#∘⡊ ☾ ˚⊹A Book Without Words⊹ — 「 Self 」

[letshavedeernnertogether]

Checkmate you

the plot is: you often play chess with alastor but alas you always lose to him. you tired of being a permanent loser and you propose him another game to revenge. alastor wants to make the game more entertaining so there's a new rule: the loser fulfills the winner's desire

words ≈ 6.3k

warnings: alastor is a mean player, reader has a crush on alastor, suddenly aggressive alastor, kissing on the chessboard, possibly grammar mistakes :(

author's note: i'm not a chess expert, i'm just a little girl who's visiting a chess club at my university. i just really wanted to combine my hatelove to chess with alastor and add something romantic

*. ⋆ ✧.·:·.* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *.·:·.✧ *. ⋆

You wanted revenge. You needed to revenge. You weren't a vindictive person, but you were so tired of this. You were tired of perpetual defeats, and what defeats! You were an experienced player and not so weak, although you didn't know all the theory or strategy and tactics. Surely, you had a lot to learn, but what was the most annoying is that Alastor was just the same. He'd never read anything from chess books, never learnt anything special about this game. Just like you.

Playing a game, you tried to calculate the moves, but you never foreknew the plan for you or for your opponent for more then two moves in advance. Alastor was an antithesis of you. It seemed that he foresaw any moves you could make, and he had a plan for each of them. He never thought too long about a move, because when you, for example, began to move your bishop forward, he already knew how many moves had left to checkmate you. “Darling, you should practice more.” You didn't know whether he had a strategy, but you did know it was impossible to impress him with any. Because, once again, he foreknew your every move, your every thought, your every emotion.

You were a calm player. No matter what move you or your opponent made, the expression on your face never changed. Keep your head cold, keep your face stone. You didn't think about your move for too long too but for other reasons. You prefered to have more time in reserve than dozens of moves calculated in advance, because you knew you weren't really good at this, and often you didn't notice really good moves at all, rushing to make a new move and realizing your mistake only when a chess piece was in a new place and your hand was lowered to the table. But even this didn't cause blush or pallor on your face. And this was your advantage, because everyone was convinced of your confidence, and no one ever knew what you were up to.

But not Alastor. He always knew and anticipated with pleasure your every defeat, reveling in it. Though Alastor was really a gentleman, always well-mannered, in a game he showed his more wayward nature. You liked Alastor and you even never scorned his sometimes mischievous behavior. But during a battle over the chessboard he was insufferable even for you.

He was that type of a player who said to you “Are you sure?” or “You have enough time to think twice, my dear.” when you took a piece in your hand. And all of this was said not with good intentions. His tone oozed venomous mockery, his eyes flashed with self-admiration and this toothy grin as sharp as his remark...

Both of you wore masks during a match, but you also remained silent, while Alastor just couldn't shut up. And though you were all patience, your claws dug into a dark wooden table when Alastor chuckled after another move you made. “Ah, apologize, darling! Please, continue!”. After that you had to use all your strength to keep a neutral expression on your face and not to show him how much his criticism bothered you and sometimes even scared you.

But he wasn't always this way. Sometimes, when you played for fun, just to enjoy the game, he was a courteous man again. Usually it happened when you played without a time control. Not only his smile became less strained, but you also let yourself make a joke about your not very smart move or about the way his expression changed when he weighed the best move. He adjusted his monocle and tilted his head, saying, “Just let me think, dear. And while I'm reflecting, do show me what you would do in my shoes! Oh, that's interesting…” In no control games he didn't hasten to checkmate you, didn't laugh at you (almost) and you didn't feel like being mocked.

You did like these games and their relaxing atmosphere. You could learn something new not only about chess but also about Alastor. Or even yourself. ”You know, my dear, I find intelligence the most attractive thing in a person. And I believe you're a very intelligent little thing.” Alastor told you this once during a game, making you for a whole week carrying these words in your head, smiling spontaneously when you remembered them and blushing, realizing it was the highest praise he gave you and your game.

But your last battle was terrible. Grins, chuckles, bemused looks at you, tilts of head… Maybe you weren't at your best, but it didn't mean he could behave like this. And moreover, other inhabitants of the hotel watched your game. Usually they didn't care, as they found chess boring, especially just watching others' games, but that time everyone, even Angel, were interested. They surrounded the table where you were playing, gasped when Alastor checked you, whispered when you tried to block him, sighed when he checked you again. His ever present smile turned to a grin, his eyes ran from the board to your face to see your ever-increasing despair, while your gaze was fixed on the pieces. You felt others’ gazes and it made you sweat more. To lose just in front of your opponent was unpleasantly but bearable, but to let others see your defeat was too much for your pride.

And then you lost.

You lost with the King and a single pawn that didn't even have time to reach to the opposite side of the chessboard, stopping on B7. You played whites, but it didn't help you. You played with sixty minutes of main time per player and with a thirty-second increment each move. But while Alastor was accumulating time, you were racking your brains, trying to figure out how to escape the defeat as you saw his pieces drawn up in the fatal for you position.

And now you wanted to make him feel what you felt. Hesitance. You wanted to make him doubt, to make him panic. You wished to see his eyes running all over the chessboard as he was trying to come up with the escape routes. You wanted to make him so panicked and so rejoiced at the move that he'd found that he would forget to press the button on the clock after that move. You wanted him desperated.

A thin predatory smile spread across your face when you imagined Alastor acting the same way as you, when he checked you and you knew that the last escape route was cut off. You smiled, imagining him tugging his hair in despair, and chuckled, imagining his frightened eyes and his crooked smile with clenched teeth.

But you knew it was impossible. And his face with ever present smug smile flashed before your eyes, making you drop your head on the bar counter with a dull sound.

“What's the matter, kid?” Husk asked you, dusting the counter.

“I wanna die,” You pronounced in the wooden surface.

“Mmm,” Was the answer.

‘And this is how we talk,’ you thought, lifting your head.

“Hey, Husk. Have you ever played with Alastor?” You were rewarded with a frown look. “In chess. Have you played chess with him ?”

“I won't tell you anythin’.” And he turned away to put the clean glasses on the shelves.

“I just want to win him,” You sighed. “I love playing with him, but… I’m tired. Especially after the last time.”

When Alastor put a rook opposite your King and pronounced slowly, as if he was savoring every sound of this word, “checkmate” you felt a soft palm on your shoulder. You heard Husk's voice, but didn't look at him. “You did a good job.” Charlie waltzed around the board, admiring Alastor's position. Angel shook his shoulder and told you some supporting words, but you barely heard them, looking afraid at Alastor. He didn't took you for a stupid, did he?

Husk looked at you over his shoulder, hearing your low sad voice. You looked so miserable.

“Listen, kid,” Husked said with a deep sigh, “I just don't understand why you like him so much, and I don't wanna see you get in trouble. It seems to me that you began to spend more time with him.”

Did he notice a pink hue on your cheeks when you looked away?

“Well, it's true we've become, um, closer. Because I do find him as a good company. It's always interesting to speak with him, and I really like the way he plays. He's so good at it, really!” Husk looked with a frown at you, and you smiled, remembering all the good games you shared with Alastor. “I just don't like that he's… snobbish? Sometimes.”

Husk just sniffed.

“And also I don't like that he revels in others’ failures.” Alastor’s laughter resounded in your head again. “And he doesn't just enjoy them, he literally savours my defeats! That's very annoying.”

“That's all he is.”

“So I want revenge.” You placed your hands on the counter, bending down and looking straight at the bartender. Husk started, seeing the red luster in your eyes. Your irises coloured in darker shade, but somehow they glistened in the poor light of the bar. He had a feeling that you could defeat Alastor. “I know I can't checkmate him, but at least I can make him sweat.”

Husk cleared his throat and said, “You play with him for a long time, surely, you know ‘bout his weak points.”

Your eyebrows flew high, when you understood that Husk was ready to help you, to give you some advice.

“I'm not sure about the weak points, maybe just the things he doesn't like. For example, a blitz game. It is always important to him to have time for thinking, though it seems like he knows all in advance. Hmm.” You tapped your lower lip with your forefinger, trying to remember what Alastor avoided in a chess game. Husk looked at you expectantly. Surely, there should be something else. “Well, once Alastor made an illegal move,” You said and fell silent.

Husk still looked at you expectantly, as if he was saying ‘It can't be all what you're about working with.’ And then he said, “And?”

You threw your hands in the air and exclaimed, “I truly don't know what to do!” and dropped your head on the counter again.

“Jus’ deal with it and stop playin’ with him.”

“I caaaan't.” Surely you couldn't. These games may not have always been pleasant, but it was the only chance to spend time alone with him. To know him better. To become closer.

Suddenly a new thought like lightning flashed in your mind. You immediately lifted your head, and Husk could almost see how the thoughts in your head formed a tricky plan. Your eyes lightened softer and brighter.

“It's hardly a plan, but-”

“Where you are, my dear!” You heard a static voice from behind, and then a large palm lay on your shoulder. “I'm looking for you all over the hotel! It's not often to see you in the company of our dear friend Husker!”

Husk rolled his eyes and turned to the shelves to take a bottle.

“Alastor! Just thought about you!” You said.

“You did?” Alastor leaned forward, squeezing your shoulder and looking in your eyes. Then he harshly let you go and sat next to you.

“Yes, I want to offer you something. A game in chess.” You looked at him, playfully tilting your head.

Alastor cocked his eyebrow at you, “Why, my dear, I expected it'd take more time for you to accept your last defeat.”

You winced at his words but then smiled as wide as you could and said, looking directly in his eyes, “No, I'm absolutely fine, thank you.”

“So what is your proposal then?”

“Nothing difficult! We play blitz. Time control is five minutes three seconds. Ten second increment. And we have a judge, who records all illegal moves, because two of them mean defeat. And here is the judge!”

Husk chucked on his booze when you waved your hands in his side. “No way,” He said, coming to his breath.

“Why not, my good man?” exclaimed Alastor, “I've never seen you as a judge! Must be very entertaining!”

Husk shifted his frown from you to Alastor, thinking who of you two was more to blame for his new part. His gaze fixed on you when he sighed.

“But, my dear,” Alastor looked at you, “the rules are a bit strict, don't you think?”

“Nope.” There was no way to use other rules. These were perfect. They included everything Alastor avoided.

“Hmm,” He tapped his chin with his forefinger. “How about that, I also have something to suggest!” His hand fell on your shoulder again and went down to your forearm, he leaned closer to you, invading your personal space and said, “The loser fulfills the winner's desire.”

* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *

On the appointed day you three met in the room where you and Alastor usually played. It was not a big room in dark brown colours with wooden furniture. It was always warm and cozy here, thanks to the fireplace with a merry bright flame. The bookcases lined the wall on both sides of the fireplace. A rectangular coffee table with a light pattern on the edges stood in the middle of the room and was surrounded with two loveseats on wooden legs. In the left side of the room there was a chess table and two soft chairs with dark red upholstery, the same fabric as on the sofas. The room was also decorated with paintings of Charlie's family and landscapes of hell, candles in the bronze scones, and an old thick carpet on the floor in the center. The windows were always curtained with heavy maroon blinds and the door was two-panel, decorated with simple right-angle carving.

It was your favorite room in the whole hotel. You liked it even more than your own quarters. You not only played chess here, it was also a mini-library of the hotel, where you always could find a good book to read near the cozy fireplace. It seemed to you that this room suited Alastor’s style better than the style of the entire hotel, and maybe it was another reason why you prefered to spend your time here. You even made this place more comfortable by bringing two blankets and a tray with a teapot and a couple of cups. Now Alastor was pouring tea for you, while you were explaining to Husk how to set the clock. Alastor came to you with a cup of hot tea for you in one hand and with his half emptied mug of coffee in the other one.

“Thank you,” You said, taking the aromatic drink.

Alastor smiled at you and sat on the free chair.

Husk was still troubling with the device, muttering curses under his breath.

It was 10 am, and usually you played much later, often ending your games in the dead of night. But last evening Alastor said that he had unforeseen circumstances that he needed to deal with as soon as tomorrow, so your game will have to be rescheduled either for another hour or another day. “Thousands apologies, darling.”

And as you couldn't wait any longer you suggested playing in the morning to Husk’s discontent. He hated mornings, while you were a morning person. And Alastor never seemed to sleep, so playing a quick game in the beginning of the day wasn't a problem for him.

You emptied your cup when Husk put the chess clock on the table and said,

“Here. You play with five minutes three seconds of main time per player and with a ten-second increment each move,” He looked questionly at you, and you nodded, saying everything was right. “You two play, and I make sure that none of you make unnecessary movements or illegal moves and all that shit. As Alastor played last game with blacks, you both decided that now it's his turn to use whites. Oh, and the loser will do anythin’ that the winner asks them to do.” Husk twitched, saying these words. His worried look fell on you, but you were looking at the chessboard and didn't notice it. “Is everythin’ clear?” You both nodded. “Great. Shake your hands.”

For the first time this day you looked at Alastor. He smiled at you with his ordinary smile, showing all his fangs. In the light of candles his eyes were gleaming with bright red and his long eyelashes casted shadows on his cheekbones. Alastor extended his hand to you, and you shook his palm, squeezing gently his long, cold fingers. A thought ran through your mind, that you were the only one in the hotel, or maybe even in whole hell, who touched his bare skin so often. The handshake was firm but tender as always. Alastor traced his fingertips over your palm, letting go of your hand, and a pleasant electrik wave ran through your spine. ‘Wonder, how many hands he shook are bloodless now?’

Husk pushed the button, and the room filled with a quiet ticking and the loud sound of wooden pieces moving on the board.

* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *

His fingers smoothly ran through the air, as if he was playing the invisible piano, when he was thinking which move was better for him to make. His long claw-like fingers took a piece contrasting brightly with the colour of his skin. With a graceful wave of his hand he put a wooden figure in a square with a short thud. Alastor held the claw of his forefinger on the top of the piece for less than a second, before letting it go and putting his hand on the table. The chess pieces seemed very small, being gripped between his long digits with sharp red tips. The pawns seemed most fragile in his grasp, the twin pieces looked firmer, and when Alastor took the Queen, you couldn't suppress the fear freezing your heart. Alastor often resorted to castling, and every time you were impressed how smoothly and easily he made it, taking both pieces in one palm, switching them quickly and putting them down on their new places.

The very movement of his hands was flowing and natural. You did like his hands, and often you felt hypnotized with them and forgot about a good move you wanted to make or even missed the precious seconds.

So this time you didn't let yourself look up, holding your gaze on the black and white board and glancing at the clock sometimes.

He moved a pawn, so did you, he moved a knight, you mirrored his move. You understood that the Spanish game started — the same opening you did in your last meeting. But this time you were not so aggressive, trying to attack a bishop and conquer the center. You just moved forward. You captured his knight, and Alastor had no choice but to capture yours too.

You were tired of feeling weak, tired of tryings to prove to him and yourself that you were a strong player, that you had a potential. Though every time meeting with Alastor at the chessboard, you said it was just for your own entertainment, just to enjoy the game no matter what the result awaited you, you still felt the urge to win. You played with everyone in the hotel, some you won on the first try, some you had to match several times to win, but after all you checkmated everyone at least once. Everyone but Alastor.

‘Not for long,’ You thought, placing all your remaining pawns (which amount was still huge and promising) in a zigzag line. And that was the moment when Alastor's hand, a very elegant and beautiful hand, hung in the air. His brows knitted in a thin line and one corner of his grin went higher. He took a piece, that was not the one to which his hand first reached, and made a move back. You repressed a smile.

After more three moves when you shifted only your pawns and didn't even try to attack Alastor but avoided him, Alastor said,

“Dear, I thought you wanted to play chess with me, not the fool.” He captured your pawn, and you took away his piece. Alastor frowned, sacrificing his last bishop.

“Why? You don't like my game?”

“It's not a game, dear,” He said, capturing another black piece. He began gradually clearing the center, though the board still looked absolutely messy. Your pawn fence was blocking any attack of him, because if he tried to capture your pawn, you would immediately capture his piece. Moreover, it was getting tightly on the board, and none of you could make a really good move until your pawns would be cleared away.

“It's an imitation.”

“I don't understand what you are talking about. If you don't like my strategy, try to defeat me then.”

“Oh, darling, I will.” He captured your bishop, and you quickly sheltered the unprotected Queen. “I highly doubt you have a strategy, after all.”

“Play and see.” You pronounced in a deadpan voice when he replaced your other piece with his one.

Now the silence was disturbed only by the loud claps on the bottoms of the clock and the sound of pieces moving on the chequered surface.

You glanced at the clock. You had forty seconds more than Alastor. A quiet sigh escaped from your lips, and you made another move.

Your hand flew over the board with a mad speed. You pushed the bottom with a harsh clack, which made Husk twitch every time. You didn't try to count the moves, nor Alastor's, nor yours, you just wanted to win the time. And soon it started to seem that you didn't lose minutes, but accumulated seconds.

“Illegal move.”

You froze when Husk stated it and paused the clock.

Was it your move now?

Your eyes ran madly over all black and white pieces, trying to find a mistake. Alastor sat in front of you, and you could feel how his own tension lay on your shoulders. You didn't dare to look at him, because you saw the mistake. Alastor looked like he was caught in a snare.

“Sorry, kid, didn't notice it before, but you move like a fuckin' hurricane,” Said Husk pointing at white unprotected King. “It seems that you attacked him a move ago, when you moved your pawn and opened a rook checking the King. And none of you noticed this in a rush, but so did I, so…”

You were afraid to look at Alastor but also you felt blushing on your cheeks. You outwitted him!

“Ok, let's go back to the position where you made the illegal move,” Said Husk, and the pieces were moved to the position they stood ten seconds ago, showing Alastor's defective position. Husk turned on the clock, and Alastor moved a knight, protecting the King.

You sighed, glancing at the clock. Almost a minute more than Alastor, and all he had was fifty six seconds. But you couldn't let yourself breathe a sigh of relief and relax, remembering how Alastor won you in an armageddon game, even though he played black. It was incredible how this man could win in any condition.

And as the number of your pieces diminished headily, and Alastor's annoyed grin became wider, you gave up all the thoughts about strategy. Now you could only use the time.

Your hand took a piece, moved it, stretched to the clock headlong, beaten them, and after three or four seconds you repeated everything. ‘When will it end?’ Your hand trembled and you missed the button on the clock, which now you took for your last resort. You understood you had a losing position, still you acted like you had an advantage, attacking Alastor over and over again, not letting him fulfill his plan of defeating you.

Your heart skipped a beat when you noticed it. The black King stood diagonally to the white Queen and was unprotected. How long was it? Why didn't Husk say anything? Did he notice it? Did Alastor notice it? You tried to give a deadpan expression to your face as if nothing had happened. You knew just several seconds separated you from the victory.

Alastor raised his hand to take a piece and froze. Did his gaze fall on your King? His hand reached to the Queen, but his claws didn't have time to grab the piece as Husk exclaimed “Time!”

You moved your eyes to the white clock face and saw a twinkling flag on Alastor's side. With a deep sigh you leaned back in your chair.

* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *

Though you wanted to triumph over him you didn't expect it could actually happen. Husk left the room, and the door was slammed by itself. You heard a click in the door, signaling that you were closed in the room tete-a-tete with Alastor. With defeated Alastor. And it scared you. He looked terribly irritated and to be honest you would feel the same. A defeat due to the elapsed time seemed to both of you dilettantish.

But you were scared not only because of his mood now. You were also afraid to tell him about your wish, especially when he was in such a mood. Last night you prepared yourself mostly to keep the poker face on you and to accept whatever his evil mind could ask you to do.

But now your mind had to command him, and you were not sure what to do with it. Yesterday you came up with a wish, but a playful one, not a wish you would actually voice him. After the game your brain felt melted, and you simply couldn't find strength to come up with something new, as you could hardly think right now. Moreover, you still felt stress and a bit of fear that didn't help you to come up with anything fruitful, but only made your hands tremble.

He sat opposite you, intertwined his fingers under his chin and resting his head on them. He stared at you with a cheshire smile and half lidded eyes, frowning. You thought that if he was a cat demon like Husk he would definitely shift his tail side to side in annoyance. You swallowed but didn't had time to open your mouth as Alastor ruined the silence,

“Tsk, tsk, tsk, I thought you were an honest player, my dear.” He said, shaking his head in disapproval, “You really think you can trick me in such a fraudulent way?!”

“Alastor, learn to accept defeat!”

“Pardon? I wasn't the one who kept silent about my pitiable state in order to later win in a completely cheating way!”

“It was you Queen, you didn't notice it! It's not my fault you blind as fuck and can't keep an eye on your own pieces! And!” You raised your forefinger like every time when you wanted to attract attention and hush your opponent, “Your illegal move was unnoticed by both of us until Husk pointed at it, and so was mine! So we're quits!”

You leaned back, crossing your arms. Alastor leaned both his hands on the table, his hair became more shaggy, and his smile was crooked, so you could see his black gums.

“Fair enough.” He suddenly pronounced and ran through his hair with his fingers. He placed his hands on the table again and tapped against the wood with the claws. “But still it was hardly a game, dear. That's not how we do it. You mixed up the pieces on the board like a child picking up chess for the first time, and made me correct all this chaos. You knocked on this hapless clock, accumulating time, but did not even use it wisely. And you even cheated, no no, my dear,” He waved his forefinger in the air when you tried to object,” you cheated when you didn’t defend your King, making an illegal move. I simply cannot forgive your shameless lie so easily.”

He stood up and you did the same, staying near the chess table. You agreed with Alastor, and knew that if you were him, you would be disappointed just the same. But still his words hurt you and you felt shame. It seemed you preferred a fair defeat to dishonest victory. Maybe not truly dishonest, but tricky after all.

Alastor nervously adjusted his sleeves, saying to you, “For I still find you quite a fraud and I guess I should give you a proper lesson, I do respect our rules, as distinct from someone,” He eyed at you from the corner of his eyes, smiling sharper, seeing your blush, “So, my little cheater, tell me your wish!”

Fuck. The wish.

“Darling, time is precious, I still have some business that must be finished.” He said when you didn't say anything.

“Um, Alastor, how about I tell you my wish later?”

He turned his head to you and looked at you, rising one brow. You felt yourself so embarrassed, you wished the ground would swallow you right now.

You murmured, “I just... I didn't expect I'll win. Yeah, I wanted to and tried to, but I didn't really believe I could… Soooo, I didn't prepare anything, and I don't know what to ask y-”

You didn't finish your sentence as Alastor harshly turned to you, pressed you to the chess table behind you, so the pieces quaked and fell on the floor with a deafening sound.

Alastor's hands were on the table both sides of you, and there was no way for you to escape, as he hovered over you and pronounced darkly and low,

“No.”

The room drowned in darkness, as if all the light was sucked out the moment he captured you, and now the only sources of light were his red glaring eyes and several candles illuminating weak yellow flame.

“Darling, you are trying much of my patience now, so do tell me your wish.”

And then the normal lighting returned, but the man in front of you didn't move away, still pressing you to the chessboard, on which you almost sat now. His face was a single inch from you and you could smell the aroma of coffee from him. His breath fanned your burning cheeks. His voice had less static filter now and was lower.

“Or do you really want to miss this opportunity, hmm? Do you really have nothing to ask for?”

Oh, you did have and you were not ready to miss the opportunity. But how to overcome fear and tell him your wish? You stared at him and thought that maybe the worst things had passed already — he saw you fiasco, but still played with you, and he saw your cheat, but still was ready to end what you started, as if everything was alleight. Maybe he actually treated you better than others in the hotel, as Angel once remarked.

So maybe you could do it easily with your daring wish?

Right now, with no opportunity to hide and looking straight into his eyes, you felt like that poor King, who was staring at the Queen, awaiting his death. But the time saved him. You didn't have the time control to come to your help. You hopelessly stared at the demon in front of you, trying to understand why he insisted so much on fulfilling your wish right now. And what was his wish?

“Well, Alastor, I have something.” You pronounced timidly, and his gaze softed. He leaned back slightly, but his arms still didn't let you move.

“I need your permission…” You started, looking in his eyes and feeling how your sweaty palms slid on the table's edge. Your hand touched a piece, it rolled through the board and fell on the floor. From the locked door you heard some voices. Your mouth was dry and you licked your lips before opening your mouth again.

“What is it, darling?”

Your knees got weak and you pressed back to the table more, and Alastor leaned closer to you, ruining what was left from your personal space. His hot breath burnt your face, and you were sure he could hear your rapid heartbeat.

“Close your eyes and don't interrupt me!” You exclaimed in one harsh breath.

Alastor leaned back, widely opening his eyes in bemusement.

“Very well.” His hands slipped off the table to hide behind his back when he made a tiny step back and straightened himself. Then he closed his eyes.

Your wish was bold, so you didn't voice it to Alastor. After seeing his rage you were ready to forget about your stupid want, but then…

He was too close to you, closer than ever. He was as close to you as he was in your daydreams.

Casting all your thoughts away, you made a step forward, rose on your toes, but even so your goal was far from you. ‘Why is he so tall?‘ Carefully you clutched the lapels of his suit and drew him closer to you.

Alastor felt your lips on him. He didn't open his eyes and didn't move at all. Your warm lips were pressed to his skin. It wasn't quite a kiss, but a tender, chaste peck in the corner of his lips, almost on his chin. You held him by his suit, and he needed to bend down a little, so you could accomplish your desire. He smiled softly, imagining you rising on your toes, trying to reach him. He bent down a little more.

You felt his skin was tight in a lip closed smile. You slowly parted your lips from him, but Alastor put his fingertips on your chin, not letting you move aside from him, and then led your lips to his.

Alastor pressed his lips to yours, harder than you and braver. He made a step forward, with one hand still holding your chin and the other one placing on your waist, and you appeared sitting on the chessboard again. The remained pieces tumbled down, and like through the water you heard worried voices and exclamations in the corridor. You could feel his smile getting wider when suddenly something cut your lower lip. It made you gasp and finally open your mouth, letting his tongue slip inside, so he captured your oral entirely. You moaned into his mouth, and Alastor gripped you tighter. He tiltied his head slightly, when you cupped his face in your soft palms and caressed his cheeks. Now you heard a low moan.

The voices became louder and more anxious, and the door-handle began to tremble. Into your cotton mind a thought creeped that it had to be the residents of the hotel, trying to open the door and see why what was going on in the room.

You were short of air, but a thought of parting from Alastor seemed terrifying. His tongue explored your oral hungry, intertwining with your own muscle. Now both his hands held you by your waist and pushed you closer to him, and you could feel and hear his heartbeat against yours. You heard another piece beating against the parquet, and something or someone hitting against the door.

You threw your head back just slightly when Alastor parted his lips from yours. His hands held your hips, eyes shining as bright as the hell moon, red and blinding. He breathed hard just like you.

Next moment the door was opened, and a group of worried demons, and one angel with a spear, burst into the room. Alastor stood already aside from you, close enough to hold you again, but far enough to stay unsuspected. You stood in front of the table among the fallen chess pieces, red as a blooming rose.

“What happened? Why you didn't opened the door?” Vaggie ran to you, ready to spear the man next you.

“Are you okay?” Charlie appeared from your right, “We heard a quarrel and then a sound of falling something,” She glanced on the floor.

“What have you done?! It's bad bad bad bad!” Niffty rushed around the table, picking up the pieces and examining the floor for scratches.

Husk glared at Alastor, who didn't take his eyes from you not for a second, since the door was opened.

Trying not to step on the pieces and shifting his face from you to Alastor, Angel came closer, “Jeez, toots! Seems like ya spent a really good time together!” You still bit your lip, hiding blood on it, and your bashful look couldn't hide from Angel's gaze. “What’s happened here?”

All the gaze turned to you, and unconsciously you moved back, bumping into Alastor.

“Nothing! We played a game and I won!” Amused looks on you. “And then we actually had a little quarrel, but now we resolved everything, so no worries, guys!”

A huge palm, so familiar to you, lay on your shoulder.

“Not everything, dear, you still have to convince me that you can checkmate me without your lie.” He stressed the last three words, lowering his voice.

“You cheated?” Angel exclaimed.

“I didn't.”

“O-ho-ho! Call it whatever you want, sweetheart, but you still owe me a game. A true game.” His dark gaze was fixed on you, hands squeezing your shoulder and you couldn't take your eyes away from his gleaming eyes. Everyone eyed on you in silence. “Now, my curious friends, there is really nothing to worry about, so you can get back to your affairs!”

Angel cocked a brow, and Husk sighed heavily. Niffty tried to find a lost Queen, and only her tiny waving legs were seen from under the sofa. After you convinced everybody once again that you were absolutely fine (and your lip was bit by you, because of a brainstorm during the game), and Niffty found all the pieces and no scratches on the parquet, you were alone with Alastor again. The crackling in the fireplace was the only sound in the room.

“Now, my dear, I have to go. Duty calls!” And before he left the room he leaned to you and said in low,” But, darling, when I come back the pieces must be on their places — Niffty always confuses the royals — because we play one more game tonight, according to the rules: a clock, a judge and a wish.” His eyes were scanning you and then he stretched his hand to you and wiped away the last red pearl from your lip just to lick it from his digit, causing a bright blush on your cheeks. “And don't you dare to fool me this time, dear.”

*. ⋆ ✧.·:·.* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *.·:·.✧ *. ⋆

fun fact: this game in chess is based on my personal experience, when i pissed off a grandmaster by setting up pawns as a fence (it was my first day at the club, don't judge me, and!! he started it first, and i just imitated his actions, but he blamed me, and then he offered a draw) and when i won a cool player by randomly placing pieces on the board (i was so fucking tired that day, but i won, and the player said "i just couldn't understand what was your plan!" and was like "i didn't have any")

[sfehvn]

intruder

Part 2 | Part 3

Description: A year has since came and went following Astarion's ascension ritual. He is no longer himself, but then... Where is he? Rating: M (18+ minors DNI) Word count: 1,717 Characters: ascended!Astarion x Tav

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Tears threatened to spill as you gazed upon the man before you. One that you so loved, so craved; one that you have proven loyalty to time and again. Nervous fingers fiddled with the luxurious silk that adorned your body. The material was something you had always eluded before. When your heart was still pumping and breathing was a necessity. You didn’t have much use for those actions anymore, yet you still felt the deep red gown to be constricting.

“My, red really is your color, isn’t it darling?” Astarion’s words encouraged your eyes to wilt towards the floor in submission.

“Yes, love.” They didn’t sound like your own anymore, regardless you still spoke. A gnawing ache permanently etched into your chest as you had come to realize. How long have you been doing this dance with him now? Time was simply a construct of another time for you. One reserved for your long-gone, rosy-cheeked self. Your heart weighed heavier than you could comprehend these days.

Your master’s pale fingers effortlessly land under your chin leading your eyes to his own. His brow furrowed with indignation, you assume at least. “What’s got you down?” He questions, eyes never faltering. You wanted to laugh, though you didn’t; of course. What a ridiculous question it was. You could have prepared a book on the things that are wrong.

The ridiculously lavish gowns you are confined to, for starters. So different from the armor that had once adorned your body when you had first met the fearful spawn. The complete lack of your feelings. The fact that you weren’t allowed to freely-think any longer. Astarion would argue that letting you pick the color of the sheets in the bed-chamber was sufficient enough. You missed the daylight. When light flooded from the doors of the manor, you fantasized of running out. Of making a bed out of the fresh flowers blooming in Baldur’s Gate and basking in the warmth of the rays above. Parts of you longed for it no matter the banishment those same rays would cast on you.

“I’m fine.” You utter instead, a weak smile splaying saddeningly across your face. The lack of attention from Astarion in the past months had taken its toll. Mind convinced he no longer wanted you for love as you had desired. The reason you had given your life to remain in the shadows for its eternity.

“Do not lie to me, darling.” He spoke firmly, a gentle thumb brushing your surely paled cheek. Instinctively your eyes shut and you lean into the touch yearningly. “What is wrong?” It came more as a demand but you were too distracted to comprehend his words. It had been so long since he had shown you the attention he showers you with now. Too long. A soft sigh escapes your lips as his free hand comes up to rest on your shoulder, cold fingertips caressing your cold neck, lingering over the raised flesh of scar tissue.

“I miss the sun.” You spoke hesitantly, your eyes fluttering to meet him once more. He nodded in encouragement, a silent word spoken for you to continue. “I miss being able to come and go as I please.” Your words became more confident. “And I hate this dress.” This elicited an amused chuckle from Astarion.

“What else, pet?” 

“I miss you Astarion. Most days I can’t tell if you’re bored with me or not. I am reduced to shadows while you galavant over Baldur’s Gate. I-”

His eyes hardened, an indication to you that you had spoken too freely. “Galavant.” He sneered in distaste, releasing his hold on your chin and dropping his hand from your shoulder. “You think what I’ve been doing is galavanting? I work, without thanks, might I add. I did this for you. To ensure you can have a comfortable existence. To ensure you would never have to put yourself in harm's way again. So that we could spend eternity together. As we are fated.” The distaste in his words seared you.

This was a mistake you had decided. “Right, I’m sorry.” Quiet and meek, you pondered if he knew exactly how frightened you had become of his ruling hand. He had never hit you, no. He did not need to. You felt like another pawn in his game, and here you had let your guard falter just for him to bare his teeth again. Sleep, eat, fuck. That was the comfortable existence you were to live. If this was fate, she had a cruel and unkind hand played to you.

“The dress is nice on you.” Astarion added flatly. “The least you could do is be grateful and wear it without complaint. That is your duty. You look the part, you act the part. That includes not sulking around the manor and ruining my good day.” He sneered, his previously sweet demeanor gone. “I expect you to help me greet our guests. They will be here soon. You will not embarrass me with your sour mood and you will be a dutiful hostess tonight.” Without another word he leaves the bed chamber.

Stinging tears pooled in your eyes. You often wondered if your Astarion was still in there. The one who speaks charmingly to you when he does, the one who touches you sweetly to allow you the briefest moment of comfort and relief in his presence. Or has he just become an expert at fiddling with your strings, at manipulating you to get exactly what you’re thinking out of you. You suppose that is more likely. Astarion had often said the old him died the day of the ritual, something you had chalked up to a figure of speech until recently. 

The old Astarion really did die that day, and you were stuck with a monster who moved about in his beautiful skin. You know that now.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

“You were a good girl tonight.” Astarion delights as the two of you prepare to rest. His body bare, while yours is adorned in the finest nightgown the gold in his pockets can buy. You say nothing as you blindly pull each pin out of your hair. Running your fingers through the strands you discover another pin. Your maid had done an intricate updo in preparation for her master’s guests earlier in the evening, and you had only wished there was a way for you to admire her handiwork. Suddenly a pair of strong hands are on your shoulders. “I believe a reward is in order.”

You stiffened. “Something I receive every night can hardly be viewed as a reward.” You mull as you begin brushing through your hair. The grip on your shoulders tighten in contempt and just as quickly, they loosen.

“Tav?” Fear stricken words grace your ears, and you can’t help but turn quickly, his hands dropping to his sides. Astarion was never fearful. Not anymore. Your eyes are wide with confusion, desperation as your eyes shift over Astarion’s face. “Gods, what has he done to you?” Your stomach sinks. For a split second, you think of just how sickly you may look.

“A-Astarion?” You sputter, wide eyed. His eyes held an admiration you hadn’t seen since the ritual had taken place, since the Astarion you loved dearly had fallen prey to his own quest for power.

His knees buckled beneath his weight, head bowing into your lap. “What have I done?” His body shakes as sobs erupt from him, back rising and falling with each heartbreaking sound emanating. Naturally your hands reach for him, hands splayed over the deep scars on his back. Your own tears stream silently down your cheeks, unable to comprehend whatever is going on.

“Astarion… Is it you?” Carefully spoken, afraid of being deceived once more. What if this was some sort of sick test? What if you're banished to your bed chamber for two months again? You can’t do that again… You won't.

His head lifts slowly, his hands coming up to cup your cheeks. “It’s me, my darling. It’s me.” It is spoken brokenly, voice cracking in defeat. “I’m not sure how long I have. I, gods, I’m so sorry.”

“Wait, what do you mean? Please don’t leave me again Astarion.” The thought of being punished pushed to the back of your mind. This is him. You both grabbed at each other with sorrowful hands. “What do you mean you don’t know how long you have?” Louder than you expected, desperation oozing from every word. “Please don’t leave me.”

“I’ve no choice.” Astarion’s voice is weak. “I’ve been trying to break through since the ritual, love. He…” He trails for a moment, “He’s too strong.” He shakes his head, disgust evident on his tongue. “I’m so sorry, my love.” He begins, stating his apologies over and over again, as if he was stuck in a melancholic daze.

  “Where will you go- where are you?” The tears sting at your eyes again, moving down your face and you don’t bother brushing them away, feverishly lavishing in every second you have left with him. “Are you in pain?” You ask shakily.

“I’m here. I’m not in control.” He shakes his head, eyes distant. “It’s dark. The only pain I feel is being away from you.” Infinitely succumbing to darkness, the very thing Astarion had wanted to avoid. His body has become a vessel for something evil. “I can’t-” The words were painful as he seemed to struggle internally.

There is a brief flash of pain upon his face before that same face of contempt reappears. His eyes are dark and he swiftly stands to his feet. He would not kneel to you. Perhaps it was because he had been bested by the soul that lurks deep in his depths, the embarrassment too great, he simply leaves the bed chamber.

You’re left disoriented. You were momentarily glad that the other Astarion wouldn’t punish you for the indiscretion of indulging the spawn that had fought his way out of the darkness for a juncture, perhaps it would come at a later time.

Your mind was plagued, but at the forefront was your love. Suspended in time, in darkness, alone.

[bratbby333]

even if it hurts

fushiguro megumi x fem!reader ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ angst, kinda toxic, college au, 21+ warnings: language, alcohol consumption summary: unrequited love word count: 3.2k

“I just don’t understand what she sees in that guy,” Megumi thinks to himself. He watches you as you exit the library from his vantage point, seated by the window. You walk toward your boyfriend, who’s leaning up against his car. Megumi’s chest gets tighter the longer he watches you, wincing as your boyfriend pulls you in close, your lips connecting with his for way longer than Megumi can handle. 

“It should be me,” he sighs within, eventually turning away from the window, bringing his attention back to Yuuji and Kugisaki, the two of them oblivious to his mental anguish. But, of course they are, and so are you, his unchanging, neutral facial expression never giving away his true, tortured feelings. 

Then again, Megumi doesn’t know what you’d see in him, either. He knows everything about you; the good, the bad and the ugly, caring deeply for your well-being and happiness, but that doesn’t outweigh the negatives that come along with him. His lack of empathy, his overly analytical nature, his disdain for small talk, the permanent frown on his face. He hopes one day you take a chance after all these years and accept him in the same way he already accepts you; flawed, but so beautiful. 

“Aren’t they just so cute together,” Kugisaki gushes out, before looking to her friends for input. Yuuji smiles wide, nodding in agreement.

“They seem very happy together. I’m glad she’s finally found someone.” Yuuji adds, before looking back at his notes. Megumi glances outside again, observing that you’re now seated in the passenger seat. He stays quiet, which isn’t unusual for him. Neither of his friends bat an eye at his lack of commentary, chalking it up to Megumi being typical Megumi. He wishes he could rejoice on your behalf, to congratulate you on your new found romance without stifling a gag. Even if he could fake his way through it, his words would be coated in jealousy. Instead, he continues to retreat within. You’d see right through his bleak attempts to be supportive, anyway. So he packs his feelings up in a box, stowing them away on a forgotten shelf deep in the darkest corners of his mind.

Within his tormented psyche, Megumi is anything but his normal self. Looking down at his textbook again, he can’t comprehend a single thing in front of him. He stares longingly into the book, willing himself to read, but his mind can’t help but always find its way back to you. One of his best friends. Your cheery disposition contradicts his cold, closed-off demeanor. The way your perfume lingers on his shirt after a friendly hug, how your body feels pressing against his. The way your lips curl before you laugh, how you wrinkle your nose after someone tells a joke, or the soft smiles you always send his way. How your eyes gleam with excitement when you see him (well, not just him, but your friends, collectively). You’re everything he isn’t, and everything he wishes he was. You make his normally frigid skin run warm, feverish even.

He knows it will never be you and him. Like the sun and moon; coexisting, but never coming together, a constant, cruel cycle. You two meet briefly in the same sky, before you disappear under the horizon and his world goes dark. That part doesn’t hurt nearly as much as what the actual outcome is: You will always be in his life, just out of reach; so close yet so infuriatingly far. He will always be an outsider looking in; a friend. It’s a tortuous realization. But the moon cannot glow without the sun. So he wills himself to stay put. To watch you fall in and out of love, over and over again; listening to you rave or rant about your relationship, he inevitably being a voice of reason for you when you need advice, even if it burns his throat when his supportive words leave his mouth; and it will never be him. And he accepts that as the painful reality he’s condemned to live in. Purgatory. It would hurt much less if he wasn’t as close to you; if you were just a friend of a friend, or even strangers; an unknown face, a passing daydream. Someone easier to lose. 

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

You press your hands against the metal bar of the library doors, sighing as you push against them. The setting sun dances across your hair, the warmth kissing your skin. You smile softly at your boyfriend, who always insists on picking you up after class. He pulls you into him, his lips meeting yours. Pulling away, you smile up at him before taking a step back, allowing him to open up the passenger side door for you. You turn your head back toward the library before getting in, looking through the window at the table you were just sitting at with your three best friends. Your eyes linger on Megumi, whose attention is back on his textbook. 

“I wish he was you, Meg.” You think to yourself, looking at the ground before sitting in the passenger seat. You’re quiet on the drive back to your boyfriend's apartment, thoughts utterly consumed by Megumi. But you know it will never be him. You’re too talkative, too excitable. Too different from him. With the two of you being such close friends, by the time you realized how your heart ached for him, it was too late. You don’t want to ruin what you have. You can’t confess. That would make the dynamic shift towards awkwardness and tension, possibly even destroying the friendships you cherish so deeply. So you stay quiet. You date other people in hopes that someone can replace him. But your attempts are all in vain. No one can replace Megumi. He knows everything about you, appreciates you for everything you are and accepts you for everything you’re not. But you know the deeper connection that you desire will never be reciprocated. He does all these things for me because we’re best friends, you rationalize.

You reconcile with the silver lining of it all; enjoying the time you’re able to spend with him, relishing in the jokes between you two, cherishing the glances you steal when you know he's not paying attention. You ignore the gnawing deep within you, the hunger for more. You cling to the way his smooth voice delivers eloquently thought out sentences to your yearning ears, the way your heart leaps when his deep blue eyes gaze attentively into yours. At least you can hold on to the notion that he will always be in your life, at the very least, as a friend.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

You can’t settle for meaningless connections. You’ve decided that you’ll take Megumi however you can get him, the cards dealt to you leaning in favor of just being friends. And that’s okay. You’ll hold on to the hope that one day he’ll take the risk. Such a selfish desire, you acknowledge that. You refuse to fight these feelings any longer, the stark realization that it will never not be him coming to fruition on that fateful car ride, which is why you’re at your boyfriend’s house, sitting across from him, attempting to explain that it isn’t him, it’s you.

“I’m sorry,” you start. You can’t seem to find the right words that will soften the blow. Your mind is an endless sea of thoughts, a similar deep blue that you find in Megumi's eyes. Oh, his eyes. One thing at a time. 

“You did everything right, I promise. I just think we’re looking for different things.” You don’t have much more to say, tuning out your now ex boyfriend’s pleas and questions as you stand and walk towards the door, not uttering another word. Your movements shift to being calculated and emotionless; maybe you are more like Megumi than you thought. You take a deep breath once outside, pulling your phone out and dialing Kugisaki. 

“Hey, what’s up? Aren’t you supposed to be with your boyfriend?” she asks. She can hear the whizzing of cars in the background of the phone call. You walk along a busy freeway with no destination in mind. But your body knows where it wants to be; with Megumi. Your heart drives you with such conviction that you’re nearly running now.

“I was, yeah, I just broke up with him. Can we go out for drinks? Ask Yuu and Meg, too.” You reply. Nobara pauses, waiting for more information before realizing you weren’t interested in sharing. Your tone was emotionless and commandeering; very out of character for you. She decides not to pry. After a moment of silence, you hear the soft murmur of voices echo through the speaker of your phone, before she returns to the call, the plan being set to meet at a local bar just outside the campus at 6pm. 

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

The study session is interrupted by an incoming call to Nobara’s phone. Megumi’s heart soars at the sight of your name on the screen. Kugisaki smiles before answering, but her twinkling demeanor drops almost immediately. He hears her ask a couple questions, but he can’t comprehend what was said over the loud roar of blood rushing through his ears. He doesn’t understand how you elicit such unusual responses from him. These feelings are getting harder and harder for him to fight. He snaps back to reality when Kugisaki relays that you want to grab drinks tonight. He’d do anything and go anywhere for you, jumping on the chance to be around you. Keep your composure, they can’t know. Megumi stoically agrees to the plans, as does Yuuji. The call ends a moment later.

“I did not see that coming,” Kugisaki sighs, placing her phone back down on the table. Megumi looks to his friend, anxiously anticipating her debrief of the conversation she just had. The possibility that you were hurt made Megumi want to jump out of his skin, to console you in a deeper, more intimate way that friends probably shouldn’t do. Kugisaki’s vagueness of the whole situation was making his nerves run cold. 

“It’s not unusual for her to want to grab some drinks…did something happen?” Yuuji asks, concern painted across his normally cheerful face. Kugisaki just glances between the two boys, her brow furrowed. Megumi’s blood is ice in his veins when Nobara finally tells them. He tunes out his friends, his mind inundating with possibilities, sending a silent prayer to the heavens that you’ll soon take a chance on him. He kicks himself for thinking that way, guilt soon replacing his desperation. How dare he attempt to take advantage of your pain for his own pleasure. What kind of man has he become? 

You want nothing more than to run into Megumi’s arms, to hold his face in your hands. You can’t help but feel sinful for what you’ve done. But being with someone when you crave someone else’s touch goes against everything you believe. Inauthenticity. It’s causing you more harm than good. You can’t stand it anymore. 

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

“Are you okay? I’m so sorry it didn’t work out…just earlier today we were talking about how happy you two seemed together. Can’t help but think we jinxed it,” Yuuji apologizes as he crashes into you, his arms constricting you tightly. Such a sweet boy. He holds you there for a moment, rocking you back and forth, before breaking away, Kugisaki taking his place. 

“His loss, you’ll forget about him soon enough. Let’s get drunk. Maybe you’ll find someone new while we’re here!” Nobara smirks. Megumi can’t help but cringe at that suggestion, the thought of seeing you engaged with yet another man, a man that isn’t him, shoots a lead bullet through his chest. He reaches his boiling point. He can’t patch up his wounds anymore. 

Megumi approaches you last, placing a firm hand on your shoulder, patting gently and saying nothing. Pretty on brand for Megumi’s way of showing comfort, but there’s something different behind his eyes; a new, unknown feeling that you can sense while looking up at him. You fight every urge in your body telling you to ask about it, to pry deeper into his mind, knowing he wouldn’t tell you, anyway. You desperately want to lean into his touch, electricity shooting through your body. You smile gently at his unreadable expression before the four of you head inside. 

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

Seated at a table away from the bar, the four of you talk about the upcoming exams. You set plans for your next study session. Yuuji invites the group to a movie premier on Saturday night. Everyone reluctantly agrees, even though the premise of the film sounds dreadful. As the night goes on, the drinks keep coming, and you and your friends are properly buzzed, giggling and joking around. Everyone except Megumi, only offering the occasional smile and quiet chuckle. Everytime he laughs, your heart beats faster. Unbeknownst to the group, he’s clenching his fists and gritting his teeth, fighting every urge to spill his deepest, darkest secret. 

Your eyes trace lines along his face, taking in every curve and angle of his disposition. Something is bothering him. Your stare is burning holes into his side profile, and he shifts his weight in search of relief from your intensity. The sun and her rays. You’re snapped out of your trance as Yuuji stands from the table, pointing his finger in Nobara’s direction. 

“Nobara Kugisaki, I challenge you to a Skee-Ball tournament!” he shouts. The abruptness of his actions shocks the three of you. You glance at Kugisaki, who’s smirking at Yuuji. 

“You are so on.”

The two abandon the table, trash talking one another on their way to the machine, leaving you and Megumi alone. You feel elated at the time you get to spend one on one with him. He feels differently.

“It was for the best, he seemed like an ass anyway,” Megumi huffs out, avoiding your gaze as he takes another sip of his drink. His comment catches you off guard, but it leaps from his mouth before he can give it a second thought, as if he had been waiting the entire night to say that to you, only feeling confident enough to do so with the liquor in his system and the listening ears now on the opposite end of the bar. 

“Well, no, he was perfectly nice, Meg,” you retort, confusion painted across your face. This is so unlike Megumi, the man of few words.

“So why dump him if he was so nice? There must be a reason,” he challenges. Megumi has moved from denial, to bargaining, to anger in the span of a day. He can’t help but lash out. He’s bursting at the seams. Being near you is no longer enough, and his ego is his last line of defense before you fully break his heart without even meaning to. The constant torment he’s felt since meeting you has slowly been chipping away at him. All he knows is that he’s had enough. If you leave, if he pushes hard enough, he won’t hurt anymore. He will no longer have a constant reminder of what could be. He will finally reach acceptance. 

The hostility of his words bruise you, anger plastered across his face. Why is he upset with me? I did this for him, not that he’d ever know that. You brush off the sting from his comment. You’re just happy to hear him speak. You’d do anything to listen to him express whatever thought popped in his head, hanging on every word that leaves his lips, even if they send shards of glass into your heart. It aches so beautifully. You can’t muster up the courage to tell him that he’s the reason it didn’t work out. You’re exhausted from trying to force connections with other people in hopes that they could replace him, the constant back and forth leaving your life in ruins. You cut ties with perfectly good people because you know they will never be Megumi. So you cling to anything you can get from him, even if it destroys you.

“I…I don’t know, Meg. I think I’m searching for something else,” you reply quietly, your response insinuating much more than you intended. Your words float through the air so inaudibly that they are nearly drowned out by the music pouring out of the bar’s speakers. But Megumi hears you. He always does. His head snaps to face you, meeting your gaze. He feels his blood pressure spike. Is she referring to me? No…that can’t be what she means. She’s just feeling vulnerable right now. He maintains eye contact with you, looking past your eyes and searching deep within your soul, hoping something in there will guide him towards the answers he so hopelessly needs.

Your breath catches in your throat. Why is he looking at me like that? Did I make it too obvious? Did I ruin everything? Megumi’s eyes dart around your face, searching for something, anything, that would alleviate his pain. It doesn’t matter what you meant by that statement. He can’t stand this anymore, teetering on the edge of insanity. If I can’t have her, and I can’t stand keeping her around without torturing myself, then… fuck it. He decides to jump.

He grabs your face with both hands before crashing his lips into yours, a muffled yelp escaping you. Your eyes go wide, your body freezes. Time slows to an insufferable pace. You can’t comprehend a single thing, a part of you trying to convince yourself that this isn’t real; if it’s nothing more than a drunken kiss. But it’s real. It’s everything and more. You close your eyes, surrendering to this moment. You move your lips against his, desperate to savor him. He feels the exact way you imagined him to, the taste of him clouding your senses. You can’t get enough. The two of you fit together perfectly. You are utterly and completely consumed by him.

His heart races as he feels you reciprocate. His hands run up and down your body with urgency, trying to make up for years of wasted time. The loud bar fades to black as he pulls you deeper into him. All he can feel is you; you’re all that matters, that has mattered. Your hands meet his cheeks, moving to thread themselves in his hair at the nape of his neck. He groans into your mouth, his tongue battling against yours. You claw at one another hungrily. After years of starving, you are finally satiated. Every doubt that clouded your mind is cast to the wayside. All the pain and suffering has come to an end. The outcome that you both desired comes to fruition. 

“Fucking FINALLY!” You break away from one another, the sound of Kugisaki’s voice bringing you back to reality. She's standing before you two with her hands on her hips, head cocked to the side. Yuuji is positioned beside her, grinning from ear to ear. Megumi takes your face in his hands again, pulling you close.

“Fucking finally,” he whispers. 

author notes: if this seemed very unhinged and scatterbrained it's bc it most definitely was..and i tried to write this is in a specific way so that it bounced back and forth and contradicted one another and...u get it. im sure u do.

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[askinkiskarma]

Cruel Summer | Chapter II: Before It Sinks In

Pairings: Neteyam x (f)Human!Reader

Word Count: 5.5k words

Warnings/notes: angst, allusions to/mentions of smut, friends-with-benefits, mutual pining, 18+ minors DNI

Synopsis: After the Sully kids get attacked by the newly found Recombinant Soldiers, Jake makes the tough decision to leave the Omatikaya. Neteyam is forced to say goodbye to you, to your relationship and to the life he always dreamed about.

A/N: So I decided to split what was originally supposed to be one chapter into two, and this way I get to make good use of the amazing song that @karma-is-a-cat-purringinmylap was amazing enough to turn me on to, that just happened to work like a glove (the first non TS song in my works!!!)! I think I will try sticking to shorter chapters, as I feel 10k chapter might be a a bit overwhelming overall. Now, did this chapter make me cry several times? Yes. Will it make you cry? I'm hoping you will tell me soon ;)

enjoy besties ily xoxo

: ̗̀➛ listen to Before It Sinks In here : ̗̀➛ masterlist (x) : ̗̀➛ series masterlist (x)

Suspended in the air, I hear myself breathing

Hanging by a thread, my heart is barely beating

•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

Neteyam watched as you ran towards the lake that he wanted so badly to show you, he was practically buzzing by the time he got to Hell’s Gate. He found this little spot accidentally a few days ago while on a hunt, and it’s been on his mind ever since, exuberant at the thought of you in it, at the thought of your face splitting in a wide smile and your eyes widening taking it all in. He thought of the little squeal you would make as you saw the waterfall and way you’d jump off his back immediately and make your way without thinking of your clothes, or the mask, or anything else. The scene unfolding in front of him was exactly the way he pictured it, a testament to how long you’ve been in each other’s lives, how well he knew every facet of your being, like you were just an extension of his own self, like you were a complicated poem he’s dedicated his whole life deciphering and could now recite by heart, could now dissect it and appreciate it endlessly, to its full potential. 

You didn’t look back as you just hurriedly made your way to the edge of the water, taking off pieces of clothing as you did, until you were in a lace thong and bra, that Neteyam has seen multiple times before. He could see it every day, every minute of the day, it could be tattooed on his eyeballs and it would still not stop the way his mouth instantly filled with saliva and his head felt dizzy from all the blood travelling downwards. You were the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid his eyes on. Actually, beautiful did nothing to describe you. Beautiful had nothing on you. Neteyam wished he was more articulate at times like this, he wishes he would have read all the hundreds of books residing in the big library in Hell’s Gate where you loved to spend your time, in order to find the proper word to describe you. In order to validate his postulation that there was, in fact, not a single word in all of the English language, or Na’vi, for that matter, to encapsulate what you meant to him, how he viewed you. 

A splashing noise is all he heard as you jumped quietly in the water, and he followed suit, a little concerned when you wouldn’t resurface, until it dawned on him you could breathe underwater with the mask on. When you did resurface, you were standing right underneath the waterfall, the biggest smile in the world plastered on your face, and Neteyam couldn’t help his own that blossomed like how the flowers in the morning bloom did, like how his love for you did. 

Neteyam couldn’t remember his life before this. Before tangled bodies and insurmountable pleasures. He couldn’t remember who he had been, what used to occupy his mind and thoughts, what feelings, middling and insignificant, used to plague him before your being took over everything, over every second of every day, over every dream and nightmare, over the past, present and future. Neteyam knew he fucked up. Knew that he lied to you that day, when he told you he wouldn’t fall in love with you. Because he did, he fell like from a distance so far removed he could no longer see the ground. And yet, Neteyam knew the ground was there, and that gravity was pushing him towards it, and that whilst the fall was freeing and exhilarating now, while now it felt like flying, once it ended, it would crush all his bones, and his spirit, and his soul. 

“This might be the best thing you’ve ever shown me!” You were screaming loudly, trying to be heard above the booming noise of the waterfall crashing down in deafening roars, and he laughed at how enthusiastic you seemed, how wild and free. You’ve always been like that, Neteyam mused. You kept to yourself in the labs, and in the village, around the scientists and other people, around his mother and the clan - but when you were around people you loved, people you were comfortable with, you were uninhibited and unconfined to expectations, and fears and limitations, at liberty to be yourself, to shine brighter than any star in the sky. 

“What are you doing over there, Teyam? You know I don’t like to be kept waiting!” 

He shook his head, but said nothing as he removed his cummerbund and knife belt and dove in the warm water, swimming until he reached you. As soon as he did, your arms and legs encircled him like they always tended to, automatically and without thought. 

You looked in his eyes, and the glimmer in it made Neteyam’s mind freeze and go blank, made his heart thump in his chest and sweat pool on his skin, that was promptly washed away by the undulating water. 

“I want to kiss you.” Neteyam couldn’t help the words coming out of his mouth, a confession and a plea all in one, a futile one in the face of untouchable facts, such as the fact being without your mask will kill you.

You smiled and placed a soft hand on his face, tracing his lips gently, and he shuddered under the touch. “I want to kiss you, too.” 

“Thank you, Teyam. This is beautiful.”

“I’m glad you like it, ma Vol. As soon as I saw it, I knew I had to bring you here. It was the only thing on my mind, the thought of you and m-“ Neteyam realised his mouth was running faster than his mind could keep up, a rare occurrence in his life, but fairly common in your presence. 

Your eyes were wide and full of surprise, and fear started creeping on your face, unannounced and unwelcome, although not completely unexpected. He shouldn’t have said that. Every time things got a little too… intimate between the two of you, any time either of you pushed the boundaries that you both established, boundaries that you needed to abide by above all, it took a while to fall back into step, to get things back to normal, to mutually forget and pretend it never happened. He didn’t want that to happen again. Things were going great for you two, and he didn’t want to lose any time with you, any time he could be loving you instead, any time he could be making you writhe underneath him, any time at all. 

“I - I just meant… you know… I -“ 

Your slender fingers found his lips again and at the small pressure you put on them, he stopped talking. Your eyes softened and your surprised expression melted into one of muted happiness, of unspoken affection, of forbidden feelings. 

“I know.” 

You spent hours swimming and giggling, splashing water at each other, enjoying how, when both submerged, the difference between you didn’t seem that extreme, the discrepancy in your bodies and your heights nothing that couldn’t be promptly overcome. You talked until your lungs were running out of breath and your voices hoarse, just catching up and discussing everything that’s been going on since you hadn’t seen each other. 

Right behind a waterfall stood a layered rock formation, which happened to allow for perfect positioning so that, when sat on it, your and Neteyam’s faces were at the same level. You smirked as you slipped your finger in the band of his loincloth and tugged at it until he took the hint and got closer to you. He didn’t have time to protest you taking off your mask recklessly and smashing your lips against his, a kiss so passionate and deep, it pushed any rational thought out of his mind and replaced it with desire and a tingling ache, one that he knew too well, one that seemed ever-present around you. 

“Vol..” he tried to speak against your lips, but you just shook your head and deepened the kiss, pushing your tongue past his lips until it met his, entangling in a suave dance until you were panting and heaving against him. He tsked annoyed at your foolhardiness, and watched patiently while you fastened to mask on yourself again and took deep, settling breaths. 

“You take my breath away… get it?” You laughed and then laughed some more at how unamused he was. “Come on, it’s funny.”

“You putting your life in danger foolishly is not funny to me.” 

You smirked and shrugged indifferently. “Well, not everyone gets my sophisticated sense of humour.” 

“God, I hate this mask.” 

Neteyam knew how much you hated it. He hated it, too. He’d give anything to be able to kiss you freely, to caress your face, to feel your lips and your soft skin, to see your eyes reflecting the colours of the nature surrounding you instead of a piece of glass doing it instead. Fortunately, Neteyam always knew how to cheer you up. 

“Vol…” he started, voice so low and soft it was almost purring. His long fingers traced your beautiful body, and each freckle adorning it, until he reached your panties, that he skilfully pulled down your thighs, until you were hanging on to them by an ankle. “Just because you can’t kiss my lips, doesn’t mean I can’t kiss yours.” 

Neteyam watched as your upper body leaned backwards until your back hit the rock wall, pushing your head back and closing your eyes in anticipation. Your hand found its way to his hair, that you grasped tightly and pushed him down, and he laughed at your already needy and disheveled demeanour. “You know, Teyam? You’re definitely the bestest friend a girl could ever ask for.” 

•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

I haven't fallen yet, but I feel it comin'

Tell me would it be too much to ask, if you break it to me gently

“What?” Neteyam could hardly believe his ears, could hardly believe that the words coming out of his dad’s mouth were his current reality, and not a nightmare his mind concocted to make him ill, to keep him awake until his eyes started burning in his skull. 

“We are leaving. Tomorrow.”

Neteyam watched in pain as Tuk cried silently and immediately felt the pang of fraternal instincts kick in, urging him to pick her up and hold her close in his arms, let her cry it out in the crook of his neck. 

“But why, daddy? I don’t want to leave.” 

His dad’s stiff posture melted at his daughter’s words, that he could never resist. His eyes softened and he sighed, taking his mother’s hand in his. 

“Because we are in danger, baby girl. We now know the humans brought Avatars with them, that they brought the best soldiers back to life to hunt and kill me. And they will stop at nothing to do it, including hurting you.”

The only thought spiralling violently in Neteyam’s mind, as usual, was you. His heart was pounding aggressively in his chest, the increased heart rate making his ears hurt and his head dizzy. What did this mean? How would leave? Just the family? What about you and Spider? You were family to him, and to the rest of the Sullys. Maybe not to his mother, but even she would never want anything bad to happen to you. If you did come, would you make it in another clan? Would they ever accept two humans as one of their own? The Omatikaya barely did, and you have been part of their lives for 19 years. What if you didn’t come? He couldn’t leave you. He couldn’t lose you. What was he supposed to do? 

No. No, he couldn’t leave. He wouldn’t leave. He wouldn’t leave you, he promised you, he promised himself. No matter what would ever happen in this life or the next, Neteyam knew you were the only constant he cared about, the only person he wanted to take with him and keep for the rest of time. He would tell his father no. For the first time in his life, Neteyam would tell his father no. 

“Kids, I can’t risk putting you in danger. I can’t risk putting the Omatikaya in danger once more, leading them to war. I have too much to lose.” His eyes flickered to his mother, that was sobbing silently by his side, but tried to keep it together for her family and be brave, have a strong heart. 

“We have too much to lose. If we go, we can keep them safe. The clan…” His father looked intently at his kids, eyes focused on Kiri and Neteyam. “…The humans.” 

The humans… 

Leaving would protect the humans. Leaving would protect you. 

I'm waking the next day, without you beside me

And who I hold on to today, tomorrow will just be a memory

•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

You and Neteyam’s friendship had a lot of boundaries, for good measure. It was necessary when you were doing things normally reserved for couples, or mates, when you were doing things to each other that no one else would approve of, or understand. One of the rules of the game was that you wouldn’t sleep together. You used to, when you were younger, but that was when your relationship was platonic, back when things were… normal. Now, you thought sleeping together and cuddling would be too intimate, too inappropriate, and it would lead to feelings, feelings you were trying to avoid, feelings which might get in the way of the harmless fun you were having, feelings which might make everything… complicated. It was all just fun. Just fun. 

That being said, as it turns out, you were both really bad at following your own self-imposed rules, and so it didn’t take too long for you to break them all. 

Deep, satisfied pants were all that could be heard in the big recreation centre that Neteyam knew by heart by now. It was dark, his freckles the only light that reflected in your eyes, the only light you needed. 

“Well, we’re definitely getting better at that.” you said with a small chuckle. That might have been the understatement of the century, but you didn’t want to scare him by telling him that if it was up to you, you’d have him tied in this room with a chain only loose enough so that he could do this 24/7, but just tight enough so he’d never leave. 

You were laying with your head on his chest, as you always seemed to after a long and exhausting session. You loved the feel of his smooth, muscular body, that, despite your size difference, was somehow the most comfortable pillow you’ve ever slept on. 

“I’m exhausted. I feel like you and Lo’ak forget sometimes that me and Spider aren’t Na’vi, and yet you work us like we are.”

“Stop complaining, Vol. I need you to be strong and agile, ok? I need to know you’re safe and that you can take care of yourself despite this tiny frail body you possess.”

You raised an eyebrow and scoffed annoyedly, mumbling mostly to yourself. 

“Didn’t see you complain about my ‘tiny, frail body’ 20 minutes ago when you were fu-“ 

“Stop, Vol. You know what I mean. The humans are going to be back at some point, we both know that. And you spend too much time in this place, with your experiments and your books and your shows. I know you don’t like being in the village, and I know that my mother and the villagers give you a hard time sometimes, but at least when we go tracking, or hunting, or practicing, I want you there. I need to know you’re safe, ok?” 

He stopped talking, and he sighed deeply, tightening his grip on your body. When he spoke again, his voice was barely above a whisper, laced with intense emotion. 

“I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you.” 

You nuzzled your face in his chest and mirrored his grip on you, smiling softly at his concern and his words, that ran shivers down your spine and fluttered butterfly wings in your stomach. 

“The worst thing that could ever happen to me is losing you, Teyam. Everything else, I will handle like the big girl I am.” 

He kissed the top of your head, and you stood like that for a while, enjoying the comfortable silence. The thought of this moment ending hurt you deeply, so much so, you couldn’t fathom it. So you decided not to. 

“Don’t go. You’re comfortable and I’m cold, and my room seems uninviting by comparison.” 

He chuckled imperceptibly. “You love your room, ma Vol. You’ve written songs about how much you love your bed.” 

“I love you, more.” 

He sighed once more, but pulled you closer and settled down for the night. “I love you most.” 

•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

I would look back at all of this and wonder why I stayed in here

Just to watch you disappear

When Neteyam reached your room in the lab complex, his heart was in his throat and his knees were wobbly, and he was almost reminiscent of his Uniltaron and how the worm made him feel, like he wasn’t there anymore, not fully. Like he could see his body from outside itself, like his was mind watching everything unfold from a safe distance. His movements felt robotic and untethered, no thought outside of how was he supposed to do this? How was he supposed to leave you? How was he supposed to tell you that it’s over, that maybe you won’t lose him to another woman but you still will lose him nonetheless. Neteyam was trying to think which one was better. In a sea of two impossible choices, two unhappy endings, two roads reaching the same endpoint, which one was the lesser evil? And was there ever a third path? Was it ever possible, for you and him… a happy ending? 

He used to think so, used to hope so. Used to love the daydreams and nights picturing it, so clear and vivid in his mind, it was like it was all unfolding in front of his eyes. You, tall and blue, laughing like you always did, taking your Iknimaya. The two of you, riding from dusk til dawn, discovering secret coves and falling asleep on green moss, where he would be able to kiss you freely, where he would be able to link to your thoughts and feelings and know that this was it, his most formidable desire come alive. His family, your family, carefree and happy, full of kids' laughter and formidable first steps, full of joy and love, full of him and you. That's all he's ever wanted. A family with the woman he loved. Not the woman he was promised to, not whichever new one they'd have to find for him in the Metkayina, the woman he loved. The only one.

But now, as he was standing in this room, that he may never see again, listening to the shower that he knew you were currently in, the dream feels further away than it ever has, further each minute, until it was slowly fading from view, so dim and dwindling, until it was gone from his life, gone from his mind, forever. Until only hurt existed, only the gaping hole left behind by your absence, by all the shattered dreams and the shards of broken hearts, his own and the one he knew he'd break tonight.

The anxiety that burned every part of his body also made his tail jerk violently in every direction, and he was pulled out of his nightmare by the sound of trinkets getting thrown on the ground. 

“Shit.” 

Neteyam thought he’d have more time. Hoped that he could gather himself and his thoughts, hoped he would formulate a plan in the few minutes you would still be in the shower. He knew you would have heard it, so he knew he didn’t have that luxury anymore. He still didn’t know how he could ever make the words come out. How he could ever go through with this. 

As he kneeled on the floor to collect the broken vase that was now a fitting image of his soul, he heard the door to the bathroom open, but his eyes remained fixated on the task at hand, unable to look in your eyes, whose memory, whose incandescent beauty would haunt Neteyam for life. He tried to speak past the overbearing lump in his throat.

"Sorry. I wish I could control my tail better, but it's always an accident waiting to happen in these tight rooms."

The silence that befell the room was stifling and suffocating, and Neteyam felt the gaping hole enlarge, felt it taking over his entire chest, seeping into every ounce of his body, spreading like wildfire.

When you did speak, Neteyam almost wished you didn't. Because your voice did nothing to improve his condition, but worked as a perfect catalyst for further breakage, further pain. It was sad, and muted. It was disappointed. It was everything he never wanted your voice to be like when directed at him.

"Why are you here, Neteyam?"

"What do you mean why I am here? I can't be here?"

Neteyam spoke without thinking. He felt adrenaline taking over him, his body knowing he wouldn't be able to do this without the emboldenment given to him in this moment.

"You can, you just never are anymore."

“Vol… come on. You know it’s different now than it was in the village, in Hell’s gate. We’re going to get caught.”

“Yeah, well, we wouldn’t want to get caught. God forbid anybody knows you fuck me in your free time.” 

“Vol…”

Neteyam didn't understand why he was fighting you about something so trivial. It didn't matter. None of this mattered. None of this mattered, and yet, Neteyam felt compelled to speak his truth. No matter what form it came in.

“I know you’re upset about today. I’m sorry.”

“Why would I be upset about today? You did what you had to do. I mean, she’s going to be your mate soon, right? It’s her hands that should be healing you anyway, not mine. Those are going to scar, by the way.”

Neteyam hated to admit it, because he fancied himself a good person, a person who is respectful and caring and conscientious, but he couldn't have cared less about her if he tried. In fact, his engagement being broken might be the only silver lining in the sea of black dread. He only cared about you. In fact, the distance, and the tension, and the silence and the pain, it was too much. He needed to feel you. If this was his last day with you, he'd be damned if he spent it not feeling your body, and your warmth, not looking in your eyes.

You were so easy to manoeuvre on the bed, it would have been laughable under any other circumstances. Not tonight. When he got on top of you, and felt your bare thighs touching his, and your hand wrapped around his arm, and your eyes boring into his, he felt so much love it was overwhelming him, so sure, for the first time in his life, of that you were the only one he'd ever love, that he was irrevocably in love with you for the rest of time. So regretful of the time he could have spent loving you, and telling you, of the time he spent hiding, only to never get the chance of confessing, never get the chance to follow through on his promises.

“Stop. I know you are upset. I wish it could have been you. You know me, Vol. You know I wish it could have been you.” 

Your subtle head shaking made felt sharp bursts of pain shoot through him, like his queue was connected to an electrical socket.

“You should go, Neteyam. This isn’t right. You’re engaged to someone else. I watched her today, watched how worried she was about you, how desperate to help you, to take you away so it’s just the two of you. You’re going to mate with this girl any day now. There’s no room for me in your life anymore. Not like this, anyway.”

He sighed and got off from on top of you, no matter how loudly his mind was screaming otherwise. He wouldn't do anything you weren't comfortable with.

“The engagement is broken.” 

He wanted to stop. He could just stop and not say anything else. He could just end it there, and watch as your eyes widened in shock, then settled on a happy, relieved disposition that he saw so vividly in his mind's eye, it was almost as if was happening. He could just not go. He could stay, and love you, and make love to you, and keep you. It would be so easy. Nothing's ever been as easy as falling in love with you.

Leaving would protect the humans. Leaving would protect you. 

“Because I’m leaving. I’m leaving the Omatikaya, and so is my family.” 

Far beyond my reach is the future you promised

Now what I never even had, I have every reason to miss

"What did you just say?"

You heard him wrong. You must have heard him wrong. You wiped his tears off your face and sat up, feet dangling off the bed.

"Vol..."

"What did you say, Neteyam?"

You felt anger pick at you like you liked picking at your nails when anxiety took the better of you, and it hurt, and it burned, but anger was better than sadness, so you let it burn until you were ashes on the ground.

"My dad said we have to leave for the Metkayina clan. They're looking for him, trying to kill him. If we go, the clan will be safe. You will be safe."

"Are you kidding me right now? Please tell me it's one of those jokes like the ones Spider and Lo'ak love making that I don't get, but they find hilarious, for some reason. Please, Neteyam. Please."

You were begging, you realised. Outside of the intimacy of your bedroom and the cover of darkness, you never begged. You have never begged anyone for anything in your life. And there you were. Pathetic and weak. Begging a guy, the guy, to spare whatever was left of your heart with just a few words. All it took was a few words.

Neteyam wiped tears off his face and stood arrested in your room, arms limp by his side, like he couldn't move. Like you couldn't move.

"I'm not kidding, Vol. Trust me, I want nothing more than to be kidding. I want nothing more than for this to be a stupid, childish joke. But it's not. We are leaving tomorrow."

You were too stunned to speak, so you opted for the only other reaction your body seemed to be able to produce: laughter. You laughed. Loudly and obsessively, louder than you should have, louder than you ever have. It was so ridiculous, so ludicrous, it felt like the only appropriate reaction.

"This can't be real. This can't be happening."

Neteyam knelt by your side on the bed, and took your shoulders in his hands, urging you to look in his forlorn eyes, red and puffy, just like yours were.

“Vol, don’t you understand?! This is going to protect you. This way you get to be safe. I need to know that you are fucking safe, and if that means I go, then I go.” 

There it was again, the anger picking at your brain until it buried everything else, until it was the only thing.

“Oh, that is such bullshit! Stop acting like you would choose to stay regardless of your family’s choice, even if it kept me safe. You have never been able to choose for yourself, never done anything outside of what Jake ever said, what Neytiri said, what Mo’at said, no matter how bad a choice, no matter how much you didn’t want it. I’m supposed to believe that it would be different now why?"

“It would, Vol, because it’s you!” he shook you gently as he said that, eyes so intense, so serious - so truthful.

"So stay. Just fucking stay. Please."

“Even if I stay, I still have to mate with her, don’t you understand?”

You knew that he was right. There was no win for you. For either of you. This life was cruel, and it gave with one hand and took with both, always leaving you with less than what you started. You weren’t one to question the meaning of life or the fairness of the universe, but now, taking in the man you loved more than anything in the world, the man who you knew loved you, you wondered what was the point of it all? Why were you here? Was there really that much cruelty reserved just for you? Were you how humanity was paying for its horrible missteps on Pandora? Were you an experiment, a toy put on here just as a Voodoo doll for Eywa, and every time she pricked another needle in you, it would reflect back on Earth and on of the people banished back to it? It felt like that sometimes, and it definitively felt like that tonight.

"I can't believe this. I can't believe you."

It suddenly felt much like you exchanged moods in between you, his despondent, wretched one passed on to you and replaced with your anger, strong and unwieldy.

“God fucking damn it, Vol! Do you think I want any of this, do you think this is my choice, that this would ever be my choice?! I'm trying to protect you! I'm trying to make sure you are safe, that the clan is safe! What the hell do you want from me?!” 

He was angry and desperate, tears obvious in his eyes, as was the flush in his cheeks. Your eyes were leaking endless streams that you couldn’t push back, that you couldn’t remove from your cheeks in time before they were replenished, like they were begging to be seen and acknowledged, like the pain wouldn’t be denied - it wanted to be felt, and it didn’t care who it had to go through to do it. 

You felt emptiness envelop you like a shroud at the situation that settled in and had time to stew in your mind with each passing moment. It was over. All over. The dreaded ending, the wreck it would leave behind, it was greeting you like a warm friend, announcing its arrival. 

I'll just shut my eyes, forget that you were mine

How do you go from making one your home

And then just letting it all go

Your voice was numb and flat, quiet undulations with no emotion to give them any fluidity or any life. Your words were just a means to an end. 

“Nothing, Neteyam. I don’t want anything from you anymore.” 

You turned your back to him, unable to look at his skin on which traces of you still lingered, at his eyes in which you always saw the window to his soul, and your soul, the meaning of life and your future happiness encapsulated, his lips that traveled your body like a curious wanderer, finding Valhala in between your thighs, his hands which held your face and touched your hair, which pushed you closer to him or on him. A glance at any of these things and you would crumble, and you would shatter in a million pieces that no one knew well enough to put back together apart from him. You were a puzzle only he knew how to solve, and in his absence, you were all alone, and broken, left to mend your own cracks, knowing full well you’ll never be able to be put yourself back together quite the same way you were before. 

“Vol… please.”

“Leave, Neteyam. Just go. Just fucking go.”

Stay. Please. I love you. I’m so in love with you. Don’t leave me alone. I don’t want to be alone. I don’t want to lose you. Please. Please. Please. 

The sound of the door sliding closed behind Neteyam was the last thing you heard before he was out of your life, leaving everything you had behind.

So I breathe and let you go

How do I breathe and let you go?

Taglist: @liluvtojineteyam @pinkpantheris @netemoon @fanboyluvr @bananafruityawne @liluvtojineteyam @zaddyneteyamlovergirl @netemoon

[thesimcalledclem]

FIRE AND BLOOD Chapter Four ────── ☾ ──────

Warnings: Eventual Smut. Targcest. S!sterw!fe. Dubious consent (You know all the drills atp if you've gotten this far into the tag.) OC FIC, if that isn't what you are into, then kindly don't read. 18+ MDNI

I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO UPLOAD ANY OF MY WORKS TO ANY OTHER SITES.

────── ☾ ──────

In the aftermath of the chaotic coronation, my world shifted irrevocably. My childhood chambers, once a sanctuary of familiarity and comfort, were exchanged for the opulent yet alien Queen's apartments, adjoined to Aegon's by a narrow passageway. The grandeur of the new rooms, with their soaring ceilings and ornate tapestries, felt suffocating, a gilded cage that mocked my newfound status. I longed for the simplicity of my old rooms, for the worn books that lined my shelves, their pages filled with tales of adventure and escape. 

My brief forays into the sky atop Solayre, once a source of exhilaration and freedom, were now met with more disapproval and admonishment. Aegon and Alicent, ever mindful of the precarious political climate, deemed it too dangerous for the Queen to be seen on dragonback while tensions with our half-sister rose. My wings were clipped, my spirit confined to the stifling confines of the Red Keep. 

Nightly, Aegon would visit my chambers, his presence a grim reminder of my duty. Spurred on by my mother's relentless whispers of the need for an heir, our encounters were devoid of any warmth or intimacy. He would arrive late, his movements efficient and detached, his touch cold and impersonal. I would lie beneath him, my body a vessel for his seed, my mind a million miles away. 

Afterwards, he would disappear without a word, leaving me alone in the vastness of the Queen's bed. The next morning, his haggard appearance and bloodshot eyes told a familiar story. He sought solace in the bottom of a bottle, drowning his guilt and self-loathing in a sea of Arbor Red. 

The days blurred into an endless cycle of monotony and despair. I spent my mornings embroidering with Helaena, our conversations stilted and filled with unspoken anxieties. Meals were a tense affair, the forced smiles and polite chatter a thin veneer over the simmering resentments that threatened to boil over. And then, each night, the dreaded ritual would repeat itself, Aegon's presence a dark cloud that cast a pall over my every waking moment. 

Months passed in this agonizing limbo, each day a carbon copy of the last. I felt like a ghost, drifting through the halls of the Red Keep, my spirit tethered to a man I despised, my body a vessel for a future I didn't choose. The weight of the crown, a heavy burden on my brow, was a constant reminder of the sacrifices I had made, the freedoms I had lost. And as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, a deep bitterness took root in my heart, its tendrils slowly poisoning my soul.  ────── ☾ ──────

One night that seemed like all the others, a monotonous repetition in the grim symphony of my new life. The aftermath of his climax hung heavy in the air, a palpable tension that permeated the room. He didn't rise from the bed immediately, as was his custom. Instead, he lay beside me, an arm thrown over his face, his breath ragged and uneven. I was accustomed to his swift departures, his cold and aloof manner a familiar sting. This unexpected lingering left me disoriented, a knot of unease tightening in my chest. 

"Aegon?" I ventured, my voice a tentative whisper, afraid to shatter the fragile silence. 

He lowered his arm, revealing eyes clouded with exhaustion. He didn't answer, merely raised an eyebrow in silent inquiry. 

"I—uh," I stammered, my words stumbling over themselves. Did I even want to say anything? I cleared my throat, pulling the linen sheet higher, seeking a semblance of protection. "Are you well?" 

A humorless laugh escaped his lips, a bitter sound that echoed the hollowness in my own heart. "Am I well?" he repeated, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Such piety, wife." His gaze returned to the ceiling, his disinterest palpable. 

I felt a familiar sting of chastisement, my eyes dropping to my chest. Silence descended once more, broken only by the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. I inhaled deeply and immediately regretted it, the cloying scent of the fermented grapes inside his goblet filled the air, a nauseating reminder of the forced intimacy we'd just shared. 

Minutes or perhaps hours passed, time losing its meaning in the oppressive stillness. Finally, Aegon spoke, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the mattress. "I grow tired of my rest being interrupted," he said, his tone laced with bitterness. "Mother or Otto come barging in whenever they please." 

His words hung in the air, a flimsy excuse for his prolonged presence in my chambers. I turned my head to look at him, my brow furrowed in confusion. "You are the King," I said, my voice surprisingly steady. "Deny them entry." 

His gaze snapped to mine, his lilac eyes piercing through the dim light. "You are Queen," he countered, his voice sharp. "How does barring their entry work for you?" 

I swallowed the retort that threatened to spill from my lips. He was right, of course. My title held no real power, no authority to shield us from the relentless machinations of my mother and her allies. "You make a fine point," I conceded, a bitter taste coating my tongue. 

He reached for the wine goblet, the pungent aroma of the alcohol making my empty stomach churn. I turned away, unable to bear the sight. 

I saw the narrowing of his eyes in my peripheral vision, but he said nothing. Instead, he set the goblet back down with a soft clink. 

"I will leave in the morning," he announced, his voice flat and final. He turned his back to me, the linen sheet a stark barrier between us. 

I stared at his broad back, a mixture of shock and disdain warring within me. Even my own chambers were no longer a sanctuary from him, from the suffocating reality of our union. A wave of despair washed over me, leaving me feeling cold and empty. The night stretched before me, an endless expanse of loneliness and fear. 

Dawn painted the sky with streaks of pale gold and crimson, casting a somber glow over the opulent chamber. Contrary to his promise, Aegon remained in my bed, his slumber deep and undisturbed. His leg, thrown carelessly over mine during the night, pinned me to the mattress, his body radiating a heat that was both discomforting and unsettling. The mingled scent of his sweat and the lingering aroma of wine clung to him, a potent cocktail that churned my stomach. I fought back a wave of nausea, my hand instinctively covering my mouth. 

With a surge of defiance, I nudged his shin with my foot, the pressure insistent but not unkind. He stirred, a low groan escaping his lips. A hand reached up to rub his face, his fingers tracing the light stubble that had grown overnight. His lilac eyes fluttered open, blinking blearily at me. 

For a moment, we simply stared at each other, the silence heavy with unspoken truths. The remnants of the previous night's forced intimacy lingered in the air, a palpable tension that crackled between us. 

"Release me," I whispered, my voice hoarse from disuse. I squirmed beneath his leg, my discomfort growing with each passing second. 

He didn't respond immediately, his mind still clouded by sleep. Then, with a grunt of annoyance, he rolled off me, his limbs heavy and uncoordinated. 

I wasted no time in escaping the confines of the bed, rushing to the adjoining chamber to relieve myself. The pressure in my bladder, a result of hours spent trapped beneath his slumbering form, was almost unbearable. I emerged moments later, feeling a sense of relief wash over me. 

Aegon, now fully awake, watched me from the bed, his eyes narrowed in silent scrutiny. I stood by the dressing screen, my gaze fixed on him as he gathered his discarded clothing with one extended hand and began to dress. The air crackled with an unspoken tension, his silence more unnerving than any accusation. 

He said nothing, merely stared at me with those hazy, bloodshot eyes. I felt exposed under his gaze, my body aching with the memory of his touch. A wave of shame washed over me, a bitter reminder of my powerlessness. 

Finally, he turned away, his movements slow and deliberate as he finished dressing and rose from the bed. Without a word, he strode towards the door, leaving me alone in the silent aftermath. 

I watched him go, my heart heavy with a mixture of relief and despair. He had violated my body, my sanctuary, and then simply walked away, as if it were nothing more than a routine chore. The weight of my new reality pressed down on me, a crushing burden that threatened to suffocate my spirit. 

────── ☾ ──────

For days following that strange morning, Aegon avoided me entirely. It was a welcome reprieve, a respite from the forced intimacy and simmering resentment that had become the hallmark of our marriage. Yet, a strange unease settled over me, a disquiet I couldn't quite place. The rising tensions with Rhaenyra, who, after her departure from the keep and the death of our father, had crowned herself Queen, cast a long shadow over King's Landing. My own place as Queen felt like an empty placeholder, a hollow title devoid of any real power. Nobles were choosing sides, the familiar few declaring for Aegon while others clung to Rhaenyra, their loyalty unwavering. I couldn't blame them. I didn't want this title, this gilded cage of responsibility. In fact, it exhausted me. 

A pervasive fatigue clung to me like a shroud, draining my energy and leaving me perpetually exhausted. The simplest tasks felt like monumental efforts, and I found myself retreating to the solitude of my chambers more often than not. I spent countless hours lost in the rhythmic motions of embroidery, the intricate patterns a welcome distraction from the turmoil within. Helaena's children, with their innocent laughter and boundless energy, offered a brief escape from the oppressive atmosphere of the Red Keep. I would lose myself in their games, their carefree joy a stark contrast to the darkness that clouded my own existence. 

I was forbidden to ride Solayre, the disquiet in the realm deemed too dangerous for the Queen to be seen on dragonback, or so my mother claimed. But I didn't argue. The truth was, the smell of the dragonpit, the sulfur that clung to my clothes, had been unsettling me lately. It turned my stomach, settled deep in my head, and sparked headaches that lasted for hours, even after a brief visit to the great maroon beast. 

This morning was like all the others, awoken with stomach pains and a pounding headache. I needed to eat, I assured myself, or maybe a bit of fresh air.  

The morning light, filtered through the stained glass windows of the Red Keep, cast long, ethereal shadows across the stone floors. I had been dressed in another stifling gown, this one a deep emerald green that mirrored the resentment simmering within me. My hair, braided tightly off my neck in a futile attempt to combat the oppressive heat, felt like a crown of thorns. As was my custom, I made my way to break my fast with Helaena in her chambers, a sanctuary of normalcy in the chaotic world we inhabited. 

A pang of envy always struck me as I traversed the west wing towards her rooms. Helaena and Aemond, despite their eccentricities, shared a bond of effortless affection, a stark contrast to the cold and sterile union I endured with Aegon. Theirs was a love story whispered in secret smiles and shared glances, a refuge from the harsh realities of courtly life. 

My head throbbed with a familiar ache as I reached her door. The Kingsguard stationed outside opened it with a silent nod, and I stepped inside, my gaze downcast as I passed through the empty antechamber and into the solar beyond. The sounds of children's laughter, a symphony of innocent joy, filled the air, momentarily lifting my spirits. 

But the smile that touched my lips faltered as I entered the solar. Aemond and Aegon stood near the large windows, their voices low and conspiratorial. The sight of them, their presence an unwelcome intrusion into my peaceful routine, sparked a flicker of annoyance. 

The children, oblivious to the undercurrents of tension, rushed towards me with excited squeals. Maelor, the youngest, reached me first, his chubby arms outstretched, his small voice demanding to be lifted. 

"Alright, alright, my darling," I cooed, scooping him into my arms. I forced a smile, trying to mask my irritation at the disruption. Aegon and Aemond fell silent, their gazes fixed on me, but I ignored them, my attention focused on the children. 

"Mother says that Dreamfyre lay three new eggs, just yesterday!" Jaehaera exclaimed, her violet eyes wide with excitement, her white-gold curls bouncing with each word. 

"A hatchling for each of you then, my girl," I replied, gently stroking her hair. Maelor, sensing a rival for my attention, tugged at my sleeve, his babbling demands bringing a genuine smile to my lips. 

Helaena appeared then, her presence calming the children's excitement. She ushered the twins towards their governess, but I held onto Maelor, his small form a comforting weight in my arms. 

With Helaena's arrival, the pretense of ignoring my brothers was no longer possible. I turned towards them, a sigh escaping my lips. "Hello, brother," I said to Aemond, garnering his attention for a fleeting moment before his gaze returned to Helaena, his eyes filled with warmth. I shifted my focus to Aegon, who was already staring at me, his face an impassive mask, his eyes fixated on the babe in my arms. "Husband," I acknowledged, my voice flat and emotionless. 

He met my gaze with a curt nod, but remained silent. I turned back to Maelor, his presence a welcome distraction from the tension that crackled in the room. He babbled on, his small hands reaching for my face, his dark amethyst eyes sparkling with innocent curiosity. Servants entered and exited, bearing trays laden with food. The rich aromas, once tempting, now churned my stomach, sending a wave of nausea through me. I swallowed hard, fighting back the urge to gag. 

I ignored the laden table, content with my time with the small child. I bounced him on my hip, humming a soft lullaby until he wiggled out of my arms and followed his siblings' departure with his wet nurse. With a sigh, I turned towards the table of food, my stomach churning at the sight of the rich and varied dishes. I forced myself to pick at a few grapes and nibble on some bread, hoping to quell the nausea that threatened to overwhelm me. 

"So, this is where you slink off to every morning," Aegon's voice sounded far too close to my ear, his sudden presence startling me. I glanced over my shoulder, and there he was, his conversation with Aemond abandoned, his gaze fixed on me. I clenched my jaw, my eyes falling to the platters of food, a desperate attempt to avoid his scrutiny. 

"If I'm lucky enough to be unnoticed," I murmured bitterly, still annoyed by his intrusion. He huffed, a small exhale through his nose that sent a stray strand of hair dancing across my neck. 

"Have I interrupted?" he asked smugly, his tone laced with a hint of mockery. He reached around me, his chest brushing against my back for a fleeting moment as he plucked an orange from the table. The warmth of his body, the subtle scent of his cologne, sent a shiver down my spine. 

The strong citrus smell of the orange filled the air, triggering a wave of nausea. I dry heaved, stumbling away from him, my gaze fixed on the offending fruit. 

He snorted, a cruel amusement in his eyes. "Do you suddenly hate oranges?" 

"They smell rotten," I complained, my hand flying to my mouth. 

He brought the fruit to his nose, inhaling deeply. "They smell fine," he declared with a shrug, popping a slice into his mouth. He leaned in, the juice glistening on his lips, the scent invading my senses. "Want a taste?" 

I recoiled, pushing against his chest, my hand landing on the firm muscles beneath his doublet. "Don't torment me," I hissed, my voice laced with both disgust and a strange, unwelcome flicker of desire. 

He chuckled, a low, throaty sound that sent shivers down my spine. He straightened, a smug grin playing on his lips, and returned to Aemond. They departed shortly after, leaving me alone with the remnants of my uneaten breakfast and the lingering scent of oranges, a cruel reminder of my husband's mocking presence. 

The nausea subsided, but a sense of unease lingered. Aegon's unexpected appearance, his playful torment, and the unsettling sensations within my own body left me feeling off-kilter, adrift in a sea of uncertainty. I pushed the food away, my appetite completely vanished, and retreated to the solitude of my chambers, seeking refuge from the oppressive atmosphere of the Red Keep and the unwelcome attention of my husband. 

My refuge of solace didn’t last long however, the oppressive heat of the room seemed to intensify with every passing moment, the heavy fabric of my gown clinging to my skin like a second, suffocating layer. "Roslin, help me please," I called out, my voice thick with discomfort. My lady's maid rose from her seat by the window, where she had been meticulously sewing lace fringe onto a forgotten kerchief. With practiced ease, she unlaced the back of my gown, each tug of her fingers allowing a welcome breath of cool air to reach my sweat-dampened skin. I sighed in relief, but even with the constricting garment removed, the heat remained oppressive. Sweat beaded on my forehead, the back of my neck, and between my breasts. I panted, my hands gripping the bedpost, knuckles white with exertion. 

"Perhaps, my lady should rest," Roslin offered softly. 

With a begrudging nod, I allowed her to guide me to the bed. The cool sheets offered little respite from the sweltering heat that seemed to emanate from within my own body. Roslin settled on the floor beside the bed, ready to attend to my needs, but I shook my head. 

"You may go, Roslin." 

She looked as if she might argue, but with a small curtsy, she obeyed, the soft click of the closing door marking her departure. 

I lay in the bed, the oppressive heat clinging to me like a second skin. Sleep, when it finally came, was fitful and fragmented, plagued by strange dreams and unsettling sensations. I woke with a jolt, my stomach churning with a violent urgency. I scrambled from the sweat-soaked sheets, my legs unsteady, my head swimming. I lurched towards the chamber pot, but it was too late. 

I doubled over, my hands gripping the bedpost for support, my hair plastered to my forehead with sweat. A wave of nausea overwhelmed me, and I retched, the contents of my stomach spilling onto the cold stone floor. The acrid smell filled the air, mingling with the cloying scent of my own perspiration. 

I heard the door creak open, and assuming it was Roslin returning, I groaned, waving a weak hand in her direction. A hesitant hand touched my back, a gesture of comfort that did little to ease my distress. 

"It must've been the wine," I rasped, my voice hoarse and shaky as I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. 

"Where is your lady's maid?" a deep, annoyed voice boomed from behind me. It was not Roslin. 

I froze, slowly raising my head to meet Aegon's gaze. He stood above me, his expression a mixture of reluctant concern and barely concealed disgust. I blinked; my mind still clouded by nausea. 

"I dismissed her. I was resting," I managed to explain. 

He scoffed, moving towards me with a purpose that startled me. His hands gripped my shoulders, pulling me towards the bed. He forced me to sit, his touch firm but not unkind. His proximity, however, brought a fresh wave of nausea. The cloying scent of oranges, still clinging to him from his morning meal, assaulted my senses. "You reek," I complained, leaning away from him. 

He made a noise of annoyance, but released me, tossing a linen sheet over the mess I had made on the floor. He was uncharacteristically silent, his jaw clenched, his brow furrowed. 

"Perhaps we should call the Maesters," I groaned, rubbing my face with the back of my hand. 

He scoffed, looking down at me with an expression that bordered on disbelief. "There's no need," he said, his tone dismissive. 

I glared at him; my eyes narrowed to slits. "I'm obviously ill, Aegon." 

He rolled his eyes, his stance mocking. "You can't be that dense, Clemynsia" he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You are not ill." 

"I am—" 

"Maybe you are this dense," he interrupted, his voice a low growl. "When did you last bleed?" 

His question, so unexpected, so blunt, caught me off guard. "What?" I stammered, my cheeks flushing with a heat that had nothing to do with the oppressive temperature of the room. 

"For fuck's sake," he sighed, his patience clearly wearing thin. "Your last moon’s blood, when was it?" 

His words pierced through the fog of my nausea, silencing all other thoughts. My mind went blank, the world around me fading into a hazy blur. I felt a strange detachment from my own body, as if I were an observer, watching the scene unfold from a distance. 

Aegon leaned closer, his hand gently brushing the damp hair from my forehead. The touch, surprisingly tender, sent a shiver down my spine. "You are not ill," he said, his voice softer now, but still laced with a hint of mockery. He stood, running a hand over his face in exasperation. "You are with child." 

[sriracharocks]

Rewrite the Stars (Tom Riddle x Reader Songfic)

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Summary: In a world where darkness looms and fate draws its tangled threads, two souls find solace in a forbidden connection. Word count: 3.5k+ TW: None

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Tom strays into the great music hall after classes end. The corridors lie deserted, devoid of life. While some students bury their noses in books in the library, consumed by their impending exams, others seek solace in their common rooms, surrounded by familiar faces, completely lost in their worlds, and separated from reality by their little bubbles of self-perspective.

It's a fine winter day. The entire Hogwarts grounds are covered with snow, littered with footsteps all over from all the students having sauntered back and forth from class, Hogsmeade, or whatever it is that bored, tired teenagers can engage in.

They entertain themselves, or at least attempt to, by humouring themselves with the usual obnoxious, mindless, and frankly speaking, fruitless chatter of mundanities of ordinary, quotidian endeavours of life no one is interested in knowing or hearing about; or gossip about people resembling slander more than they do constructive criticism. This is the perfect time for rumour mills to churn – spouting out, most often, outrageous lies, or rarely spreading considerably exaggerated versions of the truth; always on the lookout for their next victim to talk about for the rest of the night, or seldom, the rest of the week.

The music hall is enveloped in haunting darkness, dimly illuminated by the rays of moonlight shining through the towering stained glass windows, casting a kaleidoscope of colours upon the polished floors and the ancient stone walls. The soft glow dances with the dust particles in the air, resulting in an enchanting interplay of light and shadow. The acoustics of the hall make it so that the tiniest drop of a pin can be heard echoing throughout the space, its sound bouncing off the walls and resonating in every corner of the room, effectively creating an ethereal atmosphere that engages all five senses.

Footsteps approach the door of the music hall. "Y/N, you've come," a smooth, honeyed baritone voice reverberates in the large hall, as the looming figure in robes of black, green and silver turns to take a better look at the intruder.

"I have, Tom. What brings you here?" I reply, curious as to why he's here, especially at such an hour when everybody is off minding their own business in their respective common rooms.

"The same reason why you're here, Y/N," Tom murmurs, his voice smooth and velvety, echoing in the vast music hall. "To find solace in silence amidst this tumultuous world. The incessant cacophony outside is making me lose my mind. It’s too overwhelming to my senses."

"Maybe you are. But I have my own reasons to come here," I reply, without missing a beat. Speaking to Tom was akin to breathing, an instinctive rhythm that flowed effortlessly between us. Our shared history and unspoken understanding had woven a bond that transcended words, making every conversation a comforting embrace in which our souls found solace.

"I'm here not to enjoy the silence..." I begin, my voice holding an eerily quiet timbre and an unusually soft quality, almost ominous. "...but to make a confession."

Tom's ears immediately perk up in attention, picking up every following syllable that leaves my lips, like a child learning to speak like their parents, hyper-aware of every hand gesture, every lip movement, and every body language cue exhibited during a conversation.

I continue, "You know I'm quite straightforward in general so I decided to get something off my chest, it seems... as if..."

"As if what, Y/N?" Tom grows impatient, unable to wait any longer, and extremely irritated by the amount of suspense that is building up at the moment as a result of my leaving him with an unnecessary cliffhanger.

"As if I've developed feelings... For you. And I'm not the only one, Tom. I know."

"You know nothing, you naive, foolish girl."

By now, Tom’s mind is overcome with unresolved and mixed feelings about the matter. Connecting to someone on an emotional level was exhausting and fruitless to someone like him, who thrived on surface-level attachments, inspiring loyalty from his followers and fear from his enemies. 

But love? Love was a foreign emotion to him, an unnecessary obstacle on his path to power, to fulfilling his true purpose and to usher in a new reign in Wizarding Britain, one that would purge every nook and cranny of the magical community of non-magical, useless Muggles that dared to defile the magical community’s purity and sanctity with their ignorance, inferior blood, and foolish idiosyncrasies. 

What good did loving his disgusting Muggle of a father do to his mother, Merope? She had loved him, yet he never reciprocated those feelings. How long could she have given him Amortentia in an effort to make him love her? She had to stop sooner or later - and once she did, the result was tragic.

His father left her immediately as the effects of Amortentia wore off, without even stopping to care that she was pregnant with his son. Hence his lonely, weak, and pathetic witch of a mother died at the footsteps of an orphanage while giving birth to him.

Even at the orphanage, Tom was treated like an outlier, an abomination. He was called a freak. No one befriended him or showed him a modicum of love or affection. Of course, he wouldn’t mention how he hung the limp corpse of Billy Stubb’s rabbit from the rafters in an effort to get his revenge for bullying him, or how he took Amy Benson and Dennis Bishop to a cave near the beach, and they were never the same since. To any sane person, it was clear - Tom had psychopathic tendencies, and hence it was quite difficult to garner affection or love for him in one’s heart. 

In the world he lived in, Muggleborns, Squibs, and quite hypocritically, even half-bloods, though he was himself one, were nothing less than the scum under a pureblood’s shoes. Tom had no plans to change the status quo; he was smart enough to know that if he could puppeteer the purebloods into doing his bidding, the reins of the wizarding world would be in his hands. And hence, he had wasted no time in raising a loyal group of his own, comprising the heirs of Britain’s pureblood elite, christened ‘the Knights of Walpurgis,’ who would later in life, become the infamous Death Eaters.

Tom couldn’t possibly let his emotions get the best of him now, could he? He has worked too hard and invested quite a lot of his time and energy into his cause to back out now for the sake of emotions, feelings, and something as revolting to him as the ridiculous notion of ‘loving’ someone. No, he is above such mundanities as emotions - far too powerful, important, and busy to willingly experience what was to him a blissful mirage in life’s figurative desert.

But I wasn't one to let anyone have the last word, not even if it was Tom Riddle. So with confidence, I proceed to walk towards him, one step at a time, making him back up against the wall at the same pace. Tom is neither scared nor intimidated in the slightest – though he was being backed up against the wall, his sharp, piercing, calculative gaze remained unwavering and steady.

My steps are slow and deliberate, my heartbeat accelerating to almost a mile a minute with each ticking second. Every footfall has its echo reverberating in the music hall, its own audible manifestation of its underlying physical and emotional weight. My heart is filled with nervous anticipation of what’s to come after I take the last step toward him. Our senses of time and distance become overwhelmingly distorted as the gears in our brains whir as fast as possible to process the intensity of the moment we are currently experiencing.

Should I tell him, or should I not? The whirlwind of emotions bottled up inside of me craved for a release, for fearless expression, unable to stay confined within the walls of my mind which I built up over months of denial and suppression. Spending a substantial amount of time with him in and outside of classes for so many months had led to the emergence of feelings that I had never known would develop for such a cold and detached personality like him. 

Memories of reading in the library, studying in the Slytherin common room, playing chess, singing duets in the music hall, and many more flash in my mind as I contemplate whether to express what I feel or stay mum. But I finally gathered the courage to tell him the truth.

"You can't deny this feeling we share, Tom. No matter how much you try," I speak, undeterred by his nonchalant attitude and curt responses. A sense of relief washes over me as I finally feel the weight of my forbidden passion for him being lifted off of my shoulders. 

My gaze locks onto his, searching his chocolate brown orbs for any flicker of understanding or emotion, scanning every twitch and movement of his facial muscles and lips, looking for the faintest sign of a reaction. 

After a few seconds of contemplative silence, he speaks.

"Love is a weakness. Emotions are for the ones who do not rationalise. They cloud judgement, reduce our inhibitions and make us act on impulse," Tom replies, his voice as cold as ice. "Even if I do have any emotional connection with you, it doesn't matter in the end. We, us... It cannot happen, Y/N."

"But why not? Because for once, you manage to fall in love, to care for someone deeply? Is that what you're afraid of?" I shout, extremely frustrated by his unwillingness to open up, even to his best friend. Or am I the only one who thinks of him as my best friend? What if he never considered us more than acquaintances? No, that can’t be; he always treats me differently from his followers. We have a special, unreplicable - and possibly, inexplicable - bond. 

Tom, equally frustrated by the confrontation, feels his pride wounded by the audacity of someone daring to question him, especially a mere girl he had spent only some time with. The thought of falling for someone sends a shiver down his spine, challenging his carefully constructed persona. With a roar, he responds, "Yes, because if I fall for you, what does that make me? Human. A pathetic, repulsive, weak mortal with disgusting emotions," stressing 'mortal', 'human', and 'disgusting' as if he's using the crassest of curse words. Love was an incurable malady to him, one that he did not wish to concern himself with.

"Besides, if we take this too far and give in to our feelings, you'll only get hurt in the end! You know what I am, and you know what my goals are. I will not let something as trivial and pointless as emotions and love dictate my life. A monster, you called me, that day we argued? Your gut was right, Y/N; people like me, we're meant to be hated, and feared. Not loved!" He shouts back, his normally composed and calculating demeanour cracking with each second that passes between us.

"You know what, I'm not going to have this conversation with you right now. I'm leaving Hogwarts tomorrow morning,” I reply frustratedly with a tone of finality. The in-built tension within me threatens to consume me whole, make me lose all sense of rationality, and say or do something that I might regret in the future.

"You're what?"

"...Yes."

"Don't leave."

"I can't do anything about it, Tom. It's done. I'll be going off to my homeland soon, and you know how my parents are; they never take no for an answer. I suppose that's where I get my stubbornness from; the apple doesn't fall far from the tree after all."

Tom knew what I was saying was right - he had experienced it firsthand when he visited our home once. He had witnessed himself how convincing them was a Herculean task, even for me, their own daughter. Of course, he had tried his hand at persuading them for doing us little favours like letting us go to Hogsmeade and succeeded, but not without difficulty. If a shrewd manipulator like Tom had to work hard to cajole them, he was sure that I would most likely fail at convincing them to let me stay at Hogwarts instead of transferring me to Ilvermorny or maybe even Beauxbatons.

"Fine," Tom says as he walks away with a stoic expression.

"Wait! Last duet? Please?" I offer.

"You mean, like old times?" Tom asks, contemplating if he should say yes or reject my advances and go study. But a feeling inside, a strange feeling indeed, to the likes of someone as ruthless, unemotional, and cold as him, beckons him to accept, say yes, and cherish what seems to be a potential final memory to make together.

"Okay," he reluctantly agrees. "Better make it count."

The warmth of our breaths intermingles, a tangible presence that deepens our connection, even as the world around us seems to fade into a distant echo. The grand piano comes to life as I bewitch its keys to play. Each note is like a gentle caress against the walls, carried by the acoustics that enhance its timbre and tone. The music wraps around us, creating an intimate cocoon of sound, while the scent of aged wood and polished brass mingle with the anticipation in the air. I start:

"You know I want you,” I sing, my voice filled with longing. “It's not a secret I try to hide. I know you want me, so don't keep sayin' our hands are tied.”

Tom’s gaze meets mine and I continue, “You claim it's not in the cards, and fate is pullin' you miles away, and out of reach from me; but you're here in my heart, so who can stop me if I decide that you're my destiny?"

As our fingers entwine, I softly sing the following lines:

"What if we rewrite the stars? 

Say you were made to be mine? 

Nothing could keep us apart

You'd be the one I was meant to find

It's up to you, and it's up to me

No one can say what we get to be

So why don't we rewrite the stars?

Maybe the world could be ours

Tonight.”

I attempt to unlace our fingers, but Tom holds on tight, taking over the song:

"You think it's easy? You think I don't wanna run to you?” He sings, his voice filled with uncharacteristic yearning and melancholy.  “But there are mountains, and there are doors that we can't walk through. I know you're wondering why, because we're able to be just you and me, within these walls, but when we go outside, you're gonna wake up and see that it was hopeless after all!"

Tom takes my hand and gracefully twirls me across the floor as he continues, as if expressing the challenges we face:

"No one can rewrite the stars

How can you say you'll be mine?

Everything keeps us apart

And I'm not the one you were meant to find

It's not up to you

It's not up to me

When everyone tells us what we can be

How can we rewrite the stars?

Say that the world can be ours

Tonight."

As the music swells, we soar and spin across the room in circles, our voices blending seamlessly:

"All I want is to fly with you

All I want is to fall with you

So just give me all of you

It feels impossible

It's not impossible

Is it impossible?

Say that it's possible!" 

In perfect synchrony, we continue our dance as we sing with a sense of endless hope and determination:

"How do we rewrite the stars?

Say you were made to be mine?

Nothing can keep us apart

'Cause you are the one I was meant to find

It's up to you

And it's up to me

No one can say what we get to be

And why don't we rewrite the stars?

Changing the world to be ours.” 

As the song reaches its crescendo, Tom gently holds my chin, causing my cheeks to flush a deep crimson. I shyly meet his gaze before he finishes the final verse:

"You know I want you

It's not a secret I try to hide

But I can't have you

We're bound to break and my hands are tied." 

A playful smirk dances across Tom's face, unaware that I can see his blush rising. We stand there, caught in a moment that feels both destined and fleeting, our hearts racing to the ghost of the rhythm of the music that filled the air mere moments ago.

“Children born under the influence of Amortentia have no capacity to love,” he had discovered while reading a Potions textbook in the Hogwarts library a few months ago. “As such, they can never feel or express love in their lives.”

But then, what is this peculiar feeling that blossoms inside of him, twisting and turning his stomach into knots, pulsating through his veins, and forcing his breathing to become shallow and laboured? What is this sense of attraction that he is currently experiencing, one that overwhelms him with joy, hope, and happiness? Is this the ‘love’ that famed poets wrote artistic sonnets about, the ‘love’ that caused the famous Trojan War, the ‘love’ that compels people to sacrifice themselves for another in the face of danger?

All he knows is that at this moment, just for a millisecond, he wants to let go and see what it’s like to love and be loved. Tom treats this not as a revelation of a potential softer side to him, but as a new experience. In reality, he’s deluding himself to be vulnerable so that the part of him that yearns for human touch, for love and affection - which, according to the Potions textbook he had read, is an exceedingly rare anomaly - can know what romance is like, if only for a transient moment.

We end up too close to one another, the increasing proximity igniting sparks of passion we never knew we harboured deep within our hearts. Tom looks down at my soft lips and silently asks for permission. I nod, and he makes the move.

Our lips meet in a desperate union, a collision of longing and desire that ignites a fervent electricity between us. As our bodies meld together, our fingers delicately weave through strands of hair, pulling each other closer in a passionate embrace, cherishing every touch and caress as if time itself were slipping away. At that moment, the world fades into insignificance, leaving only the intensity of our connection pulsating between us. 

Tom experiences a raging inferno of emotions during the kiss: primal passion, love, hope, lust, longing, and a desire to never let go. His entire being is lit ablaze by the flames of his fervour. As Oscar Wilde had once said, a burnt child loves the fire - and Tom strangely wishes for nothing more except to be burnt over and over again by the fire of emotions that had been ignited in his heart by something as simple as a kiss. It was abundantly clear that to him, this was an epiphany - that no matter how much he denies the existence of his emotions and chokes them to death, they will always be there within him: latent, hidden, and buried deep inside the crevices of his dark, broken soul. That despite being born under the influence of Amortentia, he could love.

I reluctantly pull back, fireworks erupting in my heart as I do so, my mind and body buzzing with the aftermath of the newfound high I experienced during the kiss. Tom's gaze softens as he locks his eyes onto my own, his intent clear: to imprint every minor detail of my body and personality into his memory, a treasured keepsake to be cherished in the years that lie ahead until our paths cross once more. 

"Bye Y/N," Tom murmurs with a heavy heart. Deep inside, he is unable to accept that the magical moment we shared was over. To mask the pain, he regains his distant and cold disposition momentarily.

"We'll meet again, Tom. This isn't goodbye; this is a 'see you later'," I say, a bittersweet smile gracing my lips.

He opens his mouth again on instinct, as if to say something, but falls short of words. His feelings of vulnerability and sadness peek through the cracks of his calculative persona. Finally, he musters a response:

"Fine, see you again, Y/N," he replies with a genuine smile for the first time in his entire life, even though he felt as if someone had ripped out his heart from his chest and torn it into shreds. 

I walk away with tears in my eyes, ready to face whatever adversity that lies on my path ahead. The future is uncertain, and the fate of our connection hangs in the balance. As I turn to steal one last glance, Tom stands there, his posture strong but his eyes betraying a sense of longing and conflicted emotions. 

We share a momentary connection, an unspoken understanding that our paths may intertwine again, or perhaps diverge forever. I thought my love for him would be enough for him to stop – enough for him to listen to reason, even in my absence – but we all know what happened during the course of history.

Or do we?

[cherubharrington]

Group Dynamic

They all knew about you, Eddie and Steve never shut up about how amazing you are. How pretty, how you had a voice of an angel. You were all they could talk about. It kind of made them uncomfortable knowing both of their friends liked you so much. Just because they knew how it would go. An argument could occur splitting the group in two. Dustin was getting the most frustrated out of everyone. He was the one closest to both Steve and Eddie. He had to fix this before things became a disaster. You’d been too busy staring at the book in your hand, before you heard slamming of hands on the table. You jumped, confused.

“Oh, Dustin what brings you here?” You say, relieve washing over you knowing it was him. But that feeling left as paranoia settled in. Dustin didn’t look happy and Dustin never got upset with you.

“You need to stop this. Do you think it’s fair?” He asked, menacingly. Which was very unlike him as well. You clinched your book, put off by how he was acting. The way he was treating you.

“What are you talking about? I haven’t done anything?” You asked. You seriously had no idea where this was coming from. You wanted to run and Dustin never made you feel like that.

“I’m talking about Steve and Eddie. You know they both like you.” He said accusingly. Your heart fluttered at the sound of both of their names. And the fact that your friend Vivienne had been right. They both had a crush on you.

“I- Dustin I didn’t know I swear.”

“You’re ruining things between all of us. If things go south and they decide to fight over you. It’s gonna ruin everything.” His words cut at you like a knife. You didn’t mean to ruin things. Didn’t mean to ruin their friendship. Your throat felt like it was on fire, one you didn’t know how to put out.

“I-I’m sorry.” You said, before getting up and running off. That was the last time anyone from the gang had spoken to you. Everyone from Nancy, Robin, Jonathan, even Argyle tried to reach out to you. But you’d gone cold turkey on them. Dustin felt the guilt eating him alive. He didn’t realize how harsh he was being until he saw you from a distance. Wiping the tears off your face.

“What the hell did we do? I just don’t understand. I thought things were good. I mean she-she.” Steve said, he had been pacing back and forth. They were all in Steve’s living room. His parents were never home so he had the house to himself. Eddie was on the floor, not speaking. He didn’t know what to make of any of it.

“Maybe, maybe she got eaten by a bear?” Argyle said. Then without even waiting for a response. “Yeah man, I think that’s what happened. Oh no, I really liked her. She would share her pepino con chile with me.” He said sadly.

Dustin felt the guilt building and building.

“Argyle you can’t just say that.” Robin said, pointing at both Eddie’s and Steve’s worried faces.

“It was my fault! It was my fault okay! God, you guys can’t-.”

“Woah, what do you mean by your fault?” Eddie said, finally speaking up. He’d been quiet and not his normal self the entire week. Dustin swallowed before he spoke.

“I kindofwentoffonheraboutherruiningthegroup dynamicifshetriedtogetwitheitherSteveorEddie.” Dustin said quickly.

“You what?” Steve asked, his tone sounded dangerous. Lucas and Mike stared at each other. Max and El were next to them as well as Will. They didn’t look happy either.

“You didn’t you shithead.” Max said.

“I did.” Dustin said, his voice quiet.

“How did you understand what he said?” Argyle asked. “I unfortunately can understand dumbass.” Max said. Argyle nodded like if it was a fact.

“So hold on. What I’m understanding is you went off on her because she might ruin things for the group. Over Eddie and Steve?” Nancy asked.

Dustin nodded slowly.

“Dustin, you’re a major butthead.” Steve said grabbing his keys. Eddie got up from the floor and followed him out the door.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

“I like this song we wrote better. It speaks for all of us. Well everyone expect Dylan. But since we’re all officially sad over someone. Or someone’s for your case.” Your friend Vivienne said. Charlie, your drummer patted you on the shoulder.

You ignored what she said. “Come on, let’s play it than.” Vivienne grabbed her bass guitar. The rest of the band went towards their respective instruments and began to play.

“I’m scared… it feels like you don’t care.” You sang into the mic, closing your eyes. “Enlighten me my dear. Why am I still here?”

You opened your eyes to walk over to Dylan who was on the piano.

“I’m sick of waiting patiently for someone that won’t even arrive.”

Katherine who played lead guitarist shared a look with Ben who was Dylan’s boyfriend. He turned to Dylan. Who shrugged her shoulders. The song was depressing but it was expressing everything you needed it too.

“Woah…”

Little did you know, Steve and Eddie could hear you. The rest of the gang had followed them. After the whole events they’d dealt with. They’d grown a bad case of separation anxiety. So they were always around the other. That’s why Dustin had reacted the way he did. You didn’t know this of course. You were new in town and had chalked up a lot of it to rumors.

“In the back of my mind, I killed you. And I didn’t even regret it.” You sang.

Once the song was over, Charlie got off his drum set and pointed into the air with his drumsticks. “No one can never not say I don’t make good songs.” He said, it was true. He had gotten his heartbroken by a girl the following week. He had showed the song he made to you. Charlie rarely ever wrote the music. So this girl had really broken his heart.

“It was really good Char.” Ben said, a small smile on his face. You smiled at Charlie too. Your mind went to the group. But it then settled on Eddie and Steve. If you had to disappear from their lives. So be it.

“Okay, another song.” You said. Dustin knocked on one of the wooden chairs, making everyone in your band jump. They turned to look over and saw the group standing together. Eddie and Steve eyes widen by how Dustin caught your attention. A knot knit itself in your throat. You couldn’t help it, tears were fighting it’s way out. Katherine held your hand, rubbing circles on the outside of your hand.

“Uh beautiful song.” Steve said, awkwardly. You awkwardly stared at them. This wasn’t how you expected to see them again. All together, probably heard the song you sang. It might have be Charlie’s song but you felt every word you sang.

Eddie had a mesmerized sad expression on his face. Steve gulped, desperately wanting you to respond. You stared back, your eyes unexpectedly landed on Nancy. She had a small smile on her face, an awkward one. Nancy had always been very awkward to you. Maybe it had to do with the fact that you had managed to get Steve. Managed to make his heart sing for another.

“Thanks.” You finally said, “Charlie wrote it.”

Charlie raised his hand in acknowledgement. He looked at you expectantly. Not sure what to say or do next. You climbed down the stairs of the stage, walking straight for them.

“Let’s have this conversation more privately.”

Once away from your band, you managed to hear their side of the story. Dustin apologizing profusely, you reached your hand out to stop him from speaking.

“No, you’re right. I did sort of barge my way into your group. That’s my fault, just know I wont be bothering you guys anymore. I didn’t mean to cause any riffs in your friend group. I apologize if I made a mess-.”

“No, no!” Steve said, “We want you in our group. We want you to be apart of what we have. We don’t want you to feel like a burden. That’s why we’re here.”

“Yeah, you make me feel safer than anyone ever truly has.” Max said, adding on. El nodded in agreement.

“Yeah, you’ve even made me feel heard. I never really feel that I have many friends.” Nancy said. Your heart warmed at that. At everything they were saying.

“Yeah plus I miss your pepino con chile. Shit was delicious.” Argyle said, a weed induced smile on his lips. You smiled back at him. Eddie cleared his throat, almost like he was waiting on his turned to speak.

“And you already know how much I care about you. So please can we just go back to normal?” Eddie said bluntly.

You let out a laugh and nodded your head. Both Steve and Eddie ran into your arms, you engulfed them into you. The rest of them did the same. You’d always belonged in the group. You spoke to Dustin in private, explained how your intentions are never to split the team. You saw how ironclad their love was for each other. Understood something deeper kept them together. And you were not here to break that.

[matchbet-allofthetime]

Breakfast Foods, Kisses, and Garnets

Soft!Albert Wesker x short!GNCreader

Word count: 1094

A/N: surprise!! i'm not dead! just sick as hell. i wrote this randomly today because life is hard and i've been sick for almost a week, but yk. i needed comfort and who better than my favourite war criminal? also wesker is a soft baby and yes he's red-eyed in this fic but still working for STARS and is good friends with leon and chris. i cannot let this man go unloved and uncherished, fight me. oh and reader has stretched earlobes bc i do and this was purely self-indulgent

Translations: dragoste = love in Romanian, dragostea mea mica = my little love/my little lover, also in Romanian

please enjoy my favourite man being soft and sleeby and kissing his very short lover many times

─────────────────⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅─────────────────

My hips sway gently to the music playing throughout the large kitchen as I continue flipping pancakes and stirring eggs. I wasn't nearly as tired today as I had been, so I decided a day of breakfast would be lovely. I hum along to the music and my mind drifts away. Just as I'm finishing the eggs and bacon, I hear the front door open. My brows furrow slightly. It's not even 3 o'clock, Wesker shouldn't be home until nearly 6...I move quickly and peak my head out of the kitchen to the front door and see Wesker hanging his keys and jacket. I grin and turn to go back into the kitchen and continue to hum to my music.

I continue flipping the last of the pancakes right as Wesker hugs me from behind. He nuzzles his face into my neck and I laugh as he leans down. "Mmm... smells wonderful, dragoste. What compelled you to make such wonderful-smelling food while I was gone...?" Wesker murmured, setting his chin on my head. His words were tired and slurred as he hummed along to the new song playing. I smile.

"I felt a little better today and decided eggs and bacon sounded good, but I didn't want em without pancakes and syrup!" I hum happily, giggling as he turns me to give me bunny kisses and place another kiss on my forehead. He tilts my head up and silently asks for a kiss. I stand on my tiptoes and kiss him instead. He lets out a pleased noise and smiles.

"Well, I'm glad you're better, my darling. You've had me worried for a few days." He says, laughing softly. His red eyes dilate as he takes a deep breath. The house truly does smell wonderful and I let out a satisfied little noise knowing my lover feels more at ease. Our house is warm and inviting and no lights are on- though plenty of warm sunlight streams through the windows.

"You've taken such good care of me. But why are you back from work so early, lover boy?" I ask gently as Wesker pulls me into his chest. He hums, drawing my head to rest on his chest. "I simply worried and... well, Chris and Leon nearly begged me to take care of you. Those two are worried sick about you, you know... speaking of, they've sent me back with some gifts and treasures for you." He replies. I pull away softly as I grab his hand and kiss at his lightly bruised knuckles. I'd have to care for him later too; he'd more than earned it.

"Treasures? What treasures, my love?" I ask excitedly. Wesker merely laughs again and I playfully nibble at one of his fingers. He curls the same finger under my chin and makes for me to look at him just as he kisses my nose. We laugh for a moment together.

"Hmm, not sure. Though I did see lots of sweets and chocolate in there. Leon got you a few of the books you've been talking about recently, all hardcovers, and Chris bought you a few little figurines he though you might like. I've got some things for you as well, my dear, if you'd like them now." He says, thumbs caressing my cheeks gently. He had such a soft expression on his face and I was sure I'd never seen him quite so mellow and sleepy before. I playfully headbutt his chest and he clicks his tongue in mock warning. We laugh again. I simply nod at his proposal and tell him to remind me to get Leon and Chris a gift later as thanks. He nods and goes to get his gifts.

As we sit on the couch and eat, Wesker hands me a little meticulously wrapped gift. I raise a brow at him, but he simply shrugs and half-smiles as his sharp canines rip happily at bacon. I open the gift gently and unwrap a pair of pristine double-flare plugs. They're heavy in my hand and both have dark red almandine garnet at their centers, matching the red in Wesker's eyes. I curl my hand around the precious stones and set my plate on the coffee table, only to move Wesker's own plate before diving headfirst into his chest. He's momentarily shocked and then he feels me shuffling against him. He looks down, equal parts curious about my reaction and worried that I don't like them. He throws his head back and laughs as he sees me tugging out my current jewelry and tossing the metal tunnels onto the plush carpet, only to immediately- and quite happily- replace them with the stunning garnets.

"My dear, I was worried you wouldn't like them- but I didn't expect you to throw your favourite tunnels because you like these so much!" Wesker says as his shoulders tremble with laughter. His hand comes up to pet at my hair while I fumble with the jewelry momentarily, before my head pops up and he ruffles my hair fondly. I have a wild grin on my face and he sees my stretched earlobes move with the weight of the new stones laid heavy in my ears. He grins back at me, and leans down to give me a kiss on my nose, followed by a couple littered across my cheeks.

"Oh Wesker, how could you be worried? They're stunning- and they're just my size! I love them so much already. They-" I stop for a moment and think, eyes growing slightly wide at my realization before a slightly cheeky smile curls across my lips. "Wesker, they look like your eyes." His own eyes widen at my words and his face flushes a deep pink. I laugh and kiss at his cheeks.

"I... I do not think I realized that until you said something, dearheart. But... truly, they suit you better than I had hoped they might. They look perfect on you, my dear." He smiles again, cheeks still tinged pink. I dip my head into his neck and breathe out a deep, comfy sigh. "Oh, my darling, what am I to do with someone as adorable as you? I suppose I have no choice but to love you just a little more. After all, I have taken the week off simply to spend time with dragostea mea mica." He says, watching as I grow excited. I hug him tightly and kiss him again, only for him to start up with warm, muffled laughter into the kiss. Oh, what a lovely week this was going to be.

[thewiglesswonder]

■ skekLi, ★ Rak, ☠ Hunter, ☾ Aln, ♒ Wasp, ★ Bel, ▼ Mac, ♡ Kiki, ☆ Blitz, ♦ Shockwave, ☮ skekSo, ☯ Rampage, and ൠ Tarantulas. (That's a decent enough spread of characters, yeah?)

[cracks knuckles] HERE WE FUCKING GO (under a cut ‘cause this got long):

SkekLi, living quarters headcanon: Absolute mess. Not a mess in the sense that say, skekEkt’s room is a mess, where everything looks incredibly disorganized but if you move anything Ekt will blow out your eardrums yelling at you for disrupting his system. Li’s room is messy in the way that even he doesn’t know what’s going on. There are scraps of paper with half-written jokes or notes on them, stacks of books that didn’t fit on an overflowing bookshelf, a scroll for some gelfling play or another that’s been written over with so much red ink that the original text is illegible. His bed, in a similar vein, is basically just a nest of pillows and blankets.

Rak, sad headcanon: Super self conscious about the way he sounds. If it’s a vocal quality, he’s had a negative thought about it. He hears the way that Sil or So will respond to someone, so effortless and quick, and will think of how long it can take him to think of the right words for something. He thinks about the double tone of his voice, how low and gravelly can so quickly turn to weak, pitchy rasps. He thinks he should be louder for his elders to better hear him, but many times he just can’t be. Sometimes he thinks it would be far easier if he stayed quiet.

Hunter, angry/violent headcanon: Like his “father”, Hunter’s anger manifests physically and he’s not always in control of what he does when angry (yes I am referencing that adorable bit from Reconstruct the Unreasonable). Usually he’ll go to train it off, practice teleporting or just spar until he feels at least a little better. But sometimes he’ll only come to his senses after something is broken. Sound familiar?

Aln, sleep headcanon: One word: Weight. Aln cannot fall asleep without some kind of pressure on him. Even in the summer unums, he’s got at least two of their heavier blankets and a sheet. However, the presence of a certain Spymaster at night very much helps with this issue.

Wasp, cooking/food headcanon: Can’t cook for shit, but loves anything sweet. The energon rations in the Stockades aren’t exactly the best, and he was running on what amounted to about a quarter tank of quality fuel when he escaped. As such, he will devour any kind of energon treat he can get his hands on (this is also a little bit based on the whole bug-sugar thing).

Belos, sad headcanon: Where… where do I even start with this? Nearly every headcanon about him we have is sad! Well, since I’ve got Titan on the brain, I’ll say this: should Belos ever be reminiscing about something nice that involves another person, say, Hunter’s first steps, having a friendly debate with Kikimora in the library about the outlandish possibility of domesticating some wild fauna of the Boiling Isles, even (and especially) the fleeting, faint memories of his brother, that’s when the Titan will slither into his mind like they were called. They love lightly inquiring about the moment he’s thinking about, picking it apart to remind Belos of how everyone leaves him, one way or another, and that they are the only constant. They will never leave him. They are all he has.

Mac, childhood headcanon: Her hair was twice as curly when she was little, and gradually flattened as she got older to where it is now. She was also one of those babies who was born with some hair. Most pictures of her as a kid feature her wild mop of hair, band-aids, and missing teeth. She was very scrappy as a little one.

Kiki, romantic headcanon: I will take this to my grave, between her and Belos, at least, she is the smooth one and she knows it. Zero contest. You’d think that the Emperor’s personal assistant who yells at people for 75% of her day wouldn’t have a romantic bone in her little body, but nope. If Wrath were to take wooing lessons from any demon, it should be her.

Blitzwing, happy headcanon: You know how Random laughs? Loud, full cackle, fully unhinged? That’s how Icy and Hothead laugh too. Obviously a bit different with varying pitch and whatnot, but still. Also, Random is the only one who does this, but he bounces on the balls of his pedes when he’s excited about something.

Shockwave, quirks/hobbies headcanon: Don’t really know what prompted this, but he strikes me as someone who walks very quietly. Whether this is a habit left over from consciously stepping carefully as Longarm so not to give away his true mass, or just how he is, many don’t notice Shockwave enter a room until he’s right beside them. As for hobbies, he likes to compose in his spare time. Nothing fancy, just smatterings of tunes and melodies that he thinks might sound nice.

SkekSo, friendship headcanon: You will know if the Emperor counts you as a friend if he complains to you. Some skeksis very casually commiserate, like the Collector or the Scrollkeeper; skekSo is not among them. The most he will show in public is cool irritation at something, but only friends get to hear the real bitching about petty things.

Rampage, likes/dislikes headcanon: Rampage really enjoys warmer, temperate weather, which is partially influenced by his beast mode. Adding on to that, a lot of experiments performed by the Maximals involved prolonged exposure to extremes of temperature, which increased his distaste for them. (Also likes physical affection but will NOT admit it)

Tarantulas, random headcanon: Worked at a literal fever pitch for weeks when he was making Ostaros. No idea before had ever taken him as hard as this one. Every possible waking moment was devoted to creating this sparkling, synthesizing the protoform, preparing the proper fuel, striking a spark from as close to nothing as one possibly could. Once the big yellow eyes of his creation finally opened, Tarantulas knew that every ounce of effort was worth it, and worth far more.

[ancmalist]

☽ [ maude apatow, she/her, cis female ] ☾ [ sadie bishop ] has lived in [ the waterhole ] for [ twenty-four years ] now. the [ 24 ] year old [ werewolf ] makes an honest earning as a [ records clerk ] for [ law office of patterson and miura ]. truthfully, they remind me of [ an old leather-bound book, spine worn ironically from adoration, milky star embedded sky enveloping a languorous summer night, and the gentle scent of dragon fruit caught briefly through passing ]. while they typically keep their head out of gang business, [ sadie ] can’t help but side with [ the hellhounds ]. to tune it all out though, they blast [ hot & heavy by lucy dacus ] on full volume.

the basics

full name: sadie eliana bishop birth order: youngest birthdate: december third zodiac: sagittarius sexuality: pansexual alignment: chaotic good occupation: records clerk for law office of patterson and miura & self-proclaimed insider for the hellhounds alliance: skull pack & (by affiliation) the hellhounds

biography

either contraceptives never crossed their minds, or jake and moira bishop actually loved the accidental parenting role they took on together. whatever the reason, after having three children, sadie was brought into the world as their fourth and final. being the youngest, she was frequently coddled, much to her dismay. all she ever wanted as a kid was to be included in all the things her older siblings were able to do, a desire that was left to fester as she was deemed to be too young. “you could get hurt”, they said. four measly words haunting her through life and, ironically, she did get hurt, but it had nothing to do with her clumsy youth.

sadie had only been alive for seven years when the bishop children lost their parents to, what they were told to be, an accident. while death certainly wasn’t a forgien subject to their family, she was much too young to fully understand exactly what happened and why. the emotional toll of their loss was only amplified when the four of them were put into their grandfather’s care. their parents had never really pressured sadie to follow one path as opposed to another, they had always been encouraging in whatever silly interest she picked up per week. however, nathan bishop was very set in his ways and held firm ideals of their family, one of which being when they would be triggered, because there was no way in hell they wouldn’t be. right?

julie had been the first of the bishop siblings. then her eldest brother, arden, followed suit, and eventually even graham came back home to them, and the same happened to him. killing someone, accidentally or not, was certainly not something sadie felt herself capable of doing. sure, there were a handful of people who rubbed her the wrong way and felt compelled to slap every now and then, but straight up murder? she couldn’t. she wouldn’t.

the overwhelming stress of maintaining her human life, as well as growing up and learning more about their parents’ death and dealing with that constant grief, it all took a heavy toll on her academic achievements. once a child prodigy excelling in every subject, sadie’s grades slowly started to decline. at first, it was hardly noticeable; she still did very well and was above her class average, just not at the top. as freshman year of high school rolled around for her, however, it was clear her energy was focused on whatever distraction she could find rather than mull over whatever future she had dreamed for herself.

this falter in her life branched out into other questionable decisions that lead sadie to surround herself with bad influences. sneaking out late at night to vandalize the peaceful slumber that usually fell over skull, demonstrating deliberate disobedience toward any authority figure, and just all around not giving a single care in the world. Without realizing it was even happening, she was spiraling. countless confrontations and school counseling sessions later, and she finally had a much needed breakdown.

while she’d always had her siblings to lean on through the best and worst of times, it turned out that their grandfather, though she loved dearly, had been her biggest hurdle. his persistence drove a wedge in their relationship, and in turn, drove the youngest bishop sibling away. not far, obviously, as she still resides in the waterhole, but she never took part in the hellhounds as her siblings rightfully did (in fact, she only started coming around the bike shop more often over the last five years due to nathan passing away). instead, she dared to succumb a little to her human fantasies, getting a job as a records clerk at the law office. it certainly isn’t the big lawyer career she’d hoped for growing up, but it was something, and she felt she had purpose again for the first time in a long time.

fun facts

you heard it here first folks!!! she’s an untriggered werewolf, stumbling through her human life while also trying to balance the fact that at any given moment, she could pull a big oopsie and accidentally be triggered.

she’s all bark, no bite. well, maybe a little bite, but only if her life depended on it. big brains heavily outweigh her brawn; girl can run her mouth like a freight train when provoked.

probably threatens to “sic the hounds” on innocent bystanders, while under the influence of alcohol.

she also doesn’t drink very often, so when she does... she’s a messy handful. clumsy as heck, but also somehow an escape artist.

initially wanted to be a lawyer when she grew up, but she never really grew up. started off as a gifted child, then burnt out midway through middle school, and basically just fought for her life in high school. insert sad trombone noise.

huge information nerd. she loves to read, loves to hear the hot goss around skull (even though she tries with all her might not to partake in it), and finds little useless facts endearing.

travels everywhere via bicycle because it’s cheaper and she never got her license (she tried but it was revealed that sadie is a little terror behind the wheel).

while she’s inkless, she appreciates the artistry on other people (maybe a little too much). her lobes are pierced and that’s it. very mundane, but her ✨sparkling✨ personality more than makes up for it.

wanted connections

ride or die, either somebody she grew up with in skull or someone she met over the last several years and they just immediately clicked?

bad influences. she still needs that extra push to do dumb shit as she won’t do it alone

a sneaky link!!! void of feelings/emotions/attachment; nothing serious, mainly because she dreads the idea of potentially bringing someone into her family. not that she’s ashamed, in fact the complete opposite, but she does NOT want anything made into a big deal. would most likely be a hellhound or civilian, but wouldn’t say no to a reaper.... 👀 any species!!

enemies. could literally be anybody, she’s loud af and doesn’t really have a filter

childhood friends / friends in general

anything your heart desires ♡  i offer up sadie as tribute

[ofparaisoisms]

{ paulina singer / ciswoman / she/her } ☼― Desert sands and sunset hues, Arizona is home to the one and only { DAISY PRUITT }. SHE  is said to be a { THIRTY-TWO-YEAR-OLD MEMBER / WAITRESS }, living at Paraiso for almost { SEVEN } year(s). They are known to be { + RESOURCEFUL } and { + INDEPENDENT } as well { - CALCULATING } and { - DISHONEST }. Rumor has it, they are { WORKING WITH THE COPS / UNDER COVER WITH THE CRIMSON RIDERS}. ―☾

Daisy was born and raised in Harlem, to parents that could never get along. Her father made choices that her mother couldn’t condone, and her mother was the preachy type that couldn’t keep her opinions to herself. They were self-proclaimed to be “not together” for the entirety of Daisy’s childhood, though they were known to slip into old habits and just assumed their daughter never knew about it. They fought like crazy, used whatever they could against one another, and Daisy was unfortunately usually one of those things caught in the crossfire and used as a weapon. One of the decisions that her mother couldn’t condone was Daisy’s father’s involvement with the Crimson Riders MC shortly after their creation. She did not want her daughter around it, did not approve by any means, and that only added fuel to her father’s fire. Daisy was plopped on the back of a motorcycle at every given opportunity, and grew to love it despite her mother’s rage. (She’d always preferred her father, anyway. That had always been clear, and it only became clearer as she grew older.) When she graduated from high school, Daisy wanted nothing more than to prospect and patch in herself. She was met with a solid “hell no” from her mother, which only further hurt her relationship with the woman. Her father didn’t discourage her, though didn’t encourage her either. He tried to reason with her that the MC wasn’t going anywhere, and that she should experience life a little bit before she made the commitment. It would turn out that her mind would change anyway, and rather rapidly: her father was killed on club business when Daisy was 22, and her opinions changed very quickly. She went from ragingly mad, to the scary quiet sort, to something much more like numb. Her relationship with her mother was still fragmented, and her father had been her favorite person in the world. Shortly after the funeral service, Daisy packed up and left without so much as a word, deciding to get the hell out of New York. (She’d popped a positive pregnancy test before she left, and decided then and there that she didn’t want her child to be raised the same way that she was. No, they deserved better than that. She had deserved better than what she’d been dealt, and so she would try to do better.) She moved to Arizona, enrolled herself in community college though that didn’t last long. She’d never been built for school, wasn’t good at the academic path, and went back to waitressing like she’d done in New York - she was good at it, the tips were great, and she saw nothing wrong in the service industry when it kept food on the table for her and her son. She’d been in Paraiso for a little over two years when she was approached by a detective investigating the Crimson Riders MC, specifically the sector in Arizona. Daisy wanted nothing to do with the officer and nothing to do with the Crimson Riders, and didn’t know anything about this specific sector in any case. The man left his card in case she changed her mind, and Daisy let it sit in her wallet for about six months before she called to see what she could do. She was still bitter over her father’s death and his involvement in the club, still bitter booking back at how she’d been raised in the midst of it. Before she knew it, she was prospecting into the Arizona sector of the MC, though her interests in joining were less than innocent: she would be working for the police as an informant, to see what she could find out for them. Getting in wasn’t too terribly hard, borrowing from her real history: she’d been more or less raised in the club back in New York, had left when her father died and missed the sense of family she’d had. A piece of cake, really: the best lies had truth in them. She was three years into her undercover gig when the members from Harlem showed up, and shook Daisy to her very core. That hadn’t been part of the plan, she knew them and they knew her. They knew her history, knew a whole lot more than she was comfortable with, and she wanted to abort mission completely. But that wasn’t safe, she was a little too far in at this point to back out, and she had to stick it through. (It was harder to betray those she knew, faces she had once considered something like family. Not to mention, she was feeling a sense of companionship with the members of the Paraiso sector. A mess she’d made for herself, really, but she’d see it through. She had an airtight deal with the police, so really, there was no backing out now. Disappearing a second time would be much harder than the first).