#or at least give me a few moments of clarity

[the-tired-commander]

Reblog to BITE at full force

[blacknailsandheartbreak]

Part 2 to how the group cannot fathom how you and Zuko are so close with your angel of a self and Zuko being... well, Zuko

AN: OKAY! Look at me go, coming out with a part two. I think I might do a part two to some previous pieces of mine but we will see.

SO this is a part two, so you can read the first one here, it will give some context clues into this second part of the story (but can probably be read solo) : Part 1

Any who, ~2300 word count, enjoy :)

KIDDIE FREE ZONE

Good Friends

That's all you guys were. Good Friends. Zuko kept telling himself he had no reason to be so bothered by that statement, but he was. He didn't want to be just good friends, but you had given a better answer then he would have in your position. But now the Gaang has been flying for the past couple days and has given him lots of time for thinking. Especially having you for the majority of the time sitting with him leaning against his arm, grazing legs, as you were not shy to the general touch. You always seemed to start up the conversations with him, your way of speech held him in interest, but as already known, he never said much back, but always was happy to listen.

But ever since that last night of camp a few days ago he cannot let the thought go. Good Friends. He knew that the talks you two have, the moments you both cherish, and the secrets you two shared was enough of a connection to be more than just good friends, or at least in his mind it was. You two were absolutely glued to the hip, and seemed to be together, just without the title. Zuko was fine with no title, he would rather the group didn't know but for you two to have that clarity is what he was craving. He knew there were other things that were more important at the moment but it couldn't calm down in his mind. He had to know, he wanted to be together. Even if that became another secret you both shared he would gladly add it to the pile.

As the afternoon began to fall fast on the fourth day of travel, the Gaang was running low on rations and decided to hit the next market in the upcoming town. Upon arrival, Aang and Sokka grabbed Zuko to tackle their list as Katara and Toph grabbed you to get the remaining items. Zuko was hoping to buddy up with you but it would have to wait. As the group divided and conquered, Sokka was getting very nosy with Zuko about a certain someone. Zuko ignored all of his questions or what felt like more accusations. Meanwhile the girls had finished with their tasks and Toph had somehow gotten into a gambling match with the remaining money they had and won every time. You stood back leaning against a nearby wall smiling, not wanting anything to do with the situation but you weren't going to interfere either. You feel a brush against your shoulder and look up to see Zuko, you smile and greet Aang and Sokka. You ask how their huntings went and they all agreed it had gone well. Zuko looked at you and asked if Toph and Katara were seriously gambling the little money they had left. You laughed and were about to answer but before you could Toph came over with a large bag and tossed it at Zuko. He caught it effortlessly, and it jingled heavily. All of the boys eyes widened, and Toph said "We will be sleeping well tonight thanks to yours truly."

The Gaang walked around the town as the night grew darker and the many street lamps glowed near and far, Zuko's mind still buzzing with the taunting thought of good friends. Maybe he was over thinking it and there was already an unspoken agreement you two were together? Or was he being weird and obsessive? Or maybe you had a completely different view on all of it? Or maybe-

His thoughts were cut off by you linking your arm through his and pointing out the beautiful lights, from the shops, to concessions, to the fountains, to the groups of lively people. He looked down at you and for the first time, he wasn't really listening to you. He just looked at you, looked at your smile as if you knew this moment was made just for you. He would forever be in awe at how effortlessly you spoke as if you had already rehearsed it one hundred times. He feels your genuine happiness and spirit in your eyes as you look up at him and he wonders how you hold such grace through everything. All his thoughts left his mind as he looked at you and thought, yeah, that is my girl.

Once the Gaang decided to call it a night, you all looked for an Inn to stay at for the night. There was not much of an option in the small town, so you all entered the closest place and the lady at the front desk greeted you all with a warm smile. Aang went to talk with the lady and brought back a handful of keys. Everyone was confused as he handed everyone their own key and explained that they only had single rooms left for the night. Nobody really complained as everyone seemed they could use some time to themselves. Everyone shuffled into their rooms with quick goodnights, but before Zuko walked through his door, he looked over his shoulder at your direction, and there you were. Walking into your room and almost as if you felt his eyes you looked over your shoulder and stopped for a moment, you smiled at Zuko and gave a small wave of goodnight before stepping into your room and closing the door. Zuko's eyes stayed on your room for a moment longer, before a small tap on his shoulder made him spin around. It was Katara. Zuko was lost for words. Katara smiled and whispered "I won't tell, not that is isn't already so obvious, but you should really talk to her." Before Zuko could respond to her she waved goodnight and walked into her room. He stood in the hallway like a man who was shot and was too afraid to move. He looked back at your door, he felt the longing in every part of his being to just go and knock on your door and say everything he has been thinking just like you do. How you so effortlessly say exactly what you're thinking, that is what he wanted to do. He wanted to tell you what it meant to him to have someone like you become so close to someone like him. He wanted to tell you that the secrets you both shared with each other meant the world to him and he would take them to his very grave if you wished so. He wanted to tell you that every time you smiled it felt like it was for him and him only. But he didn't. He walked back into his room and shut the door.

Zuko got ready for bed and laid down for a few minutes, he tossed and turned and his chest felt so heavy. He let out a sigh as he laid on his back and placed a hand on his chest with the other one behind his head. He stared up at the ceiling. Zuko let out a small grunt of frustration when he got up, deciding to go get some water. He grabbed the bucket from the small table in the room and walked towards the door. Zuko grabbed the bridge of his nose in exasperation and pulled his hand down his face, he went and opened the door and to his complete shock, there you stood. You looked almost as surprised as he did. You both stood in silence for a moment, and for the first time, Zuko spoke first. He asked if you were alright, because the last thing he expected was for you to be standing at his door in the middle of the night. You replied softly, saying you were ok, just had a lot on your mind. You noticed Zuko holding the bucket for water and offered to go with him to fetch some, he agreed. This time you both walked in silence to retrieve the water and walked in silence back to the rooms. You both came to stand outside Zuko's room and he asked if you were sure you were ok, and you replied that you were, probably just over tired. Zuko looked at you and asked you if you wanted to come into his room. You smiled softly and insisted you didn't want to intrude. He didn't respond and just motioned you inside, you accepted and walked in, Zuko shut the door behind you.

Zuko grabbed the ladle and poured you some water while you sat on the bed, he handed you the cup. You smiled and thanked him as you grabbed the cup and took a sip. Zuko sits next to you and rests his elbows on his thighs and looks down between his knees to the floor, he's not sure how he wants to go about tonight. He has no idea where to start, no idea how to talk or truly express his thoughts. He worries about sounding like a bumbling fool compared to your angelic soft spoken way of words. But before he could think further, the bed shifted and you were now directly beside Zuko with your head leaning on his shoulder. He looked up and he knew he wanted this, he wanted to be the one to call you his. He wanted to be by your side every step of the way and watch you regain the pride of being a fire bender. He wanted to have you by his side helping him with the path of change after the comet, and he didn't want to do it as good friends, he wanted to do it together. Zuko took in a deep breath, and asked "Do you really think we are just good friends?" and without a breath missed you replied "I knew your ears were on fire that night." you sat up with that comment, Zuko smirked and chuckled, you two were very close now, mere inches from each other's faces. "But no..." you replied, "I don't think we are just good friends, do you?" Zuko looked into your eyes, they seemed to shimmer the most beautiful shade of amber even with the liminal lighting in the room. "I don't think so either." He replied. Zuko saw your eyes dart to his lips and back to his eyes but the second your gaze connected back with his, he was already pulling you into a kiss. He put his hand just under your ear, along your jaw, pulling you in gently, as if giving you an option to back out. But you didn't, you leaned in and placed your hand on his arm and you kissed deep. Zuko lavished in this moment and if there was any way he could pull you in even closer he would. You pulled away first and looked at Zuko, he looked at you with so many emotions, "We are together." he stated. You smiled so wide and nodded, for the first time you were speechless and practically tackled Zuko to the bed, kissing him so deeply while he gladly reciprocated with the same action. You were straddling Zuko as he effortlessly flipped you over on the bed so he was now on top, you placed both your hands on his jaw and leaned up to give him a small kiss and then laid back down. "Would you stay with me tonight?" Zuko asked, you smiled, "Of course I will, I thought you'd never ask." Zuko rolls his eyes and leans down for a kiss but you halt his actions by asking, "What about the others, they will see me leaving your-" Zuko cuts you off with a soft kiss and after responds "I don't care, they can make their own assumptions." You smile so happily and nod your head, "But, they are going to ask questions-" you started but again Zuko cut you off before you can overthink, "So answer them however you want to, however you feel is right." He leans down and kisses you so romantically, and moves to your cheek, and down to your jaw, and making his way to your neck, you let out the smallest gasp. You could feel tingles all throughout your body, from your fingertips to your toes. This was the moment you were both waiting for, Zuko knew this is what he wanted, he wanted you now, tomorrow, the day after that, the months that follow and the years to come. You were his as much he was yours. He gave himself to you that night as you gave yourself to him. Both vulnerable to one another, savouring each movement, each touch, every breath you both shared. The night was exactly what you both wanted, it was what you both needed.

The next morning Zuko woke up with you laying on his chest and his arms wrapped around you. Both of you spent the morning getting ready and just smiling at each other, no lingering feeling or questions of what ifs. You could both just be together.

It was time to check out and continue the journey, so you both gathered all your belongings and walked to the door. You both stopped and you looked at Zuko, "They are going to ask." you stated, and Zuko looked right back at you, "Then answer." he replied. He opened the door and the Gaang was waiting in the hall. Katara was the first to see you both exit and she tried to hide her smile with a polite hand, the others turned to look and were caught a blank. Zuko shut the door with you standing by his side. You greeted everyone and you both walked towards the group, "What are you all staring at, let's head out." Zuko said so nonchalantly, everyone stood in silence for a second longer and proceeded on like nothing happened.

[reidsdimples]

Feverish- 2

Spencer Reid x Reader

18+❤️‍🔥 MDNI‼️

Part 1

Spencer’s inhibitions are still lowered which causes him to escalate things in the shower

You startle awake as Spencer flips over the side of your bed and pukes. You’re still pinned beneath him, his full weight on your legs. So you scrunch your nose and attempt to hold his hair back.

An awful groan escapes him along with a mumbled apology.

“I’m going to move you off of me so I don’t throw up on you and make this worse,” you say gently and help him roll to the other side of the bed.

At least he got into the small trash can you placed there.

Once you dispose of it you return to check on him, the two of you only having been asleep for about four hours. The sun had set and you figured you should attempt to give him more medicine.

Fumbling around in your cabinet you locate some drowsy flu and cold medicine that you didn’t realize you had.

You whip up some soup and grab him a Gatorade before padding back into your bedroom. He’s approached that level if misery where all he can do is lay there and groan in pain. It was awful to watch, Spencer was usually so calm and put together. In the six months you dated, you never saw him sick.

His eyes flutter open when you sit next to him and he pulls himself to a sitting position.

“You have to try to eat something so I can give you the medicine. I put ginger in the soup to help your stomach,” he nods. His hands are shaking so you opt to spoon feed him slowly.

Between bites you feel his forehead to discover he’s still burning up. You frown at him sympathetically. He definitely had the same awful flu you had two weeks ago. No doubt about it.

“Water, the sports drink will dehydrate me more without water in my system,” he says when you try to give him the Gatorade.

“Okay,” you bring his glass of water to his lips and he takes it down greedily. His hands linger on yours against the glass for a moment and he meets your eyes.

“Here,” you hand him the dose of the liquid medicine.

He scoots away from it.

“No pills? I hate the liquid,” he whines.

“No, you have to take this now. I’ll get you the pills tomorrow,” you grab his chin and turn his face back towards the medicine. “Don’t make me force this down your throat. I will,” you threaten.

He knows you’re serious, so he takes it throws it down before chasing it with water.

He only took a few bites of soup but it would have to do.

You help him back under the covers and place a thermometer under his tongue. You needed a true reading to monitor his progress.

“103.2 F,” you tell him. “You’re bad off.”

He nods in agreement.

“Drink this,” you give him orange juice with an immune boosting shot in it. “After this you can go back to sleep,” you promise him.

He looks so tired, so sick, that it makes your heart hurt.

“Stay with me,” he pleads.

“I’m not going anywhere Spence,” you place a hand on his face and brush his hair behind his ear. He gives you a thankful smile. “Just keep your tissues on your side of the bed,” you grimace at his now growing pile.

He smiles softly before groaning like it hurts.

-

He wakes some hours later with at least some clarity in his eyes. He’s on his face when he lifts up to look at you. He smiles sheepishly before groaning and rolling onto his back.

“You smell awful, you were sweating morning your sleep,” you place the book in your lap and look down at him.

“Sorry,” he mumbles.

You make him take his temperature.

“101.8 F, better,” you show him.

He throws his head back on the headboard and runs his hands through his long hair with a sigh.

You look for signs about whether or not he remembers kissing you so desperately the day before. He gives none.

“Let’s get you in the shower,” you pop up.

He doesn’t protest and he’s able to walk, albeit slowly to the bathroom on his own. He sways as if his head spins but he’s able to brush his teeth. You’re grateful for that.

He leans with he’s head on the wall as he scrubs his tongue, clearly getting up is taking a toll on him.

“I made sure it’s not too warm,” you tell him after turning on the shower head.

He looks between you and the shower expectantly.

“What?” You ask.

“Aren’t you going to leave so I can take these off?” He asks, some humor in his tone.

“I’m not leaving you to your own devices. I’ve seen you naked, it’s fine Spencer,” you reason with him.

“But-“

“Not up for debate, you’re not falling and dying in my shower. Now come on,” you tug his arm towards you.

He doesn’t catch himself as quickly as he should be able to and barrels into you. You’re pinned between him and the wall when he places his hands on the wall on either side of your head to stead himself.

His mouth is partially open, he has no choice since he can’t breathe out of his nose. But somehow that mixed with his shirtlessness and messy hair is driving you crazy.

You hook your index fingers into the front of his boxers, pulling him closer to you in an attempt to break his eye contact.

“Lose these and get in the shower, Spence,” you whisper. He nods and obeys.

You move into the shower behind him. He’s leaning on the wall with his arms holding him up, his head dropped between his them as the water flushes all of his hair over his face. You take in the muscles in his lean back, his ass…

Then he turns to you. His eyes are heavy again, his breathing labored. He looks like hell.

You bring a new loofah between you and add soap. He reaches for it but you snatch it away. His eyes can’t help but to move over your wet naked body. You begin to move it over his chest, making slow circles until the soap lathers. You get his arms and move to his stomach. He seems to be getting closer to you.

He grabs your hand with the loofah before you trail down further, his eyes wide. You can see his arousal between his legs despite him feeling terrible.

You let him take the loofah and he turns you around and pulls you close. He wraps his arms around you. His tall lean frame, partially depending on you to keep him standing.

He squeezes out the loofah over your breasts and massages it down between them, his other hand gripping your left tit. His strong arms are wrapped around you as his hands start to cover you in soap. He’s slow and teasing about it.

You can feel his cock pressing upwards against your ass, a small groan escaping him.

You turn to him and make him take a step backward so that the water runs over you both. He watches you, unsure.

You pour more body wash in your hand and place in flat against his stomach, letting it run down over his hardened cock. You push him to lean against the wall. The coldness of the stone causes him to wince but he doesn’t care.

“Ah,” he moans when you wrap your hand around him.

“Would this make you feel better?” You whisper. He swallows hard and nods frantically.

“I need you so bad,” he whimpers.

You pump him slowly, dragging your hand and tightening it around him.

He leans forward on a moan when you speed up, he drops his head to the crook of your neck and begins kissing and sucking on your skin.

It doesn’t slow you down, you tighten and twist your hand just how he likes it until his leaning on you with his hands gripping your ass. The water falls over both of you, heating your body.

He twitches and moans, his knees getting weaker in his sickened state.

“Please,” he whines and takes your face in his hands.

His forehead is against yours as he pants for air.

“Ah,” he groans.

He drops his head to kiss your breasts as his cock begins to pulse. He shudders and you pump him harder until his hot cum is shooting outward. He grips your hips and slowly lowers himself to his knees before you.

He presses his face against your stomach, kissing and moaning, worshiping you. You take in the sight of him. Half out of it, half panting with satisfaction.

Unexpectedly though, he keeps kissing and sucking on your skin until his mouth trails down to your pussy. He looks up at you through the splashing water as if pleading to taste you. You nod.

He’s not gentle about it and he doesn’t take his time. Probably because he feels awful. But you don’t mind.

He leans his face up and burries it into you, his tongue trailing between your folds. He latches onto your pussy and sucks and licks frantically. You push your hands into his hair, spreading your legs to angel him just right.

“Yes baby,” you moan.

This beautiful man on his knees before you looked like a god with his soaked mane of hair. He was breathtaking as his eyes fluttered closed and he devoured you. He moaned into your pussy as he enjoyed feasting on everything you had to offer.

His nails dug into the flesh of your ass, urging you to grind on his face.

You oblige, screaming out at the intense sensation.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you pant as you ride his face. He continues sucking on your clit and pushing his tongue into your entrance.

It’s so good, your legs start to shake and the world blurs. He doesn’t let up and you think he must be exhausted. But he wants to please you. He’s always been like that.

“Spencer!” You scream as your orgasm ravishes you. Your pussy clenches and pulses as he sucks down your cum. It’s like he’s starving the way he does it.

You try to focus your eyes on him, you can’t believe he just did that.

He pulls his knees out from under him and sits back against the shower wall.

He closes eyes as and you can see them shifting behind his eyelids.

“Are you okay?” You crouch down in front of him.

“Dizzy,” he whispers.

“You shouldn’t have… we shouldn’t have,” you start to apologize. He shushes you.

“Don’t say that,” he urges weakly and shivers.

“Oh Spence,” you feel so bad. You weren’t even thinking. Clearly he wasn’t either.

You wrap a bath towel around him and help him up.

Once he’s dried off you get him back into bed and add an extra layer of blankets. Even in his sickened daze his eyes follow you around the room because you’re still naked.

“Here,” you make him take the medicine he hates along with a fever reducer.

“No more of that,” you gesture at the bathroom.

“What about when I’m better?” He grins. Your cheeks turn red and you can’t help but to smile.

“Just sleep, Spencer,” you lean over and kiss his forehead.

[lady-charinette]

The lucid moments of Queen Charlotte & King George:

they sometimes hide from the heavens under the bed and George asks how their kingdom is doing. Charlotte quietly confesses how sometimes, the world seems to close in on her too & she feels like she might just hide from the heavens forever. George cradles her hand whispers lovingly:"You've always been the stronger one of us." Charlotte:"Only because you gave me half of your strength."

George sometimes escapes his confinement and bursts into meetings, but he's lucid. Charlotte is momentarily stunned, but relaxes when George speaks normally with the higher members of the ton. She smiles and watches her husband, the king, attend to his duties. In these little moments, she feels like the paintings didn't have to add George in later, she feels like he was there all along for the still sitting.

George still goes to the fields, he's old now, but he can pick at the weeds and plant some vegetables at least. Brimsely swore he would always attend to Her Majesty the Queen, but whenever her husband is outside, he temporarily serves the King, on orders of Her Majesty. Brimsely knows the Queen trusts him above all to protect her king in Reynold's place

George sometimes draws her, draws her face, his artistic skill curiously weakens when he's of sound mind, but Charlotte doesn't seem too offended when she spies her likeness on their wall. She smiles brighter than the sun

They reminiscent of their youth together, George remarks on the make of Charlotte's dresses, they look just like they had when they were younger. Charlotte is too prideful to admit she still orders these dresses to be made because it's the only thing of George she can have with her everyday to keep her grounde

Amelia's passing wounded everyone deeply, George had still been lucid enough to have learned of it, which ultimately crumbled the pieces of his sanity over time. His lucid moments grew fewer and farther in between and Charlotte felt like she had not only lost a daughter, but her husband as well

George has his observatory in his residence at Kew, and sometimes when he gazes at the stars and searches for a glimpse of Venus, his clarity returns with full force. In those moments, he quickly writes down whatever thoughts flood his clear mind, to not forget them, forget that deep down in his madness, there is still a man. Charlotte occasionally visits his observatory and she always checks his journals for new notes. Little things he intended to remember. The names of all their children and their birthdays. Thoughts of Charlotte and how much he misses her. Most of them speak of Venus, how much he loves and adores her. The Queen learned early on that Venus has quite a few names. The Great Star. Goddess of Love. Charlotte. Lottie. And sometimes, his Queen.

"Tell me, Lottie, how are the gardens?". She smiles, "In full bloom, my dear.". There was an uncharacteristically but not unfamiliar grin on the king's face. "And tell me... how is your garden?" Charlotte laughed, spying the mischievous twinkle in her husband's eye. "It definitely could use some tending. Some watering. Some fierce plowing." Brimsely knew better than anyone to immediately send the guards and attendants away once the Queen hitched up her skirts and moved over to sit on the King's lap.

"I'm sorry, my dear Lottie." George spoke softly into their quiet bedroom. Charlotte tried to discern his expression through the darkness. "Whatever for, George?". George sighed deeply, "For not giving you as much comfort and support as you do for me, once my mind wanders again.". Charlotte can only hold her husband close to her and kiss his forehead, whispering softly into his thinning hair. "You do give me comfort, my dear. So much."

George often has nightmares during the night, whenever he calls for his attendants, more often than not, it's his wife that hurries to his bedside. She always manages to quench his demons. He's heard the whispers in the halls, about how cruel and cold his queen was. But not to him. To him, she was soft and warm. Oh, so warm.

At the birth of their last child, George worries for Charlotte's health and urges her to not have anymore babies. She tries to argue with him, but George snaps:"We have enough heirs! I know what it is that you try to do, I know my...my madness may pass down to any one of our children, but if I were to lose you while you give birth to another child madness shall consume us all! What shall I do mad with fourteen children to care for instead of enjoying the moments I have left with you by my side?"

George sometimes reads manuscripts of the love stories between older kings and their queens, he sometimes forgets them and discovers them anew, but he always remembers what each of these stories lacked to him. None of these love stories could come close to describe the endless well of love he harbors for his wife, in madness and in sanity.

Charlotte finds reading poems to be a waste of her time, but she keeps the small, crumpled pieces of papers very close to her heart. The handwriting is not always neat, not always eligible, but she knew them all by heart anyway. Even though he may not be physically near her, Charlotte knew she was never alone in ruling their kingdom with George's heartfelt poems tucked safely into the sleeves of her dress.

They sometimes run into each-other in the kitchen at night, it's always a fright at first, Charlotte doesn't know if George is in his right mind, but he always quells her fears with a boyish smile. "Fancy meeting you here, my queen. Care for some of the best pudding in all of Britain?" Charlotte smiles, her eyes misty. "Oh, you old fool. You'll upset your stomach if you continue eating pudding every night.". George caressed her cheek. "That never stopped you before, has it?" Charlotte sighed. "Oh, just give me that spoon."

Sometimes, in his calm state of mind, George wonders if his body subconsciously enters into madness on purpose. Not to drive him mad, no, a much simpler reason. Sometimes, George wonders if he falls back into madness because he knows if he does, Charlotte would always come to visit and spend time with him. Somewhere in the deepest corners of his mind, George doesn't mind being called the Mad King if it meant spending time with his dear wife.

Charlotte is Queen during the day, but when she visits George at night, she turns young again, the ache in her bones recedes and she's just a simple maiden with her farmer. Just Charlotte. Just George. Just them.

[solarwonux]

Business Proposal || knj (9/?)

pairing: namjoon x f!reader || ex friends to lovers!au friends to lovers!au

Genre: fluff, angst, smut, slow burn, fwb!au, non idol!au, unrequited love

Warnings: slow burn, angst, fluff, flirting, semi-edited, smut, fingering, eating out, unprotected sex.

Rating: mature, 18+

w.c: 8.0

Synopsis: Namjoon is living on borrowed time, and it’s time to cash in. His father is months from taking his last breathe and his life long dream is to watch his oldest son say “I do.”

A/n: lol, hello, I'm sorry for being so MIA lately. I kinda have had half of this written since November but my mom came to visit me in Korea and I forgot about it haha. If you are still here thank you for sticking around! Enjoy! Let me know your thoughts!

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10 Years Ago

Things were finally looking up.

“If you just remember everything we have gone over you'll be fine.” He simply says like it's no big deal, waving you off. 

You on the other hand are filled with the gnawing pain of your nerves. As you look down at your notebook filled with an equal mixture of correct and incorrect answers. 

Maybe things weren't really looking up. 

“I think we should do a few more.” You rush out, flipping to a new page. In that exact moment, the buzzer in Namjoon's hand goes off, and he stands up. 

He pushes in his chair and walks to stand beside you, putting a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “Over studying is not the answer.” He says gently, giving your shoulder a light squeeze before walking away to pick up your drinks. 

Your protest dying as you burn daggers into his back. You aren't sure if it's a good thing that he has so much faith in you. When you don't have an ounce in yourself. Especially when in two days you'll hopefully end your misery with the dreaded math final. 

It's been two whole months since you've started your weekly tutoring sessions with Namjoon. You aren't completely lost in class anymore. If you are, you just come to the broad man and drown him in all kinds of questions. With this tactic you've even managed to get an eighty-five present in your last math test. 

The only thing left for you to pass is the stupid final.

You have been seeing Namjoon a lot more this week. Scheduling, and practically begging him to squeeze you into his tight schedule since Monday. A request to brush up on equations and gain some clarity on things you might have forgotten. To say the least, your test anxiety has reached a whole new level. You visibly look exhausted, your skin is oilier than usual, sporting a few painful pimples on your chin, and your hair looks so greasy despite just washing it in the morning. You should feel slightly ashamed for even leaving your house looking like a hot mess, but your thoughts are suffocating. Staying in would make the panic in the pit of your stomach worse. 

Especially when you and your tutor have recently discovered your inability to do word problems. The main reason why you keep calling Namjoon at three in the morning. Even though he thinks you're just being paranoid, especially with the silent sigh of defeat you hear through your phone speaker. He tries his best to reassure you that you're going to be fine at the end of the day. 

“There will probably be three, five at most. He had said last night when you called. 

Thankfully he had stayed up revising his final paper, instead of being three dimensions deep in dream land like on Sunday when you called. Still, even though he had muttered out a tiny complaint, he stayed on the line with you. Until you were calm enough to fall asleep again. 

In just three months your acquaintance has blossomed into a full on friendship. Along with your sneaking suspicion that both Taehyung and Jimin like him better. It was obvious last Friday night when Jimin had a small end of the semester get together at his apartment. Namjoon got so drunk he performed the entirety of Grease Lightning on karaoke. Including the dance break with special guest and step brother Jeon Jungkook. 

Later on in the night the older of the four cried about the final scene in the Titanic. It was a rollercoaster of emotions, but heartwarming to be able to see a different side of the Philosophy student. 

“Look who decided to join us.” You jump, placing your pen down in your notebook, closing it to hold your page. You turn around, feeling a wide smile come onto your face when you lock eyes with the other source of your happiness these last few months. 

“Hobi,” you exclaim, holding your arms out to him. He chuckles, and leans down giving you one of those awkward hugs one gives when the other person is sitting down. It only lasts a few seconds and then he is leaning his head back to plant a sloppy kiss on your cheek, making you cringe. 

“Ew,” you pout, wiping your cheek with the back of your hand. He chuckles, pecking your lips lightly and then taking the seat next to you. 

“Joon says you need a break from being a math wizard.” He chuckles, dragging your notebook to him. He places his arms over it keeping it hostage.

You whine crossing your arms in front of you, pouting like a child. “But what if I don't pass. I don't want to have to take the class a third time.” 

Namjoon shakes his head, sets your chamomile tea in front of you, and sits down. “I already told you, you won't. I did the math last night. Even if you get a sixty five percent, you'll still be able to pass the class with a B.” He states firmly and takes a sip from his coffee. 

You huff, sinking further into the chair. “I don't want a B, I want an A.” 

Hoseok snakes an arm over your shoulders and brings you close to his side.” “Then you will pass the class with an A honey cakes.” He kisses your temple before resting his cheek on top of your head. You take a deep breath, nodding and snuggling closer to him.

“So are you two dating now?” Namjoon leans back in his seat, crossing his arms in front of him.

Hoseok waves an arm, brushing off the question that has been surrounding the two of you these past three weeks. “You know it's not like that.” He answers before you can. He pulls his arm away and sets them both on top of your notebook. He sends you a knowing wink. 

“Yeah you out of all people should know it's not like that.” You back up Hoseok, sticking your tongue out at the other. “How's Rina by the way?” You challenge making the man next to you burst out in a fit of giggles. 

You see, most of the things Jungkook told you about Namjoon prior to your first meeting have all been lies. Or just not the whole truth.

Namjoon was a broody person. He did put his studies as one of his priorities in life. And he didn't want a relationship. 

Yet in the last few months you have gotten to know the career driven man. You've also managed to peel back some of his layers. 

He did have his moments of indignation, but he could also be very playful and funny. This side mostly comes out when Hoseok is around or when he wants you to get your mind off the things that have been stressing you out. He does have a strong work ethic, but he also knows when to take a break. 

There have even moments in your tutoring slash now study sessions when he forces you to take walks. He says it helps clear your head, but you also know it's his way to get his ideas to flow again whenever he feels stuck. 

During these walks you've managed to find out more things about him. He loves museums because he's shit at art, and knowing that there are people out there who aren't makes him appreciate the art a lot more. At least once every two months he visits the tree he and his father planted his mother’s ashes at to update her on his life. He cares so much for Jungkook and his mother even if he doesn't show it all the time. And despite not wanting a relationship he has been head over heels for the girl he's been casually hooking up with for the last two years. 

Though he won't come out and say it himself. You have witnessed the way his face settles down into something calmer. And his eyes light up whenever his phone rings and her name pops up on the screen.

He once spent thirty minutes talking about a joke she had told him one night. Spoiler alert, it wasn't a good one, but it was adorable watching him try to get it out in-between chuckles. 

You also know he shares the same negative sentiment Jungkook has about your current relationship with his best friend. But just like he claims that his relationship with Rina is complicated. So, is yours with the ray of sunshine you get to now call friend.

“She's fine.” He shrugs, clearing his throat and looking out the window. You share a look with Hoseok before letting out a fit of shared giggles. 

If someone had once told you that your strict math tutor slash friend would turn into a shy mess with just the simple mention of a name. You would've thought they were fucking with you. Even if it still surprises you a little bit. 

“You should just ask her to be your girlfriend.” Hoseok chimes in. 

Namjoon throws his head back groaning. “It wouldn't work out if I do, plus that would require for me to act like a boyfriend and I'm not ready for that kind of commitment.” He speaks with his eyes trained on the high ceiling of the cafe. 

You lean forward placing your elbows on top of the table and wrapping your arms around the hot mug. “You already do Namjoon. A switch of labels is not going to change anything. And don't you think she deserves some kind of confirmation and respect when it comes to your relationship?” You finish tilting your head to the side. 

“I do respect her though, which is why I don't want to ask her, like you just said a label won't change anything.” 

You let out a sigh, “I didn't say that you didn't respect her. I just think that from a girl's perspective she might be feeling a little bit confused with your words and actions. You say the two of you aren't anything serious but then you act like you can't live without her. If I was in her shoes I would feel very frustrated. So, maybe you don't have to make this big grand gesture or ask her to officially be your girlfriend but just clarify things between the two of you. If you aren't serious about her then so be it but if you are then tell her that.” You finish and take your first sip from your tea. 

“I agree with honey cakes, just be a little more straight forward that's all.” Hoseok shrugs before standing up. 

Namjoon rolls his eyes, and looks between the two of you. “And what about you?” He counteracts childishly. You knew it was coming. In his eyes the two of you giving him advice when you're in a similar situation is a bit hypocritical. Plus you and Hoseok are on the same page so it's di–

“That's different.” Hoseok speaks before you. “And this is about your love life not ours.” He states stuffing his hands in his pockets. 

“Whatever.” Namjoon brushes off. You sigh, aware that if you choose to continue the conversation it will end in the three of you having a petty argument. You look at Hoseok as he leans down, placing a delicate kiss on your cheek, making the man witnessing the affectionate gesture scoff in annoyance. 

If he wants to say something he doesn't voice it instead he opens his leather bound notebook to a new page. 

Hoseok ignores him and stands up straight. “Are we still on tonight?” 

You nod. “I can't stay for long though I want to catch up on sleep.” 

“Fine then just one movie it is.” He winks before turning on his heels. Leaving you behind with the grumpy man. He looks up from his journal, opening his mouth, but you raise a hand to stop him. “It's different Namjoon.” 

Namjon clicks his tongue in annoyance and shrugs. “Whatever, let's just do one more world problem before calling it a day.” 

“Fine,” you huff, sliding your notebook in front of you and opening it to a clean page. 

Just one more day and you'll be free from this torture. 

Hoseok's apartment is everything you expect from the maximest man. Just upon walking in you are hit with waves of bright colors. By the doorway there are different KAWS figurines that you can only imagine cost a fortune. Yet they greet you with their x'd out eyes as you remove your shoes. 

Then you have to pass by the Supreme beaded curtain to finally enter the living room. A bright red leather couch is settled in the middle. With wine colored pillows and a black throw blanket that you've adopted since the first night you spent in Hoseok's arms.

Abstract art lines the walls behind the television. There are more figurines lining the shelves in between books, records, and framed pictures of his friends and families. Along with a few miscellaneous items that he's told you he's obtained over the years.

His TV is huge. Takes up almost the whole wall, but your favorite to watch movies since he installed a surround system upon moving in years ago. 

You still remember the first night he invited you over. It was after spending two whole weeks texting non stop. He simply asked if you wanted to watch a movie with him and you thought why not. 

One night led to another and now another. It always starts the same. The two of you spend days teasing one another through text. Lewd texts along with pictures. You come over for a movie and then you end up underneath him. 

When it's over, he lets you use his shower while he orders takeout from the vegan restaurant a block down the road. And the two of you resume watching the movie as if neither of you were panting each other's names in pleasure. 

A simple arrangement with absolutely no strings attached.

It was what you were expecting when you came over tonight. Not that you don't mind the nights in which you do come over and nothing happens other than the deep hearted talks over a slow record playing in the background. But that wasn't happening either, because ever since you arrived at his doorstep, the overzealous man has been quiet. Biting the inside of his cheek and moving around you far enough to raise suspicion. 

It has your mind traveling back to the conversation that occurred in the afternoon. Was Hoseok having second thoughts? Or was there more to his actions than what you were picking up? 

“Hobi,” you whisper the minute he enters his living room with a bowl of popcorn stepping over your legs that were resting on his coffee table. He silently settles down next to you, on the other side of the couch with a gap wide enough to fit a person in between. 

Now you're more than positive that something is wrong. 

You groan, “I think I'll just go home then.” You mumble, pushing the throw blanket of your shoulders. 

This is enough to catch his attention. His eyes are wide behind his dark rimmed glasses and he sits up. “What why?” He tilts his head in confusion. 

A dry chuckle escapes your lips. “You obviously don't want me around, so I'll just go. I need to go to sleep early anyway.” You shrug, slipping your feet in his fuzzy slippers and swiftly start making your way to grab your stuff in his room. 

“No I–wait.” Finally, he speaks up, earning an eye roll from you that he can't see as your back is still turned. 

With haltered steps you spin on your heel to face him again, “What? You've been acting strange since I got here. So, if you don't want me around I will just go home.” 

At lightning speed he sets the bowl of popcorn on his coffee table, and stands up. He makes hasty steps towards you and when he is finally standing in front of you, he sets both of his hands on top of your shoulders. 

“Don't leave…I'm sorry.” Hoseok's eyes cast down past your face. They settle upon the graphic on your old washed out t-shirt. He takes a deep breath and looks up again. His face twists into something you can't decipher. It's a look you've never seen him wear, and it settles hard into your chest. 

He looks troubled, chewing on the inside of his cheek. His eyes dart to five different focal points. You know he's arguing with himself. When he finally looks at you in your eyes again. You can't help but shrink a little bit. 

His features have hardened, and you want to reach out to smooth over the little worry lines in the middle of his forehead. Guilt washes over you. 

For what? 

You don't know but you hope more than anything that you'll soon find out. 

“Can we talk?” He speaks up, letting his arms fall down, his knuckles brushing against your skin. 

For a second you think he's going to pull away. Retrieve into his body, but when he grabs your hands and laces his fingers with yours. The guilt in the pit of your stomach dissipates and you're left with confusion. 

When you don't answer his question, he repeats himself. This time differently, “I just think we need to talk, I've been thinking since this afternoon. I want to check up on you, and I guess us.” He clarifies, and now you're filled with a different kind of emotion. As much as you're relieved that you didn't do anything wrong per se. You are slightly annoyed that he couldn't just tell you that when you first arrived. Instead of ignoring you until you reached your breaking point. 

Frustrated, you say slowly, “Then just say that, instead of ignoring me.” 

Hoseok closes his eyes and sighs, nodding his head before speaking, “you're right I'm sorry. I just have a lot on my mind and I am not sure how to bring any of what I'm thinking about up.” 

“Hobi, just say it. We agreed on clear communication when we realized that this was going to be more than just a one night stand.” You sigh, beginning to walk in the direction of his couch, stringing him along. “Whatever is on your mind, just say it.” You push him onto his couch and take the seat next to him, your body fully facing his, and you fold your legs beneath you. 

He nods, running a hand down his face. “I don't think this is working anymore.” He whispers, eyes trained on his ceiling. 

Okay you were definitely not expecting that, but instead of voicing your surprise, you squeeze his hand. Encouraging him to continue. 

He does, “I think I'm slowly falling for you, well I don't know I'm confused about my feelings.” He whispers the end and falls quiet. 

As much as you want to run away and hide at his confession. He looks troubled and you wouldn't be a good friend if you just left him to wallow in his thoughts. No matter the pressure that has settled in your chest. Or the fact that your heart thinks you're running a marathon, making your ears feel like they're about to fall off too. 

With every passing moment you're finding that it's getting harder to breathe. You aren't dumb, the atmosphere has also changed, but it isn't because of his confession. It's because you are also a bit confused about your feelings.

You clear your throat, “W-What are you confused about?” 

He stops his staring game with the ceiling, shifting his whole body to finally face you. “Do you know why both Kook and Joon are so against us?” 

The question throws you off guard but you suppose it has to do with what he's going through. You do have an idea as to why your friends are raising a brow at your relationship. Jungkook’s warning the first day you met the barista is enough for you to get a rough idea of what they mean. But you want to hear it from him. 

Still you don't know if you can trust your voice so you shake your head. 

He continues, “I've never been in a relationship because I don't trust people to love me the way I know I can love them. So, I just sleep around, and when I get bored I break it off.” 

 “I know. They warned me about you when you immediately showed interest. And trust me I knew what I signed up for when we agreed to keep seeing each other. I don't expect anything more than what we are doing.” You tilt your head to the side.

“I know that's why I'm confused. At first that's all I expected and wanted. But then I don't know I feel so full and empty when I'm with you. I don't want you to leave when the night is over. You're the last thing I think about and the first thing I want to see. I've never felt this sure and comfortable with anyone ever, and I don't know what to do because we both know this isn't forever, your forever is with someone else, and so is mine. But for now I just want to be with you and know what it's like to fall in love and with you.” He takes a deep breath. “Even if it's just for a little bit. You know that next year I'll be leaving for that design school, and I'm sorry but nothing and no one is going to stop me. I've waited too long for this opportunity. I know I'm being selfish to ask you this, but can you please find it in your heart to let me be yours until then?” 

Hoseok finishes. And you're left to your own devices. To deal with your emotions as they spill out of you in hot tears. You've never had someone confess to you so passionately before. Actually nobody has ever bothered. And even though it's semi depressing you can't help but feel on cloud nine with all his words wrapping around you in the warmth that he radiates. 

Without thinking you kneel, and wrap your arms around his neck. “Okay let's do it.” You beam and he matches your smile. He leans in to kiss you but you place your hand over his mouth to stop him. 

Confusion plagues him like a bitter sting. You laugh, “But only if you agree that when everything is over there's no drama between us, and if I ever get married you have to design my wedding dress.” You remove your hand, and cradle his cheek, rub your thumb over his eyebrow. 

He chuckles, rolling his eyes. “You will get married.” 

“Nah, but it's okay. I've accepted my faith.” You shrug, resting your forehead against his. His hands come up your cheek, squishing them slightly.

“You will honey cakes, that's why I'm already planning your dress design in my head.” He wipes your forgotten tears, and tilts your head to the side. 

You feel your breathing get faster, as his heart shaped lips rest centimeters apart. “How are you so sure?” You whisper, swallowing thickly at the end. 

He smirks, with a glint in his eye. Like he knows something you don't, “because I know someone who is also falling for you but they’re to dumb to notice “ 

“Who?” 

“Secret,” he says before finally crashing his lips onto yours.

Hoseok’s room is equally as loud as his living room. It’s a little more diluted with simple decorations and a huge abstract painting on the wall in front of his bed. His bed takes up most of his space, adoring a black duvet with black sheets. He has three pillows and two of those you’ve taken ownership of. His brown dresser holds little trinkets of things he buys or finds in the pockets of his pants. It’s also home to a series of designer colognes. Your favorite one was definitely Terre d'Hermes. Somehow the smell always fills with comfort. 

Your favorite part of his room–other than his bed–was his desk. They say you can tell a lot about a person by just looking at their work space. 

He’s a messy artist. His sketches are always thrown around, or pinned on the corkboard hanging over his desk. He has two bookshelves filled with sketchbooks and magazines. Sometimes if you’re lucky he will leave his sketchbooks open, awarding you with a small glance of his work. He has different notebooks for different magazine cutouts. Each one labeled something like, ‘street’ or ‘formal’ or ‘one-day.’ The latter always peaks your interest but you’ve never thought to ask. He has a thousand different sketching materials, and so many colorful markers. You just know that he was that kid in class with the sixty-four crayola back. 

He's passionate about his craft. A passion that shines through everything that he does. Especially when he’s sharing that passion with you. Now, as he lays you down onto his soft mattress. He kisses his way down your neck, slowly pushing your shirt up to reveal your stomach and the few stretch marks that appeared one day in your early adolescent years. 

For years it was hard to be intimate with someone in fear that they would disgust your partner. But the one thing you learned while growing up was that most men didn’t give a shit unless they were getting it. 

Yet Hoseok, your boyfriend, now. 

He cares. 

In a good way. The first time he saw you naked he almost came in his jeans. Your curves were all in the right places. You have enough skin to grip onto, and he loves all the marks and imperfections your body has. 

He couldn’t understand why you were so beautiful in the soft glow of his bedroom lights? Why he didn’t have the words to describe how his heart was literally beating against his ribcage?  Why for the first time in his casual dating experience he feared he wouldn't be able to give you the pleasure you deserved? 

So, that first night together, he took his time. Trying to get his thoughts under control. He painted your body with featherlight kisses. Determined to leave his trace imprinted in your body for however long you two would engage with each other. 

Everytime you came over. He did just that. He took his time, choreographing a dance with your body. It was a no-brainer that he had fallen for you. Something he knew shouldn’t have happened. He had plans for himself. He had a future mapped out since he was teenage. Though, he had the sneaking suspicion that you wouldn’t stop him from achieving his goals. That you would support him through everything. He should’ve stopped his feelings for you from growing. 

He kept them quiet until his portfolio got accepted. Until he saw the brief glances Namjoon gave you when he thought you weren’t looking. Perhaps it was the jealousy that made him confess. Or that his time with you was now limited. Whatever the reason was that led him to his confession, he only hoped that you felt the same. 

You giggle, the beautiful melodic sound grounds him as he wraps a calloused hand around your right breast, circling his thumb around the pebble. 

You're his girlfriend now. 

He, your boyfriend and he will bring down the moon for you tonight if you asked him too. 

“What’s so funny?” His curious stare meets your amused one. 

You had failed to keep your giggles at bay while he made out with you on his couch. He let a few of his own out when he had had enough of kissing and grinding in his living room, and guided you into his room. 

He loved the sound, and he loved that it was only because after months of dancing this tango you were still shy underneath him. 

“Nothing, it’s just that Mickey is staring at us.” You whisper gasping when he grinds his lower half against yours. Hoseok playfully rolls his eyes, reaching and turning around the newly added picture of his family dog on his bedside table. No more prying dog or human eyes around to interrupt the two of you. 

His attention returns to you. Gaze burning with lust as he leans down, pecking your lips lightly. “Can you stay over?” He says, kneading your breast again. The teasing touches were driving you insane. But this is how you preferred it. Slow and intense, tangling your body with his, until the two of you became one. 

“I’ll make an exception if you promise to drive me to my class tomorrow with a free coffee.” You smile, pushing your chest into his hand. 

He shook his head, reaching down to your lips. “Hustler.” He mumbles, capturing your mouth in a slow sensual kiss. “You got yourself a deal baby girl.” 

Your body shudders at the nickname. He only used it when it was just the two of you. He knew the effect it had on you. “Can I take your shirt off now?” He smirks. 

You let out a pleasurable sigh, nodding your head, before verbalizing a soft, “yes.” 

He pulls away, sitting back on his heels, peeling his shirt off before helping you with yours. He discards the two of them somewhere behind him. He pulls you towards him again, resting his forehead against yours. A bright smile adorning his perfect face. 

It makes your stomach crumble, knowing that from this moment on.

Hoseok would always be the one who got away. 

Your big “what if.” 

Your biggest treasure. Your safe place. Your blueprint for a future with someone else. The love story that was made to end. But one that burned so bright that would have you telling your future daughter to never be afraid of love. 

“Can we go slow today?” You run your hands down his torso, playing with the belt buckle of his expensive belt. 

“I’ll go at whatever pace you want me to go, baby girl.” He reassures,  his fingers play with the bra strap that had fallen down your shoulder. 

You tilt your head, looking at him with soft eyes. And he swears he feels himself melt. 

The next few minutes were a mess of soft kisses and clothes being discarded. Each article of clothing, landing with a soft ‘thud’ against his bedroom floor. You’re on cloud nine, his lips kiss down your neck, your collarbone. His hands part your thighs, baring your cunt to him. He sits back, mouth watering at how wet you are. He couldn’t wait for a taste. 

He could never wait. And he never did. 

He kisses your mound before wrapping his lips around your clit. He savors the sigh that escapes your mouth. He smirks when he immediately feels you grip his hair, pushing him further. Just like he couldn’t resist, you also couldn’t.

He sucked, distracting you from his finger circling around your entrance making you gasp in surprise when you feel him insert one. Slowly thrusting it as he licked you like a man who has been starved for weeks. 

“Hobi,” You sigh, pushing his head further. He fingers you faster until he feels you clench around him, and he stops, making you whine. 

“Please,” you plead. He chuckles against you, inserting another finger. This time he doesn’t give you time to adjust. You feel him thrust into you with no hesitation. His mouth sucking on your clit, swirling his tongue around it playing with the nub. 

You were withering, moaning his name, and anything your mind could conjure up in this moment. 

Overwhelmed with blissful pleasure, you grip his bed sheets, bucking your hips into his face. He groans, knowing you were on edge from how tight your grip on his head was now. And he did the one thing he knew would drive you insane. He slowed down, until he came to a complete stop. 

“Hoseok,” you groan, slamming your hand onto his comforter. He chuckles, lifting his head. Your body was flushed, your lips swollen, your hair splayed out around you. He loves bringing you to this moment. 

“You said you wanted slow.” He grins, taking his fingers out of your pussy. Loving the way it clenched over nothing now. Almost as if it was begging to be played with again. 

You roll your eyes, pouting. “Not this slow. I want to come.” You say, sitting up on your elbows. 

“Oh baby you will.” He winks, licking his fingers clean. He leans over, pecking your lips quickly. “You will come as many times as you want. But I want the first one to be around my cock tonight.” 

You gasp at his words. You knew his mouth was lethal but sometimes it still surprises you. The lust lacing with his soft timbre made you weak in the knees. 

“Fuck,” you whisper, grabbing his face and kissing him hard. 

The word ‘slow’ is forgotten from either of your vocabularies, while the two of you kiss hungrily. Sucking on tongues, teeth clashing, hands touching and clutching onto anything and everything. 

Hoseok lays you down on your side, climbing in behind you. His teeth nips at your bottom lip and he wrapped your leg around his hips. He kisses down your neck, while you help guide his cock to your entrance. He locks his eyes with yours as he slowly pushes himself in. His arms wrap around your torso, and he pushes you closer to his chest. 

Both of your heartbeats are in sync. Racing against the clock, basking in pleasure that you never want it to end. 

“Move please.” You say, lifting your face to kiss him. 

He begins to move his hips, making you gasp into each other's mouths. It’s a sloppy pace from the start but you don't care. You want more, so you met his thrusts halfway. One of his hands palms at your breast. He alternates between swallowing your moans and leaving his mark on anything he can get his lips on. 

“B-Baby.” He moans, resting his forehead on yours. “I’m close, are you?” He thrusts, letting out a low moan when he feels you clench around him.

He didn’t give you a minute to answer, before he was lifting your leg higher around his waist, allowing himself to reach the deepest part of you. “Touch yourself baby.” 

You moan his name, letting go of his hand, your finger meeting your clit, rubbing it in circles. Trying to keep up with his unrelenting pace. And soon you feel him still behind you, eyes shutting in pleasure as he spills himself inside of you. His orgasm triggers the coil in the pit of your stomach as you feel your release wash over you in a tidal wave, making you push his cock and cum out of you. His fingers frantically come down to meet yours as he helps you ride out your wave. He whispers praises against your skin while you come down.

Hoseok kisses your lips slowly, chuckling before whispering words that you will forever hold near and dear to your heart. 

“I love you.” He pushes your hair away from your face. “I love you so much to know that one day I’ll have to let you go.”

You giggle, turning in his arms, nuzzling your head into his neck. “I love you.” 

You feel him laugh, twinkling his fingers down your spine, “Let’s get matching tattoos.” 

You look up at him, raising a brow before shaking your head. “You just made me squirt, told me you loved me, and now you want to get matching tattoos?” 

“What better way to commemorate the best ego boost.” He shrugs. 

“You’re insane.” You untangle yourself from his embrace. You stand up, putting on his shirt. 

“I didn’t hear a no.” He says smugly, putting his arms underneath his head. 

“Because you’re an insane idiot who makes me agree to things like these.” You smile, before walking out of his room. 

“Great, I’ll make an appointment.” He shouts after you, “I love you.” He adds after a moment. 

You enter his kitchen, and turn on the lights. You can feel your smile take up your entire face. For a moment you realize that for the first time in a long time you felt happy. 

So yeah, maybe, things were finally looking up. 

“You’re late.”

Namjoon says after taking a slow sip from his coffee. He looks at you from over the rim of his glasses. 

You roll your eyes, setting your bag down on the empty chair. “It's raining, and I forgot my umbrella. I had to wait for the rain to stop.”

“You could’ve texted to let me know.” He shrugs, setting his cup down on the coaster and flipping the page of his book. 

You sigh, before (gently) throwing your phone onto the table. “It’s dead. And before you ask, no I didn’t bring a charger. No, Jungkook wasn’t in class today so he couldn’t give me a charger, an umbrella, or a ride. Jimin is sick. And Taehyung doesn’t even go to our school. He's probably getting high with his new fling, so I wouldn’t have been able to ask him either.” You say, listing all the solutions he would’ve thought about in seconds. 

“Mhm,” he nods, closing his book. “And your boyfriend?”

Annoyed, you let out a whine, crossing your arms in front of you. “I don’t know, let me go downstairs and ask him. I’m sure he can stop managing a business to give me an umbrella.” 

Namjoon leans his elbows against the table. “Trouble in paradise?” He tilts his head, clasping his hands on top of his book. 

You shake your head, pulling out your chair and slumping down in it. “Hobi and I are fine. It’s not like he’s leaving in two months or anything.” You throw your hands up in exasperation. 

It’s month seven into your shining relationship with Hoseok, and you should’ve known that things would start to hit the fan sooner rather than Later. Your boyfriend was in the middle of the most tumultuous change of his life. Things were moving quickly and his time dedicated to you was bumped down his monstrous daily to-do list. 

Yet you couldn’t do or say anything because isn’t this what you signed up for? 

“Ah, so there is trouble.” Namjoon chuckles before opening his book again, setting his fancy leather bookmark aside. “This is exactly why I don’t do relationships, they just attract problems.” He adds, giving you a pointed look. 

You roll your eyes, “Shut up asshole, not all of us can be like you and Rina.” 

“Sure you can, it's simple just don't attach any strings to it.” He shrugs, underlining a sentence in his book. 

“Two people who have been only exclusively seeing each other for years literally the definition of strings attached. You can keep denying it all you want but she’s your girlfriend. You guys do all the couple-y stuff.” You grumble, leaning back in your chair, looking out of the window. The gloomy weather adds to your shitty mood. 

“She’s not, we are not dating, and I don’t need to talk about this with you again. Rina and I are on the same page.” He finishes, taking a long sip from his coffee.

“Well, how would you feel if Rina was spending time with another guy, completely ignoring your presence when you walk into her coffee shop all wet and angry because your professor basically told you your topic for your essay was shit.”

Namjoon smirks, leaning back in his chair. “Sounds like you’re jealous of Yuri.” 

“So what if I am?” You bite, “I understand that he’s training her to take over his position, but all he talks about is her and what he needs to teach her when we’re together. And whenever I come in they’re always laughing at something behind the coffee machine. And I know she’s nice and all but I would like his attention too.” You scoff. 

Namjoon hums, tapping his index finger against the table. “Do you trust him?” 

The question doesn’t catch you off guard, the obvious answer is on the tip of your tongue. But with how things have been going lately. You can’t help but hesitate. 

“I don’t know anymore.” You whisper looking down at your hands, turning the ring on your middle finger. “I know I should, and I do…I think I do. It’s just things have been so shit lately and I feel like a burden to him because of everything he has to do.” 

Namjoon lightly kicks your foot under the table, making you raise your head to meet his gaze. “I don’t know if I am being of much help, but he loves you. I know that whatever is happening he’s not doing it intentionally. Just talk to him about it.” 

If only it were that easy. 

“I’d love to but he never has time.” 

“Why not talk to him now then.” He says reaching into his bag to take out his cigarettes and lighter. 

“He’s busy downstairs with Yu–” 

“No, I’m not busy now.” 

You jump at the sound of your boyfriend's voice. You turn your head to look at him. A small tray with a mug of probably chamomile tea on top of it. His hair is shorter than the last time you saw him two days ago. He got a haircut and didn’t even tell you about it. That’s how low you have made it on his list. He can’t even send you a stupid picture of his new haircut. He can’t even send you a ‘goodmorning’ or ‘goodnight’ text. He also probably forgot that you were nervous for the meeting with your professor about your essay topic.

All these realizations make you want to roll into a ball and cry. You knew your time with Hoseok was limited. You just didn’t expect for the end to be so torturous. 

“That’s what I told her.” Namjoon speaks, narrowing his eyes at you for a second before turning his attention to his best friend. “She’s jealous of Yuri, because you’ve been spending too much time with her.” He shrugs, walking quickly to the stairs before you can bury him ten feet underground. 

You hear Hoseok let out a heavy sigh, and take the seat next to you. “Honeycakes,” he starts.

“Nice haircut.” You interrupt, slumping into your chair more. It earns another heavy sigh from the man sitting next to you. 

“Is Yuri the reason why you’ve been so upset lately?” He says placing a hand on top of your knee underneath the table. 

You let out a dry laugh before shaking your head. “No, it’s not her. It’s how you’ve been acting lately, it’s the time you’ve been spending with her. It's never having time for me anymore. It’s forgetting our date last week. It’s not even telling me that you got a haircut.” You finish, closing your fists to keep yourself from crying. 

Hoseok gives your thigh a squeeze before leaning back in his chair. “You know how things have been lately. I’m trying so hard to do everything I need to do. I don’t mean to be so dismissive but I can’t juggle everything at the same time.” 

You flick off a piece of lint from your jeans. “It’s nice to know that I’m just something you juggle around.” 

“That’s not what I meant. You knew what would happen when I started my application process. You said you understood.” 

“I did, or I thought I did Hoseok. I didn’t think I would become so secondary to you.” You sniffle. “I love that you’re chasing your dreams, but this is me trying to support you. I’m trying to understand how you’re feeling. But you stop me. You have shut me out and now I’m just something you remember sometimes.” You close your eyes, feeling the tears fall down your cheeks. 

The last thing you wanted was to be crying like this in public. 

“I-I want you to tell me when you’re having a hard time like you used to. I want you to feel like you can relax around me when we’re together. But every time we are together, we either argue, you don’t talk, or you talk about work, deadlines, or how you can’t wait to move. How do you think that makes me feel Hoseok?” 

Hoseok sighs, and wraps his arm around your shoulders. “I’m sorry.” He kisses your temple. “I wish you would’ve told me earlier before it got to this point.” He whispers, rubbing your back, while you lean your head onto his shoulder. 

“But Hobi like you said, this is what I signed up for. This is what I agreed to.”  You add bitterly. 

“Yes Honeycakes, but you’re still my girlfriend. And I know that I haven’t been the best boyfriend lately, but I do care about you and I do love you.” He lifts your head from his shoulder. He gently grabs hold of your face, making you look at him. “Just like how you want me to talk to you when something is bothering me, I also want you to talk to me.” 

You close your head sighing, “You’re right, I’m sorry that I keep making things difficult.” 

He shakes his head. “You don’t. I’m the one that can’t seem to keep my girlfriend from doubting me. I’m the one who hasn’t told her how much I yearn to be in her presence at every waking moment.” He says, his thumbs wiping away your tears. “I love you, and I think that’s why I’ve been so avoidant lately. I know that our days are numbered and I would rather ignore the fact that I’m moving away soon than cherish the moments I get to spend with my family, my friends and you.” 

You nod, holding out your pinky out to him. “I promise to keep trying my best.” 

He hooks his pinky with yours bringing your laced fingers up to his lips. “I promise to keep trying my best too.” 

“I love you,” You whisper, letting go of his finger and wrapping your arms around his waist. 

His low laugh makes his chest vibrate against your head, “I love you.” He adds, rubbing soothing circles over your back. “Now, can you please drink your tea before you get a cold. I texted you earlier asking if you needed an umbrella but you didn’t answer. And now look at you coming in here all pouty and wet.”  

You raise your head to look at him, opening your mouth to speak, only to be interrupted by the forgotten voice of your friend. “Her phone’s dead.” Namjoon throws his lighter onto the wooden table. 

Hoseok tsks shaking his head, reaching over to push the tray of your lukewarm tea closer to you. “I should’ve known. I knew you didn’t charge it last night, just like I knew that you left your umbrella at my place.” He pinches your cheek. “How did your meeting go?” 

“He basically said that I need to restart my essay topic over again.”

Hoseok laughs, bopping your nose with his own. “Well did he say those exact words?” 

“No but it was basically implied.”  You emphasize. 

“Fine, I’ll talk to your study partner if my baby isn’t being told that she’s a genius all the time, then what am I paying him for.” He jokes, which earns a glare from said study partner. 

“You’re not paying me, idiot.” Namjoon rolls his eyes, grabbing his brown leather messenger back and stuffing his cigarettes into the front pocket. 

He’s grateful that he came back to smiles and not tears. The stoicness of his actions makes the two of you laugh hard. Your laugh resonates longer in his mind. It always does. No matter how much he tries to deny it. You always resonate longer in his mind. But he pushes that fleeting thought aside. 

Namjoon is happy. 

His friends are happy. 

Things in his life were finally looking up. 

“I have to go, but don’t be late next time and charge your phone.” He says hoisting his bag onto his shoulders. 

You nod, saluting in his direction, before bursting out into a fit of giggles as Hoseok tickles your side. 

Namjoon doesn’t stay for longer than he needs to. He’s already running late to meet Rina, but he can’t hide the smile taking up his space.

He can’t help but feel proud that things were finally looking up for you too. 

a/n: I hope you have enjoyed it. I will try not to be so MIA and upload a little more frequently rather than every 6 months haha. But my life has been pretty busy lately. In the past few months. I have moved to a different part of Seoul and I got a new job. I basically just hang out with my friends when I have free time haha. I also do dance class 3 times a week, and I started personal training last week. But I will try to manage my time better because I do miss writing and this story!

[rainbow-nerdss]

Tease Tidbit Tuesday

Enjoy this hit from the bucktommy pit I've fallen into over the past few days! 💙💙

“Eddie gave me a shovel talk, you know?” Tommy says, next time they get together. They're at Buck's again, and Buck is cooking for them. He drops the spatula at Tommy's announcement, spinning to look at him. “He what? Jesus, I am so sorry, he shouldn't have—” “It's fine,” Tommy assures him. “It was cute. He cares about you.” Buck snorts. “Sure. He hasn't scared you off, at least?” "Nah, trust me, I've sparred with the guy enough times to know I can take him if I need to.” Buck raises an eyebrow. “I wouldn't underestimate him. That guy knows how to fight dirty. Trust me. He's scrappy.” “Scrappy, huh?” Buck turns back to the pot and stirs it again. “Hey, come taste this?” He holds out a spoon. Tommy joins him at the stove, standing far closer than necessary, almost flush against Buck's back as he takes the spoon in his mouth, chews, and swallows. “Delicious,” he announces. “Is that Bobby's Chili?”  Buck nods. "Yup!" “Man, he was always so secretive about that!” Tommy complains. “How'd you talk him into sharing?” “Pays to be the favorite, I guess!” Buck preens. “So, what? Eddie suddenly decided to go all white knight protecting my virtue now I'm dating a guy?” He asks, steering the conversion back around. Tommy leans against the countertop beside Buck. “Nah, nothing like that. He just said that… He reminded me, forcibly, that you're a good guy, and I should probably refrain from hurting you, if I can help it.” Privately, a part of Buck glows at the knowledge that Eddie did that for him, even while he plans to rip him a new one for interfering. “I should clarify, Evan. I'm not… I’ve mentioned Victor, right? My ex?” Buck nods, turning to face Tommy in order to give this his full attention. “He sort of… did a number on me. Meeting you, doing… this, it's great. I'm just not…” “You're not ready for something serious,” Buck realizes. Tommy nods. “But, what we've been doing so far…?” “Is great! The dates, the, uh… other stuff, all amazing, but—” “You just don't want anything more serious than that.” “Exactly. If that's a deal-breaker, I can—” “No!” Buck rushes, putting a hand on Tommy's chest. “I mean, this is good for me too. Takes some of the pressure off, actually.” Tommy visibly relaxes, and Buck takes a moment to turn down the heat on the stove, leaning further into his space. “You said you were a relationship guy,” Tommy says, clearly wanting to make a hundred percent sure. Buck does him the courtesy of taking a moment to consider his answer. “I used to think I was. I thought my options were either ‘serious relationship’ or ‘meaningless sex that left me feeling like crap’.” He steps closer, close enough that he can feel Tommy's breath ghost across his skin. “But lately I've been discovering the joys of things being… somewhere on a spectrum. Keeping things fluid.” “Yeah?” Tommy asks, moving even closer. They might as well be kissing now, but they aren't quite, just a hair between them. “Yeah,” Buck repeats. “Though,” he adds. “For the sake of clarity. When you say other stuff, is that referring to the flying lessons you still owe me, or—” Buck pulls away just a fraction, just enough to allow Tommy the opportunity to reach out and keep him there, pulling him back into a dizzying kiss.

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And tagging:

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[talkdutchtome]

Glitch- chapter eight

pairing . . . max verstappen x reader / mason mount x reader )

summary . . . when mason mount finds out that his assistant has been harbouring feelings for him for years, he makes it clear he doesn't feel the same way. but once he sees her become closer with formula 1 world champion max verstappen, he realises he may have underestimated his feelings towards the girl he has now pushed into the arms of another )

genre . . . angst )

song . . . glitch- taylor swift )

series masterlist . . . available here )

a/n . . . after the trauma i inflicted on you all last time, i thought i'd treat you to a few chapters of fluffy max x y/n content <3 Also this isn’t proofread unfortunately as i just got done with part of my dissertation and if i look at my computer for another second my brain will explode )

Y/N was left stunned, her mind grappling with the weight of Max's unexpected confession. The vulnerable honesty in his words lingered in the air, and she found herself at a loss for a response. What could she say? She had accepted that Max simply didn’t see her like that and that’s why he left so abruptly; the last thing she thought he was going to say was this. 

Max's next words pulled her back to the present moment. "Could you just let me in so we can speak in person?" he requested, his voice carrying a mix of urgency and sincerity. 

Y/N, still processing the revelation, stammered, "What?" 

"I'm outside your flat," Max confessed. "I know this is unexpected, and I'm sorry for just turning up, but I've been mulling it over in my head. When I realized how I felt, I needed to tell you immediately." 

The gravity of the situation settled on Y/N, and she hesitated before responding, “I’m at a bar, with Mas- With the team. They won today and we went out for a few drinks.” 

“Oh okay, I’m sorry I’ll leave.” Y/N could hear the deflation in Max’s voice and her heart sunk a bit. 

“No, give me 15 minutes and I’ll be there” she spoke before quickly hanging up. She didn’t know what exactly to say to Max, but she knew they needed to talk. 

The atmosphere in the bar hummed with celebration as the team and their friends reveled in the victory as Y/N re-entered the bar to inform people that she needed to go. She discreetly approached Mason, her face a mask of determination, and whispered, "I need to go, something came up." 

Mason, concerned, furrowed his brow. "Is everything okay?" 

Y/N offered a quick nod. "Yeah, just something I need to take care of. We can talk about it tomorrow, I promise." 

Mason's eyes searched hers for more answers, but Y/N's resolve was unwavering. "Please, Mason, not now. Tomorrow, I promise," she reiterated, and before he could press further, she pulled away, heading towards the group. 

She interrupted the lively conversation with a brief, "I need to head out, guys. See you tomorrow," leaving the group with confused glances. Mason, however, couldn't shake off his concern. He approached her once more, this time with a more direct plea. "Can we at least talk about what happened today?" 

Y/N met his gaze, a mix of apology and determination in her eyes. "I really have to go now, Mason. We can talk about everything tomorrow. I'm sorry," she said, a heavy weight in her voice. With that, she turned away, leaving Mason standing there, bewildered and frustrated, with their friends watching the scene unfold. 

The night draped itself over the city as Y/N approached her apartment building, the darkness obscuring the details of the world around her. In the dimly lit corner, Max stood waiting. The feeble glow of distant streetlights cast long shadows, rendering their faces almost invisible. Their greeting was muted, a hesitant hug exchanged in the dimly lit vicinity. Neither of them spoke much, the lack of clarity mirrored by the obscured visibility. The shadows seemed to swallow their words, leaving an unspoken tension hanging in the air. 

Inside her apartment, harsh lighting unveiled the details that the darkness had concealed. Y/N's neck bore a series of marks, intricate patterns etched in the aftermath of a passionate encounter. The marks, though unintentional, now became vivid tattoos, stark against her skin. 

As Max began to say something, his eyes fell upon the visible aftermath, and his words caught in his throat. The room, now flooded with the unforgiving light, accentuated the complexities of the situation. Y/N watched as his face dropped, the color draining from his skin. The realization dawned upon him, and an awkward silence settled in the room. The unspoken weight of Mason's presence loomed over them, turning the atmosphere into an uncharted territory where words faltered, and emotions hung heavy in the air. 

She tried to find words to explain, to offer some justification for the marks, but her mind drew a blank. Max, observing the unspoken turmoil in her expression, interrupted her before she could stumble through an explanation. 

"Mason?" His voice was devoid of emotion, dry and almost detached. Y/N, feeling defenseless and without a valid explanation, could only nod in response. In her defense, she had none. She could see the gears turning in Max's mind, trying to process the implications of what he'd just learned. 

She anticipated Max's departure, expecting him to distance himself from the completely fucked situation that he found himself in through no fault of his own. Instead, however, to her surprise, he didn't retreat. Without uttering another word, Max walked over and took a seat on her couch. The air was thick with unspoken emotions, leaving the room in a suspended state of uncertainty. Y/N hesitated, unsure of how to navigate the conversation that loomed before them. 

She hesitantly broke the silence, asking, "Aren’t you leaving?" 

Max, however, countered with a question of his own, delivered in a measured tone that hung in the air. "Should I?" 

Caught in the throes of uncertainty, Y/N admitted, "I don't know." 

Max, still processing the situation, confessed his genuine affection for her. "I really like you," he said, his words heavy with sincerity. "But if there's something between you and Mason, something real, you should tell me now. I don't want to stand in the way." 

The weight of his words lingered in the room, prompting Y/N to examine her own feelings. Yet, as Max continued, laying out the conditions for their potential future, the complexity of the situation deepened. "Unless you can definitively say that you want Mason and not me, then I'm not going to go away." 

He sought clarity, gazing into her eyes with a mixture of curiosity and expectation. "Can you tell me that?" he asked. 

Y/N, entangled in the web of her own emotions, shook her head. She really didn’t know much, but she did know that she felt something for Max. She did feel something for Mason too, maybe she always would; but Max made her feel something she had never felt before, and she couldn’t just ignore that.  

Max looked at Y/N with a sense of urgency in his eyes. "Do you have any holiday saved up?" he asked. 

Y/N, caught off guard, nodded hesitantly. "Yeah, I do." 

Max took a measured breath, his eyes reflecting a sense of determination. "How about this? Come with me to Monaco for a week, and then it’s Silverstone so you can come with me to that. Two weeks, just you and me. And if, by the end of it, you still want Mason, I'll walk away." 

The proposal lingered in the night air, and Y/N felt the gravity of the decision pressing on her. "I... I don't know," she admitted, uncertainty threading through her words. 

Leaning in, Max's eyes bore into hers. "Think about it." 

Silence enveloped them as Y/N contemplated his proposition.  

After a pause, she looked back at him. "I need to talk to Mason, to see if I can get the time off work and also.. Well, I can’t just up and leave for two weeks without an explanation. " she asserted, the resolve in her voice mingling with vulnerability. 

Max nodded, acknowledging the necessity for clarity. "Sure. I can book a hotel room for tonight, and then you can talk to Mason tomorrow. If you decide to go, we can leave after that." 

"Okay," Y/N agreed, the air thick with unspoken possibilities. 

The next day, the weight of anticipation hung in the air as Y/N, accompanied by Max, navigated the familiar path to Mason's house. The drive was a quiet affair, with unspoken tension filling the car. Max, understanding the gravity of the impending conversation, remained in the vehicle as Y/N gathered her courage to face Mason. 

Stepping into Mason's home, memories of shared laughter and easy camaraderie clashed with the somber reality of the impending discussion. Mason, sensing the gravity of the moment, met her gaze with a mix of concern and apprehension. 

"I need a few weeks off, I’m going to Monaco with Max for a little while," Y/N declared, her voice a delicate blend of determination and vulnerability. Her eyes, once filled with an unwavering spark, now reflected the tumultuous emotions swirling within her. 

Mason didn’t know what he expected when Y/N came to his door without any warning, but it wasn’t this. After yesterday, when they had- their moment. How could she just drop this on him, come and tell him that she wanted to go on holiday with someone else.  

“What do you mean? What about us, what about me?” 

Y/N, torn between loyalty and her evolving understanding of self, shook her head. "I need to, I like Max, and I owe it to myself to be able to give it ago. Being around you is confusing and complicated. I just need a break" she uttered; the weight of the decision etched in her expression. 

At her words, she couldn't help but notice the stark change in Mason's expression. His features, once marked by familiarity and warmth, now contorted with a palpable hurt. The lines on his forehead deepened, and his eyes, once a source of comfort, now betrayed a pain he couldn't conceal. It was as if her words had struck a chord, unraveling the threads of their friendship, leaving Mason visibly wounded. 

“Please don’t go, I’m sorry I- Well I was wrong before. I do see you as more than a friend," he admitted, laying bare the depth of his feelings. 

Yet, Y/N, no longer content with half-truths, posed a poignant question that lingered in the air like an unspoken truth. "Would you feel that way if Max never came along?" 

The room fell into a contemplative hush, the unspoken answer lingering like an invisible barrier. Y/N, her heart heavy with the weight of decisions, knew she couldn't settle for uncertainty. "Exactly," she asserted, her voice a mixture of resolve and sorrow. "I don't want to be with someone who only wants me because they don't want somebody else to have me." 

In a reluctant tone, Mason finally agreed, "Alright, Y/N, take as much holiday as you need." As she uttered a sincere "thank you," she turned to leave, only to be halted by Mason's hesitant voice. His words hung in the air, heavy with remorse and an unspoken apology, "I'm sorry, Y/N. I ruined everything, and I don't... Well, I'm just really sorry." The weight of his regret lingered, creating a somber atmosphere as Y/N absorbed his admission before uttering. “Yeah.. Me too.” and walking away from her best friend.  

As Y/N returned to the car where Max patiently waited, her eyes betrayed a lingering sadness that Max couldn't ignore. Concern etched across his face, he gently inquired, "You okay?" She offered a halfhearted nod, confirming Mason granted her the time off. Despite her affirmation, Max sensed something amiss. "You sure?" he pressed, genuine worry in his voice. She shook her head, signaling a preference to keep it to herself. 

The atmosphere remained heavy with unspoken words. The engine roared to life, and they merged onto the road, the rhythmic hum of the tires the only sound between them. Max stole glances at her, concern etched on his face, but respecting her need for silence. 

After a stretch of quietude, Max broke the stillness. "I need to pick someone up at the factory, they need to go back to Monaco too" he mentioned, his eyes focused on the road. Y/N nodded, speaking for the first time in a while “Okay no worries, who?” 

"It's Daniel," Max revealed, the name hanging in the air. At Max’s words, her eyes lit up with genuine excitement. "No way, Daniel, as in Daniel Ricciardo?!?" she exclaimed, the unexpected joy momentarily pushing aside the shadows. Max couldn't help but smile at her animated response, grateful for the chance to divert her thoughts from whatever weighed on her. 

Max chuckled at Y/N's admission, teasingly asking, "A fan of Daniel, huh?" She grinned, nodding, "Yeah, even though I grew up a Mercedes fan, there's always been something about Daniel." Max laughed, "Well, he'll enjoy hearing that. He's been excited to meet you." Y/N blushed at the idea, feeling a mix of nervousness and anticipation. Curiosity got the better of her, and she asked, "Have you told people about me?" Max's demeanor shifted slightly, a bashful smile playing on his lips. He jokingly responded, "Well, when I stopped making up excuses to get out of coming to the factory, they knew something was up." 

The rhythmic hum of the car's engine melded seamlessly with the soft daylight as they continued their journey. Sunlight streamed through the windows, casting a warm glow on the cityscape passing by—a lively backdrop for the evolving conversation within the car.

Max skillfully guided their dialogue through diverse topics, carefully avoiding any mention of Mason. Despite the apparent ease in their exchanges, a delicate undercurrent of tension lingered—an unspoken presence that painted the atmosphere with a muted complexity. Max, attuned to the subtleties, felt the weight of Mason's words pressing upon Y/N's thoughts. 

As they traversed the city, Max occasionally stole glances at Y/N, his eyes seeking clues within the nuances of her expressions. There was a magnetic pull between them, an unspoken acknowledgment of the uncharted territory they navigated. Max sensed that Mason's remarks had imprinted themselves on Y/N's consciousness, like an indelible mark that begged exploration. 

Yet, Max exercised restraint, choosing not to pry into the depths of Y/N's emotions. Instead, he allowed the daylight to unfold, leaving room for the unspoken to gradually find its voice 

The car pulled up at the designated spot to pick up Daniel, and as he stepped into the car, a vibrant energy accompanied him. Daniel greeted Y/N with a warm smile, his friendly demeanor putting everyone at ease. The introductions flowed naturally, and Daniel couldn't resist a playful comment. 

"So, this is the infamous girl Max can't stop talking about," he teased, shooting a playful glance Max's way. 

Y/N chuckled, feeling a mix of amusement and curiosity about what Max might have shared. As they continued the journey to the private jet, the conversation effortlessly ebbed and flowed. Y/N and Daniel discovered common interests and shared laughs, creating an atmosphere of camaraderie that surpassed the typical introductions. The initial awkwardness melted away, leaving room for genuine connections to form. 

Upon reaching the private jet, Y/N couldn't help but marvel at the luxurious surroundings. The sleek interior, plush seats, and attentive service were a stark contrast to her usual mode of travel. Her excitement spilled into the conversation. 

"Wow, this is amazing! I've never been on a private jet before. It's like a whole different world up here," she exclaimed, taking in the opulent surroundings. Daniel grinned, his eyes reflecting her enthusiasm. "Get used to it; you're in for a treat. Flying private is a game-changer," he remarked, settling into his seat. 

Amidst the smooth hum of the jet engines, Y/N, engaged in an animated conversation with Daniel, seemed oblivious to Max's watchful eyes. Her laughter was infectious, punctuating the air and drawing everyone into the magnetic orbit of her joy. Max couldn't deny the fascination that swelled within him as he witnessed her seamlessly fitting into his world, connecting effortlessly with one of his closest friends. 

For Max, the allure went beyond the surface. He liked the feeling of introducing Y/N to his realm, of sharing moments and friends with her. Watching her throw her head back in laughter, observing the spark in her eyes, Max found himself entranced by the unique melody she brought to the symphony of his life. 

Meanwhile, Daniel, ever the observer, noted Max's subtle yet profound shift. It was as if he'd discovered a new rhythm in the music of his own existence. Daniel had never seen Max act so reserved, so captivated by someone's presence. 

As the jet touched down in the Monaco, Daniel, having fulfilled his role as the transient third wheel, bade them farewell. Max guided Y/N through the picturesque streets to his apartment, a chic abode that overlooked the azure Mediterranean Sea. 

Max's apartment, perched atop a hill, boasted floor-to-ceiling windows that framed the breathtaking panorama of Monaco's coastline. The decor seamlessly blended modern aesthetics with subtle nods to the city's classic charm. Y/N couldn't help but marvel at the tasteful art pieces adorning the walls and the plush furnishings that invited relaxation. 

On the terrace, Max pointed out the landmarks below—the glittering marina, the famous Casino de Monte-Carlo, and the labyrinthine streets that told tales of luxury and opulence. The breeze played with Y/N's hair as she took in the view, the sun casting a warm glow over the city. 

Inside, Max introduced her to his two cats, Jimmy and Sassy, who surveyed her with a mix of curiosity and indifference. The apartment resonated with a sense of Max's personality—elegant, sophisticated, and a touch playful. 

Leading her to the spare room, Max revealed an unexpected surprise. The room was elegantly decorated, adorned with fresh flowers, creating an inviting and serene ambiance. Y/N, genuinely touched, couldn't help but express her gratitude. Max casually mentioned that he'd arranged for his cleaner to work her magic during their flight. 

As Y/N settled into the room, a wave of fatigue washed over her. She thanked Max once more for the thoughtful gesture and embraced him before retreating to the comfort of the bed. Max assured her that dinner reservations were secured for later, and with a gentle smile, he left her to rest, closing the door softly behind him. The room, now silent, cradled Y/N into a peaceful slumber as the sun dipped below the Monaco horizon. 

Tag list-

@nightlockcornucopia @jaydensluv @girlytots19 @formula1mount @alwaysclassyeagle @aundercover @sofifiia @dessxoxsworld @lpab @lorarri @thelovehypothesis @torrie421 @ironmaiden1313 @celesteblack08 @glow-ish @urfavouritef1girly @alwaysclassyeagle @barnestatic @simxican @formula1mount @charli123456789 @mac-daddy-210 @lazybot @imguce @azxulaa @mehrmonga @sunny44 @skepvids @drunkinthemiddleoftheday @chimchimjiminie16 @tyna-19 @hoely-maria @stevesworld9 @f1lov3r @elliegrey2803 @heyyhelloohii @landosgirlxoxo @skepvids @aundercover @andydrysdalerogers @illicitverstappen @bbygrlllllll @kageyamama-hinatatata @imagandom @bibissparkles @sofifiia @dark-night-sky-99 @viennakarma @tyna-19 @wcnorris @storminacloud @girlintheredscarf @yourbane @anotherfan07

[starcrossedxwriter]

Wicked Fantasies Part 11.1 (MBJ x OC)

A/N: Ummm so welcome backkk! This is 11.1 because there's a second part to this chapter (I know... my self control keeps getting worse lolol) But I hope you enjoy!

TW: grief

“I’m never fucking drinking again,” Raven moaned to herself as she stumbled out of the comforts of bed. She felt like hell, if hell had a truck run over its head a few dozen times. 

Raven generally considered herself an early riser but nothing could pull her out of bed that morning after what was, objectively, the dumbest night of her life. Part of her wished she had had one or two more drinks so she could have officially transitioned into the ‘blackout drunk’ phase. So that she would, at least, be spared the embarrassing memories. But no, every horrible moment of the night from dancing wildly at the bar to Michael saving her was etched into the crevices of her brain with shocking clarity. 

Now, it was after noon and Raven still found herself wanting to be curled under her blanket asleep so she could escape her embarrassment. 

A knock at the door pulled her out of her wallowing self pity. She did not make an attempt to move, expecting Tiffany to answer. However, when the voice of their landlord rang out and her knocking persisted, she quickly slid on her robe to open the door. She decided Mrs. Winters would have to get over the fact that she looked like death reincarnated. 

“Rough night, dear?” 

Raven grimaced for a moment, she did indeed look as terrible as she felt. 

“Something like that,” Raven offered a tight smile, her body slumping against the door. “W-what can I do for you, Mrs. Winters?” 

“Oh I’m just letting everyone know that we had a pipe burst on the floor above. We’ll have folks in and out and you might hear some noise and stuff. But if you see any leaking into your unit, give me a ring?” 

“Of course. Will do. Thanks, have a good one,” Raven tried her best to politely shoo the woman away. However, she lingered. 

“Oh I meant to tell you, that boyfriend of yours is just such a good egg. So kind and polite. Admittedly I haven’t met many famous people,” she laughed. “But you just don’t expect them to have such good manners, you know?” 

Raven stopped. “My boyfriend?? Sorry… When was he here?” 

“He stopped by this morning. Gave me a check for your rent for the rest of your lease. Oh and asked where your mailbox was, said he wanted to drop something in it.” 

Raven was worried her jaw might come completely unhinged as the woman spoke. 

He did what?? 

“Are you alright, dear??” 

“Y-Yea, yea. Just… a bit of a surprise. Thank you.” 

And with that, Raven immediately closed the door, not listening to the elderly woman’s reply. 

“This nigga… I hate him,” she muttered to herself as she slumped against her door. 

Every cell in her body knew that was not true. But she also knew that everything she had told him last night was still accurate. She was too tired to forgive him and not just him… anyone ever again. The world has used up all of her second chances and she did not have it in her heart to be disappointed by him again. The narrative in her brain was so set in stone, she did not think anything he could say or do would make her believe anything else. She could not even make herself go retrieve the note that was apparently waiting for her in her mailbox. 

“Such a coward,” she grumbled as she flopped back into bed. 

She stared at her phone for several minutes, her text thread with Michael open. She wondered what she could even say? Thank you?

She knew any conversations demanding she pay him back or he rescind the money would be moot. Even if she had the mental fortitude to argue with him right now, she would still lose. But she could not just accept it without trying to push back. 

She typed and erased and typed and erased before lamely landing on: 

Raven: You can’t pay my entire rent. I can’t accept that. 

Raven: I don’t want that.

Michael: Yea you can. Told you… gonna show up every day tryin’ to fix us. You just gotta let me.

Raven: Money isn’t gonna fix this, Michael. 

Michael: I know. But it can fix the tangible things I fucked up for you

Michael: So let me fix that for you. 

Raven paused, as a warm sensation filled her, a warmth she had not felt in over a month now. The warmth of being cared for. She had never had someone take care of her without wanting something in return, except Michael. Even when their relationship was built on transactions, he still took care of her without needing or asking for something from her. The book deal, her rent were just the tangible examples of how he had stepped up to right the wrongs he could and she could not deny that those actions meant something, softened something inside her. 

He was doing exactly what he promised he would do the night before. He was fixing what could be, he was showing with his actions that she meant something to him. And yet, that blockade that stopped that belief from taking root was still there, still prohibiting her from believing these actions were anything more than a skilled manipulation. 

He would draw her back in, he would not change, and when he got ready, he would hurt her again. That’s what everyone in her life did. 

Raven: It doesn’t change anything

Michael: I know… didn’t expect it to.

She tossed her phone to the side and grabbed her pillow, screaming into it as her frustration got the better of her. The complex web of conflicting feelings with Michael B. Jordan trapped at its center only continued to grow. She wanted him to let her go, to stop caring and trying and going out of his way for her because that fit into the narrative nailed to the cross of her brain, it would confirm her beliefs and fears. 

But instead he continued to do the things that made her fall in love with him the first time, things that only reignited the dimmed but still existent flame that was her love for him. And she knew she would never get over him if she kept letting that happen, kept letting him in. 

So she did not even respond. Instead, she just closed the thread and tossed her phone to the side. 

“Let him go, Rae,” she demanded to herself. “You don’t deserve him and he doesn’t love you.” She repeated that a few times before it felt real again, before all that had started to soften was once again as solid as a block of ice. 

***

“You look like shit,” Alex moaned as she watched Michael’s makeup artist, Shanta, struggle to make him look less like a living zombie ahead of his Oprah interview. 

They were tucked away in a suite in Oprah's sprawling LA estate. It was difficult to make Michael feel poor but Oprah was certainly one of the few people in the world who could do so. 

“Thanks, appreciate that.” 

“You know I don’t believe in lying to you. Make sure you get those bags under his eyes,” she instructed. “Alright, this is it. Final stretch. Movie’s out and every review is stellar so far. Do this interview, it’ll air this week, Oscars on Sunday and then you can sleep. Though I bet it’s not the schedule keeping you up? Talked to her since the premiere?” 

Michael forced his body not to sag at the mention of Raven as to not disturb the hard work of the woman trying to make him look alive after days of no sleep.  

“She texted me about the rent thing the next morning. But it’s been radio silence ever since.” 

It had only been a few days since the fiasco after the premiere but Michael’s concern for Raven had not diminished one bit. He  could not let her go as she requested but he tried his hardest to respect her desire for space. His heart was stuck in the quicksand that was Raven and he had no desire to pull himself out. He wanted to be right there. He knew eventually he would have to accept defeat, accept that she had moved on. But he could not do it while she still questioned her own deservedness. She could hate him for the rest of his life, it would be her right. But his soul could not allow her to live thinking so lowly of herself. So if he had to pay 30 years of rent or call in favors to make her life easier and make her see that she deserved care and someone to sacrifice for her, he would do it. It was high time someone in her life put her above themselves. 

“Well, at least she talked to you. That’s something. You’re doing what she asked. Sis has lived a life, she needs time and space. Keep doing what you're doing. Except for the no sleep. For the love of God, by the Oscars, please get a good night’s rest. That’s your night.” 

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Alex…” 

She scoffed. “You’ve won the big four, Mike. It’s not just because I believe you deserve it… Statistically, Best Actor is yours. The Oscars is your night. Have a little faith in yourself.” 

“I hear you. I just don’t wann-” 

“Excuse me?” A young man poked his head in the door. “Apologies for interrupting. I’m a PA. Just wanted to let you know that we’re almost ready? I can take you out to the garden when you’re ready.” 

“Be right out. Thank you,” Alex called. 

Shanta did her last quick finishing touches before Alex gave him her customary once over. 

“Shanta, my girl, you’re a miracle worker per usual.” 

They both offered Shanta their thanks, Michael rolling his shoulders before heading out the door to walk out to the gardens. 

He had met and interviewed with Oprah once before so he was not particularly nervous. But despite having done millions of interviews, there was always a kernel of nerves right beforehand that he could just never shake. 

He was dressed in slacks and a light black sweater, thankful for a cooler day as he walked out into her expansive gardens where the Oprah Winfrey waited for him. The cameras were already rolling, capturing footage that may or may not make into the hour-long special. 

“The man of the hour!” she called, her arms stretched wide to wrap Michael in a hug. “Actually I think man of the year is more appropriate. Welcome. I can’t tell you how excited I am to have you here.” 

“Thank you, thank you. It’s so good to be here.”

“Have a seat,” she gestured at the very comfy chair across from hers. “And we can jump right in.” 

***

Raven’s head was propped against her fist as she stared at her computer. A sentence. That was the grand total of her hard work for that Wednesday afternoon. But it was something, she supposed. Weeks of hard work had amounted to maybe two or three pages of her book. She had been offering Angelina vague answers on her progress, ducking and dodging her to avoid admitting that there was no way in hell she could have a draft by March 15 like they talked about. 

“Rae? You busy?” 

She turned in her chair toward the door to find Tiffany’s head poking in. 

“Nope… I’ll never be busy again at this rate,” she grumbled. “What’s up?” 

“I just turned on the interview… if you want to watch?” 

Raven scratched her head, unsure if she could even watch him? See him happy and thriving without her? Despite everything happening between them though, she could not pretend there was not a part of her that still wanted to celebrate this moment in his career. Interviewing with Oprah the week he was poised to win his first Oscar? How could she ever forgive herself if she did not watch this? Even if it hurts? 

“I’ll… be there in a sec. Thanks, Tiff.” 

Raven let out a deep sigh before she grabbed the blanket off her bed and dragged herself to the living room. The interview had already started and he looked gorgeous. Tired, she could tell, in the way he constantly had to readjust his posture, in the bags under his eyes that the makeup artist could not quite fully cover. But even at his worst, he looked captivatingly good. 

Raven found herself studying him so intently that she did not even comprehend the words he and Oprah were sharing. She just watched him and his mannerisms, she focused on the glimmer in his eyes that sparked every so often. She missed looking into his eyes, missed how expressive they were.  

This moment only amplified how much she missed him, missed hearing the deep baritone in his voice and the spark in his eyes when he spoke about his passions. She missed his bright and uninhibited laughter, how his hands were always on her in some way. She just missed him. But she had pushed him away, had told him to let her go. And even if he had not fully let go of her yet, she felt too scared to open that door again, even if her soul ached for her to. Particularly when he continued to try to show up for her in small ways. 

And despite how angry she still wanted to be at him, she had never had anyone show up for her quite like this… try for her like he did. And everyday, her brain took up far more mental space than it should have, debating whether she should follow her foolish heart and forgive him or listen to her logical brain and cast him aside. Days passed and she still did not know the answer. 

“So I’ll admit,” Raven’s ears finally started to pick up the conversation between Oprah and Michael, “I watched Waves more times than appropriate. But Gayle and I saw it at Sundance and we both thought it was just the most heartbreaking and poignant look at loss and grief that we had ever seen. While still being engaging and funny and so relatable. The journey your character goes through is just… I mean I think grief is one of the few universal experiences that we all will have at some point. And you really brought that to life through this character and his struggles with addiction. And the fact that you filmed this while engaged in completely different projects with complex characters like Killmonger in Black Panther and Adonis in Creed 3… I’m curious what you pulled from to give that performance?” 

Michael shifted in his seat as he chuckled, Raven had missed how passionate he got about this project, even though he had been talking about it and doing press for it since they first started dating. She knew he had not truly expected the role to blow up in the ways it did but she could tell he was grateful for it, nonetheless. 

“Well first, thank you. Yea aside from Oscar Grant, Andre was the hardest character I’ve ever played and he stretched me as an actor in ways, you know, I didn’t really expect? And I learned so much from him in his sort of journey through grief. You know, when I read the first script, the line ‘grief is the final stage in love’s evolution,’ really stuck out to me. When you lose someone, grief, this enduring pain you feel, is that love shifting and changing because it has nowhere to go, there’s no outlet for it anymore. And so, Andre really reframed my own thoughts on grief and loss and how I process that and allowed me to pull from personal experiences with loss to pour into that character.” 

“Yea I will say, that line was one of my favorites. I sat with that long after the credits rolled.” 

“Yea same. I remember sitting a-and thinking about that one for a while after reading it. And I loved that even in the more comedic moments of this movie, we still had those lines that made you wanna stop and really sit with what the characters were going through.”  

“Definitely, I was dissecting this movie for weeks after. It’s just amazing. So I do want to shift gears to talk about this moment you're experiencing because of this movie. This really is the biggest moment of your career. You’re nominated for your first Oscar and a favorite to win, so far in 2023, you’ve won a SAG Award, Golden Globe, and BAFTA. And you, as of two days ago, just had your directorial debut in Creed 3. First question, how are you still awake?” Both of them shared a laugh. “But serious question, how has this moment felt? How does it feel to be having this moment at this stage of your career?” 

“Oh wow, when you list it like that, I don’t know how I’m awake either,” he chuckled. “But seriously, you know… it’s been a ride. I know you’ve felt this too but you know, you don’t often take a moment to just pause and soak it in. You finish one interview or award show and your mind automatically just jumps to the next one. And I think what I’ve been trying to force myself to do in the later weeks of this insane time is just to slow down and enjoy it. Not rush through it and really enjoy the fruits of… really years of hard work and sacrifice. But that also means sitting with… you know, the challenges of this time too, which isn’t as rewarding,” he admitted with a sad smile. “But I’m growing and learning alot so it’s worth it.” 

Oprah nodded. “You know I always appreciate when people don’t let the 24 hour news cycle and gossip sort of steal their thunder and moment from them. And I applaud you for sort of moving through the more gossipy side of the last few months with grace and maturity. But you haven’t really talked much publicly about those stories and the effect they have had on you. And you don’t have to get into it if you don’t want but I am curious on how you navigated that and really came out on the other side, from what I can see, stronger for it?”

Michael bowed his head and chuckled. “Um… you know a good friend of mine told me that she thought this was the most vulnerable and most genuine I had ever been publicly on this press tour and I think it’s because I’ve had to navigate some really personal stuff during this great but hectic public moment? And that’s new territory for me.” 

“And I think that friend is right. I don’t think we have seen or learned this much about you ever.” 

“Yea and I wish I could take some credit for it but… it was all one person: Raven Turner. And the way we met, now as the world knows, was extremely unconventional and I can admit that our relationship started as a complete lie. A lie I thought would help me be seen as this serious, mature man my team was worried I wasn’t. And I wasn’t,” he admitted. “I was cold and guarded and not at all the best version of myself. And while I regret how we started and trying to fool the world into thinking I’m something I’m not, there isn’t a bone in my body that regrets falling in love with her.” 

He leaned forward a bit as he spoke. “Because all those walls and barriers we build around ourselves to survive in this world of Hollywood? To endure the criticisms and insanity we deal with? She's the first woman to see me. Not the actor and the money and the fame but just me. And in that, she saved me… without trying or intending to. She just loved me and loving her, choosing her is the single greatest decision I ever made. And I hate how this moment has fallen on her, how my terrible decisions led to these pretty disgusting misogynistic attacks on her. And I think my biggest regret is putting someone as pure as her in the line of fire like that and not doing enough to protect her. And you know, I have to live with that, which is tough.” 

“You know I’ve interviewed thousands of people in my career and while I believe you have to change for yourself and on your own, I also have found that the ones who love us, really love us, are often the most powerful catalysts for change in our lives. I’ve certainly seen and experienced that in my own life and it’s important to spotlight those who were that catalyst.” 

“Oh 100%. Especially when, I think this version of me was always there? I was just too hurt to trust anyone with it, so no one saw it. I buried me under this facade I thought was better? But I fell in love with a woman who taught me that you can’t be guarded, you can’t shut down just because you’re hurt. Life is about getting up every day, being authentically you, and reaching out and loving and risking your heart every time. And sometimes you’ll get swatted away and sometimes you’ll get an embrace. But you just deny yourself love when you don’t show up at all. So I’ve been trying to live by that more lately. Because she showed me what real strength and courage looks like. And I want to have that, I want to lead with that.” 

“Wow… you know people are going to watch this and I think, applaud that vulnerability. It’s refreshing to me because I don’t think our world incentivizes or encourages people to admit when they aren’t being their best selves. So I think for you to do that, at a moment when you’re at the top of your game, is commendable.” 

“She deserves to know the positive effect she’s had on my life. To be celebrated for how she supported me. And you know it’s not just me? When we first started dating, I remember her one stipulation was that we couldn’t go out on Wednesday evenings because she hosted a book club for kids at the library she worked at. And that was the most important thing to her, being there for them. The day of our first date, she spent an hour delivering books and SAT prep books to those same kids she worked just because. There’s just a selflessness to her that is truly admirable. And I think while people are attacking her and calling her these vile names because she made a certain choice during a hard time, they should know who she really is. A woman that would drop everything to help you even when you don’t really deserve it. A woman who I’ve seen give others all she had because they needed it more even when she did not have a backup plan for herself. I could honestly talk about her for the rest of this interview because she deserves celebration far more than I ever could. Genuinely good people don’t always get the shine they deserve, they don’t always get the love and care they deserve because we can often take them for granted. But no one deserves to be celebrated more than her, to be celebrated loudly more than she does.” 

“I love that… she seems like quite the woman.” 

“She is… and I hope she knows that.” 

“So tell me about…” 

The words faded away as his words tumbled through Raven’s head. They clashed jarringly against every belief she had internalized about herself, like metal against metal. But she found herself wanting to believe him. Believe the words a section of the world just heard. She wanted to believe that what he saw in her, even over the course of six months, was who she truly was. Not this broken, damaged scapegoat life had fashioned her into. 

There has to be more than this, right? 

Tiffany nudged her with a box of tissues in her hand. Raven had not even realized she was crying but she accepted them gratefully. 

“Don’t know how I still have tears over this man left,” she whispered as she wiped her eyes. 

“I don’t think those tears are because of him, sis.” 

Raven sniffled and grabbed another tissue. “You m-might be onto something. I can’t watch anymore. Night, Tiffany.” 

However, before she reached her bedroom, she heard Tiffany call her name. 

“I know what he did… sucks. And hurts. But that’s a man who loves you, Rae. More than anything. After that? The only person in the world who still won’t believe it is you.”

She turned around to face her, the back of her hand wiping away a few more stray tears. “You know he said the same thing?” 

“Well, I generally don’t think actors are that smart,” Tiffany admitted with a laugh. “But he’s right about that. You deserve to believe good things about yourself, we all do.”

“Nothing good has ever lasted… I always ruin it somehow. I tried to believe I deserved him and life proved that I didn’t,” she answered, her voice small. “D-Don’t have it in me to try again.” 

“Raven… I know we aren’t best friends or anything. But how many times have I watched you forgiven your dad and sister? Let them back in, try to make things right with them? Try to build the family you want?” 

“Too many…” 

“Right… So why does Michael only get one shot when you found the strength to give them 100? When he’s the one actually showing up for you? He’s the one who actually is trying to earn another chance?”  

“It’s not that simple and you know it.” 

“I know that the only person denying you happiness right now… is you. You push away the good people and things in your life because you feel like you don’t deserve it but no one would be here if you didn’t. Michael, the kids in your book club… me. I don’t keep signing leases with you because you’re a terrible person who ruins everything, no one has a gun to our heads, Rae. We’re here because you do deserve it.” 

“Tiff…” 

“Nope, shut up. This pity party is getting old and tired. It doesn’t matter what I think of you… or what Michael thinks or anyone out there.” She gestured toward the window. “All that matters is the narrative you’ve created and until you decide to believe something else, all you’re going to do is push people away and fuck up and self sabotage because it’s all you think you deserve. You gotta wake up and do some fucking work, girl. Cause until you figure out how to erase this narrative from your brain, you’ll never be happy. And you’ll never fall in love with anyone except for someone who treats you like crap. You’ll never build your own family. You’ll never finish your book or have another fulfilling career. You’ll just be stuck in this broken version of yourself alone… forever. And I’ve seen a few different versions of you over the last two years but this is by far the most pitiful.”

Raven had never heard Tiffany be so blunt. The words were biting but she could not deny that some of them rang true in her ears. And that was always the hardest information to hear. 

“Damn… tell me how you really feel.” 

“The soft gentle love wasn’t resonating clearly so had to go with a different tactic…. Just think about it. And once you fix all this shit and move to a mansion in the hills, don’t forget about me.” She winked at her, causing Raven’s jaw to drop slightly. 

“How do you even know that’s gonna happen?” 

She shrugged and grabbed the remote to press play, Raven not even noticing that she paused it.

“Just got a good feeling about the two of you. Now go so I can lust after him in peace while he's still single. Kidding! Kinda..."

Raven let out a small laugh as she shook her head. "I know you're not kidding. Night, Tiff.” 

She slid into her bed, her only refuge of late, and stared at the ceiling. She was surprised she was not tired of looking at it by now. Michael and Tiffany’s words wrestled with her own thoughts for hours

What was her problem, really? It was not that what Michael did was unforgivable because it wasn’t. Some distant part of her, too quiet to break through the noise of her anger, always wondered if there was more to the story, believed that he had to have had some reason. But she was too angry to allow him to explain. It just became vicious ammunition that no one could ever love her or care about her… that she was the problem. 

Well, that’s true… no one’s ever loved you. And everyone who does leaves. 

She supposed her mother must have loved her, but she would never know. She would never feel it. And her grandmother’s love was so distant, so long ago, that it no longer felt tangible, was no longer a tether to anchor her self worth to something positive.

Instead, the only thing that tethered her sense of self worth to anything was her family’s disdain. Disdain that made her question what Michael could’ve seen in her, how he could ever love someone like her? That disdain which made it far easier to believe that what he did was proof that he did not love her than that he possibly did do it to protect her in some weird way. No other thought could live long enough in her brain to take hold. 

And she did not know if doing what Tiffany suggested would fix that. There was not enough time in the world for her muster the courage to interrogate and confront the source of these feelings. She had hoped she would never have to see her family again. Some days, never felt like too soon.

But she knew she could not avoid it. They were the root cause, the narrative in her head was fueled and sustained by them. And screaming at them across the Thanksgiving table and never speaking to them again was not the closure she needed. She thought she had dropped the weight that was her family when she cut them off. But she was still dragging all the luggage they gave her around and it was time to give it back. 

She knew her family did not want to see her either, knew it would be difficult to get them to even speak to her after everything. But she knew she had to try… because she knew there had to be more to life than this. That she had not been born to only suffer through life instead of live it. So she needed to confront her demons for herself, even if her relationship with them did not change one bit.  

She grabbed her computer and her wallet. It was time to go home.

***

Raven’s eyes remained trained on her dad’s house across the street as she sat in her rental car. She was almost shocked that none of her family’s nosy neighbors had not called the police yet as she sat there for nearly an hour, summoning the courage to actually go inside. 

She had felt so sure this was what she needed when she bought her plane ticket. And that confidence did not waver when she stepped onto the plane or during the long journey from LAX to Charlotte, NC. However, once she was in her rental car, she found herself waffling, aimlessly driving around for hours. Her brain seemed unable to direct her to the place she knew she needed to go. Home. 

She just could not make herself do it… not yet anyway. So she did not. Instead, she finally went to her hotel to try to get some rest and her night’s rest turned into the entire Friday holed up in her hotel. She had not booked a return ticket, prayerful and hopeful that there would be a reason to stick around for a few days. But that also meant she did not have the incentive of time to make her move faster. 

But she could not even make herself do this. Because she did not know how to be brave like this. Her life had been nothing but running from pain and confrontation. This was so contrary to that. She did not know how to do any of this. She tossed and turned all night, unable to get any sleep particularly when there was only one person who she wanted to talk to, wanted to seek courage and strength from. Because when she felt scared, when she did not feel strong, he was the only person she wanted to reach for. But she was not sure he would even answer. She had pushed him away, told him she needed space. 

But she had not felt like she could do this alone. So last night, she called him. 

“Rae! Everything ok?” he asked immediately, his question met with silence. 

Raven did not know what to say and regret filled her like ice water in her veins. But she knew it was too late to hang up, she had to see it through. She paid for that moment of weakness when she hit the call button as her throat closed at the sound of her voice. She found it impossible to speak, even if she knew what words to say.  

“I’ll wait until you’re ready, Rae. Got all night for you.” 

And she knew he was not just talking about waiting for her to speak. 

“Why?” she whispered, the simple word coming out in a strangled sound as she tried to push past the tightness in her throat. 

“Why what?” 

“Why even answer after everything I said to you? W-why do you keep trying?” 

“Because I love you,” he answered simply. “And you’re worth it. I’ll keep reaching out, baby girl. Even when you swat me away.” 

“You might be the only person who thinks that,” she whispered back as a tear fell. 

“I don’t think that’s true. But even if it was, knowing one person is in your corner is all you need sometimes.”

She laughed lightly. “That press tour got you only speaking in motivational boxing terms or something?” 

His deep laughter filled her ears and filled her soul with such joy that she had forgotten. She had forgotten what these moments felt like, the two of them on the phone or curled up together in bed, just talking. She missed it… she missed him. But she could not say it, could not bring herself to pull her body out of the water to make that long trek back up the cliff to where he waited for her. Everything in her brain screamed at her that she couldn’t do it, that she did not have it in her. And she hated herself for it. Hated how she clung to the ice barriers around her heart, even though they were utterly fractured and ready to fall. She just was not ready yet. 

She let out a shuddering breath as she hastily wiped away her falling tears. “I… don’t know why I called. I s-shouldn’t have called.”

“Call me anytime, Rae. I’ll always answer. I’ll always show up for you. I hope you know that… at least.” 

“Y-Yea… I think I do… or at least, it’s getting harder to deny it,” she revealed. “Your interview with Oprah… it was really good,” she offered lamely. 

“You watched??” she could hear the surprise in his voice. 

“Yea… I almost didn’t,” she admitted. “But I caught most of it. Did you mean it? Everything you said?” 

“Every single word.” There was no arguing with the definitive tone in his voice. “I get that you don’t trust me anymore. I lied and kept secrets. But one thing I never lied about is how much I love you.”  

Her eyes clenched shut for a moment. That was one thing he had always been consistent about, her ears had just been perpetually shut to it. 

“I… um… I gotta go. Early day tomorrow,” she lied as she sniffled. “I’m sorry for bothering you. Bye, Michael.” 

She was not sure what she had expected to get from that call and, at first, it felt as if she only got a firm kick in the heart for it. But for the first time since she landed, Raven had enough strength to finally drive to her family’s house. She had rolled her eyes at his boxing motivational quotes but hearing someone say they were in her corner, that had given her courage. To just feel like someone was behind her, even if she was alone, that meant something to her. 

She took a deep breath and got out of her car, forcing her legs to carry her to the front door. 

Her rounds of knocks went unanswered, Raven getting slightly frustrated but determined not to leave the porch. If she turned around and walked away, she’d never come back. 

After an extremely brief internal debate, she decided to simply let herself in, deciding that since she contributed to the mortgage, she had a right to come in as she pleased. And her father still, foolishly, kept a spare key underneath the welcome mat.

Though she had not been to her family’s home in two years or so, it still looked the same. Her father’s favorite work boots were thrown haphazardly at the door, several pairs of her sister’s shoes lined up next to them. She was an utter mess but she was, at least, somewhat neat. And it still felt… cold. And it had nothing to do with the cold winter east coast weather. The house had always felt like that, void of warmth and love that made a home a home. 

“Kiara?” she called out. “Dad?” However, she was met with utter silence. 

Part of her supposed she was thankful they were not home and that they had not just ignored her or something. She stood in the living room, staring around the room at the pictures that lined the walls and shelves. So many of her mom, her dad, and Kiara but there were none of her. That was not a surprise, it had always been that way. But that did not make it sting any less. All they had ever wanted was to erase her from their lives and if a stranger walked into this house, it would be as if she never existed.

She started up the stairs, her eyes refusing to linger long on any of the photos there. They were all lies anyway, a picture perfect family that did not exist because she had been born. She decided to ascend to the attic once she made it upstairs. Because that was where all her grandmother’s and some of her own things now lived. She had never really gone through her grandmother’s things after she passed, no one aside from her dad to pack them up. But she knew there was so much of their lives, so many memories she had forgotten of the one person who loved her, forgotten in those boxes that she now desperately needed to remember. 

She ignored how narrow the opening to the attic was, realizing that it had been easier to maneuver up here when she was a young teenager. Everything was still neatly packed away as if her grandmother would be back one day to pick it up. 

She started to open each box, pulling out and examining her grandmother’s things, so many beautiful things forgotten in this attic no one went into. For the first time in nearly two decades, she felt close to the only maternal figure she had ever had, felt like her grandmother’s hand was on her shoulder as she reminisced on their short but well-lived time together. 

She found the old costume jewelry her grandmother used to let her play with, laughing to herself as she thought back to dressing up in front of her vanity mirror pretending to be a model or whatever silly idea the pair had thought up. She almost cried as she found a very crumpled piece of paper with the last story she gave her grandmother to read before she died, a random short story that she had written for class. She had not realized, as she found a folder, just how many of her stories her grandmother had kept. 

A gold glint caught her attention, Raven reaching into a giant box to find a shoe box. Raven had seen that box 100 times but her grandmother had never let her touch it, claiming that it held priceless family heirlooms that she did not want Raven or Kiara to mess up. Raven rolled her eyes that something her grandmother had valued so much had been discarded and forgotten haphazardly at the bottom of this box. 

Finally giving into her childhood curiosity, she opened it. It was still filled with things, part of her thankful that Kiara had never found it. The jewelry and pieces in it were gorgeous and indeed priceless. She took her time as she examined each one, wondering if they had belonged to her mother or her grandmother or some other relative she never met. However, it was what existed underneath the jewelry that caught her eye: piles of tied up envelopes, one with her name on it and one with Kiara’s. 

The handwriting was not her grandmother’s, which made Raven even more curious. 

She pulled out the stack with her name on it and undid the thin ribbon that tied them together. There were ten letters there in total, each one with a different note scribbled on the envelope. 

To Raven on your 18th birthday 

To Raven on high school graduation 

To Raven after your first love 

To Raven after your first heartbreak

To Raven on college graduation 

To Raven on your wedding day 

She only had to flip through a few of them to realize who they were from. Her mom. 

“You’re killing me,” she muttered to the sky, unsure if she was speaking to God, her grandmother, her mother or all three. 

Her hands trembled slightly as she ripped open the one on top, addressed to her on her 18th birthday. These were some of the only words her mother would get to say to her, she did not care how long ago she should have read it. She would savor each one. 

To my sweet darling girl, 

If you are reading this, it means that I am not physically there with you on your birthday. It means that I’ve missed 18 birthdays and too many milestones to write a letter for and for that, I am sorry. You might be wondering why there is not a letter for all those milestones and birthdays that have taken place but this felt like the best place to start and the appropriate age for reading the musings of a dying woman. If there’s even such a thing.

We learned your gender today. Another sweet girl. If the doctor somehow got it wrong, these letters will be incredibly awkward. But I know they are right. Because you, my darling girl, are the manifestation of my wildest dreams. I dreamed of you almost a year ago, this beautiful girl with half my face but all of my spirit and personality. And every night since then, I prayed, begged God to make that dream a reality… no matter the cost. And he did. 

I know my body is not strong enough to be your mother, to be around to be the mother someone as brilliant as you will deserve. But I hope you know that deciding to have you and keep you, regardless of the risks, is the single greatest decision I ever made. You were not an accident or a misfortune given to me. You are my dreams. And if my last moments on this earth are spent looking at you, it will have been worth it. 

I waited until 18 to start these letters because I worried a child could never understand the choice I made. And you may still not. And if you resent me for leaving you before you could know me, I understand that too. But I hope that through these letters, you will get to know me. And you will feel some semblance of the immense love I have for you. 

I don’t have much advice because you’ve likely heard it all at this point. But the two most important things I can tell you, that I wish someone had told 18 year old me, is to know that failure is part of the journey. Your grandmother used to always tell me to keep reaching out your hand even if it doesn’t work. I didn’t really understand it soon enough but I hope you do. Life is about risks and if you don’t reach out your hand out of fear, you’ll protect yourself from pain but you will also miss out on the gifts God is trying to hand you. As a daughter, I hated to admit it, but mama was right about that… and so many other things. 

And finally, more importantly than anything else I could offer you in these letters, please remember every day that you are so, so loved. 

Know that regardless of what happened to me, I loved you with every fiber of my being until my last breath. Know that you were a gift from God. And every day you venture out into this world, know that you are worthy of so much because you were so loved from the moment you were dreamed up. Do not let anyone or whatever will happen to you in what I pray is a long, rich, happy life diminish that light, diminish your worth. I know how special you are and I don’t even know your name yet. And while I hope that your father and grandmother will affirm you daily, you don’t need other people to tell you that you are special. You have to know it for yourself. That’s the most important advice I can give you. Know who you are and your worth and take up as much space in this world as you want. And as long as you never forget how special you are… how deserving you are, you’ll move through this world shining bright. And the world will be forced to know it too and move to give you what you deserve. It’s not much and a bit cliche perhaps but I’ve been torn down enough to know that sometimes we all need the reminder. But those are stories for another letter. 

By the time I write my next letter, I promise I will have picked out a name for you. I read a book the other day where the main character was named Raven… I had not thought of it before but I like it. 

Happy Birthday. 

Love, 

Mom

The river of tears streaming down Raven’s face splashed against the slanted handwriting on the page, Raven quickly whisking them away so the words would remain legible. Raven did not even know how long she sat there staring at the words on the page, her heart bursting with the knowledge that her mother’s hand had touched this very paper, that she had poured her heart and soul into every word etched into it. 

It was like proof she had been real and not this entity Raven had conjured up in her head. Raven could not stop herself from ripping open all the ones that she should have gotten along the way. The one for her first love and the separate one on heartbreak were four pages each, and Raven did not pay attention to the clock as she absorbed each and every word. 

Everything she had learned about her mother had been through her grandmother and she had always wondered if her grandmother told her things just to make her feel better. But she realized that her grandmother had been telling the truth, she and her mother were so much alike. She found herself nodding and laughing along to her mother’s stories and wisdom embedded in all those pages. She was a prolific storyteller too and an amazing writer, another trait Raven realized she must have inherited from her.

For the first time in 30 years, Raven did not feel weighed down by this unbearable guilt. She felt lighter than she had ever been in her entire life. Perhaps this was what God wanted her to find here, not a confrontation with her family, but these words. This tangible proof that her mother had chosen her, wanted her… loved her and that she had not ruined anything at all. 

Her mother would not have wanted her to carry such guilt around for so long because there was nothing to be guilty about. 

The letters were scattered across the attic floor when she heard the faint sound of their garage opening. She quickly folded up all of her letters and stuffed them back into the box, tucking it under her arm as she climbed out of the attic. She did not make much noise as she closed up the attic, just as she heard her father and sister close the garage door and enter the kitchen. 

Their voices drifted up to her ears as she started to climb down the stairs, deciding that she might as well get the pure unpleasantness of this moment over with. 

“Wait… you hear that? Is someone in the house??” she heard her sister ask, knowing that they both could hear her footsteps against the old floorboards. 

“Don’t get your gun,” she called out as she started down the stairs. “It’s just me.” 

She was greeted with less-than-welcoming expressions from her family, such disdain that it made her want to scurry away. But she did not. She had done enough of that in her life.

“Adding breaking and entering to your criminal activity, now?” 

Raven scoffed as she placed the box on the kitchen counter that stood between her and her family. 

“Don’t think you can break into a house you helped pay for?” she answered coolly. “And I’m not the one with a mug shot here if I remember correctly.” 

“No you’re just the one who sold her cheap ass for a quick buck.” 

Raven shook her head, opening and closing her mouth for a few moments as she tried to find the words. 

“Yea I did… And I’m not proud of it,” Raven admitted. “But I won’t let you or anyone shame me for doing what I needed to do to survive. What helped the two of you survive too.” Raven scratched her head, realizing that trying to get closure from her family was unnecessary. Her mother’s words had given her all the closure she had ever needed. That’s what she had come home for. 

“You know, I got a plane ready to rip you both a new one for 30 years of abuse and torture. To try to force you to admit that I’m not the villain you made me to be. But… I don’t need that anymore. Because the cross of guilt and shame you two forced onto my back for all these years isn’t one I should have to carry. But I did because I thought it was the only way to keep you two around. And even without you two in my life, I still drag that cross around because I thought I deserved it. But I realized today, way too late, that I don’t need a damn thing from either of you to put it down.” 

“So you came here to what? To chastise us and steal?” her father asked, gesturing toward the box on the counter. 

“You can’t steal things that belong to you. These are letters mom wrote to me,” she lifted the open letters out before sliding the unopened pile to her sister. “And to you.” 

“Your mother wrote these?” he asked, his jaw tensing as he looked down at the stack. 

“Yeah, she did. You’ll enjoy yours… she was a really good storyteller,” she glanced at Kiara. “These letters just told me something I should’ve realized long before Thanksgiving. That cross? That guilt? It isn’t mine. And I am done wasting my life trying to rectify the mistake of being born. Because it wasn’t a mistake. She chose me… prayed for a second daughter knowing the cost and she decided it was worth it. And hearing her say that? That’s all I need to know that I deserve so much more than this… so much more than you.” She took a deep breath. “Being a grieving husband isn’t an excuse to be a terrible father and I’ll just be grateful I found some way to survive you and this. And jealousy doesn’t give you the right to be a shitty sister.” 

“What the fuck do I have to be jealous of??” 

“I always wondered that. But reading those letters… I finally got it. Because even as a failed author and prostitute, I’m everything she was. Grandma used to always say I had her personality… her talent. I always thought she was lying to make me feel better. But you knew she wasn’t and you could never stand it. Couldn’t stand that I was more like her than you.” For the first time, her sister was speechless. A good look on her in Raven’s opinion. “Mom wanted so much better for me than this and I’m gonna go and find it. Because I’ve wasted too much energy trying to earn the love of people who don’t deserve it. So if you want to go to your graves hating me, making me the scapegoat for every problem in your miserable lives, have at it. But know that I don’t hate you even after all this. I won’t be weighed down anymore by any feelings toward either of you ever again. You aren’t worth it.”

Raven pulled herself to full height and rolled her shoulder back as she scooped up the box and folder she had taken from her grandmother’s stuff. 

“Now I’m gonna go and have that long… rich and happy life mom wanted for me. And I hope you two do the same.” 

She did not look behind her as she walked away, a soft smile on her face as she walked out of her family’s house for the last time.

She let out a long laugh as she sat in her car, so much of the weight she had been carrying around gone. It did not feel sad like when she cut off her family at Thanksgiving. She finally felt as if she had cut the anchor away and she could float away, she could move forward and heal all the broken pieces of herself that they had gleefully chipped away at. 

When she got back to her hotel room, she just kept rereading her mom’s words. She would memorize each letter at this point. A part of her desperately wanted to open the other ones but she had not reached those milestones just yet so she left them where they were. For some reason, she worried her mother would disapprove of her breaking into them early. 

One line of five letters she read and reread stuck to her bones above all else. And of course, as if her mother had known, it was embedded in the letter for her first love. Love… the thing that had cracked her wide open and brought her to this moment in the first place.

You’d be surprised to know that this was the hardest of the letters to write. Because everyone has some prolific idea of what love is and feels like. And I realized I don’t… because I don’t think I’ve ever experienced the love I pray you are as you read this. That’s not to say I don’t love your father, I do. But I want something different than convenience for you. I hope that the love you feel is safe, allows you to feel the full spectrum of what it means to be human - strong and vulnerable, insecure and confident, boisterous and timid. I hope it feels like stepping out of the cold air and into a warm embrace. I hope it is loud and unapologetic because you deserve nothing less. And I hope it makes you feel so enraptured that everything else in the world goes quiet. And lastly, I hope, more than anything, that it feels like home. That when you’re in this person’s embrace, you feel as if your soul finally landed right where it is supposed to be. 

Her eyes scanned that passage over and over again, realizing that she had found the exact love her mother described. She had come back here thinking she was coming home. But this wasn’t home at all. Home was where he was. And he was back in LA, about to prepare for the biggest night of his life in 24 hours. And regardless of whatever trust needed to be rebuilt and conversations needed to be had, she could not allow herself to miss it. She could not allow herself to not show up for him.

Raven scrambled to find her phone as it was hidden beneath sheets of paper. She scrolled through, praying she had not deleted a long forgotten group thread that housed one number she had once thought she would never need but now was the most important phone number in the world. 

She almost shouted praises to God when she found it, clicking the call button on the unsaved number. She paced up and down beside her bed as every agonizing ring dragged on. 

“Didn’t think I’d see your name pop up on my phone ever again.” 

Raven let out a sigh of relief as her voice filled her ears. “I know… me either. But I need a favor.” 

“Does it involve a certain award show tomorrow night?” 

“Yes. Is it too late?” 

“Yea it is.” she knew Alex could hear the tiny sigh of sadness she let out. “For anyone but me. I’ve earned enough favors around here to create a miracle or two.”

“Really?? Cause I need like more than one or two miracles… a dress, hair, makeup… hell a flight from Charlotte to make it back in time. Without him knowing?”

“Consider all of it done. Hope you don’t mind getting up at the ass crack of dawn though.” Alex asked, Raven hearing the smile in her tone. 

“For him… I’ll get up anytime.” 

“Good. Then I'll take care of everything... I'll have to tell his mom but she'll love this. And probably be happy as hell that she doesn't have to go anymore. I'll text you details in an hour."

"An hour?? That's all you need??"

"You're new here so I'm gonna choose to not be offended by that."  

"Noted." She was about to hang up when she stopped herself. “Hey… Alex? Thank you.” 

“Don’t mention it. Seriously. Just make sure your ass is on that plane and in LAX tomorrow when Allen picks you up, got it?” 

Raven chuckled. “Yea I got it. See you tomorrow.”

Tag List: @readinghere2023 @blackerthings @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @physicxal @purplehairgawdess @miyuhpapayuh @rueruesclues @geemamii @certifiedlesbianbaddie @pipsqueak-98 @nyifly22 @destinio1 @twocentaur @gopaperless @musicisme333 @roguekiki @majesticbrownjawn @taurusqueen83 @mysteryuz @miamormilan @itsknor-thedeep @naj-ay444 @mads-grace4 @nayaesworld @kholdkill @msniaimani @nccu-rnc @apenasumlug4r @dezzy154

***

A/N: So now will y'all stop yelling at me LOLOL our good sis is going back to her man! We love to see it! How surprised do we think Michael's going to be? Part 11.2 will be the Oscars! Drop a comment and let me know what you thought! And as always, thanks for reading!

[ancientgoddessofegypt]

The Sun's Creator : Create Your Reality

WHICH PICTURE OF THE SUN DRAWS YOU CLOSER TO CREATING YOUR BEST YOU?

Hey so I designed a beautiful pick a card reading on how to find the best way to create a stronger bond for yourself. What do you need to know to know right now? Its best to give ourselves a chance to breathe some new light, so just enjoy the picture and the message is right below :)

PILE 1 - 'Do you get me? I'm right around the corner.'

Picking up where we left out sometimes gives us the chance to find our new wings. Because the climate is chilling, you cover yourself up to keep that warmth inside your belly, but it only keeps trying to show its weight. Because you're accustomed to the usual. You've become light headed to whats in front, but not the deepest parts in it. Change is around the corner for you, full on differences and expansions of the imagination will keep you moving forward in this horizon. Places you felt not so sure of will bring down the uncertainty you've been carrying for the past several weeks. Charming experiences will show soon as you've let out a big roar to yourself and for others to appreciate. Congratulate yourself for the work that you've BEEN doing because its been a lengthy road. That hidden joy is soon to pop through as you continue to awaken the force that continues to knock inside of yourself.

PILE 2 - 'Look at me now, I was chosen for this path.'

Pat yourself on the back boo! You're incredible. Your appearance is changing and you feel that beautiful light showing itself on a daily. Please, keep it that way. Look forward to the shifts you've been creating for yourself. You were meant to soar, forgiveness is needed and appreciated. Taking a jog and getting a full on exercise will help your mind feel more clarity. Get a camera, and take some new pictures of yourself for these next few weeks-months so you can feel the gratitude of being in the moment, being connected to a life that you could remember.

Enjoy the surface, the waves are magical.

PILE 3 - 'Can I get you something? Guilty Pleasures, & Formatting A New Love For Life.'

There's many opportunity we get to pick from, sometimes not every choice is going to get us the good one. That's okay, at least you learned something. Enjoying your familiarities and picking and choosing when to go saves you from a lot of problems in the long run. Because you've kept quiet about certain things to enjoy the love, you've made a promise to the ethers that you could forgive and for bide by a new law of justice inside of yourself. This world was created for us to become the versions of ourselves that was hidden in the shadows; There is another way to go than the ones from before. Thank the universe for allowing the lessons to bring more fullness, more creativity, more power, more love and more light in your heart. A thousand times plenty. Abundance can formulate deeper bonds inside of you, relationships, etc. Financial rewards coming in larger quantities than before. Congrats, would you like someone to get you drink? You've been eaten them up this hol' time ;)

[hyperfixiation-station]

You Promised

TW: Major character death, canon typical violence I wrote this instead of working :3 enjoy Pairing: GhostxReader As always, not proof read, lemme know abt any mistakes/what you think. Also I quite literally wrote this right now so sorry if there's more than the usual amount of mess-ups.

There was a moment, when your eyes first met, that you knew this man would ruin you. It was a sudden burst of clarity, seeing him standing there, face covered, leaning against the wall. It’s like something was trying to tell you that getting involved with him would lead to disaster

Still, you decided to go for it. Those first few months were tense, full of anger and discomfort. It took years to get to where you are now. Years of patience, years of waiting, years of proving to Ghost he was worthy of love. 

The years had been wonderful. You remember the first time you saw his face, the first time your hands touched his hair. You remember the first time you went out, how his cheeks flushed and his eyes wouldn’t meet yours. You remember how it felt when it got down on one knee, both of you panting and bloody.

Yes, the years had been wonderful, but there had always been a sense of foreboding. Something terrible looming on the horizon.  And now, as you hold a cold body, as you card your hands through bloody blonde hair and cry, you know why.

“Stay with me.” You had cried. He had taken a shot meant for you, one bullet straight through his left shoulder and another embedded in his thigh. You had shot the man, emptying your magazine before falling, crashing to your knees beside Ghost’

“Price, I need a Medivac! Ghost is down, gunshot wound to the shoulder and thigh!” You yelled into your comm. Your hands moved to pressure the holes, one to his shoulder, one to his thigh. Just trying to stem the blood. His blood. His blood that bubbled up over your knuckles, thick, hot, and ruby red.

“ETA is 23 minutes.” Price's voice was garbled and broken over the radio, but you could still hear the despair in his voice. You sobbed harder as you realized help will not make it in time.

“Don’t,” Ghost had whispered to you, “I’m not making it out of this one.” His hands moved to your face, gloves shakily wiping tears from your face. 

“You’re coming home,” You had snapped at him, voice breaking, “You promised.” He shook his head softly, reaching up to pull his mask off. Blood leaked from his lips as he coughed. 

“Kiss me,” He had begged you, “Please.” You had shaken your head frantically, eyes blurring with tears, but you gave in. How could you not? Ghost never asked for anything. You could give him this. Your lips met in what was the most passionate, desperate kiss you had every had. You tasted his blood but didn't care, kissing him like it was last thing you'd ever do. You were kissing him when his body seized, and you cradled his head to your chest as he took his last, gasping breaths. You held him as you felt his body go limp and you held him as his body began growing cold. 

Your hand moved to your lips, where his blood was already drying. Tears leaked from your eyes, blurring your vision and soaking the collar of your jacket.

“Please.” You sob into his hair. There is no movement from the man in front of you. Blood seeps from his body, pooling under him, soaking your pant legs. Wind blows your hair around, tears sticking strands of it to your face.

“Simon please,” You practically beg him, “please, please, please.” Your world is breaking apart, and there is nothing you can do to stop it. The only thing that could pull you back from the brink was laying in you lap, unmoving.

Footsteps sound, but you don't go to reach for your gun. You could care less if it is friend or foe. At least you’d be with Ghost if you died.

You feel a hand on your shoulder, and see Soap appear in your blurry vision. The sight of the scot makes you sob harder, your fingers digging into Ghost's unyielding body.

“C’mon sweetheart, let's git him hame.” His Scottish accent fills your ears. His voice is thick, and you can know that the only reason he's not in tears over his best friend is because he's trying to be strong for you.

Your hands shakily trace Ghost’s face, his lips, his scars. You slip his dog tags off and pull them over your head.

“I love you,” You whisper, pressing a kiss to his cold lips, “I love you so fucking much. I love you, I love you, I love you. So wait for me, okay?” You squeeze his lifeless wrist 1,2,3 times. I love you.

Letting go of his body is the hardest thing you have ever done. Soap grabs your arm, helping you up. He lets you lean against him, leading you away as Price and Gaz take the body. You look back with blurry vision, watching them drape a sheet over the stretcher holding your world.

The wind blows across the battlefield, and with it you can hear the echoes of an unheeded warning, a promise of a life of ruin.

I made myself cry while writing this lmao.

[hypewinter]

Previous Post

Can I offer you another Danny POV in these trying times?

It had started after his encounter with the costumed people. After that his dad had taken him to the store and bought a lot of strange items. From there, he put the strange items together and put them up all around the house. Ever since then, Danny couldn't go through the walls.

Danny pushed against the wall now but he couldn't go through just like all his other past attempts. But if he couldn't go through, how would he play tag with his dad!? Fat tears bubbled up in his eyes as he tried to desperately push through the wall. He liked playing with his dad! It was the best part of the day.

Tears began to fall freely down his cheeks and he let out a whimper as he tried phasing through the floor this time to no avail. Suddenly big hands scooped him up.

Jack tried to soothe his son but Danny was not listening to his assurances that "this was to protect him" and "it was for the best". He was too busy crying while glaring at the strange items covering it. If only they weren't there.

--------

Danny woke up to voices outside his room. One was his dad's but the other was female. He tensed up in fear, remembering the last female voice he encountered, but this one was different. It was younger and for some reason, hearing it filled him with warmth.

"Now's not the time for that Dad." The female voice said.

"No, I won't have my princess sacrificing her education." Replied his dad.

Danny wondered what they were talking about. He was also curious about who the owner of this new voice was. She had called his dad , her dad. Did that mean they were related. That would make them siblings right? He had a sister?

Suddenly a thought came from deep within his mind. Of course I have a sister, her name is Jazz. But his moment of clarity was gone just as soon as it had overtaken him. Danny was left wondering who is Jazz? as he drifted back to sleep.

--------

Jazz as it turned out was his red-headed sister. And although she always wore a smile around him, it was always tinted with sadness. Danny couldn't help but wonder why.

Everything was going great so there was no reason to be sad. Jazz had now moved in, all the neighbors were constantly cooing at him and giving him treats, and Jack had gotten a job with some red person. Wait, did he get hired by Little Red Riding Hood? Maybe she needed a new hunter to help her fight the wolf.

At that thought, Danny couldn't help but look at his father in awe. Every evening when he left, Danny silently hoped he'd catch a lot of bad wolves.

--------

It took a couple of weeks for Danny to find out that while his dad worked for a Red Hood, it was very disappointingly not Red Riding Hood. Instead it was some guy with a white streak in his hair with some very disgusting ectoplasm circulating his body.

Danny made a face and turned into his sister's hold as he came face to face with the guy at the doorway.

"I'm sorry about that." she said to the guy, "He's not usually like this."

"It's ok, babies usually cry in front of me so this is an improvement." he replied.

"Come on Matt, Jason's really nice if you give him a chance!" His father proclaimed. His trademark loudness making the doorframe shudder.

That was the other thing Danny didn't like about this red guy. He had already seen him twice before, when his Dad had taken him in to grab a few forgotten tools.

The first time the guy wore a red helmet. Everyone acted like he was dangerous and shouldn't be messed with. Even his dad was very respectful in his interactions with him.

The second time Danny had seen not Red Riding Hood, he didn't have his helmet on nor did he go by his previous name. Everyone at the garage treated him as if he was one of their own instead of the dominating presence he had been before. In fact, they acted as if "Jason" was a completely different person all together. It was quite strange to say the least. Though Danny wasn't sure he had a leg to stand on considering every time they were in public, his dad would call him "Matt".

Danny had fussed about it a few times but that didn't seem to have any effect. He had finally decided it was fine since he was at least still called "Danny" and "Danno" when they were home. Now though, thanks to this Jason guy, he was even being called that stupid name within his own house! Danny was quickly deciding he didn't like this weird bad ectoplasm guy at all.

@idontgetpaidenoughforthisshit @overtherose @seraphinedemort

[mdhwrites]

What Were the Palismens' Point and Did They Succeed?

I got a really long ask that started with asking me how I would have handled the Palisman. For a question like that, I believe there are two core tenants that need to answer. The TL:DR though for this is that despite the Palisman having presence since S1, their point in the story is only made clear in S2 and then their point is useless except for Luz, weakly, because of how TOH defies normal genre convention, in a way that is very counterproductive, when it comes to character climaxes.

Anyways: The questions.

What is the narrative concept of the element we're talking about?

What is the point of the narrative element?

For the Palisman, this isn't clear until Hunting Palisman. Before then, they are glorified broomsticks with one episode acknowledging their agency but at the end of the day in S1: They're just glorified broomsticks. Hunting Palisman very clearly and bluntly states what their point is.

They are a physical manifestation of the witch's will and desires. You can only obtain one with a clarity of purpose and conviction. This is also the point of them: They are essentially character statements. The grand thesis of whoever that palisman is connected to. Honestly, as far as creative uses of magical items to present the culmination of a character, the palisman are...

Exceptionally stock standard. Like painfully so. Anyone watched a season of Power Rangers? Yeah, the Palisman are just the battlizer. If you watched Winx Club like... AT ALL past the first season, maybe even requiring that long, it is ANY of their power ups because they always come with a big character growth moment that defines who they are as a person. It is maybe one of the basic fantasy tropes out there to have self actualization be a power up.

And this isn't just me being hyperbolic. Even from their first introduction, it is presented as a part of a witch growing up. That the school grants witches their palisman but that Luz will have to earn hers. Once she does, she has a loyal companion and the ability to fly. Even at Hexside, you still have to reach certain age to get a Palisman. They're not just giving them to kindergartners. The show itself, by all accounts, says this is explicitly what they are. It's even why Hunter can have Flapjack like he does because the two are their most at sync the closer Hunter is to being Cale- Being the good person he always was. -_- Before then, during moments like Eclipse Lake, they are out of sync, just like he says.

There's just a small, tiny, MINISCULE problem with this concept. Barely noticeable so I'm probably making a big deal out of no- HOW DO YOU HAVE TWO CHARACTER CLIMAXES LIKE THIS IN THE SAME MINUTE AND THEN ONE OFF SCREEN!?

TOH has this weird aversion to character climaxes, at least traditionally paced ones. This is any episode focused on the ending of an era for a character. When a hero falls to the darkside, with the entire episode, or episode after the fall happens at the end of one episode, being about his fall to the darkness. When the scoundrel decides that there are indeed things worth more than gold and has to grapple with that. The end of Book 2 of Avatar spends a lot of time in its last couple episodes grappling with what is a character built up over the entire season: Which side of Zuko wins out for his future? This is balanced with Aang's character climax with the guru with asking questions about how much Aang is willing to give up to the job of the Avatar instead of being the free spirited, loving kid he's always been. A LOT of time is given to this.

TOH hates giving time to ANYONE who isn't Luz. Very few people get real character climaxes of this sort of variety. Willow essentially never gets one and Gus never gets one. You could Watching and Dreaming and Labyrinth Runners specifically but those episodes aren't about self actualization. A VERY common thread with character climaxes is a choice the core character has to make in order to make things right. Meanwhile, in both episodes, HUNTER is the one to make the choice and actions to fix the problem. It is not about self actualization that then prompts a better, more refined character... It's honestly just one problem of the character amongst many like most kid's show episodic issues. This is ESPECIALLY true for these two because Gus' having this level of confidence issues has never been a thing. The closest to ever come to it is the Human Society episode and, well... That happened like a season before Labyrinth Runners with MAYBE one more hint at the S1 penultimate episode from the orb giving him a pep talk. Otherwise, he has confidence. Willow's is worse because she's NEVER taken on others burdens like they talk about. The stories they tell do not sound like Willow at all and Gus, her best friend, has NEVER called her 'Dependable Willow' before now. It has all the hallmark fingerprints of a long running kids show retconning elements to have a plotline this episode. You know, during the season that was SHORTENED.

And this is without recognizing that their palismans have NOTHING to do with either episode, at any time. They are absent from being a part of their self actualization and why shouldn't they be? They already bonded and obtained their power up back in Hunting Palisman. Both made declarations and received a palisman for it because... What the fuck?

This is the core of why when I saw the initial question, I kind of went "I can't do them better because they're pointless besides giving the fandom Patronus stand ins for OC creation." They don't do jack shit.

Amity gets this THE WORST. She makes her palisman off screen, before the shortening took effect, and we only get told what it was... As a part of comforting Luz. Her character thesis, the embodiment of who she is, her will made manifest and it's used narratively to try and comfort her girlfriend. The words actually don't matter because a character climax should not just be words. It should include action alongside it. A showing of their character alongside them telling you, if they tell you at all.

This is also why Luz's character climax blows on this front. Not only is it not well built up to (I despise Luz's character climax) but it also doesn't have action behind it. It's a big statement before she... Just shows off Stringbean to her friends and then gets ready to go fight the Collector? What does that have to do with Luz? What does that have to do with 'wanting to be understood'? It's not even like her goal is to show the Collector understanding now that she's figured this part of herself out. As far as we can tell, her goal was to kick the Collector's ass right up until the Collector tried to show he was an uwu baby, please ignore the murder stars and the fact that I actually know the consequences of my actions (he KNEW King would hate him for the dreams and so is shown to have understanding of his actions upsetting people) and yet did them anyways. Obtaining Stringbean is meaningless besides the meta context of "She just like me fo real" for the people who identify with her.

All of this because TOH won't commit an episode to just finishing a character's arc, or even part of it. I have LONG been complaining about how Escaping Expulsion IS a character climax for Amity but she's in like a collective four minutes of the episode. It is the complete refusal to continue to be who she was. To be willing to throw away even her family in the pursuit of her own happiness and desire to choose her own future. For her to be such a small part of it centers her motivation on Luz because she hasn't had enough time to explain or put focus on why she doesn't want to be who she has been. It's always just on "I wanna be with my friends." or "I want to protect Luz." or "Luz and her friends make me happy." As such, the motivating factor being Luz's life being in danger doesn't make it feel like Amity self actualizing, it makes it feel like a young lesbian throwing away everything for someone she has known for like two months. That what matters is not her character but just that this is another step towards Lumity for her. That's not exactly great, is it? Especially not with how much they want Odalia to shoulder the burden of the fact that Amity CHOSE to be pure evil to Willow for YEARS. For her to be cast off so easily... Well, it just doesn't hit right. Not like it should for a climax like this.

Almost every character climax in the show suffers from stuff like this. Eda's big farewell in Agony of a Witch? She's in like four minutes of it and barely spends time with Luz so we never get that deliberation before Eda chooses to lose her life. It can't even be said that the season built up to it because Luz and Eda haven't had a plotline together since Adventure in the Elements. At best? Grom. And Grom doesn't exactly help build up how deep their connection is, does it?

And so how would I do the Palisman better? I'd just remove them. They are not used for the purpose they were built for and the show doesn't do the elements they're connected to in a way that would ever work for them. They have no point besides being cute and marketable but otherwise? They're entirely superfluous.

Which is a pretty shitty thing to say about something that's meant to represent the best your character can ever be. See you next tale.

======+++++======

I have a public Discord for any and all who want to join!

I also have an Amazon page for all of my original works in various forms of character focused romances from cute, teenage romance to erotica series of my past. I have an Ao3 for my fanfiction projects as well if that catches your fancy instead. If you want to hang out with me, I stream from time to time and love to chat with chat.

A Twitter you can follow too

And a Kofi if you like what I do and want to help out with the fact that disability doesn’t pay much.

[cerastes]

I've seen people before saying that, in terms of presentation, NIKKE delivers it better than Arknights in telling what they want to tell. And I still see this occasionally whenever people start comparing stories in gacha games. Looking at your post, seems like that wasn't a lie at all.

Right, this is an interesting topic for me, so let me give my two cents on this.

I would say that statement is generally true. Nikke's main strengths are its presentation and knowing how to leverage its strengths in general, but let's focus on presentation: It's story is nothing to write home to (note that I am up to Chapter 18), neither are its events (on this regard, take me lightly, I've only read three), but what Nikke wants to say, you will very clearly understand. It's good at telling its story. Sometimes the localization will have Localization Moments (Chatterbox is described as female in the first cutscene he is mentioned, male every time afterwards; there's a lot of clearly literally translated little expressions that make no sense in the flow of the conversations), but overall, even though you're looking at a story that in a lot of ways you've seen a lot of times, its particularities stand out because Nikke tells them properly, concisely, and clearly. Characterization is consistent, and there's a good amount of care clearly put into both consistency and overarching important parts of the narrative; a favorite example of mine is how, in the tutorial, if you pay close attention, you can actually see Marian's eyes glow red during her reload animation, foreshadowing something pretty important that happens with her later.

So even if the story beats are not particularly good or intriguing -- and sometimes, outright terrible, like in Chapter 18 oh god I hate Chapter 18 -- you at least can tell with clarity what's going on and why it's going on.

Arknights has the yang to the yin here, somewhat: The stories on Arknights tend to range from okay to great, and AK events have a habit of going pretty damn hard, either as a whole or at least parts of them. Sometimes, however, they have a weakness, and this weakness is that the actual story telling can be dense. Density is often attributed to good writing, but the truth is, sometimes, the text isn't advanced, it's simply clumsy, and the prose in Arknights is decidedly clumsy. But when you actually untangle the spaghetti of clumsy prose, you find some strong story telling, strong characterization, and topics you don't often find discussed in video games, less so in gacha. You kinda have to work for it, basically.

Something Nikke does good is also that it keeps its relevant cast at any given story beat low, giving it more cohesion, or rather, making it easy to stay cohesive, because Arknights can handle larger casts pretty well sometimes, but I'll be frank, the current main story has so many literal whos to keep track of that I'm supposed to be invested in that I don't really bother. I'm sorry, but I can't really feel a damn thing about Outcast when she showed up for a few scenes and then got nuked off by a contrivance while fighting some faceless nobodies we are told we should fear.

But on the other hand, Nikke narrative, again, despite its strong delivery, is still built on a feeble base for the most part. I only think of a few characters I care about in Nikke, because a lot of the cast is just fluff and Obligatory Archetypes (bunny girls, school girls, maids, etc), whereas in Arknights, I care about a whole damn lot of them, even those without events, because their files and modules paint a very integral and intriguing picture of them. Even smaller scenes in Arknights sometimes can have a big emotional impact, due to its extensive and well crafted worldbuilding and its clever use of its elements in every event, something Nikke cannot claim, because worldbuilding in Nikke is almost non existent.

They both have their strengths, basically, and it's fascinating to me, a writer, to take a deeper look at them.

[ttulipwritezz]

Watch You Walk Away.~ R. Lupin

Synopsis: Remus had a hard time accepting that he deserved love, and rejected it when you gave it to him. So he watched as you gave that love to his best friend.

Warnings: ex remus, reader is dating sirius, marriage, mention of love, self depreciation, self loathing, angst, far too much italic font sorry.

Remus and sirius shared a bond like no other. At this point it wasn't even questionable. They were best friends, Brothers from different mothers, if you will.

So it came as a surprise when Remus pulled you back by your hand to hold you back as you were about to make your way towards your boyfriend.

Of course no one would be super pleased to have their ex holding them back from their boyfriend.

So he spoke, as to not startle you further.

"Why him?"

The question was baffling at the least.

"What do you mean, Rem?"

No matter your relationship the name stuck around quite a while.

"Why sirius?"

He repeated with more clarity this time.

"Because..." You began thinking for a moment.

He waited, and he waited patiently. That's all he ever wanted to be. When you left him for the better, he realised just how awful he had been.

It was no question that Remus struggled with self worth and acceptance.

After his father drifted away from him due to his lycanthropy he found it so hard to believe he deserved love.

So he said he didn't. He said he didn't deserve you.

He believed it.

But having the love of your life constantly question their worth can only be tolerated so much.

"Because He loves me."

You answered, glancing anywhere at the room but him.

His heart shattered. He blinked a few times, as if trying to make sure this is real.

He didn't miss the way you said 'he loves me' not 'i love him'.

It made him feel so guilty. He felt as though he never made you feel loved. As if He was never good enough.

To an extent that was true. Sirius made you feel wanted. Loved. He made you feel...happy.

But the words 'i love him' not leaving your mouth stuck with Remus.

It brought about the smallest bit of hope to his shattered heart.

"He's not good for you."

The nerve he has, huh?

"And you are?" You spit back. Venom lacing your voice but never quite meaning it.

"I needed you Remus. I needed my boyfriend then"

His mind lingered on the 'then'

It lingered because it will never be 'now' anymore.

You continued,

"i needed someone who understood what a relationship was, i needed someone who wasn't a self depreciating, self loathing, self hating person. I needed you to love yourself to let me love you!" You took a deep breath after your words, tears pricking the corners of your eyes.

It was true, the number of times you'd heard remus say that he was a monster and he didn't deserve you was infuriating.

You can't help a person who doesn't want to be helped.

"Love please, I-"

"No. You don't get to call me that. You know Remus, Sirius treats me right...he treats me like I'm somebody. He doesn't make me feel invalidated, he trusts me! He makes me so, so happy and I couldn't possibly wish for more."

Without giving him a chance to speak you continued-

"so out of all people- you don't get to decide if he's good for me. Anyone but you does."

Your tears escaped.

And he stood there, out of words, the little bit of hope now crushed, laying beside his shattered heart.

So you walked away, you walked away and he watched you walk away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I suppose that's how he found himself standing at the altar, watching you walk down the isle as you clutch the bouquet of flowers close to your chest.

He watched with a tear, never letting it slip from his green eyes.

He was the best man, oh how he wished it was him who was marrying you instead.

His desire to hold you again, kiss you again, make you smile again seemed to remain as just that. A desire.

He watched as you beamed up at his best friend.

Beamed with a smile that he didn't put there, he only wished he had.

He watched as vows were exchanged.

This time you did say 'I love him' and it hurt so much worse.

Watched as you cried happy tears, something you never did in front of him before.

He watched as you were happy, you were loved and it wasn't by him.

He watched as you left, this time for good, left and changed your last name to Black.

He watched as you left with his best friend, his brother, and went on to continue whatever you planned for yourself in the future, just without him this time.

So you walked away, you walked away and he watched you walk away.

Again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/n: so...sad rem. I liked this one tbh

Like, reblog or comment :D

I wanna do a fluff Remus soon probably so feel free to request:D

[bg-brainrot]

Hugs for a Vampire (Astarion x GN!Reader) - Chapter 14: After Defeating Cazador

Chapter 14: After Defeating Cazador

Each chapter can be read as a standalone hug.

Pairing: Astarion x GN!Reader (Rogue!Tav)

Genre: Fluffy, Filling in Canon

Rating: Teen

Tags: Gender-Neutral Pronouns, POV Second Person, Act 3, Canon-typical violence, Astarion's coping mechanisms, Astarion's quest, cw: Astarion's trauma

WC: 3.1k words, 14/18 chapters

Summary: Set in Act 3, the conclusion of the Pale Elf questline, Rogue!Tav needs to find just the right moment to support Astarion.

Author's Note: Bringing over my same note from AO3, since this was the chapter, the one that inspired this series all the way back in September.

I, like many, wanted to just jump in and give Astarion a hug. But as someone who relates all too deeply to Astarion, I felt like it was his time to just let it all out. And when a wound is that raw? To me, it’s all about timing. Naturally a disclaimer that everyone heals differently, wants different things, and this is colored a lot by my own experiences/attitudes! I just wanted to explain a bit of my reasoning behind this hug.

Ao3 | [Hug13][Hug15] | Hugs for a Vampire Masterlist

You’ve all but done it. One more well-placed dagger and your team has defeated a vampire lord in his own lair, his cruel ritual stopped in its diabolical tracks.

Or at least you hope it’s been stopped. Astarion is looking at you, eyes pleading with you in a desperate frenzy you've not seen before. “I can do this, but I need your help.”

“Astarion,” you start, his name nearly choking you. You’re not a paragon of good or a champion of righteousness. You’re just another Baldurian rogue who got caught up in this tangled mess of mind flayers and gods. So you weren’t lying when you told your lover you would consider this. You’ve thought long and hard about this, you’ve lost sleep over this, and, ultimately, you know you cannot let him go through with this. “If I help you complete this ritual, these people will all die.”

“These people died years ago, trust me on that,” he says dismissively, as if these lives are just a few gold pieces at the bottom of a stolen pouch. “All that’s left are feral spawn, desperate for blood.”

However, you see these words for the truth of them: he sees himself in these spawn. He hates that he sees himself. When you respond, you can barely hear your own voice through the pounding in your ears, the panic coursing through you. “They don’t need to be desperate nor feral if they’re given a means of survival. They just want to live, like you do.”

Astarion bristles at that, and his next words come out angry, “And if we release them, how many people will they kill? Tens of thousands? Hundreds of thousands?” 

His questions aren’t meant to be answered, you know that much– He’s justifying his actions, to you and to himself. That doesn’t stop you from answering his line of rhetorical questioning, “You don’t know what they will do, none of us do.”

Your words fall on deaf ears, as his mouth catches up to the arguments he has readily prepared for your hesitation. “If they die and I ascend, I won’t have to rely on the parasite to walk in the sun. I’ll be free – truly, completely free.” Astarion sounds so blissful, on his tongue is a taste of that ephemeral happiness that he’s been so fervently chasing. It tugs at your heartstrings, plucking at them expertly in a way that only a master manipulator like him can. “Isn’t that what you want?” His tone challenges you to deny his happiness, and clarity hits you like a ton of bricks.

He’s reverted back to his old, guarded self. He’s the Astarion you met on a ravaged beach, the man who wanted to leave an entire grove of tieflings for dead to save himself, who tried to seduce you for protection. And you’re not about to let this moment reshape him into someone you know he isn’t. Not truly.

You look into Astarion’s eyes, those ruby pools that have drawn you in so very many times over the last few months. Over your travels, you’ve caught his eyes many times, read his worries, felt his love. These are the eyes you know most intimately, deeply– and as your own eyes dart between them, you see him as genuinely as you ever will.

You see fear, of course– it’s what’s driven him here, it’s as much as he said when you faced Petras. He wants a way to keep himself and you safe. But beyond that you see a ravenous hunger, more than any thirst for blood or craving for gold. That hunger, born of blood, of power, of freedom, is clouding everything else. It’s up to you to dissipate those clouds.

“I know you think this will set you free,” you start, delivering each word deliberately. “But it won’t. It will only trap you. Just like it trapped Cazador.” As if to prove your point, you turn to the pathetic mess of a man on the floor.

Some vampire lord he is now, groveling in front of Astarion, realizing that his poisoned words have done nothing to change his “favorite” spawn’s mind. His body has already been beaten, his face bloodied, his elegant clothing torn to shreds. And his utterly pitiful, earthly appearance says more than words ever could.

Astarion looks down upon his former master, considering your words. You see his eyes glint with steel as he turns back to you, and you hold your breath as you wait for his response.

“You… you’re right. I can be better than him,” he says, and your heart clenches in sheer relief. Turning back to Cazador with his signature wicked smirk, he continues, “But I'm not above enjoying this.”

You watch as your friend, your companion, your lover repeatedly drives Cazador’s own twisted blade against him. Each stab is punctuated by a wrenching, guttural cry, Astarion’s face contorted with a rage even the hells would fear. Cazador’s body grows limp, and Astarion continues to stab. You lose count of how many expertly executed stabs he delivers, but you can’t bring yourself to look away. You need to watch, to witness his blood-stained hands grant his own deliverance.

Releasing one final world-rending scream, he pulls the blade out, stumbling back. You know he’s done, in every sense of the word. Head turned up to the heavens, to the very gods who have never heard his pleas, he cries out– a heart-wrenching scream, mixed with a heavy sob– before his body collapses to the ground.

Your body instinctively moves toward him, your heart screaming to help him, to hold him, to be there for him. But a warm hand clamps on your shoulder and you look back. Karlach’s fiery yellow eyes lock with yours and she silently shakes her head at you. No, soldier, her eyes say. He needs this.

And despite your heart’s protestations, despite your eyes welling with burning hot tears, your head agrees. So you wait.

Astarion’s body trembles, a slow heaving wracking his frame. Sobs build up and burst out in a series of cries, each more painful than the last. Tears stream down your own face as you feel his visceral pain, but you stay back. And even as his cries petter out, you don’t step forward. It’s not your moment to have, there will be time for you to hold him, to cry with him, but not now.

Before that moment can arrive, the spawn around you are released from their magic bindings, Cazador’s hold on them finally worn off. Despite their predicament, they seem no worse for wear. Sweaty, tired, half-naked, but whole. Above all else, they seem… confused. They’re almost too scared to approach the hunched, blood-soaked man kneeling before their former master, but Dal takes the initiative.

“Is… is it over?” she asks, tentatively. “Is he…?”

Astarion takes a few shuddering breaths before collecting himself, rising to his feet slowly. “Yes,” he says, voice thick with lingering tears. “He’s gone.”

Petras looks about with uncertainty. For the first time in decades, he’s expected to think for himself and it’s clearly going to be an adjustment. Concerned, he asks, “What does that mean for us?”

You stand there, watching your lover. So many emotions run through you that you can’t even catch them all. Sorrow, concern, but most of all: Pride. He’s free now, to do whatever he wants, to be whomever he wants. And as his siblings look to him for leadership, he faces them head-on. A lump forms in your throat as you wait for his answer. 

“It means you have a choice,” he says, staring at Petras squarely. “You can hide here, living in the shadows like parasites. Or you can be more than what he made us to be.” Astarion’s voice lightens at the end, his preference clear in his tone. His entire demeanor shifts back to his usual, poised self and he stands a bit straighter, as if he’s making the decision for himself as he speaks. “You can choose differently, of course. But the consequences are on your head.”

Dal looks beyond him, up to the cells where the rest of the spawn sit trapped. “And… what does it mean for them?”

“Ah, now that is a question,” Astarion says, looking down at Cazador’s winding, red staff. He contemplates openly, and you know it’s alright to provide another small push.

“Let’s release them,” you say, clearing your throat a bit as you swallow your last tears. “They deserve the same chance you got.”

“You’re right,” he says, with a nod. Another wave of relief washes over you, as he doesn’t even hesitate to agree this time. “The poor wretches in the cells are innocent. They shouldn’t have to suffer just because I… lured them here.” You merely nod back– you wish you could say that his actions weren’t his own, that he needn’t feel the guilt any more, but you know that’s beyond this moment. That he will need to sit with the events of the day for a while, and that you shall sit there with him as long as he needs.

Astarion grabs Cazador’s staff, inspecting it for a moment before striking it into the ground in one powerful movement. A red, pulsing light emanates from it, filling the room with an eerie glow before you all hear the loud ka-thunk of the cell doors releasing their prisoners. 

You all turn in unison to look, before Astarion speaks to his siblings, “They’ll need someone to lead them. Take the tunnels into the Underdark, find somewhere… well, not safe. But less perilous?”

“What? No, we can’t–” Petras protests immediately.

Astarion raises a bloody hand to stop him. “Just try to keep them out of trouble.”

Dalyria, taking charge in the face of her sibling’s flustered looks, nods and ushers the rest of the spawn toward the cells, the 7,000 newly-released waiting for them. You watch them leave in a solemn silence.

After they’ve climbed the stairs and carried on, leaving your field of vision, Astarion turns back to your small party. “I… I think we’re done here.” he says, setting his face into a hard expression. “Let’s go.”

Your group turns away, allowing Astarion a moment of privacy to put his armor back on, to wipe some of the blood off his hands, to collect himself. 

As he rejoins your party, your companions perk up, sensing their opportunity to provide their support. Karlach claps him on the back softly, looking at him with pure admiration on her face. “Good work, Astarion.” 

He shies away from her, a bit of embarrassment coloring the tips of his ears. “Thank you, I suppose.”

Shadowheart nods to him in approval. “You did the right thing, Astarion. Some sacrifices aren’t worth it,” she says. Her own silver hair is a testament to her words.

Astarion, knowing her place of understanding, nods back wordlessly. It’s the most they will get from him for now, and they set off to lead your path out of this decrepit place.

As you begin to walk, you turn to your lover, still wanting to offer him a modicum of comfort, to embrace him and tell him it will all be alright. But his expression is vacant. When you nudge him gently he only says, “That’s it. He’s… he’s gone.”

You remain silent, waiting for him to continue.

“After all these years– these centuries– it’s really over.” The awe in his voice is unmistakable. But more so, the uncertainty, similar to Petras’ own, has settled in. Now that he's back, safe with you and your group, his vulnerability is peaking through.

“How do you feel?” you ask, broaching the subject that’s been worrying you the most.

“I’m… I’m not sure,” he says, honestly. “I feel a little numb.”

An entirely reasonable reaction, albeit not one that you can fix. But you don’t need to fix it, just listen for now. You nod, encouraging him to continue.

“What I’ve lost,” he sounds wistful, but looks sideways at you with a small smile. “What I’ve gained. It’s all so much.”

You smile at him, appreciating that even in this moment, he sees you, he weighs you against all that he’s lost and he smiles. “It’s a lot to take in,” you agree. “Even under the best of circumstances.”

“And gods. All those spawn. Free in the Underdark,” he breathes out and looks ahead at where those spawn are inevitably fleeing Cazador’s lair. “I need some time, I think. Just to let it all sink in.”

As much as you want to hold him, to tell him how proud you are of him, to crush him under your weight for days on end just to make sure he’s here, he’s safe, he’s still himself– you know it still isn’t the right moment. So you just say, “Take all of the time that you need, my love. I’ll be here, you know I will.”

Looking into his eyes, you see the weary gaze of a man whose entire existence was just up-ended. His eyes are still rimmed with red from his tears, and you see more moisture gathering as he turns away. “L-let’s just go.” He continues walking forward, picking up his pace. “This place reeks of death and I want to feel alive again.”

With nothing left to say, you follow him and your companions up and out of the yawning pit of Cazador’s dungeons.

The entire walk, Astarion’s shoulders remain tense, his face guarded and closed off from the world, from you. It’s still not time, you think. 

Before you make your escape, you encounter the Gur once more. You talk to them as you reach the rising platform, and, while he vehemently defends his choices, Astarion still seems so very reserved. In the back of your head, you can’t help but feel like you haven’t done enough. That perhaps the time was right at some point, but you missed your moment to comfort him, to be there for him. Either way, it’s not right now.

You all pile on to the elevator, leaving the bloody mess of Cazador, of Vellioth before him, to be swallowed by the earth. Walking through the mansion’s halls, Astarion remains quiet. You periodically check to make sure he’s still there, but of course he is– he makes his own choices now and he wants to be here. He’s just deeply in thought, beyond you for now. You must wait for him.

The group passes barren walls, each of Cazador’s tacky paintings stolen hours ago– by a much cheerier band of adventurers, you can’t help but think. But you wouldn’t trade places with your past selves for anything, because this group is still together, still has their souls intact. This group will get through this and live to steal many, many more paintings from evil wretches like Cazador. 

After following your own path back to the entrance, you can sense Astarion’s unease building, his body fighting an unseen battle. Turning to look at him, you see that he’s not looking back, not looking forward, rather staring down at the ground ahead of him. 

You hang back, wondering what’s the matter but, before you can ask, he offers, “I hate this place. So why does it feel like my feet are made of lead?”

A hard heartbeat pounds your chest. You don’t know how to respond, or if it’s even your place to do that. Instead you pose a question back, “Do you want me to stay behind with you for a moment?”

He shakes his head harshly. “No,” the word comes out softly, despite the grimace on his face. “I’m just… frustrated. He’s gone, but it’s like I still feel his claws on me.”

Karlach and Shadowheart pause ahead, at the door you entered through on the battlements. “Soldier?” Karlach calls, raising a single eyebrow at you. One of her hands is placed on the doorknob, a simple turn away from the outdoors. 

Ah, that might help, you think. “Could you open the door? It’s rather dark in here, it would be nice to illuminate a path for Astarion.”

The large tiefling woman complies with a grunt, swinging the door open at a brutal force. If you weren’t so focused on Astarion’s face, you might have laughed at her eager show of help. As it is, your eyes are trained on the vampire’s face, reading each line carefully as the door opens. 

Daylight streams in, cutting through the musty halls of Szarr Palace, illuminating the dancing dust particles in the air. Astarion’s head cranes up, away from the ancient carpet he’d been fixated on a moment before. Like he’s been jolted from an uncomfortable slumber, he shakes his stupor off, placing one foot in front of another until he’s crossed the threshold of the place he’d perversely called home for two centuries. 

Something about the way he stands strong, the way his chest puffs out, reignites the pride that wells within you. You follow behind him closely, as if you might protect him from the darkness he’s leaving behind. 

It’s when he’s well and truly in the sunlight outside that you see the markings of the day on him, in blood smeared across his face, the tired creases of his eyes. Infiltrating the palace, finding the 7,000 spawn, facing his tormentor– all of it catches up to him now that he’s left the cold grip of Cazador’s clutches. 

Astarion’s shoulders slump, his eyes close, and his head tilts up to the warmth of the sun, as he takes a deep inhale of the fresh air. Like a cat basking in the glorious remnants of daylight through a window, he looks to remain until there’s not even a sliver of light left.

You turn to Karlach and Shadowheart, who are looking on with unsure expressions. Waving a hand out at them, you signal that you’ll meet them downstairs. They slip away wordlessly, leaving you and Astarion alone, perched atop of the battlements of Baldur’s Gate.

No words pass between you when he finally opens his eyes. They’re even more crimson in the sunlight, and the emotions swimming in them are inscrutable. One thing is for certain though, now is your chance to hold him, to comfort him.

You hold your arms out to him, an open invitation. Astarion looks at them then looks up at you, eyes brimming with fresh new tears. He shuts his eyes closed once more, hot streaks silently running down his face, and steps into your welcoming embrace. Warmth, release, relief– his feelings are your own, as you hold each other. And so, feeling the weight of the decisions you’ve made that day, in the very sunlight he’s given up, you cry in each other's arms.

[argisthebulwark]

Cleanse Me With Pleasure

summary: second chance! you've known them and lost them, but fate brings you back together. gn reader, no pronouns or y/n used feat: Miraak, Hadvar, Vilkas warnings: very mild body horror (miraak has too many pupils), depiction of overstimulation (vilkas)

Miraak

He was your first love, the one meant to outlast all else. He became the one who shattered your heart. Your shared power as Dovahkiin should have brought you closer - your fates as the First and Last intrinsically twined together, though Miraak seemed intent on severing it. His refusal to share power turned to distrust, a fracture your relationship never recovered from.

He became obsessed. Blinded by his need to rule over Tamriel, you found yourself growing apart until you could hold onto him no longer. Miraak forgot all else when he became lost to his hunt for power, casting aside love and humanity as he lusted after forbidden knowledge. He forgot about you, his fellow Dragonborn. His beloved.

As the ages have passed, you now find yourself unfulfilled. You’ve seen much of the world in your time, taken fleeting lovers and leaving few traces. The dragon blood in your veins keeps you stationary while the world shifts around you, able to inflict little change upon the matters of men. Civilizations develop and empires crumble before your eyes as you search for the place you belong. No matter how much you love this world you still seek the place that feels like home.

After many years spent unsuccessfully settling into a small village you decide to leave Skyrim. At least for a short while. Too many eyes are on you after your influential part in the civil war. You need somewhere quiet. Hoping for the comfort of an old friend or a Telvanni tower your eyes turn to Solstheim. It’s been far too long since you’ve walked its shores, perhaps clarity awaits there.

Your wish for peace is unfulfilled as always. Rumors of locals wandering off into the ashen wastes reach your ears in every tavern. Just one night, you promise yourself when you fall into a cheap rented bed. Just one night of rest and I will investigate in the morning. 

A voice you’d forgotten ages ago invades your dreams. His mantra shocks you to your core - he was behind those horrid stones? Scrambling for your pack you set off into the night fueled by anger, old and long forgotten. You don’t care how powerful he’s become in your time apart - it matters little if he’s finally ascended to godhood, you’re going to give him an earful. 

Sharp spikes and dark towers loom over the horizon - his palace. The elegant arches are beginning to crumble with no sign of repair. Perhaps all of his loyal subjects are too busy tending to those awful stones, minds stolen away by Mora’s influence. Stomping through his castle you’re horrified by the years of dust and grime accumulating on every surface. Much like yourself, it seems that this palace has spent ages stuck in a time the world has forgotten. 

Upon a spiraling staircase, the railing is surprisingly clean. Tracks of fingers trail through the dust and a shiver runs down your spine. Weak light flickers from above and you steady yourself for whoever lurks in this ancient place. It may be a sign of life but you cannot decipher whether that is a good thing.  

You should have known. The only visible light emanates from the heart of Miraak’s palace - his library. Tomes written in dead languages give way to the common tongue, each shelf meticulously cleaned. Your footsteps are careful, though you can do little to calm the erratic racing of your heart as you wind through his maze. 

A dark cloak is draped over hunched shoulders. His quill scrapes over the parchment without pause. Blazing light from the fireplace illuminates his silhouette and for a moment it’s far too easy to forget about how everything ended - the fighting, the screaming, and that uncrossable distance that grew between you. When Miraak’s head tilts you catch sight of stubble across his jaw, the once black hair now peppered with gray and white. There is the sharp angle of his nose and lips that had once spilled nothing but admissions of love. For one moment he is the man your heart still screams for. 

“You must be brave if you dare to enter.” His deep voice rumbles through the library and you’re shocked back to reality. Deep green eyes sweep toward you, pinning you in place as too many pupils assess your interruption. “Remove your hood and state your business.” 

“What have you done?” Miraak’s fingers clutch the edge of his desk, revealing sickly black veins creeping under pale skin. His eyes narrow and in a dramatic flourish he stalks toward you. Old rage builds with each step that draws him closer; that sneer on his face, the condescension in his tone, the terrible way that power has warped him. 

“How dare you speak to me like this?” He seethes, teeth practically bared when he glares you down. Standing only inches away you can feel it, the terribly oily power infecting the rest of Solstheim. It is like nothing you can recall dealing with. Attempting to move swiftly you remove your hood, brandishing a reliable dagger between your bodies to hold him off. 

Something you cannot read shifts in his eyes. He blinks too many times before one hand reaches past your weapon. You consider slicing into his arm, calculating how likely it is that Miraak could cast some horrible spell upon you when cool skin cups your cheek. 

“Darling.” Your heart squeezes when Miraak draws you closer, completely ignoring the blade pressed to his chest. “My love, where have you been?” 

“I left.” Your voice is harsh, cutting through the strange softness of his tone. You cling to the rage that fueled you to find him, grasping for something to keep you upright when his thumbs trace so lovingly across your cheeks. 

“I have searched this world for you.” 

“What?” You sputter, taking a step back. Your heart slams into your ribs when he looks at you, such adoration in eyes you have not seen in centuries. “You let me go. You forgot me.” 

“I was wrong.” Bravely, he attempts to move closer. “I cannot do this without you - I do not work without you, my love.” 

“I do not wish to rule.” Your voice quivers and you steady the dagger. Miraak makes no move away from you, still carefully holding your face. “I have never wished to rule.”

“Tell me what you want.” 

“I have told you.” You insist, obnoxious tears pricking at your eyes. It’s terribly hard to remain angry when he’s so close. “You never listen.”

“Tell me once more.” Miraak gulps, unnatural eyes never moving from yours. “Please, just once more.” 

“I want,” your voice falters as you consider your options. Rationally, you should drive the dagger into his chest and free the world from his influence. You should kill Miraak while he is distracted. You should end him before he does further damage to this world. 

But you cannot. Sweaty fingers clench around the blade but your muscles have turned to stone. He may be different, hell he may be awful, but you cannot bring yourself to kill him. He is still Miraak. Your blade stills over his heart, the only one that has called out to yours. Despite the inky black stains these are his hands, the ones you’ve imagined each time you’ve taken a lover. 

“I want you.” Fat tears coat your cheeks when you relent, speaking the words that have been a thorn in your side for too many years. Old desires wash away the anger, each night spent missing him fresh and new in your memory. You remember speaking the same words during your last argument with him, one final plea for him. “I want to find somewhere quiet and grow old with you.” 

“I am sorry that it has taken me so many years to agree. I am yours, entirely, if you will have me.” Miraak’s nose brushes yours and through your bleary vision, you see him. His vision is no longer clouded with obsession, eyes focused entirely on you. Something wrenches deep in your chest and time seems to grind to a halt. 

It is all you’ve ever wanted from him. There is fear in Miraak’s eyes while he awaits your response though he makes no offensive moves - he’s left himself open if you decide to strike. There is no defense, no shield to hold you off. Miraak has made himself vulnerable to you. 

Joy and grief and all other emotions swirl together as your blade clatters to the ground. Desperate hands dig into the back of your cloak and you feel his sigh of relief against your chest, unheard promises whispered into your skin. 

Hadvar

Training. Guard rotations. Research assignments. Reconnaissance. Palace guard duty. Shift changes. Too many responsibilities and not enough time, yet for so long you managed to cling together. There was never time for anything more than falling into bed together, a shared cot and the comfort of one another. 

Schedules shifted every few weeks, never amounting to much more than a change in when you're afforded time to sleep. Without bothering to open the envelope for your new assignment you’d hobbled back toward the barracks, muscles aching from a day stuck near the city gate.

A sharp bark of your name stopped you short. A harsh explanation that you were heading off to some newly established camp in the Rift. No time to change or grab your supplies, they’ll have clothes waiting for you at the new camp. Your heart was in your throat when your commanding officer bundled you into the back of some carriage and sent you to another Hold without a chance to tell Hadvar. 

In the shuffle of everything, you lost each other. No letters could be sent as you had no idea where he’d been stationed or who his superior became after the new assignments. Though your nights were lonely, over time you accepted that he’d simply slipped through your fingers. 

Leaving the army was a difficult but necessary choice. That strange power seemed to grow with each day that passed yet you had no clue what it was. Something terrifying was happening inside you and you snuck away from your camp, deserting in search of answers. 

Your many attempts to diagnose whatever lay inside you remained unanswered. It felt like some sort of serpent, often dormant and rarely flickering into life. Presently, you find yourself glaring into the horizon and regretting that shitty mug of ale. Falkreath has yielded no answers and although you’ve tried to avoid Skyrim, the College of Winterhold may be your last resort. 

It all happens so fast. The clanging of armor and harsh shouts ringing through the forest. Dozens of blades are pointed in your direction and before you can think your hands are cuffed, pack ripped from your back and you’re shoved into a cart of fellow prisoners. 

The ride is quite short but one man insists on chatting, drawing the attention of the soldiers. Imperial soldiers. Your stomach turns sour as you rush to come up with a story - it’s been years since you deserted, no one will recognize you. You can claim to be a hunter. The forest has enough elk to make the weapons in your pack plausible. 

Staring straight down at the tips of your boots, you avoid acknowledging what is happening only a few yards away. The pleading words, the blade cutting through the air, the sickening thump. You shuffle through the line of prisoners intending to recite your half baked story, steadying yourself when you finally look up. 

“And who are,” Hadvar pauses, still staring down at his parchment. Your heart stops when he finally looks up, face bright red as recognition lights his expression. “You?”

You’re fucked. 

“I’m a hunter.” You lie as another guard ushers you toward the block. “I was looking for elk. Just a trader.” 

“Yeah.” The guard snorts, guiding you to kneel. “I’ve heard that one before.” 

There is nothing more to say, no words that will change their minds. Dew coats your knees and you can feel Hadvar staring at you, blue eyes sharp and mouth still parted with questions. You try to take comfort in the clear skies and calm breeze. If you are destined to die today, there is something nice about knowing that the last thing you see will be Hadvar. 

“Dragon!”

Your world is a blur of fire and smoke. The executioner’s blade thumps to the ground, mere seconds from taking your head. Rough hands drag you to your feet and you stumble along, unsure if you’re alive. On all sides Helgen is burning, shrieks of the dragon blend with screams of humans into one horrible sound that drowns all else out. 

Time slows to a crawl when Hadvar wheels toward you, soot staining his features as steady hands check you for injuries. For one brief moment the world is quiet, Helgen’s Keep miraculously still upright. 

“Are you alright?” All you can manage is a nod. Hadvar passes you a sword and plants his helmet on your head, instructing you to stay close. Falling into line with him is too easy - ducking when you feel his muscles flex to swing his sword, backs pressed together as you cut through Stormcloaks and spiders. 

The road is quiet, its usual sense of peace only heightening your nerves. Acrid smoke clings to your nostrils and burns sting at your skin but you continue walking, unsure of the destination. Hadvar’s steps are sure through the small village, explaining the situation with only a hint of the panic still lacing your veins. You anticipate questions he does not ask, explanations cluttering your mind but he doesn't breathe a word of your desertion.

His family is wary but welcoming. They don’t ask questions when you refuse to part, sides glued together as you recount your stories. You feel their curious eyes as Hadvar leads you downstairs to where you’ll be staying. He doesn’t pause before unbuckling his armor and falling into the sole bed, one arm open in silent invitation.

“I never thought I’d see you again.” Hadvar murmurs, allowing you to curl into his chest. You can hear the racing of his heart as one arm rests around you, perfectly aligning with all those memories. He’s warm and still smells like fire but you block it out, focusing on nothing more than Hadvar’s hands combing through the mess of your hair. “I’ve lost you so many times, I don’t know if I can let you go again.” 

Vilkas

Although Whiterun would always be your home, somewhere deep down you’d long harbored a distaste for how crowded it was. Too many sounds and smells, elbows jostling you and siblings to keep track of. Food sizzling and water gurgling from the nearby fountain, it all turned into one overwhelming wave of sensations. High walls kept out the breeze and often you found your skin felt too tight, ears ringing as you ran off toward one of the abandoned watch towers. 

From far below you heard the delighted shrieks of your younger siblings as they frolicked through the market. Your head pounded although the breeze cooled your overheated skin, lessening the sensory terror of the crowd. 

“Mind if I sit?” Your eyes shot open and you saw a boy no older than yourself standing on the final step to your hideout. “My brother’s down there but it’s - well, it’s too loud.” 

“Sure.” You agreed, scrunching your legs closer to make room. He didn’t say a word, merely plopped down and began reading the book he’d tucked under his arm. His presence was nice, silent and uncaring as you unwound. A breeze whistled through old shudders carrying a welcome chill. 

“I should get back to my brother, he’ll start to worry.” He carefully placed a bookmark before standing. “My name is Vilkas.” He only introduced himself upon parting.

Your friendship was easy. Afternoons spent in comfortable silence, tidbits of information swapped once your ears stopped ringing. Vilkas’s way of speaking was refreshing; his tone was always even and getting right to the point. You never had to puzzle through the hidden meaning of what he said not did he push past your limits.

There was no way to know one meeting would be the last. Vilkas was recalled to Jorrvaskr and sent on some mission by his superiors and your mother was being shipped off to Solitude to serve the Jarl. Between packing up your entire life in a few chests and wrangling all of your siblings there was simply no time to find Vilkas, you never got a chance to say goodbye. 

Now, the title of Dragonborn grows hefty. You’ve carried it for years but it never seems to get easier - there are constantly people asking for favors or wanting to hear stories you’ve told dozens of times. Although many years have passed you often find yourself wanting to regress to that child that hid away in abandoned guard towers, wishing you could simply curl up in some corner and let the world forget you for a while.

Too many eyes are always on you, watching your every move and telling tales of your heroism. Taverns herald your arrival, merchants offer special deals for your presence, fighters either want to duel or be in your employ. It seems that quiet is simply not in the cards for you. 

Trekking across the plains, the buzz of conversation finally ceases. Most civilians aren’t motivated enough to follow you out of their walled city. You walk until your legs are numb and collapse, back pressed to Whiterun’s massive wall as you stare out across the heavens. There's no telling how much time passes - elk skip over the hillsides and shadows grow longer yet you remain, unsure if you are ready to face the bustling city once more.

“You alright?” 

There's no hiding your groan at the interruption. A gruff voice breaks through the quiet of nature, ruining the ruffling of wind through tall grass. Biting back whatever truth threatens to spill from your tongue you turn to the offender, intending to ask for a bit of time alone when you pause. 

His brown eyes have hardened, now lined with the telltale signs of many sleepless nights. Dark hair has grown out over the years and stubble lines a strong jaw, hands that once carefully balanced books now perched precariously on the hilt of his greatsword. Relief washes away all the annoyance as he silently eases to sit at your side, eyes cast out over the plains. 

“You look different.” You dare to observe, a nervous smile breaking out at his snort of laughter. 

“You’ve been gone for quite a while.” 

Everything is so easy with him. Conversation comes and goes in waves, hours spent catching each other up on your lives lapsing into a comfortable silence. As the sun dips below the horizon and Whiterun’s plains are ablaze in deep shades of orange and pink the tightness in your chest lessens, noise from of the city quieting as its inhabitants seek shelter in homes and taverns. You remain there with Vilkas for far too long, both relieved to reconnect with the one person who understands their need for quiet.