion at her. “Hmm?” You say. You reach up a hand and place it on your forehead, finally feeling all of the cuts on it. You pull your hand back and silently study the blood for a moment.

Alcina is horrified. “I’m so sorry, Y/N! I just… Got so… Excited!” She tries to explain. Oh, shit. What has she done to you?! She hurt you! What the hell is wrong with her?!

However… Something happens next that Alcina would have never expected.

You begin to crack up. “Hahaha!”

Wait… Why are you laughing? Alcina is brought out of internally beating herself up as she hears you chortling. How… What?

“Bahahaha! That’s hilarious!” You guffaw loudly. Nothing quite like this has ever happened to you.

Alcina is concerned. Maybe she hurt you worse than she thought…

Finally, you stop laughing and look at her fondly. “Well, I’m glad my work was so… Enjoyable, my Lady,” You say. “I’ll take this as a compliment,” You grin and point to your head.

Alcina’s entire face is burning. You brought her so much pleasure that she almost crushed your head like an egg in a fit of euphoria. Damn… She really needed to get off apparently… (A/N: Alcina can crush my head anytime.)

Alcina shakes her head and moves to get something to clean your gashes with. “I… I am so sorry, Y/N. I hope you can forgive me,” She says as she grabs a soft cloth. She sits back down on the bed and gently wipes the blood off of your face, endlessly embarrassed.

“Forgive you? I was actually thinking of asking you to do it again,” You reply easily.

Alcina was not expecting that answer. “I-I… Well, I-!” She tries to say.

You chuckle. “It’s alright, my Lady. I’m okay,” You tell her.

Alcina bites her lip and looks away for a moment. “Please… Call me Alcina,” She suddenly says, turning back to you with a small smile.

Your eyes widen. She… Wants you to call her by her first name? Wow, she must really like you. Well… You hope she does, at least. “Everything will be alright, Alcina. I’m… So glad we met,” You tell her, trying not to grin like an idiot. She turns you to mush just by looking at you.

Alcina fondly caresses your cheek with her warm fingers. “I am too, Y/N,” She purrs, leaning in for a kiss.

Today was one of the best days of your life… Hopefully the first of many with Alcina.

Masterlist